Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed.
Hearing the rumor was one thing; seeing the real deal was another.
It had been a story that took quite a while to reach the lowly sailor's ears. He was just a poor man whose youth had almost abandoned him, hardened by the unfairness of life and the salty waves, working on various merchant vessels to earn a coin for him battered wife and his kids which had not seen for who knows how long. His soul was never truly into sailing; all he ever wanted was to finally settle down in a nice farm and live happily with his family. But fate would just not have it, it seemed.
It was during one of those fleeting moments drowned in the stench of alcohol when he first heard the rumor.
The sailor was not particularly interested in sailing legends. In fact, most seafarers were not. Legends and tales of intimidating ships and strange captains were a thing of the past, of the age when the pirates were ravaging the West Indies. The only legend that now flew around the docks and harbors was the one of the Ghost of the North Seas, the Aquila, a vessel whose intentions nobody could figure for the life of them. Rumor had it that the white and black brig had been resurrected from the bottom of the ocean twice, other times helping the continental army, other times working against it, other times fending off pirates, sometimes acting like pirates, all in a random pattern. The unwilling sailor had not paid much attention to those tales. As long as the famed for its impossible speed warship was not threatening them, he was not concerned with it.
However, that new legend was one that drew his attention. Somewhat.
It sounded like a forgotten pirate legend coming back to life really, and in a really exaggerated form at that. A ship with its sails painted with blood… Who believes that kind of stuff? When he heard the rumor he scoffed, in spite of the word of some older sailors that they had indeed seen the vessel in question. It was a thing of the French-Indian war if their word held any truth – and after the redcoats had left the Colonies, that war felt like ancient history. A fleeing name of one of the many fleeing names of vessels that had taken part in the general turmoil that was the Colonies over the years. Nothing that concerned him.
The new merchant vessel that took him as his crew was doing one very dangerous job. Whale hunting at the North Atlantic. Arctic Ocean, even. The sailor had been very reluctant when he first heard the offer. The whole idea seemed like complete madness to him, who had done no more in his days that help fasten and loosen the sails and clean the deck. How could he possibly survive at the frosty cold at raging waters that were the Arctic Ocean, all the while hunting those giant beasts that lived under it? However desperate times called for desperate measures. So the sailor accepted the dangerous offer, bid a sad and half-hearted goodbye to his disappointed wife and sad children, and headed for the unknown and frozen hell.
And frozen hell it was. A hell full of deception. The curtains of colourful light in the sky would have been mesmerizing, had it not meant that the sun would not show for almost half a year. The icebergs would have been pretty, could they not sink a ship with their presence alone. The deep blue water would have been a pleasant change from the typical dull blue and grey of the waters outside New York and Boston, was it not cold enough to kill a man as soon as he dived in it.
And the hardships imposed by the cold alone were nothing in front of the job itself.
It was one of those days when he saw it. The crew was on the tail of that gigantic white whale for quite a while now. They had a rope attached on the whale which was meant to connect the beat with the small boat where the harpooning team was on. That small team was to slow down this giant, while the rest of the crew on the main ship would finish it off.
It was not a smooth job, but then again, it never was. The white whale would use its gigantic tail to create equally huge wave that could shake the boat and ship as hardly as rogue waves during a storm could. The rope that held the boat in place had snapped more times than they could count already, and somewhere inside, the sailor feared that they would lose some of their supplies during this one. Not enough to immediately threaten the crew, but it would be questionable whether they had enough to reach Boston.
After what seemed forever, the beast's movements started slowing down. A rich red colour was replacing the blue water, making the whale's path clear. Blood. The sailor's heart fluttered in spite of his better judgment. Maybe they had a chance to do this! Hopeful thoughts started filling his head. Soon the white beast would be on deck and once they returned to Boston they would receive a good coin for the prey. He could then send that coin to his family – or better yet, meet them in person.
However all those hopes diminished when he heard the voice of the quartermaster. "Land ahead, Captain!".
What!? The landscape had been nothing but open ocean just a few minutes ago! Did that whale really drag them that far?
From his position on top of the main mast the sailor could see everything. Indeed, there was land ahead, completely covered in ice and snow, just like every bit of land this far north. But something was off. There was something shiny and grey down there, like naked, smooth rock. Too smooth, in fact. Rocks should not be glistening like that, especially not from all that distance. In fact, a more careful observation revealed traces of those strange rocks underwater as well. Panic shot up. Those underwater rocks were too close to the surface for comfort. And as if that was not enough, there was a good number of small icebergs around.
"There are huge rocks, Captain!", he yelled down. "Both on land and under the water! And the place's full of icebergs too! If the ship rams into any of those, we're finished!". Apparently the Captain did not fully trust his word because he motioned the quartermaster to check out the waters himself. The sailor let out a sigh of relief when the man agreed with him.
"Half sail!", yelled the Captain. The sailor automatically jumped to the order, loosing up some of the sails as they had come into full stop earlier. "We'll corner this beast to the coast.".
The decision was met by general agreement, and the Captain carefully ventured towards the frosty land. As they were getting closer, the sailor could not help but notice how strange those dark grey rocks were. They reminded him more of ruins than natural rocks, so smooth they were. And was that a flash under the water? The sailor rubbed his eyes, deciding that the sun and the ice decided to play tricks on him.
