Krysaos stood tall, wearing his usual shite-eating grin, "Tell me the ship's seaworthy, Bob."
"Da ship 'azn't taken any damage from da skelly-folk," Bob pointed his thumb at himself, "I'z made sure of it-- was da previous Cap'n final orda."
"Good to hear," Krysaos nodded.
"Mister Bob..." Tycon cleared his throat, "I'm curious as to the current goals of the-- of our crew."
Bob gestured towards the battle on the sands, "Da boyz... we'z fightin... and we'z winnin'."
"...And how long have you been doing that, exactly?"
"Li'ul more'n a week, I fink."
Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, "Very well."
Krysaos mouth twitched, "Tight. Tell our forces to withdraw to the ship."
Bob furrowed his stony brows, "We... we runnin' away, Cap'n?"
"Well, yeah?" Krysaos twisted his lips to the side, "That's... why we're fighting, aren't we? To secure an escape?"
"We'z fightin' to win," Bob insisted.