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.
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The battle is still raging when the first signs of the Pattern are having an effect. Amidst the chaos and strife of battle where lives are being spent, a mirage of rainbow hues is draping over a section of the smoke and sky. The hint of an incomplete soap bubble of visual distortion curls from the sky to wrap a weird choke-hold around a swath of ships. It originates from above Ruby's forward position, and is probably her attempts to drag a portion towards Cibola, Friend and foe. Her Begman communication messages suffer a rapid degradation into unintelligent garble, the system losing its wig over the competing magick-power-ability use. She might have been trying to acknowledge Maggie before her particular transmitter went nuts. Ruby does her best to finesse a quick and rapid shift before the enemy can maneuver beyond her range. What she does wrestle with becomes more insubstantial looking, but it doesn't stop the hostilities.
The efforts to endure, confuse, glitter, carefully manipulate, conjure and corral are quite effectively done by all. Clive's squadron are unleashing a torrent of lightning hell on some sumptuous troop carriers after a gamble of navigation and positioning has paid off handsomely. Wynter's airborne flyboys and flygirls have come out on top of the sky battle, and now greatly outnumber the serpentine drakes, thereby controlling the air unless reinforcements suddenly appear. Lhasa's squadron have sammiched that white ship and blasted the black so good. Squishing and cannonfire raise quite a tally as she goes. Martin's own particular brand of style seems blessed by luck and his flair. There's a whole bunch of little things that add up to a barrel of positives to support his priorities.
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The enemy fleet is in sight. It fills a good slice of the horizon with sails and smokestacks. Behind it is the smudge of jungle and rocky cliffs, along with a hint of the cove that provided a means for loading ground forces. Anyone with keen eyes or a handy spyglass can tell they're in motion and in their own formation.
A vanguard of picket ships screens the main fleet. These faster nimble ships that must have mechanical bees in their backside with the frothy wake they produce for propulsion. They look better suited for coastal concerns rather than the monstrous waves that could be found on rough seas.
Behind the main fleet are more matronly vessels that look better for hauling armies around than fighting battles at sea. Not as big as the two remaining Arks.
In the skies above are the wheeling forms of blue scaled creatures. Evolution has threaded their forearms more into their considerable wingspan. Their necks are long and snake-like, with powerful hind legs. They sound like someone torturing a harpsichord.
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The prospect of many splinters in the near future, Ruby has ordered all non-combatants to muster. Arrangements are being made to segregate anyone that shouldn't be in harm's way on one or more vessels. Lacking a mind like a steel trap, some issues have arisen and escaped her thinky bits. With little time to spare, she's commandeered the magic carpet and is making all haste to one of the remaining Arks where there is apparently an ~issue~. There is still a lot of room on the flying Uber to Carpet-pool. Below the threads during the fly-over, the fleet is arranging itself into squadrons and formations. The side of the Ark they approach has a side hatch open like the lolling tongue of a doggo, and occasionally digs at the waves. The yawning section of hull is like an open mouth full of straw. "Bog's breath, there's always somethin..."
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There's no time to explain. Except there is!
By the three isles, the fleet is mustering ever since the away team made it back to the boats. The big table had been bolted to the deck, there had been visitors rainbow a-poppin in for chats. Merrisol's Snoot had set a course to do some snoofling. Sails run up and guns run out.
Ruby is by the big table and there's been little time to set the chess board. There's a mess of biscuits to denote ships, and Incarnate looks like she's trying to psionically arrange them into formations, and it's not working apart from making her eyes bloodshot. She's put out a call to Captains and companions not blowing bubbles underwater to gather around to peer at the board. There are mostly groupings of edible ships, each needing a commander. A couple gravy boats mark out the arks.
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Once upon a time...The funhouse had nice double-doors bearing a big goofy smiley face. The elements have made it a wet watercolour streaked mask of Nope-nope. Tengu and Cash-money, two rigid statue mascots of the Park, have been half melted like candles, but their plump lower extremities remain sentinels to welcome new patrons. The double doors are open now, having been smashed open by Becky and Ron, two alpha ostriches from the Ark. They're nowhere to be seen now, and the dark funhouse and its okay and not-okay mirrors are inside. There's enough room to circle the wagon-wheels inside, and perhaps temporary shelter from the insanity outside.
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Maaaa-gic, fabulous maaaa-gic! Wynter's magic works super duper well. At least, what she's attempting gets a boost. Like adding a bit of gasoline on the BBQ. It doesn't harm, just leaps into being when called for. Goes over and above what's needed. The panorama totally shows your position from above, but a lot of land has been covered since leaving the cliff, and the jungle canopy is thicc. There's the plateau of monowheels there's the edge of the army, lots of craters, junkywards, jungle, trails blazed that thread through. Fan-tastic maaaa-gic! WoooooAAAaaaaaah.
The manifestation makes Jan and Chiara's heads whip around in shock and awe. Hiccuping gasps of surprise and their vehicle is gunned to life. Goggles hurriedly yanked down.

Jan is shaken, but has the sense of self to answer the question at least. "It rests along the coast. To the north! It is a challenging route, but these are fast. Every year a storm or great tide tries to sweep over it. It is an idiot whomever built it so close to the sea!"

The sisters still with the group angle their wheel around with some fancy footwork and barely bring their feet in before tearing the plateau a new one. "If you want speed, we'll have to run the bowl!" Chiara has her goggles yanked down and a kerchief pulled up over her mouth. Jan peers back towards the the army encampment and presumably the direction they last saw Nailah. Her eyes widen and instead of peering down-ish...turn up-ish towards the sky with a helpful lift of her chin. "We have to go fast. We have to go very fast!"
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Steel. Rock. Cavern. Steel. Rock. Squashed layer of disturbing contents. Steel. Rock. Honeycomb. Nothing but air baby. The ramp is a literal launch, and the two Wheelies driven by the sisters embrace it completely. Everyone's vehicle gets to go airborne. Those clever clogs releasing the nitro accelerant get ~much better~ air time and the G's. The landscape falling away from the Loonie leapers shows a panorama of forest and gravity is starting to reach up greedily at all that momentum. If one has their wits about them to note details, there's some interesting bits gleaned: They've come quite a distance from their starting position and the cliffside penitentiary is a speck. There are whole sections of jungle that have been previously blasted to hell. A graveyard of wrecked machine over yonder, buildings taken over by vines, craters with a faint diamond shimmer in their bowls. Hmmm...there's quite a bit of dust kicked up almost dead ahead, but some miles distant. The oppressive sun glinting off numerous things near the curve of the coast.
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Chiara and her two sisters are on the prowl. The visitors are still considered a novelty and have so far provided more gratifiable feedback than their fellow residents. So they've come looking for members of Femme Squad. Dressed in such a way that falls more in line with how some Xena'd it up when disembarking from the Beast. Hair pulled back and bound. Leathers and tight fittings. A few sheathed weapons. Backpacks and braces, baybeee. The dress code during the mess hall light and sound show was not like this: Adventure Time.
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