Rigid Air.v2 “The reading of Robert Douglas’ Will”

Intro: All of you were best friends of Robert Douglas during your college years. 1915 freshmen at the University of Washington, Seattle, WA. Robert was friendly, outgoing, and interested in all kinds of sports. In fact, all of you were groomsmen at his 1919 wedding before he and Ellen moved to Canada to be near her family. You regularly exchanged Christmas letters, till late 1921 when Bob’s letters stopped. You hadn’t really given it much thought as people do seem to get on with their busy lives.

Joe Austin (Nathan) Accountant. Partied a lot with Robert back in college. In one of those parties, he hooked up with a gal into cult worship. A wild 6-months of hangovers and vaguely remembering chants to “the Great Old Ones.” When America entered the war, he sobered up and left the girl. Joe tried to enlist but was denied for his asthma attacks. Today, he lives in Seattle with a hobby of amateur boxing.

Stanley Toothman (Julian) Studied architecture at university. Robert and I were in the same fraternity. I didn’t finish college; instead, enlisted in late 1916 to fly with the La Fayette Escadrille unit. In 1917, when America entered the war, I transferred to the US army Air service (103d Aero Squadron). Badly burned (APP40 and disabled DEX20-now use cane) on a crash landing from recon mission to identify German targets.Night-terrors of my tail-gunner being burned alive in the crash. After the war, I got a job designing houses. I live on Orcas Island, Seattle Bay.

Glenn Sullivan (Alex) Lawyer. In college, I had a friendly rivalry with Robert when it came to sports as well as the love of Ellen. In 1917, I enlisted to serve in the Great War in the artillery. Inbound shell blinded me in left eye. I wear an eye-patch. Which just makes me more focused on the details.

Saturday, April 17, 1923: Out-of-the-blue, Glenn received a (lost in the mail) letter from Ellen announcing Robert’s (Bob) death. “Suicide by falling.” Shouldn’t that be “by jumping”? Ellen asking him to attend Bob’s funeral (too late as that was on April 15th) and reading of his will (April 19^th at 9am) in Nelson, British Columbia. Glenn called Stanley and met up at a local bar, “Remember Bob? Here’s a letter from Ellen. I’m headed to Nelson, Canada for the reading of Bob’s will and offer condolences to Ellen. Do you happen to know where Joe is now-a-days?”

4pm: When Joe arrived, “A package for me? Mementos of college? Sure, I’ll join you.” They discussed travel plans. Stanley offered, “I’ve done business in Canada before. We’ll need to go thru Vancouver since it’s a customs entry station. No pistols but they allow rifles and shotguns for hunters. They have a strange prohibition per their 1916 Ontario Temperance Act that prohibits the sale of alcohol yet allow its manufacture and export.” Joe was quizzical, “So we can buy a bottle and claim we’re transporting it for export?” Glenn considered, “I’ll bring my shotgun. After the will, if we have time, maybe we can hunt before returning home. Best hurry as we have less than 48 hours to get there.”

5pm: With Joe driving his own car, they stopped at a gas-station to consult a road atlas. “We ain’t driving to Nelson. Meandering roads and few gas stations; it would take almost a week. Let’s drive across to Vancouver and see if we can get a flight. But first we need to stop at our houses to pack.” Easy enough for Joe and Glenn. With Stanley living out in the bay on Orcas island, only accessible by ferry and thus wasted 3+ hours, Stanley reluctantly skipped packing. “Guess I can shop in Canada.”

7pm: Momentary delay driving thru the customs border crossing. Time to realize, “It’s after dark. No flights tonight. Hopefully the ticket office is open with an early flight.” At least the customs agent gave directions to the airport. Once Joe parked, they squeezed past exiting passengers as they made their way to the ticket counter. “I’m sorry sir, no flights tonight. Nelson? Nothing direct.” Glenn explained their urgency. [Persude-04] “A funeral on Monday? I’d suggest trying the Great Northern Rail line. Their station is in town, and they actually travel at night.”

