To those who have followed the journal so far, I'd like to say hello, and thank you so much for your interest in my writing. For those who have been reading the journal over time, thank you for your patience. Please allow me to apologize for the lack of journal entries over the past few months. I felt that you, my readers, deserve an explanation of why you haven't seen a journal post for a while.
The truth is that I was stuck for a bit, and when the gears and cogs started turning again, I realized that the format is what is encumbering me in the story of Mael and his crew. I've never claimed to be an eclectic writer nor a champion wordsmith. This marks my first true attempt at a tale of any length.
What I'm getting at here is that I'm taking a hiatus from this version of the seraph Crew's story in favor of a broader, third-person perspective on things. And I'm going to take the ideas presented here and start on the first of the Seraph novels. I will rework this blog and post the first few chapters of the novel once it is finished, and I will also post links from time to time leading to other blogs where I will be posting my short stories.
I realize I'm leaving this at a cliffhanger, and I realize how much that sucks. Hopefully you can all rest easy in the knowIedge that the account of the island will be covered, in detail, in the novel I'm currently working on. I'm afraid that I just can't agree with the statement that it's better to burn out than fade away. So for now I'm going to fade and reorganize...hopefully emerging with a stronger tale and something worthy of your patience and support.
Thank you all again for your time and interest.
Sincerely,
Shane McElveen
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Taleus 8, 1806: Black Skies
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Thirteenth
Date: Taleus 8, 1806, Year of the Drake
After breakfast this morning, I sent several teams of armed men out in the overcast daylight to collect samples of the aetherie crystals. I stood with Solomon Hungan and two new gunners on the main deck with our aetheric rifles at the ready to protect the teams of men with cover fire. Within a minute of the men's boots leaving the surf, we spotted rapid movement under the sand from the direction of the ocean. Sand rose and split in a long, rapidly accelerating trail. Mr. Hungan called the shot and aimed.
A healthy-sized (8 foot long) tunnel eel burst from the sand, it's jaws crackling with electricity and drawing the aetheric charge from the men's guns as it struck. Mr. Hungan fired on the eel, severing its bottom jaw. The eel's jaw hit the sand, charred and issuing the signature blue smoke of an aetheric energy burn. The rest of the beast flailed madly, and gave Evander Jones a nasty jolt as he met it's top fangs with his saber. Without a full set of jaws, the creature was unable to produce enough electrical charge to either paralyze Mr. Jones or draw the charge from the four-barreled aether pistol he then produced to blast a rather large hole through its sandy skull.
A second eel was upon them in due course, but was ruthlessly dispatched by the vigilant Doctor Dayafter with his rapier and aether pistol before it broke free of the sand. A third eel surfaced beside Chef Gregoe, immediately striking at the massive Chef. His leather-covered chainmail gauntlet saved him from a nasty burn, and he immediately set upon the giant eel with "Papa's knife", a hulking butcher knife with a wickedly sharp, curving edge (our Chef likes to keep all of his good personal knives on him at all times). Chef and his staff proceeded to gut and skin the creature right there on the beach as a calmly intrigued Dr. Dayafter produced several specimen jars.
The fourth, fifth and sixth tunnel eels exploded from the sand near the fresh pile of eel entrails. Fortunately, Mr. Hungan and I had anticipated this. I shot through the eyes of the fourth eel, while one of our new riflemen (Mr. Thurmond Valder) achieved an impressive shot, catching through the fifth eel's head and into the sixth. The men then quickly dispatched the sixth, slightly flailing, eel in short order while I openly bet Valder that he could not repeat that incredible shot. He grinned and accepted the bet for a later time, as we saw that no more eels were arriving to threaten the crew.
The teams arrived back aboard the Seraph before nightfall; a detail that I had been adamant upon. Chef Gregoe prepared both citrus-braised fillets and a rich, tangy stew from the fallen tunnel eels that evening, claiming that there was enough of the eels left for another two meals for the entire crew. The chef also informed me that he was preparing the officers a "special surprise" for tomorrow morning's breakfast, which will be consumed before I lead most of the crew to venture onto the black isle to enter the island cave system.
I have been watching the beaches every night; smoking spicy clove-laced tobacco from father's pipe, with my long aether rifle in my arms and my journal in my long coat's pocket. I do not lack trust in my men to be lookouts during the night's darkest hours. I have simply done this for as long as I can remember, climbing to the highest point on the ship to think and watch the stars ever since I first began sailing as a lad. Being high above sail or zeppelin - close among the heavens - helps me think, I reckon. In truth, I also find it nigh impossible to remain asleep at night without Morrigan with me, so I await her each night atop the crow's nest. I continue to tell myself that one of these nights, my sweet raven will fly back to my shoulder as I maintain my nightly vigil...Axiom, I do prattle on at times.
