Again gunshots echoed through the rain. There at the bow, Captain Hunter stood rooted to the deck, smoking pistols aimed at the monstrous form of a lightning drake which had materialized out of the clouds.

Thirty feet in length, nearly half the length of the Griffin herself, the blue-gray scaled behemoth roared in defiance as it turned to sail dangerously close to the flying schooner’s gas bag. Claws flexed and tensed, but only brushed the reinforced material, leaving it undamaged. Eyes as black as obsidian scanned the crew with a predatory glare. Hunter fired twice more, his shots skimmed just past the glistening blue gray scales of the beast. Its maw opened in a roaring reply, Hunter dove to safety as a bolt of deep red lightning scarred the deck where he’d stood. Taking a sharp turn on the high winds, the drake dipped out of view past the stern.

Quickly, the crew scrambled for their weapons. Some appeared with pistols and knives, others with rifles. O’Fallon handed a revolver to Krumer, who nodded his thanks, then checked the cylinder. Satisfied, the first mate raised his voice.

“Watch sharp! It will make another pass.”

Wind tossed loose rigging, tugging at the oil slickers of the crew as bright lightning danced between clouds, arcing across the port side netting with a crackle. Yet still no sign of the drake appeared. After a moment, Hunter stirred from the bow and eased towards the railing while flexing his grip on the pistols. Krumer walked up beside him.

“Bad Omen. You’ll ruin a good pistol grip that way.”

Hunter smiled grimly, realizing he was clenching his clockwork hand again. “It’ll be back.”

“Of that I’ve no doubt. It’s been stung, but not enough to send it away.” Krumer’s eyes searched the rolling clouds while lighting danced frantically through the sky. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine, just … remembering.”

“About the one that took your hand?”

“Yes.” The captain sighed heavily, “Hard memory, that.”

“Be wary of this one. I would hate for you to gain another bad omen.”

Hunter barked a short laugh. “Point taken!”

The two chuckled then returned to scanning the storm.

“It should have struck by now.”

Hunter frowned. “Something’s wrong about this, all of this. It’s angry, but why I’ll be damned if I know.”

Whitehorse pointed, “There! I saw a wing! To arms!”

Almost in reply a shadow broke through the clouds, obscuring the deck. In the next moment an ear-splitting roar muffled any peals of thunder. Through the clouds, the drake dove for the deck, tearing through a few lines of rigging as it landed on the coil of steel mesh stowed on the Griffin’s starboard side.

Hunter backed a few steps from the beast, being already at point blank range for his sidearm. In a blur, he raised his brace of pistols and fired. His shots were too hasty and the bullets grazed the drake’s hide. Angered, it swiped a large claw at the captain, tossing him up and back across the deck. He came to a sudden, hard stop against the main mast.

“So much for that idea,” he muttered while he flipped open the pistols, dumped the spent shells and reloaded.

Tags: Brass Griffin, Red Lightning, Steampunk