Aboard the dhow, mortar and pestle in hand, the dark Mage Ordrune stopped crushing an admixture of black and green crystals and looked up from the arcane blend.
Ah, as anticipated, my fell beast is dead.
Splendid! For it means those fools are nearing their goal.
He hissed a command, and the tongueless Drik leapt up from his station inside the door and raced away topside. Shortly a Ghok came groveling inward.
"Turn east and ready my Helsteeds and chariot," commanded Ordrune in Sluk.
The Ghok paused a moment, waiting to see if there were more his master would demand. Yet when Ordrune turned back to his mortar, the Ghok scrambled out and away, shouting his own harsh commands as he gained topside.
In moments there came the sound of rope pulleys in blocks and the whipcrack of canvas in wind, and the dhow heeled over to begin cleaving a new wake across the cold, cold brine.