In any event, I had been spotting movement on the island's shore ever since the Seraph drew close enough to view the beach in detail. Over the past few nights, my telescope revealed roughly human-sized, crab-like crustaceans with many beady black eyes scavenging the black sands after sunset. The creatures walked upon a multitude of tall, spindly legs. Last night, they converged around the remains of the tunnel eel corpses, their large claws surprisingly nimble as they gorged themselves upon the remains with small, razor-sharp teeth. One creature in particular was extremely large, and obviously dominant, as it claimed a large share of the feast (also, its exoskeleton was more faded and battle worn, and sported larger horny growths than the other creatures' shells).
Every so often, another crustacean would try to nick a bit of the leader's food, at which point something incredibly unnerving happened; the dominant crustacean raised the back of its shell, suddenly producing a scorpion-like tail. Within seconds, the challenger did the same. The chitin-armored tails clashed against each other, each striking for purchase at weak spots underneath the other creature's exoskeleton. Within a few minutes of this duel for dominance, the largest scorpion crab (for I have not a better name for them as of yet) seized the stinging tail of the other creature in its massive claw and severed it in twain. As the other crab shrieked with pain, the largest creature struck its neck (or rather what I assumed was its neck) in a fleshy spot where two pieces of exoskeleton met. Even as the creature collapsed, the others were upon it, ripping its exoskeleton apart and devouring the challenger.
At this point, I opened the pocket communicator that DuBreens claims to have finally perfected. The exterior appears to be an ornate silver pocket watch, until one opens the lid, at which point the strange technology of the aether is revealed. I spoke Dr. Dayafter's name into the device. Doctor Dayafter's face appeared with a shaking blue-tinted glow on the lens as I watched it, incredulous that it actually worked.
"I am here, Captain. I say, are you noticing the charming behavior of the local wildlife?"
"I am indeed, Doctor. Prepare a long boat. We'll be going ashore."
Gus raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you planning, Captain?"
"If we remain on that island at nightfall tomorrow and that giant stinging crab gets a chance, he shall have us trapped, and I foresee a possible bloodbath."
"How do you know that the creature is, in fact, a male? Perhaps she is an alpha female."
"Hmm...Could be a queen...Gus, does it matter, or are you just being difficult?"
Dayafter chuckled softly. "I am, in fact, being difficult, Captain. Are you certain of this course of action? Your reasoning is sound, but do you wish to directly confront the creature?"
"No."
I narrowed my gaze at the largest creature. I aimed carefully and fired. The shot was well placed, the blue bolt of aetheric energy burning instantly between the creature's front eyes, and ending with a vague blue glow somewhere within the creature. As it's challenger had before it, the largest crustacean toppled upon its spindly legs and collapsed. The other creatures appeared uncertain of what to do now that their leader was destroyed. I decided to give them some incentive. I felled six more of the scorpion crabs before the others quickly scuttled back into the sea. As the creatures scuttled clumsily from the shore into the brine below, I relaxed a bit.
We boarded the long boats soon after. I turned my gaze to the stars as we rowed in two boats toward the shore; Mr. Hungan, Mr. Jones and several other crewmen volunteered to go with us (Hungan said for our protection, at which point Gus and I shared a careful look; we knew the other volunteers to be confidantes of Jones). No breeze cooled my face; there is a leeching, stagnant humidity about this island that seems to invade the bones. Mist began to roll in from the strange interior of the dark, dormant volcano whose walls dominate the skyline, blocking the interior of the island like a great tower keep. The faintest of blue glows emanated just within the rims of the volcano's black spires. The waves shallowly covered the remaining aetherie crystals (of which there were few) among the rocks on the black beach, lending a ghostly, ethereal quality to the waters.
The men hefted the body of the massive scorpion crab into one long boat. Two more of the smaller bodies were loaded into the other long boat. We were just casting off from the shore when a shriek issued from deep inside the island. I recognized the sound from very painful memories. It was the unmistakable shriek of a woman being tormented. One thought overcame me...
"Morrigan?!" I started toward the caverns, drawing my pistol, feeling the heavy weight of upcoming deathly folly before me if I chose this course. Something insidiously malign lingered on this island. A thin-fingered hand closed quickly over my shoulder.
"Captain..." began Dr. Dayafter quietly.
