Of Mist and Meat
Fifteenth Day of Ashinu-ezna (Ashinu Ascendant) 1348 A. L. (After Landfall)
As the three ships continue on their long arc northeast, following Inge's directions and Zaia's measurements, life on the Marcella settles over the next few days as Antonio picks out the men who will be spared from working the rigging from now on. Yet for all the sound of heaving nets and rolling barrels and the bleating of the goats returns to the ship, all was not as it was. The itch between your shoulder blades, the weight of unfriendly eyes grows familiar to your every waking moment, and all too often you fear conversations between cut off when you step near. You have been this way before...
"Looks like we won't be getting as much sleep," you half-whisper to Tom on the second day since the ship had changed, but much to your surprise the man shakes his head.
"Don't think they're gonna try anything, milord. I heard some talk and... well, their trouble ain't with the captain, it's with the ship. Can hardly mutiny against that now, can they? It's a long way to swim back to Lirman."
"There's other ships," you point out. Both the Pride and the Penitenza had been keeping their distance from the Marcella over the last few days, but they are still clearly in sight from the deck.
"Barely enough room and not near enough supplies. They'll settle down fine enough so long as the..." He cuts himself off. "So long as nothing riles them up even more."
Rather than challenge him about what he was going to say you ask how the men had been handling the change to the ship. True they have no cause to go into the rigging, but it is the first clear sign that the Marcella, one of the last things you have of the old world, is not what she seems anymore.
"Well enough. No one got hurt and the ship kept that old salt from breaking his neck, we all saw that clear as day. I'm sure whatever's in these timbers means us no harm," Tom says doughty as ever, trusting you more than he trusts the ship that much is certain. All of them had seen sorcery with their own eyes now, for good or for ill. With nothing but the open sea in sight, nary a sign of man or beast, you fall into your own routine of training Inge in the mornings and sparring with Tom in the afternoons, and so for a while it goes.
***
Seventeenth Day of Ashinu-ezna (Ashinu Ascendant) 1348 A. L. (After Landfall)
As the pallid sun struggled to rise over the morning mists a call went up from the to top of the mast, from 'Mad Marco' who had been 'lucky' enough to get the spot at in the draw. He had spotted the shore, right where it was superposed to be, and about three days ahead of schedule besides. By midday you can already see it from the deck, a ragged black line that slowly grows and grows into wall of green, the woods grown wild and tangled almost to the shore. By now you had run out of what fresh supplies you had taken aboard in Apuku, leaving little more than salted meat with onions and broad beans for the stew with a side of hard tack and the rare fish... the
very rare fish.
The nets had not been catching much, such that Ripper had taken to delivering fish, at times at Inge's request, but he can hardly feed the whole ship much less the whole of your small fleet. The captain of the Pride suggests a party be sent ashore to hunt and gather in the local forest. The Knikut, unused to sailor's rations, are more than willing to help, but advise that it would not be without its perils. Many a man-eater hunts those woods and the local tribes are as likely to meet you with spears as with a feast and song, for Tander does not know their name or their totem and showing her the map Zaia is using and adding to as you sail does little good for the stout folk who not measure leagues as lines upon a map, but hours remembered on the march.
What do you do?
[] Advise stopping
-[] Go yourself
-[] Do not go yourself
[] Sail on, a the rations may have grown less pleasant, but there is still plenty to be had
[] Write in
OOC: Almost aggressively middling rolls this time around, which is why it took so long to get this up. 
