Rain poured in torrents, and the hull of the Royal Hound groaned as she fought against the storm. A cold, wet chill ran through First Mate Torlof as he struggled at the helm to hold course. How long had it been since they last saw land? 74 days at sea and still nothing. Nearly a third of the crew lost to disease and malnutrition, for what? For a fool's dream of an island loaded with ore.
23 men dead for a legend. And they won't be the last. We are all going to die out here.

A familiar voice interrupted Torlof's thoughts.
"Ay Torlof. Cap'n says you've been up 'ere long enough, and 'e said thats an order. I'm to take the helm before you get the fever. "
It was Marius, a good sailor and an even better friend. Torlof did not want to allow Marius to relieve him. Marius was sick, most of the men were, and they needed rest, especially in this weather. He had already sent Marius twice to politely tell the Captain that he would take the next shift. But an order was an order, and he knew in his heart that he did not have the strength to last much longer, he had long ago passed the point of exhaustion.

"Alright Marius. Take it. And may Innos protect you."
"Wait! I almost forgot, Cap'n also says to post a watch on the foredeck."
"A watch? Watch for what? There's nothing out here. And you can't see your own hand in in front of your face in this blasted weather!" Torlof said in shock.
"Cap'n said post a watch mate. 'E's a damned fool but 'e's the skipper. You don't 'ave a choice."