His motives are plain, he's driven to support his remaining family through whatever means.

"You'd still have to convince her. She threatened to cut all ties with me if I tried to go down there. And with a crew this size, hard to keep it hidden."

Damay looks suprised at the captin. "Cut ties with you? I certainly would suprised of any mother, who is willing to pay for strangers help, would cut ties with someone, especially family, for attempting to save her children." Damay smiled slightly as he prepares to leave. "We are planning to do whatever we can as agreed upon. Your participation is up to you captin and I'm sure you will find the path that's best for you and yours."

The next few days pass with the sea breeze. Coasting along the sea, it gives a nice view of the sword coast. Even the supposed Mere of Dead Men is a somewhat good sight, a strange one of a castle sinking into the lands. Neverwinter comes into sight on the last day, the 'Jewel of the North'. The aftermath of the eruption still seems to be present but the repairs look to be going well. The streets are bustling with people as they go about to site to site. Buildings are in varying states, miners are working on clears the magma off streets, and docks are busy with ships ferrying workers from one to the other.

You see madam come from the captain's quarter, giving the same man a stern glare as she comes to the bow of ship. "Enough of this talk, you cannot go Jasper. I appreciate the thought but you and your crew only know about sailing. What do you know about exploring ancient tombs?"

"Not to touch any cursed shite, look I'm just worried about my brother's kids." He says as he follows her out.

"I am worried about them too, but that's why I sought experts at this sort of work. Besides, as it stands you need to help with Neverwinter, you can't let your family's company fall apart." 

"They're doing fine, look at the city! Already working on clearing the lava and all that. And for the my family's company...we can rebuild from this but it's not as urgent as family itself."

Angus has wholly shied away from the talks over whether the crew should join the party after the initial conversation. The tense back and forth between the captain and Madam Hucrele isn't the typical suspense he's used to feeling on a ship; usually it's about whether the storm on the horizon will roll the wrong way, or if the chartered course goes through sea-monster territory. Still, that jeopardy comes with a sense of adrenaline behind it all. This debate is much more grounded, real, and personal than all of that grand adventure stuff, so he keeps his distance and his spirits high by looking to the sea and sky ahead. Even with the port city in sight, the tension between the two hardly dissipates, in fact it seems to intensify as the time for decision looms closer, but Angus feels he's hardly the one that should get involved with such a heated matter. All he's concerned about is getting in to that temple, and saving all the folks he can, whether or not it's with a few more helping hands.

Caldrin stands near the main mast, his satchel slung across one shoulder and his staff resting lightly in the crook of his arm. The faint breeze stirs the hem of his robes as he watches the city of Neverwinter loom into full view—scorched but vibrant, wounded but alive.

He listens to the sharp exchange between Madam Hucrele and her brother-in-law without comment, his gaze fixed on the bustle of the docks below. The smell of salt was beginning to give way to the scent of ash and hot stone, and the sounds of gulls were being overtaken by the grind of pickaxes and shouted orders.

With a soft rustle of feathers, his owl familiar glides down from the rigging and settles silently on the rail beside him. He reaches up, brushing the side of its face with two fingers.

“Not our quarrel,” he murmurs. “And I suspect she doesn’t need our help making her case.”

He glances back toward the gangplank being lowered, his expression calm and unreadable.

“Besides,” he adds, more to himself than the owl, “the real work begins once we step off this ship.”

With that, Caldrin adjusts the strap of his pack and begins his slow, measured approach to the bow—prepared to follow when Madam Hucrele gives the word, but content to let her finish her conversation in peace.

The two bicker for a while longer until the ship starts to near the docks. With a sigh, the captain walks away as he starts to shout to the crew. The ship slows down to dock at the harbor and after a moment of securing, the party has arrived at Neverwinter. Once the gangway was down, Madam Hucrele gestures for the party to follow her. Once on the docks, she looks back to the ship.

"I'll send word once they've been rescued! Just stay in Neverwinter and focus on fixing the company!" She shouts.

She looks back to the party and gives a polite bow, "Apologies for the small scene between my brother-in-law and I. He merely feels that he and his crew are enough to delve into ruins. I appreciate the gesture but he has to deal with his current situation. Besides, I'd rather not endanger more family especially since they're not well versed in delving. Now then, please follow me, I'll hire a carriage to take us all to Oakhurst."

Dantos follows along in a much better state. Family disputes can be uncomfortable and in this case, put him out of a job. He's glad it was resolved.

Caldrin descends the gangway with measured steps, his boots clicking softly on the wood before giving way to the firmer stone of Neverwinter’s docks. The scent of salt has already begun to fade, replaced by ash, iron, and the distant tang of magma-scorched stone. He casts a glance over his shoulder at the Fervent Tide, now moored and already being tended to by its crew, then turns his attention back to Madam Hucrele.

“No apology necessary,” he says quietly, falling into step beside her. “If anything, it was a rather restrained familial disagreement. I’ve seen worse in arcane colleges—and those didn’t involve actual family, only thesis committees.”

He adjusts the strap of his satchel and lets his eyes wander across the bustling docks, taking in the visible scars of recent hardship. Smoke still clung to some rooftops, and the distant sound of stone being broken echoed faintly through the air.

“It’s good you didn’t let sentiment take the lead,” he adds after a pause. “Loyalty has its place, but so does wisdom. And as you said—best not to multiply the risk.”

He steps aside slightly to let a porter rush past with a crate and glances toward the rest of the group gathering behind them.

“A carriage sounds ideal. I imagine there’s little to be learned here that we won’t see echoed again in Oakhurst—if not more deeply buried.”

Khazela hops from gangway to dock with a soft thud, crouching a breath to press claw-tips into the ash-dusted planks—solid, still, blessedly unmoving. A low sigh slips out. “Stone, not waves. Good.” Straightening, she touches two fingers to her brow toward Madam Hucrele. “Carriage—yes. Road suits me better than tide.” She falls in beside the merchant, pack already slung, ready to follow inland and leave the heaving sea well behind.