Expedition Open Voyage to Croper’s Cove: Troubled Waters.

[Silvertongue Songfox]

It had been three days since the Hide set sail once more, she was where she belonged now. Her sails mighty wings that pushed her across the endless oceans, her great domain that she reigned over as queen. The sun had set some time ago and most of the crew was below deck, save for a lone lookout in the crow’s nest. An old stoat wearing a striped shirt and a bandana around his head. He was smoking a pipe and idly searching the waters for threats. His eyes drooped a bit, but he startled as he heard someone climbing up the rigging.

Looking down, he blanched to see it was Lieutenant Songfox. He was twenty years older than the Lieutenant, but he was still outranked, and knew of the Lieutenant’s disdain for smoking. He quickly stowed the pipe and stood to attention, saluting as the Lieutenant hopped into the crow’s nest. “Lieutenant Songfox, Sir!”

“Um… at ease, sailor.” Silvertongue nodded awkwardly. He hated the title, and the aura that it carried. He wanted to be seen as an equal, not a superior. “I’ve come to relieve you for the night. Feel free to go and get some rest.”

The sailor stood, dumbfounded. “Is… is this some sort of test, Sir?” He finally asked.

“No, and- please drop the ‘Sir’. You’re older than me. Trust me, I was fairly surprised about the whole thing, too. Please, you ought to go sleep. We need all of our crew in proper condition for this voyage.”

The soldier decided not to push his luck, and he nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Sir- I mean Lieutenant Songfox.”

The soldier quickly clambered down the rigging, leaving Silvertongue to his own devices in the Crow’s Nest. Silvertongue wrinkled his nose. The sailor had been smoking. The Captain had advised him that trying to outright ban smoking would go poorly, so he had to endure it for now. Silvertongue sighed and he scanned the horizon, before he glanced at his locket, looking at the portrait of his parents wistfully.

Before he knew it, he had started to doze off. Strangely enough, he didn’t even think he had been that tired. In his minds eye, Silvertongue was on the deck of the Hide, and standing there were his parents.

“Mother…” He approached the older vixen, Marit, dressed in a blue silk dress, who smiled at him. “I can’t make some new memories.”

“Father…” He turned to his father, Firetail, still standing in his military uniform, who saluted Silvertongue. “I’ll be a better son than I ever was.”

As he walked closer, his parents spoke in unidison. “Please keep your eyes open.” They said as they walked backward.

“Why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy?” He asked, rushing forward to hug them, but they held him back.

“Please keep your eyes open.”

“I keep on trying to embrace you both, why won’t you let me?!” Silvertongue asked, stepping back.

“Please keep your eyes open!” They repeated.

Silvertongue looked at his uniform, something completely foreign to him, then back to his parents. “So much has changed, but I’m the same! Yes, I’m the same!” He then rushed forward, slamming into them both and wrapping his arms around them

“Please keep your eyes open. Keep your eyes open.” Firetail said.

“Wake up.” Marit said softly. “Wake up!” She grabbed his chin. “Silvertongue, you are in grave danger, WAKE UP!”

Silvertongue startled awake, jumping up and looking around for the danger. That’s when he spotted it. In the distance. Dark clouds that blotted out the stars, frothing, roiling waves. A deep rumble. A storm. It would be upon them in a matter of minutes. He felt the warmth drain from his body. Sheathing his sword, he leaned over the railing of the crows nest and shouted below him.

“STOOOOORRRRM!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, grabbing the rope of the alarm bell and ringing it wildly. “STOOOOOOORRRRRMMM!!”

 

[Amnesty Greysoul]

Amnesty knew what fear was. She had felt it when the horde took her village. She had felt it every time she found a way to play the double agent against that very same band of cutthroats in the years that followed. She had had felt it the night she finally managed to provide a more permanent solution to the problem they posed.

And she felt it now as Lieutenant Songfox's voice and the clanging alarm bell ripped her from the sleep she had just barely fallen into. Her footpaws hit the floorboards of the bunkroom before she was even properly awake and she was already halfway to the deck before she knew what she was doing.

Did she know what she was doing?

Hadn't they run drills on what to do in a storm? Should she be in the infirmary instead? But an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, and if they could ready the ship, then perhaps they wouldn't have to put the crew back together later. And Amnesty could haul rope as well as any other green recruit. So to the deck she went.

