Rumble.... Rumble.... Crackle-Boom!
"What the hell! The ceiling is gone!"
Wide-eyed, and pulled straight from his dreams, Welkin, stared mouth gaped for a couple seconds at the missing quarter sized chunk of the roof. Till he heard the Freak barking out orders at the highest speed and voice. Thundering commands to sustain the already burden apparatuses down below deck. The airship sunk lower and faster as the Sky Net machinery had already fallen. Allowing ample occasions for the wind pushing down on the ship.
"They're going above us, Captain!" The entire crew froze in fear for a good second and pressed even more obstinate in the face of one of the most venomous and cruel tactics in an airship battle, Ammunition Jettison. Not only possessing an abhorrent potential for the ship below but also for the weakest part of the attacker's airship, the keel. The raining explosives, poisons, acids, Ignition oil, and magic. The list of weapon varied upon a ship to ship basis. Nevertheless, these were the most common and feared. Welkin felt his knees becoming weak standing to the cabin door.
Outside the room, the Family Advisor sat legs apart and nailed to the opposite door. A sword length splinter wedge between his chest and stomach into the diaphragm. Blood still flowing from his mouth after death, an inferior health potion and green poisoned dagger lay in both hands. Welkin didn't see any of this, he only saw the ugly, hatred and crazed-eyed expression that lingered after death.
H-he's dead... he's gone... why
Stumbling to his room he immediately puked for a solid minute. The stench waft upwards to the cries of the crew's retaliation against those damning bandits. Calming done from a violent shake to a steady tremble, Welkin stood up.
"I can't die here, I need more... I need more life to live. I will live!
Okay, where's my rucksack, it should have the key."
Shifting frantically in pockets and hidden compartments, the keys still are not to be found.
"Shit, shit, shit, damn it all. Where're the keys!
Only I have been in this room this entire voyage, so know one else could have-"
Suddenly an image I wanted to forget popped out of nowhere. The Advisor, Bramwell, laid sitting against the door outside of the cabin. Convoluted expressions followed by two hands, one with a green dagger and a health potion.
"He was trying to kill me!... Wait, calm down. He could have appeared to protect and escort me to the safe room. He's definitely here for me his room is the closest to the safe room, he had no other relations to the crew other than me. I n-need to search him."
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Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.
Screams of order turn to warcries.
"Bloody fuckers have boarded us from above!"
"You fuckers stop that guessing what they're here for! Kill them all!" Freak boomed around a mile round.
The 80 to 90 bandits were not pirates by no means. They were in derelict conditions, wounded, diseased, starved. They could not manoeuvre with the expertise of seasoned sailors. This made them even more dangerous, as for one, they would manoeuvre obvious tactics that most pirates avoided. Second, bandits did not adapt well to the air like those whose job align with the sky.
This was why despite realising the airship was controlled by bandits, the crew was stunned by the blunt and direct attack. Making it difficult to react to unorthodox methods, however, now only a single round of cannon fire could blow the bandits out of the sky. But once again, the foolish bandits turn insane boarded them! No one would profit in terms of the crew lost in battle. While cargo is important for success trade, cargo without crew meant nothing if one wasn't already at a port.
A wily figure emerges from the crowd of bandits, pale-faced from the strength of the merchant airship it was the leader. Mumbling to himself, "What the are these badasses doing on a bug rank ship? Fuck my luck."
Putting on an arrogant face, the leader saunter to the front of the bandits who had to regroup into a defensive position to protect their leader otherwise known as their employer. Noticing the undying and bloodied faces on the opposite side of the deck his face darken.
"Captain of this bug rank, order your men down or watch them fall one by one. We have you outnumbered 1 to 3, your crew is only little more levelled than ours." Speaking slowing so the words would register within the merchants' mind, the crew only became more insulted.
"Fuck off!"
"Yeah, we may be outnumbered by you but you'll still die!"
"Stupid cunts!"
Curses and vulgar oath were thrown to the now uncertain bandits. Knowing his uplifting morale tactic not only failed, he just realised would most likely lose a lot of his men. At the edge of a cliff, he could go forwards in his attack on the airship. Gritting his teeth, an overly ripe fruit odour erupted from him as a murky aura surrounded him.
"Shout all you want, look at yourselves. You are already down by five sailors and We've only lost 13. Die!"
Charging forth, the leader felt heavy in his heart. Cursing himself for being inexperienced he knew this attack would make or break his current career.
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Opening the door with now stained sleeves, I most likely resembled a cat about to jump at any movement. Softly treading to the now dark bloodied man the above deck explodes with a battle. I scream "What the hell?!"
My heart beat should have never been this loud ever. I need to calm down. close my eyes and take a deep breath and search Bramwell. Counting his items I find a couple necessary clues for his weird behaviour.
