It was nice Node-ing ya

[rubyrubyruby]

Lhasa, in her role as Captain Howler for the day, sees the shift happen. Not in a magical sense, as she doesn't have a sense of these things, but literally as ship by ship disappears into rainbows. She knows how to read a Compass, however, and she holds the precious mechanism in her hand, head bowed and Charter partway unfurled, as the bosun calls out orders and they make speed. Martin's trail is like a lay line, setting a course that she can read on the Compass with astounding clarity. It's a wondrous thing, really, and she keeps peering up wide-eyed from her work as if to see if the line can be perceived on the water like a laser. "Blimey," she whispers. White ship between them incapacitated and crumbling like a wet cookie, the Spicy Melissa and Big Sauce separate with a bone-grinding creak, and the thing just... drops, unceremoniously, with the exception of its' crew anguished shrieks. The black ship is gone as well.
Lhasa repeats her command with a throaty yell, "Full speed, all!" She scrambles up to the stern, tucking the Compass and Charter in her pocket, and relieves Magda. With a heave, she adjusts their course. "Thirty degrees! Follow!" The Big Sauce, with the Vanila Bean, and sundry adorably named ships adroitly following, makes its way to Cibola not far behind of the Oberkin.

Lightning continues to streak off the bow of the Chimera, flashing and illuminating the clouds of smoke before striking into the side of the troop carrier while traditional cannons tear in as well. As her pass completes, she turns hard back to prepare for the beginning of the walk through shadow while the other ships in the squadron take their turns pummeling the vulnerable troop carrier. Clive races about the deck of the Chimera, issuing orders and helping the others to prepare for what is sure to be rough seas. Further impacts against the Chimera are now taking off pieces of the armor plating, sending them down into the water with splashes. The sails are sporting holes, but the mast is still holding strong. The trusty ship doesn't entirely make it back to the fleet in time, but the trail has been set. A leather scroll comes out from inside of Clive's jacket and he flips open a compass, using them each to direct the navigator and guide the squad further in at the tail end of the fleet. "Gimme all she's got, Barnaby! We ain't gettin' in there late, dammit!"

The Whiskers, tiny ship that she is, tosses about on the hellride waves like a corked bottle. At least that's how it feels for the ship following behind in everyone's wake. Boaz trying deperately to keep his mind focused on the sparkled path when that feeling of a pull into danger starts to sink in. And as the sparkled path leads closer and closer to that area of obvious 'not good' Boaz begins to pale. "Awww shite.. ya 'ave to be kiddn' meh!" he gives the deck around him a quick glane and takes in the sight of sailors of the ship and those picked up from the sea only to be brought back into harms way again and he grunts as if gut punched. "ALL 'ANDS! BRACE IF'N YA AIN'T ALREADY! GONNA GET WORSER!" And he lets that bad pull pull them in further, fingertips poking into the mast's wood.

The gossipy Tales that leaked from the shadowpath months ago are here in all their wounded glory. Tumultuous storm clouds in the skies above and charged with weird energies, the nature of the air affects qualities in spoken words of some of the sailor's voices on deck, warping and expanding them. A turn of phrase on deck may seem to cascade upwards, becoming a thunderous echo above. Or perhaps that's just a shared hallucination of some crew. Ahead, lightning flashes to illuminate flash-bulb vignettes of very-bad-things spread across many leagues: Some hazy terror ambulating upon three cyclopean pillars, lightning boils out of charcoal clouds to stab the sea making depth charge blossoms of flash-bulb glimpses, a portion of the sea floor thrust up from the bottom creating a serpentine ribcage causeway, patches of whirlpools swirling about of a size that could possibly threaten an Ark, and localized torrents of rain the colour of blood.

Ruby's forward collection of ships of fleet Triskelion (and some of the enemy fleet) are disgorged into this area of the path seemingly like a spread of buckshot, or dice from a cup. Speeds are kept relative so it is like arriving in a new shadow through shifting at sensible speeds, rather than shipping stones at terminal velocity. However, as the crippled Node has welcomed and drawn in the hundreds of ships, it has done so randomly. Forces previously locked into battle, unless tethered by grappling lines, are now speckled across the hellish ocean in brand new fun positions.

