From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Eighth
Date: Genvieve 30, 1806, Year of the Drake
We have suffered greatly these last few days, losing several crewmen...one of them being my first mate. I have been unable to write on these events until now - my presence has been required to perform other captain's duties as well as time spent in the ship's infirmary.
It began on the 27th, at roughly three of the evening. Augustus approached me, telling me that the change would be upon him soon. I knew already; I have been Gus's friend so long now that I can almost feel the change coming over him myself. Augustus stepped into the "flying brig," where the well-fed cow had already been placed. The animal shrank from the doctor immediately, lowing pitifully and trying in vain to step through the corners of the solid iron bars. The doctor sighed, sitting calmly upon the small wooden chair that Aul set inside the iron cage. I handed the doctor an older medical journal to read during the wait, and he accepted with a gracious smile. Even on the verge of monstrous transformation, Dr. Augustus Dayafter is the very soul of a gentleman.
I ordered a pot of tea brought to the doctor before his launch in hopes of calming him a bit; there are times that his final temper as a man will effect a calmness upon the wolf as it overcomes him. The tea was brought by Chef Gregoe himself; a true honor, as the good chef rarely leaves his galley. The officers joined us, including Aul (and the irrepressible Morrigan, flapping in through the open cargo bay and perching upon my shoulder). We were given small chairs and a large round table, where we had both tea and our supper as we all sat boasting, laughing and talking of many things; anything really to draw our friend's mind away from his upcoming fate. And for that brief time, he seemed to genuinely enjoy our company.
But how well do all of us know how quickly time passes during those incidents of purest pleasure? At half past five, the sun began to set, and Augustus began to sweat. He kindly thanked us all for our company, asking all but the engineer and myself to leave. The officers all offered encouragement and returned to their duties. Morrigan remained perched upon my shoulder. Augustus looked to her, saying, "Please, m'lady." She nodded and flew off.
Augustus told me to go to her, and that he would be fine. I refused, reminding him that she and I had the rest of the night, but my time with him was important at that moment. We clasped hands, and we both smiled a bit, repeating our old adage, "This too shall pass." Then, with a gallant composure that I shall never possess, Augustus carefully removed and neatly folded all of his clothes, handing the stack carefully to me. We both nodded, and he held the cage bars as it began to rise from the floor and float slowly past the doors of the cargo bay. I watched calmly as the chain grew taught, and he began traversing the cage, peering out at the sky and the sea, smiling contentedly. The cow lowed loudly, staying as far away from Augustus as possible.
Soon, Aul was beside me, chewing on a turkey leg, watching the cage and trying, in engineer mathematics, to assure me of the success of the operation. I smiled and told him to brace himself. The sun began to set, and Augustus gripped the bars of the cage tightly. He was sweating profusely now, breathing heavily. His eyes glowed yellow in the dusk as he gazed up at the moon. The cow's eyes rolled with fright. I was inclined to shoot the poor animal, but I knew the wolf would want fresh meat. Living meat. Between the bovine and my crew, my crew won. Or so I thought.
The doctor's teeth began to grow as he rattled the bars of his flying prison. His hair began to grow long and thick, new hair covering his body. He screamed in torturous pain as the sounds of his body changing form echoed through the calm night. He fell to the floor of the cage, tears of pain falling from his bulging eyes. Bones twisted and cracked, lengthening and taking new positions within his flesh. Muscles grew and tightened, and he yelped. Aul cursed in Scythian as the doctor's face began to lengthen hideously, and Augustus' agonized screams slowly, chillingly became the howling of a predator...
The werewolf rose from the floor of the cage slowly, its head brushing the ceiling of the steel cage. All was silent as it breathed rapidly, snarling clouds of white vapor even as drool dripped from its maw. The creature and I calmly regarded each other as equals, as we have on past occasions. For even as Augustus Dayafter is my brother, so will this black beast that ushers from him always be a bitter, if respected, enemy.
"Schrauben Sie mich seitlich! I'll neva get used to zat!" Aul whispered. Immediately, the wolf began slavering, roaring and snapping its jaws. Its hairy arms tore at the air, trying in vain to reach us through the bars. Aul shivered. The cow began lowing dumbly, struggling desperately against the confining cage.
The wolf rounded on the cow slowly, enjoying the fear that radiated from the terrified bovine. Before the poor animal could low again, the wolf sprang, his jaws lifting the cow by its throat even as his savage claws tore into the defenseless beast's underbelly, strewing innards and organs all over the cage. Blood soaked the cage floor, pouring in windblown rivulets into the ocean far below. Aul shook his head and ripped off another bite of turkey.
"Fazinatink," Aul mumbled.
"Watch'im close, Aul. Call me if there's a change," I said, clapping Aul on the shoulder and turning to go. I quickly made my way to my cabin, stopping to bark orders along the way. Every officer was posted at a different station, all with their eyes fixed upon the cage. All of them also knew that the small phial of sleeping potion he held could only be administered orally.
