Genvieve 18, 1806: Breaking Mister DuBreens

From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Fourth
Date: Genvieve 18, 1806, Year of the Drake

We have been underway for the sun-scorched polar continent of Salamandrius for twelve days now. Eighteen days remain until we reach the shore of the non-communicative mining colony. I remain at great unease about this endeavor for the sake of my crew. I feel a battle coming. I sense a gathering darkness...I smell blood. I'd say that this feeling is only my imagination - that I'm being paranoid - but over the years I've learned to trust my instincts. The truth is that it is not merely a gassy glob of undigested mustard. I have learned too many hard lessons by not trusting them. That, and I hate mustard. In any event, onward to today's happenings...

I received an urgent call from Doctor Dayafter just before noon. The doctor asked me to report to the medical bay. I strode into the ship's infirmary to find my mauled and broken chief engineer, Scott Aul DuBreens, strapped down to the doctor's surgical table, red-faced, black-eyed and shouting Scythian obscenities with his tell-tale lisp. If you have ever attempted to decipher Scythian-accented words of ill repute as they were being yelled by a man with a lisp, you might now understand the difficult time I was having with translation at this juncture.

After settling Mister DuBreens' nerves a bit with a pretty nurse and enough sedatives to slay a herd of buffalo, Doctor Dayafter was able to set Aul's broken limbs and actually decipher the story behind said fractures. Apparently, Mister DuBreens had gone to the mess pub (a really spectacular, huge area of the ship, designated for the crew to eat and socialize in, and designed to look and feel exactly like a familiar old town pub. We all feel at home there - even the officers and I frequent the mess pub often, although we are aware of our fine, well-appointed officer's mess hall...there I go again...I digress...where was I? Oh yes...)

At the mess pub, Mister DuBreens had flirted with one of Chef Gregoe's female cooks and then consumed an ill-gotten breakfast of sauerkraut, poached eggs, bratwurst, bacon, smoked ham, porridge, blood pudding and mead (I have since had Mister DuBreens checked for some form of parasite - he is tapeworm free.) After this massive breakfast (which might have also felled a herd of plains creatures,) Mr. DuBreens made his usual post-breakfast visit to the privy, or "porcelain confessional" as he calls it. Half an hour later, cleansed and refreshed, Aul marched into the engineering bay, only to slip on a bright, shiny, newly-swabbed floor...thereby breaking and burning his lower right leg on a large steam pipe.

Mr. DuBreens went on to explain, still red-faced, that he was determined to catch the (insert lisp-delivered Scythian foul language here) who had mopped his engineering bay without being asked. I informed Mr. DuBreens at this point that when I order the ship to be swabbed, that means the whole ship...including the engineering bay. With a grunt and a resounding fart as his answer to my dictate, he continued with his tale as the nurse opened a port hole in the hospital bay and the doctor muttered something about permanently closing the Scythian's anal sphincter.

Mr. DuBreens demanded that his one-eyed spider monkey, Patch, assist him in his quest to track down the dirty (Scythian curse) who mopped his floor. While Aul hauled himself to a spider-legged walking chair, Patch scuttled through the ship to the week's main list of chores nailed to a mast, tore it down, and delivered it to his master. Minutes later, Aul came upon the name of Mr. Solomon Hungan, gunnery officer.

Well, Mr. DuBreens hastily decided (through a haze of pain-relieving potives and some sort of disgusting alcoholic invention that he calls "brass schlager") to chase down and scold Mr. Solomon before getting his unfortunate leg set. Still inside the spider-legged chair, the red-faced, yelling Mr. DuBreens burst upon Mr. Hungan, who had just begun swabbing the poop deck. In DuBreens' defense, he had no idea at the time that the massive Solomon Hungan is deathly afraid of spiders.

One must understand that Solomon is a hulking man, standing nearly 8 feet high. He is covered with thickly tattooed muscles, save for a large, barrel-like stomach. He was born to a Haitian voodoo priestess and Samoan sailor. He is a master of weapons and melee combat...and his one and only paranoid fear is of spiders.

Solomon, I am told, shrieked like a young girl and began screaming, "...spi-dah de-mon!" over and over as he thrashed at the chair-bound Aul. Solomon swung wildly, and was finally pinned to the deck by the metallic spider legs. This, apparently, only served to frighten and strengthen Solomon the more as he completely rent the walking chair apart piece by piece, flailing and breaking the "demon" wildly - until he finally came to and recognized the broken, moaning form of the engineer lying among the spider chair's ruins.

To Solomon's credit, he reached into the depths of the "spider carcass" to retrieve the mangled body of Mr. DuBreens and carry him (still half-dazed) to the ship's infirmary. The full diagnosis of Mr. DuBreens included: one broken left arm, one broken right leg, one bruised jaw, stitches in skull, two black eyes, stitches in lip, and three bruised ribs.

Doctor Dayafter informed Mr. Hungan that he was a physician, and not an examiner of random violent psychoses. He then prescribed a nerve powder and a sleeping draught, and sent to his bunk. I have informed Mr. Hungan that, as punishment, he will have a spider tattooed upon one of his hands on the morrow to break him of this paranoid behavior. He inquired as to my reaction if he simply removed said appendage instead. I retorted that his face would then be sufficient for the tattoo's placement.

I would dare say that Mr. DuBreens will never be building another spider-like contraption again...but I know him better. The truth is that the spider-walker chair contraption worked exceedingly well...that means, undoubtedly, that Mr. DuBreens will be creating another eventually. I can only pray that he has learned enough to keep it safely away from Mr. Hungan...

- Mael