Quinlan looks at the spread of ships, and then to Maggie. "Well. This is a ship type thing. How do you want to round them up? Would the attacking ships come running if we pretend we have a broken wing? Or something?"

As the ships being dragged along by Flame's power reel into the pull of doom, Flame fights the screaming desire to make things ahead just a little nicer, a little easier. This is not her circus so she resolutely follows Incarnate's instructions. Don't fight it. Don't change it. Just ride it in.
On arrival, the ships under Maggie's control scatter like dry leaves before a wild hurricane though they do not go too far from the epicenter of her power. Their captains, friend and foe alike take stalk of where they have ended up in relation to each other and the Path's dangers. In the distance, one or two careen away from the three legged monstrocity marching along. They look like sea shells child-tossed into the shallows in comparrason to the creature's massive form.
Closer in, the Duchess roils in the waves, looking for all the world like an abandooned husk, a prize for the taking. Near the Sea's Treasure, Fisk's Fist, the Merry Maurader and the Tail Spinner fight to keep their heading.
Turning to Quinlan, Maggie's eyes are wide and staring for a moment as the horrors of their current predicament sink in. A blink and she passes one hand across her brow, "I think that the Duchess has been damaged and her crew have something planned. She would be a good one to use as a lure. But, let's use the Begman contraption and see if we can raise Incarnate before we start too much. I am hoping that she has a plan. If not, we'll use what we have here and strike hot and fast." As if either 'hot' or 'fast' were really possible.

The surviving 'cloaks mill about chattering in that language of theirs, by the sounds of it all quite amazed at... whatever the hell that trip was... and now they're here, and they're sort of getting their bearings (probably meaning they're trying to figure out where to start the killing again.
Mist Wort, also looking a bit amazed at the travel, and also trying to figure some stuff out, stands up and scratches his head, his butt, and really wherever he happens to feel like scratching, as though somehow that helps him think. "Well this looks like a bit of a mess now, doesn't it?" he proclaims to no one in particular.

The Vanilla Bean and the Cocada, the two support ships that had been under the Fat Tiger's protection, don't quite reappear where the Spicy Melissa and Big Sauce did. They're... a ways. Lhasa looks about wildly and pulls up her spyglass to search for them, catching the distinctive striped mast and checkerboard flag of the Bean with a breath of relief. She then goes wide-eyed in her search for for landmarks in the hellscape... She sees the Ark with the babies in it, not far to the... uh, is that north? She calls out in her Shadow-skipping voice so that her 5-ship coterie can hear her. "We're half a league, ah... North, of the nursery Ark! Stay back if you can help it, if you need cover join us here!" She then turns her head so that her voice goes only to one person, Ruby. "Big Sauce awaiting orders, Incarnate."

Boaz groans as the waves under the ship grow even more wild for a moment. Then there is a pop of air preasure and the waves settle down into something almost normal. Granted they're now in a fresh new Cibolan hellscape and this doesn't seem like a large improvement to the tall Sukho male. "Oi...oi, oi, oi! Wha' tha 'ell is dis den?!" ,he mutters to himself as they appear off to one side of the scattering of ships and looking like a toy boat in a childs bath who happens to be having a tantrum. Creatures? Waves? Madness. All mixed in one.
"Well dis 'ere is jus spiffeh!" He grouses with eyes wider then they should be. "Fin' meh the Beast and lets get us undah the wing of some fellow ships! Move MOVE!" he calls to the crew.

The ships with the Bedlam are all miraculously still afloat, owing in part to a well-organized division of duty; even in the midst of bloody shipboard battle, the deck and rigging crew gauge the changing faces of the storm throughout. While their shipmates are repelling boarders, they struggle with twisting sails to keep their precarious line of ships from colliding or capsizing, thereby dragging the whole lot into the deep. Now, as the last grapple lines snap away, the network of ships tears apart on an ever expanding tidal swell, they can only attempt a frantic reduction of sail, clinging to mast, rigging and yardarm through sheer survival instinct, and screaming as they go.

