Prologue: The Storm
Sudden summer rains are quite commonplace and always seem to take a backseat in the collective mind; today was no different. Lightning flashed and thunder roared throughout the city, followed by a heavy downpour that nearly flooded the streets.
However, there was a man ignorant to all of this, a man writing from the comfort of his modest, suburban home, located near the outskirts of the city. He focused solely on the source of illumination in front of him, paying no mind to the rumbling thunderstorm outside. His computer monitor contrasted with the darkness that overcame an otherwise idyllic summer afternoon, and he accompanied the storm in an almost unconscious way as he wrote.
The sound of typing filled the room, despite the overpowering presence of the rain, but eventually, the writing came to a halt and the man let out a sigh of near resignation. Thankfully, as he had countless times before, the man fought his block valiantly. He took several sips from his trusty coffee mug and began drafting, trimming and editing. Slowly, but surely, his imagination materialized on the screen.
He stared at the results with pride. So much so, that he allowed himself a tiny reward for his breakthrough and began to narrate the story aloud, if only to get an idea of how it sounded outside of his head (as well as practicing before telling it to his son tomorrow night). Words became voice, voice became thoughts and they all brought the man to a faraway place in a distant time.
A lonesome ship navigated through the middle of the dark open seas, wailed on by an incessant barrage of rain and thunder. The ship's crew ran about, trying to fight back the unforgiving winds of the storm, but there was one aboard who could have cared less about Mother Nature's whims and that was the Captain of the ship himself, locked up in his chambers, ignorant to the world around him.
The aged pirate Captain sat on his old wooden table, repeatedly tapping it with his finger. He grumbled in frustration as he held a quill pen over a sheet of yellowish paper, dripping most of its ink over the parchment. His eyes were tightly shut and his brows furrowed deep in thought, for he found no the words to put on the page.
After a moment of silence, the Captain's eyes shot wide open and he slammed his fist on the table. The creaking table shook and tumbled, and one of the many leftover bottles of rum resting over it fell and crashed, complementing the crackling thunder outside.
"…What am I doing?" sighed the Captain to no one but himself, closing his eyes once more. The hammering of the raindrops grew louder, and yet, the man's troubled expression began to fade, as if the tempest were but a lullaby.
His moment of solitude was short lived however, for the typhoon unleashed a resounding roar of thunder. The Captain attempted to ignore the cacophony outside, but was suddenly interrupted when a crushing impact shook the entire vessel, throwing him off his chair. Moments after he rose from the wooden floor, someone slammed the door open, the impact reverberating around the room.
"Captain, please, help us!" the young man standing by the door gasped, his face drenched and frozen with dread.
The Captain ran, following his comrade outside without a word, only to find a devastating blow on the ship's hull. Despite the wall of water hampering both hearing and sight he found no trouble locating the source of their predicament. A brightly colored enemy ship was proudly bearing its flag, shining through the downpour as it prepared to launch another barrage of iron and fire.
"Give chase men! These royal dogs won't take us down without a fight!" shouted the Captain as he raised his sword, raising the morale of his crewmates, though his own remained unchanged.
With a sharp turn, the pirate ship managed to narrowly avoid part of the deadly barrage of cannon fire, but the damage was already done and spreading. The vessel trudged on, taking the air of a vengeful apparition, one trying to claw its way to the sweet release of revenge as it came closer to the enemy ship.
Curiously enough, rather than trying to take advantage of its position or keep distance, the opposing vessel rose up to the challenge, performing a sharp turn of its own to meet the dying husk head on.
"Stand your ground men! Show them your sea legs!" cried the Captain, holding onto the ship's mast, bracing for the impact.
The sound of thunder could only vaguely mask the collision of the two vessels. Both hulls crashed into one another, sending splintering bits of wood flying into the air. Shouts that barely registered as whispers under the raging typhoon accompanied the sounds of colliding steel. It was a skirmish, alike many the Captain had experienced in the past, but he felt indifferent about it; gone was the fire in his heart.
