Shot like fireworks scattered smoke into the air, the whipping whiz of steel ammunition crossing over from deck, then air and deck again - cracking hard against the wooden exterior of both vessels. The staccato boom of sea-born cannonery threatened to deafen unprotected ears. With every impact weathered wood splintered, shards and whole boards being lost to the ocean’s surface, creating shoddy raft-work for those inevitably thrown overboard at the time of contact. Unfortunate sailors, woefully unprepared for the savagery that now forced itself upon them, pit themselves against the buccaneering pirate spawn of Bilgewater. Untrained, hired on a dime and forced to sail at the behest of an employer they hardly knew. Their lamentations and the overall chaos of the situation fueled the opposing pirates, cheering, whooping and hollering as lines were cast to begin the boarding process.

Slack rope bridged the gap as rusted iron hooks settled into any crevice they could find. “Heave!” A throaty voice called, and they heaved, bringing the boats together as the rope ran taught, the more aged of them fraying like strands of broken hair. Both ships drifted together with a clack of wood against wood. The boarding began as another volley of shot was sent towards the attackers who now descended upon them with overwhelming numbers. Their ship was larger. It had more firepower. And it had more manpower. More of everything. The pirates, seeking plunder, engaged the sailors in melee with their rapiers, cutlasses and harpoons, massacring one fourth of the crew in the initial clash. These were hearty souls who had persevered for years amidst the cutthroat pirate-infested waters, warring against plank gangs and deep sea creatures that lurked within these ocean’s in search of sustenance.

The Captain of the vessel made himself known now. A wide figure, broad of shoulders and chest, his pectorals and rippling abdominals laid bare between his coat. A long beard, greying at its tip, ran all the way down to his waist, bushy around the face before thinning into a long and fine point consisting of only a few strands. A moustache that looked as if it had been combed and greased a thousand times over hardly curled at either end, much to the pirate lord’s dismay. His left eye was covered by a most stereotypical eye patch and his black head of hair, in contrast to his mangled beard, was long and straight down the back - though lacking in volume somewhat due to his middle-age. His hat, made of rugged leather that looked as if it were carved off the hide of a scaly amphibian sat atop his oblong skull as he reached into the sheathe at one side of himself, revealing a cutlass that did not seem to coincide with his aesthetic.

A golden blade with a bejeweled hilt of ivory was raised high, the purple and emerald gems gleaming with some semblance of luminescence about them. Strange script ran the flat of one side, unlike anything any mainlander could claim to know. “Send them to Mother, most gracious of the Sea!” He declared, his voice stifled by a hacking cough that seemed to rear its ugly head at the worst moments. “And bring me their treasure!” The eccentric Captain tapped his blade against the wooden banister that ran the length of the ship, turning his back at once.

“Captain…” His second approached, hastily and with worry across his expression that alarmed the Captain. He pointed towards the ship the pirate lord just turned his back on, provoking a glance from his liege.

Hovering above the deck of the ship was an orb. It rippled as if conformed of liquid, because it in fact was. The orb was of a crimson red color, growing with each passing second. The fighting had stopped as all turned to witness it, their eyes drawn to the strands of blood that the orb seemed to siphon out of the dead and dying. Those men who were conscious and wounded began to cry out in pain as their very life force was pulled from them to grow this orb bigger and bigger. The Captain leaned over the banister as it gurgled larger, eyes narrowing. Not at the orb but at something else. A faint glow nestled atop the crows nest in his periphery had stolen his attention. His eyes grew wide as he saw four figures arrayed across the horizontal yard that intersected the mainmast. These figures were unusually stout, dressed in garb of which didn’t belong at sea. Ionian garmentry, Freljordian… Their ears were big, heads bigger, eyes like saucers and with inhuman proportions. What were these creatures? The Captain thought.

