Taleus 7, 1806: Night of the Wolf

From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Twelfth
Date: Taleus 7, 1806, Year of the Drake

We have finally dropped anchor as close to the isle of Salamandrius as possible. I do not say "finally" out of any personal desire, as I was not at all eager to land on these forbidding shores. I have merely looked forward to ending our journey to this place; this has been a costly voyage thus far. I have warned the men to prepare themselves for a most dangerous excursion. The threat of impending mutiny still hangs heavy in the air; I shall be leaving Mr. "Aul" DuBreens and Chef Gregoe Zlatkis aboard the Seraph just in case. I have alerted them to my fears. I believe that all of my men are as prepared as I for the coming journey along this black coast and into its mysterious core. I can only hope that preparation will be enough to keep them all alive.

I have not seen Morrigan since my last entry...I fear for her safety, and pray that she has not undertaken something foolish in her current...state. It is not merely her absence that worries me so...it is the suddenness, and my lack of ability to understand her in her current physical form. I also wonder how much of my Morrigan is left in that raven when she turns...and how long she will be able to remain herself, even when human. Do I have months? Years? Or was that last interrupted visit the last I shall ever see of my beloved as I know her? The thought is maddeningly cruel. It is both ill-timed and difficult to set aside, even with the approach of unknown dangers as we prepare to set foot on these forbidding shores.

The sand of this island is black, matching the overcast, smoke-ridden sky. The only real light comes in the form of an eerie flickering glow that emanates from scattered patches of small , opaque blue aether crystal deposits, or "aetherie", which appear to be growing among the bases of the rocks. These deposits alone are a treasure beyond reckoning (aetheric energy is easily obtainable in this crystal form, which we use to provide the spark for our aether cannons and aetheric engines), and I am beginning to suspect rogue pirates as the reason for the disappearance of this mining colony. Whatever the cause truly is remains to be discovered, but I do not expect our discoveries to be either pleasant or easily palatable (if indeed we find anything at all). Mining or scouting in the wild, uncharted regions of this globe has always been a gamble, and I will be shocked to find any of those miners before we are forced to turn back. Such is the game of mining rare ores (in this case, reselientum) in aether-rich regions.

Mr. DuBreens has had a majority of the men busily making repairs to the ship, along with new spider-legged clockwork drones that he insists on using to improve repair productivity. The men continually look at the drones with distrust. Solomon Hungan, the gunnery officer, lives in unabashed terror of the creepy spider-like automatons; Mr. DuBreens and Mr. Hungan have not spoken since an awful shouting match ensued yesterday between them (Mr. DuBreens apparently found one of his spider drones shot through with aether fire and floating alongside the Seraph).

We were able to retrieve the crow's nest, but the mast that held her aloft still begs replacement. I can only pray for a boon from Axiom that the interior of this isle is more lush than the barren black sand of the beach, and that we may find serviceable lumber. Dr. Dayafter and Mr. Hungan have been keeping busy by checking our weapons and supplies for the journey into the lonely looking cavern that appears to be the only entrance to the island interior from this lonely black beach.

This morning, Mr. DuBreens asked Augustus Dayafter and myself to breakfast with him early in the mess pub, so that he could explain some details about the disturbing events that occurred several nights ago. Chef Gregoe supplied a delicious breakfast of sausages, fried eggs and toasted bread, with a large pot of steaming breakfast tea. We encouraged the chef to breakfast with us; the most we could convince him to indulge in with us, however, was a spot of tea. "Oh, I eat all day, gentlemen," he beamed as he watched Aul and I gobble our breakfasts with unmannerly zeal. Augustus, of course, slowly dissected his sausage and eggs, arranging his plate as he slowly took a bite now and then. As Augustus slowly chewed an egg, Aul drained his tea and headed behind the bar for a pint.

"Coptun? Pint?" asked the engineer in his strange, thickly accented brogue.

"Far too early for me, mate."

"Bah. Poofterrr. Anyvone elshe?"

Chef declined with a slight frown. Dr. Dayafter merely placed a leather bag on the table, and began removing an absinthe bottle, an ornate glass, a small pouch of sugar cubes, and a golden absinthe spoon. Mr. DuBreens returned to the table and began his account of the "Night of da Volf".

