caelum

"Mon Capitaine!" Gunnery Sergeant Roi screamed. "Zey 'ave pierced ze 'ull!"
"Sacre bleau!" Captain Coufoufle screamed.

On the deck of his mighty man-of-war, Le Framberge, Captain Coufoufle heatedly directed his crew in combat. They were engaged in a naval clash with the great Eskimo pirate, Walrus Flipper Splashing, and his narwhale riders. Five manned narwhales attacked the sailed warship from all sides.

"Fiah ze cannons into ze sea!" the good captain screamed. There was a series of blasts as the ship's cannons on all three decks fired in their hatches. One narwhale rider exploded on his mount, the rest submerged too quickly. The cannons let fly another volley, when something peculiar happened. One cannonball hit a narwhale in the blubber, when with a broing, it sailed right back into the very cannon that had shot it. It struck the explosive cannonball just reloaded there, and with a flash, the cannon exploded. Shrapnel flew into the flesh of those nearby; three people died. Most cannonballs are in fact not explosive, being simple balls of lead or iron, however Captain Coufoufle's are very much explosive indeed.

"Mon Capitaine!" Gunnery Sergeant Roi screamed. "Duck!"
"Mais oui!" Captain Coufoufle screamed.

Just in the nick of time, Captian Coufoufle ducked underneath the massive flying shape that came hurtling over the side rail, a narwhale rider who Free-Willied right the fuck over his fucking ship trying to impale someone on the horn. Sadly, Gunnery Sergeant Roi did not duck in time, and the horn pierced him and carried him into the sea. The mad Eskimo pirate piloting that whale, who was none other than the great Walrus Flipper Splashing himself, had left them a little present during his flight: forty lethal snowcrabs tossed off the whale.

This did not vex the good captain. Coufoufle casually stood back up, readjusted his triangular, tasseled captain's hat, took out his revolver, and started blasting the tiny crabs to gooey bits. The crew around him bashed them to pieces with whatever they had on hand, but alas, not before the crabs successfully killed thirty-eight people.

"Sir!" the first mate screamed. "Sir!"
"Vat iz eet, numero deax!"
"On deck trois, a narhwhale 'as stabbed Seaman Lafayette!"
"Zat is not a bonne chose!"
"And sir! It 'as stabbed him in zee ass!"
"Get ze seaman to ze infrirmrary wrard!"
"But zere is more, sir!"
"Vat!"
"He said he liked it!"

The battle continued for some time. The hull of Le Framberge was breached many times by narwhale horns, though luckily, the ship's mess officer, Bill Johnson, had an extreme excess of fromage, which the crew speedily jammed into the leaking cracks.

"I 'ave 'ad enough of zees!" Captian Coufoufle screamed, and plunged into the sea with his rapier drawn. As his eyes slowly focused in the icy waters, the first thing Coufoufle made out was an iceberg looming nearby that cast a shadow into the depths. The next thing he made out was Walrus Flipper Splashing's narwhale coming right for him. Coufoufle roared underwater - releasing bubbles - as did Walrus Flipper Splashing. The narwhale's horn came closer, and closer, and closer. And then it came even closer.

Verily, things did not look good for the Captain Coufoufle; but when the horn was ten feet away, Coufoufle's master plan was realized. You see, he had known where Walrus Flipper Splashing was in the water before he had jumped, and he had known that the pirate master would never be able resist an opportunity to charge his nemesis headlong.

The eight tonne anchor came down on Walrus Flipper Splashing's head, and that was the end of Walrus Flipper Splashing and his whale. Coufoufle swam towards the chain of the anchor, but the turmoiled arctic waters made it hard. He was bucked left and right and just plain couldn't get a grip on the slippery iron links. On top of that, he was almost out of breath, and almost out of faith in mankind.

The crew above anxiously reeled the chain on deck, hoping, praying that their captain was alive and clinging to it safely: according to plan. They peered into the water at the emerging iron links, when beside them, a triangular, tasseled shape slowly broke the surface. The crew cheered with exultation, for Coufoufle was champion. Their master defeated, the remaining narwhale pirates retreated into the ocean. For their deeds of valour, the crew of Le Framberg as well as her captain the great Coufoufle were awarded medals.

One week later, patrolling the arctic waters of the North, Captain Coufoufle was crouched on the quarterdeck of his man-of-war with his periscope out. There were some ants on the wooden planks, and he was frying them. He took pause from his play when he heard shouting coming from the crow's nest on the mainmast above - and as turned to see what was the matter, the first mate Gaston ascended the steps to the quarterdeck at a sprint. Clearly, he was in depeche mode.

"Mon capitaine!" the first mate screamed. "Regarde la-bas!" He pointed out across the northern sea.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est!" Coufoufle screamed.

Coufoufle stopped melting the ants like a sadistic bastard, stood up and brought the periscope to his eye. He looked north - and there, just beyond a cluster icebergs in the distance, three dragon figureheads snarled right back at him mounted on the bows of Norse warships.

"So Lodvark vants to play, does 'ee?" Coufoufle collapsed the periscope between his hands with a snap. "Vell zen!" he screamed. "Let's play!"