I stopped for a moment outside my cabin, examining an ornate silver dagger that Augustus gave me long ago. If the wolf is Augustus' burden in that curse, then this dagger is surely mine. I sheathed the blade and took a deep breath, stepping into the warmth of my cabin; the idea of Morrigan in her true form never ceases to transform me into a blundering, nervous schoolboy...even now. The small fireplace was burning, and the lamps were doused. Candles were lit across the room, centering on a lovely meal set upon my dining table, completely with a bottle of fine wine and two glasses. I can only assume that Morrigan has found a way to communicate with Chef Gregoe. I called out to Morrigan, my heart quickening within my chest.
Morrigan stepped from the shadows, smiling sheepishly. One of my thinner white tunics covered most of her, leaving just enough to my imagination - exposing only slight color changes and curves beneath the soft, loose fabric. Her skin was radiantly pale against her shining black hair. I imagine that I grinned like a fool as I gazed upon her for that first time in a month; her pale brown eyes caught mine in a stare that nearly buckled my knees. In that stare we became one again, as we always do. Love, lust, pain, sadness, anger, frustration, joy, madness, realization, relief, contentment - all levels of the human condition filtered into one longing gaze - and then she was in my arms. No drug nor naturally induced condition has or will ever compare to the feeling of holding her. Time became meaningless.
I watched her dine, picking at my own plate and continuously offering it to her. I watched as she slowly savored each bite of food and each sip of wine. It is humbling to witness one who truly enjoys, holds and treasures what it is to be human...all the things that I take for granted daily. In this, her true form, she is the definition of all that makes a man love a woman...a portrait of divine femininity.
The wine long gone and the candles low, we sat conversing in front of the fireplace...the long, whispered, timeless conversations that only lovers have and treasure. She held my left hand, running her soft, thin fingers over the terrain of my skin. Scars, burns, and callouses met her perfect touch, then she was turning the silver ring with the talon-gripped onyx stone setting. She smiled sadly and asked where her ring was, whereupon I produced a long, thin silver chain from beneath my tunic, removing it and sliding off a small silver ring with a talon-gripped pearl setting. As I placed it upon her finger, she cried. I held her and watched the fire...
...and the rest, ladies and gentlemen, must remain a cherished memory between myself and Morrigan...and that alone. There is much that I am willing to share in these pages, but only so much to remain within the bounds of decency and honor.
I am exhausted, and require rest so that my body may continue to properly heal itself. Besides, Morrigan is currently pecking at my hand, and apparently refuses to stop lest I finish up my writings for the evening. I shall resume my tragic tale on the morrow.
- Mael
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Genvieve 27, 1806: The Flying Brig
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Seventh
Date: Genvieve 27, 1806, Year of the Drake
Tomorrow night, the phase of the full moon begins, and one of my most trusted friends and colleagues will become something entirely different for one terrible night...while another becomes the vision of a perfect lady.
I am torn. Part of me wishes to spend the evening in the company of Morrigan in my cabin, but my duty to Augustus as his friend and swordbrother compels me to watch over him. I must keep Morrigan in my cabin during her change, and I must secret Augustus away somewhere (but where?!) I fear the reaction that the crew might have; morale is low after the hellsquid attack yesterday. A mutiny is the last thing we need aboard this vessel; especially amid current cicumstances.
I visited the engine bay earlier; Mr. DuBreens has apparently been hard at work. Several massive black slateboards cover one of the walls - upon these slates were scribbles of white chalk - a series of arithmetical equations and scientific theorems, complete with three-dimensional diagrams and measurements. In the middle of the bay stood a begoggled Mr. DuBreens, nodding with approval at his equally begoggled spider monkey, Crash. Crash was, to my great dismay, masterfully wielding Mr. DuBreens' aetheric torch on an eight foot iron cube. The top and bottom were panels of solid iron, while the sides consisted of iron bars. A long chain ran from the front middle bar of the cage, its other end connecting to a large square magnet.
Mr. DuBreens explained that an identical magnet will run from the cargo bay of the ship (a massive loading bay connected to the engineering bay by a wide ramp and two short flights of stairs) on another thick chain, connecting the flying cage to the ship, but preventing the creature, if he were to escape, from climbing the chain all the way to the ship. Apparently the wolf's weight upon the magnet will cause the magnets to pull apart, sending the wolf dangling upon the chain until we rescue him (or toppling into the sea...in which case we would still rescue him...hopefully in time.)
By tomorrow morning, Mr. DuBreens will have a blimp attached to the top of the cage. He showed me the cage's only entrance - a door on the bottom which will be bolted securely shut. A live cow from the Seraph's livestock provisions stood roped to one the cargo bay walls, its calm lowing echoing across the metallic walls as it calmly chewed on a potted plant. I did not mention it, but i know the unfortunate end the cow will come to; if the wolf does not find fresh meat in the cage, he will be more likely to pursue it on the ship.
Mr. DuBreens informed me that the "flying brig" will be cast behind the ship, where, in the chance of escape, Doctor Dayafter's grisly counterpart will have no way of harming the crew. I congratulated Mr. Dubreens, as this appears to be a workable plan...I only pray that it works.
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Seventh
Date: Genvieve 27, 1806, Year of the Drake
Tomorrow night, the phase of the full moon begins, and one of my most trusted friends and colleagues will become something entirely different for one terrible night...while another becomes the vision of a perfect lady.
