The roar of the cannons are deafening as the crew do their best to survive. The ship rocks from side to side as metal balls strike at the water around them, trying to pin them down as the enemy creeps ever closer.
The captain stands at the helm, trying his best to keep his crew in line as best he can manage. The ship’s form creaks as wizards rush about in a desperate attempt to fight back. There are some Pyromancers on the main deck, lobbing fireballs as far as they can throw them, though most are belowdeck lighting the cannons. Electromancers wave their arms about frantically, trying to call forth a cloud of rain or a gust of wind to aid them. Sadly, their efforts haven’t materialized anything just yet. Healers rush about, dragging any injured beings out of harms way deeper within the bowels of the ship. Every other being do their best to assist where they can.
The captain grips the wheel with white knuckles, bent down as low as he possibly can. The Guardian ship continues to press on, and the first few shots from Sparkguns have been fired. Balls of gray energy strike at the deck, searing the wood and sailing past the heads of the crew.
They tried running. The Guardians caught up. So either they must somehow win, or instead be sunk and killed unceremoniously.
The captain has been in smaller skirmishes before with pirates, but not a battle on this sort of scale. None of the crew has, and it shows. Where with pirates they would sail close to the ship to attempt a boarding, where they would be pelted with fire and lightning, the Guardians are content with staying well enough away to where their magic is just barely able to reach them, if at all.
They only have so many cannonballs in their stores, and the rocking of the boat is likely not helping with anything. Looking around the deck, he can see that some of the crew are starting to fade, their magic being rapidly depleted. He can only worry further through his gritted teeth. At this rate it’s only a matter of time…
He is a Spiritst himself. It’s rare for a wizard like him to be a sailor, let alone rise to the rank of a ship captain. His connection with the spirits allows him to be versatile with jobs around the ship. But deep in his gut, he can sense the death slowly descending on his crew. Two have already passed with another slowly fading away.
CRACK!
The ship is sent listing starboard as the snap of splintering wood rattles inside his head. Screams and yells arise as wizards are sent to the floor in an instant. But he doesn’t need the panicked cry of “We’ve been hit! We’ve been hit!” to know what just happened, nor the icy stab within his gut. His ship now bears a gaping hole in its side. More of his crew are heading to the White Beyond.
“Seal it up! Keep firing!” he barks over the noise.
He glances over at the Guardian’s ship. It’s taken a beating, its outer hull bent and cracked, but they’ve not been able to punch through at all. On the top deck, there’s a line of those white-cladded bastards aiming down with the barrels of their Sparkguns at the ship’s exposed interior. The sharp crack of ice rises to join the cacophony of sound as whatever Cryomancers are still standing rush to seal it up before any more damage can be done, either by their enemies or by the ocean itself.
Stars above, what is that ship made out of? Where they’ve managed to hit their cannonballs, the wood has splintered but reveals nothing of the ship’s interior. Instead, though he may be hallucinating in this all this chaos, it appears that the holes glint and shine back at him.
CRACK!
Another cannonball strikes his ship. He can hear the splashing of water as some of the crew unable to recover from the first hit in time are sent into the icy blue depths below. The air buzzes with the static from the Sparkgun projectiles as they rain down on the deck in full force. The starboard list remains; they must be taking on water now.
CRACK! CRACK, CRACK!
The captain clings onto the helm, nearly hanging sideways. Their cannons now have a good view of the ship’s underside. Any more holes, and the whole ship will sink in no time at all.
As projectiles continue to strike the ship and any being left in view of the Guardians, his hands finally slip from the wheel, and he falls into the water’s embrace below. The whole ship creaks as it tilts on its side, providing at least a buffer between the Guardians and the remaining survivors of his crew. Cold knives twist themselves into his gut as he surfaces. The injured won’t be going home.
Objects float in the water around them. Wood splinters from the broken hull. Loose cargo. Ropes. Bodies. Blood. A few surviving Cryomancers have made small ice platforms for others to rest on. It’s all a mess.
“What do we do now, captain?” one of the crew calls out.
He bites his lip, looking around. They can’t stay by the ship or else risk being dragged under with it. But they can’t out swim the Guardians. They could hardly outrun them in their ship in the first place!
The eyes of about sixty-odd beings stare at him. Cold, bleeding, burned, exhausted. They’re all that remain.
“Say your prayers,” the captain replies somberly. He turns away from them and looks up as the Guardians bring their ship around, a mass of floating wood looming over them, hiding them in its long shadow. He can see down their barrels, each and every one of them.
“AIM!” a distant call drifts down from the top, followed by a chorus of metallic clacking. Whoever has the strength left in them continue to pelt the ship with their magic. Flames lick the wood, never taking. Lightning bounces right off. Ice rises protectively around those drifting on the water’s surface.
But it’s all wasted effort.
The Blue Mourner and her crew never returned to Korodon.
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