Grey conquered the sun and then the waves. Fierce winds lashed the ocean into a spitting mess of turbulence. Spray flew from the prow of Tauga's catamaran and ran in droplets from the eyes of the Blowfly mask.

Her hands clenched rope, heaving the sail high into the air with the strength in her arms alone. Firm in the buck of her ship, she worked knot, yard and spar, guiding through force of will a vessel meant for ten.

[color=antiquewhite]"Change tack! We'll circle Mimichti and pull up on Long Beach!"[/color]

Behind her head rose a cry of loyalty: [i]'BLOWFLY!'[/i]

As the catamaran raised a crest of foam, the line of boats following behind her came into hard determined focus. Men and women of all colour bent into the wind and drove their hulls into the water. Human, hain, goblin, troll, they wore trousers of black leather and bared chests lined with muscle. 

It was a Tlaca fashion. Xerxes may have thrived on the islands, but their people were old, and their songs were powerful. What came from the city and what came from the sea were no longer so clearly apart.

Tauga rode her cat into the far surf and sprang into the water, submerged entirely only to force herself from the toppling force of the swell and onto the beach, dragging the huge boat behind her. The young men of Axotal followed her shortly onto the sand.

The wind cut across her words and she roared in defiance of it. [color=antiquewhite][i]"We'll take the route to Ihuian tomorrow! Tell the villages to ready eight days supply!"[/i][/color]

A disparate mass of teenage fury called back. [i]Tauga! Mason God! Blowfly![/i]

And among it, a new call: [i]MARQUISE![/i]