Land of Confusion

[Letho]

((Closed to those that registered))

Restlessness. Restlessness was the theme of the sea. The deep blue ocean was forever restless, forever in motion, its waves going to and fro from one watery nowhere to the other. Even when there was naught but a mild breeze filling the fully deployed sails, pushing the ship with an almost motherly gentle touch, the sea didn’t seem calm. That restlessness seemed contagious. It crept into the people that sailed upon those seas, filling them with a peculiar type of anxiety that made the small cabins smaller and the silent nights deafening. There was nothing glorious about sailing, just a whole lot of the blue color as far as the eye could see, darker below the horizon and brighter above it. Even the sunsets seemed bleak so far away from the land. The coloration was the same, the same spectrum of oranges and reds and blues and purples inflamed by the dying sun, but with only the shimmering water to see it die, that death wasn’t nearly as glorious.

That was, at least, how Letho Ravenheart felt about sailing. To the Corone Marshal it was a necessity, and a bothersome one at that. It wasn’t natural for a man to sit atop of a pile of wood, floating over the fickle waves with naught but the mercy of nature to count on. Firm soil under your feet and a good horse, that was something you could rely on. Waves and winds were treacherous; they seemed to adhere to no law other than that of the gods. The sea was a bitter mistress, regardless of what the hardboiled captains said. How these sailors managed to practically live aboard their ships was beyond Letho. It was a life he could never live, of that he was certain.

Some of this discomfort showed as the bearded swordsman stood on the main deck, one shoulder against the mainmast as his eyes focused on a group of darker clouds just above the horizon. He wasn’t seeing too much of them, though. What his frowned eyes saw was Myrhia and their home in Willowtown where he left her, endless green of the Concordia and the golden wheat of Yarborough, the peculiar architecture of Irrakam which was waiting at the end of this long journey, pretty much anything except the never-ending blue that was all around him. One day of the marvelous blue sea was quite enough. A week was downright boring.

“You have good eyes, Marshal,” a voice interrupted him from his daydream, drawing attention to the scrawny man that walked up to him. Dressed in faded blue pantaloons and a worn sleeveless jacket that might’ve been brown once, the captain of the Acheron failed to fall into the archetype created by the men of his vocation. Usually captains liked to think of themselves and masters of the sea and larger than life, wearing uniforms that distinguished them from the sailors. Compared to them captain Eagrose was a modest man, stark when sternness was necessary but rather leisurely when the winds were mild and the sea was calm. He nodded his head towards the gathering clouds. “The souther is bound to bring those clouds into our path.”

Letho almost felt relieved at the news. The travelling had been rather dull the first four days, with fair winds and smooth sailing. The few travelers that bought tickets for the trip out of the Yanbo harbor seemed rather reclusive, keeping to their quarters and to their own corners of the deck. A storm perhaps wasn’t the best way to break the dull calm, but at this point it seemed better than another day of fish broth and sailor jokes and pissing downwind.

“How soon?” the Marshal asked the captain. Pushing the blanch blonde locks of his long hair out of his face and behind a red bandanna, the experienced mariner shielded his eyes from the setting sun as he gave the clouds another look.

“Six hours, maybe less. It’s bound to hit us during the night.” The captain dropped his wrinkled hand and stuffed it into his pocket instead, producing a wad of dry tobacco. He put some of it in the corner of his mouth, where the teeth were still good enough to chew, offered some to the Marshal and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket when Letho refused. “But don’t you worry, Marshal. It’ll be a breeze for old Acheron here. She’s seen more than her share of storms and came out unscathed.”

Letho wasn’t certain how much truth there was in those words. It sounded to him like something you told children to keep their mind off the danger, like that there’s no boogeyman in the closet and that there were no monsters. But given the age of the captain – which was easily twice that of the Marshal – there had to be some truth to his claim. That was enough to ease Letho’s mind for the time.

“Good. So what’s for dinner today?”

The captain smiled a black, toothless smile. “Broth, what else?”

