Coqoj 30th, 4288: 204 Days in the Mortal Realm
Isaac and I are on our way back to France currently. We made it to the coast and with little difficulty were able to find someone who was willing, without discussion of payment, to take us on our long trek across the ocean. I have to wonder if my appearance in my grand dress that Isaac got me a little over two weeks back, and the fact that he was still possessing the owl bear, had anything to do with that.
We walked into the coastal town Gregston. I already drew attention with my large stature and black wings among the gnomes. However with Isaac as an owl bear by my side, folk were far more reserved as we walked through the streets. I noted the various contraptions that they call ornithopters. They were of curious workmanship; glass domes, fairy like wing shape stretching out in a 40 foot span.
I had to make sure I found a competent pilot and with that, someone ‘daring’ enough to take on a flight across the world, let alone to a place they are most certain wild and untamed. We walked into a tavern and sat down with some gnomes.
“Whooz da ‘est hi-lot in town?” Isaac asked, not at all caring about what he was or of how the folk would react to a talking owl bear. The gnomes at our table batted their eyes shocked and confused.
“Sorry, we’re wanting to know who the best ornithopter pilot in town is,” I translated in case they didn’t understand Isaac. We were quickly met with the reply that Timmy was the best and that we could find him at the Roaring Rafters. We took off without further questions to see if we could find Timmy.
Walking into the Roaring Rafters was like being assaulted to the face. The noise level was well above the typical tavern, but I suppose it meant the place lived up to it’s name. It was a lively crowd to say the least. Merriment was all around. I walked up to the bartender who was working ceaselessly to keep his patrons happy.
“‘’Scuse me sir,” I called out over the noise.
“It’s Carl,” the bartender called out, not skipping a beat.
“Carl, by chance do you know a Timmy? I was told he’s the best ornithopter pilot and that I’d find him here.”
“Sum one say m’name?” a drunk gnome slurred. He reeked of alcohal and leaned heavily on the bar counter. His head lolled back as he looked me and Isaac up and down.
“That’s Timmy there,” Carl said. I raised an eyebrow. I was not thrilled with the first impression I was receiving then.
“Him? He seriously can fly an ornithopter?” I questioned.
“I is the besht orithopta pilot in town,” Timmy’s voice fluctuated.
“He certainly is,” Carl added. Looking at Timmy, I couldn’t imagine him ever sober. He clearly was a drunk. He talked with Isaac, unphased by the creature he was.
“Is he ever sober?” I asked. Everyone in close vicinity to me bursted into laughter.
“Who! Who swore? Who shed the ‘S’ word?” Timmy said aggressively. I didn’t think I could trust him to pilot the aircraft if he was a perpetual drunk.
“There’s seriously no one better?”
“Nope,” Carll simply replied.
“Really?” I said in disbelief, “And he’s never... not drunk,” I said trying to be tactful with my words. I heard Timmy ask who said the ‘N D’ word and I figured mentioning anything against alcohol and drunkenness would not be received well with him. Carl finally looked up and realized who he was talking to. His face became somewhat ashen as he looked at Isaac.
“Look lil’ lady,” Timmy began to say to me, “Wha ever repulsion you ‘ave wid alcohol, fers and foremos, the orithopta runs on dat stuff. All da alcohol. Second, you ‘ave ta make sher id da right stuff or the orithopa won’t werk. I like ta think id as quality control,” he explained. I rolled my eyes finding it unbelieveable still that anyone would say he was the best.
“If ya put wrong alcohol in, den ya crash and burn. I dun want dat. My orithopta won’t crash ‘cuz I make sher I use da right stuff,” Timmy added.
I look at Carl who was keeping an eye on us. He was on the far end of the bar now. I thought about what he said and what the few others had said to me. Timmy before me was a huge contradiction to their statements. It baffled me to no end that he would be considered the best. But I had no reason to believe them as being dishonest with me either. I did need to get to France... and so I decided I would take a leap of faith seeing that this drunk probably would be oblivious to the ‘dangerous’ idea of flying me to what was still considered the Wetland Jungles.
