The sea churned beneath the hull of Beans' flagship, the Iron Storm, as she stood at the prow. Her arms were folded across her chest while her eyes scanned the horizon where the Elven fleet had begun moving into its defensive formation. A storm was brewing, not just in the sky but in the waters below. The Skardian navy stretched out behind her in a grand crescent formation, an armada of vessels bristling with dwarven-crafted ballistae. Meanwhile, Skardian marines sharpened their weapons in anticipation of the coming slaughter.
'The elves have chosen to stand their ground. Admirable, but foolish.' She thought as she carefully eyed the enemy ships.
"Ma'am, they've tightened their line," Captain Hargan grunted, spitting over the railing. The old sailor had seen his fair share of battles and carried the permanent scowl of a man who had grown tired of small fights. "Looks like they're bettin' on speed and precision over numbers."
Beans smirked. "That's because they don't have numbers."