I am torn. Part of me wishes to spend the evening in the company of Morrigan in my cabin, but my duty to Augustus as his friend and swordbrother compels me to watch over him. I must keep Morrigan in my cabin during her change, and I must secret Augustus away somewhere (but where?!) I fear the reaction that the crew might have; morale is low after the hellsquid attack yesterday. A mutiny is the last thing we need aboard this vessel; especially amid current cicumstances.
I visited the engine bay earlier; Mr. DuBreens has apparently been hard at work. Several massive black slateboards cover one of the walls - upon these slates were scribbles of white chalk - a series of arithmetical equations and scientific theorems, complete with three-dimensional diagrams and measurements. In the middle of the bay stood a begoggled Mr. DuBreens, nodding with approval at his equally begoggled spider monkey, Crash. Crash was, to my great dismay, masterfully wielding Mr. DuBreens' aetheric torch on an eight foot iron cube. The top and bottom were panels of solid iron, while the sides consisted of iron bars. A long chain ran from the front middle bar of the cage, its other end connecting to a large square magnet.
Mr. DuBreens explained that an identical magnet will run from the cargo bay of the ship (a massive loading bay connected to the engineering bay by a wide ramp and two short flights of stairs) on another thick chain, connecting the flying cage to the ship, but preventing the creature, if he were to escape, from climbing the chain all the way to the ship. Apparently the wolf's weight upon the magnet will cause the magnets to pull apart, sending the wolf dangling upon the chain until we rescue him (or toppling into the sea...in which case we would still rescue him...hopefully in time.)
By tomorrow morning, Mr. DuBreens will have a blimp attached to the top of the cage. He showed me the cage's only entrance - a door on the bottom which will be bolted securely shut. A live cow from the Seraph's livestock provisions stood roped to one the cargo bay walls, its calm lowing echoing across the metallic walls as it calmly chewed on a potted plant. I did not mention it, but i know the unfortunate end the cow will come to; if the wolf does not find fresh meat in the cage, he will be more likely to pursue it on the ship.
Mr. DuBreens informed me that the "flying brig" will be cast behind the ship, where, in the chance of escape, Doctor Dayafter's grisly counterpart will have no way of harming the crew. I congratulated Mr. Dubreens, as this appears to be a workable plan...I only pray that it works.
- Mael
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Genvieve 26, 1806: A Savage Truth
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Sixth
Date: Genvieve 26, 1806, Year of the Drake
I keep telling myself that today's events must be recorded, despite what the telling might reveal. I knew this would occur eventually. May the Black Signet forgive me if this falls into the wrong hands...
Early this morning, as the steady Seraph sailed ever closer to the charred continent of Salamandrius, Doctor Dayafter approached me in my chambers as I was conversing with Morrigan. I have rarely seen Augustus so pale and out of sorts, and had an idea of the terrible news that was likely to come.
Augustus admitted to being gravely upset. Last night, during the attack of that damnable hellsquid, the doctor was in his quarters. He had just poured himself a dose of his necessary preventive potion when the ship was violently tossed by the hellsquid. This rocking threw the doctor sprawling over his bunk, spilling the dose of potion, and accidentally tossing the large bottle of potion against the wall, shattering it. This bottle contained enough potion to supply the doctor for up to two years.
The doctor is right to be upset. The potion, which Dayafter referred to as "Bane," was his sole prevention against the forces the upcoming phase of the moon has upon his physiology, and moreover, his psychology. This change from gentile man to savage beast occurs during every full moon. Augustus tells me that modern scientific journals have labeled the disease as "lycanthropy." We were saddened that the disease has spread so much since the Black Crusades as to have been addressed in a mainstream scientific publication.
During our time in the Black Crusades, Augustus and Morrigan were captured and exposed to terrible concoctions by the Cult of Chulgrathon's alchemists. Augustus was tested with a strain of the disease that forces his body to become a massive, ravening abomination of a wolf for several days every cycle of the moon, while Morrigan's strain forces her to live as a raven her entire life, save for those few precious days every full moon - the same days that Augustus becomes "the wolf."
I recommended that Augustus allow me to lock him in the brig under guard during the duration of his change. He refused, claiming that he was sure "the wolf" would tear its way out and murder crewmen. I did not disagree on any particular point. I have approached Aul with this entire situation, and he took it fairly well, only breaking into Scythian cursing as he left my quarters. He has vowed to develop a plan that separates "ze nasty blighta" from the ship while still keeping "ze human docta" safe and secure and not forcing the Seraph to come to a complete stop.
As a side note, Mr. Hungan has now stabbed the spider tattoo on his hand three times upon waking and finding the illustrated spider upon his belly. At this point, considering the size of the jungle knives he carries, I am content that he has not gutted himself.
I shall update regularly as the situation with Dr. Dayafter progresses; the phase of the full moon begins in two nights. May Axiom help us all.
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Sixth
Date: Genvieve 26, 1806, Year of the Drake
I keep telling myself that today's events must be recorded, despite what the telling might reveal. I knew this would occur eventually. May the Black Signet forgive me if this falls into the wrong hands...
