The Final Report of the AA Sylvania
I am making this record of events in the hopes that anyone who might find our crash site will know to leave this place and never return.
My name is Pablo Maria Abajar, renowned pilot and first mate of the Arcane Airship Sylvania. I and the remaining members of my crew have found ourselves crashed here in this icy waste with no means of escape. What was once a complement of fifty men was reduced to twelve by the crash. Now, only three remain. The beast will come for us too, in time.
We first left off from Cape Nabar eighteen days ago on the 18th of September 1922 with fair weather and a south-eastern destination. Our captain, the Wizard Juan Moreno the Emerald-Eyed, was shipping hundreds of charged mana crystals from the mines on the Isle of Montes. The Sylvania was perfectly suited to this job, since we could fly direct over the Poljari mountains, rather than sail Cape Sul.
After sailing for a day in order to leave Federation airspace, which is reserved for Federal ships, we took to the skies. Captain Moreno fired up the arcane engine, leaving me at the helm as he kept the machine in check with his advanced knowledge. Unlike the arcane engines in a locomotive or an energy plant, the one on the Sylvania was much more complicated and volatile, requiring constant attention and communication with the helm in order to maintain lift, velocity, torque, etc. With the unnerving thrum of the engine pulling the arcane tethers that surrounded the ship to life, I took the ship’s wheel, watching and responding to the captain’s movements as he took control of the machine on the main deck.
We passed over the rest of the Federal waters with ease, making quick time of the journey over the mountains too.
It was there, within eyesight of the Yersine coast, that our journey faltered.
Marius, the lookout, came to me on the morning of the 21st with tidings of storms. Naturally, I reported immediately to the captain, whose stately office was situated at the stern of the ship. Knocking on the yellow pane of the door, I heard Moreno call me in. “Captain? A storm is on approach sir.” “So?” came the reply. I recommended that we take harbour.
The Wizard captain gave a gruff snort, his black curls shaking as he surveyed his dark office. A cube of black stone was whirring mysteriously on his desk, and he seemed to contemplate for a moment. Having passed over the mountains now, the Sylvania was cruising on its lift-sails, maintaining a steady altitude without the captain’s attention to the engine.
“No,” he said at last.
“??”
“Prepare the arcane engine for my guidance and fetch my apprentice. This cargo is too valuable and dangerous for delays. Thank you, Pablo.”
Hesitantly, I agreed, “Yes, sir.” Then, I went to fetch Fernando Colchas, the Captain’s apprentice of arcane engineering. He kept his quarters in a large black ring about the size of a truck’s wheel. A button on the side notified him of a visitor, and he opened the portal, stooping to exit on account of his muscular frame. His dark suit and apprentice’s cap were completely out of place as he stood there aloof, the rest of the crew hurrying about him.
“Well?”
“The captain has need of you.” I simply said. He would learn the details on his own.
Back on the top deck, I observed the storm was approaching rapidly now. The same winds which ferried its dark and powerful clouds were currently overpowering the warding buffers, lifting some of the ship’s lighter cargo directly into the air as some of the deckhands struggled to maintain control of the situation. I immediately took command, gripping firmly the wheel and bellowing orders to the men on the rigging.
We hauled in the lift sails once we got word that the engines were running and began to raise the specialised storm sheets that Fernando had designed to keep the engine protected. All the while, we sang, Oh Dear Fellow, partly to keep rhythm, but also to steel our nerves against the impending danger.
