[center][img]http://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/ccff888e-d2a3-4f6d-a340-d0c5f453075c.png[/img][h1][b][color=2956b2]March 24th, 1823[/color][/b][/h1]
[img]http://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/ccff888e-d2a3-4f6d-a340-d0c5f453075c.png[/img][h1][b][i][color=2956b2]Scotland[/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][/center]

	[color=2956b2][b][i]Port Annan:[/i][/b][/color] "Right away sir," Nigel said as he stepped away and went back behind the bar. Pouring the man a scotch, they were in Scotland after all, and slipping it across the bar top. Glancing around he quirked a brow. "Well, I don't see any right now. Most are probably on their ships getting them ready to head back out on the noon tide," Nigel said as he kept looking around the room. 

	The waitress came over to Rutherfords table and taking their order. It was a quick one, nothing they would have to wait too terribly long on. "Seems we will eat here," Eagerton said as he got more comfortable in his seat. Rutherford nodded. 

	"We are in a hurry but we are ahead of schedule," the man said as he looked over towards Millicent and smiled. She looked away from him and drew a long breath. "Oh my dear, you need to keep up your strength. I promise we will be wed by the evening," he said reaching out and patting her hand. There was a sharp nod from her as she looked back out towards the window. 

	"Lord and Lady Rutherford, it does have a nice ring to it. And who thought the attack would speed things up," Eagerton chuckled slightly. 

	"Indeed. Seems the heavens are blessing this match," Rutherford said as he picked up his tea cup and took a sip. 

	Nigel looked back over to the new arrival. "There are several here that I do not know, so I can only assume they are from the South. I know that one though. Lord Eagerton. He comes into port for trade and such from time to time. If rumors have it correct, then I would place ten to one odds he just came from Manchester where the most recent attack was," Nigel said as he held his hand out and awaited payment. 

[center][hr][h1][b][i][color=2956b2]England[/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][/center]

	[color=2956b2][b][i]Bristol:[/i][/b][/color] [color=fdc68a]"By and by, by and by, tick tock, tick tock. The mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck one the mouse ran down, hickory dickery dock."[/color] Mice, little ice, white mice and gray mice. They ran, were they blind? Did it matter? Probably not. He was watching, he could see. This made him happy, not mad, happy. Dieter, his ferret not his brother, was curled up in the bottom of the bag after eating the seed and napping now. Not Ludwig. He had a hat to make. Oh yes a hat. Pop out here, pop out there. Oh a piece of thread, what luck! A tie there and a tie here. Before he knew it, he had a fine hat to wear that would stay in place. A fine hat indeed!

	[color=fdc68a]"City ahead!"[/color] he said joyously as he pointed, them cresting the ridge. Bristol was now dead ahead. Or Straight ahead. Straight is better than dead, unless your Gay. Then you are happier dead than straight. So, gayly forward we go, gallop gallop gallop. [color=fdc68a]"Ships ahoy! Chips ahoy! Oh cookies! Sweet lovely cookies. Could use a cookie, you want a cookie? Do we have cookies?"[/color] Ludwig rambled as he started rummaging through the pack. Oh damn, no cookies....

	[color=2956b2][b][i]The Sea:[/i][/b][/color] Leading Collette into the Captains Quarters, the Captain shut the door behind them. The room was large and looked very different than the rest of the shit. It was ornate and looked to be a room of finery transported out of a manor and into the ship itself with its lush bed and drapes and chairs, finely crafted furniture, stain glass windows out the back side. The Captain pulled her cloak off and tossed it onto the crimson velvet covered bed as she walked over to the curio. "Strip," was all she said as she opened the door and started looking through what she had. 

	Collecting some items she tossed them onto the bed. "Change." Her words were not barking orders but they were firm as she spoke what few words she spoke. On the bed now lay a pair of black pants, a flowing crimson poets silk shirt, a waist corset, belt to cinch over it, black lather gloves and the tiniest unmentionables. 

	Sitting down behind her desk she watched Collette. "You are not dressed for a fishing vessel, what were you doing on one?" she finally asked and awaited an answer. 

	Below deck, things were not as plush. It was bare minimal down there with rows of supplies and hammocks set up for the crew to sleep in. There were a few rooms with doors that were closed and a large eating area. The smell of food wafted through, someone was cooking somewhere on the ship. There had to be a kitchen somewhere further below. Marco led Fyror to a hammock and reached into a bag that was hanging next to it. Pulling out a pair of trousers and a shirt he sniffed them and shrugged. "Good enough," he said before tossing them over to the man. 

	"Ye know, this is where ye say Thank You," Marco said as he sat down in the hammock and planted his feet on the ground. "Think someone of your rank be raised to say it sooner but ye land lubers aren't always the most grateful when it comes towards us sea folk now are ya?" he said with a smirk. "Best improve them manners boy 'for ye see the Captain, she ain't the forgivin' type." 

	[color=2956b2][b][i]The Road North:[/i][/b][/color] The path back and the road will be clear if wet and muddy. It is the Soulless coming from the other side of the fire that one would need to worry about. The horse is tired of waiting and makes a spinning break for it, rushing back out the way you came and heading north down the roads. The storm is growing that way but seems to be moving swiftly as if something is pushing it. The fire is out now in the woods and cannot be seen anymore, even from smoke. It seems to be gone as quickly as it set in. 

	The road seems odd, as if it is shifting color faster than it should be. The terrain moving in an odd manner as the horse sprints but the woods where the fire was and the Soulless it held within are now far out of sight. Did one lose time or space? No, it just must be the rain.