[Tshael]

Storms brought energy with them. It curdled in the sky, growing thick as the clouds billowed and gathered. The horizon would darken as the sun was blotted out before sunset. Under normal, everyday circumstances, Tshael quite liked a good storm. On a boat, she wished that the tension that was strumming in the atmosphere meant anything but a storm. She'd never actually been on a boat during foul weather, but filling mugs in a sea port's pub had given her enough stormy sea stories to last a lifetime. Waves sloshing over the rails, flooding the deck and everything below, thunder playing with the masts and wind tilting the ground this way and that sounded like a pure nightmare. Add to it all the simple fact that Tshael couldn't swim, and it came together for a recipe of terror.

The Dranak race had been created with a lot of skills. Druids and mages of the forest, they were quick, powerful and calm. In Concordia, they were in their perfect place, diamonds in a beautiful setting. The muscle and strange structure, while interesting to look at and deadly in battle, was dense and heavy. If Tshael were to tumble off the side of the ship, she'd sink like a rock in full armor. It was a handicap she was well aware of - her nightmares were a long progression of drowning accidents.

She'd been in the kitchen long before the cook's had even started dinner, chatting and extending offers to help. The currents had been churning in anticipation of the storm, bouncing the deck more quickly than Tshael had experienced before. Green in the face, she'd retreated below. Now that she was more comfortable, stirring the fish broth that bubbled in the dented and discolored stewpots, another strong current tossed things to the side. Hot broth sputtered from the top of the pot, scalding her hand. As Tshael yeled and pulled it back, shoving the burnt side of her hand into her mouth, the other cooks started to laugh. The boat moved to the other side now, and one of the men reached over to grab a bowl of lemon juice that had begun to slide down the counter.

"I'm afraid if the damn floor doesn't stay still," Tshael gasped as she found a cabinet to hold on to and began to stir again, clouds of fish meat and herbs floating up in a cream colored cloud, "I might be sick into the pot."

"Eh," one of the cooks shrugged noncommittally, "Might make it taste a bit better."

The ship's kitchen exploded into riotous laughter, even as the mage giggled nervously and kept stirring in the vain hope that her intuition was off and no trouble would come this night. The problem was that a woman's intuition was very rarely off.

[Irene]

Irene felt blessed by her backround. Most species, especially certain types of dwarves would be very sick at the approach of the storm and the rocking of the boat.
However, she had the blood of many different mer species in her veins. As such, she felt practically thrilled at just being to sea, let alone going through a storm. Idly she wondered if something was wrong with her.

"We're going through a storm, isn't that like the most amazing thing ever?!" she asked, a lilt of excitement clearly obvious in her voice. The sailors just gave her a dirty disgusted look and went back to their business.

Then she heard the roll of thunder, and froze on the spot. There was a voice in that thunder, but she was one of the few Althanians capable of hearing THAT voice. As thunder rolled in occasionally, she kept hearing the same voice in the thunder. She only knew it was one of the thayne, an outsider to the elders, yet treated with respect, like a friend or a neighbor.

"I don't understand, what are you talking about?" she asked the voice in the storm.
The sailors looked at her and just shook their head.
"I knew the priesthood was strange, I suppose she'll tell us she was talking to her diety." muttered one.
"Unlucky is what it is. I bet you a silver piece we don't live the day out." muttered another.

Irene shook her head, and went below decks to the galley because dinner was about ready to begin. Despite recieving cryptic messages about islands that are not she was still excited about being to sea. She was especially excited about being on the same ship as a legend like Letho Ravenheart. The Corone Ranger was a living legend in her hometown of underwood. Everytime he was about, she kept glancing at him like he was about to do something amazing. Disappointingly, he hadn't yet, but that didn't stop her from getting excited about his presence like some star-struck twit.

She entered the galley and spotted one of the other passengers in there looking little seasick. Irene pitied the poor woman for not being able to fully enjoy the sea's splendor. She wondered where the other passenger was. Shrugging, she sat down at a nearby table listening to the voice in the storm.

