R’khan gets much stricter and quicker to anger. The only time he has ever hit Luca was after a crew member was killed, in response to an unrelated incident. She didn’t retaliate, surprisingly, but ran away and hid in the hold for a while, where the Argonians kept her company. R’khan didn’t apologise but then again, he also didn’t punish her for shirking her duties.

Speaking of Luca, on the rare occasions when somebody she actually likes dies, she gets stuck in the denial phase of grief. The person in question cannot be dead, and if they are, there must be a way to get them back. That’s what shady deals with the daedra are for.

Vilayn shuts himself away refusing to talk to anyone and drinks heavily; the length of time and amount of booze vary according to how much he liked the recently deceased. He was drunk for three days straight after he found out that his mother had died. Casether is worried about what will happen if (when) Hazil succumbs to his illness.

Tosti becomes cold, almost surgical. He tends to disappear for a length of time as well. If the person who died was someone close to him, and if they died before their time, the people at fault for their death tend to meet an unpleasant fate of their own shortly afterwards.

Azareth takes the news in his usual stoic way. It’s even more difficult than usual to coax conversation out of him afterwards, although he might be found in deep, quiet debate with Ethysil. Eventually he will pour out one for the deceased, smoke one of his fancier pipes in their honour, and move on.

Bereavement might be the only thing which silences Eddis’s laughter. True, he will start sucking and chewing on his teeth instead, but at least it’s a break from his usual giggling. He also becomes more erratic in his behaviour. The last time they lost a crew member and this happened, R’khan, in a moment of genuine concern for his bosun, called Eddis into his quarters for a private talk; Eddis was back to usual when he left.

Drasonval, Braskan, Oran and Sham commiserate with each other. Their omnipresent sense of camaraderie intensifies, and they will gather around, usually with a drink, and if they all knew the deceased they will share stories together until they’re able to laugh again. If only one of them was personally affected, the others will do their best to cheer him or her up or, failing that, just be there.

Bob will take her feelings out on any objects nearby, smashing them until she feels better. Surprisingly, it works. She doesn’t understand why everybody else has to bury their emotions, or sit around doing nothing about them.

Eldnar feels loss keenly, and struggles to hide his sentimentality. It embarrasses him and -- what a shock -- the crew tease him for it, so he tends to disappear in this sort of situation until he’s over the tears.

According to his beliefs, Ethysil is not supposed to consider death an end, merely a return to a greater whole. That’s all very well as an abstract idea. In practice he becomes very sombre, spends a lot more time alone with his thoughts, and either avoids talking to people if he is the only person affected, or listens quietly if other people knew the deceased.

Jo’Raya doesn’t show much in how she deal with other people, but she loses her appetite and spends a lot more time sleeping, or at least curled up in her bunk, than she usually does.

Assuming her surgical efforts did not contribute towards the death in question, Rosie deals with grief reasonably well. Like anyone, she goes through periods of sadness and anger, but they fade in a reasonable amount of time. If her surgical efforts did contribute, once she overcomes the guilt she will be determined to learn from the experience and do better next time, and will throw herself almost frantically into her work and study to ensure this is the case.

Turithys shuts down all personal communication. She will only talk to people to discuss work, and it can take a long time before she is ready to relax and open up again.

Like Jo’Raya, Xisthia’s interactions with others don’t change much, but that’s assuming they can find her. She will spend most of her time swimming and hiding underwater, distracting herself with exploring the seabed and sometimes sitting on rocks down there, watching the ripples overhead.

A search of the hold turned up a number of crates and barrels salvaged from more successful captures, as well as enough supplies for the final two weeks of the journey home. Bob, tasked with inspecting the barrels and reinforcing the enchantments, performed her work on the weather deck while her shipmates tended to their wounds. She probed her thick fingers around the banding on a keg. The enchantment sputtered at her touch until she urged new magic into it, frowning lightly, or as lightly as an Orc could manage when her face was permanently buried under the weight of its own leathery skin. The work was delicate and tedious. Not a chore she was best suited for, but it had to be done.

After a while she became aware of someone else sat nearby. Jo'Raya had the ability to pad up in total silence and yet the impatient swishing of her tail, the silent burr of her nails digging into the deck, always gave her away. A trail of blood, not hers, slicked the fur down from the back of her head and across her neck, and she flicked an ear at it occasionally. They sat in companionable silence for some time before Jo'Raya said,

'You feel it?'

Bob laid down her tools.

'Feel what?'

'The change. This one smells it in the elves.' Jo'Raya stretched out her legs, spreading her toes and letting the claws shine against the bloodstained deck. 'When Khajiit feels change, there is a restlessness which clings to its fur. The urge to run and pounce and to do.'

Years ago, back in the stronghold, Bob remembered the old chieftain, before he was challenged by his son. She had been young then, but that didn't stop her feeling the buzz around the forge or hearing the whispers running along the walls, as if the air were charged with an unseen energy. Eventually the tension grew so tight the son had to make his challenge simply to relieve the strain on the rest of the clan.

The urge to do. Around them, scattered across the deck, the sailors were working as usual, scrubbing down planking and hauling the spoils back to the Runaway Scamp, but every now and then there would be a glance between them, or a silence where there would usually be friendly insults and laughter. Bob picked up her hammer again, only to tap it against the side of a barrel to no effect.

'Mebbe. Why?'

'The elves can't run away from it. Change hunts without rest.'

'Y'ain't thinkin' of desertin'?'

'No. Where would this one go? Besides, Khajiit says, all kittens must leave their clan mother. Some change is merciful.'

In the wintry light which always lay over the Sea of Ghosts, Jo'Raya's fur looked dark, but the edges were tipped with gold. She held herself perfectly still and poised as she gazed out to the ocean. Bob watched her for a while before shrugging and digging herself into her work.

'Orcs got a sayin', too.' She waited until Jo'Raya turned her head to listen. 'Whatever shit life throws at you, meet it head on, 'cause there ain't much thicker'n an Orc skull.'

Jo'Raya's tailed lifted. Bob had never seen a Khajiit until she signed on with the Scamp, but that was enough to teach her that this was the closest Jo'Raya ever came to laughing.

'Orc and Khajiit, not so different.'

'Cap'n says we ain't Orcs 'n Khajiit 'n elves, we's crew.'

'Then we meet the change head on together, yes? We charge in headfirst, one crew.'