Their erstwhile dance partners can barely be called seaworthy at this point, with cracked masts and smoldering holes through their upper hulls and decks, in through which water slops with each toss of the malignant sea. Sailors flung into the drink barely make a ripple in the unquiet waves and are summarily erased from existence. With Merri's squadron bearing witness, one of the Consortium vessels is swept into a bony spire that rises from the depths, and folds around it like a snapping twig. The tusk slopes back underwater, dragging the wreck with it.

"This is the last stop!" yowls Merri at the surviving combatants on the deck of the Bedlam. "All but the contingent crews get below!" He raises his saber in a high flourish and in the glare of lightning webs it flashes like a beacon. A mad scramble over the pitching deck results in most of the sailors escaping the horrors above deck, saving their lives if not their sanities. "Martin! Yvonne!" Merrisol skids and skates along to the quarter deck where the Patternites are lashed. "Where's the rest of Triskelion! Where's Ruby!" His drenched face is a mask of wounds and intense shock. "Where's..." He doesn't finish that one, only lifts his hand to stare at his wedding band, and a ribbon of blood that has fluttered out from it, wavering uncertainly.
Well, it isn't the first time there has been red streaming down the face of the Steel Seal and, odds are, it won't be the last. In spite of the different color to the water, Clive fights through it to keep his charter cleared while working with the Chimera's navigator to stay on the path. Between checking on the other ships, checking on the fleet, navigating the trail, keeping the ship afloat, and managing the continuing melee... it is a minor miracle that they've made it through. Clive has his compass out, looking through a slit at the end, scanning back and forth, before he snaps it shut with a quick nod of approval. The guns get back into more of a rhythm now, though mostly as a deterrent to maintain space while they get reorganized. Barnaby is hard at work on the main deck, keeping the crew on task and relaying messages to be signaled back to the fleet while waiting for orders.

RPG: Maggie challenges a difficulty of 12. Maggie chooses Resolve and the gifts BLD-OB, SKL-OB, and SKL-SC. Maggie succeeds.

The scattered enemy fleet is in general disarray. During the long haul there have been some losses, but on the whole there still must be over a hundred vessels now careening about as they try to find the weather gauge and keep from capsizing. The abrupt arrival sees a number of salvos committed and now most likely just wild expenditure of ammunition. And gunpowder just fails. The enemy fleet is relying upon signaling flags and more sensitive means of communication. Both of these suffer by degrees. The former because some Captains might be trying to regain their sanity, and the latter because anything too advanced is imploding or going as inert as a lump of stone. There is an attempt to marshal their senses and forces, but this is challenged by the current environment being really hostile to life. They're stumbling badly for order and here is a precious moment for one side to reach for an advantage.

RPG: Clive challenges a difficulty of 12. Clive chooses Force and the gifts SKL-AD, SKL-SC, STY-PI, and STY-SC. Clive succeeds.

RPG: Consumed Merrisol's token G1K 'Sea Omens' for a +3 bonus.
RPG: Merrisol challenges a difficulty of 12. Merrisol chooses Resolve and the gifts PAS-DE, SKL-SC, and STY-CC. He expends token G1K. Merrisol succeeds.
RPG: Merrisol declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ g1k ]----
Author: Clive Held By: Merrisol
Date: Tue Jan 8 11:39:04 2019 Focus: 3 - SPENT
Title: Sea Omens
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Created via Song of the Sea (SEA-SN): bonus-token omens token-3 type-magic
Gift description:
The selkies know the song of the sea, and if you listen to it long and hard, it can tell you much. By listening to the sea for a scene, the character can know a little bit about the future from the sea's perspective. They will know if hard weather is coming, and they will know if the omens are good for a sea voyage. It is from this knowledge that the superstition that it is lucky to have a selkie on board your ship comes from, and that superstition is born out by the fact that the Selkie can create a 3 point token which he may give to the captain of any ship he is on, who may use it for a bonus to sea and sailing related activities. The selkie may not use this token himself.
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Token Description
Clive has spent time in the sea, listening to the song it has to offer. Enclosed is a rough bit of notes of what he has interpreted from that. Favorable winds mean the time to strike is now and without delay. Beware a shift that is coming. Prepare yourself for rough and thoroughly hostile waters that will test even the most seasoned of sailors.
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RPG_System's amendment at Mon Jan 21 20:57:12 2019:
Automated RPG message: Merrisol used up this token in .
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RPG: Merrisol used the following +declare targets: Main Deck - Beast

