Ignacio el Grande's Wild Adventure

It had been a long time since Ignacio El Grande's last journey. He'd been on a raid in Africa just after the Spanish conquered Cuba, but that was over twenty years ago. Even then, he hadn't sailed with his own fleet. He'd been a privateer hired to hunt down the lost treasure of El Dorado. He had found it though: a golden idol, larger than any man, molded in the shape of a man as well. It took a hundred men and ten days to carry it back to Spain, where King Ferdinand had himself crowned with it.

Now he was looking at an even better treasure: China. The Spaniards had begun to explore the Philippines, but they didn't know much about China beyond rumors of great wealth and powerful armies. It was Ignacio's goal to be the first explorer to reach China, find out what treasures awaited him there, and bring them home.

He looked around his ship for his most trusted companions. Most were friends from childhood; the best of friends. Some were more recent friends; some were not quite friends yet, but would be soon enough. It was good to have a little bit of both in one's crew - older men who were wiser and could teach wisdom, younger men who were vigorous and looked out for themselves as well as their captain; men from different walks of life who gave different perspectives and balanced each other out. There were only two people aboard the ship that Ignacio didn't know personally: Francisco de la Cruz and Fabrizio de Luca. They'd both come highly recommended by mutual acquaintances; they seemed like good men and knew their way around sailing ships well enough.

"Lads," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear him over the sound of the ocean crashing against their side, "I have good news! We're going to China!"

There was a loud cheer from his crew - louder than there should have been given that they'd all heard this before so many times before, but Ignacio wasn't one to complain when people cheered for him - and even louder laughter as he threw off his hat and did a merry jig across the deck. "To China! To China! To China!" he sang along with them until finally he stopped dancing and raised his arms high above his head again. "But first we need to get through this storm!"

The sea had been rough during the last few days of travel; one moment the waves would be calm, but in another moment the water would be crashing against their hulls like rushing rapids during spring melt-off season in Norway - which was why so many Norwegians ended up becoming sailors who sailed west across Europe every year. The storm blew them far from any known landmass; nor had there been any sign of land since they left Cuba weeks previously. Ignacio had thought they would have hit South America by now if they continued on their course heading east, but so far all they'd seen was water stretching endlessly into the horizon.

"Francisco," Ignacio called out to one of his new recruits who stood near the helm where he guided their rudder, "We're still heading east right?"

Francisco nodded grimly as he watched their compass needle spin wildly around its glass chamber inside its wooden frame without stopping anywhere in particular; it pointed every which way except towards East or North or South or West while also never pointing directly down in front of them towards their belly full of seawater sloshing around behind them either. "You can tell because we keep ending up wet," Francisco shouted back over the howling wind whipping past them both, "but I don't know how we'll ever figure out where we are."