Possibly due to some sort of oversight by Prince-Captain Rashad, Arkold is out on seaskipper duty again, but this time serving as part of Rashad's personal escort as he takes a pontoon boat up to the Archipelago, the urgan bobbing at a safe distance off shore. Several other seaskippers are out today – Amongst familiar faces (albeit partially obscured by goggles and helmets), Arkold can pick out Hammerhand the horse-like Rhian, Whitehead the lecherous ratty Skreek, Kris the quiet mouse-like Skeek, Scrimshaw the well-connected tiger-Khatta, and Mooncoil the Bromthen sea-Naga (the one who procured the seaskippers on Scrimshaw's "night out on the ocean" many nights ago).

It's by no means a cloudless day, as at least one thunderhead can be seen on the horizon, though by the looks of it, it should probably just blow on by. Nonetheless, its distant effect is still felt by the frequent and choppy waves that make the going rough. Prince-Rashad is seated on the pontoon boat, right next to one of the most wonderful of Kampfzengruppe inventions, the automatic wind-blower – also known as a fan. A black panthress-Khatta is seated up with Rashad, and she looks an awful lot like the lady that Scrimshaw was taking out on the seaskipper several nights ago. Curiouser and curiouser.

The Jupani lounges back in the pilot seat of his seaskipper, keeping pace with the pontoon boat. He's enjoying this cushy guard duty for the time being, despite having little idea why Prince-Captain Rashad would assign him to be one of his bodyguards. Still, no matter what the reason, it is nice to be back in a seaskipper. After all, after destroying his last one, he didn't really expect to be placed in one again. A hand is raised in greeting off to Hammerhand and Scrimshaw.

The little Skeek brings up the rear of the escort, maneuvering the seaskipper with considerable caution over the waves, and looking grateful for the stately pace of the pontoon boat. Occasionally the mouse attempts to sneak in a bit of rubbernecking at the archipelago the party approaches.

The shanties and shacks have the look about them of being very temporary in construction, even though Ashtoreth has been colonized for quite some time, and this is not the newest of discoveries of the Alliance.

There is a floating platform set up on the beach of one of the larger islands, within a lagoon. The seaskippers make their way toward the lagoon, where the water becomes considerably more calm.

A few Mariners swim about the base of the platform, occasionally surfacing and clinging onto the side of the platform. There are large … bubbles? … floating in the water nearby.

(Eh, Cap'n Kitten must have lost it to assign me to his bodyguard.) With a relaxed motion, Arkold steers his own seaskipper towards the lagoon, following alongside the pontoon boat. He leans forward a bit to see what lies ahead, and his eyes narrow slightly at the sight of so many Mariners. "Fishsticks. Just … great," he mutters to himself.

Inadvertently, Kris slows the skipper even further, as the mouse stares curiously at one of the bubbles. When the Skeek realizes that the distance to the pontoon boat is growing quickly, small feet fumble at the controls to spur the small craft into closing the gap once more.

The seaskippers approach the platform, and circle about the edge of the lagoon, while Prince-Captain Rashad's pontoon boat meets up with the platform. It looks like some sort of exchange is going on between his retainers and the Mariners there at the platform. The "bubbles" surface … and more resemble some sort of large jellyfish. One of them splits at the top, opening up to a wide spherical space inside. The Prince-Captain Rashad looks quite aghast, and there appears to be some sort of exchange … and then he clambers inside the strange jelly-sphere thing … which seals up again, bobbing in the water.

Watching all this occur, Arkold scratches at his head. Although he has spent some time on the planet of Ashtoreth, some things still manage to strike him as weird. His captain stepping into a jellyfish is definitely one of those things. (Vhai! Cats and fish, makes my head hurt.) His craft meanwhile is directed in the holding pattern circling the edge of the lagoon.

After getting the seaskipper into the same circling pattern as the rest of the escort, Kris takes the time to openly stare at the living craft Rashad has entered, eyes bright with wonder.

Rashad's other companions are similarly escorted into the bobbing jelly-spheres … and then the Mariners start hauling the spheres off. Scrimshaw waves his hand around in a "gather up" sign … and once the seaskippers are reasonably grouped together and powered down so that he doesn't have to shout so loud, Scrimshaw instructs, "All right! Now this is the fun part! Those squishy starfish-looking creatures you were handed? Those are 'breathers'. You slap it on your face, and this will let you breathe underwater. Disconnect the pontoon on your seaskipper – We're going to submersible mode. Oh yeah – the breather really stinks. You'll get used to it. Unless you're a Jupani." He grins wickedly, then slaps the starfish creature on his own face.

