Lafitte shook his duster free of loose water as his Airship came out of the storm. He heard Ionas’ message and nodded, bringing his glass to bear over his eye.
At first he couldn’t seem to place the second ship mentioned by the lookout, his eyesight, though normal, wasn’t nearly at the level of the selkie, few were. But after some scanning during which his ship fully exited the storm and into the hazy daylight, he spotted the Spriggan, its distinct sails and flag just barely visible…as were the multitude of spears and arrows sailing in either direction to and from it.
Lafitte looked back towards the creature engulfing the Marsh King’s Daughter, he had a decision to make. Though an immigrant to the seas of Aeldreth, he knew what Kraken and the like could do to a ship if left unheeded, tear masts right out of their sockets, crush deckings with a single bound of their tentacles or whatever other device they employed to destroy the lives of men. And once in the water few survived in the creatures’ domains.
As such, Lafitte figured that Peino, despite his reputation for daring, would take the prudent route, and tackle the sea daemon first. He nodded to himself as he rolled another of the Aeldreth cigarettes, that prudent action would leave the Daughter vulnerable to the Spriggans, making his decision perfectly clear, “Change of plans!” Lafitte yelled over the din, as he turned to face his crew, “Bring ‘er down at a tighter angle, I want us hovering over that Spriggan!”, he continued, and Larman Ogges, the Dwarven weapon smith to whom he’d recently been speaking made his way to the back of the boat, relaying his orders to his various crew and the helmsman.
Lafitte turned to Beau Bergeron at his side, “Get below decks to the gun ports, garçon, tell them to make ready and fire at will,” Beau nodded and hurried on his way to the staiwell at the stern. Lafitte himself then grabbed a rope ladder and prepared its attachment to the side, joining a boarding party already forming near the starboard, grappling hooks at the ready to grapple the Spriggan. “Get ‘er down boys! Full speed!” he yelled, the thrill of the chase coursing through him as the southerly gale dried his clothes and boiled his blood. Just as the boosters began to exert their will over La Danse Calinda, her gun ports opened up with molten bolts firing towards her prey, Lafitte spinning his grappling hook in his hand, ready to strike.