Alastair’s eyes sprung open as a gush of salty sea water swept across his face. His grey-blue eyes frantically dashed around as he tried to understand what was happening. He was lying on a soaking wet wooden floor just beyond the stairwell to the upper deck, and all he could really see were others rushing by him in one direction or another. He tried to climb to his feet but he felt dazed and slipped. The alcohol was still having very much of an effect on him, and the blood dripping down his forehead suggested that he’d had a nasty bump. “What the hell is going on?” he moaned as he braced himself against the wall, not for the first time that day. He could hear shouting and gunshots above, as well as the sound of something large thundering about. Then he remembered – the large ebony attacker. [i]‘Must have slipped and knocked myself out’[/i] he thought to himself, now full of regret and annoyance.
 
“Come on! Hurry up!” came a gruff voice of a nearby sailor. Alastair turned to see a couple of burly men, both of whom he had drank with earlier, carrying the inquisitor down the steps. As the group passed Alastair could see that ‘Omero’ [i](if he recalled his name correctly)[/i] was clearly injured and was losing a lot of blood. Alastair went to follow them but hesitated. His healing skills were useful, but the doctor was probably best suited to deal with this kind of injury; especially because he doubted the doctor would be burned alive for his practice. Instead, Alastair decided that he ought to take himself. Ruffling through his leather satchel, he clumsily shifted through various vials, pouches, and scrolls until he came across what he was looking for: [i]‘Inntinn bhán’[/i]. He produced a small vial of what looked like old curdled milk, and which unfortunately smelled and tasted even worse. He popped the cap and downed the thick, lumpy substance, causing him to shiver in disgust. He went to curse the horrid stuff, but instead only acid puke poured from his gob.
 
[b][i]BLEEERRRGGGHHH[/i][/b]
 
“Fucking- fuck” he coughed as he watched the dark coloured substance mix with the sea water on the wooden decking. The potion that he had drank had the useful ability to clear one's mind, and was especially useful for making a drunk feel sober. The downside of this was the taste, the puking, and the knowledge that it caused hangovers to be much worse the next day. It was a price that he was willing to pay though, given the circumstances. He leant against the wall and allowed himself thirty seconds to recover, all the while having to listen to the chaos that was ensuing upstairs. He took in deep breaths and could smell the strong smell of gunpowder and burning, and it made his nose and throat itch. When his mind finally felt clear he removed his Khopesh and ran up the stairs into the miniature warzone. He was immediately hit by a shower of water that made him squint and he was unable to tell whether it was the heavens that had opened, or just the rough seas spitting over the deck.
 
“Idiot! This is not your fight!” screamed a Portuguese voice to his right. He turned to see a young woman yelling at an even younger boy. To Alastair they both appeared out of place and, from his previous experience, guessed they would likely get in the way here more than anything else.
 
“Listen to her!” He roared, his coarse voice straining to be heard above the chorus of destruction, “You both need to get to safety! Live to fight another day!” Then, without waiting to see if they were wise enough to heed his advice, he began marching towards the dark towering monster before him. The ebony giant was swinging wildly at Leonard and Emilio, both of whom seemed to be pushing themselves to the limit to dodge its attacks and land their own strikes. It seemed to be hurt too, with noticeable chinks missing in its otherwise indomitable armour. With a quick blink Alastair’s eyes turned a misty white, and his Raven’s Eye allowed him to see what others could not… although it certainly didn’t help in this particular case. The Harbinger before him glowed crimson with streaks of purple, white and red, and was almost painful to look at. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, which made him as weary as it did determined.
 
Leonard came to the top of the steps with a tired albeit straight-backed gait. The sabre held in his hand glistened a macabre pink as the Harbinger swung at Emilio; the light emanating from its very essence played on the folded metal through the thick rainfall.
 
“Shall I step in, Captain?” Leonard screamed through the wailing wind and sweeping of the masts.
 
Emilio wipes his curly hair from his face and back peddles further toward the stern. “I was just getting started!” He responds, a despondent smile growing on his face. It contorts into a gasp as he ducks from a claw strike, then ripostes an incoming punch to his abdomen. A flourish and a spin removes him from range of the Harbinger. A short jump into a roll separates him even more and matches him up with Leonard.
 
“I could wait.” Leonard said, leaning on the banister.
 
Emilio chuckled as he readied his scimitar.
 
 The Captain glanced toward the poop deck and noticed a bright yellow hue coming from the figure of the woman. She seemed to have her arms outstretched.
 
“We need more time,” Emilio responded soberly. At that Leonard propped up from his leaning and fell in line with his sabre brandished forth. As if on invisible cue the duo sprinted forth as the Harbinger bellowed a harsh metallic screech, one which sent waves through their bodies. They powered through the horrible, nearly kinetic, noise and slashed at the body as they passed, making sure to dodge any of the clumsy oncoming blows.
 
Having come out unscathed Emilio felt a blush of confidence; that very quickly turned to pain. A blunt concussive force radiated through Emilio’s body as the Harbinger released a blindingly fast kick to the abdomen. The Captain was knocked back several feet and crashed like a doll into the short wooden wall.
 
“Damn you!” Leonard screamed at the Harbinger as he brought a sabre strike down on the thing’s arm. The Harbinger grabbed the sabre mid-strike and shook it loose from Leonard’s hands. And faster than any man can react the sharp-knuckled fists came down on Leonard’s face. As easily as that his body crumpled to the sea sodden deck.
 
Running up behind the Harbinger, Alastair hooked his Khopesh on its shoulder plate, effectively gripping the edge of it between the Khopesh’s blade and handle. Muscles bulging and chest pounding, Alastair pulled down hard and begun to pry the piece of armour off. The Harbinger was forced slightly off balance and had to take a step back, causing it to narrowly miss another swipe at Leonard’s head. The hard ebony plate bent and shook as the black smoke clung to the metal. The joint croaked under pressure and a bolt flew from it’s casting. It was a feat of strength that Alastair couldn’t have done without the combination of a distraction, uneven flooring, and the few injuries already administered to the monster.
 
The Harbinger shook vigorously before finally grabbing at Alistair’s clothing and tossing him over his head toward where Emilio lay. He landed with a tremendous thud, causing the air to be knocked from his lungs and one of the boards to crack beneath him. [i]‘I’m getting too old for this’[/i] he thought to himself, but he unfortunately lacked the breathe to say the cliché out loud. Suddenly the deck was illuminated by what could have very easily been considered the "sun". It came from the east and casted defined shadows along the rest of the deck. If one were to dare peak at the sun, they would see a tremendous bolt of light extending from the very tip of the stern to the Harbinger’s half-wrecked form.

[hider=Credits]
FBK and [@The New Yorker] [/hider]