Whitehead watches in disbelief as the starfish creature contorts and molds itself to Scrimshaw's face. Then he leans over the edge of his seaskipper … and says goodbye to breakfast. "Hrk!"

The mouse digs the supplied "breather" out and, after going through a few facial contortions at the thought, takes a deep breath and gamely applies the creature as ordered. With ears flat against scalp at the odor, the Skeek fumbles around with the controls to put the skipper into sub-mode.

Pontoons disengage from seaskippers … some more smoothly than others … and bob about in the lagoon. The seaskippers, minus their buoyant pontoons, predictably sink into the water, and then rely on their onboard motors to push through the water. Watertight containers keep water-sensitive equipment sealed against the water … or, at least, they're supposed to.

Off in his boat, the resident Jupani lifts his hand and gives the tiger-Khatta a rude gesture while grinning widely. He then reaches over his shoulder and paws at the things behind his seat before he pulls out the "breather" he is instructed to wear. "Ugh, Dagh's stench, this's one stinkin' fish-thing," he says as he stares at the starfish. After just looking at it a moment more, he slaps it onto his muzzle as directed and then moves to detach the pontoon.

Yes, it definitely reeks. Fortunately, Arkold is able to choke down his gag reflex, which would prove to be an unpleasant thing to deal with while he has a starfish-like creature sealing off his muzzle.

The pontoon disengages like the others … and soon Arkold is going underwater.

Once the "breather" is in contact with water again, the Jupani can sense air coming in through an orifice in the bottom of the fish, where it is over his mouth. It's not exactly a breath of fresh air, and it probably would not be enough oxygen to supply him if he were to overexert himself while underwater. Certainly it doesn't put him on par with the Mariners. But it's still better than drowning … and at least he's not bound in a jelly-sphere like the Prince-Captain.

Even as his craft begins to sink, Arkold is clearly not enjoying the whole experience of the "breather". His ears flatten against his head and though all the sounds that come out are muffled – as much due to the fact he's clenching his jaw than that there is a starfish wrapped around his muzzle – it's rather clear whatever he would be saying is likely a long stream of colorful Legionnaire curses.

Kris rubs at the goggles absently, trying to clear a bit of grit, while ears flick about as they become accustomed to being submerged. The mouse draws in breath in uneven swallows, fighting with the reflex not to breathe at all while underwater.

A few fish flit by, parting ways to keep clear of the submersed seaskipper. The other seaskippers wobble around, as most of the riders appear to be less familiar with navigating their craft in the three-dimensional world of the underwater, as opposed to the more or less two-dimensional concerns of the surface.

Still, Scrimshaw leads the seaskippers out of the lagoon. The seabed plunges sharply once outside the island hollow … revealing the ring of islands to be the caps of a jagged ridge of a steeply shifted shelf of rock that plunges down into depths too far for Arkold to see, even with the flickering electric lantern at the nose of his craft.

The Mariners can be seen ahead, flitting along, towing the "jellyfish" and their passengers. It looks like the "jellyfish" are not wholly dry inside – a telltale line can be seen of water that partially fills the interior, though it leaves plenty of air at the top for the passengers to breathe. No doubt the Prince-Captain is quite upset, though, since he thought it unnecessary to wear one of those "ugly" wet-suits on this foray.

The water is tropically warm, though it gets progressively cooler with increasing depth. There's still enough of the sun visible down at this depth to see even without the help of the lanterns.

Scrimshaw leads the seaskippers after the jelly-spheres in a gentle curve around the ridge of islands … and over a lower section of the broken rocky shelf. It looks like there's an even steeper drop-off on the other side.

As his craft further sinks into the water, Arkold gets a bit more used to wearing the breather and ceases to complain – at least for now. Once Scrimshaw begins directing the group outward, he revs up his engines and brings the craft to speed up. He positions himself up towards the front of the group near Scrimshaw, which allows him a better view of what's coming without being stuck behind with the likes of Whitehead.

Kris grins at the partially-filled bubble containing their bold – and now wet – captain, and is grateful for the breather that conceals this expression.

The jelly-spheres continue over the drop-off … and then descend. It's an abyss. A great rift is formed at the opposite side of the ridge from the lagoon … and it plunges down further than can be seen. This is not that much different from the other side, really, except that even as the group continues to descend, there's no indication that the walls of the abyss are drawing any closer together. What's more, though … the water isn't getting any colder, even at this increasing depth and darkness. And, furthermore … there are lights that dimly become visible far below. Scattered bluish organic lights like on the urgan can be seen, though in clusters here and there … and individually in some other spots, flitting about.

