The airship skims over the forested lands of Sylvania, in search of employment prospects. Rufflefeather keeps a keen eye out – aided by a mounted spy-scope – for trouble.

Near Rufflefeather is a barrel with a plank on it, serving as a makeshift table. A map is spread over the board, and Kensington hunches over it, occasionally making little marks with a compass and bit of charcoal. "So, Rufflefeather," rasps the Korv. "What be yer take on th' skirmishin' 'twixt Sylvania an' Gallah? Any word on what it be about?"

Rufflefeather turns away from the scope, scrawking, "Ah, cap'n, we beings closer to the fightings soon. Heard thats Gallisians be goings north past Spearhead Point, pushing towards the capitol. So … *rawk*!" He jerks back to the scope. "Looks likings movement below!"

The forest is slowly thinning out, and farmlands can be seen in the distance. Also in the distance, in the middle of a flatland area, is a rocky spire that juts upward quite unnaturally compared to its surroundings.

"Ah, some action!" The Korv gazes at the spire and outlying areas, trying to pick out what might be happening. "D'ye see any colors flyin', second?"

As the Korv looks out, he can see what looks like a fortification built on the rocky spire, and buildings around it … and some darkened areas that hint at a battle. There are also some moving troops, far closer … heading away from the spire.

The corsair rubs his lower beak, the corners crinkling into a frown. "Sylvania be known fer witchery… I wunner what be goin' on down there. Stand aside, Rufflefeather, an' lemme 'ave a gander."

The Vartan bows and steps aside, giving the Korv access to the spy-scope – and a stool to stand on so he can reach it better.

Kensington hops up onto his perch, and squints his left eye to peer with his right…

Through the spy-scope, it's evident from the fancy and often frilly outfits of the canine soldiers that they are Gallisians … and it looks like they've taken a trouncing. They're moving southward – Gallis-ward – away from the rocky spire yonder.

"Heh, heh… buncha poofs." The Korv trains his scope farther up, on the spire itself, looking for the source of the Gallisians' suffering.

It's easier to see, now that the airship is drawing closer, but the place the Gallisians are coming from appears to be a dark castle set upon a dark rocky spire that might once have been the hardened central core of a long-eroded volcano … thus leaving a curious structure rising up in the middle of an otherwise flat plain.

More curious, though, is the fact that there is a dark cloud that hovers over the castle and the odd mountain, while the rest of the area is pretty much clear skies and clear sailing.

There doesn't seem to be a great army massed at the castle, really. Not much of an army at all. Just looks like a bunch of farmers with hoes and pitchforks, really.

Given the lack of dead bodies strewn over the battlefield, it looks as if the fight might actually have ended quite some time ago. Perhaps the Gallisians had been holding some camp nearby, and only recently started their southward march.

Kensington glances over his shoulder. "Keep us clear o' that cloud, helm," he warns. "I don'ts like the looks o' it." He keeps looking over the mysterious fortress, puzzled. Magic is formidable from what little he knows… but no troops? No opposing army?

The dark spires offer Kensington no further explanation. But just then, Rovert yowls, "Captain! Another airship approaching, at four o' Gretchen!"

The captain's head jerks up from the scope, then back down to it to try to find the approaching ship's markings. "Rovert! Signal neutral intent. Helm, bring us about; let's keeps our sides ta her, don't wants ta be vulnerable. Mr. Woof, keep our weapons ports closed, but have crews man the ballistas if we be fired on."

The crew springs to life, and the sails shift as the craft rotates to bring its broad side to the approaching craft. The approaching vessel isn't a very large one … and doesn't look like a fighter. It looks like a short-range courier, really.

There are some flashes of light visible from the other ship … hand-mirror signaling.

Kensington calls out to Rovert, "Tell 'em 'granted'." Stepping away from the scope, he beats his wings once to boost him over the side of the ship and find one of the Wench's spines to perch on to meet the other craft's representative.

An Aquilan flaps over from the other ship, not carrying anything in the way of cargo or weapons that can be discerned. He straightens his wings, then glides the rest of the way, alighting on a spire. "Special package for … " He squints at the paper he has. "Ah … for the captain of the Witch o' Babel?"

"I be the captain, an' this be the Wench o' Babel," caws a mildly annoyed Kensington. "'Ave a little respect ta her … Anyways, what've ye gots fer me?"

The Aquilan looks at his sheet again. "Then … you must be Captain Skull-Skivvies?"