RPG: Consumed Lhasa's token G1E 'Sea Omens' for a +3 bonus.
RPG: Lhasa challenges a difficulty of 12. Lhasa chooses Resolve and the gifts SKL-SC and STY-PI. She expends token G1E. Lhasa succeeds.
RPG: Consumed Ruby's token G1A 'Sea Omens' for a +3 bonus.
RPG: Ruby challenges a difficulty of 12. Ruby chooses Wits and the gifts BLD-ST, SKL-AD, and SKL-SC. She expends token G1A. Ruby succeeds.

The Beast is still tethered to at least one enemy ship, the other having been made an abattoir by Wort and his cohort and maybe relegated to a future ghost ship if it stays afloat. Ruby gets fully to her feet and would feel relief at being able to relinquish all that Pattern Foo, but there doesn't seem to be a chance to catch her breath.
She staggers over to Wort and cohort, fixing him with a red-rimmed eye, "You got rid 'o one 'o those ships, aye? If we coast near some more, you do what you can do. Where we are, now it counts. Ends justify yer means, you get me?!" The communication officer nearby rocks atop his wee barstool, having lurched away from part of the R.A.D.I.O. receiver and the sheer amount of distortion before materialization. Ruby gets right up in his face, "Back tah yer post!" and then freezes as a different sort of communication reaches her. She licks at her lips as a squall of frigid sea spray crashes over the deck. "Everyone knows what sort 'o dance this be now. Last dance. Send tha word! Kill'em all!" she screams at the R.A.D.I.O. officer

"Hey! Over here!" Martin calls to Merrisol. "Yvonne's gone below decks, she'll be back up in a sec." He hadn't had a chance to look behind him. "I left them a trail, they should be able to follow. "They should come into view any minute, hopefully. The reefs are nasty here! Tell your captains to be on the alert. Lots of things wanting to chew into tasty ship hulls in these waters." He knows, he's been here before. He gets jolted and is thankful he did have something to hang on to.

An inner anxiety prickles along Maggie's consciousness. Where is Merrisol? She reaches for a spyglass when the R.A.D.I.O crackles to life with Incarnate's command. Flame blanches, knowing the importance of this venture, knowing what is at stake here. Nodding to Quinlan, she gestures off in the direction of the Duchess. "If you can see what you can learn from that ship? We might be able to lend her crew aide one way or the other. And if you spot the Bedlam?" Looking out over the ocean, Maggie calls to captain Shih, "There is a cluster of the enemy there and another there. We are going to try a straifing run. Get the canon stowed and the sheige weapons primed." Back to being Captain, then. "You," she points to the Begman R.A.D.I.O operator, "Get word to the Fist and the Spinner. I want them to tack opposite our approach so we can hit both pockets without giving the enemy a break. You heard her. 'Kill them all'. Let's hop to it."
Striding along the deck, she takes a moment to try to locate the Bedlam using the spyglass she snatched up earlier. A hint of desperate hope tries to rise within. Lifting her hand to bring the glass to her eye, she glances down to see that some of her blood has dripped onto the wedding ring she wears. The metal glints as lightning shocks the air nearby. A tiny dancing ball of flame rises from the ring. It hovers over Maggie's hand, then darts off across the battle field. Maggie's eyes follow that glimmer, fear and hope ignited in her heart.
All around her, battle preperations are made and ships under her command swoop and whirl in a dance aimed to end the lives of their enemy. The creak of seige engines being prepared for firing is felt more than heard. Flame will be ready when it is time to ignight their ordinance but for a brief moment, Maggie is not Flame. She is a woman seeking signs of her husband amid the horrors of this Shadow and this war.