The are Mariners here. Many upon many of them. They are so many different colors, some of them carrying glowing orbs, or having bits of jewelry that glow faintly. Most of them are adorned in several strands of necklaces beaded with sections of shells, some thick enough to serve as clothing. Some of the males have their heads shaved, and carry what appear to be weapons looking like crosses between spine-guns and tridents, perhaps meant to be used both at range and in close combat – evidently warriors. Many Mariners sport the starfish-like "breathers" over their own faces. Mariners, after all, do breathe oxygen. They just have a rather impressive lung capacity and are specially adapted to be able to hold their breaths a long time underwater.

As the lights below them become visible, the Skeek's head shakes in wonder. Kris leans forward on the skipper, pointing the nose a little more downward in an effort to get a better look.

Some of the Mariners wear sections of wet-suits or other bits of clothing clearly Sinaian or Abaddonian in origin, and have necklaces and wristlets made out of pieces of junk – mementos of the offworlders, no doubt. Of those that are less "shy" in their attire, though … Arkold has heard it said many times that there's "not much to see", and it's a true enough claim. Mariners are streamlined after all, to swim quickly through the water. Still, their skin patterns are fairly interesting, ranging in all colors of the rainbow, though tending more toward "cool" colors – blues, greens, purples – and far less often toward brighter shades. They have odd patterns of stripes, spots, rosettes, and other combinations of "cat markings", with no particular dominant patterning.

Moving deeper into the depths of the ocean, Arkold tries to force out thoughts of how he happens to be going deeper underwater, with nothing but a starfish to keep him from drowning. His face contorts into a scowl as he isn't quite able to manage this and the idea continues to annoy him as he progresses downwards. The thought is shaken, however, once he catches sight of all the Mariners. (Ehh, Dagh's seas 'o flame, it's their city! Ugh.) He scowls all the more.

(Colorful folk, but ehh, so are Zelaks.) The wolf shifts in his seat a bit as she continues to watch the Mariners go about their business. If any looks his way, he tries to put on the air of one being too focused on his work to actually notice them, and stares forward into the abyss.

A threesome of Mariners adorned in trappings of "land-dweller memorabilia" (i.e., junk) swim up to the seaskippers, and keep pace with them for some distance, curiously inspecting the seaskippers and their riders. They look to be adolescents at the oldest, obviously fascinated with the machines, but with perhaps having a touch of fear as well.

Most of the other Mariners, however, seem to be largely unconcerned with the passing of the seaskippers and the jelly-spheres.

Leaning back again in the seat of the sea-craft, Kris lifts one hand from the controls and gestures hesitantly to the Mariners as the trio approaches them. Fingers spread wide, then closing straight against the palm, then flicking open again, repeated a few times.

One of the Mariners, a girl, smiles brightly as she sees Kris' gesture, and she quickly turns about shyly … then turns about again, and repeats the gesture, holding out her hand, webbed fingers spread wide, then closing against the palm, flicking back and forth just as many times … and then she suddenly darts away, and her two companions join her, flicking the same hand-sign behind them as they go.

Arkold, on the other hand, pretends to not notice them, preferring to ignore them completely. He just stares into the water ahead and only casts a glance their way from time to time to see if they're gone. When he glances back a fourth time and finds them gone, he relaxes noticeably if any were bothering to watch him at the time. (Stare somewhere else; nothin' to see here.)

The Skeek's grin grows beneath the breather as Kris watches the three swim off, then quickly returns full attention to the skipper, as the craft started to drift away from the clustered escort while the mouse was distracted.

A shelf jutting out from the abyss wall comes into view now, with a few circles of light on it. As the group approaches the circles, they get bigger … and bigger. There are other such circles visible, clinging elsewhere to the walls of the Great Abyss.

The circles, upon closer approach, resemble giant jellyfish clinging to the rocky shelf, with glowing lines of light running through their bodies, pulsating gently. Each one of them appears to be at least the size of an Imperial slitherball arena … and tiny specks can be seen – Abyssinian Mariners flitting back and forth about these structures. It looks as if they've built a city of coral and giant shells, split up inside each of these jellyfish domes … and there are bays that can be seen inside, where urgans float in water, and Mariners swim about. It looks as if the jellyfish domes have air in them, by the waterline.

Again the wolf leans forward to get a better view of a region he is unfamiliar with. His hair streams in long dull blonde waves behind him, now that it has no chair to keep it from flowing about.

Kris's eyes glitter brightly beneath the goggles, the mouse almost bouncing in the seat with eagerness to see more. A quick glance is directed at the Mariners towing Prince-Captain Rashad, in an effort to determine which of the domes they are headed for.

