The galley thrummed underfoot, propelled by 2 banks 20 oars. It seemed to leap forward as the groups of rowers buried their oars into the sea and pulled with a grunt. People assumed sailing was a peaceful thing, nothing but the wind and water to interrupt reveries.  Those people tended to be the ones who watched ships in the harbours or from the beaches.  The galley around him creaked and groaned as it was pushed, the rudder and prow hissed as they sped up, and the coxswain swore at his rowers to give everything for the final rush to the beach.

As the speed picked up, the men began to sing.  They sang as they pulled the long oars, or as the soldiers checked straps and weapons, part of the ritual before battle.  Lonuo joined the song, the words losing some of their melody as he strained to string his great doublebow’s forward prongs.  He twisted the string, tightening it.  He was young and strong, his limbs could bear the strain of a heavier draw weight.

As the shore closed, the men removed bladder vests before pushing forward, ready to surge as soon as the gangplank dropped to shore.  The song became a long call, a single, shouted note as the galley beached itself with a crunching noise.  Rowers at the front, veterans of this task, leapt up, pushing the gangplanks forward, through gaps in the rambade specifically for this purpose.  Spearmen rushed up and along the gangplanks, forming up in the surf before pushing forward behind their large shields.  As the soldiers moved inexorably up the beach, Lonuo and his compatriots sauntered up to the front and climbed the steps onto the top of the rambade.   All were ready, some having arrows notched on the string.

“Fine day for it,” _____, Lonuo’s friend joked.  The pair had grown up together, ____ being fostered from a young age as was tradition for second sons.

The pirates had dropped their precious loot, many already swinging slings about their heads.  The spearmen were trained for this, however, and hunkered behind their shields, shuffling forward as a living wall.  The missiles bounced off the thick shields, unable to penetrate the strong wood and metal.  Spears were pushed forward through cutouts as the slingers kept up their attack.  One man died, his helmet torn from his head and followed by a killing stone.  The man behind pushed forward, and the opening closed.  Lonuo tracked the men of his own quiver, glad to see them at the van, and standing tall.  At a call, skirmishers rushed from behind the formation, taking a precious second to throw javelins or loose heavy darts into the group of pirates.  The flurry brought precious respite as slingers instinctually flinched or moved out of the way.

Lonuo grunted, leaning into his bow as he bent it, his hand drawing all the way back to his ear, entire body straining.  He sighted again, exhaling as he released his trigger-ring, index finger pointing the path of the arrow.  He watched the long shaft travel at frightening speed in a shallow arc, punching through an unlucky pirate’s armour easily.  The bodkin points could force apart any mail, and the power of the bow was enough to even penetrate solid steel at the right range.  He smiled as he watched the man fall, clutching the wound before a spearman finished him off with a simple stab with the butt spike.

The other nobles were drawing and loosing at will, every shot hitting.  Their shots tended to focus on outliers at the sides and read, herding the body onto the spears of the soldiers.  They had no trouble hitting their enemies, Lonuo himself was able to hit a target at almost 600 yards, and he never considered himself a master archer.  Even as he drew and loosed, Lonuo kept a keen eye on the battle itself.  As the most senior of the nobles there, he was the commander of this expedition.

The pirates wavered.  They had the advantage, the high ground, but they had nowhere to go.  The spearmen had adjusted in formation, making themselves into a slightly concave line two deep.  They jeered and taunted the pirates, putting on the pressure.

Lonuo cursed as he noted the standard bobbing and circling.  The opponent wanted to settle it with single combat.  In a tradition that had existed since before even the act of union, battles could be decided in single combat to reduce the risk of loss of life, precious to the small populations of islanders.  However, that rule had been extended to all combat over time, so now a pirate and his crew would benefit from the mercy of the Deicolorii, the people they wished to plunder.  Often, tradition was a unifying sense of pride, a celebration of history and ancestry, a nation made into a shared family.  When twisted, it became chains that bound.