His attention was brought back to the orb as its shape transformed in the blink of an eye. The blood orb had hardened, crackling as it minimized like crumpling parchment or brittle stone. Now at about half its size, an array of vicious looking spines coated its exterior, making it appear as if it were a spiked morningstar of sorts. Everyone collectively gasped as it warped. Not even a second after and the hardened, spiked bulb shattered in a violent explosion, ejecting the bloody spines like shrapnel to impale anyone foolish enough to close on its radius. Shrieks of surprise and pain filled the salted air. The shock of the situation hadn’t yet had a chance to settle before one of the figures, the largest of them, leapt off the yard and into a freefall.

The Captain watched the little creature descend, recognizing a plinth of stone and metal fashioned in the likeness of a horned spirit of the hearth held in its tiny hands. Salted air whistled as unnatural magics gathered in the coming moments before the creature’s landing, the curled horns on the monolithic effigy running alight with searing hot lines. A shockwave of ethereal force shook the deck and the entirety of the occupants stood upon it as a ploom of earthen dust conjured from thin air exploded outwards from its point of impact, followed by a wave of fiery embers that lingered and smoldered even after the dust settled. Those nearest to the edges of the ship were thrown off it from the unseen force that was projected. Almost as if that wasn’t devastating enough, the upper-deck cracked in an ever widening ring, losing some of its structural integrity. The creature sat knelt amidst the fallen. The onslaught seemed coordinated and expertly put together at that. The Captain was dumbstruck, half his crew had been killed in only a handful of seconds. What were these damned creatures?!

Enough! The Captain thought. That was enough! He upholstered his pistol from his hip, wrapping around to train his sights on the hooded figure atop the yard. These little bastards wouldn’t bismerch his name. He was an expert shot, having learned through his decades of pirating to center his aim and steady his heart in order to apply an accurate ball to his target. This same pistol, decorated with golden filigree, had claimed the lives of many before this, and it would continue to claim many more after, such was his confidence in himself. With a resounding boom the shot rang out, the bullet speeding towards its intended target only to be intercepted… Intercepted…? Who could’ve done that?!

Another one of those tiny creatures, the one he now saw clearer than before, the one with the massive drill for a limb. The bullet clattered harmlessly off that drill as it’s girth was produced to shield it’s ally. The Captain choked on his rage, teeth filing into teeth with eyes narrowed and his face twisted in anger. His second, recognizing his fury, decided he would add his gun to the situation in hopes of producing better results than his Captain… To no avail. Another bullet clanged off the drill as it whirred, all three creatures atop the yard staring down at him now.

The overwhelming shock of the moment had finally worn thin, allowing the pirates to continue their slaughter. Though not for very long. All three figures leapt down to join the fourth. Assembled like some sort of party of little assassins or warriors. In a systematic and exceedingly violent display of skill the four of them went about dismantling the remains of the Captain’s crew. The one that caught his eye in this moment, perhaps the most acrobatic and colorful of them, was a feminine figure with long hair, predominantly black but dyed, or so he thought, cyan-blue at its ends - just as blue as the creature’s sky blue skin. The way it’s head of hair moved, shifting with unnatural autonomy as it flowed across the deck between barrels and busted burlap sacks of grain. It was sorcery. It defied understanding, he hadn’t been witness to something so utterly alien in all his life.

More mechanical whirring cast his vision to one side, watching the brown-skinned creature tear through his ranks with that bloody drill. Punching holes in flesh and bone and sinew, rending the living until life escaped them. How did it manipulate a machine more than half its size?! And the other one. The one with the dagger who could will spilt blood into weaponry, spears and scythes and throwing daggers. What was this?!

“Stop this! Stop this madness!” The Captain shouted, clenching his sword tight and his gun even tighter. His protests were either ignored or unheard over the killing that now fell out of his favor. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” He chanted, hacking as he stormed down the steps adjacent to the helm in attempts to get closer and project his voice farther.

They weren't listening. If they kept on like this he and his second would be the only ones left alive. And that scared him. Scared him more than anything. Not because he cared for his crew or feared for his life, but because his empire that he had built on these waters would be crushed. These merciless creatures. He would have his revenge. But not today.

“Eustace! To the rowboat! I will not be undone! Not like this!” His pride was shattered, many years of amassing a crew, filling his ship with guns and stocking it with munitions, rations, the lot of it. But more powerful than his pride was his anger and his need for redemption. And he couldn’t do that rotting at the bottom of the ocean, could he?