Early this morning, as the steady Seraph sailed ever closer to the charred continent of Salamandrius, Doctor Dayafter approached me in my chambers as I was conversing with Morrigan. I have rarely seen Augustus so pale and out of sorts, and had an idea of the terrible news that was likely to come.
Augustus admitted to being gravely upset. Last night, during the attack of that damnable hellsquid, the doctor was in his quarters. He had just poured himself a dose of his necessary preventive potion when the ship was violently tossed by the hellsquid. This rocking threw the doctor sprawling over his bunk, spilling the dose of potion, and accidentally tossing the large bottle of potion against the wall, shattering it. This bottle contained enough potion to supply the doctor for up to two years.
The doctor is right to be upset. The potion, which Dayafter referred to as "Bane," was his sole prevention against the forces the upcoming phase of the moon has upon his physiology, and moreover, his psychology. This change from gentile man to savage beast occurs during every full moon. Augustus tells me that modern scientific journals have labeled the disease as "lycanthropy." We were saddened that the disease has spread so much since the Black Crusades as to have been addressed in a mainstream scientific publication.
During our time in the Black Crusades, Augustus and Morrigan were captured and exposed to terrible concoctions by the Cult of Chulgrathon's alchemists. Augustus was tested with a strain of the disease that forces his body to become a massive, ravening abomination of a wolf for several days every cycle of the moon, while Morrigan's strain forces her to live as a raven her entire life, save for those few precious days every full moon - the same days that Augustus becomes "the wolf."
I recommended that Augustus allow me to lock him in the brig under guard during the duration of his change. He refused, claiming that he was sure "the wolf" would tear its way out and murder crewmen. I did not disagree on any particular point. I have approached Aul with this entire situation, and he took it fairly well, only breaking into Scythian cursing as he left my quarters. He has vowed to develop a plan that separates "ze nasty blighta" from the ship while still keeping "ze human docta" safe and secure and not forcing the Seraph to come to a complete stop.
As a side note, Mr. Hungan has now stabbed the spider tattoo on his hand three times upon waking and finding the illustrated spider upon his belly. At this point, considering the size of the jungle knives he carries, I am content that he has not gutted himself.
I shall update regularly as the situation with Dr. Dayafter progresses; the phase of the full moon begins in two nights. May Axiom help us all.
- Mael
Genvieve 25, 1806: The Hellsquid
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Fifth
Date:Genvieve 25, 1806, Year of the Drake
It would appear that my ill omened feelings about this mission have not been in vain. If I was not disturbed before...But I get ahead of myself. There is no better way to go about this horrid entry but to write it.
Tonight, the ship was rocked violently as if battered by storm winds or a tidal wave high enough to strike us. However, there was no storm, and the seas were as calm as a sleeping babe. I climbed to the crow's nest and spotted a hellsquid diving below us toward the ocean surface. A massive creature, it was easily three quarters as large as the Seraph herself. Large, membranous gliding wings extended above, below, and to each side of the creature. It's tail, instead of ending in the usual squidlike arrow point, ended in some sort of open, pulsing cylinder which burned the air to distortion with internal gases which apparently propel the squid. The front of the beast appeared to hold many tentacles; it was difficult to tell at that point how many.
As the hellsquid approached the water, it folded its wings into itself. The chimney-like tail closed flat horizontally, and the beast splashed down into the waves...and rapidly disappeared.
Something felt wrong. Unsure, I was concerned about the integrity of my ship's hull after contact with the squid. I had the ship's aether cannons readied, and had my own aetheric longrifle brought to me in the crow's nest. I then sent word for Mister DuBreens to fly out alongside in one of the Cherub class longboats to assess the damage.
As I lurked up in the crow's nest, Mister DuBreens took two riflemen out in one of the flying longboats. As I feared, the abomination picked that point to launch itself from the waters a second time. This time, however, it's mass of thick tentacles parted from its mouth, and it launched a fireball from its maw. The fireball pierced one of our sails, forming a hole the size of a cannon shot. The hole fizzled and did not burn much, as the sails are prototype "solar sails," meshed with a fire-resistant cloth along with very small, thin links of metal to provide durability during battle (they also store the energy of the sun to be converted to aetheric energy for the ship's use.)
We were all barking orders at this point, Mr. DuBreens refusing to come back aboard until he had repaired a small section of metal panels on the ship's hull that had been knocked loose. As Mr. DuBreens fired up a small blue-flamed aetheric torch and began fixing the damage, the monster was nearly upon the exposed longboat. Many tentacles hurled themselves from the hellsquid's furnace-like maw, each tipped with a long, nastily barbed talon, flanked for several feet down by a series of small, fanglike projections.
One taloned tentacle pierced the first of the riflemen even as he blasted it to uselessless, whereupon a second tentacle speared him and drew him viciously from the longboat, into the beast's waiting jaws. The second longboat rifleman crippled at least six tentacles before another tentacle exposed the use of the small fang-like projections. The main talon folded in on the small fangs on the tentacle, crushing the rifleman's head like a grape just before a rifle shot blew the tentacle away. As the body fell, the squid chased it toward the waves, scooping it up before it hit.
