rubyrubyruby

The different gambits, tactics and ordinance of the fleet battle have all been used and the results stretch for a mile at least. The ships that are lit up like bonfires provide a hellish illumination as the smoke has blotted out the sun.
When the battle started to favour the friendlies, a good number of Zealot ships closed and attempted boarding manuevers. First the ranged sorties, then the narrowing of distance to vicious rolling broadsides, and finally the brutal boarding actions. That didn't turn out so wonderful, but the butcher's bill that will be tallied will state that the Zealot fleet was the loser. It's difficult to get hard numbers, but it seems 1/4 of the enemy has turned tail and is speeding or limping away as best they can. There are rumours of ships being taken as prizes on both sides, and it's next to impossible to get an accurate sail-count. Not all the enemy is willing to fight to the last soul.
Sinking ships, broken wreckage and bodies are in wide abundance, providing a maze for ships to navigate through. The only thing that is constant is the looming shapes of the three Arks through the smoke and haze. There are people thrashing about in the water and clinging to detritus, impotent pot-shots send after retreating enemy ships, and significantly less thunderous eardrum-bleeding sources of noise. This is the time to catch one's breath.

Chase circles high above the carnage like a massive bird of prey. He keeps a careful watch upon the Beast and her crew, battered and bruised from the hellish exchanges the ice drakes mood is grim.

Wynter rides high against the clouds under her own power, dipping into the smoke to peer down as the battle has raged on. Her job, self apointed, is not to her liking. Ruby's fear of the enemy fleet trying something magical and underhanded durring the extended fight has her here rather then below fighting where she belongs. All but twiching as she moves from vantage point to vantage point as the sun is blotted from view.

The Beast didn't venture into the vanguard formations, having stayed close to the first Ark, and so didn't share in the same level of peril as Captain Flame, Captain Merrisol and Doc Sid. Ruby has ordered remaining ships to take stock, deal with pressing matters, and move beyond the battlefield due south when able to get underway. Pressing matters being securing prisoners, prizes and dealing with any imminent peril that might not know when to surrender. The floating forge Ark is going to be doing a lot of business once a queue can be started laying damaged vessels up alongside for jury-rigging repairs.

In the southwest quarter of the battlefield, there are about as many ruined vessels, aflame, listing, or on their way down, as there are intact ships still afloat and fighting. It would take some concentration to determine just which is from Ruby's beleaguered fleet and which belongs.. belonged.. to the home team; in some cases, the crews of each have swarmed across to one another's ships. At least the furor has petered down to pockets of resistance, many of these simply unaware their side has already lost.
A knot of a dozen ships at close-quarters on the waves, boarding grapples still engaged, is visually a microcosm of the seascape. Remains are strewn from a great bloody battle over the decks and gundecks of these vessels. Merrisol drags an enemy sailor by the shoulder to a designated area for 'surrendered' souls; which invariably means their heads met with his basketguard hilt or bare fist in the melee. A hot sweaty mess himself, he occasionally grunts an order to the officers of his squadron to help bring their little patch of sea back to some semblance of order and civility.

The Third Ark, it of the illustrious mission of hauling raw materials and provisions, was at the tail of the formation and suffered the most hits during the battle. Long range cannon fire has cracked some of the exterior hull like a kind of graffetti, but it seems seaworthy. All three emit a raw echoing blurt from trumpets, declaring their position to friendly forces and defiance to the enemy. They cease following one another in a congo line to navigate away from the battle under escort.

