To Hell On a Fast Horse [Solo] [Memory]
Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2021 10:25 pm
32 Searing 108
Northland Outskirts
What remained of the airship Loyal Example drifted listlessly through the air, losing altitude slowly. The outer skin on her gasbag had ripped in a dozen places, and her crew struggled to patch each new one that arose. The rudders and elevators had been shredded in the storm as well, with hastily jury-rigged repairs to both leaving the vessel capable of only the most lifeless of maneuvers.
She could not move quickly either, her engine having only been partially repaired from the damage it had sustained during the storm. Even the sails they might have used as a backup had been shredded down to the timbers, and could not be patched as all effort went to keeping the gasbag in working order. The Loyal Example was ghost ship in all but name, her crew reduced by half in the immediate aftermath of the storm to leave her with only thirty one souls aboard her.
The storm had settled in quickly, and the skies saw fit to unleash the pent up fervor of an otherwise dry summer. It had been unlike any storm Vanessa had ever seen, hatred and destruction woven into every crack of lightning and the wind was as the breath of the damned. The crew had prepared for ill weather, any airship did, but nothing like that. There was no fighting a storm like that and maneuvering within the monstrous gale did no more good than screaming at the clouds.
The Loyal Example had been cast about like a child's plaything, whipped in all directions as crew had tried to anchor themselves to anything sturdy. Some tried to hide below decks, but even that was no guarantee of safety. Cargo smashed against the sides of the hold and spilled its contents, and so too were the men that tried to use it for shelter.
Those unfortunate souls were not the only ones lost. Other had been cast over the sides, or had slipped from the slick ropes that comprised her patchwork rigging. Vanessa herself had watched the captain himself fall overboard. He had first been thrown from the ship, but the rope around his waist had kept him safe for some time. The opposite end of the rope had been tied around the taffrails at the aft of the ship. The extra weight had been bearable at first, but the captains constant swinging had frayed the already old rope until it snapped. He died screaming, but Vanessa had heard nothing over the torrent of rain. A moment's sorrow was all she could afford, and then the woman was back to work.
Vanessa had been one of the rigging runners during the storm, the brave folk that clambered over patchwork rope ladders during a sky-splitting gale to keep the bird aloft by patching any leaks. She remembered little of what she had done, her body carrying her instead on instinct so that she could focus solely on survival.
The crew had never seen someone like Vanessa, a woman who moved as though she were the sky's own child. She feared nothing even as the horrid tempest sent the ship pitching on her side and engineers ran to manually adjust the ballast. Ever still she prowled between the rope ladder ratlines and jolted towards the splits in the seams of the gasbag. It was a dangerous job by all counts. The ropes were slick, and a single slip could spell death To say nothing of how the winds howled and battered at her, the sky trying to draw her back into its embrace. But Vanessa resisted, and survived as she always did.
She patched the leaks with anything she had at hand, and secured the bracing struts as best she could. Her hands blistered and bled while she worked, but her fingers were so cold and her focus so tuned that she could not feel the pain.
That had been a few weeks ago by now, but the crew had never forgotten how Vanessa moved with such purpose on the worst night of their lives. Lacking a captain, the quartermaster was the second in command. That would have put Jorge in charge, a tall, slim, hawkish man that called Vanessa his greatest friend. He had a mind for numbers and figures, and he had served his job well, rapidly ascending through the ranks while Vanessa languished due in no small part to her drunken brawling and bristly attitude.
He had no interest in running the ship though, and a quartermaster's duties were more important now than ever. Supplies were running low and needed to be distributed smartly, discipline needed to be handed out to the desperate men that now made up the crew. There were none on the vessel that he trusted enough with his current job, and he had not the temperament for leadership.
Surprising the crew, Jorge's first and only act as the interim captain was to appoint Vanessa Quill to the position so that he could return to the duties he was best suited for.
This did not sit well with the crew. Vanessa was temperamental and young. There were a dozen other sky-skimmers that would have her beaten by seniority. Despite Jorge's best efforts to keep the peace, Vanessa inevitably had to defend her position as captain, and defend it she did. Even more surprisingly, she had done so without putting another man in the dirt. The brawls were brutal, bloody, and frequent, but Vanessa had needed every man if she wanted to return home. If nothing else, the crew were unified in their pursuit of this single goal.
So when a merchant vessel appeared in the distance and slowly made its way towards Vanessa's lamed airship, she was quick to call a meeting.
One of the oldest members of her crew peered through a spyglass, scratching his scraggly, unkept white beard all the while. “Not one of the major ones. Not flyin' any guild flags neither.” He swept his gaze over the entire vessel, looking for anything identifying “Might be a noble house? No heraldry though. Blueblooded pisspots love that.” He collapsed his spyglass and tucked it into ragged looking jacket. “No, no. Just some upstart.” he concluded, and rubbed his strained eyes.
“Good.” Vanessa said at her spot above the crew. She was at the wheel, and the main deck was a few steps below her. “Seems our luck has turned, lads. You'll have to settle your debts to Zaichaer after all!”
“You'll finally pay me the coin you owe, Cap'n?” One of the crewmen called back to her, though it lacked the venom that permeated most conversations since the storm had beaten them.
That remark earned a laugh from most of the crew, their spirits immediately lifted by the promise of safety. It was no mere assumption either, the merchant vessel was flying the flag of parley, and Vanessa had brought hers up in kind, tattered and battered though it was. It was truly incredible luck that the first vessel to have found them following the storm had not been raiders.
