Callius's page

Cal stalks about the deck completely unphased by water soaked into everything he wears, beard mopped against his face and neck. He moves about with steady purpose, issuing orders frequently.

When he approaches one of the masts, noticing he and Dumm are a little more separated from others, he involves himself in the rope work the crewman is busy with.

Under the wind, he says "Listen, I've had the feeling you aren't too fond of this Vitori, and as much as we like pay, you can't use it if you're dead. I'll not drown again..." He looks side to side, as if checking for rogue waves, but also noting they remain alone.

"If you catch my meaning, climb up and sever the rigging in this specific order, fir..." Peals of thunder ring, as Cal can barely hear himself, one finger on his right hand pointing four times, to four fingers on his left, one after the other.

As the cacophony subsides, "... lose hours in speed, and should list us slightly in the wrong direction. And give me more time to figure out how to avoid going near the damned Eye!"

Walking towards the new guests, Call accepts an outstretched hand from Vitori. “Well, I’ve met fewer corsairs and lollygags that know the true way of the seas on their first day than you, good sir… rum, and talk of treasure, you’ll fit in just fine!” His other hand claps Vitori on the shoulder firmly.

He turns to address Drystan, but something in his demeanor did not invite; sure enough, Drystan moves to go speak with Malfoy. Turning back to Vitori, “Well, your squire here isn’t much for talking, huh? No matter. I’ve crew before not speak a word for days… long as yer work gets done, I’m happy.” There is only a slight grin at the end, quickly replaced by a serious gaze. “We’ll get yer where you need to go, don’t worry Vitori. Settle in. We sail soon or we’ll lose the tide.”

Cal moves off toward the bow, where some rigging has caught his eye. "DUMM!" Cal yells, with a voice practiced to raise above storms. "That halyard looks too tight for today's wind. Slack it up, and get ready to leave."

At stern, far from the gangplank and most of the crew, Cal half stands, half leans on the helm, his left foot raised into the bottom spokes. Calmly, he surveys the crew loading, the new arrivals, while noting the position of the sun, and not liking how quickly the clouds were moving. He takes a small drink from his skin, muttering to himself: “Oh Sabjorn, what misdeeds have you brought here today… from fearsome crew, to a charter business? The coin had better be worth it, especially with the course you laid…”

A black bird sitting atop the rigging nearby caws, drawing his attention. “Aye, ‘n curse on you too K, dinner had best be ready on time!” He smiles, and turns away, walking to the seaside rail. Cal’s eyes close, and he draws a deep, steady breath in, and wooshes it all out at once. “Aaah…” he exclaims. Then, in a whisper, “still beats chains.”

After a moment, he resigns himself. "Guess I better go introduce myself, and make sure the rules are known," and starts walking towards the new passengers.