Berlin felt his stomach twist. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. He'd assumed that much even when he thought it was something of The Salt, but when Pieter was just about as lost as he was, a little worm of anxiety crawled into his chest and slowly made its home there. If any ship's crew was equipped to handle the unknown, they were. Together, they were a disturbingly powerful force, and yet... He put the spyglass to his eye again. Rohaan was very far out now, barely a flapping dark shape that seemed to eat the light around it instead of reflect it like most objects did. What had he just sent him to? Berlin trusted the lad to take care of himself most of the time but some part of him that he hesitantly thought of as fatherly always worried anyway. He was going to fuss over the direction but Pieter had it handled. Damn, he hated waiting. Hana and Wheel had gone below to prepare weapons, which was good. They'd need that. Rohaan was out, Pieter was manning the wheel and...ah. Uban. Despite the tightness in his stomach he had to laugh a little. He hadn't been kidding when he said he'd crash. Berlin made a mental note of how long that had taken and how much effort had been exerted before he got to that point; it would be important to know in the future. Berlin stooped and picked up the mug, then plucked the wedge of lime from Uban's teeth with a chuckle, plunking it into the mug and setting them both aside. The captain reached his hand out and placed it softly on Uban's shoulder. He did not stir. "Uban, mate..." Though the volume and tone of his voice was soft, there was something about it that gave it command. When he earned a soft grunt from Uban, he continued. "Get up Uban. Go down below and get yourself in bed for some proper rest. You earned it. I'll call you when I need you." The nine-fingered sailor made a noncommittal noise but his muscles moved and he stood, swaying a bit. Berlin walked with him, keeping his hand on the man's shoulder (it was easier if he had constant contact) and the still very much asleep Uban swayed and stumbled before him as obediently and unwillingly as someone held at knifepoint. Berlin had to hold the hammock steady in order to help maneuver Uban into it, but he succeeded and released his hold over him; Uban sighed sleepily and melted into the canvas. Berlin was back up on deck in a moment. He was still very concerned about what was happening out there and productive distractions would only get him so far. He went out to the prow with his spyglass and squinted through it as best he could to keep eyes on the situation. -- The photophores in Rohaan's black, scaly dragon skin pulsed their red, almost reflective light in a quick but steady rhythm as he pumped his wings. He could feel his blood was up, and despite knowing better, he wanted to tear that ship to pieces and burn it down, and personally chew (or just plain eat) any slaver that dared try to escape him. Berlin was right though. There were people on that ship that didn't deserve to die. People like him. But he would not let them get away while the Borealis caught up and he'd hunt them down all night if he had to. As he drew closer, he could see that this dragon was indeed massive and far larger than him, though considering his species of choice that wasn't a surprise. Cyradan were neither large nor armored. This one wasn't extremely well armored as far as some dragons went--he'd seen some before that looked like living stones. Clearly the slaver's guns gave the thing some pause and even Rohaan shuddered at the sound of them, remembering all too keenly the very recent gunshot wound of his own. It had taken him out of the sky, but the sky was HIS. That anyone had the gall to remove him made his blood boil further. Rohaan noticed there were people on the back of the dragon. Multiple people. He was trying to identify something about their clothing or colors or...anything really, but they weren't familiar to him. Well. There was no sense in being stealthy; it was time they knew he was here. Rohaan kept out of range of the gunshots, but he cried out with his dragon voice that was both shrieking high and rumbling low at once like two voices become one. He could not speak words, not in this form, but still he spoke in his own way. [I]I am here. And your hours are numbered.[/I] He came in really close then. He did a swooping fly-by over the back of the large, pallid dragon, studying both it and the people riding it. Due to its size, he could dance circles around it. If it was a galleon, he was a schooner. He tucked his wings in an angled fold and dropped down to sweep under it, his black tail following his svelte body like liquid. Rohaan flapped a few times and then came back up above the dragon, circling overhead. He roared again, sort of testing the waters to see if either the dragon or its riders would acknowledge or engage him. Again he swooped low, then pivoted back up and circled it. He liked the idea that these people and this creature were obviously hunting the Barizians, but he wasn't sure that automatically made them allies, either. His captain needed to know.