If one is merciful and taking captives, one may notice a queer emotion settling over their new prisoners. Particularly those that still have their ships tethered. They are all turning to look morosely towards their ships either captured or sinking. What sounds like crew throwing cargo overboard is coming from their craft...But surely those ships are deserted?
The interrogations were quick, and thus not quite as effective as they could possibly be. Battlefield intelligence was quick and dirty anyhow. Given time and... technique, more information might be gleaned from the important people from the other side that survived the boarding of the Menestheses. For the moment though, Mercier wipes gloved hands on his cloak, as he fiddles with it, his face covered in the detrius of expended powder, and a nick or scrape here and there. His oilskin is covered with blood that's not his, from any number of sources. If he had a mask he might look like a Victorian horror cliche. Alas, for want of more. He squints, stepping out from below and on to the deck, impassive at the carnage that's still being cleaned up. He pats a marine sergeant on the arm as he passes by, "I don't know how well they might take direction, but I had... someone who looked stewardish start some tea below, if some of the lads are looking for a quiet spot. Didn't quite spot any milk sadly. Do pass the word?" His tone is conversational, and just a little out of place. Nothing saying 'Crane' didn't need to develop a reputation. Especially if he had to confess to the vessel's new Captain that he didn't quite work for her. Stepping towards a manrail, he leans forward, trying to squint at one of the nearby 'enemy' vessels that has subsequently stopped being such, cocking his head at the sound coming over the wind. "Queer." He furrows his brow, then pads back towards a kit bag he'd brought along. Rummaging about, he produces a set of brass field glasses. He steps over to the manrail again and raises them.

Chase banks winging toward the ark easily lost in the smoke filling the sky around the battle. The dragon looks over the hull of the trailing Ark, knowing the importance of it's cargo. He let's out a blood curdling roar to mark his position tothe fleet.

Wynter's head snaps up as something...changes. her eyes going a touch wide as she senses something alien and magical within the clouds. She whispers to the winds. Two quick messages that the wind takes to the person she desire to let know. The first person is Chase who flies nearby. The second is she who is in command of the fleet below, Ruby. The message simple. "Magic forming in the coulds above. Beware and get ready."

Aboard the Whydah, Flame has not yet returned to the forecastle though her first mate has taken that position. As the smoke is thick out her way and the sea's surface is a veritable mine field of semi-submerged detritus, she communicates with her ships using parrots carrying messages. A fair few of them can be spotted comming and going. Their zooming wingbeats mark the Captain's location more surely than any other indicator. Her fleet seeks to rejoin the rest of the ships, though they limp along like a passel of elderly nannies trying to herd a horde of cats, for they pick up survivors both friend and foe. The foe are corralled on the deck while the friendlies are sent off to get dry clothing and something hot to drink. Unfriendlies are given dry things to wear as well, but lack the privacy of below decks to change. Hot beverages are also offered. Some accept, most do not. Before long they, too, are peering back toward their ex-ships, their mournful looks only adding to the 'what the heck is going on' feeling that crawls inexorably up the spine to lodge at the base of the skull like a malevolent parasite.
Finally returning to the forecastle of the Whydah, Flame unconsciously mimics Mercier as she takes her own spyglass from the First Mate and tries to see what mischief is being perpetrated.

The Bedlam, The Aries, and Flynn are disentangled and set off in search of Doggerel Dupe. Quite a few longboats are stroking around the wreckage, combing for the drenched survivors among the floating debris. These folks are perhaps better situated to witness the splooshing from the nearby ships being divided amongst officers who fancy they can command a prize and all its creepy mysteries, until the fleet is reassembled. Merrisol steps to the rail of their prisoner ship to glance distractedly around the flickering waters, but too many other concerns draw his attention away again.
Odd. The enemy vessels are shedding pieces of themselves? Keen eyes, especially with fancy lens assistance, will confirm that this isn't people tossing stuff overboard...it's the wooden figureheads that are dropping off. The sight of this seems to send any prisoners witnessing the event to fall to their knees and despair. The wooden martyrs that are still intact somehow just limply peel off the prows, or violently wrench from the hull. They splash to the water and begin to sink with all the grace of bricks.

Hot on the heels of the saints abandoning their ships, there is a scratching and grinding noise from up above the cloud cover. Like some huge metal gratings were being pushed open. It might contain a bit of Deja Vu for the two Captains taking care of business on their commandeered ships. Of graveyards of men-at-arms like playing pieces, and a previous attempt to intercept the Arks.

