289th Day, Off Timber. 0210 ship's time.

Wung flinches away from the dyed needle, “Surgeon steady hands, but gentle like my first woman’s father.”

“Quiet you green idiot. You begged me for this memento. If you hadn’t been bleeding all over my breechclout, for which I will bill you in brandy when we get to Timber, you’d have had chance to properly collect one. Sincerest apologies that with saving your worthless hide it slipped from thought to acquire the skull of he who almost done you in. Would that he had finished the job proper…” The surgeon taps a small hammer against the dyed needle, which leaves a blue-black puddle where it punctures the green flesh, “we would all sleep more soundly, I’m sure.” The orc seems pleased with their ongoing back and forth and guffaws as the clawed skeletal hand on his shoulder continues to take shape.

The Winds have been unruly this voyage, and travel seems frightfully slow. The air has turned bitter cold like the crystals that light the cabins. The crew has donned their altitude gear. The enclosed decks of the Olic Haversham are much better suited to these climes than those of the Swoose, but the cold and Glow still seep in through every crack. Wung refuses to wear blankets or other cold gear ‘like woman’ when inside the cabin, Medicus and Taz stay under layers of blankets whenever possible and Xisco wears Tooly’s old homemade altitude gear, wishing for a better proportioned and more fashionable suit.

But for all of it, the crew is happy enough. Rain has been sporadic but plentiful enough to keep the three remaining casks filled, having lost the forth one back in the ruin. You followed a ‘string of diamonds,’ a weeks-long line of freely drifting fibrous edible fungi that skylers feed off. You were able to parallel it for a healthy portion of the trip keeping fresh food on the table each night. In fact, you’ve salted some of the excess with the last of your salt stores in the hopes that you can sell it on Canopy for a bit more income. As you have gotten close to the ice isles, Tooly’s brazier for his bronzeworking has become a welcomed crewmember. The stores are uncomfortably low in places, lost in the ruin or used on the voyage, but most of it should be restockable in Timber.

Taz’s mustache has grown back in if its not the glorious mustachios it once was. His scalp is still patchy and short in places showing pink scars. He mended his uniform jacket at best he could, but complains about its disorder at every opportunity. The mate is pleased to be heading toward Canopy, which he has never visited but hears that the forests are something to behold.

Blendin tends to his tiny flowerpot and sings when he’s not on duty. His 3 orange blossoms are now at least 20 and flourishing. He has transplanted a few into a second wooden container, and they are already beginning to bear tiny blossoms. When the others aren’t close, he chats amiably with his wrist, who he assures everyone talks back in a ‘quiet’ voice. They don’t think the Madness has taken him, since the wildlings are supposed to be immune and more importantly Xisco related the tale of how he came by it via the Priestess Jorana. Blendin still dreams of his field of flowers, but now the flowers are purple with black leaves and bear no face. He stands in the field of them, with his tiny potted plant, and a towering shadow over his shoulder, just out of sight. A shadow outdoors…

The captain is somewhat embarrassed by his charting of the winds, which wasn’t bad per se but didn’t take into account the drift that must have happened while they were in the ruin. Hopefully the others didn’t notice. Fang is well enough to be getting into his usual trouble, eating a pair of Tooly’s socks presumably in some misguided attempt to save the crew from their stench. The captain focuses on his books when he can and has found them deeply fascinating and quite rewarding reads. He spends times with all of the books, but feels like he got a good handle on the theory of drafting in the wind off of small islands such that landings without harbors should be easier now. He also reads that Festival’s Lute found a behemoth breeding ground 2 weeks off of plenty, and things he might be able to find it; assuming its still there. The book on the winds is just beginning to get interesting.

Xisco spends a bit of time studying his artifacts and reading about drakin dialects but prefers to gamble. The crew is amiable enough with this arrangement, and the stakes are kept low so as to minimize potential altercations, but the fullish cargohold seems to help the mood.

The dwarf for his part spends a few weeks hard at work on his new bronze ‘jacked’ leather armor. Everyone remains dubious of its efficacy except the dwarf himself. That project completed, he spends some time pilfering the cargo, finding a prismatic quartz pendant he wants to turn into some manner of lens, and occasionally taking measurement of the rusty armor for conversion for the crew members. Medicus seems pleased with this plan, but the other two don’t seem very interested. He also raids the grapeshot barrel for suitable balls and powder to replenish the stock of those aboard back to ~30 shots.

Timber is much as you remember it when it drifts out of the Viodglow haze on the horizon. The single pier extends out into the void, and you see rows of fishing vessels docked; far more than you would expect for a settlement this size. The pilot boat appears to be leaving to head your direction.