 

[Lorcan Rainclaw]

By all accounts it was yet another two hours until the shift-change would be called and, having been roused more by crewmates stumbling and scrabbling in the dark than the cry which had spurred it, Lorcan was moved to action by the air of urgency over any awareness of context. Given the apparent time pressure he didn’t bother with waiting to dress, still tugging on breeches as he made his way up with the rest.

It did not take long for the calls to reach his ears: storm. Some small part of him knew that this should be cause for alarm, that he should take this seriously. Cyclones had battered Kutoroka as long as he’d lived and the violence of the weather from the shore had been immense; he had not considered what it would be like to try and manage a ship of this size. His parents had taught him well enough how to handle rough weather on a smaller craft, but this would be a feat of coordination. Still, he presumed the storm to come was no cyclone and, led as they were by officers he trusted as experienced in such matters, Lorcan found himself increasingly fascinated at the prospect of wrestling with the waves. What a way to start a career!

The broad todd arrived on the weather deck still buttoning his waistcoat and took a moment to study the horizon. Lowering curtains of roiling clouds seemed to dwarf all else, their towering size made all the more intimidating by the lack of any land to give sense of scale. His fur prickled with that delicious combination of terror and ecstasy. How in ‘Gates had the previous watch not noticed it until now?

Such a thought was not worth the having, for the storm was to be upon them soon. Making his way towards one of the teams he went to work with a will in setting up safety lines, stringing the potential pawholds fore and aft on the deck in anticipation of slippery decking and the pitch of the ship. He kept his ears perked for any further instruction or calls for support, pausing only to pat the railing of the Hide as he made fast another line. “C’mon, girl, this should be no problem for you, eh?”

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail had been doing his level best to keep his paws steady and his stomach calm, but the sea had other ideas. The Hide’s engines thrummed their familiar heartbeat through the deckplates, yet each rise and fall of the hull tugged at his insides like a beast trying to yank the rope out of his middle.

He wasn’t even on duty anymore. He’d lingered by the engine room out of stubborn pride, checking a gauge here, nudging a valve there, pretending he didn’t feel the sweat beading at his brow for all the wrong reasons.

A shadow sidled into his periphery.

Thura eyed him like she was appraising a stack of crates about to topple. Her whiskers twitched, and her voice cut through the engine-room heat like a thrown wrench.

"Gates, Swifty, yer lookin’ greener than a toad what ate grass. Me ’n’ Grim’ll keep ’er safe. Lay down afore ye collapse, mate."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the deck dipped at just the wrong moment, and his stomach performed an acrobatic feat he wished it hadn’t. He grimaced, gripping the nearest support beam until the world steadied.

"Aye… maybe that's a good idea..." he admitted, shame warming his ears even as nausea cooled the rest of him.

Thura jerked her chin toward the passageway.

"Go on then. Before y’paint the bulkheads, aye?"

Swifttail managed a weak smile of gratitude and turned toward the corridor, paw braced against the wall as he began the slow walk toward his bunk.

Behind him, Thura waited until she thought he was out of earshot before stage-whispering to Grimshaw:

"Pssaw… engineers… d’ey never ’ave d’ere sealegs, haw hawww!"

Despite himself, Swifttail shook his head and huffed a quiet laugh. If he hadn’t grown fond of them, he might’ve taken offense. But now it just felt like sharing an inside joke among friends.

But as he was halfway down the passage, a voice tore down from above, through beams and boards like a blade through canvas:

“STOOOORRRRM!”

The alarm bell exploded overhead, its frantic clanging vibrating through every plank of the ship. Swifttail staggered, one paw flying to his middle as a surge of nausea nearly sent his lunch reeling back up for a reunion.

Breathing hard, he clamped his eyes shut until the wave passed. Fresh fear rode atop the sickness. Storms meant strain on the engines.

He swallowed, hard.
Couldn’t lie down now.

Instead of turning toward the hammocks, he veered toward the nearest ladder, shoving a paw into his satchel and fishing out a hardened nub of ginger root. Finny had begun given him the pieces months ago. Now the root was a habit he relied on often. He bit off a piece and chewed until the burn steadied him.

Salt air blasted into the corridor as he climbed, and the moment he hauled himself through the hatch, the weather hit him full-force.