They arrived at the station around 8pm, parked and unloaded their luggage as they rushed inside to find the ticket window. A cavernous building that accentuated the noise of people talking and trains arriving and departing. 6^th in line. They scanned the overhead board that displayed destinations. Nelson was listed. Joe perked up at the conversation at the window, “I’m sorry sir, but there’s been a delay. The inbound train is stuck in an avalanche within the Canadian Rocky Mountains. But don’t worry, they’ll have the tracks cleared in a day or two.” The passenger pulled back his money, “Thanks, but I think I’ll try other transportation I read about. They don’t worry about avalanches.”

Joe was already edging his way toward the counter as he loudly repeated, “Avalanche? Delay? Excuse me, let me…” [failed Charm] Those in front of him resisted, “Arrogant American. We don’t tolerate line-jumpers.” Glenn on the other hand, heard Joe’s call about ‘Avalanche’, saw the departing passenger, and intercepted him. “Excuse me sir, I couldn’t help but overhear. There’s other transportation?”

They invited Martin Biller to hop in their car as he directed them. “Here’s the flyer from our Nelson newspaper. Chandler Aviation opened up airship service within Canada months ago. I’m not normally a risk taker, but I do want to get home to Nelson in time to finish my celestial observations. I take night pictures thru my telescope. Had to come to Vancouver to buy replacement lenses. All that trekking up and down the mountain, I think I scratched the original. A lot of fuzzy nighttime sightings these last weeks.”

8:30pm: Stanley had seen his share of barrage balloons during the war. When they pulled up to Charleston Field, this airship was different. Strong beam lights at the top of the hanger illuminated the ship and its 8-fin tail configuration. “The Terra-Nova.” The 500ft long airship was tethered to a tall tower with multiple lines hanging from its sides anchored to the ground. And it looked like crew were loading the ship as they drove up near a hanger that had an external ticket office. Glenn and Martin hustled toward the office as Joe and Stanley approached the airship. The 8-man crew loading crates within opens bays mid-body did not react to Joe’s calls. He had to tap one on the shoulder to get his attention. No shocked surprise. A slow, deliberate response, “Passengers… yes… speak to office.” The man didn’t even stop work to talk.

At least the ticket officer was more responsive to Glenn, “You’re in luck. We started up trial-run service a few months ago. Mostly cargo but passenger amenities too with an open bar, galley, luxurious cabins, and observation windows. They are finishing loading cargo for delivery to Nelson and will leave shortly. Depending on weather, it should be a 4–6-hour flight. I’ll call ahead to let the officers know you’ll be boarding. There’s a phone-line hookup included in the tower tethered cable. One of the riggers within the hanger will be out shortly to lead you to the gondola for boarding.” Neither Glenn (nor Martin) had experience to question the $35 a ticket pricing. [a ticket on the Hindenburg cost $400 one way. A train ticket cost about $33.]

9pm: A dozen riggers stood by the lines as one of the airship officers stood below the gondola at the ladder to help the passengers climb in. In a monotone speech, “I’m Lieutenant Donald Bambury. (Talking to Stanley still monotone) Sir, please put out your cigar. No smoking around the ship as it is filled with hydrogen. Thank you. I’ll show you to your cabins as the crew loads your luggage.” The officer entered first, followed by the passengers who helped Stanley next (crippled). Once inside, “To the right are the flight stations and control cab where Captain Moore steers the ship. Your cabins and ship amenities are to the rear. If you’ll follow me with your luggage. We’ll be lifting off shortly. The saloon will open once we are airborne.”

The trio sat in the saloon at the windows to watch liftoff. “What’s with the crew? Dull, boring, almost sleepwalking. Such a small crew for such a large ship. Overworked?” They felt the jerk as the mooring hook was released and the ship only anchored by the ropes which the riggers held tight to walk the ship away from the tower. Till a gust of wind caught it. “Oh my God! A man is still clinging to a rope as we’re lifted skyward!” Joe sighted the line attached mid-body and thought near the external engine pod.

Not for long: Joe and Stanley rushed rearward looking for someone to warn while Glenn rushed forward to the gondola, finding Donald at his navigation desk. “Stop the ship. Return to the field as there's a man hanging on a rope!" But Donald didn’t budge from his duties, “He won’t be for long.” Glenn barged into the control room with Captain Moore turning to face him, “Sir, I’m busy flying the ship. A man hanging? Not for long. Lt. Bambury, see this man to the saloon and send someone to open the bar.” Glenn found Martin in the saloon, “Come with me. We’ve a man to help rescue.”

