Varien struck Iseddon with a holy smite, trying to shove the gelugon prone with his shield. Iseddon dug his claws into the deck plates and stood his ground contemptuously. He brought up his frostquall partisan to parry Varien’s attack. “Fine,” Varien said. “Be that way.” He sliced the gelugon again, blasting the fiend with another smite, and with a flourish, leaped into the air to bring Fiendsbane down a third time, shattering Iseddon’s carapace and causing blue-black ichor to flow freely. “Surrender,” Varien growled at the gelugon. Iseddon’s voice crackled like ice on the wind. “Surrender is not an option, but there may yet be a way you survive this transgression.” The gelugon steadied itself. “If I survive, it is by the goddess’s will, not by yours,” Varien said. Iseddon shook his head. “I’m very sorry to hear you say that.” He slammed down his frostquall partisan but Varien stylishly parried the blows. On the bridge, Siegfried took over the controls of the ioun security turret. He felt a presence as he gained control. A pleasant voice rang out in his psyche. “Good afternoon, this is Ioun Turret Imitrex at your service. How may I help you today?” “Hello, Turret Imitrex,” Siegfried replied. “ I have a petulant Iseddon that I need to shoot the shit out of.” “Is that so?” Imitrex replied. “Fascinating. Have you filed disciplinary charges against the Executive Officer? We have to have our paperwork complete, don’t you know.” Siegfried toggled some switches and put his best game face on. “Yes!” “Wait a moment, I’m just getting something here,” Imitrex replied. “Very well, allow me to spin up and we’ll dispense some justice together, how does that sound?” “That would be lovely,” Siegfried replied. “Excellent, excellent, I’m so glad to be of service today,” Imitrex replied. Varien saw a hatch open in the roof of the intersection above him. A turret descended from the ceiling with an ioun stone spinning inside it. The stone unleashed a spell, not aimed at the paladin, but at the gelugon general attacking him. A robotic voice issued a hellish curse from the depths of Cania itself, and a bolt of agony leapt out and enveloped Iseddon. The gelugon’s mandibles chattered inarticulately as he was suddenly crippled by the unbearable pain. He dropped his frostquall partisan and with all his limbs grabbed his head and shrieked as waves of cold sweat froze into icicles as he was assailed by a wave of intense pain. The gelugon staggered back. “I have dispensed justice on the target,” Imitrex said proudly to Siegfried. “Please inform my supervisor of your level of satisfaction vis a vis my performance today.” “Most excellent and satisfactory, indeed,” Siegfried replied. “Imitrex, can you put a request through to deliver another portable weapon system to the bridge for my personal use and enjoyment?” “I would love to pass that order along, however I’m only a lower turret, sir, my function is only to ready, aim, and fire, however, I would be happy to patch you through to our Logistics Department, where a logistics consultant will be happy to take your order and route the requested item to your location.” “Excellent,” Siegfried replied. “In the meantime, please continue to dispense justice upon Iseddon until you hear from me.” “With the greatest of pleasures, sir,” Imitrex said. “It is my duty to serve. Now, please standby.” Soothing music began to echo in Siegfried’s skull as the ioun turret happily placed him on a temporary psychic hold. In the corridor, the turret spoke in Infernal. “Thank you for being my target today, General Iseddon. I hope that you’re satisfied with my performance. Please hold still while I continue to dispense justice downrange. Have a nice day.” Iseddon staggered and shrieked. “The ultimate betrayal! Discipline is coming apart on this ship!” He yelled in agony. The gelugon pulled himself together and unleashed a spell. A field of frozen blades burst forth in a hailstorm, enveloping Varien and the turret within its path of destruction. The merregons closed ranks on Varien, slashing at him with their polearms. Varien ignored the legion devils and rounded on Iseddon, who was still stumbling blindly in rage and pain. Varien slashed at the Gelugon, who triggered a frozen pane of ice that blocked his attack. The wall of ice formed over the passageway. Varien’s attack damaged the wall, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the icy barrier. “Ugh, I thought that would work better!” Iseddon snarled. He peered through the fractured