Realizing something is wrong, Sergeant Bailey bolts from his cabin, ascending the ladder to the top deck of the Windchaser. Nesquo and Gandalf follow him out into the passage at speed. Gandalf turns right to return to his group’s cabin, while Nesquo heads left and up the companionway following his Sergeant.
Nesquo emerges onto the deck of Windchaser, greeted by a frightening sight. Billowing from the door to the engine room is thick, black, oily smoke. He stands amidst two crewmen and the captain hurling pails of sand into the room in the futile hope that they will control the fire within. Mesquite also becomes aware of the shouts from within the engine room. The trapped crewman is an orc.
⚔
One deck below, Gandalf races into his shared cabin. At a glance, he takes in Canaloa, lounging on a top bunk of one set of beds, and the cleric, Fred, tucked in a corner, possibly praying. The bard, Astrid, is strumming on another lower bunk next to Istyher.
Gandalf rushes toward them, intending to move the two out of the way so he can peer out of the porthole behind them and try to determine what is going on. As he attempts to lift Astrid rather than asking her to move, but she objects. Strenuously. Her foot pistons out to catch him painfully on the shin. Gandalf draws his injured leg upward, clutching it with both hands and swearing.
From his place in the corner Fred Fishborn steps away from the bulkheads, which now feels remarkably hot. He can also feel an intense vibration through the deck beneath his feet, different from the engine thrum they have lived with for the last five days. Fred steps around the hopping Gandalf, grabbing up his pack as he goes. He exits from the cabin.
Noting that the ceiling over their heads is beginning to glow a dull orange, Astrid, Istyher, Canaloa and Gandalf begin to jam their belongings into their packs and swing them onto their backs. The room has become stifling. They depart.
⚔
Fred climbs the ladder to the top deck, and responding to the shouts from the fiery engine room, he rushes in, selflessly. The heavy, oily smoke envelops him completely, and Fred can see nothing. From somewhere in the stifling, foul smelling blackness, Fred can hear moans of pain from the orc sailor. It is incredibly hot, and getting hotter.
⚔
Left alone in the sergeant’s cabin, Three stands between the neatly made bunks. Peering outside through the porthole, he spies thick, black smoke. Unperturbed, he closes the hatch door for privacy and casually opens the footlocker at the end of Sergeant Bailey’s bunk. Shifting around among the neatly folded clothing, Three plucks out a shortsword in a leather scabbard, a tiny book and worn leather armor in a net bag.
Three slips the small book into his pocket and tucks the armor under his arm. Then, he begins to buckle on the sword. He barely looks up as Grapalt enters. The newcomer begins to search through the other footlocker. Grapalt stirs around the first mate’s dirty clothing to find a small leather purse that jingles with what turns out to be eight silver coins. He also finds a small gold locket and a pair of supple suede boots.
Grapalt is rueing that the boots are too small for his very large feet. They dangle, pinched between his fingers and then in the blink of an eye, they flicker. Suddenly, they seem much longer, wider and might even fit Grapalt’s goliath-sized feet. He sits on the Sergeant’s bunk to slip on the boots, which fit as if made for him. He stands, staring down to admire his new boots to see…nothing. No boot. No foot. Not even his lap.
Three turns, assuming Grapalt is behind him, and sees….an empty cabin. Curious.
And suddenly, an enormous explosion is heard overhead. Dust sifts from the rafters as Three is thrown off his feet. He expects to land on the hard deck, and instead lands on something softer, near the place he last saw Grapalt. Beneath him, Three hears the “Ooof!” of the goliath having the wind knocked from him. Three is tangled up with the invisible Grapalt who lays beneath him, and Three cannot figure out how to free himself. The two slide violently into a bulkhead as the floor suddenly tips to one side.
⚔
Below decks, the blast from far above can be heard. The vessel has abruptly dropped, its bow pointed downward. Timbers groan as the four comrades depart from their cabin. Gandalf, Istyher and Canaloa slide on iron rungs as they try to climb upward to the command deck of the vessel.
Balancing carefully, Canaloa darts across the deck and into the smoky engine room. Squinting, his keen eyes spy Fred near the door arms extended as though he cannot see anything around himself. Canaloa spots the unfortunate orc trapped on the floor beneath burning equipment.
On deck, Istyher and Gandalf each seize a pail of sand, to race toward the engine room. Suddenly, the vessel lurches and plunges nose down. Nesquo, who stands close by, loses his footing first. He slides toward the bow, catching himself on the ship’s wheel. His frantic pulling hauls the wheel far to starboard, and the airship begins to heel over onto one side.
This sudden, second shift of the deck jolts Istyher, who quickly regains their balance, but knocks Gandalf off his feet. The wizard begins the heart stopping steep slide toward the bow. He attempts to slow himself but cannot find a handhold. Beyond the rapidly approaching gunwale, Gandalf can see the ocean of green jungle that is two hundred feet below the airship. And it is getting closer too quickly.
⚔
Astrid is on the companionway ladder and headed downward toward the hold when the ship gives a powerful jerk and begins to roll. She is able to swing herself perpendicular to the ladder, only just pulling herself out of the way of the heavy, sliding cargo. Crates, barrels and boxes rush toward the bow with a clatter crash. Thankfully, the hull seems undamaged…from here.
Some of the containers have broken open. Astrid can see rations, tents, armor and weapons scattered on the deck of the hold. “Maybe,” she thinks, “among all this gear, there are parachutes.”
