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"Thank you, Mister Starcaller," the captain replied to their medic.

The ship buzzed and got just a little more chaotic as her orders were carried out. Pixies flitted to and fro storing whatever last bits had been forgotten, the gravity anchor was being hoisted up, ropes were tied off and double-checked, the high pixie was shooed away from potential danger- and finally the sails were unfurled. It was a beautiful sort of music. Like the sound of a flock of birds ascending to the sky, their sails fluttered and and flapped as they opened and began to shimmer with solar energy. There was a brief and electric moment where everything fell silent. Dihala's grip on the helm tightened, the excitement threatening to make her squeal like a child opening a present. 

Then the ship lurched forward. 

She'd grown accustomed to their dryad's form of coordinates and quickly adjusted the helm as instructed. Seven acorns starboard, five windward. As the ship picked up speed the lights of Iyananor began to fade and dim, and eventually the planet itself faded as well. The sails were producing a low hum (as they should be), none of the ropes had come loose, and no one was tossed overboard, so all in all Dihala was calling it a successful departure. They were now on their way out of the solar system and in a month's time would be in unexplored territory, on their way to riches and glory. Everything was going according to plan. Yes, this was going to go well. 

After all what could go wrong? 

Oh a lot. A lot could go wrong. The sails could die, they could be attacked, arrested, crash, explode, suffocate. They could get stranded on a hostile planet with no hope of escape, or they could stumble across some hidden gang hideout and get murdered. Someone could get space madness and try to take over the ship, slitting Dihala's throat in her sleep in order to rise to the rank of captain. They could decide they hated her and start a mutiny. That damned crazy old dwarf could have a horrible experiment go wrong that leaves all of them horribly disfigured for the rest of their lives. A star could go supernova right as they pass it and decimate the ship. Oh there was a never ending list of things that could go wrong, but Dihala was going to [s]try to[/s] focus on what was going right. Their ship had taken flight and they were well on their way to fulfilling her- uh, the [i]crew's[/i] dreams, they weren't broke (yet), no one on the crew hated her (yet), no one seemed like a terrible person (yet), they had plenty of supplies (for now), and everything was going well (for now). With this thought in mind Dihala locked in their heading and left the helm for a brief moment to triple check that everything had been stowed correctly. 

"Mister Clay, all of the cargo still secure and undamaged after take off? I know how pesky that atmospheric turbulence can be. Also,"  she raised her voice a little bit, "if the quartermaster, navigator, and of course our dear mister Clay could join me at the helm in about twenty minutes after we're very well on our way, I'd be very much obliged. I'd like to discuss our destination."