The rain beat down on the deck around her, waves broke over the bow causing the deck boards to creak and groan as the ocean was poured out over them. Crew members ran back and forth amid the rigging, barking orders over the wind's shrieks. The noise was enough to make her light headed, but pounding over all of it was the sound of her own heart drumming incessantly in her ears. Iris Lackeye had no idea why she remained outdoors. The navy blue rain cloak buttoned around her had already been soaked through by water running down her neck and spraying up from below. The smell of saltwater had long sense drowned out. As an officer, even aboard a ship that had no affiliation with her, it felt only right to be at the front. There were a few other passengers who shared her sentiment, dark shapes standing around the deck differentiated from the white shrouds borne by the ship's crew. She herself stood at the railing, holding on to the metal fixture as she watched the decks below. The Crosswind pitched wildly, even as it was set against the wave. Across from her, the large island that blocked their way passed slowly. In its own right, it was innocent, but she couldn't help but feel resentment towards it for essentially dooming them. In the open sea, there was a chance of battening down and dealing with wind damage, but here there was nothing. Jagged, rocky teeth protruded from the base of the cliffs, visible even over the raging, foaming waters at the coast. It was difficult to take her eyes off of them, thinking that they were going to be the ship's final resting place. Little else was visible to begin with. A terrible fog had blown in alongside the downpour, and visibility was down to a startling low. Keeping so close to the island was no doubt a matter of simply having something to navigate by. The ship bucked suddenly, out of time with the constant rolling with the waves. Her thoughts fell silent as she was pressed against the railing. The water below had become much closer as the Crosswind began to list to one side. She froze, unable to back away as her side of the ship tilted steadily downward. A gurgling noise started up somewhere underneath her, and by the time she recognized the sound of water being rapidly displaced the ship was in motion again. It careened back on itself, the depressed starboard side shooting up into the air as the Crosswind rocked its way to stability. The leather of Iris' glove creaked as her grip on the railing tightened, she was almost thrown back but remained fixed with awe and confusion. A mast snapped overhead, with a snap much clearer than the thundering storm could offer and a chorus of wailing, severed cables joining it on its way down. She expected screaming, or some frenzy of communication amongst the crew, any indication of activity from the command deck above but nothing came. The rest of the ship seemed locked in the same awestruck stupor, or racing to understand what was happening first before reacting. Footsteps sounded on the sloshing deck, and her head turned to find who dared to move on the unstable vessel. The white uniform of a crew member was all she could make out before everything rolled again. The Crosswind shook in the water, the sound of splintering wood and screaming steel drowned her senses, and Lackeye felt herself lifted from the deck. She fell into the railing, buckled over it, and then fell into the railing. She held fast to the slick rail all the while, and as she was flipped around it felt something tear all the way down her arm. Hot pain replaced the frigid, sapping feeling of ocean water as she fell the short way down into the eddying waves.
The Crosswind continued to roll under, hull creaking all the way as the stresses exerted upon it began to overpower metal and wood. Before the ship could capsize it shattered along its keel. Down its length, hull ribs popped inwards and the boat was sheared into segments. The sea swell carried the dismembered chunks of the Crosswind away from each other. Some were crushed along the island's cliffs, but most of the ship found itself slowly deposited in the shallows. The creaking remnants of the hull were left on soft sand beds, gradually buckling under their now unsupported weight and the constant, violent ministrations of the storm. It was the sound of wood crunching was what roused her from waterlogged stupor. It may have just been her amazement continuing on through the night, but Lackeye's tired mind had only started to process her survival. She sat up, peeling away a layer of the moist sand that clung to anything unfortunate enough to be on the beach, like her now useless rain cloak. The stars that should have hung above were invisible behind the clouds. The only light on the beach came from the few surviving lanterns on the wreckage. Faint lights, made bright by the supreme darkness around them, hung from broken masts and disfigured approximations of the ship's features. It was as if a shanty town had been washed ashore, illuminated in eerie orange by dangling lights and the flashes of crackling lightning above. Every now and then, cries of human suffering were carried to audibility by the wind. Already, still shapes bobbed where the water was lit. Bodies fortunate enough to be washed ashore, like her, instead of out to sea. Wood continued to break, no doubt the sound of those fortunate enough to ride within pieces of the boat and survive the ordeal. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her damaged arm continued to throb and ache, but the agony to her right seemed wholly inconsequential in the face of the shipwreck. Her daze resumed as the officer resigned to watching corpses wash ashore, and faint indications of living movement within the night.
The Crosswind continued to roll under, hull creaking all the way as the stresses exerted upon it began to overpower metal and wood. Before the ship could capsize it shattered along its keel. Down its length, hull ribs popped inwards and the boat was sheared into segments. The sea swell carried the dismembered chunks of the Crosswind away from each other. Some were crushed along the island's cliffs, but most of the ship found itself slowly deposited in the shallows. The creaking remnants of the hull were left on soft sand beds, gradually buckling under their now unsupported weight and the constant, violent ministrations of the storm. It was the sound of wood crunching was what roused her from waterlogged stupor. It may have just been her amazement continuing on through the night, but Lackeye's tired mind had only started to process her survival. She sat up, peeling away a layer of the moist sand that clung to anything unfortunate enough to be on the beach, like her now useless rain cloak. The stars that should have hung above were invisible behind the clouds. The only light on the beach came from the few surviving lanterns on the wreckage. Faint lights, made bright by the supreme darkness around them, hung from broken masts and disfigured approximations of the ship's features. It was as if a shanty town had been washed ashore, illuminated in eerie orange by dangling lights and the flashes of crackling lightning above. Every now and then, cries of human suffering were carried to audibility by the wind. Already, still shapes bobbed where the water was lit. Bodies fortunate enough to be washed ashore, like her, instead of out to sea. Wood continued to break, no doubt the sound of those fortunate enough to ride within pieces of the boat and survive the ordeal. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her damaged arm continued to throb and ache, but the agony to her right seemed wholly inconsequential in the face of the shipwreck. Her daze resumed as the officer resigned to watching corpses wash ashore, and faint indications of living movement within the night.