The jelly-spheres and the seaskippers continue to descend toward one of the larger jelly-domes at the very edge of a rocky precipice hanging over the abyss.

The mouse's seaskipper edges closer to the front of the pack before Kris exercises some self-control and musters patience, letting the craft drop back into position with the rest of the escort.

An urgan floats lazily past. The interior of the dome bridge can be clearly seen. Inside, the dome is partly full of water, and some Mariners float about at the controls. The controls are arranged a bit differently than the urgans used by the Kampfzengruppe and the Emirate … but the urgan goes by too quickly for a detailed examination.

As the jelly-dome comes into view the Jupani reaches over to thumb some bits of debris off his goggles. He shakes his head at the giant jellyfish and drops himself back in the chair again. (I'll be … ) He studies the giant thing for a moment more before his eyes pass from it to the urgan, then to the much smaller jellyfish that holds his captain. He scans this for any signs of trouble.

At last, the group approaches the largest dome … and then passes into an orifice in the side. They then go up again … and toward the interior … and at last break the top of the water again! They have entered the dome, which has a watery bottom, but also several walkways and platforms floating above the layer of water. And, it seems, there's air in here.

The jelly-spheres are taken up to a dock … and the Prince-Captain scrambles out, gasping for breath. "No one told me I would be getting wet!" he yowls in Khattan. The panthress – wearing a wet-suit – rolls her eyes.

Not wasting a moment, Arkold reaches for his muzzle to try and remove the "breather" from his face. At first he moves to simply rip it off quickly, but upon feeling it pull his fur, he slows down and tries to carefully pry it away.

Reflexively, the Skeek shakes to fling off water as the skipper surfaces, ears spread out to unclog the liquid that's seeped into delicate crevices. Kris reaches for the breather, and with great relief detaches it and stows the creature in its original container. "Phew."

It takes Arkold several tries, and quite a few hairs pulled loose … but at last he gets the breather off. The stink still remains, though.

The seaskippers are taken over to a "beach" where they can be grounded without benefit of their pontoons, and secured by ropes to the dock.

Rubbing both hands against his nose in an effort to clear the lingering stench of the breather, Kris hops off the skipper, then grabs one of the ropes to tie it down. "Gah. I wonder how long we're gonna be smelling that," he mutters.

Scrimshaw coughs a bit, and grabs a pouch of something out of a compartment of his utility belt, and starts smudging herbs against his nose. "Whoof! Ah. Better." He sniffs. "Eck. The whole place smells, though. Eh."

Whitehead struggles with his breather, at last prying it off … and looking more than a bit queasy after his ordeal. "Ugh. We're being tortured, I tell ya!"

Once the craft is secured, Kris resumes rubbernecking, trying to figure out where their party will be headed next. "Nah. The wild breathers are what they torture you with, Whitehead." The comment is tossed out off-handedly.

"Rrrr!" growls the wolf as the "breather" is finally removed from his face. He quickly drops it into its container, while reaching his other hand hold his sore muzzle. He curses under his breath for a moment before directing his seaskipper over to the beach. Once there, the wolf pulls up his goggles and climbs out of his chair to leap off the edge of the vessel over to where the ropes are. He gathers one and returns to his seaskipper to moor it.

While mooring his vessel, Arkold grins over at Scrimshaw. "Eh, what's the matter, does the scent disagree with yah?" he asks sarcastically. He grins more and waves a hand around, gesturing to the place when he can spare a hand. "So this is it, eh? Land of the Fishsticks?"

Scrimshaw nods, and finishes tying up his own seaskipper … then Whitehead's as well, frowning at the lousy job the rat did. He slaps the rat, prompting a whiny squeak from the one-eyed Skreek, and then says, "We're in Marinopolis. City of the Mariners. Or that's what we call it. They call it … uh … well … I'm no good at Mariner sounds."

"Probably somethin' along the lines of 'squeaky-squeak'. Sound too much like Eeee fer my tastes," says Arkold. He lifts a foot and gives his boat kick to check the lines before giving a satisfied nod. "So, what'er we 'ere for anyway?"

Scrimshaw says, "Well, we were just here to be living shields for the Prince-Captain if the Mariners made any trouble. Not that he could have done anything inside that jellyfish he was riding in. Not the brightest star in the sky, that one."

Hammerhand snorts. "So, we just sit around while the Prince-Captain speaks with the swimmers?"

"Shouldn't we be living-shielding him while he goes off to talk to them, or did he decide he wanted some privacy for that?" Kris cranes his neck around, trying to see if the illustrious Prince-Captain is still in sight somewhere.