Joe was the first to the engine pod and about to open the access door to its walkway when his asthma flared. [failed CON : the cold, dry air at altitude triggered the asthma] Gasping, coughing fit. Stanley squeezed past, “Here’s a gaff-hook I can use to snag the line outside and help pull him closer to the walkway. You man this crank wheel to pull in the line.” The buffeting air outside reminded Stanley of his war days in the open cockpit of his biplane. He lay prone on the walkway to stretch the hook toward the line slapping the side of the ship. At least it was still taut which meant the man still held on. [the PCs rolled for the rigger’s STR55 to hold on]

Joe tipped his flask of rum to his lips, knowing its caffeine would sooth his asthma… eventually. He struggled with the crank till Glenn and Martin arrived, “Take over. I’ll use Stanley’s cane to help snag the line outside.” A coordinated effort. Except, snagging the line jarred it and caused the rigger to lose his hand-grip and fall. Luck his foot was tangled in the line as he now dangled head down. Screaming! Harrowing minutes till he was safely pulled onto the walkway and crawled inside. Where Glenn offered his services to Roger Jones, “Seems none of the crew was concerned with your fate. I’ll gladly represent you in a lawsuit against the company. Paperwork to sign and your story to document. I think it best to hid you in a berth till we land. Wouldn’t want the crew to change their story.” Joe was already offering help, “Guys, I think Roger is suffering shock. I’ll go to the bar to get him drinks to calm his nerves. And mine.”

The bartender was another dull, monotone crewmember who ignored Joe’s comment about, “That was a frightful scene with that rigger hanging on for life.” As Joe ordered a tray full of drinks, Stanley grabbed the first-aid kit from the wall (when the server’s back was turned) to bandage poor Roger’s rope-burned hands. [Not that it would have mattered] When the 2 of them got back to the berths, they found Glenn had moved everyone inside one of the 2-berth staterooms to discuss what had been seen and ponder what they should do next.

Sunday, April 18th, Nelson: It was 5am (probably headwind and time-zone change) when they heard the knock on the other berth doors. They peeked out to find Donald. “There you are. Just wanted to let you know we’ll be landing shortly. Bar will close.” And he was gone. They disguised Roger in some of their own cloths. And when the time came, ushered him off the airship. Over-served, Roger staggered down the ladder, then wrapped his arm around Glenn as he blabbered in drunk speech, “Can’t thank yous enough. Come with me. I’ll introduce ya to my misses. Mary will be thanking ya too. What? Where? Nelson? I live in Vancouver. That’s too far to walk. Wanna flies back?”

After exchanging name and address with Martin, they hailed a taxi to a hotel where they got rooms, even for Roger. Joe and Stanley crashed onto their beds considering all had been up all night. Glenn set his alarm to getup at noon to then grab a taxi, “To the airship field.” The smell of cut timber and the buzz of saws reminded him this was a lumber and mining town. Only in daylight could he appreciate the field nestled in a glacial valley on the west arm of Lake Kootaney. He inquired with the ticket agent, “Can you give me the business address of the company? I want to send them a letter expressing my pleasant experience on my flight here. Chandler Aviation? Based out of Seattle?” Glenn returned to the hotel with a box of bakery goods for the others. “Time to get up. We need to get Roger to a doctor to treat and document his wounds. Then let him call home to Mary and get him a train ticket.”

After seeing Roger off, they discussed yesterday’s events. Joe offered, “Bob’s death by fall. Could he have been a rigger for this heartless airship service?” They tried calling the Bothnall law firm, but no-one answered. “It is Sunday. Let’s see what the police can tell us about Bob’s death.” Sergeant Edwards answered their phone call, “Mr. Robert Douglas’ death. Sorry sir, but I can’t discuss over the phone. You’ll have to come to the station.” The taxi dropped them off in front of the station decorated with colorful posters depicting Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Inside, they found Sgt Edwards.

