“Argo? The Argo!?” Though Morgan wasn't as hyped about it as he made himself out to be, he thought Argo would appreciate the recognition. He liked Greek myth due to a period of intense interest in it in his early teens, but as he got older he found it harder to feel strongly about anything. Regardless, it got the reaction he wanted as he felt Argo chime with pride, like a pony, prancing before an adoring audience. Unlike outside however, there was no groaning and creaking of wood. Instead the golden fleece shimmered slightly as it was plucked. The sounds of taught strings harmonized and conducted Argo’s feelings with its music.

“I'm sure you get this from all your captain's, but your voice is beautiful” in reply he received a tune of mocking reproach and he could almost imagine her saying:

“and my outside voice isn't?”

Morgan snorted as he started to settle into the cabin. A weariness came over him as his good humour slowly drained away. He just wanted to hide away in here, avoid all the troubles of the world for as long as he could. It was such a cosy space… But he'd done that for too long already, spent most of his life doing that. Argo must have sensed the shift in mood as the music chimed to him again, this time in a low and constant melody of comfort.

Morgan dried and cleaned himself off with a towel he found in the cabin's bathroom, complete with toilet and a hybrid shower and bath. It was another of the strange anachronisms in the ship he had no way to explain, but he supposed a magic ship didn't owe him an explanation on how exactly it managed indoor plumbing. The towel itself was not what he was used to, more like a towel shaped curtain in texture though he wasn't about to complain. Finally dry, Morgan heard a click and a long last, set his eyes upon clothes. Glorious, glorious clothes.

“Argo you beautiful, magnificent dame!” Morgan said, only slightly exaggerating the reverent gratitude in his tone. Argo chimed back with glee, garnished with a sense of mock humility. Piece by piece Morgan relished the experience. There was underwear, though it had no elastic with a draw string on the wasteband to hold it instead. He found a light grey tunic to wear hanging up, around the hem and sleeves it had the blue patterns in the style of the linear art often found on ancient Greek pottery. Next was a pair of loose linen trousers, dark blue and plain. Finally a draw opened containing a pair of sandles that went up to just below the knees. Morgan knew they would be too small, but he knew he would likely need shoes given all the injuries he'd already got on his feet he would need them. As Morgan winced from the leather brushing against his wounds he had to blink the blurriness from his eyes, the shoes fit perfectly. Looking them over they surrounded his calves like boots, only opening up around his toes and the front of his foot. Morgan squinted at the sandles and called to Argo

“Do all the clothes here change size?”

Argo chimed back with a series of impulses that Morgan had interpreted as: “obviously, I'm a magic ship of course my captain's clothes are magic”

Morgan just shrugged, he trusted Argo not to give him cursed boots that would launch him halfway to the moon the moment he tried to jump or something. With the final touch of a rope belt around his waist and a short grey cloak cinched with a blank silver medallion around his shoulders, Morgan went to inspect himself in the mirror. He was quite glad with the outfit. It had elements of a number of historical garments he knew of, but combined in a way that never would have naturally occurred in history. It gave him a goofy-fun renaissance faire look that he didn't mind. His own looks he thought left something to be desired. The sun burns-which had already started to peel turned his ordinarily pale face into a blotchy red mess. Not that he had a particularly high opinion of his looks on a good day anyway. He had luckily inherited the ashy-blond hair from his mom's side along with his older sister. With his full beard and thick eyebrows, what was left of it could probably look fairly nice as well if he took care of it. He didn't of course; he'd left his hair just a bit too long between visits to the barber and now it had grown just about long enough to be unflattering. Morgan took some time to groom his eyebrows and a futile attempt at fixing his hair which would inevitably look awful after the first stray breeze. His beard which he thought usually looked quite regal now just made him look like he was gearing up for a Castaway remake.

“I can't even blame this on being stranded for years,” Morgan sighed.

“I literally just got here.”

Argo tittered and with a grumble Morgan tidied himself up as best he could though the result still made him wince a bit. Morgan heard a rattling over at what looked like an intricately carved writing desk. As he approached one of its draws opened. Inside was not much, some old writing in letters and presumably a language, that Morgan did not understand. What he did recognise was the plain DC Abbottlooking compass and just above it, the fine knife, sheathed above it. Morgan eagerly wanted to pick them both up, though he felt his earlier promise come to mind as a tightness spread through his chest. Argo chimed at him encouragingly.

