The wind picks up as the conversation progresses, prompting hard looks towards the east from the sailors; the towering storm clouds begin to darken the sky as they approach. Visibility in that direction continues to drop. The sailors can be heard muttering uneasily about being caught out right here, right now. The lookout almost drops his spyglass in alarm, eyes widening. "Snowstorm!" He calls towards the poop deck; the captain's response is prompt. "Well, fuck the restless spirits, then! Helmsman, bring us into the nearest safe spot you can find, and make it quick. You, look for a damn place on the shore for us to take shelter! If you don't know how, bloody ASK someone!"