Now for those of us who have sailed in an airship, there is a prevalent shared opinion that the most important crewman is the engineer. So the following series of events were not surprising. There were multiple shouts from the main deck for the idiot engineer to get his stupid arse back on deck. I continued firing my rifle madly at the returning hellsquid, sending a bolt of white-hot aether fire into the hellsquid's infernal eye. It screeched like a demon banshee; the most terrible shrieking wail I've ever heard. It retreated, the next rifle bolts only charring and pitting it's damnable thick hide. The cannons then launched a volley, appearing to wound it's massive side.
Then it folded itself up and hit the waves with a crashing roar.
I watched as I reloaded. It was happening blindingly fast, as battles and death always do. The hellish thing leaped from the waves again, shrieking and extending its tentacles away from its terrible mouth. I grabbed a rope and prepared to swing myself at the creature with a bomb. Little did I know, Mr. DuBreens had the same idea.
As I began to swing, I watched the engineer pull his trusted repeating blunderbuss from his side, peering over the side of the longboat and taunting the creature while taking long drinks of one of his undoubtedly horribly toxic homebrew liquors. He then tossed the half-full bottle at the frightening close creature, the bottle flying into the maw just as Mr. DuBreens began cursing and firing the huge blunderbuss at the bottle.
One shot finally connected, exploding the bottle of liquor...and with it, the hellsquid's head, sending a spray of disgusting, charred squidflesh all over the longboat...and Mr. DuBreens. Cursing in Scythian, Mr. DuBreens casually flicked his cigar butt at the rapidly falling, flailing body of the deceased creature. He then finished repairing the ship, and piloted the longboat back into the Seraph's landing bay.
Mr. DuBreens still stinks of hellsquid.
We held a candlelight memorial abovedecks for our fallen brothers (Mr. Thaddeus Pridgen and Mr. Gunter Von Castle) tonight. They will be missed. Several crewmen spoke of them...of their deads. I said my captainly piece and the spoke the words of the priests for the resting of their souls as well. Two gold coins were nailed to the main mast in their honor.
We all have a dark appreciation of a hellsquid's abilities now...hopefully upon our next encounter with one of the bastards, we'll be more prepared. I foresee a very long dark, mission if this is any indication of what is to come.
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Fifth
Date:Genvieve 25, 1806, Year of the Drake
It would appear that my ill omened feelings about this mission have not been in vain. If I was not disturbed before...But I get ahead of myself. There is no better way to go about this horrid entry but to write it.
Tonight, the ship was rocked violently as if battered by storm winds or a tidal wave high enough to strike us. However, there was no storm, and the seas were as calm as a sleeping babe. I climbed to the crow's nest and spotted a hellsquid diving below us toward the ocean surface. A massive creature, it was easily three quarters as large as the Seraph herself. Large, membranous gliding wings extended above, below, and to each side of the creature. It's tail, instead of ending in the usual squidlike arrow point, ended in some sort of open, pulsing cylinder which burned the air to distortion with internal gases which apparently propel the squid. The front of the beast appeared to hold many tentacles; it was difficult to tell at that point how many.
As the hellsquid approached the water, it folded its wings into itself. The chimney-like tail closed flat horizontally, and the beast splashed down into the waves...and rapidly disappeared.
Something felt wrong. Unsure, I was concerned about the integrity of my ship's hull after contact with the squid. I had the ship's aether cannons readied, and had my own aetheric longrifle brought to me in the crow's nest. I then sent word for Mister DuBreens to fly out alongside in one of the Cherub class longboats to assess the damage.
As I lurked up in the crow's nest, Mister DuBreens took two riflemen out in one of the flying longboats. As I feared, the abomination picked that point to launch itself from the waters a second time. This time, however, it's mass of thick tentacles parted from its mouth, and it launched a fireball from its maw. The fireball pierced one of our sails, forming a hole the size of a cannon shot. The hole fizzled and did not burn much, as the sails are prototype "solar sails," meshed with a fire-resistant cloth along with very small, thin links of metal to provide durability during battle (they also store the energy of the sun to be converted to aetheric energy for the ship's use.)
We were all barking orders at this point, Mr. DuBreens refusing to come back aboard until he had repaired a small section of metal panels on the ship's hull that had been knocked loose. As Mr. DuBreens fired up a small blue-flamed aetheric torch and began fixing the damage, the monster was nearly upon the exposed longboat. Many tentacles hurled themselves from the hellsquid's furnace-like maw, each tipped with a long, nastily barbed talon, flanked for several feet down by a series of small, fanglike projections.
One taloned tentacle pierced the first of the riflemen even as he blasted it to uselessless, whereupon a second tentacle speared him and drew him viciously from the longboat, into the beast's waiting jaws. The second longboat rifleman crippled at least six tentacles before another tentacle exposed the use of the small fang-like projections. The main talon folded in on the small fangs on the tentacle, crushing the rifleman's head like a grape just before a rifle shot blew the tentacle away. As the body fell, the squid chased it toward the waves, scooping it up before it hit.