Clive is downright stomping about the deck, his mood worsening the longer they go waiting on the incoming orders. For the Chimera, sans R.A.D.I.O., it takes longer than the rest of the fleet for the orders to be transcribed via more traditional and less heretical means. The flashing lights from the Indubitable catch the Selkie's eye and the corner of his mouth twitches a grin for a moment. He turns then to the middle of the ship and calls out for all to hear, "Cap'n Incarnate says... Give 'em hell! Tighten up those lines and look alive! Get ready to trade some steel! Let's show 'em why ya don't go toe to toe with Minosians!" The general orders are followed by individual orders to specific crew members and the spyglass is back out as he begins picking out his dance partner. "Twenty degrees to port! We're gonna cut a path on threw to sew some chaos, then I wanna board that fat one over there that's sittin' low. She's lookin' pretty to me right about now and I wanna know why!"

Quinlan winces, but nods to Maggie. High winds and storms are really not a deterrent or a danger to an air master; up he goes, though really just 'up' enough to avoid being in the path of ship-launched projectiles. Off to the Duchess, fact finding, and the making of things to go boom.

Wort grins REAL BIG, and it's the sort of grin that suggests HORRIBLE MURDER SCREAMING DEATH. "Oh miss, you don't have to worry about that at all, now do you? No, none at all, ol Wort will take care of them what bothers you right well and good. You just steer me close to any of those, and I'll take care of it." Then he laughs, and it was probably better when he was just smiling.
He calls out to his 'cloaks, and they gather around him near the prow of the Beast, waiting for the opportunity to make yet more ships into ghost vessels. Or at least funeral barges.

Having been apart from the others, Howler's quintet of ships avoided the worst of the deadly shrapnel and insanity. But that's over, now. Her mostly Minosian crew, adept at handling the dips and swells of rough seas by blood and by experience, are wide-eyed with fright at the rough seas and, frankly terrifying environment. They tough it out, for the most part, thanks to the steady input of instructions from Lhasa, called out in that calm, unnervingly close voice of hers. Which she probably is putting on for her crew's benefit, of course. Incarnate's instructions blare out on the R.A.D.I.O., meaning it's time to rumble! The marines on board ready their weapons and put on their game faces. Rar!
For her part, before she let herself fall into a panic as a spear of... what the hell is that?? shoots out of the water and drags an enemy ship down, Lhasa breathes in unsteadily and squints out at the shapes of enemies approaching. A certain conversation comes to mind, one she had with a particular selkie. It's not the first time Clive has provided such valuable, prescient input, and after last time, she's wise to follow it. A crooked smile breaks through the bleak expression on her face, and she lets out a short bark of a laugh, startling Magda behind her. "To port, friend. You heard the woman." The look of anxiety is gone, replaced by a grinning determination. "We fight for our lives." An enemy corvette, one with a garish beheaded unicorn painted on its side, is gaining speed in the direction of the Ark. She points at it and goes on, calmly. "That one. Let's go."

The Whiskers is also sans R.A.D.I.O. but the young lad top the mast calls down the falgs as they become clear. "Flags to read take no prisoners, captian!" He calls down and Boaz gives a curt nod. "Aye! Prepare board'n par-tay! First ship wes gets near ta that be foe we gonnah kick dere asses!" His eyes go wide. "HARD STARBOARD! WARE THE REEEF!" Then a blink as the reef becomes something large slinking though the water instead. Still it neeeds to /not/ be hit and the sloop swerves to one side tilting like a racing yaht in the high winds. Boaz leaps across the deck and snags hold of a loose line and pulls the sail taught for added wind power, joints crackling in protest as the miss...whatever it was.