Then, just as the storm’s first shadow breached upon the prow, two disastrous moments converged. First, Marius called out from on high, “Thundermists!” just as he was mulched into juice by a speeding miasma of grey mist, his dark blood spraying into the atmosphere. There was hardly a moment to lose as a dozen such swirling thundermists flashed across the deck with violent accuracy, and a menacing rustle. Secondly, from deep below our boots came a piercing whistle which seemed to carry out across the black sky and into the mountains. It seemed to build in intensity, a perfect symphony with the frenzied assault occurring above. I sent a deckhand down to the cargo bay to investigate, later discovering that he was annihilated instantly upon breaching the hold, torn to mere atoms by the charged mana crystals we had been hired to ferry. Lucky chap received the better fate of us all. Within a minute, anyone on the main deck had been mutilated, their flesh blitzed by the razor-sharp mists of our assailants so that the storm became a gruesome admixture of sleet and gore in the chaotic winds. Anyone near the cargo was similarly annihilated, their bodies apparently supercharged with lances of unimpeded cosmic energy. I remained at the wheel, firing silvered bullets at any thundering clouds that blew my way. Unfortunately, it was not enough. By this time, the storm had full control of the Sylvania, bludgeoning her through the canyons of storming clouds. With most of the crew slaughtered and the rigging sundered, I could no longer keep the ship upright. We began to plummet dramatically. Most of the surviving crew report blacking out as the arcane airship nosedived. Those of us that survived the crash into the frigid Antarctic waters (by some miracle) were promptly reunited with consciousness. We managed to swim for shore as the AA Sylvania sank with its valuable and dangerous cargo.
Twelve of us reached the beach twelve days ago. The survivors included Pedro the chef, Talia the quartermaster, Antonio the carpenter, and Fernando the arcane apprentice, who reported the captain was slain almost immediately by a bolt of lightning that connected with the engine’s sensitive mechanisms. Between us, we were able to take stock of the few provisions we were able to salvage and set up a camp near the beach. Most of us have survival experience from the Great War, so we were able to fairly easily establish traps and go fishing and hunting in the lush surrounds. Fernando, for his own part, said he could prepare a fairly measly message spell, but that it would take several days before anyone would receive it, since he was essentially inventing the spell from scratch from what he had seen others do. Unclear of the specifics of arcane practice, we simply chose to trust him, leaving the apprentice mage to his studies while the rest of us worked to stay alive. The Sylvania never had a two-way radio, Captain Moreno always insisting upon the superiority of magic. Now, we were left stranded on two accounts of magic’s failings. Still, we felt confident that we could rescue ourselves. Three of the crew members were severely injured, so we resolved to hold position until they were recovered (or the alternative, as Talia supplied), then head North in search of civilisation.
It was the evening of the 23rd that the beast first made itself known. All through the night, an inhuman screeching was heard. In the morning, all our traps were found empty – bloodied claw marks having rendered the iron parts of each with inhuman strength.
“We cannot stay here,” Ana, one of the cannoneers, announced. “Whatever that thing is, it will come for us next…”
“We have a duty to our companions,” I returned strongly. With the Captain dead, I was automatically the one to take charge, although I knew it would not last.
“Even if they are on a sure path to death…” Talia said, eying the beds where the three infirm lay sleeping.
“Then why wait? I can prepare my spell on the road, and we have a much higher chance of finding more people if we leave now.” This was Fernando, who was becoming characteristically restless.
A dispute quickly broke out, and we eventually resolved to part ways, with five of us (Ana, Fernando, Antonio, Clair, and Iosepine) leaving camp, and the rest staying to tend to the sick.
That night was perfectly silent – devoid of the musings of insects and predators of the night. In the morning, four of the separatists were found by the river. Their skin had been torn off the bodies in messy shreds. The corpses were barely recognisable at all, so that it could not be said who was absent from the veritable mortuary that the riverbed had turned to. Oddly enough, the scene was completely devoid of blood, the raw flesh pale and dry. Talia set to burying them while the other six survivors discussed our options.
“They were butchered, Pablo. We have no hope!” Pedro exclaimed as he passed around the meagre morsels of fish someone had caught.
“I reckon it was Fernando that done it,” said Ms Madrigal, the only surviving engineer, though she was bedridden and suffered burns all on her right side. “Saw his opportunity to off us lesser folk and fled! Only a magical attack could’ve brutalised them like that, and did anybody else notice only four bodies?”
There was a murmur at this. Talia stood up, “Oh for god’s sake people! Don’t let your personal disputes get in the way of what’s happening here! A creature of the night is stalking us, picking away at us like animals; what we need is to increase our defences, maintain a vigilant watch, and now allow ourselves to be splintered again, lest we become weaker and more vulnerable.”
