Morning, Port Titanicus
The sun had risen as it always had, the small, secure port town of Titanicus drifted lazily, several miles above the sea, various ships of all sorts disembarking or docking from the port, having arrived or set off before sunrise. Among those ships stood an imposing monolith of engineering, the Cobalt Trireme, "Tychon", and it stood proudly. The many dents along the hull gave it an air of experience, usually ships never made it out of the Shatter, but one of the Tychon's size wouldn't go down without a fight. Many crew members shuffled sleepily along the deck, getting the ship prepped to depart on the Captain's orders, most having finished their shifts made their way to the quarters below deck to let the shifts change off.

Leonard Barlow
Leonard nearly fell out of the bed when he got up, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he spotted the captain sitting at his desk. It didn't take him much longer than a few moments to realize the captain was out cold, likely fell asleep from pouring over the charts of the Shatter they'd recently acquired from Order Cartographers. Deciding that the Captain needed to get his ass in gear, Leonard walked over to his chair, and began poking at Noventius' shoulder, before forcefully shaking it until he felt the Captain start to stir.
"Vulf, you gotta get up,...C'mon, you aren't that tired..."
Captain rose for a moment but then sank back down face first onto the desk, mumbling something about "5 more minutes Gardet...I don't wanna go to school today..."
Leonard, deciding there wasn't much hope for rousing the Captain awake, decided he'd need to shock him awake. He managed to rotate the Captain's chair, albeit with great difficulty due to his small size, and ran out of the room with a sizable flagon in his hand, which he returned to the room with filled with water to the halfway point. Standing back a bit, he poured the entirety of the flagon right on top of the captain's head.

Vulfgang Noventius
Vulfgang has tried to get a few more minutes of shut-eye, at least until he felt something cool splash over his head and drip down his face. Nearly jumping from his seat, he was more shocked than angry, he glared at Leonard for a bit, the kid trying to pretend he was innocent and that it was just a leak. A massive leak. Below the solid deck.

Grumbling, Vulf began getting dressed after drying his head off, putting on his usual unusual attire of armor, if the people of Titanicus wren't used to him by now, they would have taken him for a bandit or a soldier, but no. He was just a bit paranoid after what happened after the first expedition.
"Leonard, relay my message to Lindow: All hands on deck and be ready to depart, We have the new Order Specialist joining us this time, and the men are to show him respect. And if they don't, they get deck swabbing duty with no shift change for 3 days." He said while he continued getting ready, dead serious apart the deck swabbing part, he still shuddered when he remembered the: "Stop hitting yourself" prank that landed one of the crewmen with a 6 shattered ribs and a fist shaped bruise on his lungs.

Leonard departed almost immediately after the message was given, jotting it down on a small piece of paper as he ran through the deck-halls, nimbly avoiding everyone as if it were second nature. The same message soon became known to all over the PA system, one of the more recent additions to the Tychon.

"Of course... I can fix things better than most, Fly damn near anything, shoot the wings off a fly, And what do I get? Dishwashing." Aaron Briggs said to a nearby deckhand, who passively replied with the usual 'hmmhm' most people used when speaking with him. Briggs used to be somebody! That is, until several altercations with various wives, daughters, and a few failed Coups more or less forced him into hiding. Luckily, he'd been able to hide out amongst these explorer types as a simple deckhand. Of course, his excellent powers of persuasion had gotten him on more or less without suspicion. However, he was certain the cyborg, what was his name? Sic- Sicara- whatever, the adept. He was certain that that guy was on to him, as he was the only one that seemed to question the value of his plane.

Now most people assumed it was your run of the mill propeller plane, but this was a P-51D Mustang fighter, one of the best damn fighter planes in existence, before you get to the crazy stuff with lasers and anti-gravity that is. Briggs was sure that guy knew how valuable that plane was. In any event, he was finished with the dishes, and had decided that now would be a good time to make sure his plane was transferred to the hanger okay. "Well, I'll see ya later... Joe?" Briggs said to the deckhand. "Stan." the man replied, clearly annoyed. "Joe it is then. See ya." Briggs said before turning and making his way to the hangar.

