The Gnome genius cocked a dubious corner of her mouth into her cheek, as a brow of scorn sunk over her eye. “That’s ridiculous!” she scoffed at the Captain. “Check your calculations again; the ambient temperature is far too temperate for such a northern latitude, and the humidity would suggest we’re closer to the tropics, or at least southerly enough to be in the path of a tropical sea current.”
Bandbombe turned her mocking eye from the man to the night sky, and began drawing lines with her finger between what stars she could see through the dissipating clouds. Then her lamp lit eyes grew wider. “No,” her mouth vocalised her brain's rejection of the data her ocular senses were recording. She drew the paths again, her finger pausing at a particular star as she aimed her eye down its length, and angled her thumb to the zenith of the spherical map overhead. Her mouth dropped opened to a pale pink “O” as she gauged the angle between her fingers then that pointed finger started scribbling figures on the blackboard of the night sky. The mathematician stood gazing slack-jawed at the vacant air for several long seconds, scratching her head as her eyes darted over her imaginary calculations.
“Great gears of the revolving universe! Do you know where we are?” Brandbombe cried in amazement at the Captain. “Oh, uh-,” she checked her enthusiasm, “of course you do. But this is astounding!” she declared boisterously, excitement taking hold again. “We should all be freezing our butts off. Well,” a slight sneer crossed her face, “except you.”
The planetary scientist turned to Mordran, and threw her hands into the air. “Do you know what this means? A tropical island in the midst of an arctic zone!” stubby fingers padded rapidly at her at her little round chin as the possibilities ticked through her mind. “It could be a geological attenuation of the planetary mantle allowing for geothermal warming of the locale. Or a meteorological anomaly created by a confluence of warming ocean currents? Perhaps,” her eyes began to dance ecstatically, “it’s some cast off portion of the original Well of Eternity. Or, or, or,” and she locked eyes on Mordran’s as she pointed emphatically at him, “maybe it’s a convexity geographically equilateral to the geologic concavity of the Un’goro Crater!”
The runaway tram of her thoughts was suddenly derailed by an infuriatingly distracting barking sound, and remembering they were all shipwrecked.
Brandbombe evaluated the druid’s report and offered her own analysis. “A Deep Sea Threshadon perhaps?” she theorized about the gargantuan sea life. “That would be highly unusual, as their nomenclature indicates, and they don’t tend to denize in or near shallow ocean. But given our current surroundings, I don’t think we can quite define what is usual or unusual for the area at the moment.”
“Nevertheless, I concur with the proposition for immediate evacuation, and given the curiosity of our situation, I believe it might be best to have something more stable under our feet before we attempt the intricacies of portal transportation. People, food, medicines, and tools are our priority cargo to shore Captain, gold is the least of our concerns now, and concerted efforts of salvage will be better achieved in the light of day. In the meantime, we’ll just have to hope that sea monster doesn’t find that your ship looks appetizing.”
“Very well Mordan,” Brandbombe gave a curt nod of consensus. “I’ll see the injured prepared for transport, and you can oversee their arrival. Fire beacons on the shore will be our cue that you have things secured, and we’re ready to move civilians.”
The little woman with audacity twenty times her size, clapped and rubbed her hands together with finality. “If that’s all gentlemen, and -uh-,” a questioning brow rippled at the feathered form of the druid, “lady? Then let's be about our business, non-replicating hydrocarbons are energetically oxidizing at a regular rate through the solar nadir! Or in other words: the midnight oil’s a-wasting!”
With a sharp spin and a flailing of crinkled, pink locks, Brandbombe turned on her heel and set off for her duties. “Oh! And save the Rum!” she roared over her shoulder with a wave of an exclaiming finger then coolly added, “It’s an effective antiseptic, and viable solvent for medicinal tinctures.”
Edited by Brandbombe on 9/6/2012 12:25 AM PDT