The Storm

The darkened crest of the sea surged against the iron-plated hull of the vessel, clawing over the sides as to drag it down into the depths below. Afar, bolts of lightning slashed about the black night sky of the early morn, casting shadows of the ships three masts across the decking. Strong winds coursing through the sales to drag her Eastwards.

Through the circular portholes of the master cabin, Lord Steward Antyn Ulderly observed the storm with growing unease. The waters of the Adryptic Ocean were renowned for their autumn weather, and yet he could not recall a torrent this violent since the days of his youth in the Ammarite Fleet. And the merchant ships of the West Adryptia Company were famously weak-hulled; even despite the recent advent of iron-plating. 

He had been informed by a Company officer that their engine room had flooded earlier in the night. While efforts had been made to drain the two-out-of-three submerged combustion engines that powered the wheels either side of the hull had begun, he knew from his days in the navy that rarely could such a task be taken during such rough seas.

Grunting, he closed the watertight case of his wordtype, putting aside his troubling accounts of the state of affairs in the Company City of Dairo as he arose and made his way to the door. Gripping the swinging oil lamp that hung beside the door leading towards the aft walkway, he dimmed it slightly. Grabbing his salt-worn overcoat, it's faded crimson dye lined with silver thread-wear, he exited the cabin through the hatch.

Immediately he was met with an icy spray, a strong gale cutting into his face like a thousand needles and stinging his eyes. Pulling his neckerchief across his chin, he recounted voyages long since past where such averse weather would excite him. Now, as he entered his sixth decade, it brought nothing but sheer discomfort. Grasping the railing of the catwalk with the bulkhead to his back, he searched through the distant downpour, his eyes scanning for the welcoming light of the Great Lighthouse that sat at the mouth of the Ery'Dairo port. 

Nothing.

Alas, I should not be surprised. He pondered. He remembered the first time he had made such a journey, a fresh faced human youth whom had stowed away upon a Company vessel. The Rinnaery whom inhabited the Ocearic Isles bore much resemblance to humans, sporting more rounded features than their other pointy-eared Aeric counterparts across the many lands of Caradom. He had crossed these waters many times throughout his service to the Lord Paramount of Ammar, and knew the journey could vary in the time it took to complete.

Turning to make his way to the bridge he was met with Yrren, the Quartermaster of the Red Spring. The sailor hailed him with a wave, grasping onto the rail as he approached. 

"Still no luck draining the engine, my Lord Steward," Yrren rasped through a salt and pepper beard. His anunciation of 'Lord' betraying the disdane the mainlanders still held towards the Leigelands. 

"Have we had sighting of the Lighthouse, Companyman Yrren?"

"Not yet Lord, however Navigator Hewyn believed that we have drifted off course in a Northernly direction, on account of the broken boiler." He continued, "He reckons that, with some adjustment, we could reach the mainland by first light on the morrow." Antyn curtly nodded.

That Navigator is a damned fool, Antyn scoffed to himself as he privately cursed the lax recruitment policies of the East Adryptia Company. More oft than not the mercantile orientated shareholders prioritised filling in the bunks of their ships over merit.

Gripping the rail for support from the gale, he followed the Quartermaster to the bridge. Beneath them, the Red Spring's hull teetered portside as it rose across the crest of a mountaneous wave. 

Reaching the deck up a wettened ladder, the pair were met with hustled commotion. Stern-faced sailors adorned in drenched sealskin jackets dashed with as much haste as the teetering ship would allow as they frantically continued their duties despite the storm. Despite the ill-will he harboured for the Companies themselves, he felt a slight sense of respect for the bravery of the men. Those who braved the straits of the Eastern Adryptian Sea did so with a known expense to themselves and for little in the way of payment. Above them, the ships masts held strong against the wrath of the sea. To their rear, the wrought iron chimney towered above them, casting a faint shadow from the clouded moonlight. And below that, the reinforced windows of the ships bridge, dim electric lights illuminating the indiscernible silhouettes of its crew. While having the ships control room so close to the boiler room that drove the ship, he couldn't help but admire the Companies commitment to minimalist cost.