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There is the gentle rasp of long strakes and a slight undulating groan of lurching timbers, as driftsilk sails flutter to a gallant breeze. The creak of hinges and the twist of rope against crosstree and knotted halyard, as the ship climbs passing clouds like mountains beneath the tempest perilous - yet those heaving gusts are hushed here, and there is sun and prophesy woven into the wandering winds that billow and swell upon your sail.
This is the wind that breathes over Highborn and Lowborn, conqueror and commoner, maiden and monster alike, that ushers away all deeds and names to be forgotten in time. Here the body is merely drifting dust, through which only the Song of the wind sings.
As the Wizard stands upon the aftcastle, gesturing and calling at the mainmast, a bird wheels beneath the keel - perhaps a sparrowhawk, startled by the buoyant trespass of this barque, that the bird sees as a graceful flying tree uprooted and intruding upon the vault of his precious domain.
Gulshara is a little awed and overwhelmed as she whispers tearfully:
- It is so peaceful up here, you can see everything! The trees are a green quilt drawn snug over the hills; the river is a blue ribbon. And this is our maiden voyage...
Lady Scantgrace venomously eyes the Half-Goblin, with the Barbarian by her side:
- I see it has been such a long time since you were a maiden, urgh...!
The Wizard, Yazdegerd, suddenly interrupts:
- I have it, I have it! This is the poop deck. The name of this ship shall be... The Lady Scatgrace!