"I know, Gus!" I hissed. "Axiom damn me, I know." I stopped in the sand, slowly holstering my pistol. At that moment, a terrible wailing roar pierced the night, echoing around us. The men began exchanging meaningful looks and cursing. They hastily began casting away toward the Seraph, and I backed away to join them.
"On the morrow, Mael," Gus replied calmly, his eyes on the caves. "On the morrow."
I nodded and returned to the left long boat with Gus, two men behind us.
We rowed slowly toward the Seraph, weighed down considerably by the dead crab creatures. In the boat beside us, I heard Evander Jones grumbling mutinously to the man behind him in low tones.
"This was a stupid risk...all fer some damn crab meat? And that shriek...knew having a woman on board was bad luck. Never should've..." mumbled Jones. I growled, drawing my saber in a smooth motion and slashing a long scar across Jones' face. Jones drew his four-barreled pistol, murder in his eyes.
The smooth click and electric buzz of an aether gun rang out suddenly, and everyone stopped. The barrel of Solomon Hungan's aether pistol nestled against the back of Mr. Jones' neck.
Solomon growled curses in some dark, forbidden language as his right arm draped lazily over the crewman in front of him, one pistol still lodged just above Jones' shoulder blades. The other pistol rested on the other shoulder of the crewman in front of him.
Directly behind me, two more sets of buzzing clicks followed. Dr. Dayafter's pistols pointed at the crewman behind him and the crewman behind Hungan in the other long boat. I watched Jones intently, then took the opportunity to strike, slipping the tip of my blade under his pistol's trigger guard, and flicking it forcefully onto the beach behind us. Jones raised his other hand.
"Wait!" yelled Hullman, the crewman behind Gus. "We can negotiate..."
Two aether shots sizzled and exploded in the night, making a disgusting, burnt framework of Jones' head. His hand dropped a small, hidden knife into the long boat as his body sprawled backward into the sea, splashing hard and disappearing beneath white foam and lapping waves. The barrels of Gus and Solomon's pistols billowed blue smoke.
"Would anyone else like to negotiate?" asked Gus loudly to the other gentlemen. The other men were very pale, and very quiet.
"Good," I replied, sheathing my saber. "If any of you lads chooses to continue Jones' mutiny, I shall cut ye down and leave ye twitching for the giant crabs. Do we have an accord, gentlemen?"
Their replies were all affirmative.
"Very well. Let's get back to the Seraph before those crab creatures get a taste of Jones and decide they want more of what be riding in the longboats."
The boats drew ever closer to the Seraph's engine bay. Aul du Breens stood at the open bay doors, holding a lantern and his short blunderbuss rifle. His spider monkey, Crash, sat upon his shoulder. As we drew alongside, Chef arrived and directed the crewmen to carry the crab carcasses into the walk-in freezer beside the galley (another marvel of aetheric science that resembles a giant metal ice box...I shall have to go into more detail on this at another time, however, for the hour is late). Not a word was spoken as the engine bay door closed. I nodded at the men, gave Solomon and Gus thankful cuffs on the shoulder, and headed for my quarters.
On the morrow, we shall enter that forbidding cave beyond the island shore, and see what we shall see. The scream...the roar...I am not entirely certain what they might mean. I can only pray that the shriek we heard was not my beloved Morrigan. If I did not have my crew to think of, I would be in that cave already. However, I do, and that hour will come all too quickly. I should attempt to sleep, though I know I cannot. Perhaps my next entry shall not be so bleak.
Axiom help us.
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Thirteenth
Date: Taleus 8, 1806, Year of the Drake
After breakfast this morning, I sent several teams of armed men out in the overcast daylight to collect samples of the aetherie crystals. I stood with Solomon Hungan and two new gunners on the main deck with our aetheric rifles at the ready to protect the teams of men with cover fire. Within a minute of the men's boots leaving the surf, we spotted rapid movement under the sand from the direction of the ocean. Sand rose and split in a long, rapidly accelerating trail. Mr. Hungan called the shot and aimed.
A healthy-sized (8 foot long) tunnel eel burst from the sand, it's jaws crackling with electricity and drawing the aetheric charge from the men's guns as it struck. Mr. Hungan fired on the eel, severing its bottom jaw. The eel's jaw hit the sand, charred and issuing the signature blue smoke of an aetheric energy burn. The rest of the beast flailed madly, and gave Evander Jones a nasty jolt as he met it's top fangs with his saber. Without a full set of jaws, the creature was unable to produce enough electrical charge to either paralyze Mr. Jones or draw the charge from the four-barreled aether pistol he then produced to blast a rather large hole through its sandy skull.
