The thick smells of smoke clung to everything, the waves sloshed and pushed the ship to its whim, as they absorbed the impact of stray cannon fire. Clouds roiled over head, and rain poured in sheets. Lightning struck the waves, turning them a vibrant color, and the smell of it mixed with salt so much so, that everyone aboard the Mynyrri could taste it. Jon and Magrum both stood at the helm, giving orders and watching the ships that threatened them with every ounce of focus.

The rest of the crew had no time to look at anything other than their jobs, or their targets. The booming of cannon fire echoed again, and the sip rocked, as if the sea had summoned a hand, and shoved it aside.

Trunk sat on the deck at the very front of the ship hidden as best he could be. Moki sat to his side. Her hand was small in his but they held on tightly, and both had their eyes closed. It was cold, dizzying, and miserable, but they had control of the storm for now. They whispered to the storm, seeking every advantage they could. They fought not only against the will of the storm, but the magically inclined on the ships that pursued them. And their enemy was not lacking in ability.

Trunk had no perceptions of the world outside of his mental battle, and barely even registered the dwarven woman beside him as he took heavy breaths fighting with all he could.

Fykes and Brazen worked on the cannons on the deck, sweating despite the chilling rain. The cannons were most certainly a dwarvish invention. They fired strange conical metal pieces, heavier than a standard cannon ball, that were meant to pierce enemy vessels before exploding. But there were multiple fuses to be lit, one inside the strange ammunition, and the cannon itself, and so it required two people minimum to operate, lest you risk the shell exploding before it had fired. Once they had the cannon aimed, they quickly loaded and fired, watching with breath held as their shots slammed into the ship trailing them. Still too high.

*

Magic flew from the aft of the ship as Katerin and Roahn targeted whatever they could see aboard their enemies vessel. Roahn let out a yell as rainwater beaded off her silver scales and lightning slammed down into the deck of each ship, momentarily igniting sails, and splintering wooden decks.

Katerin threw orbs of fire searching for anything flammable. It might not stay burning, but that would not matter if she could ruin their sails. Those black and crimson sails were even more terrifying up close, sinister in appearance.

Cannon fire echoed again, and the ship rocked so abruptly that Katerin fell flat on the deck, barely dodging the metal ball that flew above her head. Two large, hook like anchors followed in a second blast, and caught on the Mynyrri's railing digging into wood and metal and pulling tight, yanking the ship abruptly. An explosion made her vision dim, and she felt something cold bite into her calf as she rose to her feet once again. "Rohan!" she yelled, pointing to the heavy chain that connected them to the closest ship. "I'll draw their attention!" Her heart was in her throat, and her whole body trembled as she crawled towards the railing keeping her head low.

*

Roahn dropped her hammer, and heaved on the chain, as the ship lurched again, pulling it tighter. Arrows, bolts and musket-balls hammered into the deck around them, and Roahn dropped to the deck beside Katerin. Her eyes wide with adrenaline. "They'll fill me full of holes before I've got a chance," she said through gritted teeth.

*

Katerin bit her lip, and ignored the seeping cold of the rain water. "No, they won't." She stood, and threw both her arms forward across the waves. A gale of wind rose, and almost solidified into a wall, water misting all around it. "Go!" she yelled to Roahn, watching as the next volley hit her spell and hung in the air before being tossed into the black waves. She stood to her full height and stayed in front of Roahn like a shield. It did not matter if she was injured. If they did not get rid of these hooks, they were dead.

*

Roahn stood and grabbed the chains, knotting her fingers through the heavy links. She waited for the waves to push them back toward the ship with crimson and ash sails. As soon as the Mynyrri began to shift, she pulled with every ounce of strength she had. The wooden and metal railing screeched under her, and she took one final breath, locking her feet into the bottom edge of the railing. The hook came free with so much force that she stumbled, and barely had time to toss the thing into the water before the ships moved, and it got caught again. "Next one!" she yelled.

She and Katerin moved in tandem to the next hook, both out of breath, bleeding and weary.

Katerin stood in front of her once again, throwing small bolts of lightning to catch whatever she could, be it man or vessel. Roahn heaved, once, twice, three times, and nearly lost a finger, as the ship jerked again as the cannons fired. Katerin tripped and nearly fell over the railing, and her wind spell faded in an instant as she stared at the menacing black water beneath her.

