The engagement was over before it even began. 

It was almost embarrassing had it not been so thunderously horrible. The clash of steel on steel and the roar of the cannons had died down after the brief struggle, dirty and callused hands grabbing those left alive and slipping sacks on their heads. Some of the pirates simply shot and pushed Tilean sailors overboard whereas others obediently escorted the survivors over the side to the sloop, now connected to the brigantine by grapple hooks. There was ne'er a cloud in the sky and the sun was so bright, even the black bags over the prisoner's heads only lightly muted the penetrating rays. 

Being shoved onto their knees, one by one the captured passengers were unveiled. The blaring sun gleaming into their eyes like Sigmar's wrath, blurred vision slowly regaining focus as the reality of the situation sunk in. Behind them was the sound of booted feet and heavy grunts as the cargo was being heaved over to the sloop. 

For a first prize, Markus Flintbrook was pleased. Though he knew it would get to the crew's head. The new captain would celebrate later that night with a bottle of Dwarf scotch, but as for now he'd oversee the capture and keep them on their toes. Sails could appear on the horizon at any time, and already the blood was attracting sharks. He hoped nothing bigger floated up from the depths and quench its thirst on human blood in the water. 

A snaggle-toothed man named Brod approached him, wielding a heroic beer gut and donning a bandana over his bald head. Eckard and Frankfurt stood beside him, both good sailors with terrible looks and social skills. These three represented the diversity of the dozen personalities in his crew, though there was a norscan named Halfdan and an estalian pisolier called Fernando among them. They chuckled and nodded for one of the other lads to take the hoods off the prisoners, revealing their human catches of the day. A Tilean old man was first, a mustache drooping from the blood of his busted lip. The next was a scholar from the empire who seemed to have wet himself profusely, followed by a cook with a paunch like an ogre, and a buxom woman with lush, blonde hair. 

"Finally, a cook." Markus mumbled as the three men beside him began to whistle suggestively, clearly oggling the woman. Her hands were bound like everyone's was. 

"I'm taking that one." Eckard laughed, pointing at the woman. It took a moment for his grin to fade when he felt the bite of cold steel at his throat. Markus casually held an Imperial Backsword up, ready to cut his jugular at a moment's notice. The captain wasn't planning on doing it, but the bravado had to halt. 

Markus cut an image of both a scoundrel and a dangerous swordsman. He had the coat of a Captain, but it was worn and smelled of the sea. The man was darkly handsome, his mane unkempt and his eyes piercing. He looked no older than twenty seven summers, and though he clearly was keeping his amusement and humor in reserve for his men, he played a grim demeanor as if he was born with it. A scar ran past his chin, the only crease in his 5 o'clock shadow. His skin was suntanned and his hair as black as the abyss. Along his ring finger, a silver and pewter ring of twin dragons banded around his finger.

"No one's taking any of them." Markus declared, cooling off their lecherous thoughts. "What did I say before we got this ship, eh?" 

"This is work, not pleasure." Brod shakily said, answering for Eckard. Eckard seemed to have joined the scholar in wetting himself. Markus was disappointed. These men had been imperial sailors not a week ago so it didn't go past expectations that only a few had been in any engagement, but half the crew needed stronger backbones. 

"What's pleasure for, then?" Markus asked. 

"Pleasure's for the ports." Eckard answered. 

"Aye." Markus grinned, and with a gesture of his head he motioned for them to go and help the others. "We don't take people, only cargo." 

"B-but, you [i]are[/i] taking us sir." The scholar pipped in, drawing the gaze of the dangerous captain and the men who would gut him if unleashed. He coward back, having lost his ability to speak. The captain sheathed his sword, but tossed a wicked knife to the fellow who had brought them here. The scholar no doubt thought he was about to feel his throat slashed, but instead his bonds were cut. Shakily, he brought them to his face in disbelief. 

"We're about to sink your ship. You can go back if you like." The Captain remarked, letting it sink in. He tried keeping his eyes off the woman. He was a man of his word, at least in front of his men.

"Any of you who prove worthwhile can stay aboard. Any who have a ransom, speak up now and you'll be allowed to live. Any who can't do either, I suggest you hope we make berth soon. Else you'll find yourself floating in the sea or shot."