-=-
The squinted eyes of the stoic ginger Rakrran were accompanied with gritting teeth of realization, lips curling and canines revealing themselves to the crew in the surroundings. With a harsh growl, he shouted "Make for-" but before he could even order his crew a low horn pierced through the air, signaling that which the Altaj suspected, and feared. Another snarl came from the livid lord, "Make for the damn north!" With that order, the Varran crew snapped back into action, setting the sails and pivoting the ships to catch the wind back northward. The large wooden beasts of vessels caught the wind and practically glided across the surface of the sea, speed unmatched but by the time the ships holding the Altaj himself arrived in the north of the Essalonian Strait, the battle had already begun.
Red hot flames from cannon fire were first seen in the distance, the keen Varran eye picking it up from practically miles away. The resounding boom from the weapons followed quickly after, echoing out over the ocean and through the wind which whipped through the Lord's mane. The Corsair's golden yellow eyes honed in on the battle ahead and as he grew closer his lips peeled back from the snarl which had plagued him to a grin. "Men! The Northern fleet, or lack thereof, has come to pay our lands a visit! See that it is their last!"
The howling order resonated over the deck of the ship, followed by other barking and cackles as the order quickly spread from ship to ship amongst the Varran fleet. It had been a long while since the crew had seen a battle such as this, even if it was no contest and the energy of the fleet shifted from that of concern to excitement. Varran leaped and scurried about the deck and rigging, perching and readying themselves with claw and blade whilst many others hunkered below readying the cannons.
As the bulk of the fleet grew closer to the battle, the naval baron's grin fell as he noticed not one but two of his ships under heavy fire, one already beginning to take on water. His brows knit together and he quickly made for the bow of the ship, holding tightly onto a rope to keep himself steady. The fiery-orange Lord took his perch as men gathered behind him, watching on as the convoy finally came into range. True to Varran tactic only few ships parted, turning to line up their cannons on the targets before them, whilst the majority of the crew readied to board. Their fate was sealed in this moment. The few enemy ships, the hopeless mercenaries, and any other crew which found themselves in the line of pirates. It was over shortly after it began.
Kailu roared out, "Fire on the bastards!" thrusting his hand forward, near perfectly timed like an oiled machine with the blasting of his cannons. It was no pretty sight, hefty metal spheres launching through the air and tearing through anything in its path, knowing no mercy as a man who wielded a blade did. Splintering wood scattered from the enemy vessels, shrapnel spreading and piercing into the flesh of men aboard. The scent of iron filled the air as blood was scattered and bodies collapsed off the sides of ships. "Ready to board! Pack the cannons!" The Lord threw out more orders, the Varran to his side preparing for the battle and the ones below prepping the cannons once more. The ships grew ever-close and once more the barking order of "Fire!" found the ears of those present and the cannons sprung to life, heaving their projectile forward to again meet the already damaged hulls of ships and hopeless men aboard them.
Finally, the ships grew in close enough. Varran swung from ropes over the depths below and onto the enemy fleet, landing and rolling before springing into action. Even the Corsair Lord himself leaped across the gap and delve into the fighting, no mere general sitting on the sidelines, he stood by his men and fuelled them that much more. Claws found northern flesh, ripping, tearing into the bodies of those who found themselves at war with such a merciless force. Piercing screams of pain filled the space while blood misted the air with each slash of claw and steel from the expertly efficient Varran and their leader helming the attack. "See that every one of the bastards rests at the bottom of the damn sea!"
Further cannon fire went off as bodies dropped, some slumping on the decks of ships pooling in their own blood whilst others were thrown to the sharks below. By this time two Frisque ships fell to the waves while the five enemy northern vessels took on water and soon sank with the Varran crew returning to their ships, not finding the same fate as their enemy, instead standing victorious aboard the fleet, or so they thought. A tap on Kailu's shoulder and point to the distant shore showed Sorenvik troops finalizing their landing on the coast. The Rakrran stared for a moment before nodding, "Well played, Sorenvik, though at what cost?"
-=-
Seven ships joined the bottom of the sea this day along with many men and women, the majority from the north but some from the Frisque side too. The familiar ginger Rakrran made his way through his crew, once more finding his perch and scanning out over those who served him, those who he sought to protect and lead."Loss. Not a word I would use this day. Those of us who passed today live on with us, with our kin! They served this fleet well and without em where would we stand?!" He allowed a moment to pass for those to take in his words. "This day marks victory! This day marks the end of kindness! This day everyone witnessed our strength despite snakey tactics from the northern swine! This war is nearing an end, and we will be the ones to rise!"
His arms extended out as he howled out to his crew. The surrounding Varran barked and hollered, looking up to their lord with respect and admiration. The fleet soon returned to its prior position along the Essalonian Strait, it clear this Varran lord would not roll over so easily.