Lonuo’s apprentice took his bow, placing it reverently on a folding rest another apprentice had rushed onto the stern platform.  He turned to a chest, and pulled up a shirt of fine steel lamellar backed by mail, all lacquered for waterproofing: the best armour money could buy.  The young man shrugged into it, letting his apprentice tie and buckle where needed.  Next he held his left arm out to his side, where a sleeve of small steel scales backed by thick padding and mail was slid up his arm and laced to cleverly hidden points.  Finally, a heavy mitten-like gauntlet was fitted over the scales, a square of metal in the palm forcing the hand open.  Lonuo tested his range of movement, nodding to his apprentice at his good work.  Greaves were buckled onto his legs, covering his shins.  Though lighter than a Kernry knight, the armour offered excellent protection and movement.

“Let them see who I am, eh?”  His head nodded towards his chestpiece, sat atop the chest.  The triangle of canvas was tied over his left shoulder and at the waist, showing off the _____ family’s colours and symbols:  Yellow, black and white, a white lobster embroidered on the black square taking up the corner of the triangle.  Other Guard-Lords would call them showy, but such heraldry was plain compared to some of the popinjays in the centre.   Finally, he was handed his helmet, a kettle helm in a similar vein to his spearmen, but with a fine aventail of scales and even finer gilding and engraving on the crown.  There was even points for a face plate, but Lonuo made do with just the cheek plates, tying them under his chin.

Once he got closer, he could see the black Mogian facial tattoos underscored with red and blue: a renegade. Lonuo had assumed as such, the grotesque mask formed by the patterns known only to the sea nomad simply confirmed his suspicions.

The pirate held a heavy, single edged sword in hand. Lonuo drew his Stranacia from the special sheath on his quiver at his waist before unbuckling that as well, handing it to one of his men.  The weapon was a cross between shortsword and spear, said to be modelled on the arrow the saint of archers had used to kill the beast ______. In his Southwestern style, it was more reminiscent of a bodkin point, a square cross section tapering to a sharp point to punch through armour, than a bladed head.

The pair circled, the pirate with his sword up and over his shoulder, Lonuo with his armoured arm and hand forward and blade parallel to the ground, grip directly behind the blade itself.  The guard of the crab, used for holding a strong defence.  Lonuo kept his eyes locked on his opponent, never breaking his guard.  Patience was as crucial to good defence as skill with the blade, his old weaponmaster had often told him, normally with an exasperated tone.

With hue and cry, the pirate charged forward, whipping his heavy sword down.  Lonuo twisted to the side, armoured arm sweeping upward.  The scales overlayed so the weapon slid along his forearm and then going wide.  The pirate jumped back in time to dodge Lonuo's counterthrust.  Realising he was open, Lonuo’s arm drew back in, point of his Stranacia pointed at the pirate.  He flicked his arm out, parrying the pirate’s upswing as he closed again, and his armoured arm, left wide, crashed into the pirate’s head, the metal-sheathed limb stunning the pirate for vital seconds.  The fight was already over, Lonuo stepping in, ramming his Stranacia in under the unprotected armpit.  He gripped his opponent, as if the pair were old friends embracing, before letting him slip to the ground.

“Build a pyre for the corpse.  He doesn’t deserve returning to the waters.  Bury the ash.”  Mogian and Deicolorii tradition matched here:  When a man died, he was buried at sea.  By burning the corpse and confining the remains to the soil, the pirate would be forever trapped to the land, an eternal punishment for his crimes.  The crew were stripped of their valuables, and let back to their ship, trudging across the sand.  They knew their captain would never be able to sit in the hall of their god, _______ of the storm and sea.  With their captain gone, their fate was uncertain.  Some may try and rejoin their city-fleets, one of the crew members may try and galvanise the remaining crew into carrying on with piracy; to lick their wounds and return.

Lonuo already had his helmet off, handing it to his apprentice and running a hand through his dark hair, the salt causing it to stiffen into a thick tangle.  His apprentice knew him well, and handed him a cup of wine which he threw back gratefully, his soldiers cheering his prowess as others began making a rude pyre on the beach.