This cargo hauler has seen better days, for sure, and there's no indication that it won't see worse. The captain, a Jupani whose favorite pastime is found in the bottom of a bottle, is rarely seen on the decks. According to the crew-hands, he has a real talent for driving a hard bargain – when he's sober, that is – but the old one-legged Korv first mate, Barnacle, is the one who really runs the show from port to port.

It seems that this crew has a high turnover rate. Quite unlike a pirate ship, you can leave with your hide intact, if you're tired of the way things are going, but apparently this ship sees enough action that just as many leave the ship not of their own accord. There are, of course, the normal hazards of waashu, pirates, tyrants who have a warship or two to defend their territory, and such … but the Merryweather seems to run into more than its fair share of them, if the tales be believed.

And that's probably why its new ship's doctor was able to get a job so quickly, no questions asked.

"Now remember, bind your hands the next time you decide to handle the ropes in cold air. Just because you don't feel your fingers hurting doesn't mean you're not shredding them to bits," a coal gray rat chides a Rhian deckhand. "Now just keep rubbing the herbs on there twice a day and they should heal up good as new." The rat handles her job with a certain air of detachment – neither insulting nor warm … more mechanical than anything else. Her eyes wander out across the skies more often than not.

The much larger Rhian ducks his head, duly chastised by the much smaller Skreek, and he heads off, seemingly relieved to be done with that business. He's a young one, and obviously not wise to the ways of airships. Probably thinks he's invincible, and takes it for granted that his fantasies of being able to single-handedly fight off an entire pirate crew are true.

Another large figure lumbers up to the Skreek, though this one is a digitigrade, spotted feline, covered up in swathes of rough canvas and cloth, including a cowl that occasionally manages to obscure the "X"-shaped scar running across his face. He bows to the Skreek.

Willow just shakes her head and pockets her supplies. She resumes her walk across the deck, figuring that the best way to fulfill her service is to be in as many places as possible so that anyone who needs her can just flag her down. "Rickety thing," she mumbles softly to the Savanite, "not to mention wide open for an attack. It's been a while since I've tangled with pirates."

The Savanite just nods in agreement with every statement and observation made by the rat.

The ship continues its journey … northward, by the position of the sun. It has been making a meandering path, visiting villages and even smaller settlements in places that might not even have names.

On occasion, there has been some excitement, as the ship has put out all lights to avoid unnamed enemies, or odd measures have been taken to try to ward off waashu that never materialized – such as tying pouches of herbs to bubble-melons, and setting them adrift in the ship's wake.

It seems that it's a rare thing for this ship to land in a major port such as Rephidim … or any of the other major powers. But then, the boondocks locations this ship frequents don't generally have docking fees, and the ship evidently operates on as close to a shoestring budget as a viable airship can manage.

Pausing to lean out across the railing at the skies ahead, the rat inhales sharply though her nose, momentarily sneezing at the chill. She squints as she tries to get a look at the skies ahead.

Forested hills roll below. It could be anywhere, really. Anywhere … except that a large reddish plateau can be seen off in the distance. Those have to be the Red Cliffs. As interesting as those might be, however, it doesn't appear that the ship is headed for what is left of Himar … though, frankly, its destination might not be all that far away from it.

Willow's eyes narrow ever so slightly. She leans over the side of the deck and spits down at the ground below before resuming her rounds. "Make sure little Thorn isn't getting into trouble, Burr," she squeaks to the Savanite, using her new nicknames for both of her slaves. "And if you hear the slightest bit of trouble, I want you back up here on the double."

"Woo hoo!" cries out a male Skreek, with the unenviable name of Whitehead – a white rat with a pink nose, and a patch over one eye. (For all his demeanor, though, he might have lost it by poking himself with a bottle neck, rather than in some feat of daring-do.) "There's the red rock! Not long now to bee-YOO-tee-ful places, and bee-YOO-tee-ful faces!" He bumbles past Willow. He probably hasn't figured out her gender yet, or he'd be the sort to pause to make an obligatory ogle. (But then, that would probably be regardless of species or attractiveness.)

"Burr" bows and slips off to pay attention to the cub.

"Bah… nothing beautiful around Himar. I'll be glad to move on," Willow hisses, checking through her pouch just to make sure she has enough hangover remedy to get her through the next few days.

A popping of the ears is the first hint that the ship is losing altitude, albeit slowly. Eventually, the air should start warming up, as it's summer time in this part of the world … though up at this altitude, it's hard to tell. Not being a passenger liner, this ship tends to take higher altitudes, since the bulk of its crew is used to the slightly thinner air … and it's less likely to encounter trouble from restless natives on the surface.