“What has your longest journey been Timmy?” I asked.
“Nobuddy eva dies on my ship. Others yesh, but not on mine,” Timmy babbled on. I rolled my eyes once more,
“Timmy, if you’re ever wanting a serious adventure, come find me for I have an exciting place I need to get to,” I said, half bluffing to hopefully peak his interest.
“Wha? Why’d’n’t ya say so,” Timmy asked. He then downed his mug and the mug of the man next to him. He then slid off the stool he was sitting on and promptly face planted the floor after his first step. I massaged my temples trying to not think about how drunk he was and the fact I was about to trust him to fly me to France.
Isaac helped him up. Timmy made a few more steps before falling into some patrons and reuniting with the floor once more. We’re able to help get Timmy up the stairs. Apparently his ornithopter was parked on top of the tavern. I could hear downstairs Carl asking the patrons to leave, saying they were going to be taking off soon.
We got Timmy to the wheel of the ship. Once there he pressed a button that seemed to help strap him in and keep him upright.
“Ah, there, dat’s bedda,” he moaned happily, “Okay, naow, where is it yer needin’ ta go?”
“The Wetland Jungles,” I said nonchalantly. Timmy didn’t seem a bit phased.
“Where’s dat?”
“East of here.”
“Okay, ‘ang on den,” Timmy said. He flipped a few switches and pressed a button that extended the wings. He then flipped a level down and gently pulled a second lever toward him. I could feel the contraption rattle a little as the hum of the engine reved. Slowly the ornithopter lifted into the sky. The wings flapped in unison, the contraption riding smoothly.
Timmy then flipped the one level back up and the ornithopter gave a small jerk as it began to propel forward. Soon the coastal town, Gregston, was a dot on the horizon.
“Naow, ya said dat we needs ta ‘ead east?” Timmy asked.
“Yes.”
He steered the ornithopter toward the sun. It was high in the sky, but still quite below it’s zenith. It had to have been roughly 10am in the morning. It was there that I laughed a little to myself at how drunk he was for how early it was in the day. Again I questioned my sanity for trusting this gnome to get me safely to France.
“What diz ‘utton do?” Isaac asked.
“Wanna see?” Timmy responded. Isaac nodded his head excitedly. Timmy hit the button and the ornithopter raced even faster. It was already going an impressive speed, now it was like riding in the fortress we once had minus the shaking and the slow increase from slow to fast.
“Wanna go fasta?”
Isaac nodded once more. Timmy pulled the lever he was holding closer to him.
“Fasta?”
Again an encouraging nod from Isaac. At this point I felt strangely hot and could hear the windows begin to quiver. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Carl coming through the door. I was surprised to see him there, I thought we had left him back at the Roaring Rafters.
“Timmy, slow it down!” He demanded.
“Alright,” Timmy said, clearly disappointed that his fun had ended, “and good heavens! It’s becoming an oven in here.”
“We needs ta fly due east accordin’ to the missus ‘ere,” Timmy responded, “Ho! Dat’s really bad fer us. We’ll burn up!” Timmy then began to shift the direction of the ornithopter so it was heading southeast.
“Um, we’ll need to go north eventually,” I said.
“Don’t cha worry. We’ll zig zag it ‘til we gets ta where ya wants ta be,” Timmy said.
“And don’t be using the overdrive. That’s for emergencies only. All that speed is really hard on the engines,” Carl said before heading back downstairs.
The hours passed by with no more excitement. I explored downstairs and discovered that the Roaring Rafters was part of the aircraft. Carl was the mechanic and went everywhere with Timmy.
So here I am, back in the control room. There’s still lots of ocean beneath us. I can only hope that the zig zagging will get us to France. Tim has fallen asleep at the wheel, but Carl says it’s okay since the craft was set to auto pilot and Tim’s already strapped in his seat. However we were warned to get Carl as soon as he wakes up. Not sure why, but here’s hoping I’ll be able to rest peaceable enough considering the aircraft is sailing itself with a drunk passed out at the wheel.
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