Roahn saw the cannon fire arcing through the air, saw Katerin trip. She yanked her to the deck by her cloak, and they hit the deck hit the deck with a thump. "I'm going to need your help with this one. They moved to far away," she said, spitting blood.

*

Katerin cursed in the dwarvish language, and nodded to Roahn. "We've got to time it right." They waited and watched the waves as the ships traded blows, and finally, they saw their opening. Both were on their feet in a second, and pulling at the chain in another.

Katerin heaved with all her weight, trying to help Roahn in any way possible, but the anchor would not budge. It was lodged into a piece of metal, and so tight she would have thought it belonged there if not for their current situation. She glanced up in time to see the sinister expressions of three men aboard the ship that held them. They aimed their weapons, and fired.

There was a tiny flash of light, and in her panic she snapped her fingers and an arcane shield glimmered in front of her. Two of the smooth bullets ricocheted off the shield, but the third one pierced through. Her breastplate caught it, and kept it from tearing a hole through her. She dropped to the deck, clutching at her collarbone as the pain washed over her. Roahn screamed curses, as a bolt tore clean through her forearm, and was beside Katerin on the deck in an instant.

Katerin heaved out a breath, outstretched her hand and curled her fingers as magic arced from her. Metal and wood tore and screeched as the heavy metal hook lifted into the air, wavering unsteadily, held by the invisible force of her spell. She hefted it higher, and thrust it forward, glancing up in time to see it slam into one of the men as he reloaded his pistol.

Roahn looked at her incredulously. "Couldn't ya have done that on the first go?"

Katerin's vision swam, and she gasped as pain wracked her head. "No." She blinked away the sickening feeling of pulling too much magic, and grunted as Roahn pulled her to her feet.

Roahn gave her a heavy handed pat on the back, and Katerin felt the cold, tingling sensation of healing magic wash over her senses. Strangely it did nothing to ease the nausea and trembling, but her pain faded into something she could ignore, for the time being.

"Quit looking like you're already done!" Roahn said as turned back to the enemy ships, and unleashed lighting once again into their midst.

Magrum navigated the ship on Jon's word of the enemy movement, and his own experience, with fear making his blood run cold. He knew the tactics these pirates would employ, and did his best to stay one step ahead of their every move. If he got hooked again, they were dead. If he got hit with another wave of cannon fire, they were dead. If he maneuvered wrong, and hit a wave with the angle off, they were dead. Those thoughts lingered in the back of his mind, as he listened to the shouting of his men.

Two of the enemy ships were faltering in their pursuit, too damaged to continue. But one ship was all it would take to sink him. His Mynyrri was a good ship, but she was far from invincible in the face of these pirates. They had already lost the second mast, and the main one was still an easy target. Too much more of this fight and he would not make it to an island to repair.

He gritted his teeth as he heard the aft cannons firing again. He refused to be shark bait. He would not be a victim to the filth the Entomber's men represented, as they scoured the water for scraps.

The water was his birthright. He heard Jon call out that the cannons were ready to fire. He turned the ship heavily, giving his men the space they needed to aim, and counted the seconds in his head until they fired. The booming left a slight ringing in his ears, as he wheeled the ship back around, to catch the wave that was barreling toward him. He took a steadying breath, and prayed silently.

They had done this before, and would do so again.

Jon stood in the middle of the deck not far from the splintered stump of where a mast had been. He only dove for cover when he had no other choice, despite the chaos and certain death whizzing around him at any given moment. He kept a sharp eye on the ships chasing them, calling out their movements and watching for any changes in their course. And of course, he fired his own dwarven pistol toward them whenever he had a good shot. Rain pelted his wide brimmed hat, and poured it down onto the shoulders of his coat. He was perfectly warm, despite the sea-water chill that should have held him. That warmth radiated from his shoulder and moved throughout his body.

He watched as the two farthest ships began turning, to head away from both them, and the storm. And he watched as the closet ship began turning, to fire its cannons. His vision swam, suddenly, and next he knew he was on the deck, with an aching jaw. He tried to call out to Magrum to warn him about the ships, but he could not find his voice. He flexed his jaw to try again, but before he could say a word a searing pain enveloped his world and the sounds of the waves and cannons faded into nothingness.

Another round of cannon fire slammed into the Mynyrri. Out of the six shots, only two missed. One shattered into the mast pole, and exploded as it hit raining down burning splinters of wood and debris upon everyone in the vicinity. A creaking shiver of vibration went through the ship, and the mast tore free, falling across the deck with a scream only possible when wood and metal were fused together and held tight.

