Well, we’re back in Kingsport yet again. The crew’s a bit worse for wear—seems one of Myer’s experiments blew up when I caught a wind current and blasted the ship with negative energy. Whole ship stinks of curdled magic now; most people don’t notice it, but it’s there. Magic’s some nasty stuff. Just being around it puts strain on a man’s mind and body, wears him down. There’s a reason we’re working to leave it behind.
Seems Gestalt wasn’t the only guild that got strong-armed into this mission—there was a whole squadron of ships in the harbor, each one from a different Guild.
The first ship we saw was the Brain Diver, the Clockwork Phoenix ship. You could see the the gaudy thing from miles off. You might even recognize it, Sky—remember Bingly Stryker from the entrance exams? Turns out he’s the ensign on the ship, and it shows. Good old Brass-Tacks Bingly never did know when to stop polishing. Still, ridiculous as it is I’m sure they’ve got some good tech in there. The snot-nosed kid of a captain running the ship, Tobias Cudleham, is an arrogant prick but he’s talented. I’ll probably have to throw him through a window before this is all said and done.
Once your eyes recover from the glare coming off of the Brain Diver, you’d notice the juggernaut brooding next it. There’s only one Engean guild that has that kind of firepower: Myrskyta. The pilot’s apparently something of a legend, Thomas “Sky Wolf” Corchane of the Elgamo—the only Myrskyta captain with a perfect record. I’m glad they’re joining us on this mission; we could use some experience fighters. If he’s anything like the last Myrskyta hunter we tangled with, we’ve got nothing to worry about. Winds and sky, but that was intense… dropping a reef on them barely slowed them down. If we hadn’t been so close to the Crosswinds we probably wouldn’t have escaped intact.
Finally, there was the the Steamsoul ship, the Peregrine. She’s a simple bird, but she’s got a squad of special-made steamwalkers on board. They look much tougher than the production models… stronger, too. Those things’d tear a ship to shreds if then got close. The chief engineer, Louis b. Elie, seemed proud of them, and he’s got a right to be.
There’s a briefing in the morning, but tonight we’re staying at the Gilmore. It’s one of those casino-hotels the rich and foolish burn their lives away at. You’d have been the life of the party, Sky, although I doubt they could afford to hire you. Silas did his best to con some information out of some pretty-boy noble and the most elegant lady in the room. Watching him crash and burn was a tragic spectacle, but at least he didn’t drink. We couldn’t afford the tab anyway.