River Expedition
Brought down to you by Feldrich, loyal captain of Enlightened Cormetsia.
On the orders of Liberator King Marjus, brought down by Regional Enlightener Anfonee, brought down by Serjeant Remold, we were to set out west from our hold on the outskirts of the great northern fen. The locals speak this realm as the Mazon-Delt. It is a task not taken in light heart, for the Mazon is a hulking form, teeming with all manner of biologicals in its mucklandic depths. Many a musket brother has disappeared in the brackish stew.
Serjeant Remold speaks of communications from the fiery young chieftain Orumki in the northwest who has promised to recognize our hold’s claims to land and to have his second son indoctrinated into the family of the outward spiral if we lend material in his succession against his older sister. Remold cares little of the religious aspect, and even less for the maintenance of the hold, but a careerist all the same, he seeks prestige. It is now upon I and my crew to dignify his order.
My crew is composed of the most honorable scoundrels and their righteous crusade of miscreantism is rarely denied. I speak roughly of them, but each of the six has proven high merit, and I speak them in order of caste rank. My second in command is Gilt of Sterhnia, a miserly quartermaster whose perfection of work is reflected in the lightness of my pack and the groveling of my stomach. Joining at their decision and against my better judgement are the ferrugopolitans of Jessmeal the historian and Briamforde the natural philosopher, good friends and company, but tenderhanded and unused to the rigors of the fenland. Their journeyman however Romerto, born in these earthly lands, speaks the tongue of Orumki’s people and has dashed a canoe spear more than once across a frugj. The below caste in our team is that of two, Churganna a guide sold to us from the Igxil, the neighbors of Orumki’s Olengxi and Gurveci, a clayfoster jannissary whom was gifted to me by Remold upon my Ferrugan anniversary as the hold’s barrack minister.
Our hold sat upon an artificial polder that had been dredged from the muck by clayfoster, rhellcraft and ship pumps brought from the regional capital. The faux island resembled a thick crescent, with three single masted felucca sitting in its bay. As fresh supplies had been delivered earlier in the month, we were in a rare form, being flush with all manner of supply. As Gurveci loaded the ships low roofed hull from the stern, my fellows of the true caste sat at the bowside hull and discussed our route with Churganna advising when asked. I thought to make a scene when I saw how many instruments of natural philosophy and alchemical rhellcraft Briamforde was having stowed aboard, but as my companions made the simplicity of our route clear, I found less need to worry of the excess weight. From dawnlight it took only till the 7th of 25 hours to be ready and to push from the muck floor and for our single mast to catch the western breeze.
While caste speaking it would have been most appropriate for Churganna and Gurveci to handle oarwork, Romerto would not have it and had insisted upon performing male duties of labor. All speaking we had anticipated a three day oar trip, then the grand jovian air funnel would catch us, making carry for the last two days. Then as it was autumn’s reign, an eastern mercurial wind could catch us homeward. This is under assumption that the translation Romerto gave us from Churganna’s primeval tongue was of a truthful word.
The timeliness of the trip had gone most to plan for the first two days, Gurveci’s oarwork only slowing twice on command from his betters, once so that Jessmeal could sketch a rhellcrete ruin of our ancestors that protruded from the mire, and a second time so that Briamforde could squander an hour galloshing after an amphiboform that he claimed was going extinct. I am not one to question a man of natural philosophy but the debunked theory of extinction drew much ire from the rest of the crew, doubly so after the reward for our sidetrip rendered only chitinoform bites along exposed skin and a dead frogeel that Briamforde had tripped over. To save face he proclaimed that he would investigate this specimen forthwith.
It had been expected that this state of relative ease would continue for much of the trip, yet it seemed that some posthuman had chosen a path not of our hoping. It would come to be that Gurveci, not being monitored, had in his mechanical behavior, seen to it that our ship was driven into a mudbank. To those inexperienced with the grand fen, their encounters with mud are likely pedestrian affairs, not more than ruttling in a garden patch. Gilt, whom had remained cooped up before this point, now made himself known in raucous melody that left the crew at an aside from the interaction. He berated any who crossed his walk to our beleaguered oarman. Soon it was that my servant set himself to the task of freeing the ship by way of mattock, while the rest of us in wisdom retreated below deck to avoid the blaze of the day and bites of the buzzing chitins.
I had been in discomfort, hours had passed with no progress made in dislodging our vessel from the mudbank. The stars and atoms of Mars were in poor alignment and my stomach’s blood twisted in me. While shoveling happened outside, I lay upon a hammock in the vessel, my body itchy from bites and my stomach heaving more with the moment. A rocking occurred every few minutes and I was unsure if the jostling had been caused by the digging outside or the beasts in my mind. Finally I had begun to drift to sleep when I was shaken back to the current cruel reality.
Briamforde stood above me, his beard tickling my nose registering more in my mind than his hand shaking me. He was in as great a panic as a man could muster. The vessel shook again, more violent than I had remembered before. Unsure in his foot, Briamforde fell into my lap, the combined weight too much for the hammock. We crashed to the ground once, then the vessel shook violently again and I shoved Briamforde off of my proneship.
I asked “What ails our vesselism?” I began to come to my senses and my ears perked at the guttural sounds upon the wood frame. Without hearing his response I formed the unfortunate image of what had been in occurrence. He had not answered and the doddard made his sentences slow even in opportune moments.
“Frugj.” We said at once.
I blew past him, telling him to take up a task that keeps him from my way. Clutching tight the column beams I stumbled from the hold, lurching in rhythm with the vessels as though in a storm on open water. In a blur my gilded falchete was hard upon the fingers and the ached body I owned lurched onto the deck, a sight horrifying, beset me.
Gurveci stood, body ripped in two along the line of a sash, clay tendon and mudblood scattered about the deck. The larger half, containing his legs, torso and one arm stood in combat with the frugj, its tyrannical form lumbering onto the vessel, the two of not incomparable size. Each time the Frugj hefted a fat amphibiform paw onto the deckplace, the ship shook as it had below. Gurveci for his part remained dutiful, swinging a falchete blindly in the general place of the beast. Ooze from the beast covered a portion of the deck making any approach to the frugj dangerous. as if the frugj was not already a hateful enough creation by the great earth witch for its bulk, it has also found itself ordained to be horrendously toxic to biolife.
Seeking the defense of my companions and a means of continium in this vessel, I strode forward with a surge of adrenaline. My falchete stung at its left flank, exposed. I drew little blood, the thick ooze of it caking my blade in mire. Its tongue lashed and the remains of Gurveci were rendered sunder and smote from the desktop.
Its attention turned to me.
Brought down by Jessmeal the record keeper, now two companions lighter.
By grace of the eternal outward spiral we saw that the frugj was sated upon devouring of Feldrich, whom I had been surprised to learn was destined for death upon the green world.