While the Disciples moved Sonne's equipment and items onto the ship, Sonne was standing at the docking bay of the Tychon. Where they were moving supplies in, new weapons, but more importantly, he was observing the transfer of a particular aircraft. A P-51 Mustang he understood, or one of the variants. Nobody outside the Order made them anymore, schematics were lost. And then refound by the Order, who kept it in their vaults. The aircraft was exceedingly rare because of that, since all others were lost in battle or lack of parts grounded them indefinitely.
He stopped a Disciple passing by,
"Yes, Lord Adept?" The Disciple asked,
"That aircraft, do you see it? We will need spare parts for it. Use the P-51D Mustang schematics in the Vault, tell the Fabricators to get to work on it. I will expect the parts and replacements when we come back." Sonne commanded. The Disciple nodded and quickly scurried off, blending into the mass of red robed disciples. He looked back to the shipping container containing the valued aircraft. It was dropped, rather harshly, onto the cargo deck of the Tychon. Sonne glared at the men moving the container, inhaled, and a crackling static was heard. "That box contains something worth more than all of your lives put together!" Sonne snarled, his mask amplified it. The booming voice got the attention of almost everyone nearby, including those moving the container. The people closest to Sonne winced in pain from the sudden yell. "To disregard the respect the aircraft deserves is to disregard your life." Sonne stated, quieter.
Sonne moved on, walking towards the ship, clearly aggravated. A Disciple walked next to him.
"L-Lord Adept, you are clearly frustrated." Disciple Nori trembled, "I-if you wish..."
"No, Disciple Nori." Sonne stopped and looked at her, "I am not that twisted Biologis. I do not need..." Sonne paused, contemplating the word, clearly unfamiliar with what she was suggesting, "Relief." He finally found a word.
She paused, composing herself, "Then what troubles you? Companions of the past are on this vessel, this should be a joyous moment."
"People change, Nori. Either I will disappoint him, or he will disappoint me."
"And you do not look forward to this encounter?" She inquired,
"Through disappointment we can gain clarity, and with clarity he can learn who I am once more." Sonne explained, "Now get on the ship. We have a schedule to keep.

Solid, rhythmic thuds rang out as heavy footfalls hammered into the ground, heralding the arrival of Zuk'ann'ar Longtooth, eight feet of green-scaled muscle. He strode easily towards the ship, but paused as he noticed the Adept.

"So, we have a half-dead on the ship. A pity; I find that the fleshweavers are better for sustaining life. I suppose the ship's medic will have to do."

The Sauran's voice was deep, powerful and surprisingly smooth and rich.

"Tell me, can you forge?"

Small eyes watched the surrounding area; taking in the rushing figures, the groups and loners, the curiosities and the everyday problems. He made small tsking noises to himself quietly as more and more people hurried on and off the ship- it was going to be a busy day for sure. Cotinis stayed in a small unused corner created by some of the items that had already been loaded, the only thing visible his face as the rest remained in his large cloak. The cloak was special to his people, made with extra material to account for the protruding body parts on his back. The material hung off them, making him look far larger and more intimidating then he actually was.

It also gave him extra pockets; glorious, wonderful extra pockets.
He was busy with them even as he watched everything else around him; his hands knowing the contents so well that he didn't even have to bother looking to know the location of each. His fingers skimmed over small boxes, trinkets, puzzles and tools, small vials of herbs and samples, papers with notes tucked safely away, maps and diagrams and the occasional random doodle that he thought had too much talent in it to throw away.
His cloak had far exceeded any old woman's purse that it had been compared to thus far.

His hands finally rested on a small wooden etched square- a good luck charm from some old crazy somewhere that his brother had collected at one point. Just then the announcement over the PA sounded; telling all to be on deck to show respect for a new Order specialist (with the threat of some unpleasant work or other if they didn't).
Placing the charm back and shifting the material so it didn't hint at any of it's hidden items, Cot finally changed out of his comfortable stance to wander over to some of the thicker crowds where there were more red robed disciples; if anything he figured it would be the most likely place to gather.

"So, we have a half-dead on the ship. A pity; I find that the fleshweavers are better for sustaining life. I suppose the ship's medic will have to do... Tell me, can you forge?" A massive Sauran asked,
Sonne stopped and glanced around, no other Adepts around, so it must be him. Sonne up at him and blinked , and here I thought I was a tall fellow. Disciple Nori looked up at the Sauran as well, and quickly hid behind Sonne.
"Yes. To work a forge is among my skills." Sonne confirmed, ignoring the nickname. Adepts got a lot over the years, although Half-dead was among the newer ones. Sonne quickly checked his watch, he still had time, "Do you require the services of a Forgemaster?" he asked, moving his arm slightly. A protective gesture to shield Disciple Nori, who was obviously terrified of the Sauran.

"I may. My armour, while of excellent quality, is liable to damage. It may need repairs."

He glances at the Disciple hiding behind Sonne and grins, revealing long, pointed teeth.

"There is no cause for fear. I deplore the taste of human flesh, whatever my brethren may think on the matter. I am more likely to resort to rat than human, even if we become stranded."

"I may. My armour, while of excellent quality, is liable to damage. It may need repairs." The Sauran explained,
"I see, I will do my best to retain that quality in your armor." Sonne assured, bowing slightly. The Sauran looked at Nori, who peeked out of cover for a moment.
"There is no cause for fear. I deplore the taste of human flesh, whatever my brethren may think on the matter. I am more likely to resort to rat than human, even if we become stranded." He spoke. Nori still didn't come out of hiding.

Sonne waited for a second, "She is a rather shy individual, easily afraid of the unknown." Explained Sonne, "She will be more approachable as she gets used to you and the ship. When she does, perhaps you can instruct her in some forms of combat? You are unmistakably a great warrior."

"I would be more than happy to do so. I rarely have a chance to train with another. Speaking of training, I should already have started my morning regime. If you'll excuse me...

He strides up onto the ship, puts his halberd and bag on the deck and starts doing sit ups over the ship. After a few seconds, he stops, disappears somewhere inside, then returns with a fifty-kilogram ballast bag and continues his sit ups.