As the engineer began his account, I could not help noticing that his voice would lapse within sentences from his normally dense Scythian accent (laced with the deep rolling brogue of Kellsian speech). Suddenly the thick Scythian accent would be gone, and he would be speaking the blazingly fast, difficult to understand, pure accent of the Kellsian highlands. I had noticed this on countless occasions, but I could not suppress the question this time.

"Aul, why do you do that?"

"Due whah, Coptun?"

"Ye switch accents as ye speak, mate. I'd think ye a fine actor if I thought ye meant to do it."

"Ach, Coptun, esn't et orbvious? Me moother was frrrom Kells, unt mine fadda vush frrrrom Scythia!"

His reasoning completely eluding me, I decided to drop any further questions. Dr. Dayafter appeared thoroughly amused, while Chef Gregoe looked offended at Dr. Dayafter's apparent dismissal of the remainder of his delicious breakfast. The good doctor absently stirred his absinthe.

During his first pint of ale, Aul went on to explain that the Dayafter werewolf had indeed been securely locked inside of the flying cage at the beginning of the fiasco. Upon devouring the livestock that was placed in the cage with him, the wolf spilled the unfortunate beast's blood and entrails into the sea, possibly summoning the first of the hellsquid, which Mr. DuBreens and Mr. Thorne concur must have been lurking very close beneath the waves already. Thus, the hellsquid began to attack, greatly distracting the crew from their watch of the lycanthrope. DuBreens halted his account, returning to the bar for another pint. I shrugged and added a bit of apple brandy pick me up to mine and the Chef's teacups. The Chef accepted gratefully, now enthralled with the terrible tale of the doctor's awful secret other life.

"DuBreens, old bean, could you please stop referring to my alter ego as `the fuzzy moon doctor?' It's really quite inappropriate."

"Aye", I agreed. "Sounds like yer tryin' to make the nasty beastie who could tear any of us in twain...well....maybe not Chef Gregoe here..." (Chef nodded his agreement, motioning for more apple brandy), "...into a wee pet or summat."

"Vell it'sh a verrry scarrry storrry, innit?!" abashed DuBreens, drinking heavily of his Pint and refilling it before returning to the table. We all sighed and sipped our drinks.

Upon the hellsquid attack, the wolf began kicking at the body of the slain cow whilst gripping onto the blood-slicked bars of the cage. At this point, Aul removed his repeating aetheric blunderbuss, dealing a few nasty wounds to the creature's torso. However, too quickly, the beast was up and jumping again, his wounds healing, testing the durability of his prison. In time, the combined weight of the bovine carcass and the strength of the wolf's thundering blows forced the floor of the cage to collapse, sending the carcass plummeting into the sea. The werewolf, slipping down the bars, began advancing hand over hand along the bottom of the cage, hanging like a monkey beneath it. He began swinging the cage, finally launching himself at the front and flipping himself onto the side of the cage. He slowly advanced to the top of the cage as Aul began shooting the chains that connected the cage to the Seraph. As Aul looked up from his work, the last chain flying away from the now-plummeting loose cage. He watched with dismay as the wolf leapt and snatched the chain with one hand. The wolf slammed into the engine bay door as it began to close, and Mr. DuBreens shot it squarely in the chest with the aetheric blunderbuss. The door closed tight, and Aul raced out of the engine room to the top deck.

At this point, Aul returned for yet another pint, leaving Chef Gregoe greatly agitated. The chef had cleared the plates and brought out a steaming silver coffee service, coffee cups, and plates brimming with sugary, delicate dessert pastries before Aul returned.

By the time Aul arrived on the main deck, the wolf had nimbly climbed the side of the Seraph, then the mast rigging as sailor after distracted sailor took shots at him with their aether rifles. He climbed until he reached the crow's nest, whereupon the frightened lookout dove out of the crow's nest and back into the rigging. The werewolf stayed there for several minutes as Aul began to toll the emergency bell for the Captain. Mr. Deckwalkre climbed the rigging in pursuit of the creature, and there entered into the bloody conflict that ended his life as one of the attacking hellsquid began hovering overhead to attack the Seraph's topsails.

We all sat silently at the end of the tale. Chef Gregoe silently patted a morose Augustus Dayafter on the back.

"Maybe we will have those pints after all, mate," I said.