Scrimshaw shakes his head. "Naw, that's Death-Blossom's job, to protect him up close and personal-like. Listen … if the Mariners really wanted to do something to us, they could have done so at any time. I think the Prince-Captain just wanted to make a show of having lots of lackeys to order around when he came in here. A little parade through Marinopolis. We sit here, and he talks."

The Jupani grins lopsidedly now. "Yeah, still can't believe he gave up them two pirates. Could'a had that ship and its guns, or at least the guns." He snorts disgustedly and folds his arms. "So iffin' we got time, what'd we get off that wreck 'o mine, Scrimshaw?"

The mouse nods. "That's life when you're a noble. You need to have a whole lot of unimportant people around you to show how important you must be." Kris perks at the mention of the wreck, listening curiously.

Scrimshaw smirks. "They got a few bottles of wine. I managed to get part of the action there." He winks. "Also some baubles, and some bits of junk."

Arkold cocks his head to the side as a thought hits him. "Death-Blossom, eh? That's some name she's got there. Used to know … well, uh, had met, a Blossom. And if she wasn't death!" He chuckles afterward, but his smile fades.

The Jupani glares at the mouse. "Eh, what would you know about 'em nobility, huh?" he snaps suddenly.

The sea-Naga's carp-whiskers flick. He burbles, "Bits of 'junk' are not Kampfzengruppe machines. Not like any I see. Very strange."

Kris frowns at the snap from the wolf. "Enough to know I'm not one," the mouse replies, lightly enough. "What were the bits of junk like, Mooncoil?"

Mooncoil burbles, "Machines like that of Kampfzengruppe, but parts all different. Pieces not fit together. Kampfzengruppe always use standard parts. These bits cobbled together. Some pieces hand-made. Pieces of shell. Same things as Kampfzengruppe machines, but different makers."

Hammerhand snorts. "I'd like to see the Kampfzengruppe make a giant urgan-sized clam-shell fly!"

With a grunt, the wolf unfolds his arms and cracks his knuckles, still glaring at Kris. However rather than walking over and introducing the Skeek to his fists, he turns away and walks towards the water where he stops with his back to the group. "Ehh, that whole ship was like that. Bits of Kampfzengruppe-like machinery mixed with the livin' walls. They said somethin' about repairing the 'pearls' after I expertly crashed my seaskipper into their deck to, you know, stop 'em. The ship also fell outta the sky when mine hit it so, ehh, maybe they float with pearls," offers Arkold as he looks off thoughtfully into the water.

Hammerhand snorts. "A pearl in a giant clam shell. Makes sense. About as much sense as could be had." He rolls his eyes.

"That is odd. Maybe they have the same knowledge as the Kampfzengruppers, but not enough people to mass-produce things the way they do? I guess they must have some of the same learning as the Mariners, too. Weird… " The mouse looks at one of the distant platforms, then at the water, to see if there are any Mariners around.

Mooncoil shakes his head. "Kampfzengruppe cannot make things levitate like giant clam shell. They make hover-boats, but they blow air out bottom. Not like clam-ship."

"They called me an 'alien'," comments the wolf as he continues to stare into the water. "So, ehh, I don't think they're from Sinai or Abaddon. They look a lot like these 'ere fishsticks, come to think of it. S'maybe they're related."

There are a few Mariners surfacing here and there. It looks like a great deal of the "city" is actually located in the submersed areas, and the Mariners go about their daily business underneath the waters, occasionally coming up to the surface to get some air and sometimes to lounge about while resting.

Kris nods thoughtfully. "I don't think the Mariners can do anything like levitation, either. What happened to the women that were captured from the clam-ship, anyway – did they get released, too?"

Arkold chuckles again. "Yeah, I 'kin only imagine where they went. Ditch the boat and the useful stuff, but I'd bet good money Cap'n Kitten got at em," he says.

Scrimshaw shakes his head. "You'd bet right. That Warlord whazzisname didn't say anything about the women … and you know those Emir's sons … always wanting their own harem. Hasn't been much talk of it, though. I think he's keeping them back at the island."

The mouse folds his arms across his chest, tailtip twitching at Arkold's comment. He stares off at one of the Mariners resting by a walkway.

Hammerhand snorts. "You've got to be kidding. Someone from the Kampfzengruppe is going to ask questions."

Scrimshaw shrugs. "Hey, the Kampfzengruppe knows all about the 'kitty princes' and their ways, and they're still buddies. I'd imagine they're just looking the other way."

"Nobody asks questions about the prostitutes the island already has, Hammerhand. Why would they care about another dozen more?" Kris remarks quietly, tailtip still twitching.

