Chronicles of Hedda Bardinsdottir - You Call That a Storm?

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

It happened all at once as we’re headin’ southeast in the Black Gulf, followin’ the trail of Gangplank Git. At morning topside, lookouts spied three things – a fresh lot o’ flotsam from the Grobi, we’re gettin’ close! More alarmin’ was a fleet o’ Tilean ships on collision course with us, and a wall o’ weather behind ‘em, also headin’ our way.

We signaled the Tileans, who, as it turns out, are traders en route to Barak Varr. Ever the dealsmen, they sought a quick barter before seekin’ harbour along the nearest coastline.

As for supplies, not much spare room on a Nautilus, and we Dawi don’t much value umgak. First lesson me Da ever taught me was about shoddy umgi work. But that’s finished goods mind, raw materials are another matter. We spent coin for Tilean grains for our Chief Brewer, to keep the kegs full. Also got word that the Git’s makeshift fleet had been sighted only a half day south of us.

The whole trader interaction took no longer than it would to down a half dozen pints, but even in that little time the skies overhead grew dark and the monstrous swells that ran before the storm lifted our ships up and down like toys in bathwater. The humans went trickle-legged, and I guess I don’t blame ‘em. Would’na catch me on a wooden ship when the trough between waves grows so deep you can’t see the sky.

As for the Grungni’s Whisper crew? We’re Dawi, so the only worry aboard ship was whether the grains would be quality enough to make a passable Hazkal. The business of buttonin’ up was as fast as ever, and within moments we dove. Had to go 40 fathoms deep to avoid the growing topside churn, but turns out, that was the least of our troubles.

The clangers – our underwater detection device rigged by the Endrinkull – began clapping immediately. It was a new shape, not the one as been followin’ us, but something more sinuous. Sea Dragon headin’ our way, but no water lizard was gonna stand between me and my vengeance. I ordered the harpoon torpedo rigged, but hard to aim in that blackness, and we’d have only one shot. We held fire

Unless they’re really big, wyrms like that are constrictors, so we waited til the creature made its move. Impact sent us spinning, then metal plates groaned ‘neath the power of the beast as it coiled around us: Dragon vs Dawi steel. Our good ship held, but it was creakin’ more than I liked. We let the beast tire a bit ‘fore showin’ it what we could do.

Turnin’ our steam energy into an electric discharge made the beast loosen its grip, and then, at point blank range, our harpoon was loosed in a cloud of bubbles. It struck deep, tethering the thrashing thing to our port. I joined the dive teams myself, as a dozen of us in airtight iron suits dropped out to begin the axework. We made short work of it, before being winched back. We cut chain, lettin’ what was left of the carcass sink to the depths. May its bones rot there.

Still submerged, we’re now pushing our engines to make time. That ramshackle Goblin fleet can’t be handling this storm as well as we are, and I’m hopin’ to surface tomorrow morn within sight of ‘em.

Spirits are high, between the smell of dragon steaks cooking and the anticipation of collectin’ our grudge-debt, even the grumbliest Longbeard amongst our crew can’t find much to complain about. As for me, I think I might fashion a dragonskin cloak. Maybe for me, or perhaps a gift. Too fishy for me Ma or Da, but maybe Thuringar?