It was quite funny really. "A sailor through and through, a sailor until I die" was what he'd keep telling himself, but he kept spending more and more time on land these days. Not that he'd tell anyone, but it wasn't something he minded.
Especially these moments, when it was just him and the turret. During this minute and a half, the air was filled with such trepidation, like the wind dying just before a thunderstorm out at sea.
The turret, looming and stately, began the process of powering up. Deep within its crevices, a brilliant blue light began to seep through, empowering the statue with a ominous hum.
Ominous to his enemies of course, to him it was as friendly as the creaking of planks beneath his feet or winds lashing at the sails. Or even the sound of seagulls on the stiff breeze.
He fastened the Brawlers Gloves onto his hands and gripped his sword, on his belt clinked two bottles: One red, one blue. One for the body, the other for the spirit, heheheh. Compared to his companions, he'd brought a LOT with him. He had a tough task ahead of him, he'd need every dram.
He looked back down the lane, it was about the length of a football field back to the base, and even further to the nexus and the shop. He was glad he didn't forget anything, while he could teleport back... it was a long walk. Again, at the gates and halfway along the track stood two more statues, vigilant guardians ready to take up the duty of defence should the first one fall.
The minions began making their way up the lane, small things about half the size of a man. Some came with shields and clubs, others came with wizard hats and wands and a single one trundled forward in a small siege cannon, the metal rivets glinting off its big wooden wheels.
The sailor, who some would argue is a less than noble fellow, who might deign to call himself a pirate if not flat out king, took out a small bag of chewing tobbacco and cut himself a piece.
He'd already been in many, many battles. Too many to count. But why would an anarchistic villain like the pirate king join an organization of order, as an enforcer no less?
Biding his time, building his reputation. So's that the next time a ship sees his roger hanging from the masts they'll surrender without a fight, so's he can sully into ports and get treated as a notorious dread pirate deserves.
He'd already built up Bilgewater into practically the only free state outside of Noxius and Demacia, Ionia not withstanding (In his eyes they didn't count, pandering to the facist Jarvan and his crowd, they'd never truely be free like Bilgewater.)
Chewing his tobacco thoughtfuly, he hears crying from the forest to his right. This doesn't concern him however, as it's the tell-tale sign of one of his team-mates: A long dead mummified boy crying for his lost perents. Seeking only companionship, he is forced into the forest by the team in order to spring out and suprise the enemy, gaining strength and gold by killing the animals within the forests green walls.
Sad in it's way, but vital as his allowed the Sailor to gather strength and gold at an alarming pace, enabling him to get the advantage of his enemies. While the child would play a vital part, it's the sailor who will eventually turn the battle in favor of his team. Victory is well worth the price of lonliness, for all involved.
From even further away, on the other side of the forest and in the direction of the other lane, the team leader began fighting, filling the air with the sound of metal clashing and high pitched "Hi-yah!"s.
The sailor didn't much care for the ninja, but they fought well, and thats what was important. He spat out his tobacco and readied himself, for if the fighting began in the mid, that must mean...
The minions trundled past him, out into the open where they were quickly struck down by two figures errupting from the bushes. A very large bull and a spear wielding fellow wearing nothing but a helmet, a loincloth and a shield.
Oh this was going to be easy.
"ENJOY YER VISIT TO THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA, LAN'LUBBER!" Gangplank yells, and charges forward.