[color=a0410d]     Ifor noted the powerful finger pointed by an equally powerful woman at a distant, flickering beacon that was -by all appearances- perhaps just a bit more nude than its accuser. And even before her hand could guide him that way, he noted the faint bleating carried down by the rustling sea air; something resembling a sheep or a goat could be marked out near the crag's peak, idly calling down to what few passengers had survived the harsh expulsion by the waves. He thought "few" because of the circumstances at that time, but it soon appeared that some vile force of necromancy appeared to be at work - like the reeking stench of alcohol possessed some dark power to rejuvenate the dead from their apparent slumber. First rose one to the vixen's moderate abuse, then came another haunt from out of the distance...something about orders happened to be on his ocean-addled brain.

     Speaking of random haunts, it seemed the blood-haired one was strutting off into the distance herself - swinging her legs and hips around as if to invoke some profane erotica with the moon. This thought disturbed Ifor. Off went the short-haired vixen after her, or perhaps after some fleeting hope of salvation...or maybe just to get away from...whatever it was that seemed to be upsetting her. 

     ...Upset; he wondered if he'd actually get a response to his question. Judging by the way everyone was talking to everyone else *but him, the halfwit had half a mind to assume the answer was "No"...but where did assumptions ever get anyone? He'd look to the past instead, and conjuring up his faculties, Ifor hastily sought out an answer:

     Sand and sea, ocean's breeze - looming black, turbulent attack, and eyes of horror confounded him. Deeper he strove to depths untold, past albatross, ship's candle and grey-sky's endless fountain; through floorboard cracks, whip's crack, sailor's back and STILL no answer found him. 

     ...Hmm.

     ....Under blue skies of day, light sea's spray, rig's re-tarring and a nervous captain's say - idle passengers, scurvy-sway, dimwitted livestock and Shark's Way; past the inebriating ebb and flow of time, through this curving, twisting, pulsating labyrinthine mind of mine - back into the ocean blue, into the torrent horrid and cruel, up onto the first deck of yore, docked once more upon unfriendly shores; tell the tale of experience not actually learnt, feel the flesh in irons burnt - backandforthandbackagain, stillnowordonwhereorhoworwhatorwhen - fumblingthroughthisblackagain - DAMNEDIFITWON'TGIVEMETHEANSWERSISEEKAGA--

     Ifor stood, constipated, eyes glued to the ground as if planning murderous intent for the sand below. Silent. Concentrating...c o n c e n t r a t i n g...20% done...21% done...WAIT...

...

...22% done.[/color]