Lancing the Clouds.
Whaling had always been a Nordic past time. As inbred within their thick skin as war and mead, it wasn't something they took lightly. More so, one might find in the higher reaches, the mountains that plagued their country, the creatures' cousins so magical and mystic that they'd all but been forgotten every so often and written off as naught but fantasy: Snow Whales.
These Snow Whales would hop from mountain top to cloud and back again, gliding through the skies with little reservation, nothing would generally get in their way save an unlucky bird and more recently; dragons. However, while hunting them had been an attempted practice so many years ago, one would find throughout the eras past that the Nordic people had assessed their reasoning for doing so and the cons of such a practice.
Snow Whales produced Joy-Snow, a hallucinogenic and semi-magical concoction that when sprouted from the blow hole of these great creatures would drift down as soft and disguised as that more mundane frost and upon the shoulders of Men and Mer alike. Laughter like nothing man could perceive -even in the famed hall of the Companions- beset them, joyousness and self-deprecating humour that made them forget they stood upon a mountain top. Indeed it was ironic that men would fall to their deaths at the hands of joy rather than some sadness or great melancholy.
They'd tried such things as lining their shields with wasabi, so that when they did feel that tingle and flash of happiness begin to take hold one could lick the edges of their protection and get their throat and nose burning. They'd make lewd jokes about each other's sisters and mothers, steal each other's boots and beat each other around the head. But it was for naught, without the real technology to stand the magic Joy-Snow, all men even as bitter as some got would fall into fits of giggles and other hilarity.
That had been in the First Era, however, and things had changed since then.
By the Fourth Era, the time man now stood in, harpoons had advanced, steel heads and strengthed rope making for a better throw while the means to assault these creatures was indeed improved with the introduction of something thought so whimsical that only the High Elves of the Summerset Isles or the slug-like Sload of the Thrassian Reef could produce them; airships.
Huge vessels with balloons riding high on magic and more mundane means, it was a fast and exceptionally mobile machine quite appropriate in the still air of the North, where they found rotors and balloons worked at their best. As of such, alongside a resurgence in demand for oils and blubber especially in the northernmost cities -and with the largest companies based out of the city of Amol of which sat nestled in the north-eastern mountain ranges that housed some of the largest populations of Snow Whales- said creatures were again on the list of hunters country-wide.
More so a mask, partially sealed via the means of a petty soul crystal as well by rubber and other means, covering the lower features and casting men a deathly look as it's chunky form dragged their features down and aghast. But then again the thick cloaks they had to wear also sought to foil their fun, or the look of it anyway.
One such ship, known as the Lancing Dirge, was particularly well known, and this is where one would find a well known crew(Of course). A ship holding forty men, a small frigate if nothing else, with a plethora of whaleboats and a count of more than a hundred whales to it's name, the Snow Whales may have learned to fear this vessel had they the intelligence to do so.
It was captained by one Geir Sky-Crawler, so named for his profession, and looking stark next to any of his men: housing a long black coat below a thick fur wrapping around his shoulders and chest, a colour darker than black as was the cave bear it had been produced from. There was not one but two swords at his waist; one of curvaceous figure that would have had him declared a pirate in the company of Imperials, the other a thick falchion of an esteemed metal, something of perhaps Orcish or Ebony origin.
His features were haggard, a scraggly beard and hair barely brushed from his forehead that in and of itself was stark against the aforementioned dark hair with it's pale, snow like complexion. However those lips and subsequently any facial hair would be hidden -thus was the understanding he didn't really need to look after it- as a mask indeed hid his features there, a demonic thing that allowed him to breath without the threat of breaking his dark demeanour with some form of laughter or another by the cursed snow of the namesake whales he now searched for.
Geir stood on the highest deck of the vessel, looking by his telescope on the horizon of clouds and mountain tops to sight any potential target that may be dallying about unaware of their impending doom. The Lancing Dirge was so named for such reasons, a lot of days had been ruined by their means.