The Pathian far above the waters pays little heed to the sounds that float up to her position from below. The wails of the dead and dying and the dispondant as the religious ones lose their gods to the sea. Her eyes are apon that which is above. That which grates like metal and thunder. One cornor of her lips begining to curl into a mad grin as the words of Arcanis drop from them in rapid-fire pace. Her arms moving as if that too could direct the sudden and powerful winds blasting outward from her and circling round, pushing back the clouds and the smoke in hopes to catch sight of this new foe.
More words then as she pulls the sildery bow from over her shoulder and flames spring forth from her shoulders and flare bright and hot, fanning out wide to either side like wings in preparation and a clear statement of defiance.

Maggie lowers the glass, a brow arching slightly in surprise. "That's n..." Hearing the screeching, scratching and grinding from above, she darts a look up that way. "Bloody blast. Get everyone aboard. We need to regroup and get gone." Or stay and fight, if her cousin above can get them a target. She narrows her eyes as those wings of fire sprout, then smiles. Someday... or not. Her focus returns to the here and now once more.
Turning to the deck, she looks out over their prisoners, her frown growing. With a sigh, she returns the spyglass to her pocket and leaves the forecastle. Really, she should make up her mind about where she wants to be. Approaching one of the kneeling prisoners, she lowers to one knee to be on the same level. Some of her crew remain near to hand in case this blows up in Flame's face. "Excuse me," she says to the captive, "Explain this to me, please?" Perhaps if she can get one to talk to her she can know how to help.

The Dragon again climbs gaining height to get above the clouds, the disturbance troubling. Chase has gone into stealth mode, no roars or bellows this time as he scans for danger.

Watches the figurehead of the vessel in question cracks and falls away. He chews his bottom lip, lowering the field glasses, before shrugging slightly. Something he'd have to try and get from the survivor's below decks later on. The grinding sound startles the merchant slightly, and he looks up, "Tosh and Torrents." He curses, reaching up to rub the side of his nose. The glasses go back in a leather case, which Mercier clips to his belt, beneath the oilskin cloak, turning his head. He doesn't have any standing to give direction, so he lets the ship's officer's address their business, stalking back towards the hold.

The prisoner that Maggie is interviewing is almost in tears. Wincing, the sailor lifts his chin to eye Captain Flame. He does cast an glance towards the sky and seems at a loss. A neighbouring prisoner, with epaulets, has an upper lip that doesn't quiver, and he butts in to answer instead, "The Chaplains know the particulars of the deal. I'd wager that would be the collection plate. Didn't think ~those ones~ would collect so soon, but then...we weren't supposed to lose either. Did our Saint get away at least?"

Merrisol straightens all the way up, squinting up at the sky for a moment, then scowling. "Get the prisoners belowdecks and locked away," he tells the guards, striding away to the rail again to bellow to the nearby vessels, frigate and dinghy alike. The order to return to the ships is passed along, to get underway and rejoin the main fleet. He looks up again, seeing the Wynter's flashy fire challenging the sky portals, and moreover Chase stalking them as well. And rifles his coat for his trump case. Has Ruby even explained the nature of these ceiling traps to her other allies?

Wynter's Arcanis sweeps at the smoke and cloud cover. Unveiled above the clouds is a lovely rectangle of light. It has just finished forming all four corners of itself. Crisp edges and it has the same illumination as a harvest moon. The edge of another ~square~ is visible with enough of the cloud cover disrupted, though it doesn't connect directly with its neighbour. A faint reflection of it is echoed on the surface of the water. A half-wrecked hull comes under its outline, with some survivors and floating bodies nearby. The waters begin to swirl as they fall within the reflected borders of sky-square.

Chase circles wide giving Wynter space to her mojo, ready to cover if things do not go to plan (like that would ever happen)

A quick glance down at the swirling waters and then back up into the huge window in the sky. Wynter's grin grows wider as it becomes apparent that the windows are key. A mad giggle followed by a laugh as thoughts race about in her brain.
She turns to the circling Chase and gives the dragon a salute with her bow before burting out into full blown laughter as she shoots upwards towards the giant square in the sky, the fire of her 'wings' flaring brighter in the rushing air.