"Yah, he may be a bumblin' wet-behind-the-ears coward, but if he ain't predictable … " The Jupani rolls his head around so he can watch other others over his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye. "S'cause they're new, Kris. I ain't never seen their kind 'ere before, and they're not from us. So I'm thinkin' they might be natives. Possibly enemies of these 'ere fishsticks."

The mouse chuckles. "Like the Kampfzengruppers can tell. C'mon, they're used to everyone looking human. They're going to be able to distinguish between weirdo sentient creature from Ashtoreth and weirdo sentient creature from Sinai?"

Hammerhand frowns. "Well, most prostitutes are willing. I just smell trouble, that's all. And I don't like to be any closer to it than I have to be. Not unless I have some say in how things go."

Kris snorts at the Rhian's comment on prostitutes being willing, then calms his agitation, nodding to the sentiment on trouble.

Scrimshaw smirks. "Near as I can tell, those ladies were just Khattas. Just some different type I've never seen before. Stripes here, spots there … a real mixed bag."

"Where'd yah say yah came from, Hammerhand?" asks the wolf absently. He turns his head back to regard the water again before he continues speaking, this time sounding a bit more focused. "Now remember, Warlord what's-his-face is gunna have his tail in a knot over this. It ain't in people like that to take this sorta insult laying down. Keeping his harem'll just make 'im madder. You 'kin bet we'll see 'im again."

Hammerhand shrugs. "I came from an airship, that's where. The Merryweather. Same as Whitehead, though he's … uh … gotten around a little more than me."

Whitehead puffs his sunken chest proudly.

The mouse gives a melancholic sigh at Arkold's observation, then glances from Hammerhand to Whitehead in surprise. "Zat a fact?" Kris murmurs.

"Heh, no doubt from runnin' away!" The wolf barks a laugh and turns back around to fully face the others. He clenches a fist defiantly and waves a hand out to the sea. "I ain't scared of no pirate kitten. We'll wipe the deck with 'im and his milk-lappin' sons, right there, Scrimshaw?" He looks to the tiger-Khatta hopefully.

Scrimshaw roars, "You can bet your tail we will!"

Several Mariners nearby startle at the roar, and disappear into the water in a series of rapid splashes.

A smile from Kris at the emphatic declarations, which turns to a laugh at the reaction of the surprised Abyssinians. "You're already scaring off one set of natives. And those are the ones on our side!"

At hearing the splashes, Arkold spins around to watch the Mariners flee. He grins from ear to ear. "Yeah! Watch 'em flee. We'll break their clam-boat, even if I gotta ram the urgan into it!" He walks over and gives Scrimshaw a heavy pat on the back. "Eh, you got some spirit, Scrim. By Dagh's … uhh … Dagh's … ," he glances over at Hammerhand, "say, what're them Sisters you mentioned again?"

Scrimshaw rolls his eyes. "Seven Sisters. Inala's the easy one. Sunala's the death one. Blakat's a nut-case. Rephath is the backbitey one. Zakaro's a presto. Gurphat is just plain sick. Barada's the little imp."

Hammerhand shrugs. "What he said."

Whitehead's tongue hangs out. "Ohhhh, Inaaaaala."

"Ehh, works fer me," says the Jupani. He then reaches one of his larger, water-sealed holsters, while turning his back towards where the captain went. He yanks out a rather large pistol and holds it up. "Since we're talkin' 'tech, what do yah make of this thing, eh?"

"Oh, grow up, Whitehead." Kris glances at Scrimshaw. "Would it be all right if I explored a bit?"

Scrimshaw shrugs. "I don't see why not. Just if you get in any trouble, I'll claim I tried to talk you out of it, all right?"

Whitehead's eyes go wide at the gun, and he squeaks, "Holy mudder of Dagh, not again!" He dives into the water.

Arkold grins at the tiger-Khatta. "Spirit yes, ain't much of a spine though!" The wolf laughs at the tiger, and then as the Skreek retreats, he laughs even harder.

Hammerhand snorts at the sight of the retreating rat.

"Okay," the mouse answers cheerily. He heads for the water, then stops as Whitehead goes into it. Kris turns and selects a different entry point into the sea.

Mooncoil leans out from his comfortable position half-submerged in the water, and flicks his carp whiskers again. "Look like a rotary gun, only smaller."

The wolf idly twirls the gun on a finger. "Ain't it grand? They had more weapons down there, but ehh, I hadn't time to grab any." He lowers the weapon and holsters it again. "I think I'm gunna go walk along these 'ere platforms. If there's trouble, ehh, I'm sure I'll hear Whitehead scream," he says before walking off towards a walkway. "Hey Scrim, come along if yah want."

