Abalone Cookie paced the weathered deck of his ship, the salty sea doing little to dampen his simmering impatience. His dark eyes scanned the choppy waters near the Crème Republic's jagged coast. The very air here seemed too… civilized for his liking, full of those soft-bellied Vanillians in their Upper City, squawking about diplomacy. Bah! He cared only for what lay beneath these waves.

"Any sign of 'em, ye barnacle-brained layabouts?" His growl cut through the wind, directed at a crewmate squinting through a spyglass. "Don't tell me ye be seeing only fish guts and seaweed! We ain't here for a scenic tour, are we?"