A flash of lightning struck over the maritime battlefield and before his eyes could react, the Captain's body moved on its own, deflecting an incoming slash as fast as the bolt itself. It was an instinct not yet dulled by the years, nor his indifference. Both warriors stood in front of one another, stances ready, demonstrating more than mere style and technique.
The fiery glow of his enemy's eyes surprised the Captain. It broke through the watery mists like a hot knife through butter. For the fraction of a second, the Captain felt the rush of battle come to him once more like in the days of old. He knew he had to reply to such a petition, for it took no words to tell.
A quick succession of clashes followed. There were no wasted movements, every effort calculated. Sparks from the collision of blades flew and vanished, momentary spectators to this clash of convictions.
One thing became clear for the Captain as the battle continued however, there was, on top of his opponent's aura of respect, a knowing look, one that told him everything. To say that the warrior before him had studied his abilities would have been a shallow understatement. There was so much more, a thirst for battle, an indomitable will, an eternal challenge to better one's self.
"This cannot be your best Dread Pirate! Prove me wrong!" the younger swordsman demanded, unleashing a flurry of slashes and thrusts at the Captain.
"I'm afraid this is as good as it gets!" replied the Captain in accord with his own set of near perfect parries. This succession of savage demands and swift responses would not last for long however. As quickly as it had returned, the Captain's fighting spirit began to wane, consuming itself like the waves tearing at his dying ship.
The Captain's adversary rushed in, using his superior size and agility, never once letting up the onslaught. Each parry from the Captain became more and more desperate as the duel went on. The battle was taking its toll on the weary Captain and he could no longer respond to his opponent's strikes with the same ferocity. His will was fading, and both swordsmen knew it.
A flash of light shortly blinded both warriors; and then, a searing pain coursed through the Captain's right cheek. He felt it not only on his face but also in his soul and pride. It would soon become another scar to carry; another painful memory, one he did not wish to carry in the slightest.
Still, rage did not come to him, only the crushing sense of defeat. With his offense non-existent and his defense faltering, the end was certain. It was then that another slash cut through his right shoulder, marking the end of their short-lived battle. The Captain's sword dropped to the floor and the blade might as well have broken in two.
Droplets of blood mixed with the rainwater, covering the floor beneath his knees. The storm no longer deafened his ears; not even the rumbling of thunder fazed his body. He was uncaring to the world around him, his fresh wounds, and the culprit of his loss.
The voice of the victor broke the Captain out of his trance, though he did not show it.
"I will not strike down a man without weapons," said the victor with much disappointment, as he sheathed his blade. "You shall be taken prisoner once we reach the mainland." There was a sense of finality in the man's words, though they fell upon deaf ears.
No response came from the Captain. His head hung low, indifferent to all around him. A deep silence fell between the two warriors, both unwilling to move. It took a cry of help from one of the victor's men to snap them both back into reality.
"Commander! Commander Gudmand! Look!" shouted one of his subordinates in absolute terror, pointing northward of the collided vessels.
The storm itself seemed to reply once Gudmand turned his head, launching yet another bolt of lightning dangerously close to the vessels. It illuminated the darkened sea for a mere moment, but that was more than enough. A colossal waterspout rose above, no more than a couple of leagues away, and it was coming for them.
Terror overthrew whatever semblance of order remained in the skirmish. Some jumped off the ship in a futile attempt to save themselves from the colossal vortex, while others awaited its inevitable arrival. Amongst the latter, was the defeated pirate Captain. Picking up his sword and sheathing it with his bloodied right hand, the man laid down and closed his eyes, waiting for the final moment to come. Peace marked his features as the ship began sinking further into the depths.
Chaos and pain became void as the column of water sank what was left of both ships and crews, sinking it all into the dark blue depths with its monstrous strength. There had been no need for the Captain to waste words nor ink, for the ocean itself washed away his every trouble.
The pushing and pulling of the waves lulled the Captain into a sense of tranquility, despite their vicious exterior. Memories flooded him as the current swept him, memories of promise, revenge, camaraderie and times gone by. They wrote a sad but earnest smile on his face. And then, just for a moment, he was finally at peace.