The elves faces marred in confusion as their swords and spears either rusted or dissolved on the spot. The men were equally as flumoxed, but considering that they would expect anything when it came to Dark Elves, they continued their butchery without so much as a second's hesitation. Only Markus really had any thought to how something happened when he stepped out of the smoke and cinders of the Brettonian vessel, for all intents and purposes looking like a summoned demon. He wasn't a strong magician at all. In fact he could barely do three incantations, but he saw the winds of magic sweeping past the suddenly diminished dark elves to his own ship!
"That bitch!" He said, both in a strange concoction of amusement and anger. He would deal with her later, but he wouldn't let this opportunity go to waste. A dark elf shot his crossbow at Markus, but due to the smoke and flame the bolt went wide. Markus suddenly charged out of the cloaking darkness and ran a Druchii through. The elf fell without a sound, the other two melee druchii looking for any weapon to fight this strange human with. Markus leaped at the left one, the elf dodging his first swipe with preternatural speed. It attempted to tackle Markus, only for its face to get a hidden knife embedded in its eye socket.
Markus spun, sword leading as he sensed the other dark elf behind him. It held up an oar to brain him, and when its surprise was gone it hefted the implement to block the next blow. Its face was a permanent mask of surprise as Markus' blade burst into flame midstrike, cleaving through the oar and chopping the elf's neck off. As the dark elf fell, he looked about for the crossbowman, but couldn't find any sign. The captain lifted a bit of cloth to his mouth and waded into the smoke again to enter the ship, seeking the other captain to end this once and for all. The caravel wasn't built much differently than the sloop, just a bit clunkier and more rustic in design.
His first pass through the halls, he saw a door blown open by a cannon ball.
"A manling!? Get us the fuck out of this den of elves and I'll be indebted to you!" A voice called with a thick accent. Blinking, he saw a strange Dwarf. A slayer if he could believe it, shackled by his left arm and dangling along the wall. His right arm was merely a stump of bronze. Beside him was another man, a Brettonian by the looks of him, with a courtly mustache and a tabard. As Markus was to step into the room, a voice halted him in his tracks.
"Your skull will be a fine drinking cup." He heard, the voice sophisticated. Down the hall, a resplendent Dark Elf stood there. He wore ridged armor, with black eyes and a feral grin. But what Markus noticed most was his backsword; in perfect condition, made of black metal and coursing with deadened red runes that looked like veins. "Prepare to die, whelp!"
Minutes later
On deck, the crew finished off the last of the invaders. The Druchii had leaped into the sea or been killed on the spot. The crew didn't think to take survivors seeing as none could speak their tongue. Curious as ever, Emmaline poked her head out of the stairwell to the decks, pleased with her desperate gambit that had saved the crew. A few crewmembers had already patched up Halfdan, though they had to carry him down the stairs in a stretcher. The pirate dead were being placed near the prow, and it seemed all conflict was done. As she made her way onto the deck, smiling like the cat that got the cream, the oddest couple of prisoners suddenly leaped on deck, with the crew not suffering battle-shock taking out their cutlasses and pistols, only to see Markus step down beside them, holding them off with a raised hand.
"Von Morganstern!" Markus called, stalking towards her. It was hard to tell if he was going to run her through or kiss her with his fierce eyes, but instead he took to continuing his wanton intimidation. He grabbed her arm and leaned in close, boring his eyes into hers. "You're going to tell me every little secret in that tiny brain of yours-" He started to remark, but he only finished half of the sentence. Call it intuition or the winds of magic heightening his senses, but the world seemed to slow and his eyes looked past her golden mane to the aft castle.
Just as he looked, the Druchii that had shot at him before, now the last of his crew alive, hefted its crossbow. It was clear the elf knew a thing or two about magic as well, and Markus could guess it wanted vengeance on the defeat of its kin. Suddenly he pushed Emmaline to the side, for all the gods not knowing why. Time slowed as the dark elf launched its dart, the bolt sailing through the air before it struck Markus in the side as he stepped in the way of the projectile. He gasped in pain, feeling the strange bolt in him and the poison seeping into his blood stream.
The crew watched in horror, seeing their captain fall to a knee. Markus struck his backsword into the deck to keep himself upright, but he could feel a terrible sensation flooding him. His eyes began to cloud and his throat tightened. If he could see it, he would have laughed at the entirety of the crew turning and aiming their guns at the last druchii. A dozen iron balls cut it to ribbons and sent its body hurtling into the sea, but Markus didn't see. He felt his heart was slowing, and soon oblivion took him.
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