You can almost hear the creak of a hinge as Kensington's beak falls open. "Skull-Skivvies?! Drrgh! Aye, that be… I mean, me name is Kensington St. Germain, but… oh, blast it all. Just 'and it o'er!"

The Aquilan nods. "Ah. Well … We'll have to fly it over. It's a bit bulky. Could you sign here?" He hands over a tablet with some papers on it.

Mystified, the Korv scratches his name sloppily on the sheets with the quill supplied, too curious to bother berating the messenger any further. "Oo's it from, then?"

A couple of Vartans flap over, carrying a large box. They set it down on one of the ledges outside the main deck.

The Aquilan looks over his papers. "One Madame Garrote," he says, completely messing up the accent.

"Huh. Well, I'll be an eep's uncle." Kensington signals some crewmen to haul the box in, muttering to himself, "What woulds she 'ave ta do wit' me anymore after lootin' me cabin?" He grins around his beak. "Ahh, th' poor lass be smitten. I knew she'd ne'er be able ta leave me high 'n' dry."

The Vartans flap off, leaving their cargo. The Aquilan looks after them. "Well, that would be all! A dandy day to you, and don't forget … when you positively absolutely need it there overnight … we're not the ones to ask. But when you want it sent cheaply, send it by Fly By Night Shipping! Ta ta!" The Aquilan flaps off, back for the courier ship.

Kensington makes a mental note who to send damage repair bills to, and boosts himself back onto the deck to inspect the crate. "Well! Whatcha s'pose we gots 'ere, lads? Sommun bring me a Korvbar, an' let's see what's 'at sweet lil' spitfire sent me."

The crewmembers manhandle the crate onto the deck, and a pry-bar is produced. A bit of wrenching free of ironwood tacks, and breaking of dried glue, and the crate is opened to reveal a lot of straw, and a somewhat crumpled letter on top, smelling of perfume.

Kensington snatches up the letter, and breathes deeply of the scent. "Ahhhh… I kin tells she really cares. That nice-smellin' stuff ain't cheap, ye know. Why, I… oh, right, there be stuff written on 'ere." He smoothes out the letter as best he can, and begins reading.

The letter reads, "Darling Skull-Skivvies: I will never forget that night. Especially after I had to carry this for you. Do you seriously expect me to sit on this for months on end? Here, you deal with it! Best wishes, M.G."

"Well, that be mighty curious," muses Kensington, folding the letter and tucking it into a pocket of his vest. He leans over the edge of the box, sending handfulls of straw over his shoulder as he digs around in it, eventually leaning so far, his tailfeathers stick up and his feet no longer touch the deck.

As the straw is pulled away, it reveals … a great big … egg.

"Great blitherin' Dagh in a muumuu, wavin' the Jolly Roger in a Titanian motorcade!" echoes a squawk from the box!

"What is it, Captain?" meows Rovert.

Several curious crewmembers crowd around for a better look.

Rufflefeather scrawks, "Cap'n! Incoming airship! Comings from the castle!"

Kensington regains his feet, cradling an egg about as big around as a large breadloaf in his wings, his face holding a stunned look. "It's… it's… but… " He looks agog at his fellow airmen. "It's… cold out here!" He covers the egg protectively with his wings, throwing a harried glance in Rufflefeather's direction. "Be there in a bit, I gotta take… uh… 'it' to me cabin! Rovert, I gots a job fer ye!"

A big pink frilly airship floats alongside the Wench of Babel. It looks almost Gallisian, except Gallisian ships don't usually have big pretty hearts on the envelope.

"Hellllooooo!" mews a white kitten from the pink airship. "Permission to board?"

The Korv just stares. "Iffen Dagh were 'ere 'imself, 'e couldn't make this any more bizarre." Clearing his throat, Kensington raises his voice. "Permission granted! But… uh, gimme a second!" The bird rushes off to his cabin, calling out, "Empty yer pockets, Rovert, an' follow me!"

Ducking his head low, a black Khatta appears beside the smaller white one. He seems embrassed, but nonetheless looks over to the spiked ship.

A little white Khatta girl in a pretty pink frilly dress with lots and lots of ribbons strolls onto the deck of the ship, waving a ribbon-decorated wand in one hand – the tip of the wand sporting a heart shape that catches the light in such a way that enthralls Rufflefeather's Vartan instincts.

A big Titanian crammed into a dainty butler's outfit follows the two Khattas, standing at attention, his chest puffed out and muzzle held high.

Eve prances around, complimenting the crewmembers on how nicely they look, until the Korv captain has a chance to return.