Scrimshaw ponders, then says, "I'd say keep that thing sealed while you're under water. That doesn't look like it's made for use when wet. As for me, I'll stay here. I'm supposed to be in charge of the group, so I'd better be around when they come looking."

The Jupani nods his head as he goes. "Yah, I guess you gotta look somewhat respectable, eh?" He smirks and continues off down the way.

The walkway is a combination of planks of wood that look like salvage stuck together to make walkways, and more "native"-looking coral growths serving as bridges. The tops of coral buildings poke up through the water, and a few Mariners hang onto the sides of the rooftops or even sit up on the dry area, only occasionally glancing in Arkold's direction.

After a bit of walking, off to one side Arkold sees what looks like some sort of a coral pen … in which there are several … tiny urgans? Each is about the size of a Drokar, floating in a coral-walled "stall". Just below the water, some Mariners can be seen working about tables made of coral with what look like squids and whales. Really small squids and whales, that is.

After walking aimlessly along the pathway considering things, Arkold pauses and takes a look around. "S'not so bad with them down there," he tells no one in particular as he peers down into the water. "Huh." He begins making his way closer towards the small urgans and the Mariners seeing to them.

It looks like the Mariners are working in little bubble-environments under the water, performing some sort of surgery on the miniature urgans and squids … and some other creatures. It looks like they're cutting off pieces … and then fusing them back together again in a different combination! So that's where little urgans come from…

Kris, a breather once more mounted over his face, swims over to the Mariners working on the miniature animals. He makes the same gesture to them that he made to the threesome of Abyssinians earlier, while he watches what they're doing.

Some Mariners finish their work on a mini-urgan, which twitches about … and then they use a spiny shell to inject some sort of fluid into the creature as they sew it up … then gingerly ferry it over to a little "bed". One of the Mariners squeezes a squishy-looking creature clinging to the wall … and suddenly the water in the bubble-environment starts to churn and cycle, as the bits of blood clear out of the chamber, replaced by clean water.

"By Rephath's bloody daggers, it's a body shop!" exclaims the wolf, having never seen such a thing before. He moves over to the pathway closest to them and kneels down so as to get a better look.

It looks like much the same procedure is happening in other bubble environments … but in others, it looks like other such operations are taking place on different sea organisms … fusing a part here, a part there, and creating living 'machines' out of squirmy little creatures, and then getting them to somehow fuse together with a bit of sewing and injecting an alchemical mix of fluids.

The underwater mouse hangs on to the edge of a coral building to keep from floating upwards, while he studies the Mariner's actions with avid curiosity, though staying far enough back to keep out of their way.

The Jupani shakes his head a little in disbelief. (If that ain't the most bizarre thing … Vhai, wonder if they work on sentient creatures like that … ) He shakes his head again to clear that thought from his mind before he stands up. He gives the whole creation process one last look-over before he decides to move on.

Arkold and Kris manage to catch some Mariners in the act of fashioning a spine-gun. It appears that there's not really all that much involved … just taking an existing mollusk and doing a bit of carving and inserting of bits of shells to form the handle grip and trigger mechanism that irritates the muscle inside into launching spines. They use some sort of goop to fuse pieces of shell together, which then hardens just like the original.

After casting a glance at his own spine-gun, Arkold moves to walk off again. This time, he moves at a faster pace, having found the whole experience of watching beings cut up and sewn back together disturbing, and wanting no part of remaining anywhere nearby.

As Arkold moves on, he can see that some of the urgans parked nearby look like they are undergoing some surgery as well. A partially submerged full-sized urgan is in the process of getting fitted with a big clear dome on top of its broad head. Some other Mariners imbed glowing spheres in various spots on the urgan's skin.

Arkold's tail begins to flick nervously back and forth as he watches the dome get attached to the creature's head. He decides looking somewhere else might be best, but can't quite seem to pull his eyes away from the sight. The insides of his ears lighten slightly as he continues watching the large scale surgery.

The mouse watches through the process of making the spine-gun with fascination. When it's complete, he swims down to the next tank, and then pauses at a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see a Mariner behind him, and grins beneath the mask of the breather. After making the fingers-spread-and-closing gesture, he points up to the surface, and the two of them rise to the walkway. The Abyssinian waits below the surface, while Kris removes the breather and watches Arkold, about a hundred yards away down the walkway, with his back to them.

The urgan makes a low moan, but otherwise does very little as the surgery is performed. It seems to actually be conscious. But then, just imagine how much in the way of drugs it would take to sedate something that size.

With a groan, the wolf drops his head into a hand as he walks. "Ugghh, that's just … ugh … ," he mumbles in a low voice. He stops walking now and closes his eyes to stand there with his head held and inner ears lightening, looking quite uncomfortable at the whole sight.

