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On the forecastle deck of the Good Mare, a youth clad in the drab voluminous garb that entailed a monk rested his lean arms against the balustrade. Happily discovering that he was immune to seasickness, he noted every rock and cradle of the large carrack with a flavor of delight distinctive to people trying out things for the first time. Light brown eyes brilliant like the reflective waves bobbing and crisscrossing across the cerulean expanse of the Mercutian Ocean, the perpetual smile that curved his chapped lips was met in contrast to the straight faces of sailors and other veteran mariners who variously lollygagged just as he did.

Maynard Godrey breathed in the salty breeze of the open sea, and exhaled it with a content sigh. That the world was living in an Age of Discovery never seemed so palpable to him till now. It was a time of new lands to explore, hidden gold waiting to be found, and tales of glory waiting to be written down and cataloged -- and he was going to be at the forefront, armed with paper, quill and inkpot, recording it all for posterity. The very sun seemed to shine brighter than ever before. Or perhaps that was just because there was little cloud cover today.

When the ship was still docked at Brettony, he asked a sailor, "How long will the journey take?"

"A month," replied the mariner. "Or half again if we're unlucky."

So that made it twenty-five days to go if God was willing and merciful. Quite a long time. However, a wise man must know how to find some amusement in a situation of ennui, so Maynard had took it upon himself to collect stories from the people on-board. They were quite reluctant at first, but the mere possibility of getting one's opinion published in a book played quite well with the many narcissists among them, and the captain, named Kartan Syne, was especially talkative. The man had been a mercenary once, struggling to even eat with arrears to his supposedly regular stipends while under Imperial service during the Florian War.

That, and other anecdotes, Maynard had collected in his notebook, which was always fastened to his hip by a special pocket sowed onto his belt just for that express purpose. If ever he found himself bored, he'd take it out and read what he'd put in so far; or, seas permitting, he'd be above deck, leaning against the railing, and simply enjoying the tranquil waters while they lasted, as he was doing just then.

The sea air wasn't something she had become used to yet, having been born and raised well inland back on home soil, the saltiness didn't quite agree with her lungs. All the same over the last twenty five days, her body acclimated enough to the new environment, she couldn't imagine the hell this journey would be otherwise. Shayla was ambling about on deck, nothing too uncommon for the young lady seeing has there was little to do. There were only so many interesting people aboard, conversations were nice, however at a certain point even that avenue ran dry.

Auburn hair, long and straight, emphasized her facial features well, contrasted the somewhat angular shape of her chin. She let out a long, drawn out sigh, contemplating what to do. Another lap around the vessel hardly seemed appealing, nor was watching the distant waters pass by, while the vast ocean amazed her, as one who had never seen a such a large body of water at least in recent memory, it had become boring once the sight was made commonplace. Shayla's hazel eyes gazed this way and that way, still the same, she knew the voyage wouldn't be the most exciting experience, she just never expected this.

She tugged at her clothing, a plain white cotton dress, it hid the contours of her body, which was good seeing as most of her fellows were men, there were hardly any women on board. Unfortunately, depending on who's point of view, the dress was obviously not tailored for her exact size, and as such the fabric hug her chest tightly, even perhaps pushed it further out causing the pair to seem larger. May it be she were in the presence of gentlemen, or more likely sailors were careful not to ruin one of their only few... options, aboard as no one pushed their luck with her. What mattered however, was how much she came to hate the dress, a month along and she still loathed the restricting feeling the garment gave her. While on the subject Shayla wished she could tie up her hair, since it kept getting caught in what seemed like everything, she was unused to allowing the long strands hang freely. It was only a few more days, if she were lucky, then worrying about appearing average wouldn't be an issue, not in the New World.

Upon the forecastle, she had been able to learn some sailing terms, loitered a quite mysterious man, least to Shayla as he been one of the last remaining folk she had yet to communicate with, impossible as it seemed. He dressed like a monk, or maybe a missionary, he carried a book on his person, she often seen him scrawling who knows what into those pages, this clearly marked him as a scholar of some sort. After some thought, Shayla approached the scholar in a casual manner, there was no worry of his being busy, like her the man probably didn't have much to occupy himself, especially as the man stared off into the azure ocean.

"Quite a view isn't it? Although by now I say the ocean lost much of its charm, a month out does that, becomes too common if you were to ask me."

Shayla sought to spark any conversion, as she spoke her opening line she joined the scholar in his leaning against the railing, right besides him, still with quite some distance separating the two as common courtesy.