Having shipped in together from across Europe to meet at RFC Folkestone, our party has had their first taste of action. An unexpected outing, to say the least, a kraken attack off the east coast of England spurred the venerable Captain Shandy to take his old ship out for one last spin. The party has defeated the kraken, saved most of the ship’s crew, and what remains of the ship is now being repaired and captained by Captain Blackfield Shandy.
Along the way, the party also met with the blustering General Melchett; the rather quiet, if curious, Wolfgang Mann; the ancient and slightly grouchy, Ex-Witchfinder Harold Williams. Onboard ship, the crew seems to comprise only of one taciturn fellow called Smith; a dependable, if old, Engineer Jenkins; several pairs of disembodied hands called Servant; and last, but by no means least, the daughter of the Captain, pilot of The Lark, Captainess Mary Shandy.
Now, on their way into the air, they have been bid farewell in many ways, with varying degrees of sincerity and tact. The adventure awaits!
Even after working with the gods for a time before, Lovi was still in awe of the great flying machine in front of her. She was first wary of how it stayed up as her self taught knowledge of chemistry led her to believe it may be Hydrogen based ,which is extremely flammable, and her newly ignited love of fire would not mix well with that.
Bemused by servant and enjoying her drinks she explored the ship and discovered the parlour, which she had to refrain from instantly burning to a crisp due to the sheer horror she had at the room.
Once the new mission was suddenly commenced her first priority was to save as many as the sailors as possible, as she truly believes that no one should ever be left out or behind. Luckily after securing the first rope ladder she did not observe the barbaric way the sailors clambered over each other to get out first, else would have broken her heart.
She did not have long to wait though until her heart was really broken, as a visit from one of Odin’s ravens revealed that until the war (or this mission) was over, she could not return home. This being literally her greatest fear, she ended the day, and probably a few days after, sobbing uncontrollably in her room. She is currently inconsolable.
My Dearest Edwin,
I am writing this diary to you, in the hopes that when you are old enough to understand it, that you might get an insight into why I have done some of the things I did. And that if the worst comes to the worst, you may at least know the kind of woman I was. I want you to understand I’ve done this for you, with the hopes you can grow up in peaceful times.
The 20th of August 1914.
I am writing this aboard the Lark, after a rough start on our nebulously defined mission.
Where do I begin. Our multi national party was first gathered together at Folkestone airbase, and consisted of myself, Nathaniel Blake, a member of the Oxford Round Table, Lovi Malikdotter, and Bjorn Jarvinen, from the Norse equivalent to the Cambridge Classical society, and Professor Erwin Schonhausen-Shloka, who as far as I’m aware is some sort of free agent.
After being blustered at by that buffoon Melchett and that drunk Captain Shandy, we were let aboard the Lark itself, an impressing piece of engineering, and introduced further to Servant, some sort of magical butler, and the engineering crew, including Jenkins, an old friend of Barnabus’ who I could scarely believe was still alive.
During this time, a lot of “you look so much like your father”s were passed around, and I must remark that it left a sour taste in my mouth. (It would come as a suprise later when Williams the elder would agree with me and call him an asshole, which raises my estimation of him considerably)
Our inspection of the ship was cut short however, when the Babbage machine, an updated one compared to the one in the Cambridge Classical Society spit out news of a Kraken attack off the coast of Norfolk. Wasting no time and likely probably damaging the ship, Blackfield Shandy took off to save the lot of them. I must confess that Melchett did at least help with the loading of the guns, while Servant helped the others. Together with Bjorn and Nathaniel, we saw the beast of while Lovi attempted to save the crew of the ship. What the professor was doing, I can’t say, as he dissapeared with some high moral ideals about the monster not being at fault and how it should not be harmed which frankly struck me as the words of a man who had never been challenged by physical concerns for his entire life and now saw himself as above them. The fool.
With the Kraken seen away, and the remaining crew saved, we headed back to folkestone and I sat down to write this.
Today was full of surprises. As soon as we got aboard the flying coffin, we received our first mission. While i am glad that we reached the Wincester in time to save the poor souls aboard, the fact that the mad former captain decided to drive was rather unpleasant. I don’t think he understands the concept of mortality.
The Kraken itself was a mighty beast, but that is hardly surprising. Having read on them a little more since the battle, I am lucky we didn’t meet the kraken of Moby-Dick or the old stories, beasts as large as islands. The Servant was damn handy too, though i may need to train them up a little for those guns, seeing as it is a little vague on how large the actual crew may be.
As for the team, i think we will do fine. Madam Hale was damn fine on the gun, keeping her cool all the while. Ms Malikdotter has her heart in the right place, and seems a brave girl. As for Bjorn, well, I am happy to have him here; he can shoot, hit, and is a brave man. But the Professor…He seems too sheltered. Putting aside the whole bargains with the powers of Hell, he seems too idealistic. Hypocritical of me, yes, but he seems to not understand that sometimes not everything is worthy of compassion, nor does he seem the sort who knows hardship, and how to overcome it. It may end up killing him.
Still, a fine team, and I am proud to fight alongside them, and die for them if need be.
All in all, not the worst operation i have been a part of.
Erwin stands facing a small mirror in his cabin. Hunched over a notepad with an odd looking stylus at rest on a sheet of paper, his reflection looks up expectantly for the dictation.
“Wie Haben …. Wie geghe – —”
He coughs. Muted cackling sounds can be heard echoing in his throat.
“WE WENT on a luft-schiffe, remarkable was it quite. The companions for journey very ungebildet actually, adjective, educated. Participle Adjective.”
The reflection looks up at the Professor and shrugs.
“SOWIESO. Pretty cocky for a Fälschung with his organs backwards. I think I’m getting zurück zum Norma – better. Stay simple and don’t leave anything aus. Two women. Rich man’s daughter – unmagical, das ist, totaller banal. Some devil spawn channelling Loki, didn’t, catch phrasal verb, catch much of her. Spectre of Finnish policeman, something about Heimdall. How we say a Söldner, kills for money. Managed basic instructions. Other, very straight backed English, Cambridge went to, apparently not to study? Stinking pipe. Leader typical English Schläger shame. Ruling class something Keiser similar, mustachioed Abschaum get everyone killed.
Don’t trust Wolfgang. Throw overboard?"
The reflection gestures with its right ‘hand’, and proceeds to change nibs.
“Wann … wenn … when you are ready quite!”
It hurriedly fixes the back on the pen and looks up slightly sheepishly.
“All over not a disaster. Few dead men and one dead animal. Creature motivation mystery, unfortunate. Where from, why, who etzetera. Probably innocent. Might survive. Despite verzögern komrads can shoot without killing self. Very useful.”
The reflection looks at the mirrored clock on its side. It shakes its head in irritation and instead peers through at the unreversed clock on Erwin’s side.
“Alright, we’ll get to the important stuff! (That war gut English). That fraud Van Bommel’s so-called refuation of my drei punkte analysis der Schopenhauer ist … "
This continues for several hours.
“Get dass everything then?”
Mirror-Erwin shuffles the papers on the desk, and pats the top leaf satisfactorily. Turning to Erwin, he opens his mouth and emits a series of a Dolphin’s high pitched clicks and trills.
Erwin’s left eyebrow arches, tightly curvex.