After a moment, the Mariner bobs up next to the Skeek, casting a quick glance to the Jupani. She motions towards Kris, then swims to the top of a building not far off. The mouse nods to her and dips into the water again to follow. Once he arrives at the edifice, Kris settles himself gingerly into it, and watches while his companion does the same. They converse quietly, voices scarcely carrying above the continuous lapping of the water.

As Arkold continues along, there's yet another coral corral off to his right. This one has beds with piles of starfish-like creatures – breathers – in shallow water. Some Mariners tend them, picking through to find the largest ones. One Mariner picks up a "breather", and it starts to squirm, reaching out with its legs as if struggling to get a grasp at the Mariner, as a long white tube extends from the "mouth hole". The Mariner idly grabs the white tube and gives it a quick jerk and twist, popping it out … tossing the now-limp tube into a coral bowl with several other tubes, and the starfish-like creature into a second corral with other such "neutered" creatures.

As the Jupani looks up and spies this new scene, he just stares at it for a moment before he forces himself to look the other way. (Seas be cursed, I'll take machinery any day.) He begins walking off even more quickly now to get away from this new image.

Arkold at last reaches a place near the center of the dome. A large column that looks as if it might be made from cartilage rises up toward the top of the dome to support it, and the central walkway forms a circle around this cartilage column. Off one way, on another path, Arkold can see the Prince-Captain and his entourage walking along – the Khatta looks to be in better spirits (and in a dry change of clothes), while some Mariners swim alongside the walkway. It sounds like the Mariners are actually speaking in Khattan … with a bit of an accent, but … it sounds a bit like the accent that the clam-shell Khattas were using, truth be told.

After listening in, and being quite grateful for the distraction away from the biological constructs, Arkold moves on towards the central pillar to a side of it that would allow him to move out of the Prince-Captain's immediate view while allowing him to listen. From here, he turns and almost leans back against the structure, but decides against it, given that it's yet another living thing he'd rather not get too close to here.

"Yes, it would be most pleasing to be dealing with your father, good Rashad Prince-Captain! May the water always be warm for you!" comes a Mariner voice.

"Of course, of course," Rashad says through a grin. "He'll be glad to hear this. Again." He picks up his pace, as the Mariners continue to shower him with thanksgiving and flattery.

A shrill whistle pierces the quiet air of the dome, causing many of the relaxing Mariners to start and look towards the coral building the sound came from. A giggling female Abyssinian, looking surprised, drops the object from her lips. She smiles at the mouse who handed it to her, murmuring something soft to him and waving him away. They dive in separate directions, hopefully before attracting too much attention from the formal party.

Rashad briefly looks in the direction of the whistle, but does his best to look unconcerned, and continues on his way as before, making his way back toward Scrimshaw and the seaskippers.

As best he can without having them in view, Arkold attempts to step around the pillar and avoid being seen. In this way he tries to listen in on more of the conversation. Just as he realizes the captain is returning to the ship, the shrill whistle causes him to jump back against the pillar. He quickly begins searching for the noise as well as a way back that the captain won't notice him walking.

As open as the dome is, there's no way to guarantee Arkold's ability to get back by walking across the walkways. Swimming, perhaps, might help him avoid the Prince-Captain's notice …

The wolf sneers at the water for a moment before he moves off towards it and lowers himself to a knee. He turns around and lowers himself slowly into the water to avoid making too much noise, and then swims off back towards the moored seaskippers.

Arkold manages to make it back to the seaskippers, amazingly enough, without incident … aside from having to avert his eyes from some more disagreeable practices of grafting critter bodies together to make living "gadgets". In fact, he manages to beat the Prince-Captain back there, much to Scrimshaw's relief.

"All right," says the Prince-Captain, looking quite pleased with himself. "Prepare to shove off, men!" And then he wrinkles his nose as he realizes that he has to get back into one of those jelly-spheres again … and get wet.

Scrimshaw casts off moorings on his seaskipper, and starts the engine. "You heard him! In the water!"

The mouse, still wet from his swim, has no difficulty with casting off the seaskipper and beginning the voyage back… although he does wait until the last moment to put the breather back on again.

Having made it back to his own seaskipper, Arkold unties its moorings and leaps into the cockpit. He reaches up and drops his goggles before turning on the engine and pulling the vehicle back around to face away from the beach. From here he grabs the "breather" and … stares at it again. "Uhhh … " He eyes it a carefully for a moment before closing his eyes and slapping it onto his muzzle once again. His ears pale, but he manages to open his eyes after a second or two, and pilots his craft off into the sea.