The rising sun dawned with golden burnishes across the sky, as the crew pulled up the anchor and finished aligning the sails in order to head back to see. The tiny atoll rose dark behind them, its cliffs surrounding the small little bay into which the crew had brought their vessel with little room for error during the raging storm yesterday. Even at mid-day, the blackness of the storm had made it nearly impossible to see, and smallest of errors in the raging seas would have seen the ship crushed against the cliff breakers to either side.

Even within the harbor overnight as the storm barreled past, the vessel had tossed in significant chop. But the dawn had risen gloriously, and the wisps of clouds still hanging throughout the sky glowed in all the colors of the rainbown as the suns and moons reflected off them in the early morning.

By late morning, one could almost convince oneself that death had not been reaching for them, and thank the fates of the Seas and Storms for their good fortune in reaching the protection of the island.

“With all thanks to the fates, I still have no inclination how we found that small island,” murmured Tolaryian to his friend and shipmate, Norilenea as they worked togehter on mending the foresail that had torn during the late stages of the storm. “We have no Wind Mage, and, well, it should have been impossible.”

Norilenea smiled as she replied, “When you have been with Loricare as long as I have, instead of half an annual, you will come to realize that he knows these seas like the back of his hands. I don’t know how, but he always seems to know right where we are, sun or no sun, storm or clear day.”

They chatted as they sewed. It would have been easier and quicker for Tolaryian to strengthen the weave with a minor earth cantrip, but Loricare believed in everyone knowing how to do it by hand, and it had become habit amongst his crew to do everything that way, unless the direst emergency.

The one exception Loricare allowed, mainly because the clan mistress insisted all ships be outfitted with them, were the message boxes in the crow’s nest and next to the helm for alerts or reports. They had to be magically reinforced every couple of years, but that was done during the clan gatherings. When sightings arose, it made for much easier communication as it did then, as Ketilea reported in a mild voice, “Wreckage to the northwest, Captain,” instead of having to scream down from the top the mast.

“Tack a few more beams to port, Tomoar, let’s run past to see the details.” After perhaps another hour, Katilea reported again, “Captain, I am seeing some bodies, and about ten degrees to port there appears to be a dinghy, although it looks like its heavy with water, I think there may be someone in it.”

Loricare thought for a few seconds, before speaking loudly, in an oddly carrying voice, “All hands, search for survivors to commence. Tolaryian, to me.”

Tolaryian quickly helped Norilena stow the nearly repaired prime foresail for finishing later, before running across the deck towards the captain, as the rest of the crew finished stowing what they had been working on and either manning the rails or nests to scan the seas, or prepping a few supplies for tending the injured if any survivors were found.

“You wanted me Captain?” Tolaryian asked when he approached the helm deck.

“Yes, go below, and get dressed in something other than that,” nodding at Tolaryian’s normal clothes, which while functional were obviously well worn and mended, and salt stained, basic attire for working a ship at sea.

“Captain…?”Tolaryian queried with a quirk of his brow.

“Put on more formal attire, with the clan badge, and your ring. Something tells me this will be clan business, and while I am the Captain, you are family.”

Tolaryian nodded, and went below. As he changed into nicer breeches, a dyed leather vest, and a clan jacket, he still had no idea what Loricare was talking about. But, grabbing his signet ring, he went back up on deck to try and figure it out.