[Tainted Bushido]

The candle provided sparse light in the room, its golden rays trying desperately to eliminate the shadows that attempted to engulf it. It was a losing battle, but the candle was too stubborn to merely give up, much like the occupant of the room. A hand reached out and picked up the oily rag as once more it was put to the blades before him, in a tiring effort to prevent the blades from rusting in the far more humid climate. Once the man was satisfied he picked up each blade an examined it, first the Katana, of which was perhaps his most precious.

The blade sang as it moved through the air, moving with a fluid grace that the wielder had come to appreciate. As he looked upon the blade he realized it too had only just begun its journey, having been forced with its master out into the greater world. No one could honestly say what would be come of this, but it did bring his thoughts back to how he had ended up on the rickety ship, with a crew that didn't understand his customs.

~*~

He ran fast his blade held tightly in his grip even as he waved the peasantry from in front of him. Most of the people had the sense to evade the ronin, for obviously he was going somewhere important, even as his heart pounded in his chest. His best friend, the only ally he had left in the world had just tried to kill him, and he had almost fallen victim to it. As he shoved the anger down he used it to fuel his stride as he rushed to the docks. Sailors moved swiftly out of his way, and one even was shoved hard into the seas.

Sliding to a halt he looked around desperately, trying to find something that he could use. He was more than certain the guard had already poured out of the estate and was in search of him. They were ready to kill him for the crime of existence, merely because he was damned to Jigoku. As he finally caught his breath he saw the ship, old rickety, and of western origin, probably one of the many that came from Radasanth to stop briefly in Yanbo Harbor.

Sliding his Katana in its sheath he walked up quickly as he saw one of the men down by the gangplank shouting out orders. His gate came evenly as he waited hiding from obvious view from the shore by standing closer to one of the many poles that formed the supports of the docks. When finally he could afford no more delay he gently cleared his throat.

"Can I help you sir?" The sailor was older than most. His shirt discarded under the hot sun as far too warm. His black hair was held under a rag that served to collect the sweat from his brow. He seemed irritated at the distraction, so Taka spoke quickly, his accent thick on his voice.

"I need passage, and quickly, how much?" The words while simple were loaded as he looked the man in the eyes. His white hair billowed in the wind even as it occurred to him how conspicuous he looked.

The man sighed as he looked at the sheet and said, "You're damn lucky, we over prepared and got too much supplies for our next trip. We need some way to recoup, so if you got 25 gold, you're on. Just don't get in our ways."

"Arigato," Taka said swiftly as he paid the man, pressing the coins into his open palm before he chucked his thumb on the ship.

"Just get aboard," The man replied sternly.

~*~

As he finished wrapping his Katana and Wakizashi in the cloths soaked in oil he sighed, placing them on his hip, letting the familiar weight comfort him. Rising up he carefully washed his hands of the oils, before he ventured forward, having heard the call for dinner. Making his way through the small ship he eventually made his way into the galley.

He wore his blades, but his armor had been left back in the room. While an odd practice, it was more a custom than anything. It was a mere showing of status. He doubted he could have even drawn them given the oil soaked cloths that had been wrapped about them, trying desperately to prevent rust upon his honor and soul. Taking a seat at one of the tables he waited patiently for the food to be served. His mind wandering as he considered the possibilities of how to break the grip of the Taint upon his soul.

[Letho]

Letho entered the galley just as the queue for the food started to form in front of the steaming pots, and when he did the whole room seemed to hold their collective breath for just a moment. The hushed conversations in the corners came to a stop, eyes that had been wandering aimlessly beheld him with interest and suspicion, even the ladles that had been stirring the soup seemed to stop. Such a reaction nearly made the Marshal smile, more so because he understood the reasoning behind it. He was a lawman, a rather famous one at that, and most of these seamen had a skeleton or two in their closets. Some were perhaps honest, hard-working folk just out to make some honest money, but most probably had something chasing them, something that exiled them to a life on the endless sea. It was only natural for the guilty to feel antsy in the presence of the law.

