2nd Expedition – “The Fish of Fury”
Our second expedition to the Ravaged Coast proved to be a great success—though it nearly ended with us all possessed and slaughtering each other in a mindless bloodbath.
On the third day of our survey, one of the crewmen aboard Old Bessie, during his casual pipe-smoking routine, removed his aether helm and caught a whiff of something strangely familiar. It was faint, but enough for him to request permission from the Admiral to investigate its source. The reason? The unmistakable scent of one of the most treasured delicacies of his sky-port homeland—aether surströmming!
It took no more than a full shift to track the alluring scent to its origin: the ruins of what had once been a temple to Sigmar himself, long abandoned and crumbling.
Excited by the prospect of a grand stockpile of preserved delicacies, the crew disembarked and began their survey on foot. Their hopes, however, were quickly dashed. There was no aether surströmming to be found—instead, the place was crawling with Nurgle's rot. Yet, despite the filth and decay, the site was rich with emberstone clusters. The warmth and moisture of the ruined temple had created the perfect breeding ground for both emberstone deposits and the spread of pestilent nurglings.
The expedition was still worth it, or so we thought. Easy riches. We were lucky. Or were we?
The Madness Begins
It wasn't long before the lookout crews started showing signs of stress—short tempers, paranoia, and an unsettling aggression. They brawled with their own shipmates for no apparent reason, muttering about voices demanding blood for the Blood God and skulls for the Skull Throne.
Admiral Emberbarrel and Endrinmaster Steelbrew had seen such afflictions before. The cause was soon apparent: the local tribes worshipped Khorne.
By the next day, the entire contingent was under the growing influence of some bloodthirsty, maddening presence. The enemy was closing in, whispering in our minds even before they arrived.
On the second day, we made first contact. A squad of balloon-flyers disobeyed direct orders and descended toward what they believed to be a newly discovered, more valuable emberstone deposit. However, as we later learned from the few survivors, the real reason was far more sinister.
"We had a red veil before our eyes. It itched in the back of our skulls like hot nails. The nails! They burned! And then, it was clear—kill, maim, burn! Kill, maim, burn! KILL, MAIM, BURN!"
The flyboys charged headlong into a pack of Khorne daemons, led by some kind of Herald of Khorne. They had been lured by the prayers of the Blood God into a perfect ambush. Their opening volley of gunfire did nothing—the daemons simply closed the distance, seemingly untouched by the fusillade. The unit commander, realizing too late the danger, ordered an emergency ascension. They barely escaped, but not without severe casualties.
Meanwhile, the main force of Khorne-worshipping mortals descended upon our expedition. The red veil clouded all of our minds. Only the iron will of Admiral Emberbarrel and the sight of Old Bessie—our lifeline—kept the bulk of our forces from giving in to the madness entirely.
The Battle of the Emberstone Ruins
We stood firm. Volley fire from our skyships and gunlines tore through the charging Khornites, dropping them in waves. But it didn’t matter—they kept coming, their blood-frenzied warriors eager to reach the dig site at any cost.
Then, the Butcher’s Nails took hold.
Someone screamed “MAIM, KILL, BURN!”—and suddenly, we weren’t just defending anymore. The Admiral and the Bootleggers charged forward into brutal hand-to-hand combat against the Khorne warriors.
I can’t recall the details of the melee—no one can. It was a haze of steel, blood, and rage. I remember one thing clearly: I saw crewman Durdin impale the Blood Warrior leader on his skypike and, in his madness, dip his helmet in the fresh blood, holding it aloft like a banner.
The battle was turning feral, slipping out of control. The Admiral gave the signal—we had to fall back.
We fought our way clear and regrouped at the temple’s edge. As soon as we withdrew, the red veil lifted. The moment the madness left us, we scrambled back onto the frigate, engines roaring to life as we fled into the sky.
We left with our cargo holds full of emberstone—but we had barely escaped with our sanity intact.