Bramwell's inventory
Weapons: Poisoned knife Plain pen ----------------------- Condition: New Clothing: Studded Coat Leather shoes Belted tunic Condition: Bloodied/Ripped Potions: Lesser health Bad smelling Acid Sleeping mixture Condition: unknown Keyes: Cabin 34 (CU) Bramwell's safe (Fe) ----------------------- Condition: New
Grabbing all the small items and throwing them into the leather knapsack. I recalled the consistent cries of pain sounding from the deck. Running to down a stairway the sunlight that once shone through the ceiling was replaced with oil lamplight.
Ow, my eyes weren't ready for the darker corridors. I just for a while.
Standing I keep imaging Bramwell, cold lifeless, that same surreal feeling appeared like someone would say 'Got Ya!' but it never came. Resolving myself I find Bramwell's cabin, unsurprisingly locked. Using the Key I picked up, the door creaked open to a very neat, and at the same time bestrewed room.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Still feeling the vibrations of the battle above deck I make haste on the search for the safe room key. Stubbing my toe whilst examining the bed I found myself lugging a large iron chest, that must've been above 100 kilogrammes. Red face and coughing I enter the key. Listening to the screams above for the last quarter of an hour I enjoy the symphony of pressurised air and iron ticks discharged from the mechanisms within.
Iron Chest (unlocked)
Ruets: Weapon: Documents: Misc. 64 Small Air Pistol Marriage Letter
Safe Room Key
Looking through the compartments, "Holy... 64 Reuts... that could sustain a bug ranked crew and ship for weeks. Assuming they're successfully trading under a monopoly like salt or spices. Someone could start a business, even a small ground level business. According to the economy volumes in the library."
Stunned for a couple of seconds, the intervallic battle noise awake me from the grandeur of the small silver coins. Filling the knapsack halfway full, I put the pistol into the side coat pocket and the key into my shoe. "Looks like I'm done here."
Walking out of the room, I walk back in with a red face.
"Ahem, I guess this is the cause of the whole conspiracy. Books speaking, it's always the marriage partners' families that try to break up the union because of business opportunities or of the such."
Rubbing my fingers, I felt somewhat pitiful... and somewhat happy to be found in such a story-like setting. It could almost block out the battle... Oh yeah, I probably should make way for the safe room.
Two minutes later the battle quite down to just sabre and pistol shots.
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"..."
"... You're... the only one."
Flesh ripped into ribbons and clothes caked into his skin, the bandit swayed left to right, never turning away from the five remaining merchant crew still standing. Opening his mouth words couldn't come out, only a croak. Noticing how the situation had fallen from unadvantageous to a complete wipe of his trusted subordinates. The middle-aged man's eyes darken, thinking of how he would die from his piss-poor luck made a sinister and wrathful gleam appear in his aura, making his iron-shaving scent turn rotten like sulphur.
The merchants noticing the change felt their throats stricken by a fraction of a second. Thinking stimulatingly 'What the hell, he made a breakthrough during a fight?' Taking a defensive formation the merchant slowly positioned themselves to the higher deck for strategical purposes albeit minuscule.
The Bandit leader's swaying stopped and a smile curled something sinister, the light was finally gone from his eyes. The man was broken, the lost of his crew and future had destroyed his hopes of buying an estate to run a business on while playing with noble women in the lower city. This provoked the most hidden and limit guarding a person had. Turning his race's potential to its most basic form, in short, an animal's potential.
The blood stopped, and the ribbons began to fuse back together with an unhealthy red colour. Roaring into the vast blue like a common beast then ran, dropped onto all fours. The distance closing the finale men and women had their life flash with their resolves following
'I can't die here!
My child needs the herbs from my pay to live on!
I want to watch Ruben live happily unlike my life!
I need to make this pay so I can restore my village!
I want to embrace ten women at once, how can I when I've died!'
With a battle cry, the two parties' distance closes, one attacking and defending.
"Aaaah
Diiiieee!
Go to hell!"
Preparing to leap into the air the Bandit's smile stricken like ice, then fell face first into the deck with all the momentum he had put in his charge. Looking closely, a hand was grasping the ankle of the man. The hand came out from some bandit corpses, clean and unmarred. The person that had tripped up the crazed monster... was Freak himself.
"Oi oi, you kill over ten of my people and expect to get away with mutual destruction?"
Crack! The most blood curling scream emerges from the bandit, his spine and ribs splintered and broke from the Captain's stomp. Still animalistic, and screaming the bandit tried to run away without regard to where or how far he could go.
"Piece of shit, even though I could beat the shit out of every one of you filth you had to bring over 80 men just to get the job done?! You dare murder, my crew?!"
