Under Weigh

[NightSteel]

Captain Almais Lansing felt an immense relief to be under weigh again. As far as she was concerned, the Legacy had sat in one place for *far* too long. She was a bit disappointed by the lack of response to a big flying ship squatting down close to the ground outside of the tavern, but she still stood by her reason for that spot: Convenient access to just about everything. As for her disappointment, her doubts and fears, they all melted away under the onslaught of the balmy headwind. She did so love her work.

Oars weaving gracefully through the air, the sleek ship followed the lazy, rolling path of the Mavoiir river, which flowed from Silver Lake northwest towards the border to Amasynia and Lake Mavoiir. The captain could see that with the drought and the lowering of Silver Lake, the river was in turn lower than normal. Well, it didn't seem too likely to peter out before reaching the much larger lake on the border, at least. Dry creek beds were one thing, but a dry river? That was likely to cause panic.

* * *

Time passed, and as the ship drew closer to the border well into the night, the river level fell further and further. It wasn't that people were diverting that much more water from it, there was just less water in the first place. Finally, though, she saw what she wanted, and issued her order. "Put us down in the river, Mister Turnbuckle! Rowers, prepare to raise oars! Prepare to loose sails!" The lean ship was built in the fashion of sea ships, with a hull that could be landed in water.

The landing was a slow descent down towards the flowing water, then a quick pirouette to be pointing back in the direction of Myrken Township, from whence the water was flowing. The sails were loosed immediately upon facing the right direction, and the oars were raised. The hot wind was now at their stern, and would push the ship up the river against the water, at least, as soon as she settled into it.

[NightSteel]

The airship Legacy soared back in over Myrken from the west, out of the rising sun, her sails billowing in the hot wind. The cloth flapped, ropes squeaked as they stretched, and wood creaked beneath a heavy load. Her oars were stowed, pointing up and back.

Despite all of the fire watches and measures against them, there were still blazes that had sprung up in the driest of the dead plants. With the oppressive wind at their backs, Captain Lansing and Mister Irons stood upon the bridge. As per their schedule, the Captain had relinquished command at midnight, just after rising from the Mavoiir river. She had given instructions to be woken upon their return to Myrken, but not to assume command. Mister Irons was perfectly capable of that. She just wanted to see the results of her plan.

“Mister Sydney! Bear towards the plume off the port bow!â€

[NightSteel]

Two days. The appointed time had come and gone, and the governor had not returned--but this was not particularly troubling to Captain Lansing. She didn't really need to confirm that the barrels that they had discussed would be set up. No, she simply needed to watch for them while passing over Myrken Town. Such a sight would be easily visible from the air. Meanwhile, the Legacy continued her humanitarian mission, flying to the Amasynia border and back to drop water three times a day, with a short rest period at about midday.

Despite the leisurely pace of work aboard ship--if they were really trying hard, they could be making five trips daily--the crew was starting to wear down. There had been a small number of injuries related to fatigue. The relentless heat, even with the blessed cool of the ship's interior and their easy access to water, took its toll. She would soon have to reduce the number of daily trips to two and increase the duration of the rest, or people would start dying. She would be damned if that would happen aboard her ship! Not to the fine crew she commanded.

That red haired elf had finally taken his leave of the ship, too. He had been a fair to middling sailor and followed orders, and therefore welcome, useful with which to temporarily relieve the members of her crew most needing rest. But, he'd had his limits as well. She could see the exhaustion beginning to overtake him, and therefore had no arguments when he had finally asked permission to disembark.

She was starting to consider the idea of taking a little time to travel northward to the coastal regions, and trying to recruit experienced sea sailors to implement a crew rotation. She would have to ask around about that when she had time. With more men, she could trade crews (or at least significant portions of the crew) regularly and therefore sustain a more rigorous schedule.

For now, though.. business as usual.

[Altias_Bromn]

And see them she would. Straka had come through on their part, lining up nearly 150 barrels near the edge of town. Their number formed an almost square shape, easily visable from the air.

Each barrel had been tied with rope and staked to the earth to keep it from simply dumping over with the force of the water to be dropped from above. That had been Kilborn's suggestion and it had been a sound one indeed.

The men who helped with this unusual assignment had each been given 20 shillings from Altias' own pocket, since this was not work that Straka was normally saddled with doing. It seemed only fair they be compensated for such activities in this, to use Proxenus' word, Thrice-damned heat.

One way or another, this rift with Straka would be mended, and perhaps working together like this would do more good than harm. At least the governor hoped it was so.

[NightSteel]

Well then! Water for Myrken Town it was. As soon as the lookout spotted the rows of barrels, the airship veered towards them, to sail overhead and loose her cargo. The blessing of the Mavoiir rained down as the Legacy floated ponderously by, splashing into the barrels.

Of course, some of the water would be lost. There was a trade-off here between speed and efficiency: They could have put down to carefully fill the barrels with the water, not wasting any. But simply dropping it took far less time, allowing the ship to wheel and resume her travels, to try to keep the farms as watered as possible.

