Ch - 19 Your torment is a small price for my amusement.

It was late into the night when the flames consuming West Harbor had finally died down. The victorious pirates were heavily drunk after a long day of violence and plunder. Most had returned to the ships to continue reveling, save for the wary night watch pacing the scorched docks.

The harbor was strewn with the smoldering remains of Pirate Rognar's once feared wolf fleet. Ravaged masts and charred hull fragments were all that remained now of his twenty ships after the surprise naval ambush. Few from his crew had escaped with their lives following the battle - just a scattered handful who had surrendered or managed to swim to shore.

Rognar's own flagship had taken the brunt of the cannonade before being boarded and sunk. The conqueror of West Harbor now rested somewhere on the bloody deck below the waves, finally facing defeat for his plundering ways.

Though taken unawares at first, Rognar had spotted the approaching fleet while it was still distant and ordered his wolfships swiftly turned about to meet them head-on. But even he could not have predicted the awesome and terrible force that soon descended.

Sails darkened the entire eastern horizon, an entire armada of three-masted war galleons outfitted with scores of heavy guns. They flew no colors yet, but the wind carried sound of war drums and hordes rallying on their decks. At their vanguard sailed a leviathan vessel with jet masts and a prow of iron.

Rognar's own ships were soon embroiled in a savage close-quarters melee amidst booming cannons. Arrows whistled through smoke-veiled air as crewmen clashed bravely yardarm-to-yardarm against the overwhelming numbers. Even locked together, the mystery fleet continued pummeling Rognar's hulls at point blank range, quickly gaining the advantage through merciless brute force.

By late in night, the unnamed pirate conquerors had left only flaming wreckage bobbing in their wake. Rognar and his notorious band now fed the depths they once ruled. A menacing silence descended with the pale moon...broken only by drunken victory cries echoing from the city walls. Amidst the flickering firelight reflecting off the debris-ridden bay waters, a lone shrouded figure sat perched in the forecastle wreckage of Rognar's fallen vessel.

Face and eyes both remained concealed behind wrapped layers leaving only a narrow gap through which the stranger peered towards harbor and city. None had spotted the sentinel throughout the raging battle, yet there the victor's witness sat through the fading inferno.

As the celestine moon rose overhead, an unfamiliar sailor appeared amongst the debris with all the silence of a cat stalking prey. The crew were now drinking lustily up and down the conquered docks, so this man was curiously and ominously alone. Without a word, he settled on his haunches near the wrapped watcher. For a long hour, the pair simply observed in wordless communication.

The figure with the wrapped face turned slowly toward the unfamiliar sailor who had settled nearby. In a low, gravelly voice they asked, "Why am I here with you? What does your captain want with me that he sent me along with this fleet?"

The sailor did not seem surprised by the question. He kept his gaze fixed on the smoking harbor as he replied, "Everybody has a job to do in this life. Fate leads us all along our own paths, some more willingly than others."

He turned his head to meet the shadowed eyes of his companion. "In time you may come to understand the role you have to play. For now, know that our arrival here was no coincidence. Greater powers are at work and you have an important part in what is to unfold."

The figure stared back silently for a long moment before responding.

"And if I refuse this 'role' you suggest is mine? If I walk away into the night and disappear?"

The sailor smiled grimly. "Then another would take your place. But I suspect you will not walk away." He nodded toward the city. "There are threads tying you here, are there not?"

When the figure did not reply, the sailor continued. "I thought as much. We all have a purpose. In due time you will see yours clearly. For now, patience and observation serve us best."

"And how do you propose I observe anything when your wretched captain has already carved my eyes from their sockets?" the figure with the wrapped face rasped bitterly. "Blind as I now am, of what possible use can I be to carry out his bidding?"

The bandages covering the figure's face rustle faintly as a hollow chuckle emanates from underneath. "So do enlighten me, how does your master expect a sightless wretch to serve his wishes?" Faint traces of bloodstain show through the weathered wrappings as the figure shakes their head. "Madmen, the lot of you..."

"You may lack eyes now, but you are far from without worth to our mission," he replied steadily. "The traditions and fortunes we uphold travel paths beyond mortal sight - your worldly vision would only cloud what needs unveiling."

The figure cocks their head sharply in disbelief. "You cannot be serious. In what possible realm does the rendering of a man blind and destitute aid a so-called 'mission'?" Bitterness drips from each word.

The sailor's face remains devoid of pity. "I speak truths beyond your comprehension. The rituals have long been set. We follow in the wake of destiny's tide now - and your suffering solidifies the first pillar."

The figure shakes his bandaged head again but holds silence - recognizing the futility of further argument. After a lingering moment, the sailor rises to his feet. "I will take my leave. Rest or wander the city. We set sail again when sun's rays stretch upon the water."

He pauses then adds solemnly. "I suggest you brace yourself - your trials have only just begun. Take faith; your rewards will come in turn."

The figure listens to the fading footfalls but does not react, left to steep in shadowed thoughts of revenge and justice long overdue. With that, he returned to his silent vigil, the cloaked figure pondering the sailor's ominous words as the moon rose higher into the dark night sky.

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