Maggie standing as the captive in the fancy uniform speaks up. She turns to look out to sea once more and shakes her head, "It is a shame, really. People should never bet against Captain Incarnis. It is bad for their health." With a sigh, she looks back, "I am sorry, but I do not know the answer to that. I will see if I can find out. In the meantime, I will have someone take you all below. Food and warm things to drink will be brought to you. I hope you will understand, but the brig on this ship is not exactly comfortable." She takes a moment to signal one of her sailors and give the orders. Turning to the prisoners, she touches her tri-cornered hat, the crimson feather bobbing in a bedraggled, if jaunty, sort of way. "Excuse me. I will come see you all once we are away from here." Turning, she leaves the prisoners to the tender mercies of her crew. Spotting Wynter and Chase up where the air is clearer, she almost pauses. Her expression, if one could see it, would be a confusion of 'well, now' and 'oh, that can't be good' mingled with an intense curiosity.

Where is Ruby, AKA Captain Absent? Well, she's currently making a low-flying tour of the aftermath on a flying rug. Behind her is a quartermaster with a trusty crossbow. She flies without any daredevil theatrics, and at a speed that hopefully won't spook someone into taking a pot shot. Some rather interesting blue and grey scaled armour and leathers are worn upon her person. A cool kraken has been worked into it for both protection and style, as well as a shark teeth motif. Rather out of character, as she's usually curling her lip over the concept of armour. Her tricorn is worn tipped slightly forward against wind resistance.

Seriously, that pinging at Ruby's trump senses is Merrisol, but it's understandable if she isn't in the picking-up mood. He can't keep up that concentration forever, and all he really had to tell her was: "Best get a trump ready, if you have either!" Then the bonfire in the sky flashes and his focus snaps back upward. "Well carp.." And he shouts a general order for all ships to take on boats and make for the main fleet. But he keeps his eyes on the sky all the while, exchanging card tin for spyglass to try for a closer view.

Chase lets out a sigh as Wynter launches toward the windoes in the sky. He picks up speed trying to keep pace with the pathi, "it bad luck for me if you kill yourself doing something recklace" he points out as he flaps his leathery wings gining speed.

Mercier pauses on his path, and sighs, spinning around and walking back towards the manrail. He looks up at the sky, leaning against it trying to portray a nonchalance. If there wasn't much to do but worry, best not to worry. He did nope Captain Sid would do the appropriate thing, however.

The cackling magi can barely hear Chase shouting at her as she flys up to the giant square in teh sky. It's sounds of grating iron and rushing water covering up even the dragon's voice.
She's a blur in the sky aiming for the near center of the magical thing and then she contacts the 'surface' of it there is a new sound added to the cacophany as hisses and pops along with crackling lightning wreath Wynter. Yet she breaks through the surface leaving a imprint of her passing form behind. Then she's gone.

Chase snarls, "Damnit!" and moments later hits the imprint left behind by Wynter. There is a sound of shattering glass and arush of wind as the Ice Drake leaves an even bigger impression in the sky window. in their wake the smoke of battle again swirls as sign that they were even there in the first place is swallowed up.

Those rectangles of light that are mirrored upon the sea's surface and all the flotsam and jetsum, begins to play back and forth like a searchlight. The calls to get underway and those initial efforts to rescue survivors had great foresight. Where the frame finds bodies or significant pieces of wrecked ships, it instigates another swirl of water before moving onwards. Those whirlpools it leaves behind grow in speed until they're nipping at the underside of the dead or dying or destroyed. They get pulled downwards with hard yanks after this apparent toying or tasting, and disappear.

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'It's a little hard to breathe inside this otherworldly tunnel. There is no theme music unfortunately, and the further along you fly or coast, the static background hiss of the insane gulfs between realities is a companion to the earholes. Up ahead seems an infinite distance to a bright light. There are shapes outlined as they come closer. Streaking in the opposite direction are hooks that careen off neighbouring walls and being hurled from whence you came.'.

To (Ruby, Chase), Wynter pages: The flames flowing along her back try to sputter out in this strange place as the air becomes thin. Wynter's grin somehow widens again as air flows around the air master and the fires billow out again. The hooks are seen as she rounds the strange winding bends and turns of the tunnel between realms. She lifts the bow then and a arrow of fire forms and she aims as she swoops about taking a shot at the closest one as a test. Fire arrow launched she peers back to Chase and laughs. "Come on! Lets catch us some fishermen!"