The gray rat sticks a finger in her ear and wiggles it. "Hmm. Guess we're landing." She looks back over the railing to try and pinpoint where.

The Korv first mate hobbles across the deck on one clawed foot and one peg leg, making soft noises to himself that sound almost like clucking. He doesn't bother shouting any orders, but every once in a while he passes a deck-hand that hasn't figured out to get ready to land, and he gives a gentle reminder in the form of a swift kick to the hind-quarters with his wooden leg, or a poke with his beak.

Not wishing to get a boot herself, Willow rushes to some crates and looks to be making sure they're securely tied down. "Where are we landing, Mister Barnacle?" she chitters to the Korv.

The Korv clacks his beak, looking sideways at the Skreek. "Bakanal." The name doesn't ring any bells. "West of Himar. Beautiful place. Much trading this time of year, not much competition. Well kept secret. *KAW!* Hunting season starts soon."

The crow caws this out fairly quickly and rapidly, evidently eager to be done with the answer, and get on to more tail-kicking as he makes his rounds about the deck. The Skreek manages to avoid any such treatment, naturally. Burr, however, having chosen just the wrong moment to pop back out on deck and look around confusedly, gets a beak-jab in the ribs that makes his ears shoot up in alarm, and he scurries about to find something busy-looking to do.

"Hunting?" Willow bites down on a snide comment about Jupani and how they're always hunting for something, usually members of the opposite gender. Her thought gets broken off as she watches the Savanite get poked, and she resumes 'checking' the boxes.

The Korv doesn't bother answering, as he busies himself with his rounds. It looks like, true to his word, the ship won't be landing in Himar, but without imaginary lines to designate the borders in such a wilderness as this, you can bet that there will be plenty of Jupani about – and they probably wouldn't care much about whether their land was called "Himar", or "Bakanal" or what-have-you, all things considered.

The landing of the ship is, as any good landing should be, mind-numbingly slow and boring. At last, and while there's still daylight out, the vessel is tethered down. Apparently this isn't a "hit and run" cargo shipment, because the carriage is brought all the way down to the ground for securing, and supports are assembled to cradle the suspended envelope, lest any storms blow through the wilderness.

Willow jolts awake as she ship finally hits the ground, having found a spot between cargo crates to jam herself in and hide until landing. She clambers out, dusts herself off, and takes a look around.

The airship is met by an assortment of Lapi, Cervani and Jupani … with a few other representatives of "forest-dweller" races. True to those settlements found on the surface, there are a number of genetic aberrations apparent – Lapis with digitigrade legs, Cervanis with plantigrade legs, the presence or absence of head hair, some variation in the number of digits on the hand … but nothing gruesome.

( Freaks, ) is the first thought to leap into the rat's mind, having spent so much time in Rephidim and growing accustomed to the stereotypes there. She's oblivious to her own odd leg stance in the same manner one would be oblivious to a wart on one's own face. The rat shakes herself off and waits for unloading to commence, and a chance to stretch her legs on the ground.

The heavy laborers on board start unloading crates from the deck, and some of the older menfolk of the village come in to inspect the goods, as Captain Merryweather makes a rare appearance. He gives some gifts to some of the village heads, knowing them well enough to call them by name – and probably to remember their likes enough to give them some appropriate tokens of greeting. Once the niceties are done, however, the haggling begins – Even though the tones are kept low, with a veneer of politeness, there's still a tangible edge to the negotiations that can be seen in the body language if not overheard in their voices.

A Cervani doe in a flowing white dress, with a crown of flowers tied in her hair, seems lost as she gazes at the airship with an unabashed expression of awe. While the captain may have come here before, he must not have visited enough for the locals to get terribly used to the sight of a trading vessel.

Willow elbows the one-eyed rat. "So, what do you know about this place?"

While the dress is nicely made, and the flowers have a colorful touch, there doesn't seem to be any air of wealth about her, and, frankly, her face is very plain by Cervani or other standards. Some imperfect teeth would make her ugly in many circles. Nonetheless, this doesn't protect her from being ogled by the lech rat that Willow elbows.

The white rat breaks out of his ogling. "Huh? What? Oh! Hey there, mate! Watch it! You're not thinking you're the next Barnacle, are ya?"

"Sorry mate," Willow responds. "Just wondering if you've been here with the captain before. Is this just some old hick town? Worth hopping off the ship for a looksie or a drink, or am I better of in the hold with a bottle?"