Glenn flashed his law credentials, “We’re college friends come to pay our respect. What can you tell us about his death? A fall: why did you say suicide?” Referencing the police blotter, Edwards found the April 1^st entry. “Fell from a tree into the lake by his cabin. But the fact the Bothnall office provided information about Mr. Douglas updating his will and leaving a package the day before his death led us to conclude suicide.”

[hard Persuade] Joe interrupted, “Can you show us the coroner’s report?” They scanned the letter: tree resin, pine needles in his clothing, massive head injuries consistent with an attempt to possibly dive into the lake. They convinced the sergeant to provide Bob’s cabin address. “I can also give you the name of the hotel where his wife is staying.”

1:45pm: They hailed another taxi, “To the Dancing Bear Hotel. Hopefully Ellen isn’t still at church.” Ellen was overjoyed at their appearance, “You don’t know how much this means to me. You knew him as that adventuresome fool. But things changed when he returned from the polar expedition. He didn’t tell you? He was a rigger on that 1921 airship flight to the magnetic north pole. Gone over a month. Returned with a fat paycheck but very quiet. Grew despondent over the year, complaining of headaches as if something tickling his thoughts. Growing paranoia thru 1922 till he got a package in the mail. He then suddenly up and left without saying where or why. Just kissed me goodbye with promises he loved me still but needed to protect me.”

Ellen gave them keys to the cabin and use of her car. They drove to the lake cabin. Missed the turnoff a couple of times before finally driving down the long, winding dirt driveway. It was a modest 2-bedroom cottage. They took a moment to peer around the cabin toward the lake. And that’s when Glenn spotted shingles laying on the ground beside the cabin. Sun-bleached side yet the other side still moist. “Recent. Maybe a month.” Which got them to backup and scan the roof where they noticed a pattern of missing shingles. “As if someone climbed to the top. But Ellen said Bob had changed and was afraid of heights.”

And that’s when a new voice interrupted them, “Excuse me. This is private property. Me? Who are you? Friends? I didn’t see you at the funeral. Oh, you know his wife, Ellen. I’m sorry, I just met her at the funeral the other day. I’m Bob’s neighbor, Jean Simpson. [trim, 30ish woman out on a jog] Robert was very quiet and well-mannered when he first arrived late last year. Became more withdrawn as the months passed. Secluded and neurotic. I tried to bring him baked goods. Have you seen inside his house? The man was a wreak! I spoke to him the day before his death. Distracted, bleary-eyed, sudden jerks to look up into the sky before cowering back into the house. The last thing he said to me, ‘Old secrets; they always come back to you at the end.’ What a strange thing to say. I’ll let you get on with your investigation as I finish my run. Come see me up the shoreline and I can show you where they found his body.”

The cabin interior documented a paranoid Bob. Trashed with dirty plates of half-eaten food. Stanley was drawn to the fishing poles in the corner: cob-webbed and dried to imply never used. “He certainly didn’t come here for pleasure.” Glenn could only shake his head at the pile of wrinkled paper on a desk. Mad scribbling per a psycho’s doodling. Joe checked the bedroom where he found an expedition photo knocked to the floor and its glass broken. “Hey guys. Check out this airship photo. I think our airship has been renamed. Same 8-fin design but this one was called the Bellinghausen.”

But Stanley was distracted in his search of a trunk in the corner. “Hey guys. Here’s some pictures from his polar expedition. Strange how he’s crossed out some of the faces of his other riggers.” They’d seen enough, “I think we best find Jean and get more of the story.”

Already 3pm: As they walked the pine-needle littered path to the lake, Glenn happened to spot broken branches under a tree barely 6ft from the shoreline. Resin still pliable, “I think this is the tree he fell from.” Stanley checked the tree trunk and surrounding ground for prints, “Maybe he was chased by a bear or someone? No claw prints. The only prints I see is this one where he pushed off to climb up.” Glenn gazed higher in the tree and saw the broken stumps 20-25ft up. And Joe found blood-stained rocks along the shore. Which got them to notice more branches below the stumps that were missing patches of needles on the far end. Joe reasoned, “He needed a better vantage point! He was afraid of the airship. Maybe distracted and slipped and tried to jump out into the lake?”