A second eel was upon them in due course, but was ruthlessly dispatched by the vigilant Doctor Dayafter with his rapier and aether pistol before it broke free of the sand. A third eel surfaced beside Chef Gregoe, immediately striking at the massive Chef. His leather-covered chainmail gauntlet saved him from a nasty burn, and he immediately set upon the giant eel with "Papa's knife", a hulking butcher knife with a wickedly sharp, curving edge (our Chef likes to keep all of his good personal knives on him at all times). Chef and his staff proceeded to gut and skin the creature right there on the beach as a calmly intrigued Dr. Dayafter produced several specimen jars.
The fourth, fifth and sixth tunnel eels exploded from the sand near the fresh pile of eel entrails. Fortunately, Mr. Hungan and I had anticipated this. I shot through the eyes of the fourth eel, while one of our new riflemen (Mr. Thurmond Valder) achieved an impressive shot, catching through the fifth eel's head and into the sixth. The men then quickly dispatched the sixth, slightly flailing, eel in short order while I openly bet Valder that he could not repeat that incredible shot. He grinned and accepted the bet for a later time, as we saw that no more eels were arriving to threaten the crew.
The teams arrived back aboard the Seraph before nightfall; a detail that I had been adamant upon. Chef Gregoe prepared both citrus-braised fillets and a rich, tangy stew from the fallen tunnel eels that evening, claiming that there was enough of the eels left for another two meals for the entire crew. The chef also informed me that he was preparing the officers a "special surprise" for tomorrow morning's breakfast, which will be consumed before I lead most of the crew to venture onto the black isle to enter the island cave system.
I have been watching the beaches every night; smoking spicy clove-laced tobacco from father's pipe, with my long aether rifle in my arms and my journal in my long coat's pocket. I do not lack trust in my men to be lookouts during the night's darkest hours. I have simply done this for as long as I can remember, climbing to the highest point on the ship to think and watch the stars ever since I first began sailing as a lad. Being high above sail or zeppelin - close among the heavens - helps me think, I reckon. In truth, I also find it nigh impossible to remain asleep at night without Morrigan with me, so I await her each night atop the crow's nest. I continue to tell myself that one of these nights, my sweet raven will fly back to my shoulder as I maintain my nightly vigil...Axiom, I do prattle on at times.
In any event, I had been spotting movement on the island's shore ever since the Seraph drew close enough to view the beach in detail. Over the past few nights, my telescope revealed roughly human-sized, crab-like crustaceans with many beady black eyes scavenging the black sands after sunset. The creatures walked upon a multitude of tall, spindly legs. Last night, they converged around the remains of the tunnel eel corpses, their large claws surprisingly nimble as they gorged themselves upon the remains with small, razor-sharp teeth. One creature in particular was extremely large, and obviously dominant, as it claimed a large share of the feast (also, its exoskeleton was more faded and battle worn, and sported larger horny growths than the other creatures' shells).
Every so often, another crustacean would try to nick a bit of the leader's food, at which point something incredibly unnerving happened; the dominant crustacean raised the back of its shell, suddenly producing a scorpion-like tail. Within seconds, the challenger did the same. The chitin-armored tails clashed against each other, each striking for purchase at weak spots underneath the other creature's exoskeleton. Within a few minutes of this duel for dominance, the largest scorpion crab (for I have not a better name for them as of yet) seized the stinging tail of the other creature in its massive claw and severed it in twain. As the other crab shrieked with pain, the largest creature struck its neck (or rather what I assumed was its neck) in a fleshy spot where two pieces of exoskeleton met. Even as the creature collapsed, the others were upon it, ripping its exoskeleton apart and devouring the challenger.
At this point, I opened the pocket communicator that DuBreens claims to have finally perfected. The exterior appears to be an ornate silver pocket watch, until one opens the lid, at which point the strange technology of the aether is revealed. I spoke Dr. Dayafter's name into the device. Doctor Dayafter's face appeared with a shaking blue-tinted glow on the lens as I watched it, incredulous that it actually worked.
"I am here, Captain. I say, are you noticing the charming behavior of the local wildlife?"
"I am indeed, Doctor. Prepare a long boat. We'll be going ashore."
Gus raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you planning, Captain?"
"If we remain on that island at nightfall tomorrow and that giant stinging crab gets a chance, he shall have us trapped, and I foresee a possible bloodbath."
"How do you know that the creature is, in fact, a male? Perhaps she is an alpha female."
"Hmm...Could be a queen...Gus, does it matter, or are you just being difficult?"
