by
that ubiquitous and incomparable Bard
Staalin Faars

 The following is a chronicle of a true event. All similarities to player characters living or dead is intentional. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent who, due to some unfortunate circumstance, may resemble any of the heroes introduced forthwith. Certain artistic license has been taken to provide substance and colour to what would otherwise certainly be a trifle boring to you, the Dear Reader. So with this short but important preliminary preamble concluded, on with the story…

Published by the Author
c1997

 <click> They want you to do a slow circle around the city...But keep your distance. <click>
 "Aaaaaallllll riiiiiiiiight," thought Galranwyn.
 The neuroplugs in the ship's helm which constantly monitored her brain waves identified the pattern as a communication request, translated it into electrical impulses, routed them to the communication port which fed them to the amplifier, which boosted the signals to the speaker on the bridge, which translated the impulses into sound waves by vibrating the sensitive cone in the speaker.
 "Oh damn! I hope she isn't going to start humming again!" said Fantoozi.
 "HMMMMMMMMMMM..HMMMMMM..HMMMMMMM..HMM..HMM.."
 It had taken her a few flying sessions to discover that by mentally re-routing the ship's feedback sensors in the speakers to a specific part of her brain, which was the nerve receptor of a certain part of her body, speaking through the ships com system created a VERY strange sensual sensation.
 "HMMMMMMMMM...HMMMMMMMMM...HMMMMMMMMMMMM!"
 Damn damn damn damn damn damn thought Chicolini. A little over a year ago, puzzled by the humming that was Galranwyn's habit whenever she flew the ship, Chicolini, after much trial and error, had discovered the joys of feedback. He had also discovered that turning the speakers off made his habit more bearable to the crew, though much less intensely pleasurable to himself. Something about the cone shaped object …
 He thought about having a frank discussion with Galranwyn. And once again decided that it was m-m-much too embarrassing to contemplate. He shivered violently, then began to preen his ruffled feathers.
 "HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM..."  <silence>
**

 Pisheo had just finished stretching which she did twice each day ever since joining the thieves guild. Only the fine beads of sweat above her upper lip gave evidence to her recent contortions.
 Now for an hour of knife work, climbing walls, and other exercises which helped hone her dexterity and maintain the muscles she needed to ply her trade. She always hated this part of the workout. The sweat stains were easily disguised by the dark clothing she habitually wore. But the odor was a REAL problem. There were many nights when she would awake in a cold sweat over the recurring nightmare of being caught in the act because she smelled like a bantu in heat.
 An hour later, ready for a bath, she paused before the mirror to admire herself. It took a full minute before she could see herself amid the clutter and shadows of her room.
 Hot damn your good!  she thought. Then she began wondering what personal item she would return to Galranwyn. Maybe the communications orb. Well that means I'll have to return the pouch of holding as well. It was a tricky problem, but not too difficult for a master thief. I'm just not appreciated enough around here. But that's how I like it. She chuckled as she planned how she would return the items that had not been missed.
 She had just closed her cabin door when two crewmen stepped around a bulkead and started to walk towards her in the corridor.
 "Well that was a strange city."
 "Yea. Looked kinda spooky to me."
 "The 509 are strange birds. Imagine wanting to visit a place like that out in the middle of nowhere, when we coulda took 'em to any city they wanted!"
 "Go figure. HEY! Have you been porkin' out on those navy beans again? PHEEEEWW!"
 "Hey, don't go DISin' me. After all, the first one to catch a whiff is the one who done it. Man, that was RIPE!"
 They picked up their pace and disappeared around the corner.
 Pisheo slowly let out her breath and decided to take a short cut through the cargo hold to see this strange city before taking her bath.
.***

