"ROW…ROW…ROW!" The yells of the oarsman were drowned out by the yells of the merchants and captain. Without the wind the modest sixty-foot-long merchant ship was forced to rely on its meager rowing capabilities. Yet its cargo hold, laden with all manner of trade goods and slaves was slowly losing speed. The older Kerkouros model of merchant ship possessed a slightly bulbous design, with a single mast and square sail as its main means of propulsion, but also possessing an auxiliary front galley section when moving into port.
However, at this moment what the merchants needed was speed, something that both the world and their vessel was denying them. Coming upon the merchant ships rear were two ships, their hulls painted a dark blue, barely visible in the waning sunlight. Their prows emblazoned with the same image, the eye of an emerald serpent, its body running the length of the sleek eighty-foot-long craft. It gave of the image of a sea serpent, a monster of the deep preparing to swallow them whole.
Two elevated rows of oars running the entire length of both vessels would splash into the water, propelling the pursuer forward. These were pirates, those of the Emerald Leviathan, a powerful fleet boasting small flotillas of biremes and even a few triremes, with a few hundred members. The unfortunate merchant vessel had caught their eye, due to luck or deceit, the fat merchant vessel, its belly filled with all manner of luxuries was a prime target for this pair.
Already the distance had closed to the point that the captain of the merchant vessel could discern the pirates waiting atop the deck of their ship, clawed boarding hooks in hand. Without the wind at their back there was no chance of escape, seeing the writing upon the wall, the captain of the merchant ship called up his men. The oarsmen were relieved of their duty, instead making their way to the top deck, and equipping themselves with whatever weapons were available to them. Most remained unarmored, wielding boarding axes, spears, and curved short sword.
"Men, prepare for boarding. Fight like the dead, for we are likely to join them this night! We face the Emerald Leviathan; these bastards are known only for their cruelty and greed… Do not run, for they will show no mercy to any of us." As the captain steeled his resolve, and his men prepared to cut down the enemy as they climbed aboard, the merchants, women, and children made for the lower hold. If the fighting men above were to fail, then those below would soon be next.
Moments later the merchant ship shuddered, the first bireme had smashed into its starboard, luckily not with its forward ram. Soon enough another impact was felt, this originating from the port side, with the merchant ship coming almost to a standstill. Hooks flew through the air, landing on the deck before being pulled back towards the railing. The captain and his men attempted to cut down as many of these boarding hooks as possible.
One of the pirates was almost upon the deck when one of the oarsmen rushed over and swung down their kopis, the curved blade severed the hand along with the rope. The pirate had but a moment to scream in pain, his bloody stump squirting blood over the railing before he plummeted the ten feet to the deck of the bireme. Two or three others who were behind him tumbled as well, one unlucky attacker fell backwards, his neck impacting the edge of the biremes deck, snapping his neck before he slid into the dark waters below. However, try as the captain might, he simply did not possess the manpower necessary to cover the entire deck. Soon enough the attackers were on board, protecting the boarding point and slowly allowing their numbers to grow.
"ATTACK!" In a desperate attempt to stem the growing tide, the captain and half his men charged towards the starboard side, crashing into the waiting pirates. This left the other half of his men to hold back the enemy on the port side, who would undoubtedly attempt to attack the rear of the captain and his men.
Combat soon descended into a chaotic melee, the decks of the ship ran red with blood. Men fell to the ground with the sway of the sea, their footing lost on the uneven surface. The screams of the dying could be heard all around as both sides lay into the other, men could be seen missing limbs, some feebly attempting to close their open bellies, with their guts in their hands. Yet even though the captain and his team were able to cut down the enemy, to stop more from ascending the starboard side, he had lost most of his men in the process. As if to compensate for the loss on one end, their numbers had swelled on the other.
The captain was left with ten men, all suffering from injuries large and small, his initial force of thirty whittled down to less than half. Limping over to the front of his remaining fighters, the captain stood defiantly against the enemy, even as more boarding hooks could be heard latching onto the railing behind them. They had neither the strength, nor capability to prevent the enemy from boarding any longer.
However, their stand was not yet over, for when they had charged over, they had positioned themselves closest to the stairway down into the lower decks. Each of the remaining defenders had also grabbed a spear and slowly pulled back toward the tight corridor. If they were to die, the captain was willing to bleed the enemy for every inch.
"What are you louts waiting for! CHARGE!" A booming voice called out from the rear of the enemy force. The sound of their leader woke them from their stupor, their hesitation gone, and with it the battle began anew.
With the remaining defenders lodged into the stairway the attackers had the height advantage, however the slanted ceiling made it difficult to angle their thrusts downwards. To add to their difficulty the press of the men at the rear pushed those at the front forward, directly into the waiting spears. Thrust after thrust, the defending force would take three or four for every one of their own. More would lose their balance, tumbling down the stairs only to be cut down by the defenders or trampled by their own.
Fighting was intense, the terrain was difficult to maneuver, with the reach of the spears playing to the defender's advantage. Screams and cries echoed throughout the hull, followed closely by the sound of crying children and wailing mothers. This was the last line of defense, if the captain and his men fell, those below would be left at the mercy of their attackers, none of those present expected mercy.
"DO NOT FALTER!" The captain of the Sea Swallow rallied his men, there were only four of them left. All the rest down or dead, and the weight of the enemy numbers seemed unending. Sweat and blood poured down their faces, exhaustion colored their every movement.
Although his determination remained strong throughout, reality did not care for such things. Finally, the thrust of a spear broke through and impacted the tired captain, piercing his chest. He screamed in pain; his remaining men unable to help as they themselves were cut down. Yet before he fell, the captain screamed in rage, thrusting his blade into an attacker's throat, using his last reserves of energy to cut down another two before ultimately falling.