Stomping without the goofy and fatherly like atmosphere the Freak went from a dandy persona into a near manic one. Torturing the man by destroying all the bones that cause immense pain like the femur, not killing himself.
Ten minutes later, exhausted physically and emotionally from the loss of the hope-driven people he'd worked with for the past weeks, Freak gave a last hard punch to the flesh warped face, then preceded to cast the garbage overbroad without looking.
Taking a couple breaths he finally checked up on the remaining stunned and shaking people that look on in horror. Not even the derelict slums where races of all kinds were captured for slaves or forced labour. Rumours of the new week rape or murder could prepare them for the harshness of the unlawfulness of the sky. Calming themselves down didn't take long, they realised in the end... they were alive, and it was thanks to the legend himself that supported the poor with housing and trade. In a way it made them subconsciously put their faith into him, this was what all captains possessed, the actions and motives of a leader. Not just words thought and beliefs. The rage he felt towards the bandits were because of his crew not because of loss of payment or anything of the sort.
Before any words could be thanked from the sailors, Freak gave an order "As the mission has digressed so far, its no longer has importance to mention this... The reason for the attack on us right now is because of Welkin."
"The Captain's wealthy nephew?"
"No, he's not my nephew, he is the reason for the trade mission. Not for the salt and food below deck."
"What?! So he's the reason so many of us had to die?!"
"No, this was supposed to be a simple escort mission where the noble and advisor would reach their destination in Root City. Someone must have either use radio transmissions to contact the bandits in order to locate our position or they came upon us by chance. Both of which are unlikely but bandit stumbling onto to us is an even bigger miracle."
"Then... someone betrayed us?"
"Correct... There only needs to be one to down an airship, therefore the crew hired are always check and then double checked for criminality and various personality traits that can be assessed by past guild records and so on."
"So... the bandits weren't the masterminds but rather the ones who manipulated the guilds?"
"Aye, and there is only one type of power cable of commanding influence over municipality businesses, the Nobility. Leaving this attack not as one of thievery, rather an assassination."
"Welkin was below deck right? He should be in the safe room by now, or at least near it. You five look for survivors, heal them with anything you have. I go look for the lad."
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Died, he's dead. That man that just fell just... died. Gone...
Welkin still in the ruptured chamber, where the safe room lay at an angle, had tears, not from sadness over the man's death but rather the abrupt and cruel way he died without ceremony and family surrounding him. A new sense of mortality and fragileness dawned upon me, death wasn't partial. Death could and will one day take me to the underworld.
Bile from me has already become a slimy and drying mixture now, luckily the ship rations That I had been eating for the past week are design to be efficient for the sky where many would lose their meal quite often. Though that fact didn't stop Welkin from burping from nauseousness couldn't move.
Why is this happening? Because of greed? Survival? Madness? Where's the morality of humans?
Thinking questions that I could not answer but only desperately try to find them suddenly felt a redness come to my throat. Travelling from my cheeks to ears. A deep crimson red of shame. Something soul burning as if putting my body into an iron oven.
Why am I so ashamed of myself? Thinking about it, shame came to someone when something else couldn't come to fill that void. So, could it be because I don't have the strength to contribute to the crew sacrifice? No, I don't think that is the answer at all, that's not it, not even close.
......That's it, I don't want to be useless. I don't want to die and let others die too. I can at least fire the pistol.
Breathing deeply I open the cabin door, prepared for the onslaught of bandits. Face first into a soft wall?
"Uph, Well looked who showed up finally."
"Freak?! You're o-okay?"
Still pudgy and smug, Freak had some new wounds and was covered in blood. By the looks too much to be his own.
"Aye, it seems the mission has gone awry. Additionally-
Eeeeeeek...Boom!
the ship has taken some minor damages."
"You call that minor?"
"Well, of course, anything is minor as long as your life is guaranteed. The Green Linnet has been through far worse."
"But, we're still sinking?"
"Aye, but have you notice? The sky is boundless. our own empire only takes up a very small bit of it. By the time we hit the ground level it would take days. If we lost all our engines then we'd a day tops."
As the captain spoke a light smoke entered the room from the air grates. Filling the room with an oily black smoke.
"cough, cough, Is this whale oil smoke? The sailors said the only black smoke you'd find on a ship could only be whale oil."
"They are right too, it seems that explosion was one of the engines. Probably the main too."
"The main!?"
"What? It's only the main engine."
Walking now with me stumbling over the broken wooden beams, chairs, beds, lamps, and barrels, the Freak walked as though he'd done it a thousand times. With a relaxed
With that relaxed expression, you'd think he would a plan. Wait...
"Do you have a plan to stop the ship's descent?"
"Nope"
Ah, we're doom.