Ruby's undramatic timing manages to be aces today. She just so happens to be in the area and looking out for folks. The trump nudges in her brain have her dispensing with the general headcount of serviceable ships and devoting time to finding Merri and Maggie's flagships. She cups her hands around her mouth and bellows, "Ahhhhoy! Blast this bloody smoke an stink. All ships bear south an rejoin tha fleet. Cap'n Flame an Cap'n Fa...Merrisol! Ahoy! Send a flare or somethin!"

From afar, to (Wynter, Ruby): Chase twists, dodges and jinks like a creature born to this element, rolling to neatly avoid a hook. Hearing Wynter the IceDrake unleasheshis art, a matrix of energy takes shape an icy, barber net flies along the path the hooks come from, giving their fisherman a nasty surprise, but you know what they say 'sometimes you catch the fish, sometimes the fish catches you.'

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'The arrow of fire might appear to move slow or arc due to bending dimensional trauma, but it certainly doesn't interfere with Wynter's aim one bit. It strikes the hook squarely and it is sent careening off into the wall of the tunnel to bounce and then hook oddly into the spongy kaleidiscope patterns to get ~stuck~. The score of other hooks would have continued to sail past if not for the ice. There are a score of hollow sounding strikes as they come into contact with the ice.'.

Mercier issues a frown as the flyers.... vanish into the sky with terrible sound, stepping away from the railing and turning his head to check on the status of the crew as they go on with the business of following fleet order. He rubs his face, "This is going to get worse, isn't it, Izzy." He mumbles out of earshot, to himself.

Merrisol watches, rips the spyglass down, and watches more. Some things need to be witnessed with the naked eye to be believed. He claps the 'scope closed and jams it into his pocket while striding for a higher deck, gauging from there the routes through wreckages, whirling or not, to intercept the regrouping fleet. Turns out to not be far, as the fleet itself comes south out of the smoke and ruin. Ruby's stormborn voice reverberating clearly across the expanse has him waving an abruptly illuminated left hand. "Incarnate! Are they," punctuated by the same arm stabbing skyward, "taking our people, too?" he yells raggedly, his voice noticeably unpowered by comparison. "They took Wynter! And Doc Chase!"

To (Ruby, Chase), Wynter pages: Wynter notes the hooks lack of sensing them. The fact the hooks can be stopped and held and moved to the side of the strange wall. Magic builds within her and burbles out with the words of Arcanis. Air preasure builds and builds and then launches out from her in a swirling blast, trying to clear the cetner of the tunnel and head towards the strange light ahead.

Maggie stands stock still as first her cousin, then her ex-chief medical officer blast through the square in the sky. A long shudder rips through her and she strides toward the forecastle. Again. Leaping up the stairs, she cups her hands around her mouth in intentional mimicary of Ruby's ploy. Her call is aimed at the surviving ships under her command, "You heard Captain Incarnate! Put your backs into it." All around her the sort of calm aftermath of battle is as shattered as the sky window above as people leap to their duties. Soon, all six remaining ships, plus two captured vessels, are wending their way to join the main fleet. While they cannot really 'beat feet', they can 'shudder rudder'.

From afar, to (Wynter, Ruby): Chase swims through the tunnelof magic, "You take too many risks" he warns take postion just behind and above her (high 6) keeping his eyes on the light, but keeping trackof his companion as well (Mandrake sight)

Ruby homes in on the sight of Merri's fleshlight. Her control of the carpet isn't grand and she comes in for a landing with the wobbly grace of a bumblebee. She gets off and reacquires her sea legs. For some reason she sounds out of breath. Taking a moment to crane her head upwards to one of the sky things, she curses and makes a face. "Whut, both 'o them? Ahhh...they ain't Oberon blooded are they. Maybe there be somethin in tha." Ruby snarls and adds, "We don't dare fire a stormcannon intah tha...if they ~In~ it. If I could elevate a barrel even. Aye, Did Maggie make it? If you anxious, I gots tha carpet." she tempts. "Me priorities be slippin...cause all I thinkin about is collectin all ~our~ companions, Truth."