Eustace did as he was told, sprinting to the ropes that would lower the dinghy down into the water. He worked quickly as his lord demanded of him, not through verbal order but simply through weight of eye contact alone. Eustace cast the rope ladder down and gestured for his pirate liege to go first, following after as any second should.

“Back to Bilgewater!” The Captain demanded with a clink-clink of his sword against the dinghy’s side.

Eustace took that as his queue to row. And he wouldn’t stop rowing until his liege told him otherwise. Thankfully his Captain had a charm that would help them put some distance between them and this disaster.

The four of them stood on the blood strewn deck with hardly a crew around them. Enzo’s totem was bloodied, Mica’s drill the same and Chelle’s hair the same as them. Between the four adventurers the challenge of a hundred pirates was hardly a challenge at all. Admittedly the group had grown since falling under Lois’ employ almost a month ago. She was reluctant at first to keep them, and in all honesty some of them didn’t want to stay. But she provided the money and so they provided the skill. This rag-tag group that had met in Bandle City. A place Lois hadn’t visited in some years, perhaps the best decision she had made in recent memory. Her clientele had been failing her on multiple fronts over the preceding months. It was hard to find competent mercenaries and it had never really been easy in all honesty. The quality of the pool she had to pull from was already a small one in Piltover and Zaun, made all the more smaller by the many mercenaries who had met crippling injury and even death on her jobs. But that was something she’d always keep a secret. If you heralded your ambition with the true gravity of it’s danger then who would ever want to tag along? Well, maybe some, but not most.

Chelle approached Lois, a begrudged glance asking her for assistance without speaking those words. Their relationship, while tenuous, was improving. They could actually hold a decent conversation on occasion and share a laugh. Mica was more than overjoyed to see the two getting along, glad to be done with the tense back and forth that usually arose on their expeditions.

Lois obliged as Chelle turned, curling her fingers gently through the hair that had moments ago impaled pirates with its length. As her digits ran through it the blood was pulled away a droplet at a time before being whipped over the side of the ship and into the water below like a red ribbon on a string. At that moment it had just occurred to her. The reason they were here. How could she have forgotten. Nehel again, no doubt. She grimaced for a half second and turned her eyes towards the ship opposite them, scanning its length.

“Where’s the Captain?!” Lois inquired, her surprise palpable as she looked between every member of her party.

“Uhhh…” Enzo droned, looking around for a half-second before he ultimately shrugged.

“You’re so unhelpful…” Lois groaned with a look of mild contempt.

Enzo winked and pointed in her direction as if owning everything the descriptor “unhelpful” came with. In one great effort he swept his totem back up onto one shoulder, investigating further despite his earlier indifference.

Chelle and Mica leapt across the gap to clear the deck and the Captain’s quarters where the other two followed shortly after. This ship was impressive, as was expected of a man of such clout and stature. Many times longer than their own ship and with several gundecks, the ‘Golden Memorabilia’ as it came to be known throughout Bilgewater legacy was a prized flag ship belonging to Captain Fain Toddbringer. His reputation having become one of a vain and greedy pirate who came to power after a familial feud that left him the sole heir to his pirate father’s fortune.

“He’s not in the Captain’s quarters! Kinda’ nice in here, though.” Mica called out, projecting her voice with a cupped palm around her mouth.

“The rowboat is gone.” Chelle called.

Lois came running, skidding to a halt atop the wet decking. She cursed beneath her breath, pushing to the edge of the ship so she could look out across the calm blue. Not a boat in sight. How did he get away so fast? They all thought collectively. It was a question that didn’t need voicing.

“We have to get after him.” Lois began, calculating in her head like she usually did in stressful situations.

“With what ship? They really fucked ours.” Enzo replied, being the voice of reason in this circumstance. “It’s-... It’s actually sinking right now…” His words didn’t seem to inspire any attention from his team. “No, like, really. It’s sinking.”