Advancing farther into the room, Letho’s spurs jangled solitarily in the thick suspense around him, and when he approached the line that has been forming, the tanned sailors all moved away to make room for the swordsman. The one that was first in the line, a scrawny, youthful lad with long and probably sticky fingers, even offered the Marshal his bowl. This finally broke the stern expression on Letho’s bearded face, making him crack a thin smile.

“Everybody is so polite,” he said with a cryptic smirk, accepting the tin bowl from the young sailor. “I reckon either the broth is terrible or you people have something to hide from the law.”

If the room activity was at a standstill up until that point, it went literally dead after those words. One of the cooks, a chunky bald fellow with a scarred cheek, was stricken enough to drop the ladle into the soup. None knew the reason why Letho Ravenheart was onboard. The brooding swordsman’s words were scarce, but his eyes were ever-watchful, like that of a wolf on the prowl. It wouldn’t be unthinkable, some of the crew had rumored, that his mission here was to apprehend a thief or two, perhaps even a murderer that evaded the law by signing up with the crew of the Acheron. And if that was the case, this was bound to be a grim voyage for a good part of the crew. Luckily for the criminals cloaked with the clothes of the mariners, Letho put a stop to that rumor before the broth went cold.

“Ease up, lads. I am not on official duty,” the Marshal admitted, allowing a collective sigh of the room in which the activity restarted with a forced laughter or two before it settled in a regular murmur. Letho turned his attention to dinner.

The redhead on the other side of the pot wasn’t a pleasing sight to the lawman, scrunching his face back in an expressionless frown. He had seen her several times before, parading on the decks in naught but her skin and fur. She was of a peculiar kind, her physique no different than any other woman down to the waistline. But beyond it she had the legs of some beast, ending up with hoofs instead of feet. Still, regardless of this oddness, her bust made it clear that she was a woman and it should’ve been properly covered. The fact that it wasn’t made Letho believe that she was the ship’s whore, someone who was paid good money to keep the sailors entertained during the long journey. A pathetic, dishonorable vocation if ever he saw one. That was why he took his food without a word spoken and walked off to the nearest vacant bench.

Even as he did so, the rapid chiming of a brass bell cut through the mutter of the room. Most of the seamen didn’t seem to pay heed to it, even if the look in their eyes made it clear that they’ve heard it. It was a call from the captain, of course, to man the deck, but the dinner was about to be served and they were reluctant to leave with their stomachs empty. Besides, the thunder and the rocking wasn’t that bad yet. They still had time to eat before...

“You mingy dogs!” The words were spewed after captain Eagrose kicked the door of the kitchen inwards. The next item his foot struck was one of the tables, tipping it over together with a pair of candles and four bowls that went rattling down the planks, spilling their contents over the floor. “On the deck, NOW, of I’ll put my foot so far up your arses that you’ll be chewing on my boot! NOW, MOVE IT! There’s sails to roll and ropes to pull and pay to earn!”

Unlike the bell, the raving of their captain was enough to get the sailors moving. They cleared the room in less than a minute, grumbling as they went, leaving behind but a few. Besides Letho, the cooks and the ship’s little plaything, only two others remained; the woman with strangely-colored hair that seemed to be in a world of her own and a shady, armed man that seemed content to sit alone in the far corner of the room. And just like the broth, they failed to interest the Marshal.

[Irene]

Irene was finishing the last of her broth as the last of the sailors filed out on deck. She wasn't quite sure where the ship was going, but had recieved the ticket from a wealthy patron of a temple she had been speaking at close to Yanbo harbor. She really didn't care, but as meals were finished thoughts usually turned to the introspective. Her thoughts might've stayed there if a lightning bolt struck close to the ship. One could feel the electricity in the air.

The rocking of the ship became more severe, as the ship climbed up one side of steep canyon walls, only to plunge down their other side at break neck speeds. The wind screamed through the sails, clutching at them like one of the mad. Lightning illuminated determined faces on deck, and some terrified ones below. Thunder growled at the ship, as though warning it of the danger it was in.