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'The arcanis and ice of Chase's invocation are sent up the tunnel until they disappear in the brillance up ahead. It's all relatively anti-climactic for the span of a minute until a new sound reverberates down the tunnel towards the two fliers. It's a curious sort of grunt, followed by the light dimming as if something was passing in front of whatever that distant opening is. The next sound is one of a contemplation. It's followed by a rawkous amount of deliberation as if someone opened the door on a heated senate meeting where it's all just noise and nonsense.'.

To (Ruby, Chase), Wynter pages: The Pathian drops back to be closer to Chase and then picks her speed back up. "We're nearing the end. But I don't think our hosts are happy with us hitching a ride towards them. What say you? Sounds like they don't know what to make of us. Good!"

From afar, to (Wynter, Ruby): Chase 's lip curls backin a friendly smile,showing of a maw of dagger sharp teeth, "it would be to not introduce ourselves, I'll take point" he begins a hissing whispers, the arcane words so profane to those not initated in the mystries of the magical arts to be forgotten nearly the instance they are uttered. A swirling vortex of snow and ice preceeds them making them difficult targets for what lay ahead.

Once the ships are underway, Captain Flame calls on a friendly breeze to fill the sails of the ships, speeding them along. Her new First Mate, a robust, older lady who goes by the piratical moniker of Sonya Blade, brings her a flare. Accepting it with a smile for the woman and an inner wince for the loss of Hiroshi Lee, Captain Flame touches a spark to the fuse and sets it in place. Soon, an arching flare rises from the forecastle to burn white-hot and lingering in the sky. "There. That'll let them all know where we are. Pass the word, Ms. Blade. We are going to pick up speed."

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'The second swirling mass of ice makes an interesting mass of chilly magic. It also obscures the end of the tunnel of light and distorts the sounds issuing from ahead. The jibbering and jabbering doesn't cease, but it becomes fuzzier. That might be due to all the air being removed from the passageway.'.

Merrisol's squadron looks a little larger than it started out, despite the missing Doggerel Dupe. Four prizes had been brought away from the mad grappling that had led to the end of fighting in that corner of the sea. The officers of the ships Bedlam, Flynn, Aries, and Scarab were only too eager to each acquire a vessel, despite not knowing if their contents are worth the bother. Or whether they are haunted by shadow gods, splooshing Saints notwithstanding.
He goes to meet the careering carpet and puts out a hand to steady... it. Not its pregnant passenger specifically.. unless she needs it. "Of course she made it," he asserts, sternly, though he hasn't seen or heard from Maggie since... wait. His gaze wanders a bit as he headtips, listening for a moment.. had that perhaps been her voice echoing distantly? "And how many's that," he asks Ruby, still watching the haze on the water, aglow in layers as it is from various fiery hulks ranging across the waves. "How many left in the fleet?" He considers the carpet and the crossbowman curiously.

To (Ruby, Chase), Wynter pages: There is a silent laugh as her wings go out as the air disapates. Yet a moment later she'a laughing again, her form moveing to Chase and clinging hold of his back so she can concentrate apon creating enough air to breath and for Chase to fly apon. Words of arcanis forming and the air along with it. "I don't think they want us here! How rude!"

There are currently three of the echoed sky-rectangles sweeping like spotlights across the wreckage, sniffing for survivors or masses of bobbing bodies. They haven't settled over intact ships of the friendly fleet, and have the motivation of vultures instead. Two of them worry at some collectibles, but the third...well, it's having trouble. Instead of a whirlpool, it blurts upwards in a riot of splashing, sending things away from the swirly motion.

From afar, to (Wynter, Ruby): Chase maintains his spell, "it is rude, most wait tomeet us before they try and kill us...I think I hate them." Chase's talons take on an icy edge growing to the length of scyths with the added ice.