Lois went thumping from one side of the ship to the other, her mouth agape at their slowly sinking vessel and the crew who were now climbing aboard the flagship with them. Without hesitation Lois and Mica crossed over to retrieve their belongings before they were lost to the sea. Thankfully they had a functioning ship in the Golden Memorabilia, the bad news was they didn’t have a sufficient amount of bodies to crew the vessel appropriately. The journey to Bilgewater would be a slow one, which frustrated Lois to no end.

The four of them found themselves in Fain’s personal captain’s quarters, the moonless, starlit night sky providing a gloomy softlight that filtered in through the long windows at the rear of the vessel, fighting against the flickering firelight of candles that warmed the interior. A fine rug splayed out across the dry wood of the captain’s quarters, insulating it further and making the atmosphere cozy, which was a commodity out at sea. A sofa bolted to the floor sat to one extreme of the room and a bed to the other with a central desk and a tall, regal looking chair behind it.

Enzo occupied the captain’s chair, his totem always sat close by as he plied a bowl of fruits left by Fain. On occasion he’d flick a grape in Mica’s direction on the bed beside Chelle. Mica had captured a few in her mouth once or twice out of the total ten Enzo sent her way, chuckling when she missed one and celebrating with Enzo when she got another. The fun and games stopped the moment one of the grapes went wide and bounced off Chelle’s head, however. She shot at a vengeful glance towards Enzo, willing several strands of her hair to pluck an empty candelabra from its resting place beside the bed and fling it at the Freljordian.

“Woah!” Enzo yelped, ducking to avoid it narrowly as it struck the back of the chair and spiraled to the ground with a clatter. “I grape you and you throw a candle holder at me?!”

Chelle replied with a smug half-smile. “You asked for it.”

“Can we please focus for a moment? We have no way to find Fain or the Sword the only thing we know is that he might be heading to Bilgewater.” Lois urged, pacing deliberately.

“You know me, all muscle.” Enzo said with a relieved exhale, sinking into the cushioned chair.

“And no brain, apparently.” Lois retorted.

“Eh, that’s your thing. And Mica’s thing. Mica, help her come up with a plan like last time!” He gestured between the two.

Mica sighed. “If I’m completely honest with you Lois, there’s not much we have to work off of. Our plan to lure him in worked perfectly, but beyond that, I’m tapped for answers on this one. We’re just going to have to go and see if we can find some leads when we arrive.” She levelled with her employer, seemingly sad to say it, but recognizing the truth would be better than running around in circles.

Lois groaned in a defeated manner, clutching her forehead with both palms.

“Just relax. We’ve got a whole week to hang out and get to know each other better!” There was some sarcasm in Enzo’s statement, though everyone was hard pressed to acknowledge that there was also a worrying amount of seriousness mixed into it as well. Or almost everyone, Mica didn’t mind.

“I’m actually inclined to agree. It’s always business with you, maybe some time to relax is what you need.” Chelle interjected, though regretted it as soon as it left her mouth, her unconscious even tone and kind words drawing eyes from every member of the party who knew her more as the combative, smug and selfish type.

Mica was the least put off by what her partner said, affirming some of the things she already knew about Chelle that served as a surprise to the other two. A knowing smile crossed Mica’s visage, her ears perking unconsciously as she turned towards Chelle who occupied the opposite side of the bed.

The look forced a blush upon Chelle’s cheeks before she steeled herself once more. “Die.” Was her only reply. She fell onto her side away from the room, the conflict of past emotions resurfacing in the awkward silence.

“Probably best we get some sleep anyways…” Mica blew out the candle nearest to herself and Enzo followed suit, darkening the room. “Goodnight, everyone.” A move to save Chelle the embarrassment wrapped up in an earnest desire for sleep.

Lois retired to the sofa and Enzo was content with the wide base of the captain’s chair, swinging around sideways to prop his head and legs up on both armrests. There was a while where no one slept at all, thinking about so many different things. Lois about her artifacts. Enzo about his home. Chelle about Mica. And Mica about Chelle. Enzo was the first to succumb to his exhaustion. Then Mica. Eventually Lois. And finally Chelle. The waves of the ocean pushing up against the boat were an effective sleep aid, putting even the most thoughtful of souls to bed with enough time.