translucence of the ice wall vainly searching for the paladin. Only too late did the gelugon General Iseddon, decorated veteran of the Blood War and Executive Officer of the Subjugator , comprehend that Varien had teleported through the ice to stand behind him in an executioner’s stance, Fiendsbane already at his neck. Varien took the general’s helmeted head in a controlled flourish, sending it spinning and bouncing like a curling rock down the corridor as his body collapsed into black-blue chunks of frozen ichor. His expression was one of shock. Varien jumped behind the nearest merregon and ground the fiend into the icy wall with his shield, and then ran the fiend through with his sword, mortally wounding the squad leader. “Who else is trying to start a coup?” Varien growled, twisting his sword in the fiend’s guts. “Good soldiers follow orders,” the merregon replied, ichor spilling out from beneath his mask as he pulled himself along the sword’s blade towards the paladin. The pleasant tones of the hold music lulled Siegfried into a reverie. He snapped out of it, and manipulated the controls in an attempt to jump the queue. Thank you for contacting the Logistics Department. All of our customer service representatives are currently engaged, so please hold the line as you are at the front of the queue and will be assisted shortly. Please continue to hold, and know that your business is important to us here in Subjugator Logistics. A gruff voice broke through the psychic loop. “Go for Donsig!” “Donsig!” Siegfried replied. “This is Imperator Generalissimo Dafticrux.” “Welcome aboard the Subjugator, Generalissimo,” Donsig replied with a respectful grunt. “How may Logistics be of service to you today?” “Yes, I’m hoping to carry some form of oversized arbalest as I fly about in battle, and require such weapon to be flown up to the command deck immediately.” “Immediately? Well, we live to serve down here in Logistics,” Donsig replied. “Indeed you do, and I hope that you continue to live as you continue to serve,” Siegfried replied. “Well, thank you for that, General. I’ll have a delivery team dispatched with the appropriate armament and accompanying bills of lading and dispatch waivers posthaste.” “Wonderful,” Siegfried replied. He broke the psychic connection. Varien fended off the wave of attacks from the remaining Merregons, but a few strikes did get past his defences. He struck back, tearing his sword from the squad leader’s guts, killing the fiend, and slashing another Merregon, who fell back against the bulkhead, dead. His final slash wounded another legion devil. Varien teleported eastward down the corridor, intent on finding the engine room. Behind him, the Merregons formed ranks and began a relentless pursuit. Varien noticed that the area around him had sustained structural damage, likely from the storm that Air-wen had brewed up. He heard the sound of approaching boots ringing on the decking as he approached another intersection. Varien’s keen eyes spied a maintenance ladder with Infernal markings indicating access to the Subjugator ’s engine deck. That will do nicely, the paladin thought. He made a move towards the hatchway and felt his boot make contact with something – he looked down and saw that he’d kicked General Iseddon’s helmeted head with the toe of his boot, sending it clattering across the deck where it ricocheted against the bulkhead alcove and rattled and banged its way down the open hatch towards the engine room. There were echoing sounds of metal-on-metal from parts below. Varien rolled his eyes. So much for the stealthy approach , he thought to himself. Varien’s divine sense indicated that fiends were approaching from parts north and west, so he dove for the maintenance ladder, crashing into it as he slid down, heedless of the rungs and rails. There was a screeching metal sound and sparks flew as Varien rocketed down the maintenance hatchway. The ladder ran parallel with a huge cold-iron pipe that descended into a large complex with three levels arranged around a central atrium-like chamber. The upper level featured a rat’s warren of corridors and hatches with a railing around the perimeter. The middle level’s central chamber was surrounded by several mushroom-like control bulbs and service hatches, where a crew of imps chattered about lift, yaw, and altitude in increasingly panicked tones. The floor was taken up by an infernal device that looked like part cistern, part furnace, blazing with heat like the fires of