Now for those of us who have sailed in an airship, there is a prevalent shared opinion that the most important crewman is the engineer. So the following series of events were not surprising. There were multiple shouts from the main deck for the idiot engineer to get his stupid arse back on deck. I continued firing my rifle madly at the returning hellsquid, sending a bolt of white-hot aether fire into the hellsquid's infernal eye. It screeched like a demon banshee; the most terrible shrieking wail I've ever heard. It retreated, the next rifle bolts only charring and pitting it's damnable thick hide. The cannons then launched a volley, appearing to wound it's massive side.
Then it folded itself up and hit the waves with a crashing roar.
I watched as I reloaded. It was happening blindingly fast, as battles and death always do. The hellish thing leaped from the waves again, shrieking and extending its tentacles away from its terrible mouth. I grabbed a rope and prepared to swing myself at the creature with a bomb. Little did I know, Mr. DuBreens had the same idea.
As I began to swing, I watched the engineer pull his trusted repeating blunderbuss from his side, peering over the side of the longboat and taunting the creature while taking long drinks of one of his undoubtedly horribly toxic homebrew liquors. He then tossed the half-full bottle at the frightening close creature, the bottle flying into the maw just as Mr. DuBreens began cursing and firing the huge blunderbuss at the bottle.
One shot finally connected, exploding the bottle of liquor...and with it, the hellsquid's head, sending a spray of disgusting, charred squidflesh all over the longboat...and Mr. DuBreens. Cursing in Scythian, Mr. DuBreens casually flicked his cigar butt at the rapidly falling, flailing body of the deceased creature. He then finished repairing the ship, and piloted the longboat back into the Seraph's landing bay.
Mr. DuBreens still stinks of hellsquid.
We held a candlelight memorial abovedecks for our fallen brothers (Mr. Thaddeus Pridgen and Mr. Gunter Von Castle) tonight. They will be missed. Several crewmen spoke of them...of their deads. I said my captainly piece and the spoke the words of the priests for the resting of their souls as well. Two gold coins were nailed to the main mast in their honor.
We all have a dark appreciation of a hellsquid's abilities now...hopefully upon our next encounter with one of the bastards, we'll be more prepared. I foresee a very long dark, mission if this is any indication of what is to come.
Monday, January 14, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Genvieve 8, 1806: A Disturbing Message
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Second
Date: Genvieve 8, 1806, Year of the Drake
The Seraph has been underway for a full week now. Smooth sailing thus far, but a thick black ball of worry has settled firmly in my gut. I find it impossible to ignore, and see bad omens all around me. Nonetheless, the lack of serious problems has allowed me to spend time with the crew, getting to know them all a bit better, and reacquainting myself with my officers.
The ship consists of 28 men and women in total, excluding myself and my raven familiar, Morrigan. Yes, I list her as a person...I do this for reasons I shall reveal in my own time. My four officers are: Commander Harris Deckwalkre, first mate; Mister Solomon Hungan, gunnery officer; Doctor Augustus Dayafter, ship's doctor; Mister Christholm Thorne, navigator. Mister Gregoe Zlatkis is ship's chef, and I've mentioned our chief engineer, Mister Scott Aul (pronounced "all") DuBreens...his name alone is quite the boast, but his parents were rather eccentric. The remaining crew includes many fine men and several women who I will undoubtedly single out in later writings.
I have realized in the last few days that I shall be forced to reveal certain things about myself and my crew through this journal - things that I would have preferred to safeguard. I suppose nothing is safe forever...even secrets. Chief of these is the history behind myself, Morrigan, and the good doctor. None of us is exactly what we appear to be, and only the crew of my former ship, the Rasputin, know this. I simply wish to quell any possible situation that might lead to misunderstanding, or worse, mutiny.
I must confess to being most troubled of late. A Black Signet message hawk delivered an important message several nights ago. It appears that they have lost contact with our mining colony on the far southern continent of Salamandrius. The mine on this continent is critically important to the Black Signet due to the rare metallic ore that is found only on this continent.
This mildly pearlescent, silvery ore is called resilientum, and, when combined with iron, produces the strongest and lightest metal on Aerthe, as well as the best conductor of aether. The Seraph herself is the first airship to be armored with resilientum, mainly due to our status as the flagship of the Black Signet organization. Many nations secretly rely on us to be there to uphold justice when their efforts fail, so at the very least, this ship must be powerful.
The large island of Salamandrius there is barren and forbidding; only the hardiest of folk have dared brave the mountain mines. The Black Signet purchased the mine from the Salamandrian dwarves several years ago after they abandoned the land for reasons they refused to share with us. Later intelligence revealed that they had been frightened out of the mine. By what, we know not. Sailors have spoken of large krakens sighted in the area - both under and above the waves. They have been described as "propelled by some sort of internally generated flame." These "flying hellsquid" are also said to attack frequently, and without apparent motive.
I must admit to being a disturbing mixture of excited and loathe to meet one of these beasts. Our current orders are to set a course for Salamandrius and investigate their lack of communication with the Black Signet, so an encounter with these hellsquid is likely inevitable. The society needs more of the resilientum for further construction, armor testing, engines, etc. If my worst fears are confirmed - and those colonists have been harmed by the natural inhabitants of that area - a low supply of resilientum may be the least of our worries.