But occasionally this Nord would look away from his scope, sighting the deck of his great ship and seeing Man, Mer and Beast working in tandem as those specifics did what such mismatched rabble could easily get along with, weapons and drink. Some sat in their whaleboats, ready to disembark on the small vessels at a moment's notice -balloons cleverly set below these sky dinghies- to go and spear a creature of interest. Others at their posts along the side of the ship, maybe on the rigging or at the fore of their vessel, bows and other such weapons ready should such a dangerous event occur as a dragon attack or even one more piratical in nature.
Worse still, dragon pirates.
Though news the end of the world had been averted by some champion on the other side of Skyrim(the place that they lived), it was by their accounts mostly that indeed he'd not eradicated those creatures and the followers of Alduin, whom had been the leader of these demonic wyverns before the previously mentioned champion followed him to what was rumoured to be heaven to deconstruct the monster's very being; something like that.
Since then discussion between those more benevolent dragons and man had been opened, conversations that were awe inspiring leading to so much more than simply felling such ancient and mighty creatures. Unfortunately this too meant that dragons had opened their doors to those that befit their personalities, and as of such some dragons were less than savoury, making pacts with bandits, pirates and war lords where others were good and helped protect cities or small farms depending on the dragon and their level of self respect.
But Geir's reveries were interrupted, for he heard a dreamlike moan off their port. He quickly strode to the railing there to bring his telescope to bare, astride a young Wood Elf who himself had a trained eye on the dark clouds, as they were surrounded above and below with the gaseous loiters.
When Geir spoke, 'twas a rumble though gravelled, and set him above that rank and file -if not his stature and appearance- to command the archer's attention, "Have you tail or brow of those infuriating creatures that make our lives a-wealth?" he queried, and though neither looked from their spying game they both knew it was each other they meant to address.
"Aye sir, I caught but a glimpse of the beast rollicking about that peak," the Elf asserted, giving a sharp point to one particularly erect pillar of stone and snow, "seemed a big bugger."
"Good job Tanor," Geir congratulated, before turning abruptly, "Esdrufus, turn our body port-wise, circulate that mountaintop!" he called, the man at the wheel a tanned Imperial of dark hair and darker eyes.
In reply, this fellow did as such, spinning the vessel with some weight in a low arch to bring to bare at an angle that saw any smaller items as bottles or coins roll back towards the railings and erect structures of the ship, but most of important items stayed weighted where they were. So the bow of the ship pointed somewhat skyward, they addressed the side of the mountain they had not seen, four quarters as many of those whalers aboard found their interest in the possibility of work rather than simple dallying.
How eager they seemed to see the one quarter of the mountain not rounded almost made Geir chuckle, but he kept himself away from such emotions lest he open himself up to such accusations of Joy-Snow being inhaled, as he'd been accused of in the past by jealous captains and drunken guards alike, Amol ever a place for controversy.
The Lancing Dirge rounded this stack wide, and indeed it was something of a relief when their hopes were answered, a Snow Whale frolicking in the lower reaches of the clouds so that only it's wide back was viewed. A dark blue hide, it stood stark against the white and grey of it's surroundings, and left a trail of choir to assert it's presence. Geir found the noise quite a soothing resonance, but knew it would not last so long as he did not act, his men pulling taut their masks and looking to him for orders, Esdrufus keeping their vessel afloat and on the creature's tail though slowly, far away and quiet.
Geir wouldn't miss such an opportunity; "Draw alongside this beast, address the whaleboats!" the captain called suddenly, striding by Tanor and down the stairs of the upper deck, "teams of three, encircle it! And be patient for Stendarr's sake!" he ordered, and the men scrambled as they prepared. Using both flames conjured and those of a simple torch, any light that had not been lit was reasserted to be as such, lighting up the clouds as though the mercy of Stendarr -rather ironically- was moving through the clouds.
The ship picked up speed as excess gases were exhaled from the ship's exhaust and Esdrufus inflated those balloons at the bow of the vessel. It levelled, and as it did a quartet of smaller sky-boats broke off with their crews at the ready, their masks set tight and their cloaks encasing as they braved the bitter-cold air of the northern heights.