hell, connected to the very pipe Varien’s ladder was latched to. Three chain devil engineers were working on battening down the hatches around the cistern. There was a malfunctioning valve of sorts issuing spurts of green fog accompanied by hellish wailing every few seconds, and a chain devil was busy battering a piece of iron plating into place over the breach in the furnace with an oversized pentagonal wrench. Varien identified the sound of the wailing as coming from trapped souls within the intake pipe and furnace, providing a source of fuel and propulsion for the airship. Truly a ship of the damned, the paladin thought. Suspended in the air in the middle of the engine room was an iron, bell-shaped contraption painted several shades of the deepest black, from which the occasional deep gong issued from. The bulb’s surface was a patchwork of organic pustules that occasionally bled corrosive ichor. Imps in protective gear flitted to and fro, from stations at the mushroom shaped control consoles to the black bulb’s blurred surface, where they dutifully attended to the bell’s techno-mantic carapace, sealing wounds with brushes covered in sticky black salve they drew from buckets in their clawed hands. The imps seated at the mushroom consoles had been locked in agitated argumentation, that is, until the resounding gong of Iseddon’s head rattling down the ladder followed by the gnomish train-sized cacophony of Varien’s arrival caught their attention. All eyes swiveled to the maintenance tube atop the cistern. Standing atop a dais containing the master control console was a hooded fiend clutching what looked like an oar or bargepole, inscribed with fiendish runes, that he held like a symbol of rank or office. Varien identified him as a Merrenoloth , a skeletal ferryman usually found on the River Styx. With a final few metallic bounces, Iseddon’s skull landed at the feet of the boatman. Varien jumped off the ladder to land atop the cistern with a clang. “I was sent here from the Bridge to survey the damage!” he called out, somewhat unconvincingly. The Merrenoloth’s empty sockets regarded the General’s head for a moment before he turned his skull towards Varien. “Ah, hell,” Varien said, and then hurled Fiendsbane at the nearest Chain Devil, striking the fiend squarely. Even before the sword struck home, Varien teleported to catch the sword’s hilt in his hand, then shoved the hapless fiend off the edge of the furnace, sending him crashing through the tempered crystal shielding of the control booth. Varien raised his sword overhead and then swung it down onto the infernal iron surface of the cistern. There was a crack as Varien dislodged the jerry-rigged plate covering the breach. He knelt and grabbed the ragged edge of the iron plate, tearing at it with all his strength. “You fool!” The Merrenoloth shouted. Varien pulled the plate off, unleashing a plume of green necrotic soul-fog into the engine room. One of the imp mechanics flew up, waving his arms in consternation. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’ve-” A blast of green fog caught the creature in mid-sentence, melting the flesh from its fiendish bones. The soul-fog began to pool onto the lower decks like a liquid, corroding everything it contacted. Varien smiled grimly. Usually, it’s Erwen who wanders off alone to cause havoc. Now I understand why he does it. Bob and Erwen found themselves getting lost in Lady Dejatha’s dark eyes. With effort, Bob tore himself away and attempted to get his bearings. Looking out through the bridge’s viewport, he took in the immense, flat surface of the great Battle Cube that unfurled beneath the airship like a long length of scroll, an endless array of battlements, fortifications, staging areas, airfields, and earthwork defences leading towards a massive tower on the approaching horizon. Thousands upon thousands of orc petitioners swarmed like ants over the complex, standing guard, forming ranks, and preparing to board massive airships that cast elongated shadows over the flat expanse. Siegfried heard another alarm begin blaring on a nearby console. Excellent , he thought. He sent a message to Bob. Do you know the Death Ward spell? It might be good to cast it on Lady Dejatha. I do know that one, Bob replied. Good idea. “Prepare for landing,” Siegfried said under his breath. He approached the communications console. “Gnash, if you would open a hailing channel to the Tower, please.” Eager to stay useful, Gnash grabbed the sounding horn and spun a