Thanks to Straka's ingenuity, it was only something like a quarter of the water that was wasted, too. All in all, a pretty good haul.

The lookouts would be keeping an eye out for the next formation of the containers.

[Tyralor]

"Three barrels broke, Lieutenant, and two are leaking. One'd been rotted inside, causing it to crack, and the other two from the pressure exerted when the water hit." The sergeant stated, shifting from one foot to the other, stirring up the dust underfoot. The horse the Lieutenant was astride snorted at the scent of dried grit. "Scrapped the one, and we're working to shift the barrels to get some tar on the ones that're leaking. Should be able to keep most of the water in 'em."

"Well done Sergeant. Transfer the water so that as many barrels as possible are three quarters full. We'll lose less water that way and be able to distribute them faster. I'll inform the Governor the air ship's made a pass, and sound the church bells to get folks here to collect a ration. I'll send some mend down with wagons to prepare the water for distribution." Once, of course, they determined what the governor's plan for distribution was. The Lieutenant shifted the horse in the direction of the Meetinghouse. Maybe the governor would be there for once. If not, he sighed, he'd have to check the tavern.

[Altias_Bromn]

And the governor would be at the meeting house. Transcribing notes from the meeting the night before, rationing payment for the men of Straka who had placed the barrels, and making a menu for a new venture he had been considering.

Should Kilborn need to stop by, he would indeed, be present for the conversation.

(Thread for this can, of course, continue in the Meeting House Folder)

[NightSteel]

Captain Almais Lansing quietly rested at her desk, dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief. She had lost count of the number of times she'd given thanks for the elemental air imbued into the ship's hull. Of course, that was what gave the ship its artificial buoyancy, but it also acted as a mildly effective coolant (on both the air and their water cargo). As opposed to the blazing heat outdoors, like that of a terrible desert, below decks it was merely baking, a mildly uncomfortable summer's day. Without the cooling effect, the rowers would surely have given out weeks ago.

Things were progressing predictably for the Legacy and her crew. With so much time moored due to the heat, performing maintenance was not much of a problem. The ship was, well, ship-shape. The water deliveries continued, two per day, both early in the morning. The Captain's missive had attracted a few volunteers, but not enough for a third shift. Some of them simply weren't fit. Some pushed themselves too hard. But overall, ship and crew moved at a sustainable pace. Work on deck was leisurely, and distribution of water was frequent, given that their access to it was ready.

With so much time spent on the ground, word of current events and tales of the past came more often. She found herself wondering about the government of this place.

From simple public knowledge, she knew that the Governor was a rash individual who would rather leap directly to aid than sit and legislate. That suited her just fine; she had been known to leap down from the command deck when things were dire. He had seemed like a reasonable enough individual when she had spoken to him; he hadn't tried to bluster her into anything. Oddly, it seemed to her that he would be more suited to military leadership than political.

She knew that despite the worst drought in years, attacks, killings, monsters, trials of treason, and so on, one of the region's councillors was off gallivanting about somewhere. She was sure he had his reasons, but she imagined that others might not see it so charitably.

She had heard that the other councilors were a varied lot, though information was not so forthcoming about some of them. That did not particularly trouble her; she was busy doing an important job, and the needs of her men were being provided for. The whims of councilors had as yet had no bearing upon that, and until it did, she had no particular need for that information.

There were the region's military forces; the often-vilified Straka, the loosely organized militia, and some of the councilors had their own forces. She wasn't sure what to think about them, exactly. It seemed to her, though, that if the councilors, Straka, and the militia had so many problems dealing with each other, it would most likely be a matter of communication rather than any particular deficiency of policy. Well, that and the tendency of men in positions of power, in organizations of power, to butt heads. She had heard of public meetings; perhaps she would send a representative to one, or attend herself. It was likely enough that she would learn *something* of use from such a thing, even if it was simply faces to go with names.

She had heard vague whispers about another airship in the region, small and rickety. She couldn't attribute them to anyone directly, and there had been no reported sightings, but she guessed that in a region mostly devoid of such things, it would have to have *some* connection to the government. It was likely as not that if the ship actually existed, it had come from the same lands that she and the Legacy had, but it sounded like even more of a relic than her fine ship. She would find out the truth if it became important. The thought of ship-to-ship combat had crossed her mind, but she had confidence that her vessel could outrun or at least outgun a vessel of that description.

So far, nobody was any closer to learning the cause of all the trouble, at least, as far as public knowledge went. It seemed to her that the area must have also had a shortage of people well-versed in the arcane for such a thing to be true. Surely some vizier or seer would be able to make *some* sense of it all, or some elementalist might divine something from the air itself about the cause of the heat, the dryness. She had not much use for such talent herself, except for the minor abilities required to keep the ship afloat, and so kept no such person in her employ.

It seemed like everyone was settled in for the long haul. If that was the way it was going to be, then so too would she.