Ships Log for Syberis’ Wing, maintained by Oern Stonebrow

Wir Aryth 21, YK 998
Ach my poor ship! My baby! Blasted shiteswillin’ dragon roughed you up but good she did! Oh sure, says Aern! Hire a shiteswillin’ team! Get a shiteswillin’ amulet! Spruce the shiteswillin’ ship! ‘Twill all turn out fine as a Nymph’s backside! Never mind Oern and his gut feelings! What in Khyber does he know! Between the altimeter repairs, starboard support struts, thermal regulators, the extended cargo hold, cleaning the crew cabins for our new “guests”, and the thrice-damned dragonshard foci that are ALWAYS out of sync… Oern can just waste the day away napping.

Of course the shiteswillin’ dragon goes straight for the aft ring harness first… heard that pop while I was at work on the foci, and near lost my eyebrows when the shard flared up. By the time I got above deck (almost losing an arm to the Khyberspawned beast), every fool and his grandmother was gawking at the pale bastard. Any ship without a supported elemental ring is a thrice-damned bomb attached to a pretty ship-shaped rock. The Dragonborn (whatever his name is) jumped overboard, followed by a gnome with the sense to take a flight ring. Last I saw before I jumped back below there were a couple orcs fighting over another ring.

Managed to regulate the dragonshard (shiteswillin’ air elemental isn’t getting out from under this dwarf) long enough for Aern to pull us in for a landing. No idea where the dragon went, or why, but this dwarf hadn’t the energy to care. Woke up the next morning to find my poor baby spread out over a shiteswillin’ mile of ice, and a mob of Khyberspawned Kobolds ready to greet us. Thanks Aern.

We fought them off most of the day, and then our favorite band of hired swords showed up for the end of it to take all the credit. Aern sent them into the cave to find the thrice-damned amulet. They can have it; I just want to go home.

So thanks to our gobshite fearless leader, we’re now shivering in the shiteswillin’ frozen sphincter of Khyber’s arse, scratching our memoirs and passing the night. On the off chance that we aren’t murdered in our sleep by more shiteswillin’ Kobolds, I might actually be able to get this bird back in the air.