High above the ocean’s water, Artemisia reclined lazily in the crow’s nest. The night had only seemed to grow darker, making the night sky and the horizon blend together in a seamless black void. She had one hand curled gently around a rope that passed below. It was as thick as her arm was wide. From here, she could watch the people on deck. Most had gone to bed, except for a few. A young Englishman, and an older gentleman with a beard were holding an intense conversation, most likely swapping tales. Her gaze shifted over to a tall native man on the navigational deck standing next to whom she assumed was the navigator. 
      
      Suddenly, a peculiar shape shot forth from the ocean. Her position high in the sky allowed her to see, even at a distance, all that occurred. She could barely tell what the being was, though she could make out unique red sparks that emanated and surrounded the being. Before she could call out to those below, the being slammed into the deck of the ship, sending boards and other shrapnel into the air. The impact from the being seemed to rock the ship, or at least Artemisia felt the implosion.
        She forced herself to look over the side of the nest, and watched as the native man began to engage the being in combat. She could see that the being, held a heavy lance, and wore ebony armor that glistened and crackled with sparks the colour of blood, and then surrounded in heavy smoke. The native man fought the being with axes, and the two ensued a game of cat-and-mouse, though the being could only move so quickly. The native lodged one of his axes into the joint of the knee and that seemed to cause the being at least some discomfort. He almost met his demise had the Englishman not shot the being when his carbine jammed. Artemisia then spotted Omero, the Italian man with one eye that worked for the church; climbing the rigging up to the fighting top. She watched as he loaded his crossbow with a bolt and took aim. 

       “Peeerrissh… You all shall perish!” A strange, metallic voice filled the air, sending shivers up her arms and legs, and then crawling up her spine.
      If there was anything Artemisia could do, it was by helping out in some way, instead of being a coward and useless. So she prompted that the best way to help, would be to draw the attention of the being away from the people on deck that were engaged in combat. Slipping over the basket of the crow’s nest, Artemisia shimmied down the ropes to the lift below her.

      “Oye! Cabron! Tu madre es una girafa con cojones pequeñas!! Y tu padre es un bastardo de una ramera!” Her insults were not meant to offend, but rather to simply draw the beings attention away from the others. If anything she was afraid that with as much carnage and wreckage already wrought, the ship would be at risk of sinking.
     Sliding below to the fighting top of the main mast, Artemisia continued her barrage of insults, “Mírate! Qué un chinga! Oye. Oye pinche cabron!” If there was anything the Spanish were good at, it was cursing. Here, she ended up in the fighting top alongside Omero. She gave him a wink as she held onto the ropes to steady herself.

     “Fancy seeing you here, especially with that.” She nodded her head at his crossbow, but said nothing further. She rummaged with one hand in her pocket, and pulled out some rocks. Why would Artemisia have rocks in her pocket? Well why would she not?! They were for throwing. Mostly for chucking a rock at a drunkard for too many catcalls or over-friendly hands. Now, she could use them to impede the being. Leaning her body against the mast, Artemisia began to lob her puny pebbles at the harbinger below.