Deadlock

Chapter 1: Eye of the Storm

        Black sails and a black flag became masked in the night. The dark form of the pursuit became illuminated as the distant streaks of lightning crackled through the air. Her midnight sails fluttered violently as the storm raged on, a shower of cold raindrops and crashing tides governing her path.

        Ahead of her trail, our vessel rode the wind and pierced through the rogue waters. The colossal waves soaked our deck and soiled our breaches. Dark forms of the crew scrambled atop the slippery surface, holding the mains and mounting the riggings. At the helm, I manned the wheel. The frigid waters of the storm fought against my every move, and the howling winds threw us towards the shore.

        Behind us, the outline of our attacker continued her ascent. The shot of cannons became masked with the deafening shock of thunder, and a few black balls came soaring over our deck, barely missing the masts. In response, our own retreat cannons fired against the offenders, the shots slamming against their hull.

        Two days prior to this battle, we had set off from the port of Serin. Our vessel, the Lone Wolf, was a brig unmatched in beauty and grace. Her hull was colored in black and red, her sails white as cotton, her deck as clean as a king's court. I inherited her from my father after the war.

        Together with my crew, we worked as privateers, taking up any menial task given to us by fellow sailors. On occasion we were even employed to hunt down bandits or pirates. This time, however, was different. A kingdom had asked for my name specifically. Somoria, the distant war torn land of the east, had requested my presence.

        As the chase lingered on, the storm raged endlessly. Behind the Lone Wolf, her pursuit edged ever closer, their bow only fifty meters away. Their guns fired once again, slamming into our rear. Suddenly, the wind angled against our portside. The crew hustled to adjust the rigging, and I myself steered right to prevent the mast from splitting. The Lone Wolf grazed close to the beaches on my turn, and the crew struggled to free the ropes. Just as she neared the danger of being beached, the ropes of the mains cut slack and the crew tied them back into place. I immediately steered the wheel hard to the left and distanced ourselves from the embrace of land.

        Looking back, the crew of the pursuit came late to the wind. In a single motion, a stem of the mast snapped and plummeted into the deck below. Shrieks filled the air as they scattered and then returned, set on sustaining chase. They quickly let the sails loose and the captain changed course after us once more. A bright streak of lightning struck just near them, signalling their resolve.

        As they began running near us once again, despite the damage to their mains, the sailors of the Lone Wolf hollered and made clear a threat on the near horizon. A wave, bigger than the deck of a man o’ war, rushed forward towards our starboard. Crying for the crew to tighten the sails, I steered and pointed the bow to the wave. A spearhead charging for a crashing wall. An unstoppable force acting against an immovable object. Now on our tail, the attackers realized why we had turned so suddenly. They too scrambled to meet the wave head on, and ever remained right on our stern.

        As the Lone Wolf and the rogue wave raced against each other, static filled the air and deafening crackle echoed in the wind. Behind us, our pursuit's sails were engulfed in flames, and her mast splintered and cracked. Ahead, the tide charged forward and crashed against our bow. The crew held tight for dear life and, in that instant, the Lone Wolf pierced through the two ton veil. The sea parted and carried us up into the air, and then back onto the thrashing waters of the storm. The vessel behind us faced the same foe and broke through the tide, still a lit like a flaming torch.

        Seeing opportunity, I barked at the crew to mount the cannons and let loose the sails. I turned hard right and positioned a stable shot for a broadside. Just as our portside lined up with their hull, I ordered my men to fire. A deadly volley of black powder cannon balls soared through the air, arced across the sea, and crashed atop their main deck. Crew men frantically jumped to cover and the burning mast split and crashed down through the deck. Gunpowder sparked and burned in the hull, and then exploded in a fiery blast. The stern and bow of the pursuit split apart, and the burning remains sunk into the sea.

        Now alone, we sailed through the remainder of the storm. High tides and crossing winds lingered in our travel. The black of the night masked our presence until sunrise.