“Can I really take these? Morgan said, gesturing two the the knife and compass. Upon Argo's insistence Morgan gingerly picked up the two items. The compass was a smooth polished bronze, largely plain save for some detailing around the narrow rim. Flicking it open he snorted a laugh as he still didn't recognise the letters, though he guess if the design was anything like the ones on earth the big fancy letter at the top was north. It didn't particularly matter though, as the direction hand was spinning around madly. He figured it was the storm - storms could do that right? Benching the question Morgan turned his eyes to the knife. It considered calling it a dagger for the cool factor, though from what little he knew it probably wasn't long enough to qualify. The sheeth was made of lacquered wood with bronze reinforcements in the shape of waves. The knife had a small bronze pommel and a cloth wrapped grip. When Morgan drew the knife from its sheath he saw the blade, unlike the other metal on the knife was a bluish steel, golden light from the fleece above shimmered like sunlight glinting on waves as it bounced off the damascean blade.

After he was done profusely thanking Argo for the gifts and taking an embarrassing amount of time figuring out how to secure them on his belt, Morgan started to dawdle around. He didn't want to leave so he found himself indulging in idle thoughts, as he looked for things to fuss over. Eventually though he found himself just staring off into nowhere, desperately clinging to the isle of safety he found with Argo. He was thankful she had the grace to indulge him. But time wasn't about to stop its show for his convenience and Argo nudged him with an encouraging chime. Reluctantly Morgan dragged himself back to reality. He blinked rapidly to moisten his eyes which had gone dry from staring. Morgan started on his way to the outside and with each step closer he felt every ache and wound with greater clarity. He knew this at least was no magic, it was the same thing he always felt pushing himself into anything uncomfortable. His mind would think of any reason not to and it shouldn't or couldn't go ahead and if it couldn't find one, it would make one. It was a part of himself he hated, like trying to walk through quicksand it turned an otherwise simple descision into a herculean effort. As Morgan halted by the door staring at the handle to open it. He took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping back into the world outside.

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Not wanting to lose his momentum and nerves Morgan made his way to the side of Argo closest to the large series of rocks that formed a steep, but manageable rocky path up to the side of the rocky outcroppings point. He squinted at it, partially from the steadily setting afternoon sun, but also because he was still sour about missing it. Morgan turned back to look at cabin. The habit of looking at someone you're speaking to had to be repeatedly drilled into him when he was young was something he hadn't quite figured out how to apply to a ship.

“Thank you again for all the help Argo, I'm not sure when, but I'll come back and hopefully I can find a way to get you free as well”

The now familiar creaking of wood and rustling of sails carried a complex mix of joy and caution. There was also a small lilting note of hope, faint and flickering, it was a feeling Morgan was uncomfortably familiar with. Morgan tried to give a reassuring smile, though it felt tight and strained. He would come back, he promised himself. He wasn't sure how he could help but he was going to be damned sure he did something. With his goodbye said and done, Morgan gathered the two sacks of supplies and slowly, but surely made his way up the rocky slope.

Morgan was rather proud of himself as he finally lugged the sacks over the last stoney hurdle to the flat grassy plane atop. He'd only nearly slipped to a horrid fate five times during the climb up the slick rocks; aside from a few new scrapes as well as sweat and sea water drenching his brand new clothes he was no worse for wear. Taking in the moment of peace, Morgan sighed as a warm breeze mingled with the afternoon sun. He decided to try and figure out what to do next while he caught his breath under the shade. Morgan groaned as he steadily plopped down beneath the olive tree. Idly, he wondered where the owl had gone, he was a little disappointed to see it go. The leaves of the lonely olive tree shined with an orange glow as the sun steadily set. Morgan peaked out from the shade and saw that same glow paint the ocean better than any artist. Morgan noted it, trying and failing to capture the wonder he was hoping for.

“Tis a beautiful view, wouldn't you agree? A feminine lilting voice called to him.