And that’s when Jean appeared, returning from her run. “Airship? Maybe that was the sounds I heard the night of Bob’s death. I thought it was the echo of cars climbing the mountain roads. I actually found Bob standing atop his cabin roof after midnight, days before his death. When I called to him, I startled him. As if sleepwalking. He woke and realized where he was. Almost fell in his hurry to get down and back into the house.”

They followed Jean toward her cabin, “That’s where the police found his body washed ashore. Fisherman spotted it first and called in. Being his only neighbor, I was called into the morgue to ID the body. Face smashed, I could only go by his clothing he’d worn for days in a row and his wedding ring they showed me. Recognized the outside of the ring but first time I saw the inscription inside, “All my love, Ellen.” Stanley reasoned, “Waves must have washed him from under the tree up the shoreline to your beach.”

And that’s when Stanley spotted something in the water. “Check it out. Strange goggles. ‘Made in Germany.’ Odd, tinted lens. Distorted view if you look thru them.” As Glenn checked them out, Jean added, “Bob wore those the last week he was alive. Had them on while on the roof. He said it ‘makes the obscure more apparent.’” Even more to ponder as they returned to the hotel to compile notes.

Monday, 19 April, 9am: They drove to Ellen’s hotel to pick her up as she then directed them to the Bothnall Law office. The receptionist directed them into a conference room, “Mr. Bothnall will be here shortly.  Is there a Mr. Austin here? Sir, if I can get you to sign this form since there is a package labeled for you. Can I get anyone anything to drink?” Joe was about to order what he really wanted but settled for “water please.” Charles Bothnall finally entered with briefcase in hand, “Ellen, my condolences again.”

Pleasantries aside, Charles pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and began, “I Robert Douglas, of sound mind and body… bequeath all my possession to my wife Ellen. And to Joe Austin, if here, this package. He’ll know what to do with the information. Otherwise, Ellen, please be sure to forward to any of my groomsmen from our wedding.”

Joe was like a child waking at Christmas before his parents, anxious to open all his gifts. He fought the urge and waited for Charles to leave. Only then did he open it to find:

The Package:

• A collection of news cuttings concerning a number of unsolved murders across North+South America.
• Deaths described as decapitation; head never found.
• The bodies found at the foot of high places (roof-top, church steeple, hill, cliff-top).
• List of 10 names.

• Group photos of the expedition crew. (9 officers, 12 ratings, and a civilian)
• 1^st photo of some of the officers.

• 2^nd photo: 12 faces but 10 marked out with ‘X’. (same as they found in Bob’s cabin)

• Letter to Douglas, envelope postmarked Seattle, dated 2 months ago.

• A book of underlined Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Joe studied the photo of the officers, “It can’t be. It is! Chandler! He’s the same old man that led those cultist rituals my college girlfriend was in to.”

Glenn studied the envelope of the letter to Douglas. He spotted, “There’s a prior stamp under the Seattle stamp. Can’t quite make it out… S… u c…” Stanley chimed in, “Sucio! Spanish for ‘dirty little secret’. There’s an island near my home on Orcas Island named ‘Sucia’ same translation. Could that be Chester’s address?!”

They opened the book and immediately gasp at the inside cover, “Says ‘Property of Donald Bambury.’ He was the officer aboard our airship! The navigator.”

The realization hit Joe like a dive onto lakeshore rocks, “Son of a bitch! The sonnets. ‘Restful death… what’s in the brain… Bob jumped to his death in order to save himself from endless slavery by someone or something!”

Return to Seattle: They called the Vancouver airship office to checkup on its current location. “I’m sorry sir, but we just learned today that their trail-run service has been cancelled. The airship just left Calgary and is returning to Seattle as we speak.” Not that any of them wanted to re-board the thing. They were about to check into train service, when Stanley had an idea. “I saw a lumber company floatplane on the lake. Maybe we can rent it to fly direct to Sucia Island and beat the airship.”

The rental would have gone easier if they only said they were going local hunting. Glenn had to make the excuse/lie about his wife (all bachelors) in labor and the rush-need to get home in America. [failed Piloting] Stanley failed to convince them he could fly as they focused on his cane. [Push 07] It wasn’t till he show them his pilot wings from the war that convinced them. Despite collecting all their available cash ($150+), they still needed collateral. Glenn called the Bothnall firm to seek backing with the promise his American company would reimburse for damages.