Dayafter chuckled softly. "I am, in fact, being difficult, Captain. Are you certain of this course of action? Your reasoning is sound, but do you wish to directly confront the creature?"
"No."
I narrowed my gaze at the largest creature. I aimed carefully and fired. The shot was well placed, the blue bolt of aetheric energy burning instantly between the creature's front eyes, and ending with a vague blue glow somewhere within the creature. As it's challenger had before it, the largest crustacean toppled upon its spindly legs and collapsed. The other creatures appeared uncertain of what to do now that their leader was destroyed. I decided to give them some incentive. I felled six more of the scorpion crabs before the others quickly scuttled back into the sea. As the creatures scuttled clumsily from the shore into the brine below, I relaxed a bit.
We boarded the long boats soon after. I turned my gaze to the stars as we rowed in two boats toward the shore; Mr. Hungan, Mr. Jones and several other crewmen volunteered to go with us (Hungan said for our protection, at which point Gus and I shared a careful look; we knew the other volunteers to be confidantes of Jones). No breeze cooled my face; there is a leeching, stagnant humidity about this island that seems to invade the bones. Mist began to roll in from the strange interior of the dark, dormant volcano whose walls dominate the skyline, blocking the interior of the island like a great tower keep. The faintest of blue glows emanated just within the rims of the volcano's black spires. The waves shallowly covered the remaining aetherie crystals (of which there were few) among the rocks on the black beach, lending a ghostly, ethereal quality to the waters.
The men hefted the body of the massive scorpion crab into one long boat. Two more of the smaller bodies were loaded into the other long boat. We were just casting off from the shore when a shriek issued from deep inside the island. I recognized the sound from very painful memories. It was the unmistakable shriek of a woman being tormented. One thought overcame me...
"Morrigan?!" I started toward the caverns, drawing my pistol, feeling the heavy weight of upcoming deathly folly before me if I chose this course. Something insidiously malign lingered on this island. A thin-fingered hand closed quickly over my shoulder.
"Captain..." began Dr. Dayafter quietly.
"I know, Gus!" I hissed. "Axiom damn me, I know." I stopped in the sand, slowly holstering my pistol. At that moment, a terrible wailing roar pierced the night, echoing around us. The men began exchanging meaningful looks and cursing. They hastily began casting away toward the Seraph, and I backed away to join them.
"On the morrow, Mael," Gus replied calmly, his eyes on the caves. "On the morrow."
I nodded and returned to the left long boat with Gus, two men behind us.
We rowed slowly toward the Seraph, weighed down considerably by the dead crab creatures. In the boat beside us, I heard Evander Jones grumbling mutinously to the man behind him in low tones.
"This was a stupid risk...all fer some damn crab meat? And that shriek...knew having a woman on board was bad luck. Never should've..." mumbled Jones. I growled, drawing my saber in a smooth motion and slashing a long scar across Jones' face. Jones drew his four-barreled pistol, murder in his eyes.
The smooth click and electric buzz of an aether gun rang out suddenly, and everyone stopped. The barrel of Solomon Hungan's aether pistol nestled against the back of Mr. Jones' neck.
Solomon growled curses in some dark, forbidden language as his right arm draped lazily over the crewman in front of him, one pistol still lodged just above Jones' shoulder blades. The other pistol rested on the other shoulder of the crewman in front of him.
Directly behind me, two more sets of buzzing clicks followed. Dr. Dayafter's pistols pointed at the crewman behind him and the crewman behind Hungan in the other long boat. I watched Jones intently, then took the opportunity to strike, slipping the tip of my blade under his pistol's trigger guard, and flicking it forcefully onto the beach behind us. Jones raised his other hand.
"Wait!" yelled Hullman, the crewman behind Gus. "We can negotiate..."
Two aether shots sizzled and exploded in the night, making a disgusting, burnt framework of Jones' head. His hand dropped a small, hidden knife into the long boat as his body sprawled backward into the sea, splashing hard and disappearing beneath white foam and lapping waves. The barrels of Gus and Solomon's pistols billowed blue smoke.
"Would anyone else like to negotiate?" asked Gus loudly to the other gentlemen. The other men were very pale, and very quiet.
"Good," I replied, sheathing my saber. "If any of you lads chooses to continue Jones' mutiny, I shall cut ye down and leave ye twitching for the giant crabs. Do we have an accord, gentlemen?"
Their replies were all affirmative.
"Very well. Let's get back to the Seraph before those crab creatures get a taste of Jones and decide they want more of what be riding in the longboats."