Irene's skin managed the remarkable feat of turning from blue to green as she began to feel seasick as well. She wasn't terrified, she just wasn't use to rough weather on a ship. As it creaked and groaned, whimpering it's way through the storm, she wondered how much the ship could hold. Subconciously, she slid closer to Letho, as the the stories and legends surrounding him could somehow make her safer, protect her from a fierce storm she was not used to.

"It's not a hurricane, is it? I've heard stories of such fierce storms at sea ripping ships apart like a toy." Irene asked, uncertainy waivering in her inexperienced voice. Her wings were shaking slightly, as she nervously sat there in the storm.

[Tshael]

"Don't talk about that out loud," Tshael said, waving at Irene. Her Concordian accent was thicker with sickness as she filled her own bowl and leaned against the wall to sip at it. It was nothing so good as had been cooked over the hearth of the Silver Pub, but better than fare she'd scrounged on more than one adventure. Even as she managed to drain the last of the broth, grateful for a hot, light meal to keep her grounded, her mind strayed from this room of vagabonds and tourists.

Her destination wasn't completely clear to her. She'd been following intuition in the last long months since her child had been taken away, body and soul torn two ways. Already her business in Dheathain had concluded and there was but one more piece to her puzzle before she could go forth to restore that what she truly loved. Setting the bowl aside, the tin clacking too loud against the butcher board counter in the silent room, she rested her hands upon her stomach. The fingers curled, the rough edges of stretch marks beneath her touch. It was the only thing that strengthened her these days; the knowledge that it was she who had created life and she who would defend it to death.

Now, with the thought of trials before her brought to the fold, she let her mind wander to these other strangers who'd stayed behind after the sailors had gone up top. The only one she knew was the ranger Ravenheart. It seemed the Silver had brought it more than a fair share of people who would talk about the lawman, be it in curses or praises. Sometimes in Corone, that line was so painfully clear; you were either a criminal or a victim.

Again, just thinking of these battles, she'd shaken herself. Crossing over to the table, she sat down with Letho and Irene, admiring the colors of the woman's hair for a moment before her eyes were drawn to the table itself. In the grooves between the planks, tiny seeds rested. Perhaps from some meal or snack long past, they'd rolled to a place where they were save from the digestions of hungry men. Her nails scouring the grooves, Tshael pulled four of the seeds out, letting them roll down her fingers to sit in her palm.

"With the good ground so far from here, the storm has too much power," she muttered, leaning in and placing a kiss at the side of the seeds. Her breath stirred them, and she closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened the golden orbs once again, pulling her face away, the seeds still shook as if moved by the phantom spirit of her breath. Slowly, the sound of life creakingly trying to free itself coming from them, they sprouted pale green foliage. A smile teasing at Tshael's expression, she placed a seedling before Irene and Letho, tossing one with a flick of her wrist towards the quiet Ronin in the corner. Then, she picked up the last remaining and tipped her head in cheers to the others and ate it.

"For good luck." she said. It had been the proper thing to do in her mind; she didn't know just how much they'd need it.

[Tainted Bushido]

The Ronin had taken to reading when the storm had begun. With a sigh he closed the book of samurai tales before he looked about and saw that most were feeding. The other passengers on the ship had taken to hunkering together, and wishing at least to not be a complete introvert he moved over tot he galley and ladled himself some of the sea broth. While not unaccustomed to such a thin meal, he usually preferred rice to accompany it. Still he would take what he could get, considering his situation.

Moving over to the table he saw the woman had done some sort of magic, perhaps praying to the Kami and unleashing the potential of a few seeds. Deftly catching the pod he sat down and dipped it into the broth, attempting to liven up his meal before he ventured a look outside. When he spoke his thick Akashiman accent moved forth as he spoke, "Too early in season for a large storm. Susano'o merely rages tonight, I have no doubt that this too shall pass."