Katerin pulled Roahn out of the way of the falling death, and huffed, trying to catch her breath. She turned to gaze across the ship, and crew. She caught sight of Arjiah standing in the bow, her arms outstretched. She looked out to the one ship that still pursued them, and realized they were close enough to count heads, now. She stood—ignoring the sting of seawater in her wounds—and grinned at them. They were close enough for a very effective tactic. She pointed a finger at the man closest to her, and moved up directly in line with the middle of the mast. Chanting under her breath she released the spell, and a white hot beam of fire impacted into their main mast.

As it hit, it exploded, and sent flaming debris onto the ship and out into the waters around it. Before she could gloat or at all celebrate her idea, she saw the telltale flashes of gunpowder as guns fired, and she dropped back to the deck her thoughts turned to how bruised her chest would be in the morning in some strange, detached sort of wit that was only achieved when the threat of death loomed.

Arjiah chanted, breathing heavy but caring little about the water that pummeled her. Finally, after the longest moment of her life the water headed her call and surged up behind the Mynyrri to push it forward and crest a particularly sinister looking wave.

The effort of the magic drained her, so much so that by the time they crested the wave, she was sitting and panting, forcing the water to listen to her demands. The water was angry today. Angry to be trifled with, and asking it for help had not been enough. She blinked and looked back towards the crimson and ash sails, or rather the lack of them, in the distance, and a chill went down her spine.

Katerin held a white knuckled grip on the rails, she reached for her magic and immediately let go of the thought of any more bombardment upon the fading ships. She panted to catch her breath, as the last echo of cannon fire died away. Even with her simplest of spells, she could not reach the enemy now,

Roahn, who was standing a few feet from her gave her a wide-eyed nod. "Not too bad for a flowery type," she said.

Katerin snorted out a laugh. "And not too bad for a brute." She clasped Roahn's arm and held back the wince of pain the woman's strong grip offered. She heard a familiar voice, and turned to see Fykes and Brazen approaching her.

"Have you seen Jon?" Fykes asked, deep lines creasing his forehead.

She shook her head. "In his bunk with a strong drink, maybe?"

"No... I checked."

"Where did you see him last?" something hardened in her throat and she looked across the tattered crew, searching for any sign of a purple coat and wide brimmed hat.

"He was with Magrum when this all started."

She paled. "Brazen, will you check all the cabins?"

He nodded and ran for the ladder without a word.

"I'm going to get Magrum," Fykes said, and was moving before she had a chance to reply.

The ruined mast and its smoking sails caught her attention, and she remembered a flash of a purple coat near it, before it fell. With her heart in her throat, she pulled her Luxian knife from her boot and sliced into the sail, finding nothing but splintered wood and metal beneath. She huffed a shaky breath and repeated the process twice more, heaving the heavy fabric aside. Finally, she found a glimpse of a purple coat. "Fykes!" she yelled, with panic in her voice. "He's here!"

A heavy chunk of mast was laid across him, and he was bleeding from more small cuts than she could count. She dropped the knife, and pulled at the beam, but it would not budge.

Fykes was beside her in another moment, panic widening his bright eyes. It took them several minutes to leverage the beam free, and they had to have the help of two more dwarves. Luckily, it had not completely crushed him, wedged as it was upon other large pieces of debris. They hauled him free of the mess of sails, and laid him on the deck. Other than the shallow cuts, and a bruise forming on his chin, Jon had no serious injuries. She checked his pulse—too fast—and his breathing was too slow. No matter how much they jostled him, he did not wake.

"He... he shouldn't be out like this. He has no head injury bad enough.. and—" she paused, laying her palm to the side of his face. It was burning hot. She pulled his coat aside, and Fykes exhaled as they saw a strange orange glow emanating from his shoulder.

"We're gonna need Arjiah," Fykes said, picking Jon up in an awkward but sturdy carry.

"If we distract Arjiah, the ship isn't getting to the island," Katerin said, her tone tense. "We need to get him to a bed."

Fykes groaned, but lifted him and made for the ladder, walking cautiously across the broken and splintered planks.

When they finally got Jon settled, shirtless and soggy, Katerin checked his pulse again. And it seemed that it was beginning to slow. She choked on the thought that it might grow too slow. With a multitude of blankets, and no more wet clothing, his temperature was regulating, but the glow from his shoulder flickered brightly.