Talia began to take more control after that – she who controls the resources controls the people, after all – and I was pleased enough with her decisions. We were always agreeable, even aboard the Sylvania, her serious attitude and bold disposition giving her the strength and insight to challenge the captain when others could not. So, at the quartermaster’s direction, we established a makeshift cheval de frise about the camp’s perimeter, laying out shattered glass where we could not set down the large wooden stakes. Fenjik, a northerner who happened to know a simple alarm spell, had made a long string out of bark, encircling the entire camp with it just as he had the other nights. If anything passed over that string, a loud and irritating noise would wake them all.
For several nights following, the beast made no appearance at all, and our traps were bountiful. Samanta even improved enough to get out of bed and help in the camp.
By the 29th of September, after 4 nights without a sign of danger, the other survivors seemed to relax somewhat.
“Well done,” I congratulated Talia. “Perhaps you were right. This beast may see us as too much of a threat now to attack…”
“No.”
We all spun around to look at Fenjik, who had been scaling a fish, not appearing to be listening at all. I shared a look of surprise with Talia – Fenjik almost never spoke, his understanding of our language fairly poor.
“No,” he said again. “Beast full. Beast rest. Silven miri fear nothing.”
We attempted to press him further on what he meant, but it seemed the poor fellow had reached the extent of his glossary. He simply shrugged, returning to his work. None of us knew what a silven miri was, but the word set a sense of unease in us all, and even Fenjik seemed to have an uncharacteristic air of apprehension about him that night as we fell asleep.
The next morning, when I went to tend to Ms Madrigal’s wounds, I discovered she had died in her sleep, succumbing to her wounds. We buried her with the others, just beyond the boundary of the camp. We resolved that as soon as Flavio could walk, we would leave camp.
Over the course of the day, I noticed Pedro watching Fenjik with suspicious glances. When I asked him about it, he simply muttered something about “foreigners and their bunk spells.” How could I have been aware then that Ms Madrigal’s death would mark the end for us all?
That night, when I was keeping watch at the camp’s main entrance, I thought I saw movement in the forest by the lame light of the moon. Drawing my revolver, which only happened to have two rounds left, I began to creep toward the tree line, conscious of the thought that this might leave the entrance open to intruders. As soon as I reached the first tree, a flitter caught my attention, and I heard the distinct sound of rough, bestial panting. Turning to look, I saw three figures, hunched and heaving with unnatural breath. In the delusional haze of that moment, I swore I saw Fernando standing beside Ms Madrigal, their rotting chests heaving with wheezing breaths. I let out a yelp, and before I could catch sight of the third figure, they were all gone.
I went to wake Talia to tell her what I saw, but when we went to investigate Ms Madrigal’s grave, we found it to be undisturbed.
“It must be your nerves, or perhaps guilt.” Talia spoke to me gently, like a mother. She could be kind when she wanted to be. “Don’t blame yourself, Pablo. We’re all doing what we can to survive here. Get some rest.”
I woke to yelling. Rushing over, I saw Pedro in a scuffle with Fenjik, cooking knife in hand. “Nordic scum!” He was shouting as he slashed maniacally at the man’s body. I leapt in pulling the chef off the paler man, but it was too late. Pedro had cut deep, and Fenjik lay dead, blood spreading rapidly on the sand. Still, I kept Pedro on the ground, my knee holding him firmly down as I tossed the murder weapon aside.
“What have you done?!” I shouted. Pedro did not answer. He simply nodded his chin, gesturing over my shoulder to where Talia had come running. She stood over another body, hand over her mouth.
“It’s Samanta,” she exclaimed. “The beast…”
“Not the beast!” Pedro spoke at last. “Fenjik did that…”
I bound the chef by his hands and feet until a decision could be made – he had killed Fenjik, after all. Then, I walked over to Samanta’s body.
She had been brutalised the same as the others – long claw marks streaking down her face and body in filaments of bloodless wounds. She had shrivelled up, her limbs tightening from the blood loss, and her face seemed frozen in terror. It was clear to Talia and me (and to Flavio when we explained to him) that Fenjik was not responsible. So, Pedro remained bound.
“That Nordic bastard did it! I’m sure of it!” Pedro exploded in a string of accusations when I brought him food later. “There was no beast at all – Fenjik used that foolish silven miri nonsense to scare us. He wanted us all dead… Probably a cannibal come to think of it…”
I left the man to his ramblings. Fenjik had been harmless, if a little odd. The poor man’s only sin was that his alarm spell had failed. That troubled me… How had the beast stolen into the camp with all of our defensive measures?
