The gale howled intensely as the the rain batted against the deck like artillery, pelting all on board and filled the already loud wind with with the noise of battering droplets. While never pleasant even with his vast experience, Markus was used to sailing in trying conditions. He felt goosebumps on his skin as much of his body was both warm and strikingly cold at different extremities. His dark hair matted to his face, his eyes steeled and piercing the veil of wind and blackness. 

"Hard to port!" a fey, elven voice cried from the front of the ship. Markus spun the wheel, turning the ship as quickly as he could. The lightning flashed overhead, and the vague shape of the land that he had perceived as mountains were suddenly illuminated into monstrous shapes out of nightmare. Huge towers of jagged spires laden with wet corpses set around temples of obsidian and blood, all built in tandem to make the countenance of a great screaming visage in the brief flash. It started Markus's heart for a moment, and if he did not know any better, he thought he might have awakened a heathen god better left undisturbed. 

"Raise mast!" Markus called back over the din. Lightning flashed again, giving him a glimpse of the deck. Morek ran across toward the mainsail rope as Sulander held onto the aft lines, yanking them down for all his worth. Indrin's figure was mid-leap from the foredeck onto the main deck, and behind him, dead ahead, was the maw of the bay. The world was continuously instantaneous intervals of light and darkness and roaring weather. 

Spinning the wheel, Markus felt the ship sink dangerously low before launching into the air once it slapped against an oncoming wave, holding on for dear life. He felt as if he heard Emmaline squeal below him under the deck, but he knew that was impossible due to the noise. It was the last great interval before they made it into the inlet, where the waters were rough but manageable. Thankfully, the ship was far steadier than any manling vessel would be and almost skimmed to the darkwood docks where deadly sloops were anchored. 

He knew no one would be out in this storm, but he still could not but feel eyes watching him. Something older than even the elves, and he couldn't help but feel on edge as they slid somewhat roughly into a vacant area, knowing this might be the last time he would ever sail. With luck, they wouldn't find any dark elves. Just his ship and the crew... 

"Sigmar willing," he said and chuckled darkly. He knew in his stomach there would be blood spilled before the night was through.