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Second
Date: Genvieve 8, 1806, Year of the Drake
The Seraph has been underway for a full week now. Smooth sailing thus far, but a thick black ball of worry has settled firmly in my gut. I find it impossible to ignore, and see bad omens all around me. Nonetheless, the lack of serious problems has allowed me to spend time with the crew, getting to know them all a bit better, and reacquainting myself with my officers.
The ship consists of 28 men and women in total, excluding myself and my raven familiar, Morrigan. Yes, I list her as a person...I do this for reasons I shall reveal in my own time. My four officers are: Commander Harris Deckwalkre, first mate; Mister Solomon Hungan, gunnery officer; Doctor Augustus Dayafter, ship's doctor; Mister Christholm Thorne, navigator. Mister Gregoe Zlatkis is ship's chef, and I've mentioned our chief engineer, Mister Scott Aul (pronounced "all") DuBreens...his name alone is quite the boast, but his parents were rather eccentric. The remaining crew includes many fine men and several women who I will undoubtedly single out in later writings.
I have realized in the last few days that I shall be forced to reveal certain things about myself and my crew through this journal - things that I would have preferred to safeguard. I suppose nothing is safe forever...even secrets. Chief of these is the history behind myself, Morrigan, and the good doctor. None of us is exactly what we appear to be, and only the crew of my former ship, the Rasputin, know this. I simply wish to quell any possible situation that might lead to misunderstanding, or worse, mutiny.
I must confess to being most troubled of late. A Black Signet message hawk delivered an important message several nights ago. It appears that they have lost contact with our mining colony on the far southern continent of Salamandrius. The mine on this continent is critically important to the Black Signet due to the rare metallic ore that is found only on this continent.
This mildly pearlescent, silvery ore is called resilientum, and, when combined with iron, produces the strongest and lightest metal on Aerthe, as well as the best conductor of aether. The Seraph herself is the first airship to be armored with resilientum, mainly due to our status as the flagship of the Black Signet organization. Many nations secretly rely on us to be there to uphold justice when their efforts fail, so at the very least, this ship must be powerful.
The large island of Salamandrius there is barren and forbidding; only the hardiest of folk have dared brave the mountain mines. The Black Signet purchased the mine from the Salamandrian dwarves several years ago after they abandoned the land for reasons they refused to share with us. Later intelligence revealed that they had been frightened out of the mine. By what, we know not. Sailors have spoken of large krakens sighted in the area - both under and above the waves. They have been described as "propelled by some sort of internally generated flame." These "flying hellsquid" are also said to attack frequently, and without apparent motive.
I must admit to being a disturbing mixture of excited and loathe to meet one of these beasts. Our current orders are to set a course for Salamandrius and investigate their lack of communication with the Black Signet, so an encounter with these hellsquid is likely inevitable. The society needs more of the resilientum for further construction, armor testing, engines, etc. If my worst fears are confirmed - and those colonists have been harmed by the natural inhabitants of that area - a low supply of resilientum may be the least of our worries.
- Mael
Friday, January 4, 2008
Genvieve 1, 1806: The Seraph Takes Flight
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log the First
Date: Genvieve 1, 1806, Year of the Drake
We are finally underway after an extensive celebration commemorating the christening & launch of the S.S. Seraph, as well as the New Year. Though I am not normally an enthusiastic party goer, I accompanied Augustus following his solemn promise that our stay would be politely brief, and as painless as humanly possible.
We ended up staying for the majority of the celebration (much to my antisocial surprise - I shall endeavor in the future to count how many "dark & stormy" drinks the good doctor hands me during parties) at which point I announced that the crew should begin to make ready to board the Seraph, lest the finale of the party be delayed for the good people who had gathered to see us off. As a note, It was nice to see the crew of the Seraph celebrating together. They seem to all genuinely enjoy each other's company; this is likely due to the fact that a decent percentage of this crew was chosen from my previous crew, and the rest were hand-picked by myself and my ship's officers.
One glowing example of both carousing and a fine crewman is my ship's engineer, Mister Scott "Aul" DuBreens. Aul is a brilliant engineer, following in the footsteps of his father, the infamous Scythian inventor, Dr. James DuBreens, and an equally brilliant Kellsian aetheric physicist, Dr. Edith Oryl. Aul has been briefing me daily on some new gadget or other that amazes me; truly, this ship will be an adventure to serve on. The new technologies alone make the Seraph an adventurer's (and engineer's) dream.
We are currently sailing at an altitude of 3,000 feet and a calm, steady blimp-propelled speed of 20 knots. The Seraph is a magnificent ship; powered by the very aether that makes up the waters spanning Axiom's formed universe. Now even aether needs a bit of encouragement, so we are equipped with a wide variety of sails, "sailwings", blimps and propellant devices which feed upon the aether as a base fuel.
The Seraph can sail upon the sea, dive under the sea, and fly through air - a true S.V.T. ("Ship of Varying Terrain".) She is large, but not gargantuan in size like the "Archon" class ships which make up a floating fortress of the Black Signet protectorate.
The Seraph is the seventh of the formidable "Archangel" class S.V.T. exploratory/battle vessels, measuring roughly 125 feet in length from bow to stern. She is equipped with hydraulic harpoon crossbows, rail guns, aether cannons...if I didn't know something of the dangers that await us on our adventures, I would feel a twinge of pity for our enemies. However, having experienced some of these horrors, I feel neither pity nor remorse for anything that would attack us.