1pm: With a full tank of gas, Stanley estimated a 3-hour flight direct to Sucia, bypassing Canadian customs. Joe and Glenn felt relief finding 2 parachutes, considering Stanley’s bum leg. Jinx. [Piloting 95] Stanley’s leg cramped, forcing his left leg straight against the aileron pedal sending the plane into a left spinning dive from 2,000ft. Glenn in the front passenger seat quickly awoke from a shallow slumber and could only gasp in fright as he fumbled for his parachute. Joe in the backseat was equally paralyzed being thrown against the inside of the spinning plane. “Oh God!” [Push-fail] Stanley tried desperately to crank the steering wheel right to compensate and straighten the flight. It wasn’t till his cramped foot slipped off the pedal that he finally gained control to pull up JUST as the float skids tickled the tops of the trees.

“SNAP!” “What was that?!” Joe peering out the windows and saw the right float just hanging on by the front brace. They still had an hour flight to go. Silent thoughts entered Joe’s and Glenn’s minds as they handled their chutes. But they stayed with their buddy. Stanley tried to assure them, “If I can slow the plane enough on landing and keep it straight, maybe I can get the float to rest back atop the broken brace.” Glenn suggested, “At least try to land near the shoreline so we have less distance to swim.”

3pm Pacific Standard Time: [Sanity check] The time had come. Glenn put on the odd goggles… maybe he didn’t really want to see the crash unfold. Joe put the chute in his lap and bent forward to brace. Stanley slowed the plane and slowly pulled back on the stick to raise the nose but without stalling the plane. All was working as planned as the float did lineup with the brace. “Brace yourselves!” Premonition? [Pilot-97] Stanley pedaled the ailerons trying to keep the broken float aligned. [Push-failed 43 versus 41] A shore wave kicked the float off the brace. The brace caught the water and pulled the plane down and sideways into a Sucia Island beach shallow.

Brace for landing: A controlled crash considering the slow speed. Joe and Glenn had braced. Stanley not so much considering he was pulling back on the stick at the time of the impact. He was thrown forward into the dash. [failed STR = 1d6 damage = 6pts out of 13. Not a major wound testing consciousness]. Their luggage gone in the sinking plane but at least Glenn was able to grab his shotgun and 6 shells before he abandoned the craft to swim to shore. Where he found Joe trying to treat Stanley’s injuries. “We need to find a house and call to warn Chester.”

Glenn let Stanley use the empty shotgun as a cane. Luck there was a cottage just over the dune. “Hello, anyone home?” Joe tried the doorknob. “GO AWAY!!” A VERY panicked voice. “Chester? Is that you?!” Panic, “Who sent you?! No, you can’t get me! Stay back or I’ll shoot!” Stanley worked his way towards the backdoor as Joe tried to reason with the insane man, “We came to warn you about the Bellinghausen.” Even worse panic till Glenn added, “Robert sent us to help you.”

They could hear the sound of multiple locks being opened before the door was finally opened. A crazed man in a tinfoil hat, wearing weird, tinted goggles ushered them in, “QUICK, before they see us. Cover your head to hide your thoughts. They can read minds. Did Bob fill you in?” Wrong answer as Joe replied, “Bob is dead.” Stanley finally appeared in the Livingroom having entered the back door and saw Chester cowering under a desk, “What did you say?”

Chester’s story: For the next hour, they tried to calm Chester enough to tell his story. As suspected. Chandler, Capt Moore, and the officers trekked alone to the magnetic north pole as the riggers stayed with the airship and secured the line in a sudden storm. Lightning flash from the direction the officers trekked. Hours before they returned announcing failure except for a meteorite they’d found. Somber flight home. Nagging pressure on the base of the skull. Well paid to keep quiet about the secret government mission. “We kept our promise. Why kill us?!”