The boats drew ever closer to the Seraph's engine bay. Aul du Breens stood at the open bay doors, holding a lantern and his short blunderbuss rifle. His spider monkey, Crash, sat upon his shoulder. As we drew alongside, Chef arrived and directed the crewmen to carry the crab carcasses into the walk-in freezer beside the galley (another marvel of aetheric science that resembles a giant metal ice box...I shall have to go into more detail on this at another time, however, for the hour is late). Not a word was spoken as the engine bay door closed. I nodded at the men, gave Solomon and Gus thankful cuffs on the shoulder, and headed for my quarters.
On the morrow, we shall enter that forbidding cave beyond the island shore, and see what we shall see. The scream...the roar...I am not entirely certain what they might mean. I can only pray that the shriek we heard was not my beloved Morrigan. If I did not have my crew to think of, I would be in that cave already. However, I do, and that hour will come all too quickly. I should attempt to sleep, though I know I cannot. Perhaps my next entry shall not be so bleak.
Axiom help us.
- Mael
Thursday, July 10, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Taleus 4, 1806: The Fangs of Salamandrius
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Eleventh
Date: Taleus 4, 1806, Year of the Drake
We are mere days away from Salamandrius. The concerted hellsquid attack has crippled the Seraph's flying abilities temporarily. However, even with the current sailing state of the Seraph, the wind has been extremely favorable (thanks to our navigator), and we are only a few days behind schedule. Mr. DuBreens has been hard at work with a team of men, racing along the vessel and fixing what is broken - improving on structural weaknesses. The engineer seems to have taken it as a personal insult that the hellsquid were capable of the vast amount of damage that their attack wreaked upon "his ship".
The crew has been quiet...morale is low. I really can't blame them. Even from this distance, plumes of thick black smoke from the great isle of Salamandrius' thin volcano spires are visible on the horizon. Even this far out from the island, we are forced to carefully navigate through the treacherous "Fangs of Salamandrius", tall, sharp deposits of yellow rock that jut from the sea floor like ancient, weathered talons. It seems that both the sun and hope itself have abandoned this place.
The men avoid the doctor, who takes his meals privately now. I have pleaded with him (indeed, I even admit to commanding him) to at least dine with the officers, but he always finds an excuse of late to have his meals brought to his lab, where he has spent every waking hour preparing the ingredients that he has for the wolfsbane potion, as well as sending carrier hawks out to the Signet and acquaintances from past adventures who might be able to provide either the preventative potion's missing ingredients, or their whereabouts. He attempts to mask it around me, but it is apparent that he has settled into a severe malaise after the incident with the wolf several nights ago. I am concerned about his state of mind, especially as we near an unknown and almost certainly dangerous situation once we arrive at Salamandrius.
What concerns me more is why the hellsquid are suddenly attacking in packs, when they have previously acted only as solitary creatures. Most curious, indeed. I was made aware of this fact as I sat upright in bed, restlessly recuperating from my injuries. Dr. Dayafter was mauling me with clinical detachment in a game of chess as we discussed how best to approach the mysteries of Salamandrius.
"Check mate, Captain," said the doctor solemnly, cleaning his multi-lensed glasses.
"You cheated, you quack", I said, nicking the glasses and carefully examining the board. The doctor swiftly retrieved his glasses, barely containing a smile.
"Drink your rum, Captain. Then you can cry into the glass."
I was examining the devastation of my small wooden platoon (and, indeed, imbibing a healthy dose of rum) when the navigator, Mr. Thorne, knocked at the door. He entered tentatively, looking sweaty and distraught. This did not overly alarm me, as Mr. Thorne often appears sweaty and distraught. Mr. Thorne is quite an accomplished naturalist; an avid student of nature. He has been studying the hellsquid since his first encounter with them, and has never, on any vessel, experienced a group attack of hellsquid.
"It was almost as if..." the navigator began, then dismissed the thought, but I coaxed the rest of the thought from him, "...as if something were controlling them."
"Is that possible?" Dr. Dayafter asked, waking momentarily from his malaise.
"We've seen stranger things, gentlemen," Mr. Thorne replied, looking a bit peaked.
"Aye, and I'll wager we see even worse on this accursed isle," I groaned, laying back on my pillow. "I wonder if there's a connection between the hellsquid pack and Salamandrius."
We discussed a strategy, and continued the conversation with the other ship's officers at supper. It was the first night I was allowed to walk the decks again, and I dare say the men were actually glad to see me. I visited the Seraph's on-board tavern which serves as the crew's mess and recreational hall after a savory meal which seemed to contain all of my favorites (Chef Gregoe admitted later that this was no accident). After a bit of carousing, the officers and I (sans the doctor, of course) seemed to have gained the crew's good graces once again, at least for tonight. Several of the crewman retired as I arrived, apparently led by the surly Mr. Evander Jones. I'll be keeping both eyes on that one, just in case.
