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Astrid quietly padded her way down to the room she had occupied on the way here, many of her belongings had been left here when she ascended to the Spire. She had, since boarding, resumed human form and taken the time to suppress her Moonsilver tattoos. Three steel axes with the hilt worn smooth, two sets of spear (steel and cold iron,) a shield, but most prized of all was her oil painting of Lem and her. It was a remnant from simpler times, before she was called to work as an embodiment of The Lunar Goddess.

The bed was comfortable enough, much of the fine silk sheets and bedding having been stripped off when Astrid first boarded. They currently lay in a pile in the corner, in favor of several furs from her most thrilling hunts. They were comfortable and smelled like home, a place the chieftain was already beginning to miss, despite having left less than a week ago. Gathering up the furs into her arms, she inhaled the scent of her family. "I hope you're all doing well without me. I'll be home soon."

The Lunar girl began her ascent to the deck, eager to start the journey, perhaps even row with oars if that were to expedite their trip. "Hark! Let us do our best to grab Amarel quickly." Her words were addressed to no one in particular, but once her eyes settled on Calliope and Nimin, she started over to them.

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The boat would suffice, though it was nothing compared to certain vessels aboard the Stygian, Creation often palled like that. His room was likewise sufficient for now, a coffin having been dragged in to sleep in. Fine purple velvet lined the inside, filled with downy from what some would consider sacred foul; not quite the crypt he was used to but it would suffice for now. It was at least enough to keep the Resonance from weighing down on his soul.

In the corner stood his suit of artifact armor. A Loathsome Osseous Shell, originally created by the Mask of Winter, adapted by Artisan for his own purposes. It was a beautiful creation, one almost entirely of bone and Soulsteel, and the fearsome seven-foot tall armor smiled back at the Abyssal. Attached to its shoulder was a device of his own creation, one that fired of its own accord at the wearer's enemies.

Artisan stared into the mirror above the water basin, his reflection showing the souls of the damned like a thick mist, cloying to him as they drifted around in a lazy roil. The image dissipated the moment he cupped a handful of water in his palms and splashed the cool liquid against his face. The boat rocked lazily beneath his feet, the voyage underway in earnest, soon they'd cross Sikunare's domain and head into untold waters. "Simple enough, we amount to a large army anyways. Some exiled spirits shouldn't be an issue to deal with. Regardless of who they have captive..."

The next morning, Ashen would find The Artisan That Which Souls Cling leaning on the wall outside his door. The figure was in his regular breastplate, saber strapped to his side. "Shouldn't we discuss passage into the Storm Mother's domain?" He moved off the wall, "Shall we rouse the rest?"