The Korv rushes back, trailing a few bits of black down. "Awright then, wotsis all about? I be Captain Kensington St. Germain, and yer aboard th' Wench o' Babel." He glances back and forth between the two Khattas.

The white Khatta curtseys. "I am Duchess Eve Kurai … and this is my big brother, Jynxie! He's a hero."

The black Khatta nods a greeting to the Korv, and grimaces down to his sister. "Er, My name is Feli, Feli Kurai – 'Jynx' is just a nickname." He smoothes his headfur back with a paw in embarassment. "Anyways, we mean no disrespect; it's just that we're on our way to Rephidim, and saw you hovering over an ally of ours' land. Do you need help or anything?"

Eve mews sweetly, "Yes, you'd best not be on the side of those mean and nasty Gallisians! Jynxie defeated them all single-pawedly!"

Jynx glares down at his sister, but stays silent, waiting for an answer.

"Izzat so, young lady?" The Korv looks Jynx over appraisingly, folding his wings behind his back, and nods. "Fine t'meetcha, lad. Truth be told, we been scratchin' our 'eads o'er that skirmish. We be privateers, an' been lookin' fer hire. I thought it ta makes th' most sense ta watch th' fight fer some idea o' what's goin' on 'fore offerin'."

Eve mews, "Well, the fight's all over now. Jynxie is my hero!" She bounces up and down, clapping her hands.

The black Khatta shrugs. "Well, there's not much to say, really. Those idiot poodles down there figured that they'd just waltz on in and take over our lands. They think it's their's. Thanks for the offer, but I don't know if we need any help now, unless Count Vlad does. The attackers have headed back home." He looks down at Eve. "How much sugar did Vlad feed you anyways?"

"As much as I wanted, Jynxie!" replies the Khatta girl.

Kensington taps his beak skeptically. "Gone fer good, ye thinks? There be no fallen Gallisians down there, 'far as I kin sees. What makes ye think they won'ts be back? 'Ave they been attackin' only this parcel o' land?"

Eve mews, "There's just swamp on either side. Who would want that?"

"They have a spearhead a few miles away," replies the brother cat, "but from what we can tell, they're headed back for their own lands. We captured their leader, which was no small feat considering."

Eve mews, "He was big enough to ride two Drokars at once!" She smiles brightly.

"Aye?" The Korv scratches the back of his head, looking disappointed. "All that way fer nothin'. Pity, that. War's a tough business these days."

Jynx shrugs. "Wait a while. There always seems to be one going on somewhere. Talk to Vlad; he might be able to help you out." The Khatta looks around the ship. "You came all this way just to do mercenary work?"

Kensington stretches his back, and crosses his wings in front of himself. "Aye, Feli, privateerin's what we know. We find ourselves where there be conflict, an' it's right by us. Airmen o' fortune, nothin' less'd suit a legend! Hah!" He dips his head a bit at the white kitten. "Witcher permission then, Duchess, we'll in port in yer territory, 'case anythin' … ye know … 'appens."

The little white Khatta bounces on her toes. "Oh, that'd be so nice! Well … we'll just have to hurry back from Rephidim, again, and maybe you'll still be here, and we can have a tea party!" She tugs on Jynx's sleeve. "We should be going now! Vladdie said the weather was going to start getting nasty later today!"

"Well, this isn't her territory, it's Vlad's," says the black Khatta, "but I think he wouldn't mind you porting there, especially if he suddenly needs your help." He looks down to the kitten, and nods. "Yeah, we'd better go. Have a safe trip, Mister Kensington."

Rovert the Khatta pokes his head out of the cabin door. "Uh … Captain? How long do I have to sit on this?"

The Korv nods. "Fair weather an' smooth sailin', Mister Kurai. Duchess." He turns slightly, and barks, "Till I says ye don't gotta no more! Oh, fer Gretchen's sake, I'll be there inna minute… "

Eve waves to the Captain. "Happy Reckoning Day, Captain St. Germain!"

Grabbing his snow-colored little sister by the tail, Jynx gives a tug. "Come on, 'Duchess', we got to get moving."

The black Khatta continues on to the frilly ship, giving it a long-suffering sigh as he takes a look over it once more.

Seeing to it that his guests debark all right, Kensington turns back toward his cabin, sighing. "Well, looks like things are a bust 'ere, lads. We might 'ave ta chart a course fer Chronotopia. We kins freelance fer the Luftrittern fer a while." He opens the door to his cabin, and mutters, "An' I guess I gots a family reunion ta fix up."