Wind tore across the deck, dragging spray sideways in shimmering sheets. Crewbeasts sprinted across the planks, clipping into safety lines and hauling canvas with frantic precision. Somewhere high in the rigging, the bell kept clanging, punctuated by Silvertongue’s voice carrying across the deck.

Swifttail ducked into the gale, one paw keeping a death grip on the gunwale as he made his way to midships. He did not want to be under anybeast’s paws, so he held to the periphery, where he could steady himself and still be visible for orders.

He leaned out over the rail, letting the cold wind slap him awake and breathing deep, steady breaths that stung but cleared his head.

The storm loomed ahead like a living wall. Towering waves crashed towards them with black clouds above them roiling with pale flashes of distant lightning. The Hide rose and fell beneath him with growing violence, her timbers groaning with every shift of the angry sea below.

Swifttail took another bite of ginger, jaw working, eyes narrowed against the spray.
He stayed at his post on the rail, trembling with cold and sickness and fear, but rooted to the deck all the same.

Trying for all his might to be ready for whatever came next, and to move the moment Engineering was called.

 

[Darragh Harper]

The cannon’s muzzle was lashed tight to its housing bolts, angled up some forty degrees to point the weapon up into the hull rather than the closed gunport, and its train-tackles were hauled taut. Darragh finished looping the rope-end around the barrel and the breeching rope, giving his paw-work a good firm tug to double-check.

The young stoat moved down the row of cannon, cross-checking each cannon was secured properly. No gun crew was completely green, of course - there was always at least one experienced gunner, even considering the Hide having to make up for the losses on Urk. Still, some of the gunners were having to wrangle the new deckswabs and shake some sense into the ones going into a panic at their first storm. In all the excitement, it was necessary to have a fresh pair of eyes checking the cannons were secured fast.

A loose cannon was a deadly affair.

Darragh had only heard the stories from the Hide’s older paws. A cannon running away with the roll of the ship could crush beasts and smash anything in its path. Ships had been known to founder from improperly secured cannon wreaking havoc. One grizzled searat had relayed a harrowing story of a brave officer who danced death with a loose 32-pounder, dodging the cannon like it was a mad charging red-eyed badger, and throwing a bundle of hammocks under it at the last moment to choke up the wheels on its trucks.

While Darragh worked, he sung a song, lighthearted and nonsensical, to cheer the spirits of the crew and ease their dread of the oncoming gale. The lyrics were a bit old, and as such, the traditional version only directed its implied violent jabs at woodlanders. Darragh sang his version, which distributed the violence a little more fairly across species - and was thus more accurate a picture of life in the Imperium as a result.

”On the fourth of Merry, sixteen hundred and six,
We set sail from sweet Tookumberr-ee!
We were sailin’ away with a cargo of bricks,
For the grand town hall in Marquistr-ee!

'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft,
And Oh! How the wild winds drove her!
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts,
And we called her the Tookish Rover!

We had one million bags of the best offcast rags,
We had two million barrels of stones!
We had three million sides of old blind squirrel’s hides,
We had four million barrels of bones!
We had five million slugs, six million bugs,
Seven million barrels of porter!
We had eight million bails of lucky fox's tails,
In the hold of the Tookish Rover!

For a sailor it's always a bother in life,
It's so lonesome by night and by day!
'Til the anchor is laid and this charming young maid,
Who will melt all his troubles away!
All the noise and the rout, drinkin’ liquor and stout,
For him soon the torment's over!
Of the love of a maid he is never afraid,
An old sot from the Tookish Rover!

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out,
And the ship lost its wind in a lull!
And the whale of a crew was reduced down to two,
Just m’self and the captain's old gull!
Then the ship struck a rock, oh ‘Gates what a shock,
The bulkhead was turned right over!
Turned nine times around, and the poor old gull was drowned,
I'm the last of the Tookish Rover!”*​

*To the tune of The Irish Rover.

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue figured he had spent enough time ringing the bell. He wanted to get out of the Crow's Nest as soon as possible. He launched himself forward, gripping the ropes as he shouted out over the wind. "We need to get the sails all rigged up, stat! I mean, uh- tied up!"

Silvertongue was getting flustered in this mess. He just hoped the crew knew what he meant as he scrambled to climb down to the deck. "Make sure everything is secure!" He then rushed past every beast and burst into the infirmary. "Doctor, you might want to get our patient more comfortable. It's about to be rough sailing!"