Everything seemed to be going just fine. And then a canon boomed.
The ship shook. Badly. Under his panic, the sailor almost expected to smell smoke. That was what always happened when a ship was hit by cannon fire, right? But then he realized that there was no smoke. The ship shook because of the aftershock caused by the waves. The canon fire had landed just in front of their ship, creating small waves which effectively slowed them down and diverted them from their original course.
"Mortar fire, sir!".
The sailor panicked. Mortar fire!? Those were only on warships! Full of confusion, the sailor turned around, trying to determine where the mortar fire had come from. And that was when he saw her. And the mere sight of her made all the remaining blood drench from his face.
A red dot in the distance. Approaching fast.
"There's a brig that's firing at us, sir!".
"What!?". Why would a brig attack them!? They were only hunting whales! Were those people pirates?
As the enemy brig got closer, its form became more and more clear to the eye. The red dot from earlier turned out to be the vessel's sails. The brig itself was grey in colour, and her approach was speedy, sailing right through the ice, breaking it apart with a terrifying sound as she passed. The battered sailor was stunned. He had originally thought that it was land that was covered by the ice, not water! Whoever it was who captained the ship, he knew these waters very well.
"We change our course, lads!", sounded his Captain's voice from bellow.
"We can't, Captain!", countered the first mate. "If we do so, the wind'll be in our face!".
"Then what about going west?". The brig was approaching from the east, after all.
"Straight into the ice, Captain.".
"Darn it.".
While the Captain and the quartermaster were bickering, the red brig had covered a significant distance. The sailor only hoped that those strange, glimmering rocks underwater would slow her down – maybe even the vessel would ram itself into one of those.
Then with a cracking sound their own vessel stopped. Oh yeah, right. The whale. In all this panic, the crew had completely forgotten about the still alive whale that was tied on their ship. The beast had managed to ram them straight into one of those strange rocks, and then snap the ropes that tied it. Just their luck.
If possible, the red brig seemed to be heading their way even faster now. The fear for a second attack was tangible in the air. But it never came. What was going on?
Maybe the brig was not here to sink them. Perhaps they were not even pirates to begin with. Of course they weren't, thought the sailor with a nervous laugh. Why would anyone practice piracy this far north? Now that he had calmed down, the sailor could see that the brig was somewhat slow. Why was that?
The next minutes felt like eternity. The whale was nowhere in sight, in spite of the clear path that its blood had left behind. None of the sailors on board was talking. The red brig had an agonizing slow pace, as they had eased themselves to half sail and now maneuvering through the ice in strange patterns. More of those glimmering rocks, most probably. The sailor admired the unknown Captain's skill, knowing where each one of those things was even when they were covered in ice.
After what seemed like forever, the strange brig finally reached them.
The sailor gulped. That thing was monstrous. Sails in the colour of blood with a black crest in the shape of a cross and two lion heads, an enormous ice ram, and more guns on deck than they could possibly count. All in all the brig looked like it was part of a royal navy. But when the sailor turned to see their colours, he was met by a surprise. The ship was not flying a British, a Spanish nor a French flag. It was merely a white flag with a red cross. The sailor had seen this flag carried by British troops many times, but it was always with their own flag somewhere on their design. Just who did this ship belong to?
"You'd better get away from these waters.", said a deep voice with an Irish-American accent.
The whole crew turned to the source of the voice. "And who the hell are you?". The sailor's Captain was obviously very angry. The sailor did not blame him. They were chasing after that whale for hours only to be almost-hit by Mortar fire, get stuck in a rock and lose the prey. It was only natural to be angry.
The other Captain seemed to debate on whether he should give his name or not. Now that the sailor could take a closer look at him, he could see that the Captain looked as fierce as his ship, with that white coat of his and the red cloak – perfect for this cold, honestly. Not to mention the jagged scar on his face. The sailor could tell that everyone waited with anticipation for the answer.
"No need for that.".
Well, that ruined the mood.
"You can't just fire at my ship and not give a freaking name!", protested the Captain.
The Irish Captain gave a sigh – was it one of defeat, or had he gotten tired of being stuck in this kind of situation (even though it was he who started it)? "Shay Cormack, Captain of the Morrigan.".
No. Bloody. Way.
The Captain of the legendary warship gave no explanation about the reason why he fired at them. He only helped them get their ship unstuck from the strange glimmering rock, and offered a warning not to get close to this particular coast ever again.
"Why not?", someone had asked.
"This place is grave. Quite a few people died here a few decades back. This site always was… unstable.".
Site? Actually, now that the sailor though about it, there were some very weird patterns on some of these rocks… He decided not to ask.
However after that incident, he never questioned naval legends again. He had met one, after all. And it was quite a story to share with his children.
Author note: This is some sort of a sequel to my previous one-shot, "Blood-red Sails". I did not originally itend to write one, but it became much more popular than I expected.
All those "strange rocks" are the ruins of the Precursor site in the arctic circle.
On a side note, please take a look at my ACIV fanfic, "the Seeker". Yes, that thing is mine. So take a look and tell me what you think. It's much better than its (constantly changing) summary. Just try to give it a chance.