2 - The Five Hour Fall That Lasted Only Fifteen Seconds, I Swear


Well the legend lives on, from the Silverwastes on down,

Of a jungle called Heart of Maguuma

It played host to a dragon many thousand years old

If you're plant-like, he might just corrupt ya.

.

The fleet was the pride of the Tyrian side

Sailing from Lion's Arch full of bluster

And thousands of pounds of those heavy-ammo rounds

all the bombs the Commander could muster.

.

The Glory of Tyria was bigger than most

Of the other airships all around her:

Cryptonym, Dragonrender, Endurance were there

Vengence Rising and ol' Thunderbreaker.

.

Trahearne on the stern, he raised his Caladbolg

With a glint in his eye (almost) frightful.

Flames rained from the sky, Mordremoth blinked an eye

then the whole [kitten] jungle turned spiteful.

.

Huge tentacle vines, green and thorny with spines

Flew into the air all around them,

Slice of the Sky was the first ship to die

In a deathly embrace from the Mordrem.

.

The Glory fought on against Mordremoth's spawn

Till a vine hit the deck and it shattered

Then off that high ledge tumbled Destiny's Edge

through the jungle the broken Pact scattered.

.

Adventurers bold, hear the story I've told

And remember this well, I implore you:

When you find a strongbox, spare a moment of thoughts

For the ghosts of that Pact ship's doomed aircrew.

.

~ excerpted from "The Wreck of the Glory of Tyria", Written and composed by charr folk singer Gorrick Leadfoot to commemorate the loss of the Tyrian fleet. She considers this her finest work.~


The jungle was on fire. Billows of black smoke enveloped the trees. All around, the fatally wounded airships sank slowly into the inferno, erupting with great gouts of flame.

Ffeldy fell from Thunderbreaker in a backwards swan-dive, his arms outstretched and coat whipping around him. The wind ripped his Seraph shield from his arm. The golden wing spun upwards away from him, and for a long, strange moment he contemplated the aerodynamic qualities that let it ride air currents while he plummeted like a stone. Then he remembered that he was about to die.

Thunderbreaker disintegrated under the Mordrem vine, and pieces of it fell around him. He felt a tug on his ankle. It had caught in a loop of rope, tethering him to the broken piece of airship fin. The fin jostled against its tether, buffeted by air resistance. An air current caught it for a moment, and the fin—the wing—soared upward, yanking his ankle so that now he hung completely upside down. At least he wasn't falling. Then the air current dwindled and the fin, with Ffeldy attached, plunged downward again while the black smoke engulfed them both, this time for good.

Swirling embers stung his eyes, smoke filled his lungs, leaves whipped his arms—he was falling through the jungle canopy now. He couldn't see the fin, just felt rope sawing into his ankle-it must still be attached. The ground must be getting closer. How had he not smacked the earth yet? These rainforest trees must be taller than his brain could even comprehend.

Ffeldy contorted himself in midair, trying to reach the rope on his ankle. When he arched his back and threw his arms wide, the rushing air caught in his coat and slowed him slightly, not nearly enough for a soft landing, but enough that the rope slackened and he found himself falling next to the Thunderbreaker's broken side-fin, almost close enough to reach…

The leading edge of the fin was pointed at the ground in a dive. He gritted his teeth against the wind and pulled a large magnet out of his toolbelt. It caught a metal strut with a clink. When he grasped the bowed metal strut with both gloved hands, the fin flared upwards. The fabric webbing caught the wind, slowing his descent with a teeth-shattering jerk. Ffeldy hung from the fin and floated in the smokey breeze like a massive dandelion seed.

"And that's why I'm a certified, non-card-carrying genius!" Ffeldy shouted triumphantly between smoke-induced coughing fits.

Then his fin-parachute caught fire from a passing branch. He hit the ground with a sickening smack that probably broke a rib or two without killing him outright.

"Never mind, I'm just your garden-variety idiot…"

When a mass of tentacle-vines erupted from the earth to engulf him, he immediately regretted surviving.


[Author's Note: The song at the top of this chapter is based on "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot.]