Sidonie emerges from below decks, carrying soaked bandages and looking like she's been a bit wrung out herself. The loss of life and limb on the Menestheses and the Cascarrabias has not been great, but there was one particularly nasty wound to the bosun's side and face, and the slumbering Captains were knocked about quite a bit during their rough travail and need to be resecured. The surgeon looks up in time to see Captain Flame's flare, her eyes follow it. "Time to rejoin the Fleet," she says in a low voice. The sailor that has for now replaced Stiles as First Mate, a very short woman by the name Lita, catches the surgeon's eye. Sid nods to her. "We are ready to go. Please signal to the Cascarrabias that we're heading out."

Ruby turns to view a signal flare that manages to out-do the glow of burning sails and ships afire. She's glad to be off the carpet and it hovers like an obedient doggo near the main deck and Merri's hand. "Too early tah tell 'ow many are left. I ain't an optimist, so I gonna say we lost at least a fourth. If you gots some prizes captured, we can offset some 'o tha losses. I pay you for them prizes if you open tah tha idea." She turns to eye the sky where the clouds previous dispersed are slowly coalescing back into a unified bank of grey vapour. Ruby grates her teeth, attempting to look calm and collected. Through grinding teeth she intones, "We gotta group tha fleet, repair an get shift out. Do what you need tah do. I gotta take this bloody awful thing up there and stick my 'ead in unless I can find some bloody...'eroes."

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'There's a banging sound and then the jibber-jabber ceases. The tunnel starts to constrict and close in. The mosaic patterns of tunnel-stuff get narrower...and narrower. From ahead, if one is sensitive, they might detect a withering stare. The tunnel whips back and forth, requiring some fancy flying through the tube. The absence of air is replaced by a swath of greenish vapour.'.

To (Ruby, Chase), Wynter pages: Wynter's hand and legs grip hard onto Chase's neck as the tunnel narrows and then the air returns. Yet she doesn't drop her arcanis as the green vapors start to fill the narrowing space. Her use of the air changes. Pushing out and away from the pair as they travel, her laughter silenced now as she starts to get angry at these tricks and tries to kill or do away with them. "Chase..I don't think I like them either.."

It is maddeningly frustrating to watch the squares gulp people and debris, though it is an interesting, if horrifying, way to deal with pollution. From the forecastle, Flame guides the breezes to the sails of her ships. They bell nicely and the ships weave almost delicate lines through the wreckage between them and the fleet. As she is watching the squares' progress over the sea, she spots the turmoil where the waterspout-like event begins. Using the spyglass, she tries to see what is happening, then lowers it with a decisive snick. "Ms. Blade. Ready a small boat. I am going to row over to see if any survivors are spit up there. Please keep the ships going south to meet the fleet. Remember that you will not have my winds to aide you while I am out there." The First Mate looks dubious, but salutes and heads off to see to it.

From afar, to (Wynter, Ruby): Chase growls low,his wings folding against his body as Wynter takes hold of his neck, the pair gaining as much speed as they are able now. "When we come out use me as a shield, we should go for the throat straight away, no time to play with this thing." He scans ahead seeking a target.

You paged (Wynter, Chase) with 'It feels as if those wobbly quaking walls are going to shake themselves apart as you race along. Faster...and faster...The end of the tunnel is coming. It's coming. You're nearly there. And then...'.

Merri fixes Ruby with a /look/, light green eyes gone starker within a visage begrimmed with ash and blood spatter. "You don't gotta stick yourself anywhere but back on the Beast, Captain. Whoever's up there can't be feeling very generous towards you at this moment." Plus, he's got the persian doggo now! "Do you not have trumps for those two? They might need a pull-through, if they're..." ..Conscious! ..Alive! ..Still in one piece! "...able to respond.." The captured ship is steered through a turn which aligns with the bulk of the fleet.

Mercier's eyes are focusesless as he watches the strange carnage unfold. Something of him was a sailor, even if only organizationly. Its one thing to kill someone. Its another to watch helpless seamen get alighted to death. He drops his eyes, and turns away from the railing, peering as the Captain steps on deck. And off they go. His oilskin cloak is still dripping a bit of someone elses blood from the melee. It would look quite villionous on anyone.... well, it vaugely looks villionous on him.