Drinking from the broth he caught the plant in his lips before he put the bowl down and ate the proffered plant. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked about, recognizing the other man at the table as a Corone Ranger, only by his garb. He had not grown up in the greater Coronian area, and so while he knew of Letho Ravenheart, he certainly knew nothing about the man. It made him tense a little, if only because the man was supposed to be some sort of Coronian Magistrate, and Taka was technically an exile of Akashima. He didn't know how the man would react to him, or even if he would force Taka to return to Yanbo Harbor to face his execution.

Placing his book idly beside him on the table he looked at the other two occupants. His analytical mind immediately tagged them, the girl was a noncombatant. While her colorful display made her no odder than the white haired ronin, she also didn't have anything that defined her as much of a warrior. The other one however, the half-beast, held a warriors confidence. Even as she spoke of not tempting the fates, Taka could sense she was seasoned in the art of war. It was much like the Marshall who sat across from him. These two seemed more like comrades in arms than threats, but even still he remained silent, if only to have it remain such.

Finally he decided to venture conversation as he decided that the silence was as damning as noise. The ship lurched to and fro, threatening to make some of the unbolted furnishings to slide, even as he felt the benches begin their course towards the back of the ship, it crested over the wave and continued forth. His eyes carefully looked outside as he prepared for the worse and spoke, "Susano'o seems particularly angry today, perhaps the other Kami have punished him again?"

[Letho]

Letho listened to others speak and stirred the murky liquid in a lazy circle, occasionally catching his bowl as it started to follow the inertia of the rocking ship. He listened, but heard more than just words. It was the gestures that spoke louder than that which was said, the inadvertent motions of a hand or the sitting posture of a person that revealed that which was held back, details undetected by untrained perception. The searching, unsecure eyes of the woman with the vividly colored hair, the wistful pause in the she-beast’s speech before she joined the table, the tone of the secluded warrior, they all whispered to the Marshal the secret of the true nature of those that he dined with. But he decided to leave the mystery just that; a mystery. He wasn’t in a mood to make new acquaintances tonight.

“There are no gods in this watery wasteland, only the sea devils,” he retorted to the ronin that mentioned some oddly named deity. His hands continued to stir the soupy meal, the slanted liquid pouring over the brim of the bowl as the ship took another dip over the wave crest. He left the magically sprouted plant where the hoofed woman laid it down. Magicks were something he liked about as much as the sea, and he liked magicks of complete strangers even less. For all he knew, the grass could be an opiate that would knock them out and allow the woman to rob them blind before throwing them overboard with an anchor tied to their necks. Instead of spicing up his meal with the plant, he stuffed one hand in the inner pocket of his overcoat and produced a small, leather-bound parcel. Once unwrapped, it released the scent of smoked bacon that contested the dominion of the fishy smell of the broth.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, though,” Letho finally added, adding a streak of light to the gloomy atmosphere as he sliced several strips of meat. He took one and bit on it, leaving the rest in the middle of the table for others to help themselves. The see-sawing table, more and more slanted with each second, made him spill another portion of his broth, but with the salty taste of smoked meat in his mouth, he the Ranger wasn’t overly saddened by the loss. He swallowed the meat, ran it down with the lukewarm soup (and nearly coughed at the contrast that hit his taste buds) and finished his thought. “Captain Eagrose assures me that he had dealt with storms like this before and I’m inclined to believe him. He doesn’t strike me like a man that would waste words on trite deception.”

The storm outside, growling from above like a beast awoken from the winter slumber, didn’t seem to like that remark. For as soon as Letho voiced it, a massive wave struck against the hull of the ship, making the wood crack ever so silently as the Acheron was struck by the watery might. And suddenly the bowl wasn’t the only thing sliding down the slanted wooden surface. Cups and plates on the bolted tables, benches and rattling pots and cans of spices, all moved collectively, skidding into the far end of the room. The four that palavered weren’t an exception.

