Emmaline awake languorously, still unable to quite credit all that had happened in the city of the dead. That Amal had managed to cheat a long dead king of of the jewels of his crown seemed to fantastic to credit but the fact that they still lived and that four of the large stones lay tucked away in the thief's pouch were more than proof enough. She paused for a moment and stretched, arching her back and thrusting her breasts upwards with a sigh of pleasure. For her own part she felt tired but exhilarated the brief glimpse she had seen of Apsath still lingered in the back of her mind, and the mark of the Goddess remained tatooed between her breasts, the only part of the mystical tatoo that hadn't vanished as they walked the path that had been planned for them by whatever arcane forces had guided their footsteps. Emmaline wondered if that made her a priestess of Apsath now. She belched in a rather unpriestess like fashion and sat up. Well if Apsath wanted her to be a priest then the Goddess was going to need to provide some instruction material at some point.

Amal had already left the cabin the shared. She have been secretly sneaking peaks at him while he was naked and rather an impressive sight he was. She pondered that as she pulled on her clothing over her silken shift. The ensemble, the best available for a 'princess' was a dress of finely milled linen, a skirt of finely milled linen in dark red with a dark gray leather corset over a white shirt with elbow length sleeves. The Captain had been rather evasive about where he had come by the garments and why he had them in his sea chest and after a few questions Emmaline had felt everyone would probably be more comfortable if she let the matter drop. Properly dressed she risked briefly opening her magical senses. That had been a change she had noticed almost immediately. Where once everything would have been bathed with the glowing ambiance now her vision was tainted with flickers of other colors, a soft white, a lambent green, a deep purple, a powerful blue, and even a flicker of purple. It was obvious that she was perceiving the other winds of magic, but she shouldn't be able to do that. Though she was powerfully tempted to see if she could twist the little vespers of magic into a spell she was worried that such a thing might be corrupting, the way Dark Magic was and, more pragmatically, she didn't know any spells that used the other winds. Hopefully when she reached Marienburg she could invest in a few books.

Fully dressed Emmaline headed out onto the deck. El Cargador was a fine ship, long and lean though broader of beam than a true warship, she was three masted and drove through the water like a charging horse. When they had first come aboard the captain had proudly showed off the twelve small cannon, six on each side, which he claimed were more than enough to see off the pirates that infested these waters. Emmaline who had grown up around cannon in Altdorf and Nuln, did not think they looked very impressive, but had to conceded that they were far more than all but the largest pirates would dare. The snap of canvas aloft was all but deafening and she immediately sensed they were no longer heading northwest to clear Brettonia. Glancing up she saw a dozen men aloft, sheeting home more canvas and unfurling sails on the tall yard arms. She had a momentary fear that a pirate was indeed chasing them, but dismissed it almost as quickly, though the men seemed tense they didn't seem afraid.

"What is going on?" she demanded of the first mate, a greasy looking Tilean named Garza with a receding hairline and a tar stained shirt. The man goggled at her, eyes fixed firmly on the bosom of her dress as though mesmerized, his pudgy face slowly transforming to a leer. Emmaline reached out and took his chin between her fingers and raised his eyes to meet hers.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she repeated, slowly as though to a very simple child. Garza seemed to shake himself then scowl at her.

"We are cracking on sail," Garza told her, glowering now his initial embarrassment had passed. Emmaline though he might have been a handsome man in his youth, but years of excess and bad diet had robbed him of any charm she could detect.

"I see," she said reasonably, "and why is that." Garza shook his head in amazement that anyone would need to ask such a question. It seemed to make him fell superior enough to mellow his irritation however.

"There is a storm comming, Captain can feel the damp he can and he is never wrong, not in ten years of sailing with him... why I remember this time..."

Emmaline resisted the urge to slap the man with a considerable effort of will. Garza seemed to notice this and returned to the point with another bristly scowl.

We want to get west of Cape Breton before it catches us see, the sea here is full of shoals and reefs and the wind might drive us onto the rocks. We are running for open sea so we can ride it out without worrying about that don't ya see?" Garza asked smuggly. Emmaline frankly didn't see, but neither did she think she could stand another moment of the first mates company or his onion reeking breath.

"I see," she lied.

"Well I am glad we are in good hands," which, she rather hoped, was less of a lie.