Markus quickly began to unwind the ropes from each mast, working with a furious energy that only desperation and a heightened sense of survival could bring to a man. But even then, he wouldn't have time to raise any of the sails save the lower topsails and top masts. Once he finished his work, he hastily put on his shirt and ragged coat again. Not out of modesty, nor protection. But more clothing meant the enemy might stab into cloth and think it would be flesh. 

"Markus!" he corrected her, grabbing his sword and heading to the bow near the foremast. He knew she was used to servants but his name was [i]borne[/i] of nobility, though that seemed a lifetime away. He rushed forward and grabbed a low hanging rope to keep him steady as he stepped up onto railing. There was wind but not enough. Calliope was right. They wouldn't make it to the Sea gate or the Mystical Watch Towers before they were intercepted. He could already see one of the guardship Cogs floating out of the bay. 

Glancing Calliope's way, he saw the dark vixen weaving a spell. His pupil's burned from the spectacle, contrails of energy began to form in the air and her breathy incantation sounded near demonic. "Ho, you there!" a voice called from the ever encroaching Cog. The bulky ship, almost a curved square in shape, floating ever closer. If only they had the wind, even if the Cog outmaneuvered them at first they still could have outrun them. 

Markus ignored the calling men. He went to one of the guns, pouring in black powder and pressing down the cannon ball he had lodged in there with the gun stick. The Cog was nearly a ship's length away at the moment, and there was no call from either Markus or Calliope. There was one last "Speak or you will be fired upon!" by who Markus presumed was the Captain. Markus didn't aim for the man, though he would have liked to. Instead he aimed for the mast. He was familiar with handling a Cannon, though he had done more with ship ballistas in the past. Still, they were now close enough to where it didn't matter. 

He fired, and the cannon ball shot through the railing, ripping through a man's arm and tearing into the mast. Splinters flew and stabbed two other men, and the Cog clipped the very stern of the Weather Witch, causing both ships to jerk for but a moment. Shouts and yells could be heard. Markus collected himself, blinking through the dust and trying to silence the ringing in his ears when he saw a figure land on the poop deck. 

An effete Elf, with a used officer's uniform and ears that poked out of his long brown mane. A sidesword was in his hand, and a crossbow in the other. He pointed the crossbow at Markus, who stopped in his tracks and froze with his sword. "Avast! Drop your sword and turn this ship around!" he ordered, his accent laden with pomposity and command. After a tense moment, Markus let out a breath and loosed the grip on his sword, relaxing the Elf for a moment before Markus then swiped left, cleaving through a rope of the mainmast. The Elf realized that above him, one of the sails was now hurtling toward his position and his instinctive shot went wide, embedding a bolt a few paces away from Calliope's chanting lips as she continued her chant, uncaring. 

Both fighters had rolled in a dodge, and when they recovered they met in the center of the deck with flashing steel. After a few strokes, Markus backstepped, carefully making his way over the fallen mast to put some distance between them. Markus was notable for his swordsmanship wherever he went, but the Elf had decades, if not centuries of experience and the natural quick movements of his race to aid him. The borderland bastard was not out yet, cutting through the thrusts and stabs and deft cuts sent his way. He was desperate, fierce, and he had seen Elven swordsmen before. He knew a few of their key moves, and blocked and riposted far better than the officer had expected, seeing his wide eyed expression. 

"Yield and you will see trial!" 

"The trial of a mob is worthless, traitor!" Markus replied back in the Elf's native tongue. This sudden usage of the Elven language caught the officer off guard, and Markus caught the next and (likely) only lazy thrust the Elf would give in his life, and grabbed the slim arm to then carry the Elf over his shoulder and railing into the dark waters of the ocean. The sharp featured, handsome face of the elf surfaced moments later, and a voice was heard. "Man overboard!" 

"By the Grace of Galena," Markus cursed tiredly, and wiped the blood off of a new mark now slit on his face. It was at that moment that the Catapults and Ballista, cheaper but by no means ineffective artillery, began to rain down on the water, slicing and crushing into the waves not meters from the Weather Witch. One catapult missile in the form of a 50 pound rock hit the deck and splintered wood. If the ship wasn't three decked, it might have done serious damage to the bottom hull. "How much more time do you need, Gods damn you!?" Markus screamed at Calliope. 
[@Penny]