All events sail regardless of weather. The weather has been informed.
Inter-ship racing, three laps, one cannon of confetti. Bring goggles.
Poetry and storm-chanting, told only by lantern light on the foredeck. Attendance counts for no Skill. Attendance changes you.
The Crew sells finds, maps, and one suspiciously glowing stone. No refunds on the stone.
The Broadside’s showcase. Fireworks over the water, music from the deck, absolutely no fire (one fire).
Required practicum. We sail into the storm. The syllabus says "learn by doing," and it means it.
The fleet gathers, the Vault opens, the doubloons are counted, and the feasting begins.
The class of the year steps off the bowsprit in a line. We catch them. Tradition says we catch them. We catch them.
Ironically our busiest week of the year. The Galley sells "hot tea" in goblets and does not make eye contact.
Every feast on this page has been held in every kind of weather except one kind, which we have been unable to attract. We do not know what it is. We have sent letters.
Should an event be cancelled by sea, it is rescheduled to "the next suitable chaos." The registrar keeps a chart. The chart is a map. The map is the sea. It works.
— The Events Committee, a Committee of One ParrotAll events open to enrolled crew, their parrots, and well-behaved goats.
