"Crack! Snap! Crack! Snap!"
Thunder rumbled across the Summer Sea like the footfalls of a dying god. Lightning, resembling jagged silver serpents, burst from the belly of the heavy black clouds, illuminating the rain-drenched golden kraken banners that whipped frantically in the gale.
Victarion Greyjoy watched with a heart of cold stone as the black-hulled Uncaring Bitch was rammed broadside by a massive grey three-masted longship flying the Stark Direwolf. Seawater poured into the splintered hull with every surging wave. The deck groaned in its death throes, and dozens of oars were crushed into toothpicks in a single, sickening instant.
A volley of arrows hissed through the rain, cutting down sailors before they could find their footing on the tilting deck. A barrel of burning pitch arced through the sky, a streak of hellish red that smashed into the rudder of the Finger Dancer. Victarion's subordinate, Havel the Abandoned, was instantly transformed into a screaming human torch. He plunged into the churning surf, the water swallowing his cries and his life without a trace.
"ENGAGE!"
Victarion roared, his voice booming over the storm. His flagship, the Invincible Ironborn, sheared through the white-capped waves. Its heavy iron-clad ram, propelled by the frantic rhythm of the oarsmen, slammed into a three-decked galley.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The scorpions mounted on the Fury - the flagship of the Royal Fleet, fired in a synchronized bark. Wrist-thick bolts with shovel-headed tips tore through the Ironborn on the lower decks. Men were literally ripped in half, their blood forming a steaming fountain that was quickly washed away by the relentless rain.
"RETREAT! BACK OARS!" Victarion commanded, realizing the Invincible Ironborn was being baited.
But the enemy was too fast. Grappling hooks bit into the railings, the ropes pulling taut like the sinews of a great beast, binding the two ships together in a lethal embrace. A flash of lightning revealed the carnage: the Finger Dancer's mast snapped, crushing a Velaryon ship beneath its weight. Across the dark sea, the crowned stag, the silver seahorse, and the grey direwolf were locked in a chaotic dance with the golden kraken.
Victarion drew his battle-axe and secured his pine-wood shield. He didn't wait for the boarding party; he leaped onto the enemy's deck. His target was a slender knight in silver scale armor emblazoned with three skull-moths.
High above, on the quarterdeck of the Fury, a gaunt shadow watched the slaughter. A crown of stylized flames shimmered on his head, and in his hand, a longsword emitted a strange, shimmering glow that the rain could not douse.
"STANNIS!" Victarion roared the name like a curse.
His axe struck a curved helmet with the force of a thunderclap. The knight, a Farring of the Crownlands - stumbled, blood spraying from his visor, but his sword lashed out like a viper, seeking Victarion's throat. Victarion caught the blade on his shield, kicked the man into the railing, and delivered three brutal blows to his face-plate. The knight went silent.
The battle was a meat-grinder. The King Dagon smashed into the Fury's hull, but more and more men in Baratheon gold surged across the ropes. Victarion found himself engaged with a "Moth Knight" whose swordsmanship was a blur of lethal precision. The blade trapped itself in the tentacles of Victarion's kraken-helm for a split second, an opening the Iron Captain used to nearly take the man's arm.
But the tide was turning. The Humberly brothers were dead. One-Eared Worfe was pinned to the mast by a Velaryon spear. Stuttering Steffa was a heap of red rags.
"STANNIS!" Victarion screamed again, his veins bulging. He threw himself at the ropes, desperate to reach the King's deck.
The Kraken's Kiss rammed the Fury, shaking the massive galley to its keel. Seizing the moment, Victarion climbed. As his hand gripped the top rail and he drew his axe, he met a pair of fiery, glowing red eyes. His mind went blank, a wave of unnatural heat washing over his soul. He stumbled, his footing vanishing, and plunged backward into the freezing sea.
The water bound him like cold chains, dragging him toward the Drowned God's halls. He didn't struggle. He watched the firelight fade above him and closed his eyes.
Then, a sudden, agonizing yank. A rope had snagged his leg.
Victarion was hauled up, gasping and shivering, by Baratheon soldiers. He was stripped of his kraken-helm and his axe. As he hung upside down from the mast of the Fury, he saw the remnants of his fleet - the Iron Wind, the Sorrow, and twenty others fleeing back toward the Shield Islands.
He had lost. Again.
"Strip him. Hang him for display," a cold, rhythmic voice commanded.
Victarion looked up into the grey-blue eyes of Stannis Baratheon. The King didn't linger; he turned back to the battlefield. Stannis had demanded the fleet engage in the storm, and the Northmen of White Harbor had answered with a suicidal ferocity. They had come to avenge Robb Stark, and they didn't care if they drowned as long as they took a kraken with them.
The sea was a stew of bodies, broken oars, and shattered planks. As the clamor died down, the Mermaid of White Harbor pulled alongside the Fury. A boat was lowered, carrying the immense form of Lord Wyman Manderly.
"Where is he?" Manderly roared as he stepped onto the deck, brandishing a whip. He spotted Victarion. Without a word, he lashed the Iron Captain across the face. "Where is the Crow's Eye, you salt-stained bastard?!"
A bloody welt rose on Victarion's cheek. He looked at Manderly with an eerie calm. He wanted Euron dead more than any Northman did. "He is at the Shield Islands."
Lord Wyman turned to Stannis. "Your Grace, we must move now. We leave the wrecks and sail for the Shields before Euron hears of this and slips away into the mist."
Stannis wiped rain from his brow, his face ashen. "We are lucky to have survived the storm, Lord Wyman. My galleys are not built for a forced crossing in this weather. We hold here until the sky clears."
"Hold?!" Manderly's face turned a violent shade of purple. "The North came to hunt the King of the Krakens, not to sit in a Dornish harbor! Sacrifice this one to your fire-god if you must, but give us the winds!"
"No," Stannis said flatly. "Victarion is more useful to me alive. We wait."
"Damn it all!" Wyman spat, turning back to his men. "Back to the Mermaid! Let the King and his pet kraken get acquainted!"
Wyman stomped away, his heavy footsteps echoing his fury. Stannis watched him go, his jaw grinding so hard it could be heard across the deck. The alliance was victorious, but the cracks were wider than ever.
[System Notification: The Battle of the Broken Arm: Strategic Victory.]
[Unit Captured: Victarion Greyjoy (Iron Fleet Commander).]
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