few dials. There was a squelching sound of static. The barghest handed the horn to Siegfried with deference. “This is Prince Siegfried Alagondar, Warchief of Clan Many-Arrows,” Siegfried said in Orcish. “Seeking an audience.” One of the nearby imps raised an eyebrow at Siegfried’s choice of language. There was a hissing sound on the line, then a gruff voice replied in Orcish. “Maintain course and heading. No sudden moves.” “About that,” Siegfried replied. “We may have some unavoidable descent due to our engine trouble. It may not be a soft landing.” There was a dark chuckle on the other end of the line. “Ah, the old ‘engine trouble’ routine. Do you think this is our first rotation around the Cube?” Siegfried thought for a moment. “If you cannot smite your enemy upon the mountain, smite the mountain upon your enemy.” There was a pause, and then another chuckle tinged with understanding. “I wish you a successful wyvern smash.” “Encourage the welcoming party to take cover,” Siegfried replied. He hung up the sounding horn. “Sir!” an imp squeaked as he turned from his alarm console. “Trouble in the engine room – it looks like we’re losing soul fuel containment!” “Oh no!” Siegfried said with weak concern. “Well then, it’s a good thing we sent brave Optio Dundarth and my Chief Engineer Varien down to the engine room to go check on that and assist the crew then, isn’t it?” “I’m trying to ring Chief Engineer Athaxias in the Engine Room but he’s not picking up!” The imp said worriedly. “Now, General Iseddon was responsible for that area, wasn’t he?” Siegfried said. “Why hasn’t he reported in yet? Have someone check on the Executive Officer – if he’s not responding to official inquiries he may be sabotaging the ship!” A wave of uncertain murmurs swept over the bridge crew as Siegfried called the XO’s loyalties into question. “Paging General Iseddon, report to the bridge immediately!” The imp called into his sounding horn, and his voice was amplified throughout the ship. “Wait a moment,” Siegfried said, pointing at the damage control board. “Doesn’t this show General Iseddon’s location as being in the Engine Room?” The imp frowned and consulted the board. Siegfried turned and bent down to consult with Erwen. “Erwen, you know how I’m always telling you to not ruin things?” he whispered. “Yes,” Erwen sighed. Siegfried’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Ruin things.” Erwen suddenly smiled. “Obliged!” He cast firestorm. A storm made up of sheets of roaring flame appeared across the bridge, enveloping the bridge crew’s control consoles in fire and smoke. Two gelugon guards were caught up in the blast, and backpedaled frantically to keep from being singed. “Egads!” Siegfried called out. “The soul fuel leak has caused a fire on the bridge! Won’t someone think of the delicate machinery?” Erwen wildshaped into a fire elemental, growing into a hulking morass of magma and flame. “Ah, just like home!” One of the imps smiled as he was wreathed in fire. Then he saw his console bubbling and melting. “Uh oh!” At this moment, a squad of three fimbrul devils toting a large wooden crate arrived on the bridge. One of them raised a frozen eyebrow at the fire but shrugged and extended an infernal clipboard to Siegfried. “I need you to sign this to keep our paperwork in order, sir.” Siegfried reviewed the bill of lading. There didn’t seem to be any codicils about forfeiting one’s soul embedded in the invoice, however there was a delivery charge totally three soul coins. Siegfried patted his nonexistent pockets and turned to Gnash. “Gnash, can you spot me?” Gnash smiled. “I’d be happy to trade the soul coins for certain assurances, Siegfried.” “Of course,” Siegfried smiled. “As in, my survival?” Gnash pressed. “Of course, I will do what I can to make sure you survive the journey back home,” Siegfried said. Gnash thought it over. “Deal,” he said. Gnash dug into his satchel and handed over three coins. “Awesome,” Seigfried said. He paid the fimbrul devil and then opened the wooden crate. Inside the crate were burnt wood chips and pungent foam pellets, and as Siegfried rooted around, his fiendish claws found purchase on something substantial. He withdrew the weapon – a large clockwork belt-fed autocannon with a built-in bayonet. Inscribed upon the weapon’s upper receiver was a name: Ol’ Painless . “Oooooh,” Siegfried said in admiration. “It’s usually crew-served,” the devil said, “but we’ve streamlined the firing mechanism and handgrip to make it work for