<div class="floatright">(http://i418.photobucket.com/albums/pp264/Stia616/Elf_Rogueavatar.jpg)</div><br/><br/>"Seagulls... We must be near land at last." Tavia thought to herself. Stretching her arms above her head she suddenly groaned in pain. That wasn't meant to happen. Then she realized her hands weren't meeting resistance. That wasn't meant to happen either. The cabin she'd been in for the past... she'd forgotten how long she'd been at sea for, though it almost like felt like a year, had been cramped, and therefore had been too small to be able to stretch as she was now. Rolling over, confused and in more pain, her hand sank into the sand. “Oh that can’t be good.”<br/><br/>Standing up and shading her eyes from the glaring sun, she looked about the beach, the memories from the night before coming back to her. The storm, the panic, the screaming, the flying over the rails of the ship without a moment’s notice… She decided in that moment, standing apparently alone on the beach, that she hated ships with a passion.<br/><br/>“Well at least I’m alive.” She said, looking down at her wet armour and even more sodden cloak. “Though wet armour and cloaks are<em>not</em>fun to wear.” Pulling the cloak off her shoulder she checked herself over, making sure that all her weapons at least were still in place. As she bent her head down to check the sword at her hip, her hair fell in front of her face. Another groan escaped her lips as she studied her hair, sword forgotten for the moment. “Salt water<em><strong>and </strong></em>sand!” She shouted to the world at large. “That’s really not good for my hair!”<br/><br/>Grumbling and cursing her luck she suddenly heard an ear piercing scream. “Ok… Sounds like someone else is having a worse a time than me” Quickly checking her weapons were still there and usable, she drew her rapier, picked up her cloak and started off towards the scream.<br/>