The merchant sloop skimmed up alongside the Loyal Example, and Vanessa now spotted its name painted on the side of the blue and white hull. Sweetness Evermore. A name she could not fault, really. Seeing the vessel in the distance had been sweet indeed, after all.
The Sweetness Evermore was a pretty little thing, sixty feet in all and painted pretty as a picture. There were no chips in the paint that Vanessa could see, and even the rigging ropes matched the blue and white deck. There were gun ports on the lower decks, but they were all closed and the hatches painted yellow. Even the crew seemed to embody the ship's name as they waved cheerfully to the bedraggled remnants of the Loyal Example's crew.
The merchant's crew were dressed well, and mirth flowed through them as they anchored the two ships together. They were so polite as to ask permission before looping ropes around rails or biting hooks into the already ruined main deck. Compared to the last chancers that made up the Loyal Example, the merchant's crew was positively heaven sent.
Vanessa's own crew was, by contrast, comprised of those too ornery or broken to serve on any other vessel. The prior captain had taken anyone who expressed interest, but in reality it meant he had only ever gotten the dregs. Standing here and looking out at what her crew could have been made Vanessa feel inadequate. She sequestered the emotions away when finally the crew waved the tired crew aboard.
She made the crossing last, and turned towards the man that must have been the head of this entire operation. He was no captain, she could tell that right away. He was overweight and tall, dressed in exotic fabrics that she guessed were from Kalsazi. It was a blue and white quartered tabard with a floral pattern accenting his breast in lieu of an actual crest. His blond hair was long and slicked back, and his beard was long but well kept.
“Oh, my lady!” he began, his voice honeyed and kind as he offered his hand to her. Vanessa looked down at his doughy palm, and finally took it after a moment of contemplation. She had not been expecting him to bring the back of her palm to his lips to kiss it. She yanked her hand back to her side after that, but said nothing.
“Oh, I did not mean to offend, my dear lady. I merely thought a woman of your station deserved proper respect.” He gave slight bow in apology, spreading his arms to either side.
“None taken.” Vanessa lied badly. She then continued on, thankfully not needing to lie for what next was to come out of her mouth. “I wanted to thank you for stopping. I know plenty of folk that would leave us pissin' in the wind.”
The merchant clapped his palms together and smiled. “Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that. Really, it was nothing. You were on our way!” He made it sound so easy, and the way he spoke made Vanessa uneasy. He spoke like they were old friends, and Vanessa had few enough of those.
“Still, thanks all the same. Do your boys mind showing mine where they can toss their things?” Vanessa asked, gesturing with her thumb to the various packs and bundles of the crew's meager belongings.
“Of course!” the merchant said, but then he raised a hand. “But before I do, there is just one more thing. The matter of my payment.”
Vanessa's mood cooled immediately and ice surged through her veins. “Beg your pardon?”
“Yes, the payment. Oh, I was hoping there would be more small talk before we got to it, but I understand you're eager to get settled aboard.” He looked over her crew, and his green eyes fell upon her again after he had taken his measure of her. “Ten thousand Avens.”
The number shocked Vanessa so badly that she laughed right in his face, clutching her stomach to try and contain herself. No one else joined in the display.
“A fair price for your crew.” the merchant said, losing his confidence after being so quickly rebuffed.
“We don't have a tenth of that, you cocksucker. You think we'd be flying this wreck if we did?” Vanessa interjected, her anger rising. Her crew were similarly upset,. Knuckles went white, jaws were set, and daggers were stared.
“The insurance-” the merchant began, but Vanessa was already cutting him off.
“Is in the name of Captain Irons. He's dead. You or I won't see a copper.” She barked. “We'll still take that ride though.”
The merchant bristled, irritated by this little wrinkle in his otherwise perfect plan. “Fine.” He said, not wanting to have left with nothing for his 'trouble'. “But everything save what's on your backs is mine.”
Vanessa found it odd that the merchant felt that he was in control. His men bore no obvious weapons, and neither did he. He may as well have been a noble, what with all the assumed gravitas he carried himself with. His final demand was also the final insult Vanessa could suffer.
“Oh, I don't think so.” Vanessa seethed, drawing her cutlass with a rattling hiss. The merchant backed away, but she prowled after him. She was in no hurry, and none of his crew seemed interested in helping. Some yelled, but most were kept in line by the two dozen swords now gleaming in that beautiful afternoon light.
The merchant fell as he backpedaled away from her, and brought his hands up to defend his face reflexively. Vanessa's anger boiled now, her eyes wild and decisions rash. This man, this wretched little worm had wanted to play with the lives of her crew. Had the storm not taken enough? The anger mixed with bitterness into a truly unruly swill of spite.
She raised her sword and brought it down in a sweeping slice fueled by vengeance. She cut through his fat neck and two fingers on the hand he had held out wardingly towards her. Clumsily, he grabbed for his throat and gurgled wordlessly as she watched him struggle. She stood over him, his blood pooling around her boots, and watched the light leave his eyes.
The ship was hers after that. Not one man aboard the Sweetness Evermore rose a hand against her, and instead the display was enough to encourage obedience even as she had them barred inside their quarters until they reached port.
In the days following, Vanessa set a course for a known settlement for pirates and brigands. This airship needed new paint, a new forged bill of sale, and a new name before she could begin operating in either major city. Focusing on these immediate goals kept her mind from racing. She had done it. She had her own ship. None dared contend with her now, either respecting her too much or fearing her wrath.
And it was all she ever wanted.