3pm: Glenn persuaded Chester to loan them guns, “The darkest hour. Every man needs to arm up in resistance.” They settled on a plan. 3 hours till sunset. Enough time to row to Orcas Island and gear up at Stanley’s house. Catch a ferry to Seattle then taxi to the Chandler Aviation field. Armed with Chester’s extra rifle and pistol, and 2 Molotov bottles [Luck Chester hadn’t drunk all the alcohol yet], they would storm the airship in the dark of night and torch it. Retribution for Bob’s death while saving Chester from a similar fate. As they rowed across the bay, Glenn questioned their plan, “We’re going to storm an airship? That’s insane.” He then pulled off his tinfoil hat. Stanley wasn’t so confident and kept his on. Glenn and Joe carried their parachutes, “In case we have to climb aboard to set it afire then jump if it flies away.”

7pm: The taxi headlights illuminated part of the airfield. Another large hanger as seen in Vancouver, with its hanger doors open and the airship still outside tethered to the tower while bathed in the security light. The taxi swung wide of the airship before dropping them off beside the hanger. Smiling at his huge tip, the driver wished them well, “Have a nice flight. I’ll have to chance a ride someday.”

No one was around. Just rush the airship now. But the hanger was so inviting. Joe snuck inside and found stairs up to a 2^nd floor office (light on) while banks of worktables lined the inside of the hanger. Dim lights barely made a dent in the cavernous hanger. Focused on the office, Joe tripped and stumbled on the hanger door railing lip. At least when he fell, he was empty handed, having left his rifle outside. The echo from the hanger end pointed toward the airship was barely noticeable. Joe boldly climbed the stairs, as if a passenger looking for assistance. Stanley entered to checkout the tables for anything useful in their attack. Glenn offered to remain outside on watch. [He didn’t confess he was afraid of the dark]

Moore's journal: The office empty. The door unlocked. The coffee-cup on a table still lukewarm. He searched the desk and found Captain Moore’s journal. A tale of cultist efforts to open a dimensional gate at the pole and call forth a ‘Great Old One.’ Assumed failure led to mothballing the airship till a reattempt next year. Moore left to babysit everything. The meteorite proved to be an egg. That hatched. Whatever inside, invisible. But reaching inside Moore’s mind. He gladly succumbed to its desires and gathered the officers who became ‘puppets’ on the ends of invisible stalks. But the thing wanted more knowledge. It remembered the riggers. All it needed was their brains. Thus, the various flights worldwide to track them down. As the thing mentally commanded them to climb to higher ground, the airship was flown close enough for another stalk/tentacle to sink into the base of their skull and rip out their brain.

Joe exited the office at a gallop. “Burn it. BURN IT NOW!!” Joe missed a few steps in his panicked run. Strength he was able to grab onto the railing to keep from face planting. Stanley jumped at the loud noise that echoed throughout the hanger. And Glenn at its open doors (like the flared end of a trumpet) had to cover his ears at the focused volume that exited.

Stanley tried to shoot out the bright hanger spotlight (250ft overhead) to give his allies darkness as they ran toward the airship 100 yards away. A miss, another miss. And later, braced against the hanger door to steady his aim… another miss. Which proved to be of benefit for his allies. Otherwise, Glenn may have panicked in the dark and them without sight to better their aim with their Molotov.

Crewmen exited the airship. [Sanity check] Joe and Glenn freaked at the sight of the men not jumping, but rather, being lowered as if tethered. Glenn stopped at 50yds to blast both barrels into the airship, “This one’s for you Bob!” Not expecting an explosion. Rather, hope to puncture some of the hydrogen bags to cause a leak. He was hoping Joe’s Molotov would ignite the fumes. [Throw-98] Except Joe’s throw came up short. It bounced off the underbelly of the ship. The flames didn’t even tickle the airship. But it did catch 2 of the crewmen on fire.

Yet the men did not scream in pain or surprise. They kept coming. [Sanity check] Glenn ran up to Joe to give up his Molotov bottle to the better thrower. [POW-extreme] And that’s when Joe momentarily clutched his chest in pain. “I’m, I’m OK.” And that’s when they saw Capt Moore standing under the gondola with his hand stretched out, and fingers curled as if grasping air [casting ‘Grasp of Cthulhu’]. And the crewmen reared back readying to swing wrenches at the attackers just feet away. Their swings just short as if the men were dogs at the end of their leashes, pulled short.

