The Rum Runner sliced effortlessly through the light northerly swell, its prow rhythmically raising and falling. The waters of the Varisian Gulf were predictably settled for this time of year and in stark contrast to the blustery, gale swept seas that batter this part of the coastline during late autumn and winter. Whilst the changing of seasons was imminent, with autumn almost arrived, the winds were still weeks away if the seasons followed their usual patterns.
Myra ‘The Carver’ Sinsashi, proud owner and captain of the sleek caravel on which she sailed, again raised her small eyeglass and focused on the rapidly increasing land mass to her right. The entrance to Sandpoint harbor beckoned and with relatively light seas entrance into the sheltered cove would be a mere formality.
The trip out from Magnimar had taken two days as the Rum Runner had visited two of the close offshore islands on the way down to Sandpoint. A particularly heavy night of celebrations over on the Isle of Grubbers Hermitage had put the Runner behind schedule and left the majority of the crew offering ‘bile penance’ over the side of the ship to the sea gods. Although time was not paramount on this venture Myra still wished to conduct a little business before festivities took a proper hold in Sandpoint this evening. The fact though that sodden minds often produced fat profits caused Myra to smile and call for the aft sail to be folded…. A little bit late won’t hurt!