Morgan let out a very manly squeal of surprise as he nearly rolled down the grassy slope towards the trees. Morgan staggered to his feet, squinting his mole to try and see who spoke. Ahead a woman wearing a blue cloak, trimmed with white and gold stood by the olive tree, her face obscured by a halo of the setting sun. Morgan was left momentarily speechless, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find his words. She stepped out of the sun’s path, picking some olives as she went. She was a tall woman with long, wavy black hair and a light olive complexion. As she finally came to rest fully in the shade of the olive tree, he saw that perhaps her most striking feature were her eyes, he could swear he saw light shimmering in their stormy grey depths. Not wanting to just stand there gaping any more than he already had, Morgan dusted himself as he stuttered out some half formed greetings and remembering she had asked a question, agreeing that it was a very nice view. Based on what he could see of her Morgan guessed she might have been local and a rising sense began to build in his chest.

“We haven't met before, my name is Morgan, I'm not from around here and while I hate to admit it, I think I might be little lost”

“I am not surprised, given how you arrived here” She said with a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

“Though you are wrong about one thing, we have met before”

“I don't know, I don't think I could forget meeting someone as stunning as you” Morgan said with a chuckle. At that her smile widened into a grin that he swore had his heart skipping a beat.

“I see having clothes has inspired some confidence in you! That is good, you will have need of it in the times to come”

Dawning horror came over Morgan's face before settling into resigned acceptance.

“So you saw me naked huh? you have my condolences”

She chuckled, waving at him dismissively.

“You do yourself a disservice, you are not so bad a sight as you believe”

Morgan couldn't help but straighten a little at the complement.

“Well coming from someone that looks like a goddess that's quite the compliment” Morgan said with a lopsided smile.

“I'm making a bit of a poor habit of this but, I didn't catch your name?”

Slowly, a mischievous look formed on the woman's face as she spoke.

“It is funny to me that you should mention that”

“That I didn't ask your name?” Morgan said slowly, a growing suspicion starting to gnaw at him.

“That I look like a goddess”

Morgan wasn't in the habit of assuming every beautiful stranger he met was secretly a goddess, though given his recent encounter with a sentient mythical ship he was starting to reconsider that stance. He had tried to avoid staring at her before, but now he was paying attention, all the details were starting to come together. Her cloak had pulled back slightly as she ate the olives she had picked earlier. Beneath the ultramarine cloak, an intricate golden breastplate gleamed. Two small plates with rich, red tassels covered her shoulders and an armoured skirt in the Roman and Ancient Greek style covered her thighs. Below it, a white dress went down to her ankles, her sandles and the golden gleam of her armour only barely visible. Morgan glimpsed engravings of snakes lining the base of her breastplate, if she really was a god he thought, he had a pretty good guess about which one. His suspicions were all but confirmed as his eyes rested upon the small broach pinning her cloak in place. Upon it, a little owl was had been carefully engraved with intricate detail, detail that his feeble eyes should not have been able to make out, even at this distance.

“You were the cute little owl!” Morgan exclaimed.

“I prefer dignified and wise little owl, but yes”

“And if my knowledge of myth isn't completely useless, that would make you the goddess Athena?”

She paused for a moment, mulling over her reply. For a brief moment Morgan thought he might have gotten it wrong and wondered if he'd get smited over what he thought was a pretty damn good guess.

“, but for now, yes I am a god and my name is Athena. Though perhaps not Athena as you know her.”

Morgan opened his mouth to speak but Athena raised her palm before he could finish.

“Your curiosity does you credit but I do not have the authority to grant you answers. If you want them you will need to find them yourself.”

Athena demeanour shifted slightly, her serene face taking on a more severe expression.

“Now that we are introduced, we should move to more pressing issues. The hour grows late and you will need my help if you wish to survive.” Athena glanced over to the setting sun as she finished before looking back to Morgan, her eyes containing an intensity that wasn't entirely natural. Hesitantly, Morgan spoke up carefully considering his words.

“I’m honoured that you're offering to help, though I'm not sure what I have done to earn it. What kind of dangers am I going to face?”

“The dangers you will face are too numerous for me to summarise here and my offer of help is not free.” Athena replied. Morgan's mouth went dry again, this time however it had nothing to do with a lack of water. Morgan licked his lips as he tried to glean a bit more of what she wanted before he accepted anything.

“I'm flattered, really. But I'm not sure what I could do that would be of any value to you.”

A thin smile formed across Athena’s stern face.

“It is simple, though it will not be easy or safe, Morgan. I have a job for you.”