Time Skip
two weeks as the ship now prepares to enter Sevarith
The Silver Wing, moved with graceful precision along the coast, its white sails billowing in the steady wind. The ship's three towering masts loomed against the sky, and the crew worked in unison to ensure every rope, sail, and knot was in order. The wind pushed the vessel steadily forward, carrying it over the deep blue waters as the hull cut through the sea, sending white foam spraying out to either side.
The rhythmic creak of the ship echoed through the air, mingling with the soft rush of the waves and the occasional bark of a command from the quartermaster overseeing the crew. Sailors scrambled up the rigging, trimming sails, tightening ropes, and keeping the ship on course. Below deck, the cargo hold was being prepared for the impending arrival at port, as men checked crates and secured goods, anticipating the busy days ahead.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Quinton Church stood with his first mate, Garrick, a well-worn map unfurled before them on the navigation table. The wind tugged at their coats, but both men stood steady, eyes fixed on the horizon. Faintly, the outline of Sevarith began to materialize, its towers and docks rising in the distance, shimmering in the sunlight. Quinton Church’s sharp blue eyes narrowed as he studied the distant skyline, the port ahead one of the busiest they would encounter on this journey.
“We’re nearing Sevarith faster than expected,” Captain Church said, his voice calm but commanding. “We’ll need to adjust our course slightly to starboard and slow our approach before we enter the harbor.”
Garrick nodded, his weathered hands resting on the edge of the map. “Aye, Captain. The winds are good today. Once we make our turn, we’ll ease her in. The port’s bound to be crowded—no sense rushing it.”
The captain looked up at the sails, then toward the crew bustling about the deck below. Each man performed his task with the fluidity of someone who knew his role well. The crew had grown used to the captain’s exacting standards and had long learned to keep The Silver Wing in perfect order, especially when nearing a major port.
“Make sure the crew’s ready for a tight docking,” Church added, his voice low. “This city’s a snake pit, and I don’t want any trouble when we arrive. Cargo’s valuable to more than the guild and the passangers, and I’d rather not attract unnecessary attention.”
“Aye, Captain,” Garrick replied, glancing toward the bow where the coastline stretched out, gradually giving way to the bustling city ahead. “We’ll be ready.”
Below deck, the quartermaster and boatswain oversaw the last preparations, barking orders to the sailors working swiftly to secure the ship’s valuable cargo. Every crate and barrel had to be properly fastened for the docking procedure. Above, the crew moved with practiced ease, adjusting the sails and preparing the ship for its final approach.
The wind continued to carry The Silver Wing closer, and soon Sevarith loomed large on the horizon—tall spires, sprawling docks, and a tangle of ships and boats that signaled the port’s busy nature. Captain Church stood tall at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel, while Garrick stayed by his side, preparing to guide the ship through the maze of vessels.
The captain’s gaze lingered on the city ahead as the wind filled the sails. He felt a mixture of excitement and wariness. This place offered opportunity, but it was also a place of danger. With a final nod to Garrick, Captain Quinton Church gave the order, his voice carrying across the deck.
“Steady the sails. Let’s bring The Silver Wing in nice and clean.”
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