It took three hours of near endless paddling for the three companions to make it to the mysterious shoreline, the green growing to form into an endless tree canopy an acre or two past a tanned beach full of rough and coarse sand. Luckily for them, Ivan had the fortitude of mind to pull one of the smaller sharks he had brained onto the raft so they had something to eat once they made it to shore. Cyrdic hopped off the raft once they made it to waist deep water, using his still considerable strength to help pull the mass of wood to shore. 

Once they finally hauled it up, along with the shark, there was a brief pause as the fact they made it to shore filled them with euphoria. Cyrdic kissed Camilla triumphantly while Ivan kissed the ground in a similar fashion. 

When the two let go of their embrace, Cyrdic knew they still needed more to live. "Ivan, go set up a camp!" Cyrdic called to him. The big man's rump was still in the air from embracing the sand, and once he lifted his head, his mustache and beard was coated in the stuff. "A vire, yhes?" He said, and scramlbed to his feet. "Tonight, ve veast my friends!" He announced, marching forward to look for firewood.  

"I'll go look for water," He rasped, drying his throat by swallowing as best he could. " Here, let me see your flask. Check the beach and see if this is an island or not. Don't go too far, ok?" He told her, and the hand that was cupping her cheek let go, the soldier marching into the woods with a tired determination. 
[hr] 

Camilla would walk the span of the beach, and soon find the coast curving somewhat along the horizon, suggesting this was almost definitely an island. Somewhat large, but an island none the less. The sand was biting hot and full of shells, threatening to swallow the lithe courtesan turned mercenary up with each step. The forest to her left remained relatively quiet other than the rustle of the palm trees due to the wind. 

It was just as soon as she noticed the curve on the island, that she also saw two things that would increase her heart rate exponentially. 

In the distance, a ship was approaching the shoreline, perhaps a few miles offshore. But it was no Imperial or even Estalian/Tilean merchant vessel. It was a large sloop, and the flag that flapped and billowed in the air was black. That was not the only complication, however. For a broken dingy bobbed on the sea line, and a scarred man had washed ashore, motionless upon the lapping tide with a parchment or map in one of his gnarled hands. 
[@Penny]