Svinsson growls in response. "We will see what that storm does to the Swiftmane," he responds - almost as frostily as the storm. The weather is rapidly worsening, and the gusts are making the timber of the masts creak, even flying only the smallest possible surface to maintain control of the ship. The watchman at the bow calls out directions, and the Swiftmane reaches the shore safely enough, running aground near what appears to be an old pier and some basic port facilities - a longhouse of some sort, what appears to be various equipment sheds. A white raven perches on one of the poles of the dock, peering quizzically at the arriving ship. "Move!" Svinsson calls, just as soon as the vessel stops moving. "I want supplies for three days unloaded and brought into that longhouse as soon as possible."