Lift Engines: Stable
Drive Engines: Stable
Misc. Engines: Stable
Hull Integrity: Stable
Makou Power: Stable
Makou Cannons: Stable
Throm lifted his head from the report and looked to the engineer who had been hired for the trip back to Westbridge. Shifting uncomfortably, the engineer stammered.
"The other engineers have reported good sized tremors on the third and fourth decks, as well as a slight listing of the port side deck."
Nodding, Throm looked at the report once again, not looking up as he spoke.
"Will there be a need to turn back to Torregiano?"
"No sir, she'll fly to Westbridge sure as the sky, but you may be wantin' to tune those engines once we reach port."
Nodding, Throm handed the man back his report, dismissing him. He turned back to the additional papers which scattered his makeshift desk. Taking a moment to cast a longing glance towards the pile of broken wood in the corner which was his previous desk he shook his head and continued on to the matters at hand.
The Armor of Escalore had worked it's sorcery upon Nathaniel much better than Throm would have imagined. Though he had been loathe to use dark magic for the purposes of good, he had found no other way to recover the broken younger Stormweather. Throm had requested Nathaniel's presence on the trip back to Westbridge in order to monitor the Armor's effect on Nathaniel, however the young man had insisted upon remaining behind to speed his recovery.
The door to his office burst open suddenly, breaking his train of thought. Mavin nearly ran inside, breathing heavily.
"Throm! We have visitors!"
"More pirates no doubt?"
Mavin shook his head, still catching his breath.
"No, not like that. They just...appeared on the Command Deck. Avalon is standing watch over them now, and I've sent one of the engineers to rig an engine room as a holding cell."
Throm began to lean back, and then remembered his office chair for the time being was a wooden crate. Sitting up straight he shuffled the papers on his desk.
"Nonsense Mavin, where are your manners? Until proven otherwise, they are our guests aboard the Bastion and will be treated as such until we arrive at Port Westbridge. Offer them drinks and inform them that I will meet them in the Common Room shortly."
Finally finding his wind, Throm's younger brother leaned close across the desk. When he spoke it was barely above a whisper.
"They asked to speak with Elder uth Bannon..."
Throm ceased shuffling his papers and sharply looked up at his sibling, surprise flashing across his face briefly before he recomposed himself. His guests were no longer a mystery to him. What he did not know, is why they were here...why now?
Slowly, he stood. Reaching down with one motion, he picked up his cloak and tossed it about his shoulders.
"Very well, clear the Command Deck and wait for me in my quarters. I shall not be long."
Mavin began to utter a protest then stopped, nodded, and left.
Sighing, Throm glanced at his sword, which rested below the sorry excuse for a desk he was currently using. Shaking his head, he left it be and strode from his office.
The sound of a grandfather clock striking the hour split the night as a hammer to rock.
One...
Two...
Three...
The last resounding ring of the clock hung in the air which once again remained still for a moment before once again tainted with the sound of soft footsteps on a hardwood floor.
Moonlight spilled through the windows of the Victorian style house, illuminating the dark hallway with shafts of white light. within these shafts appeared a shadowed figure clothed head to toe in black garments.
The figure paused outside of a large oak doorway, slowly creaking the door open. Inside, the soft glow of a dying fire lit the dark room with just enough light by which to see.
Slowly entering the room the dark figure approached a large bed.
"Be still young Master Stormweather. This will not take long...and the pain shall be over quickly."
Reaching down to a broken human form lying on the bed, the standing figure slowly hoisted the younger man into a sitting position causing a low painful moan to issue from the one named Stormweather. Sufficiently propping him up, the dark figure spoke soothingly while walking to a large wardrobe closet.
"You are braver than most...I ask to call upon that bravery for yet a little longer. When we are through, perhaps you will feel better than you have felt in your entire life."
This did nothing to quiet the younger man's whimpers from the bedside. Opening the cabinet the cloaked man pulled from it, several peices of armor which reflected darkly off of the glows of dying embers in the fireplace.
Moving to the bedside of the broken man, he began strapping the armor to the younger man's shattered limbs. A loud cry broke from the bed.
"God's forsaken Throm! Can't you just let me die in peace!"
The older man stopped for a moment before crouching down to look the sobbing man in the eyes. Allowing his green eyes to peirce the very mind of the other man for but a few seconds he spoke out.
"There will be no dying tonight Nathaniel Stormweather. The best clerics in the Realms have been unable to heal your body. I...have been unable to heal your body through the will of Mystra's Weave. This armor is our greatest hope in restoring you. Should you will it, I will stop...otherwise you may well emerge this night whole once again. Stronger, and faster than you were even before your capture."
A minute of silence between the two men passed. Finally Nathaniel set his teeth and gave a brief nod.
Not even the thick walls of the old house could stifle the screams which permeated the air of Torregiano the rest of the night.
(More on the transformation of Nathaniel Stormweather will be found in the catagory entitled "The Twilight Diaries")