 <tap, TAP, tap>
          There, it's done! Dromar beamed as he stepped back several gnomish paces to admire his handiwork. There on a large block of wood (pedestal really) sat  an intricately engraved chair of gnomish proportions(well,  really more like a throne). Steps which added stability and support led to the pedestal. This should shut them up! No more jokes about the baby on the high chair!
 Eager to try out his latest invention, Dromar pressed upon the cleverly concealed panel which sprung open at his touch to reveal a lever. Pushing on the lever activated  a series of ropes and pullys which lifted his chair on to the cleverly concealed wheels under the pedestal. He rolled it out the door and into the mess hall. Shoving the high chair aside, he carefully positioned HIS chair before pushing forward on the lever, which retracted the wheels. He clicked the panel shut.
 After fixing himself a royal snack, he walked up the gnomish steps of the pedestal, set his plate on the table and prepared to sit in his custom made chair that molded perfectly to his body. Aaaaaaaaah! He slowly began to savor the first enjoyable meal ever on this boat.
 Just as he was finishing, Krom and Bensyl strode into the room. Krom's eyes opened wide as he did a comical double-take. "Well look at what our inventive engineer has made. A throne on which to SHIT so that he can eat!"
 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
 "He shits so that he can eat so that he can shit so he can eat so he can shit..."
 Dromar scowled. I'm not going to let this potty humor ruin my day. At least its better than dead baby jokes.
 When he walked up on deck, he saw a huge walled city with very strange roofs. What's this? He went to his favorite spot in the aft and began loading his pipe.
 Suddenly, his stomach contracted forcing his partially digested snack to spew out over the railing in three distinct streams. Despite the burning sensation in his nose, he noticed that the chunky fluids did not arc gracefully and disappear beneath the railing. Rather, they seemed suspended in mid air. Several of the smaller chunks even appreared to actually be floating back towards him as if drifting lazily on the wind.
****

 Katrina, Victorex, Timber and I were top deck enjoying the view of the long abandoned but still majestic Kumelon. Naturally, I had the best view, having had the foresight to purchase a marvelous invention that made objects appear nearer than they actually were. Of course Timber and the rest begged to borrow it. So after a few minutes I passed it around.
 Out of the corner of my eye I spied Pisheo sneaking out of a cargo hatch. I was about to yell to her to bolt the hatch behind her when I was distracted by the sight of several rather large and unsightly sweat stains clearly visible on her black shirt. Really! How gauche.
 Victorex was on his knees, his face scrunched in concentration, probably praying to his god again. He was babbling on about how he was a genius (ha!) and that we should land the ship immediately. Dromar was standing by the aft railing stuffing his oversized pipe with god knows what evil smelling refuse.
 In retrospect, I knew that something was terribly wrong when Galranwyn's humming ended abruptly, before the usual grand finale of sharp short notes. However, my stomach, banging against the roof of my mouth to be let out, claimed my immediate attention.
 Being no stranger to this condition, I did not panic, but, almost reflexively, activated my boots and coordinated my flight  match the abrupt decent of Dragonsbane. It's amazing really. Though falling at the same rate of speed, I now felt in control and was able to put my stomach back where it belonged.
 I calmly looked about the ship to access the situation. I wanted to determine where help was most needed and, more importantly, if I could provide any aid at all.
 Timber was shouting orders to petrified crewmen. Though I couldn't immediately discern their meaning, I used my extensive vocal training to relay his orders to the crew. I was gratified that they seemed  to  understand them and immediately began to carry them out.
 What next? Pisheo seemed to have the situation AND the railing well in hand.                                                                               Dromar had decided this was the perfect time to lose his lunch. Yuck! Nothing I could help with there.                                              Victorex was mumbling some gibberish sounding suspiciously like, "I told you so." Then, I saw Katrina crouched, cowering on the deck.
 I flew over, patted her on the shoulder and offered her a few words of encouragement. I believe I said, "Whatever you do, DON'T look over the railing. And for heaven's sakes girl, RELAX! You'll break quite a few more bones if you're all tensed up like that when you hit the ground." My sensible advice seemed to fall upon deaf ears.
 "Ooooooooooooooooooooooh!" wailed Katrina, "Where is Fido?"
 Her mood was infectious. I began to worry so I drifted over to the railing. Once I had re-established my spacial orientation vis-a-vis the ground, I began to feel a whole lot better!  Dromar, his hair and beard adorned with choice bits and pieces of his last meal [an unfortunate choice of words] was now manning the steering wheel.
 Well, it's almost time to abandon this sinking ship. I've collected some great material for a song. I really do hope my friends survive so we can all have a good laugh over this incident.
*****

 And as Timora is my witness, we did just that! Oh, it took some time to find our way back to a PROPER inn. There was a little problem of moving our ship several hundred yards so it could fly again. The solution was very ingenious and involved several party members forming some VERY close (but short-lived) relationships with large, dumb, hairy smelling creatures that were almost certainly distant relations of the bantu. But that's another story.