Board Thread:Role Plays (AU)/@comment-13427943-20160403073608/@comment-26130256-20161104074728

"Heave to, lads!" Uriel Espinas shouted at the dock loafers he had press-ganged into helping him load the ship. "My grandmother could carry faster than you sad lot, and she has but one good leg!  Stow those crates of Dust near the stern, and spread the cannonballs around the cannon decks.  And you two with the big guns!  In the armory is our dear first mate, Mr. Silver.  Ask him what's to be done with the crates of firearms, and listen good.  Unless he tells ya something stupid, then you should just ignore him like I do all the time."

After what felt like way too much time, the loading was finished, and the Storm Fang was fully stocked and ready to sail the skies. The men lined up on the dock, and Uriel payed each of them a small handful of Lien. The sailors disappeared into the night to spend their paydays, and the quartermaster slowly meandered his way to the tavern he heard had just recieved a shipment of good dark beer.

To Uriel's mind, there were two sorts of men in the world. The ones who woke up at great absurd hours of the morning to get work done, and the ones who stayed up late, finished the job, and slept soundly into the morning. Mr. Espinas had firmly pitched his tent in the latter camp, and once he had himself a pint or two, he could mosey back to the ship and sleep until Captain Wolfe shouted to weigh anchor.