The ghouls fought with savagery only greenskins or daemons could match, frothing at the mouth and rending with their elongated claws. They scrambled over one another to get at the corsairs, leaping like hellish frogs and screeching a pale wail into the air. What was most horrifying was that, despite the bestial nature, Markus could see the men they had once been. If one had been given a bath, their claws and teeth filed, and they had been clothed, they could almost be human. It was unnerving, and if Markus were a more charitable man he would have felt a twinge of anguish at his fellow man for devolving into such a state, or philosophically question what was it that truly made a human being?   

Fortunately, he didn't bleeding care one way or another. Men, elf, dwarf, everyone was a bastard, and he would kill anyone that got in thrice-damned his way. 

"Muere bastardo!" Fernando cried, weaving through the pack with his rapier, skewering and dancing out of the way of sweeping talons. He was one of the few on his crew that Markus would have had to work for to beat in a sword fight. Beside him, Bernard the deckhand cut down a ghoul with a number of hacks from his cutlass, only for another to tackle him, bloodily tearing his throat out on the grass. The elves weaved with their blades in unison, monsters nearly catching them every few moments, only to be scant inches from cutting the high ones before they slipped away. Eckard was cut across the arm by a clawed hand, but the ghoul's head exploded in viscera as Sketti entered the fray with his smoking pistol. Halfdan would have been an easy target for the ghouls, for his big body would have made it hard for him to dodge poisoned claws, but he bore a torn door as a shield and shoved the ghouls with his immense strength, brutalizing two of them with his axe. The battle took only a minute, perhaps a minute and a half, and when the last ghoul was bludgeoned into the ground by Sketti's brass appendage, that was when the creaking of the ship became evident. 

Markus turned, and watched his prized possession keel over with the distant, sluggish inevitability of a landslide. He saw his men running from [i]The Hammer's[/i] bulk as ropes snapped. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of a blonde head disappearing beneath the rubble, utterly crushed. He took a step toward the crashing craft, frustration and rage on his face. The loss of his ship and the apparent loss of his lover dragged out a loud roar of: "No! NO! NOOOOO!" 

He did not even count the casualties, though later Morgan would report five dead, one wounded, and four survivors from the battle. Instead, Markus sprinted toward the fallen ship, his eyes drinking in every splintered piece of wood, every crumbled layer of timber, his very freedom wrecked on this worthless spit of land on the ass-end of the world. Morgan cried for men to get away from the ship in case its integrity was truly compromised. He saw Markus coming, and his relief at Markus's survival was shortlived when he waved for him to stop. "Captain, yer woman... she tried to save the- wait, lad!" Markus only now realizing he was charging straight ahead, too close to what would be an enormous hazard. 

"Captain wait!" The old seadog implored him, but he didn't listen. With a knife in his teeth, he took hold of a fallen line and began pulling himself up the vertical deck, even before the dust had settled. The ship gave a familiar creak under his feet, which was a good sign. The balustrade had mostly held, even on the port side. The mast hadn't snapped, though it did look damaged. Gingerly, he pulled himself up to the cargo hatch, took his knife and elbowed his way until his ass rested on the lip of it. 

"I'll be damned," Markus breathed, shaking his head in utter incredulity. Not only was the majority of the ship's innards intact but less than a dozen feet below him, standing in the center of a gunpost was his lover, the fiery golden agent of chaos herself. "Emma, how the hells are you still alive?" His voice betrayed he was pleased, despite the callous question.

"Can you just get me out of here!" She demanded, waving her arms. He shook his head in disbelief. He did not know if she was a blessing or a curse. But whatever she was, she was his woman. He looked around to make sure nothing was about to crumble, and then tied the rope to his waist, flipping the dagger to an off-hand grip. He swung himself down, lowering his body close enough for her to grab. 

"You good?" He asked her as she wrapped her arms around him. She nodded, and he couldn't help but give a grin, before he carried her back up, using the sturdy dagger to help in the climb like a pick. "We'll get you some chocolates when we can, love." 

"And rum." She said. 

"Aye, that too." He replied.