Ryth flies happily off the ship. Fair enough then. He hadn't felt particularly welcome aboard anyhow. This no doubt was due to the unfriendly sailors, and certainly not the fact that he carries a magic item that produces an endless volume of fine dwarven ale and did not share. No-siree-bob.

He was equally happy to have firm, unmoving, non-rolling land beneath his feet again (granted, about two meters beneath his feet, but the sentiment stands!) Ryth was a firm believer that sailing was an entirely unnatural form of transportation, likely conjured into existence by fell mages with dark magic and a searing hatred for dwarves. He didn't get seasick or anything, mind (he was far too used to the world around him constantly rocking for that to be a hassle). But he had seemed utterly unable to keep both feet firmly planted on the deck for more than five minutes at a time (a full two-thirds worse than his solid-ground average!)

No matter! They had hit land! And found a town! And the captain had requested for them to clear out everyone who lived there so they could make repairs! Or something like that! It was possible he hadn't been paying complete attention...