Genvieve 31, 1806: Chaos In The Skies, Secondary Entry

From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Nineth
Date: Genvieve 31, 1806, Year of the Drake

At half past ten (still on the 27th, this was), I was roused by the tolling of the ship's emergency bell. This both startled me to action and angered me, as I did not wish for the entire ship to be alerted to the werewolf's escape. Even as my newly awakened senses began to clear, the ship lurched to the left as if struck by a gargantuan force. My head snapped around to Morrigan with what I thought was concerned apology in my eyes...but I was standing by the time she nodded resignedly for me to go, the warmth of Morrigan and the blankets a fading memory.

I stumbled into my clothes and rapidly exited my quarters in my trousers, weapons belts and unbuttoned shirtsleeves, an aetheric long rifle across my back. Even as I exited my quarters, hot blue bursts of aetheric cannon fire exploded on the port side, filling the darkness with the terrible shrieking of hellsquid. A vague smell of cooked squidflesh - infused with the pungent brine of the sea - wafted along in the cold, crisp night air.

Men ran and fell on either side of me, scrambling to one station or another. All were filled with terror. Suddenly, a painful scream issued from the crow's nest. As I looked upward, I gazed for a moment upon the unmistakable forms of the werewolf and the first mate locked in combat upon the crow's nest. The wolf bit heavily upon Mr. Deckwalkre's arm, and his screams issued forth to join the squids' shrieking.

Suddenly, something small and hard slapped against my face painfully. I drew my pistol, touching my cheek where the object had hit. My fingers came away red with the tell-tale metallic tang of blood. My eyes wandered down to my feet, and there discovered the severed right hand of my first mate. The hand appeared to have been torn away. Minute bits of bottle glass were imbedded in the calloused, wet palm (I could only deduce that these were the remnants of a failed attempt to administer a sleeping draught to the beast). A thick coat of drool dripped from the torn hand. I cursed in anger and horror, immediately aiming and firing a shot at the wolf in the crow's nest. A low, mournful whine replied.

Even as the wolf doubled over, the screaming first officer was plucked from the crow's nest - skewered by a barbed tentacle. With a wild slicing motion, Mr. Deckwalkre severed the foul appendage, and began to plummet to the deck. The writhing mass of man and ghastly limb immediately slammed into the deck in front of me, flopping and writhing about like a huge, injured jungle serpent. Black ichor oozed from the severed tentacle. Impaled upon the talon was the body of Mr. Deckwalkre, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

Claw marks crossed his ruined face. His remaining hand still clutched his cavalry saber, it's blade dark with mingling stains of crimson blood and black squid ichor. The stink of squid flesh pervaded the scene around me; I prayed hastily over his remains and closed his eyes. Saluting him, I began to march toward the crow's nest mast to confront Dayafter's wolf.

The ship lurched violently to the right, tossing me about like a rag doll to the wooden deck. I rolled and crouched for several minutes, merely looking and listening. To my horror, a hellsquid thundered overhead, splintering the mast that held the crow's nest. I watched with intent rage as the sail became caught up in the writhing tentacles and began to slowly catch fire. The squid was ascending again, but slowly and jerkily; the very mast it had attacked had broken off into the creature's soft underbelly, and was now covered in the squid's oozing black blood.

For good measure, I aimed my long rifle at the large hole that the squid's awful tentacles were now tearing into the cotton sail, it's writhing inner maw and throat now revealed. I braced myself and fired three times in succession, each shot landing true. The squid shrieked horribly as thick grey smoke and black gore erupted from it's open mouth. It began to plummet toward the deck, vomiting black bilge.

Men were running in every direction, screaming, arming themselves, reloading, repositioning...suddenly, Solomon Hungan spun me around to face him, breathing heavily, an artillery-sized drake rifle in his massive arms.

"Cap'n, dere's two mo hellsquid off de port bow!" he screamed over the commotion, pumping endless rounds into the falling hellsquid, causing it to writhe away from its previous destructive course toward the deck.

"Why are you not firing the cannons?" I screamed back, tossing us both down to the deck even as the piece of mast protruding from the hellsquid's gory underbelly crashed into the port railing, tearing off a section and sending a screaming man overboard. Tentacles flashed up, and the man was snatched into a squid's maw. More tentacles began slamming onto the deck, clumsily seeking prey. The men on deck fought competently, slicing with sabers and firing shots into the searching talons.

"Got me best gunnas on dat, Cap'n! T'ree more a dese t'ings already been blown de hell away!"