I retired to my chambers and picked up Morrigan's letter, smelling her perfume upon it. Even as I did, she was upon my shoulder, ruffling her feathers and nipping at my ear. I smiled at her. Cold black raven's eyes stared back, and she cawed. I can only suppose that my smile disappeared, as she immediately blinked and flew out of the nearest window. I looked back down at the letter and finished reading, a tear falling and transforming the careful, precise pen strokes into a small blot of grey. I folded the letter, placing it in a drawer with several others.
I retired then, extinguishing the lanterns. I know not where Morrigan goes during these times when we both grieve over her raven state and the separation that occurs between us, or what problems these fugues may bring in the future. I wonder sometimes if this was a mistake...this "star-crossed romance", as the bards say. If it merely appealed to the pirate in me and the courtier in her as a romantic literary notion...or if, perhaps, this is something more genuine.
It is not easy for a man like me to recognize love...to distinguish it from the countless random encounters and flings that I have had. For Axiom's sake, I used to bed foreign officials' wives merely to retrieve national secrets. Perhaps we're both merely tired of being a sexual novelty. Perhaps we'll never know.
I'm done waxing poetic for now. Perhaps I'll continue tomorrow (more likely, perhaps not). Either way, more later.
- Mael
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Taleus 1, 1806: Chaos In The Skies, Tertiary Tale
From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Tenth
Date: Taleus 1, 1806, Year of the Drake
I briefly regained consciousness on the 28th, just after dawn. My head was pounding from dull pain. A crowd of people was gathered in the infirmary; several men armed and standing directly beside the unconscious body of Dr. Dayafter. He was under a white sheet, bound by rope and chain to a metal surgical table. His eyelids flickered, and then opened, focusing on me. Within seconds his awakened mind registered what I assume was my hastily bandaged form lying on a surgical table beside him. I can only assume from his aghast expression that I looked as dapper and hardy as I felt.
His throat dry, he silently mouthed, "Mael...I'm so sorry..." Then the room slowly faded to black, and I was unconscious once more.
Upon my second waking, I arose at 10 of the morning on the 29th, groaning with incredible soreness as I attempted to sit up in the thin infirmary bed, tossing the white sheets away from me. My chest and stomach were heavily bandaged, as was my left arm. Suddenly but with a gentle pressure, Augustus' hand appeared and pushed me back to the bed.
"Not yet, oh fearless leader. It took far too much effort stitching you up to have you destroying all of my work in one brash sitting," the doctor chided with a friendly - if forced - smirk. I focused on his face; a thin, pale scar ran a short, vertical line down the bridge of his nose. Another identical scar resided under his chin.
"I thank you for besting my feral alter ego, Captain. I am..." his eyes dropped, and he coughed roughly - a sound etched with growling, whining undertones - into a white handkerchief, visibly out of sorts.
"I vowed to you that I would see the wolf stopped if ever we met again," I interrupted, painfully lifting my hand to his shoulder. "Never was your fault what that blasted beast sets his mind to do...won't hear of you blaming yourself for it. We've been through this before. Just need to get more ingredients so you can make that preventative potion before another month passes. Have to be more prepared next time is all," I whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth. Even speaking was painful.
"Of course, Captain," Augustus replied, still looking down. "...but Mr. Deckwalkre..."
"...is dead. I shut his eyes and prayed him onward," I offered. "T'weren't your curse that killed Deckwalkre...t'was my own."
"Surely you don't still believe in that silly old `Death of All First Mates' curse, Mael?" We stared at each other.
"How many of my first mates have died since Diabolique dropped that jealous hoodoo on my head, Doctor?"
Augustus sighed, "All of them, Captain."
"I said we'll take care of it, Doctor. So far, the men are adjusting. We're finding and taking on an alchemist next civilized port we find after that gods cursed island, so either you or Aul need to start making a place for him." Again we both stared stubbornly at each other. Finally, he nodded and cleared his throat. I nodded and lowered my head to the pillow again, exhaling in relief.
"So, Doctor, will I live?"
"Sadly, yes. I should tell you 'No' after this ghastly scar you've given me...however, I must insist that you remain in bed until tomorrow. After that..."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he seemed adamant on this point, so I nodded agreement. I reckoned that winning two of three verbal bouts with the good doctor was a fine track record for one sitting.