The Snow Whale seemed well immersed in it's own meanderings, casting itself low before coming up high to reveal itself from the thicket of clouds below(Noticeably thick as the mountainside purported). It was a great beast, or four fins and a largely square head, the mouth was wide and eyes positioned low on it's sides, looking rather dumb or so Geir felt.
It let out a low thrum that echoed around the caverns louder than the rumble of noise aboard their ship, and attempted to release a long spout of Joy-Snow in the direction of the vessels fast bearing upon it. Though they would not be swayed, and it quickly found itself surrounded and confused, wondering why it's hallucinogenics hadn't worked in this instance even as the men were coated with the stuff.
The first harpoon came hard and suddenly, from a broad High Elf that had proven himself more rugged than those more well-born generally associated with his kind, shirtless and allowing golden skin to stand stark against the whites and browns encompassing. It was a good throw, catching the tail of the creature hard and having the beast crane it's fat body to let out a chilling moan. However the guilty of downing such a graceful creature was fast absorbed and accepted by the men of the Lancing Dirge, most of whom had done this for upwards of five years. In but a minute there were no less then seven harpoons in the Snow Whale, which as one might expect -or those interested in homophones anyway- began to wail horribly.
Geir watched from the rigging, having climbed aboard it, and now clung with but one hand as he directed the ship and those men spearing the great creature, such a voice as his having no issue resounding around the rather large area, "In the throat! Keep it held down you belligerent tossers! I don't want to see another hook in it's bloody torso or I'll go over there and rip them out myself!" he yelled ferociously, and watched as a pair of whaleboats towards the back of the creature -which was tossing and turning in and of itself, making this process especially difficult- begin to steep around it's front, making sure to arise so that they did not tangle their own ropes or get in the way of those two that were already around the Snow Whale's face.
It took some time, seventeen harpoons and a lot of misses worth. But eventually after one particularly skilled shot drew blood from the target's eye it let out one throaty, defeated howl that lasted a full on ten seconds the creature slumped and began to fall, whatever magic Kynareth the sky god had bestowed upon the beast gone now that it had passed on.
In response, the four ships quickly drew into a small cluster as it slowly began it's descent, gases and whatnot making for a slow though sure free fall that could be countered by the tactic they were performing. When the ropes were taut, three of the four ships were drawn down somewhat and several of the ropes snapped, but as per the strength put into them and perhaps some saving prayer the creature eventually swayed steadily below the collection of boats, and it was then that they began pulling themselves towards the larger Lancing Dirge in hopes of drawing it aboard.
These airships were designed especially for this purpose, just at the front of the main deck -which in and itself was fairly long- there was a huge hatch that slid aside, and of which many exceptionally strong chains were laden. Those aboard the ship removed the former, and began inching down the barge-like ramp presented to meet the smaller boats halfway.
It was finicky business, tying the loosed ends of the ropes that were attached to an iron bore across each boat to those chains hanging down the ramps, but when they did most men sighed a sigh of relief, and made to untie the ropes holding up their prey from their boats. This would allow them to redock at the sides of the vessel while the whale was pulled up independently by around twenty men, mostly Nords, Orcs and the larger breeds of Khajiit(As the cat men's biology was dependent on the phase of the two moons, and so could produce a creature anything from a house cat sized sub-species to a ten foot tall gorilla-tiger, among other things.).
It was a slow going process to drag the thing up, but it eventually happened, the tail of the creature appearing first over the rim of the ramp before it was dragged up and onto the deck, blood, oil and Joy-Snow spilling out of the various new orifices the whalers had created, and it was at this point that Geir Sky-Crawler approached it's lazy, empty eye, staring into it with some sombre satisfaction.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure you're put to good use," he said dimly, more to himself than the whale or crew, and patted it's freshly dead hide contemplatively as his men began unhooking their harpoons from it's body, men with axes coming out of the hold in preparation to dismember the beast.
Geir walked away, towards the steps of the vessel in the eventuality that he'd reach his usual perch of station astride the wheel, "Business as usual."
…
Just a quick little piece I did for my English class, I think it was kinda rushed towards the end, and I don't like a lot of the language I used in here. Feh, I'll share it anyway, just because I feel like you've earned the right to see the majority of my work, especially if it's fanfiction.
Isaac.