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But the crew stayed at its post; the Captain at his wheel…
The myth of the string of fate was never more true than when lines were tied around waists.
Crew stumbled and tripped, trying so hard to stay above water as lighting flashed and thunder shook the sky. Rain fell in torrents, stinging. A loud screech, and a cry of “THE MAST IS GOIN’!”
"HIT THE DECK!", roared the Captain as there was a crackling snap, and the top third of the mainmast snapped from the gales of wind. Dualscar’s boots thudded on the deck as he towered over his crew, shouting orders through the hoarseness of his voice as he hauled rope and called out direction. Sails were rolled and folded; saturated bundles of fabric above them.
Another wail from his crew as the massive warship tilted heavily sideways.
A fading scream.
Three bodies dropped; the wheel spun like a cast die.
Dualscar once more went to rescue, swearing as the rapid spin tugged hard on him, jerking him to the side slightly. PLanting his boots on the slick deck, he hauld hard with a snarl, “Come on y’old BITCH!”
The lean began to fade as another length of mainmast snapped, tearing the mainsail in two as it was ripped away by the storm.
Some of the crew went sprawling, and Dualscar swallowed hard before shouting over the wind, “STAY DOWN, STAY DOWN YOU STUPID BASTARDS!”
Bodies hit the wooden deck, grabbing hands and lines and prayers murmured along deck boards. Many looked up, watching as Dualscar; soaked to the bone and bruised with his hands sliced and scraped to hell and back, fought the desire of his ship and forced it against the gales.
Another hefty shriek of wind sent him sprawling; jerked the warship sideways; but he staggered to his feet and forced her straight once more. He snarled curses and swears to the sky, glaring through lightning and laughing madly at the thunder. Waves rose high, splashing over the deck and crew and they winced and shivered from the cold.
Ity felt like a thousand years. A millenium of their Captain challenging the elements; of holding tight to ratlines and rigging and seeing his silhouette stand against the gods and gospels.
And then, the wind began to slow. The rain no longer flew sideways and lighting ceased shattering the sky. Thunderous rumbles became distant, and the crew stood. Dualscar slumped over the wheel, panting and tired, one knee on the deck.
"Get ‘im up! Get ‘im up!", called some of the younger members of this strange mishmash of trolls, and they valiantly hauled their captain to his feet. His hands were curled still in the shape of the wheel, and he staggered the first few steps, but he stood tall as the storm blew itself out.
"Captain, what’s yer demands?"
"Set a course for the nearest port.", he rasped, "We’ve got patching up t’do. Fuckin sky broke my ship."
A low titter of laughter that broke soon into the deep near-hysterical mirth that destressed a group from nearly dying. Even Dualscar himself smiled before wincing.
"An’ I’m gonna take a breather in m’quarters if ya don’t mind."
HIs first mate saluted, “I’ll ‘ave a medic sent to you, Cap’n. Those hands look a bit titchy now.”
Dualscar still managed to flip the bird before his tired but firm steps took him away to his quarters, to his chair, and finally, to black and blissful sleep.
They’d survived.