As if time stood still. Metered movements. Stanley had already put on the goggles Chester had offered him and came running to lend aid. Joe was reaching back readying to throw. Glenn was quickly reloading. Capt Moore had reached into his pocket and retrieved a glass ball, about to throw.

The trio witnessed the 2 burning men collapse to the ground. Not dying from the fire. [Sanity check: 1d6+1] Rather, their skulls ripped off their heads, along with their spinal cord dangling below, as a now visible tentacle pulled back from the flaming bodies. Glenn’s blast caught Moore mid-throw. His head exploded from both barrel hits. The glass ball shattered. A colored cloud rose up and drifted toward the airship. [Powder of Ibn-Ghazi would have revealed the invisible dho-spawn to all] Luck the wind blew it away from the trio. Joe hit the engine housing that broke the bottle, splashing the flaming contents onto the airship. Small flames soon grew, aided by the escape of hydrogen.

[Stanley lost 6pts from the prior Sanity check: Bout-of-Madness: delusional- realized his allies were acting irrationally] Stanley screamed at the top of his lungs, “Are you mad?! We must save the crewmen.”

[failed Sanity, 1d20+2] And Stanley had hobbled even closer, with the goggles on, enough to see the dho-spawn within the belly of the ship. Already mad [BOM], Stanley crumpled into a heap of crying hysteria.

And that’s when the other crewmen collapsed to the ground. At least their bodies. For their heads too were ripped from their shoulders. The heads rising higher and higher above the now airship inferno that was collapsing to the ground. “RUN!!” Sanity stressed but Joe and Glenn knew they were within splash range of the falling airship. Only Stanley, with goggles on, could see the alien dho-spawn retreat from the burning mass and fly skyward toward the heavens.

EPILOGUE

Glenn was called into his law-firm office. “What is this about us liable for an overdue floatplane?”

Roger Jones was distraught as he tried to explain to his wife, “My lawyer, Glenn Sullivan says Chandler Aviation is fighting my claim. Argues Capt Moore acted on his own. Chandler had signed papers that show Moore the owner of the airship. Thus, Chandler and his money clear of all accountabilities.”

Joe took a taxi across the border, back into Canada to retrieve his car. The airship hanger empty and abandoned. Just like his car, sitting up on blocks stripped of parts. “Damn rude Canucks!”

Stanley directed salvation operations on the crashed floatplane. “Maybe in a year or two, I’ll have it fixed so I can resume flying. A year to take lessons to remember all that I’ve almost forgotten about flying.” [But a year and more haunted by the night-terrors of what he had witnessed.]

Chester sat at the table shuffling the cards, “Whose turn now to start the bidding? Bob, I think you’re up.” The sanitarium staff ignored the lone man at the table as they continued their rounds distributing medication.

BEHIND THE SCREEN

Curled within the enormous volume of gas-bag #4, the dho-spawn was invisible save for a sense of 'oiliness' in the air. Passing through space occupied by the creature imparted the impression that the air had thickened. That is what caused the blurred effects for Martin Biller’s (the train passenger) telescope sightings outside Nelson as the airship flew around searching for Douglas.

The loathsome spawn was enormous, and without fixed shape as its livid pulsing body shifted and rotated through far more than three dimensions. From its median line sprouted writhing forests of whip-like tendrils which easily (multi-dimensional) passed through the fabric of the gas bag, the ship's airframe, paneling, and even bodies. The tendrils only interacted with solid objects where the dho-spawn desired, such as the base of each crewman's skull.

Realizing the airship was in danger, the creature would have commanded at least half the crew to return to the ship to start engines for liftoff. Had the PCs been aboard, and fire started, the PCs would be left looking for means of their own escape and survival. A slim chance [Luck] to finds parachutes, descend the anchor ropes, or jump and hope to survive… without the burning frame of the airship crashing down on them.

If the dho-spawn was reduced to half its hit points (near impossible), or if the airship caught fire, the dba-spawn abandoned ship. Leaving the crewmen screaming in agony as the monster's departure tore their spines out through their skulls.

A prior group’s session play:

https://rigglew4.blogspot.com/2021/06/rigid-air-part1.html