Chronicles of Hedda Bardinsdottir - Almost Got the Git

Lohner may not be any closer (so he says) to finding Hedda Bardinsdottir, but his search has turned up pages from her journal.

From the Rhunikron of Hedda Bardinsdottir

A half done jobs like an open wound. That’s what me Da always said, and I believe him, at least I do now. You’ll understand too, once you hear my battle yarn.

After months on the chase, we finally caught Gangplank Git’s fleet. Once three dozen ships strong they now numbered just eight, tho’ the surviving ships were a mite bigger. ‘Tis the way o’ grobi, as one ramshackle ship breaks up, the good parts are scavenged, simply nailed to the strongest, while the remaining bits n’ pieces – includin’ crew – are left to sink or swim. No honour a’tall.

It happened like this. We came out of that storm and immediately scanned plenty of wreckage on the surface. The rough seas of late had taken a toll on the motley ships, and Git’s wake was easy to follow. At 5 bells this very morning we closed within periscope range. And what a sorry sight it was to behold.

Grobi craft are propelled by treadwheel, sail, and oars – and this could all be on the same craft mind you. Smokestacks belch black clouds, so at times the whole fleet is obscured, save rickety lookout towers pokin’ out. ‘Tis a crime ‘gainst proper engineering, but all the same, them ships bristle with weaponry, and each was crowded to the gunwales with bloodthirsty crew.

Git – a cagey ol’ pirate if ever there was one – kept his flagship in the fleet’s centre, and no amount o’ manoeuvre could line up a torpedo shot for us. With a full loadout I mighta blasted a path through the screen to gain or a clear shot at the big hulk, but after months at sea Grungni’s Whisper had but three torpedoes left. We needed a plan.

‘Take the lead one ‘n the others mill about’, least that’s what me Da used to say. That’s wisdom from his Ranger days I warrant. Well, I can tell you it took some time to get into position, but the concept worked as well on the sea as it did for Bardin in the Grey Mountains. When the first torpedo hit the lead craft it cracked the hull in half – sending a geyser of water and broken timbers splintering skyward.

‘Course we changed position as soon as we loosed our first fish, and by the time it hit, number two was already streamin’ towards another target. Like shootin’ squigs in a barrel it was, and this shot ripped apart the back half of a ‘Drilla ship. That’s the steerin’ part, so it soon careened wildly, the giant fore-mounted drill splitting apart two more Grobi craft before spiraling down into the dark briny.

By now Grobi lookouts had traced the contrail of bubbles from our last shot and spied our periscope. Volleys of boulders splashed ‘round us as the huge chukkas aboard the remaining vessels marked the range.

What followed was a sea battle unlike any other. Savin’ our last torpedo, we dove ‘neath the Grobi, opened up the throttles, and sought to ram ‘em. When we hit, it was the Dawi steel of the Grungni’ Whisper against makeshift wooden hulls, and we gutted ‘em like fish. When we missed, our nautilus breached like a whale, a torrent of boulders pounding our steel plates ‘fore we could dive again.

Their ships dodged and zigzagged, all the time dropping boulders, chain-nets, and even some rock-weighted trolls in hopes of damagin’ our craft. For hours it was cat n’ mouse, feint and charge, dodge and dive.

My crew were drenched in sweat, wringin’ out beards as they kept the engines thrumming. Endrinkuli sealin’ up leaks, tightenin’ bolts, and maybe shorin’ up a hole or two. The whole tale would take a keg’s worth o’ tellin’, but that’s for another time when I can tell it proper. And we’ve a keg to spare...

Anyhow, it came down to this: Gangplank Git’s whole fleet was sunk, save only his flagship – the Githulk – the most massive conglomeration of scavenged ships. It had been damaged in the battle, being partially on fire and taking water from a nautilus-sized hole right below the waterline. The Goblin pirate was seekin’ to beat a hasty retreat with his crippled ship, hopin’ to make the coast before he sank.

The bad news? We could’na give chase. Our rudder was bent, twisted by Troll claws, and snarled up in the chains that lashed the heavy boulders to the creature. Before we could attempt a fix we had to surface, allowing the crew had to do battle in an attempt to pry the foul beast off our ship before it could wreak more havoc.

Trainin’ my cogscope on the Githulk I could see the Grobi Cap’n makin’ good his escape. To make matters worse, he mocked me, prancin’ on deck waving something in his scrawny arms. I saw the glint of gold and adjusted focus, and when I saw what he was holdin’ up my blood run molten. It was the drinkin’ horn of Karak Azgaraz – that very treasure which I promised King Thuringar I’d return to him. There it was glintin’ in the last rays of the setting sun. T’other item he waved left me even more gobsmacked with rage. It was just as cousin Okri had described it – the skagkal that had me take to the seas in the first place, the stolen item that had me chase one foe after ‘nother across the whole of the blasted Black Gulf. Twas my first true sight of what Bardin once called our clan’s Ancestral Eye...

But more on that next time. I’ve got repairs to see to and my hands are still shakin’ with anger. We’ll fix the rudder and then I’ve a score to settle...