Rul-Aman whirled his blades in a pirouette, a trick he learned that took very little skill but it was impressive to watch nonetheless. It had some small practical use for disorienting an easily balked foe, but mostly it was for show. Rul liked to do it every now and then after a kill, almost like a small ritual, but he also hoped it was at least somewhat intimidating to his next opponent. Unfortunately, seemed it was only for the ritual this time, because the Khajit he was about to fight snarled in anticipation. Fortunately, the Khajit he was about to fight then found an untimely end by the hands of an elderly dunmer. 

Rul-Aman winced, shaking his head as the khajit fell dead to the deck.

Behind the corpse of the pirate was an armored figure, Rul-Amal not knowing it was one of the dunmer aboard his own ship at first, of course. He had ghastly armor on that looked made of a carapace, or perhaps wrought of obsidian. Rul-Aman was almost ready to leap at him with his blades next, but once the dark elf removed his helm, the Redguard gave a sigh of relief. "I thought you some daedra," he admitted. Then his newfound ally asked him to pass him his sack.

"Oh, wha-" Rul-Aman remarked, glancing behind him to see a sizeable traveler's pack just behind his boots. How did that get there? First pirates, then damned backpacks sneak up behind him. Hopefully a beautiful woman would be next, and then maybe some mead! He shrugged and looped one of his swords under the strap and sent it sailing softly into the dunmer's outstretched hands. "Of course, the least I can do." 

It was only then that he deigned to look at his surroundings after the furious combat. Fighting for one's life tended to alter one's perspective in a limiting fashion. The dark elf seemed to be right for the most part. At least, their own ship seemed the worse for wear, but he had been in worse situations before. He turned back to his elderly ally and sheathed his swords. "Swim?" In the sea? At night? He'd rather take the enemy vessel. "I can swim as good as the next man, but I don't think that will be neede-"

Rul-Aman, along with the entire world to his view, was flung into the air along with a gulf of flame. The noise was indescribable. A roar so loud he felt as if he was next to Akatosh himself, screaming into the void of Mundus. He felt at that moment, that it was his last moment. Yet the moment stretched and stretched, and the pain and ringing of his ears did not stop. There was a weightlessness to himself, the one part of the experience that was not completely unpleasant, before it was dashed and he felt like his body was made of lead. Then he impacted the sea, horribly cold and wet. He began to suck in a lungful of seawater, only to realize his error as he desperately clawed for the surface. Seconds later, he broke the surface and hacked out as much water as he could, doing his best to breathe. Long seconds passed, and when he finally found himself being able to, he wiped his matted black hair out of his eyes and looked around. The [i]Arslan's Fortune[/i] was shattered wreck, quickly capsizing before his very eyes. Gods, this was bad. Ironically, he felt immensely grateful for a moment, before he realized dying immediately might have been kinder. He naturally began to look for a piece of kindling, spinning in the water in his search before he found that Brinlaith was floating behind him. 

...Well, the woman part came true. Now he just needed the mead.