Emmaline lifted her head at the sound of the strange time. To her ear it sounded something like the operetos which had been all the rage before she left Altdorf for Tilea. At the time her task had been to get her various 'dates' drunk enough that they would invest in one of Albrect The Magnificent's various cons, something about reworking old mines for silver with arcane techniques. The associaion wasn't a particularly warm one though it had been the handsy merchants and nobles rather than the music that she found objectionable.

"Who is singing?" she demanded, turning her eyes to find Rajad staring out to sea. His body was so tense that the veins in his neck stood out like cords, pulsing and throbbing visibly as she watched. She glanced up to see the sailors making a general rush for the port railing, all except Morgan who looked down right panicked. Ranald's balls even Markus appeared to be staring out over the side like Shyalla was baring her tits!

"Stay," Emmanline commanded and jumped up, leaping down from the forecastle and running along the empty starboard companionway. The hammer was beginning to yaw alarmingly because he quatermaster had apparently abandoned his post. Morgan was making his way to the wheel, alternating between shouting profanity at various sailors and scrambling up the stairs to the quaterdeck. As she went aft Emmaline looked out over the side to try and get a look at whatever was so enrapturing the crew. Fortunately the ship was heeled over to port so she could see over the heads of the crew on that side. Jagged looking rocks eruppted from the ocean in a series of small islands. Well not really islands, they were simply rocks with barnacles coating the lower edges, but on top of the rocks. The sierens were not as beautiful as the ledgends made them out to be, or perhaps they were not to Emmaline's eyes. Sailors gasped love struck and reached out their arms, though the 'women' were still a short cannon shot away. To Emmaline they appeared more like the elves she had seen in Altdorf then women, though their features had a shaper crueler visage than the elder race had worn. Even the crutley of the Dark Elves seemed somewhat tempered. Their necks were puffy, with sacks not unlike those of a bullfrog though less pronounced, and their smiles were filled with wicked teeth.

"Do something!" Morgan shouted as he saw her climb to the quaterdeck obviously still in command of her wits. Emmaline folded her arms.

"Oh sure now you need my help?" she griped. Morgan cocked his head and held a hand to an ear that appeared to be plugged with candle wax.

"What?" he demanded. Emmaline moved her lips but without actually making any sound.

"Speak up damn your eyes!" Morgan bellowed. His eyes flicked nervously from the wheel, to the sailors, to the prow of the ship, trying to steer from memory around the rocks he had seen. There was a sudden splash as one of the sailors, a good looking young man from Marienburg leaped into the water. Emmaline didn't think he could swim, but it turned out to be a moot point as one of the sirens emerged from the water and threw her arms around him before dragging him down beneath the waves. Clearly they were moments away from the whole crew leaping to their deaths in an effort to reach the sirens.

"Got a plan do you blondie?" Sketti asked sourly as he stumped his way up onto the quaterdeck. Evidently the charms of human women or simulated ones held little appeal to the slayer.

"Ummm," Emmaline temporized.

"Inspiring words lass," the Slayer griped. Emmaline put her hand on her hips.

"You know I'm not the only one who can come up with a plan," she complained. Morgan goggled at them.

"Stop talking and DO something!" he roared. Emmaline wished she had something to plug her ears.

"And besides aren't you supposed to want to die?" Emmaline demanded, making a guesture to the singing sirens on the rock.

"Go forth and die bravely or whatever," she instructed. Sketti colored in what Emmaline first thought of as rage, but then to her surprise, realised was embarassment.

"Oh Shyalla's tits you cant swim?" she demanded.

"Never seemed like it was worth the effort," Sketti admitted. The conversation paused at the sound of another sailor leaping to his watery death. Emmaline threw up her hands. 

"Fine, Sketti, run and get a barrel of gunpowder and a charge of grapeshot," she ordered. The dwarf, cheered by the mention of explosives, leaped into action, thumping down the deck like an angry elephant.

"You," she yelled at Morgan, "steer for the shore."

"What!?" he yelled unable to hear her, or just horrified by the suggestion.

"Steer. For. The. Shore," Emmaline yelled as though addressing a particularly stupid child. Morgan looked horrified, but turned the wheel over. THere was a thump as the latest mermaid and her lover were hit by thousands of pounds of timber. Well, Emmaline supposed it was better than being eaten.

"They will all jump when we get close!" Morgan protested. Emmaline ignored him and began chanting a spell. She snapped her fingers and a two of the cable ties holding the main course yard in place exploded in a shower of rusted iron. The rigging screamed as the heavy timber came half free, the remaining pair of ties taking up the weight. Ropes parted with twangs as it drew ruin through the rigging, then one of the remaining cable ties fail. The yard came down like a scythe, dragging a wall of canvas behind it that hit the sailors on the port side like a three hundred pound feather mattress. It pitched them inboard and pinned them under the fabric as the final tie gave way. The yard crashed most of the way to the deck, before the dozens of lines tangled around it finally halted its plummet a few feet above the struggling sailors.

"I need that to sail you crazy..." Whatever Morgan had been going to say it was drowned out by Emmaline who had picked up one of the heavy iron tiped rods used to shift the cannons, and begun hammering on the ships bell for all she was worth. The big brass bell boomed deafeningly and constantly as she bashed against it.