On the night of the 31st, I finally saw the beast.
I had been sleeping when a soft scuttling sound woke me. Opening my eyes to the darkness, I was met with the sight of a creature the size of a wolf, its long leathery wings clawing at the dirt as it skittered back from me in apprehension. It jumped back as I leapt up from my bedroll, my legs pushing sand as I shuffled backwards from the thing. With an uncanny fwoop, the batlike beast lifted its wings and pulled itself into the darkness above, disappearing from sight. Relieved, I crossed myself and got up, figuring sleep to be impossible after such a fright.
That was when I saw the beast in its full, glorious terror. It was not unlike the winged creature I had seen moments ago, but it was stranger, more human, with greying, leathery skin, and a back bristling with dark fur. Its human-like arms seemed to be gripping something as its head bobbed in a strange rhythm, the back of its obscene skull lifting up occasionally to reveal a scalp of mangled white hair. Silven miri was all my brain could muster before, “HEY!” I shouted in a surprising feat of stupid bravery. It turned to face me at last, its unnatural, bestial features revealed to me in full. The face was not unlike that of an old man, except that its large, mammalian teeth bared as it registered me in the darkness, its red eyes flashing with malicious hunger in the moonlight. Blood was smattered across its pale face, and a thick ring of fur seemed to cover every surface. It smiled a predatorial grin as it dropped its previous quarry and began to stalk purposefully towards me. My heart leapt into my chest as I stared at its approach, paralysed. The bat-like creature which had fled just moments before now landed by its side, apparently newly empowered by its companion’s fearless hunt. As its strange paws touched the sand, it transformed, standing to reveal the nude, furry form of what once might have been identified as Fernando, the apprentice mage of the AA Sylvania. He smiled a similar predatorial grin as he paced slowly toward me behind the dark form of the silven miri, his own bestial teeth showing in a dark and grimy fashion. They seemed to communicate through rough, low speech, a dark glimmer passing in their eyes which never broke from my frozen body.
Suddenly, instinct seemed to take over me. I remembered my revolver, stowed just near my bedroll. Seeing me lunge for it, the beasts began to move more rapidly, but I was quicker, cocking the loaded gun and firing directly into the chest of the larger beast. They both recoiled from the sound of the gun, the larger one dropping to the floor quickly with a squeal of pain. The bestial Fernando quickly caught my eye; fear plastered on his face as I levelled the gun at him next.
“Begone!” I shouted, suddenly empowered by this subversion.
As if in reaction to my command, both beasts froze, then transformed rapidly back into the winged creatures they had been when they arrived, flapping frenziedly as they took to the skies. By now Talia was awake, and she rushed to my side as the sound of their upset cries receded into the forest beyond. Together, we crept cautiously to where the elder beast had been feeding to find…
Pedro’s mutilated corpse, still bound, his face and neck shredded like all the others. The beast had not reached the rest of his body, but he had the same, bloodless scars like pinstripes lining his terrified face. We quickly checked on Flavio, who was alive but still ill, then made to bury Pedro with the rest. We made light work of it; the soil still unsettled from Ms Madrigal’s burial only days before. There was no sign of her body when we put the chef to rest.
The sun was already up by the time we were done. Nobody spoke all day. It is plain to us that there is no hope. Those who tried to flee were killed, those who chose to stay were killed all the same. Somehow, Fernando had been forced (or allowed himself? or even requested?) to become that beast as well.
So, I resolved to make this report, in the hopes that it might prove somehow useful to anyone who might come after us. If you came to this place freely, then I tell you again – leave now, while you can.
Since I began this report, four days have passed. Flavio was taken on the 33rd, though we tried our best to fend off the beast that was once Fernando. Talia was injured in the tumble, her arm clawed at when she got too close with Pedro’s knife (which seemed to have no effect on the beast). She was killed the night after, unable to defend herself when the beast returned.
I am now alone, with one shot left in my revolver and God at my side. Today is the 36th of September 1923. If I survive the night, if I defeat or at least scare off the silven, then I will begin the journey north in the morning in the hopes of a better chance at survival. If not, then…
God save the souls of the AA Sylvania.