In any event, the skies are calm tonight, and it has been a safe, if busy, day for all of us. I dare not call it uneventful, however. We launched without fail and felt the sailwings catch smoothly; the champagne smashed against the rear hull as we separated from the cluster of Archons and sailed off on our first exploratory mission. The aetheric generators whirred to life - emitting a soft, ghostly moan that seems like a soothing sea nymph at this point (the men have already begun calling them "The Sirens".) The blimps remain steady. We were all busy the entire day; forcing the bugs and kinks out of the Seraph's inner workings, with endless checking here and there all day long. I dare say that the crew shall welcome their beds tonight.
As for myself, I sit in the crow's nest and watch the stars, my raven familiar Morrigan perched upon my shoulder. At some point - perhaps in my lifetime - we shall be sailing among them. I find it peaceful here, perched among the heights of the Seraph's sails. Perhaps even spiritual. In any event, I think that this shall be a regular place of contemplation for myself and Morrigan in the future.
There I go again, rambling on...I shall write more on another day. I must say that I look forward to some adventure, as long as my crew is not harmed in the process. I do miss a good battle. Fighting certainly beats spending two hours reviewing and approving Chef Gregoe's meal plans and Augustus' daily medical schedule for the next six months, anyway...not that I'm complaining. Merely observing. Until next I pen, I remain...
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log the First
Date: Genvieve 1, 1806, Year of the Drake
We are finally underway after an extensive celebration commemorating the christening & launch of the S.S. Seraph, as well as the New Year. Though I am not normally an enthusiastic party goer, I accompanied Augustus following his solemn promise that our stay would be politely brief, and as painless as humanly possible.
We ended up staying for the majority of the celebration (much to my antisocial surprise - I shall endeavor in the future to count how many "dark & stormy" drinks the good doctor hands me during parties) at which point I announced that the crew should begin to make ready to board the Seraph, lest the finale of the party be delayed for the good people who had gathered to see us off. As a note, It was nice to see the crew of the Seraph celebrating together. They seem to all genuinely enjoy each other's company; this is likely due to the fact that a decent percentage of this crew was chosen from my previous crew, and the rest were hand-picked by myself and my ship's officers.
One glowing example of both carousing and a fine crewman is my ship's engineer, Mister Scott "Aul" DuBreens. Aul is a brilliant engineer, following in the footsteps of his father, the infamous Scythian inventor, Dr. James DuBreens, and an equally brilliant Kellsian aetheric physicist, Dr. Edith Oryl. Aul has been briefing me daily on some new gadget or other that amazes me; truly, this ship will be an adventure to serve on. The new technologies alone make the Seraph an adventurer's (and engineer's) dream.
We are currently sailing at an altitude of 3,000 feet and a calm, steady blimp-propelled speed of 20 knots. The Seraph is a magnificent ship; powered by the very aether that makes up the waters spanning Axiom's formed universe. Now even aether needs a bit of encouragement, so we are equipped with a wide variety of sails, "sailwings", blimps and propellant devices which feed upon the aether as a base fuel.
The Seraph can sail upon the sea, dive under the sea, and fly through air - a true S.V.T. ("Ship of Varying Terrain".) She is large, but not gargantuan in size like the "Archon" class ships which make up a floating fortress of the Black Signet protectorate.
The Seraph is the seventh of the formidable "Archangel" class S.V.T. exploratory/battle vessels, measuring roughly 125 feet in length from bow to stern. She is equipped with hydraulic harpoon crossbows, rail guns, aether cannons...if I didn't know something of the dangers that await us on our adventures, I would feel a twinge of pity for our enemies. However, having experienced some of these horrors, I feel neither pity nor remorse for anything that would attack us.
In any event, the skies are calm tonight, and it has been a safe, if busy, day for all of us. I dare not call it uneventful, however. We launched without fail and felt the sailwings catch smoothly; the champagne smashed against the rear hull as we separated from the cluster of Archons and sailed off on our first exploratory mission. The aetheric generators whirred to life - emitting a soft, ghostly moan that seems like a soothing sea nymph at this point (the men have already begun calling them "The Sirens".) The blimps remain steady. We were all busy the entire day; forcing the bugs and kinks out of the Seraph's inner workings, with endless checking here and there all day long. I dare say that the crew shall welcome their beds tonight.
As for myself, I sit in the crow's nest and watch the stars, my raven familiar Morrigan perched upon my shoulder. At some point - perhaps in my lifetime - we shall be sailing among them. I find it peaceful here, perched among the heights of the Seraph's sails. Perhaps even spiritual. In any event, I think that this shall be a regular place of contemplation for myself and Morrigan in the future.
There I go again, rambling on...I shall write more on another day. I must say that I look forward to some adventure, as long as my crew is not harmed in the process. I do miss a good battle. Fighting certainly beats spending two hours reviewing and approving Chef Gregoe's meal plans and Augustus' daily medical schedule for the next six months, anyway...not that I'm complaining. Merely observing. Until next I pen, I remain...
- Mael
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