The rat grins. "Oh yeah. It's great this time of year. The women are really easy. And there are plenty of parties to be had, and plenty of Jupani willing to share a drink and grub – once they've had a few brews themselves!"

Willow eyes the doe at her companion's comment about them being 'easy'. "Know how long we're going to stay here? I figure it's not an in and out since we actually set down."

"Couple, few days, maybe," the rat says with a shrug. "The captain prefers a quick stop-and-go, but the locals here like things slow. If he makes nice, he gets a better deal, and a bunch of gifts when he leaves. Plus," he grins, "a little land-side time can't hurt the crew while we're about."

The medic gives the white rat a whap on the shoulder. "Well, good luck on your conquests. As soon as I hear it's safe to go ashore, I think I might as well have a look about. Don't go planting too many trees while you're here… You don't want to regret it when you come back."

The white rat just starts laughing a little too loudly, as he swaggers off toward what presumably must be the direction to the town, though the trees surrounding the clearing obscure all sign of it save for a few small puffs of smoke that could signal campfires as much as chimneys.

It looks as if the bulk of the unloading is finished now, and most of the people – idle crewhands, or curious villagers – begin to clear out. A few of the more enterprising crewmembers bring out some items of their own to use for some small-time trading on the side – while the captain is still distracted in his haggling with the village heads, of course.

Willow's smile fades into a scowl of disgust as she watches the other rat vanish through the trees. It's rats like that who have given her whole species a bad image. She shakes her head and starts down the gangplank before a shiphand can grab her over a blister or a bruise. Sizing up the crowd, she makes a beeline for the doe, figuring she can at least get her away from the more hormonal crewhands at the very least.

The doe seems to be totally unaware of Willow's approach until the last moment, at which point she snaps out of her reverie, quite startled. "Oh!" she squeaks, as her ears flush. "So sorry. Am I in your way?" She steps aside.

The rat stays where she stands. "Not a problem. I just couldn't help but notice you eyeing the Merryweather like it was a king's galleon or the Intimidator. You don't see many ships in these parts?" She tousles a few strands of black hair from her face and pauses to itch one of the marks under her eyes.

The doe shakes her head. "No, sir. I have never come to the Sky God Clearing before. I have always been too young." She makes a gentle, almost weak smile. "But now I am of age, so I may go where I please."

( Yup… I know several folks on the ship who would be ripe to take this lady. ) Willow's tail flicks back and forth behind her idly. "And how old are you… miss… ?"

The doe smiles, showing a missing tooth, and two that have crowded at odd angles into the gap – but the smile is genuine and friendly despite the malformity. "This is my sixteenth summer, all thanks to the life-giving Mother."

The rat extends a hand, "Tell ya what: I'll tell you all about the airship if you tell me all about your home. My name's Willow, as in Willow-the-Wisp… Some of my friends call me Foxfire. And your name is?"

The doe looks dumbly at the extended hand for a moment, then extends her own – though the grip is limp and indicative of an unfamiliarity with the gesture. "I am Morning-Mist. You may shorten my name as you please."

Sounds of lyres, lutes and pipes can be heard through the trees, in the general direction of the village, punctuated by the occasional shout of a rowdy crewmember.

"Is it alright if I call you Misty? You look like a Misty." Willow winks and then spins back in the direction of the airship, cupping her hands over her mouth and shouting, "Hey BURR!! I'm going off in the village for a bit. You make sure Thorn takes those airsickness herbs, or I'll box your ears when I get back." She looks back at the doe and smiles again as though the gesture were normal. "I'd like to get something to eat if I could, Misty. I've been eating hardtack and drinking fermented or soured drinks for too long."

Misty smiles and ducks her head. "That would be fine. May I call you Foxfire? I hardly know you, but there is so little time to make friends before they are gone."

A spotty hand-wave can be seen from the ship's deck, indicating that Willow's command has been received.

"Fine with me, as long as you don't know any foxes who might clobber me because of the name. Just don't call me Will; I hate that." The rat looks around for signs of a lecherous one-eyed rodent and then makes an 'after you' gesture with her hands.

The doe smiles and leads the way to the village, the trees along the path parting to reveal a fairly rustic-looking village – a collection of cabins and huts that look barely raised above mere tents – and some fairly simple merry-making in the form of villagers playing music on home-made instruments and offering food – vegetable or meat, depending upon species – to the guests. There are several other does and rabbits dressed in similar fashion to Misty, and decorations hint at some festival being prepared for – not merely a grand welcome for the airship visitors. Despite the ill manners of Willow's companions, the villagers are pleasant enough, and perhaps this could be a gentle break from the humdrum of airship life – and the harried adventures of city life.