From one of those rectangles comes an erruption of sparkly objects as if the sea just belched a school of fish. It's followed a heartbeat later by shards of ice. And then a cone shaped iceberg as wide as a main sail. It cannons upwards, trailed by a plume of blue-green vapour. Following that is the shape of a woman riding a white dragon, both completely dry but surrounded by a bubble of clean air. They're clear of the ocean and almost produce a sonic boom. Below them is a temporary shaft of nothingness, perhaps fathoms deep. The sea surges and reclaims it hungrily and the whirlpool is no more.

As they burst out of the place they just were, Wynter blinks and looks about her face contorting into angery lines. Scowling lines. The bubble of air about them leaves them as they clear the last of the green vapors. Instead the magi's voice takes on volume not unlike Chase's and she shouts out loud enough to echo over the waves. "COWARDS!"

Pausing, Flame holds up one hand, "A moment, Ms. Blade." She watches the interplay between sky rectangle and the water beneath. Her eyes narrow, then she puts her spyglass back in place with a snap, "Odd. Belay the small boat, please. We won't need it." As she speaks, the ships sailing with her wheel into place, guarding the starboard side of the main grouping. Hearing Wynter's shout vaguely on the air, even at this distance, Maggie chuckles. Sonya Blade leans forward a bit but Maggie shakes her head, "She isn't wrong." Turning her spyglass around to survey the other ships, she takes the time to find Merrisol, Ruby and the carpet. Her shoulders ease and she huffs a very quiet sigh of relief.

Chase is comming in hot, he thorows out his wings in a desperate attempt toregain control "What the HELL!" he roars, his voice BOOMS like a clap of Thunder. The Ice Drakes head cranes to look behind to be sure nothing followeed them through.

The Menestheses weaves carefully through the wreckage on its way to rejoin the rest. The Cascarrabias follows at a slower pace thanks to its larger bulk. Sidonie steps up next to Mercier and squints out at the fire and smoke and weirdness. She has taken the time wash her face and hands before and after her doctoring, but she's otherwise covered in blood and soot. She withdraws a bandanna from her pocket, however, and extends it to him, eyes still fixed at the scene before them. "I don't... what is this, Mr. Templeton? Do you... what is that!" The surgeon points!

Ruby is getting around to formulating some sort of response that doesn't hinge on how dumb she was in not reaching for the two MIA's via Trump. There's an odd expression crossing her face as Merrisol voices an opinion on how Ruby should absolutely not go into that sky-rectangle. Her hand lowers to her own deck and finger search for the clasp to open that sucker up to rifle through cards. When an object appears to jet up from one of those whirlpools, instead of hurtling from the sky, she croaks out in surprise and stares at them gain altitude and then shout out some curses and oaths. "Arm yer ballis...Bog's barnacles! It's that two 'o them!" She doesn't complete the knee-jerk suggestion when she recognizes both Chase and Wynter.

Mercier gives a glance down towards the hankerchief, then down to himself, "Oh, did I get a bit on me? Apologies." He mumbles, accepting the hankerchief gratefully. He dabs away some of the drying red, the cloak just a bit protected from stains by its waxed treatment. "And Mister Crane, if you please, within earshot. I would prefer my trade associtates in in Arden not catch wind of laundry-inducing sidejobs, and the like." He peers out at the Ocean, nearly jumping as the dragon and sorceress pop up from /below/ the waves. He blinks, confused, glancing up towards the sky again, "My go-to curse, Milady, is that this is Amber. But its all Amber to me. In long,
Way help me, I've no idea."

Merrisol turns as the entire fleet seems to tilt back from collapsing airwaves after that boom. "Huh... spat 'em out," he supposes, upon spotting the dragon and rider escaping the commotion in the ocean. With that, he guides the carpet back in front of Ruby. "I'll meet you on the flagship after settling things with my unit. The prizes are yours if they all want to stick with the fleet after this. We have prisoners collected aboard this one.." he adds more quietly to Ruby. "Consider - if you anticipate needing to traverse this shadow again in the future.. you might leave them, with a better understanding of with whom they should place their faith."