"...after that, I want you resting in your cabin for a full two days unless you are called on deck for an emergency. Until then, Mr. Thorne, Mr. Hungan and Mr. DuBreens will run the ship for you."
"How's Morrigan?"
"As well as can be expected. She left a note for you in your chambers." With that, the doctor was upon me with a tray full of potives to administer. Within a few minutes, I was higher than the Seraph herself, all of my cares vanishing to the salty sea winds...and once again, I gave in to the spreading darkness, and flew on waves of chemically induced ecstasy.
"I am glad that I entrusted you with the dagger, Mael," said the doctor's voice through the swirling darkness.
Here ends of the "Chaos in The Skies" Tales (at least the account by my pen).
- Mael
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Tenth
Date: Taleus 1, 1806, Year of the Drake
I briefly regained consciousness on the 28th, just after dawn. My head was pounding from dull pain. A crowd of people was gathered in the infirmary; several men armed and standing directly beside the unconscious body of Dr. Dayafter. He was under a white sheet, bound by rope and chain to a metal surgical table. His eyelids flickered, and then opened, focusing on me. Within seconds his awakened mind registered what I assume was my hastily bandaged form lying on a surgical table beside him. I can only assume from his aghast expression that I looked as dapper and hardy as I felt.
His throat dry, he silently mouthed, "Mael...I'm so sorry..." Then the room slowly faded to black, and I was unconscious once more.
Upon my second waking, I arose at 10 of the morning on the 29th, groaning with incredible soreness as I attempted to sit up in the thin infirmary bed, tossing the white sheets away from me. My chest and stomach were heavily bandaged, as was my left arm. Suddenly but with a gentle pressure, Augustus' hand appeared and pushed me back to the bed.
"Not yet, oh fearless leader. It took far too much effort stitching you up to have you destroying all of my work in one brash sitting," the doctor chided with a friendly - if forced - smirk. I focused on his face; a thin, pale scar ran a short, vertical line down the bridge of his nose. Another identical scar resided under his chin.
"I thank you for besting my feral alter ego, Captain. I am..." his eyes dropped, and he coughed roughly - a sound etched with growling, whining undertones - into a white handkerchief, visibly out of sorts.
"I vowed to you that I would see the wolf stopped if ever we met again," I interrupted, painfully lifting my hand to his shoulder. "Never was your fault what that blasted beast sets his mind to do...won't hear of you blaming yourself for it. We've been through this before. Just need to get more ingredients so you can make that preventative potion before another month passes. Have to be more prepared next time is all," I whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth. Even speaking was painful.
"Of course, Captain," Augustus replied, still looking down. "...but Mr. Deckwalkre..."
"...is dead. I shut his eyes and prayed him onward," I offered. "T'weren't your curse that killed Deckwalkre...t'was my own."
"Surely you don't still believe in that silly old `Death of All First Mates' curse, Mael?" We stared at each other.
"How many of my first mates have died since Diabolique dropped that jealous hoodoo on my head, Doctor?"
Augustus sighed, "All of them, Captain."
"See no reason I shouldn't believe in it, then."
"Captain, the men. I can't transform again in front of these men. They already seem terrified of me...""I said we'll take care of it, Doctor. So far, the men are adjusting. We're finding and taking on an alchemist next civilized port we find after that gods cursed island, so either you or Aul need to start making a place for him." Again we both stared stubbornly at each other. Finally, he nodded and cleared his throat. I nodded and lowered my head to the pillow again, exhaling in relief.
"So, Doctor, will I live?"
"Sadly, yes. I should tell you 'No' after this ghastly scar you've given me...however, I must insist that you remain in bed until tomorrow. After that..."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he seemed adamant on this point, so I nodded agreement. I reckoned that winning two of three verbal bouts with the good doctor was a fine track record for one sitting.
"...after that, I want you resting in your cabin for a full two days unless you are called on deck for an emergency. Until then, Mr. Thorne, Mr. Hungan and Mr. DuBreens will run the ship for you."
"How's Morrigan?"
"As well as can be expected. She left a note for you in your chambers." With that, the doctor was upon me with a tray full of potives to administer. Within a few minutes, I was higher than the Seraph herself, all of my cares vanishing to the salty sea winds...and once again, I gave in to the spreading darkness, and flew on waves of chemically induced ecstasy.
"I am glad that I entrusted you with the dagger, Mael," said the doctor's voice through the swirling darkness.
Here ends of the "Chaos in The Skies" Tales (at least the account by my pen).
- Mael
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
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
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
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Genvieve 30, 1806: Chaos In The Skies, Primary Entry
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
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
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