Part one of: The Brigand

Briggs stood at the stern of the ship, and looked out into the ever darkening skies. Land was behind them, it would be a while until they forged their way across that solid surface again. Some of the crew would still get homesick every time they had to go back; there would be a certain amount of time where some of them were distant or in another world seemingly, he knew this. He feared little in his old age, a thunderstorm at sea was as good as the ones he remembered as a child, secure under his parents roof, in a small and peaceful village. Just then, lightening struck and illuminated the silhouette of a whale, resurfacing for air. Seeing them used to be a sign of extreme luck, now it's as if they watch them, curious to the plight befalling all mankind. He didn't like seeing the whales anymore. Briggs turned around with the same gruff a normal man uses to get out of bed, and sets out lighting all the torches and storm-lights, all the while yelling at his crew about how lazy they were, and ridiculed them for fearing death. He didn't feel that the ship was any imminent danger, he just liked to keep his crew on their toes.