The bench on which Letho sat made a move towards the wall, together with the woman that sat next to him. A reflex reaction and nothing more made the swordsman protrude a leg and use it to amortize the impact before it happened, and another one managed to catch the beastly female by the elbow before she slid past him. But there was no repose to be had, for even as all three of them came to a stop, the ground beneath their feet changed angles once again, bound to send them on a collision path with the opposite wall. This time they stopped as one of Letho’s mighty arms caught a massive wooden post that supported the upper decks. With a firm hold on the post, the bench beneath was finally static. Unfortunately, the environment around them wasn’t. Even as the next wave struck, one of the cooking pots, still half-filled with hot broth, came rolling towards the three.

((Alright, whoever posts next, do something with the damn pot before we all get covered in broth. Or don't and let us all reek like fish. :P Whoever posts last can make the storm slowly die down a little.))

[Irene]

The ship was tossing about in the waves, and furniture was sliding everywhere. Irene was now outright terrified of the storm. The voice she had been listening to in it earlier was no longer speaking to her, not that she could understand the enigmas it was speaking to her anyways. She heard something sliding towards her and looked over just in time to see a pot half-filled with broth loose it's contents. Instincitnvly she shielded herself with her wings, which saved her face well enough, but caused their entire corner to be covered in fish broth.

"Eww!" Irene cried out as she was hit with fish broth. The heat didn't bother her as much as the storm did, still, she took to fluffing her dress out, shaking it trying to remove some of the heat at the very least.

She got up and took to pacing about, which considering the movement of the ship, was rather comical as she staggered about like a drunk woman. Not even the errant flapping of her wings could help her steady herself. Finally, she sat back down with an irritated huff and a final flap of her wings.

Her nerves were frazzled to their very end, and so she took to clawing at the table, sharpening her already sharp claws, making steadily deeper furrows into the table. It was ver likely that if someone were to even so much as touch her she'd scream bloody murder and attack them. She didn't mind storms on land, she wasn't tossed about then, and could sit and wait it out in a tavern. On a ship however, she felt trapped, she couldn't run, she couldn't flee, she was just it's helpless victim.

"When is it going to end?" she asked finally, banging her fist on the table and knocking the small section she had been repeatedly clawing loose. If she could flee from the storm, she would, somewhere where she wouldn't be thrown around. She half hoped something would happen that would take her mind off the storm, either discovering an uncharted island, or an attack pirates, or something.

[Tainted Bushido]

The pot clattered about even as Taka tried to steady himself about the sliding furniture. A look outside saw the entire world had gone crazy, as it almost looked like the sea had become the sky, before the ship reached the crest of the wave and rode forth. As the ship came back down harshly the furniture slide back towards its original placing, even as the ronin lifted his feet if only to prevent them from getting smashed between two pieces.

However, as the next big wave came from under them the pot clamored forth, spilling its warm contents about as it drenched the girl, causing her to wail much as Taka had anticipated. He himself did not escape the scalding water as it splashed over him, causing him to curse softly in Akashiman. His eyes squeezing shut as the immediate heat of the broth cooled upon the stormy weather. As he opened his eyes he looked down to see the front of his brown kimono a darker shade, almost as dark as when he had received it. A sigh of long suffering left him as he gingerly felt the wet patch, and felt the light burn on his skin react painfully. Hissing softly he shook his head, before he muttered softly to himself, "This certainly bodes well..."

It was at that time shouts could be heard on the deck above. The ship once again going straight up as it threatened to capsize. As it crested water washed down the stairs that led straight up to the deck, and a sound resounded through the area. A large snap could be heard as more shouting; this time more frantic could be heard. The captain bellowed something as Taka saw part of the mast crash into the sea. As he saw this however, the pot once again was sent sailing and this time he was hit by the metal instrument.

As he cried out in shock he felt a numbing pain shoot through his back as he slid across the floor of the boat. Looking behind him he only barely rolled out of the way, before with a definitive thud the pot landed next to him. Looking across the room at the others he managed, "Perhaps we should leave here and get to our quarters..."