"Lord'a thunder! Why in the thirteen hells are these things attacking?" On the port side, cannon fire exploded, and the tentacles flailed and retreated.

"Dunno, Mael, six bloody squid just jumped up outta de waves from nowhere...maybe dey smell de cow blood, mon. Maybe dey hungry fo' de death. Ida way, I gots to go kill me a squid!" Solomon proclaimed, disappearing amongst the chaos.

Suddenly, another jolt lurched the ship to the right; I stumbled and supported myself. The port side blimp exploded, the force pushing the entire vessel sideways in the air. I flew several feet above the deck, then connected face-first into the deck, breaking my nose and blurring my vision. Sharp pain flooded my senses, and my jaws creaked as my teeth clenched furiously.

More screams filled the air, including the wailing of the final hellsquid as it plummeted - entirely covered in aetheric flame - toward the ocean below. The thick, acrid smoke billowing from the burning hulk carried the pungent smell of sizzling squidflesh (I am told that the beast had stopped shrieking long before it finally hit the waves, but that the impact with the ocean shattered the hellsquid's burnt corpse into sizzling black chunks and clouds of grey ash).

It was only then that my mind refocused on the werewolf. Amongst the chaos and the hellsquids everything ran together...my vision immediately focused upon the broken mast, the sharp ache still filling my nose and forehead, and pervading my vision. Upon the broken mast, drunken but conscious, perched the werewolf, his yellow eyes staring back at me coldly. We breathed as one, thick grey smoke blocking our sight for a moment, then disappearing to reveal cold stares. We stood that way for seconds, then I lowered my rifle.

He howled defiantly and stared, somehow seeming to know that I would not destroy him.I fired one shot, blowing off his kneecap. Then my eyes were watering from the pain of my broken nose.

A painful howl resonated through the night as the werewolf plummeted drunkenly from the broken mast, slowing its descent several times by clawing frantically at the mast. One of its claws broke off, imbedding itself in the mast wood. The werewolf's howls ended abruptly as it crashed heavily to the deck, bones snapping, moaning and whimpering as it attempted to recover from the fall. Already, the knee was beginning to heal itself. The shot I had inflicted earlier upon the creature, wherever it had been, was now completely healed, as were any saber wounds that Mr. Deckwalkre had struggled to inflict upon the werewolf.

I wasted no time, dropping the rifle and advancing toward the wolf. Taking my pistol's barrel in one hand and a sleeping draught in the other, I descended on the writhing beast to club him solidly on the temple before his eyes could focus. His arm flew up to meet me, slicing long, spreading gashes into my chest and stomach, then slashing my left arm. As I fell to one knee, he began to rise from the deck, growling and supporting himself with one arm, rising ever closer into a biting position.

I knew that a bite from the fell wolf would spread the dreaded disease to me as well...and I had far too many reasons not to become a werewolf. I drew the silver dagger as he lunged and plunged it up and through his muzzle, pinning the snarling jaws together. A howl of pain issued from the closed jaws even as I too howled in pain, his claws tearing into my back. As we glared into each others eyes, I withdrew the dagger and rammed my forehead into the area between the beast's eyes, howling again as hot, sharp pain flooded through my broken nose and forehead.
The werewolf's head dropped to the deck, his eyes rolling back in their sockets.

Dizzily searching my pouches, I knew that my time was short before he would be awake and upon me, tearing at my throat...I opened a small packet of smelling salts under my nose and wiped my tearing eyes. I searched frantically again, locating the sleeping draught and biting out the cork. I drained the sleeping draught into the wolf's groaning mouth and quickly dropped my knee into his stomach, forcing him to gasp and swallow, and held his jaws closed by tucking them under my right arm in a vice grip.

I lay there, gripping the bloody silver dagger in my left hand and the wolf's jaws gripped under my right arm, waiting. After bucking and snarling several times, the wolf finally passed out. My eyes blinked involuntarily, and I began to call out to anyone on the ship who would listen as I slowly began to slip into unconsciousness. All decks were thundering with noise and footfalls. I knew that the draught would last a few hours, and that the wolf must be chained down and administered more of the draught to insure the prevention of another episode before dawn.

I called out again, this time a bit louder, and attempted to stand. Forthwith, I collapsed to the deck beside the sleeping werewolf, my eyelids slowly, dreamily succumbing to the relentlessly encroaching darkness...

I shall conclude my tale on the morrow. For now, however, Morrigan insistently pecks for me to retire my pen, for the hour grows late. Until next I write... -

- Mael