Universalis 1/Log

The clash of steel and the roar of the cannon all but drowned out the sound of thunder as lightning crackled across the darkening horizon. A rising wind swirled through the acrid smoke that billowed up from a pair of sailing ships: a lumbering Spanish galleon locked into close combat with a smaller pirate vessel. By weight of numbers, the sides would seem to be evenly matched, but the red-haired woman leading the assault on the galleon cut a bloody swath through the the Spanish crew.

A rallying battle cry howled over the waves, as the red-haired demoness -- the pirate queen, Nicole Tissot -- pierced another foe. Her rapier went right through sailor's heart, while the dagger in her left hand averted the victim's final blow. With a disrespectful kick, the body was sent to the sea where a slew of sharks already waited for their next treat.

As the waves turned crimson from blood, storm became stronger. Clouds grew heavy and black, but it wouldn't rain. Waves raged more and more, and, finally, a lightning struck the sloop's mast.

Another dead body with a stump instead of the head fell into the raging waters. It was quickly torn to pieces by sharks. The clouds burst in a drenching rain. Heavy pour diluted the blood, but the sea surface still boiled as sharks challenged each other for corpses.

Veil of rain blurred the sight in two arms reach.

In all her years at sea, Nicole had never seen a squall hit so hard so fast. She known she'd been playing things close to continue pursuit of the galleon, but the prize had been to big, and the storm had seemed so far off. Now barely able to see, and having to shout to be heard above the howling wind by even her closest ally, it was already too late to call for any sort of organized retreat.

Out of the darkness, a shadow loomed. Nicole just managed to duck under the slashing saber, but before she could deliver her counterstrike, a wave crashing over the rail of the galleon had already carried the Spaniard away.

But the sloop's crew wasn't helpless kittens, half of them was hardened seadogs, and as whole they was drilled by Nicole to work as a team. The man at the sloop's wheel made a hard turn to follow the galleon against the elements. Two ship's boys took all effort to rearrange the sails to make it possible.

As the two ships and their crews battled the raging storm, the armed conflict devolved into a struggle for survival against the elements. Nicole clung desperately to a ladder just to keep from being swept away by the next great wave to come crashing over the railing, then staggered across the deck toward the nearest door in search of shelter. She ducked inside, only to find three Spaniards who'd beat her below deck grabbing for their pistols to level them at her. She slammed the door again between them and her, the balls narrowly missing her as they splintered little holes in the wood. As Nicole spun to look for another source of shelter, she felt the next wave slam into her. It knocked the breath from her lungs, spun her about dizzyingly, and tossed her like a rag doll. The next thing she knew, she had landed in water, desperately stroking for what she hoped was the surface...

In the next moment, Nicole felt a beat of rain on her skin and breathed in a dose of reviving air. Suddenly, the waves weren’t so large that they could overthrow a ship, but Nicole almost didn’t notice that. The situation dictated that survival is the top priority: she remembered too clearly of what happens to a body, alive or otherwise, fallen in the middle of sharks’ feast. With the rain washing all sight beyond several feet, even her strong spirit cowered before the fearful doubts.

---

Nicole jerked reflexively awake as something beneath the water brushed against her foot. Thoughts of the sharks caused her to squirm as far away as she could manage to get from whatever it had been, loosening her hold on the barrel that had carried her through the night. She spluttered as she took in a mouth full of sea water, and the barrel spun away as she scrabbled to get hold of it again, but before she had time to panic, her feet made contact again and she found herself standing chest-deep in the water.

Looking around, Nicole found herself in an inlet along a tropical shoreline, a few dozen yards from the beach, surrounded by flotsam from the battle. The passing of the night had obliterated all trace of the storm from the sky. Only a few white streaks of cloud marred the clear expanse of azure overhead. Nicole started to swim for the shore, but after some protest from the kinks in her arm, she settled on a wading instead, finally crawling up to collapse in the sand and stare up at the morning sun. Exhausted and aching from the battering her body had taken, she just lay there for a long time, her mind empty as she let the sun warm and soothe her, until thirst prodded her to her feet and she stumbled unsteadily off in search of fresh water.

Thirst and pain clouded Nicole's mind leaving only overwhelming survival instinct. Such suffering turns a man into a beast, and if healthy, rested Nicole would see this limping husk of a person, she'd refuse to recognize herself. Subconsciously, she felt this shame even now, and it fueled her struggle.

There was a patch of palm trees inward the land, not far from the shore. Nicole got there in what felt like ages, but just in time for a bit of hope: a large black crab (likes of which sailors called "palm thieves") was indulging in a succulent coconut.

Santiago Ramon y Lucientes had given thanks to Santa Maria de Cervello for the twin miracles of his freedom and his survival. He had slept on the wet sand for but an hour, a restless disturbed sleep, full of sinister figures and shapeless anxiety. He woke with a start, panicked and full of foreboding but no imminent threat presented itself. Rather, the clear light of morning brought with it an understanding of the fragility of his situation.

Seemingly the lone survivor among those washed up by the storm, he had picked his way along the shoreline, inspecting bodies and other flotsam for anything that may help. After an hour’s searching he had salvaged a saber and a wineskin and was starting to feel more optimistic.

“Santiago”, he muttered to himself, “you will be as a king-among-men should you survive to tell this tale!”

A moment later he saw movement on the beach ahead and recent experience of betrayal caused him to fall flat on his stomach and observe with caution. He watched the woman limp up the beach toward the tree line and after a moment of hesitation decided to follow stealthily. He was certain she had not been on the galleon, even secured in the brig as he was, he had come to know the composition of the crew. That made her a pirate. He saw her pause just in front of a patch of palm trees, a little way in from the shore. Santiago shook his head in an effort to shake the still-present sense of foreboding as he tried to decide how to react to her presence.