you, sir.” “Like this?” Siegfried aimed the weapon at the three devils and pulled the trigger. The cannon’s multi-barrel began to spin with a hellish whine as it spat hot lead at the targets. The fimbrul devils, shocked, staggered back under the onslaught. “Wonderful! Return to the quartermaster and tell them I’m pleased!” Siegfried called out. One of the devils was holding in its icy guts. “W-with pleasure, sir! We live to serve!” he coughed. “For as long as you do,” Siegfried said. The gelugon guards raised their weapons. Siegfried turned to them. “Don’t just stand there, put out those flames!” To the rest of the crew, he shouted, “Everyone! Carry out your duties and prepare to land on that spot,” he gestured at the cube outside, “while I deal with this rogue flame elemental!” Siegfried said as he fired his last shot at Burn-wen. Burn-wen took the shot. “No need for anyone to intervene, I have everything under control!” Siegfried called out theatrically. Not to be outdone, Burn-wen staggered around in an exaggerated, comical fashion as though mortally wounded by the autocannon. Bob shrugged and cast fireball on the gelugons who were trying to put out the fire with their innate cold magic. Gnash stumbled away from the flames in terror. “No, no, I don’t want to go back! I can’t go back!” he babbled. “Gnash the Slash, gone in a flash!” Burn-wen thundered. The fire elemental grabbed the nearest imp with one of his claws. He roared and waved his claws around like the monster he was pretending to be. “Ack! Let me go!” the imp complained. Roger the janitor imp was splashing his mop bucket at the raging flames. “New orders!” Siegfried hollered. “All available hands to the Engine Room for damage control!” The imp at the communications console relayed his orders across the ship. “Attention, all available hands to the Engine Room – assemble into damage control teams and report to muster stations.” The order reverberated down into the bowels of the ship. Burn-wen darted towards the gelugons. “You there, stop!” Siegfiend called out as he cast two fireballs to land on the gelugons. “Have at thee!” The fires and flames were reflected by the creatures multifaceted eyes as the explosions rocked the bridge. Elsewhere on the ship, Air Marshal Zuvok retrieved her ditty bag from her temporary quarters and marched smartly towards the upper perch, where her Hobgoblin flight crew was stationed. All around her, chaos reigned as alarm klaxons and contradictory orders were blurted out over the loudspeakers. Imps flitted about and devils of all ranks rushed down the corridors. She approached the dorsal hangar bay, which was guarded by two fimbrul devils who, rather than salute, merely got out of the Air Marshal’s way. She stepped through the hatchway and mounted the iron staircase to the hangar’s control room, but not before giving a smart nod to her detachment of flight officers, pilots, and bombardiers who were presently playing a dice game while seated around drums of fuel. The Hobgoblins eyed one another discreetly, aware of the fimbrul devils and hulking Balguran slaves patrolling the hangar bay, whose reinforced doors were currently sealed shut against the dissipating storm. In the control room, the ranking gelugon Optio turned from his station to give the Air Marshal a suspicious look. “Air Marshal Zuvok, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he sneered. Many of the Subjugator’s officer corps treated the Hobgoblin unit as not just outside of the regular chain of command, but beneath it entirely, as they were serving Rimmon based on the terms of an infernal contract. Zuvok’s patience had worn extremely thin of late. “Optio Rexander, I’m scrambling my flight wing immediately to do airborne reconnaissance.” The gelugon shook its head. “Negative, Air Marshal. Your men are grounded indefinitely due to-” he waved his extra limbs around expansively – “all of this nonsense! Haven’t you been paying attention? Nobody knows who’s in charge of this ship, and we’re deep in enemy territory, totally exposed!” Zuvok sighed. “I have authorization directly from the Bridge for this mission, Optio Rexander. Open the hangar bay doors.” Optio Rexander sneered anew. “Oh, you have authorization, do you? Let me see it, I could use a good laugh.” “Certainly,” Air Marshal Zuvok said. “My authorization is right here.” She held up her hand. In her fist was her black iron revolver. Zuvok’s authorization was very loud and very messy in the confined space of the control room.