Immediately, the life monitor magic conduits hooked to the pilot's torso registered a flatline, and the craft's engine redlined beneath the dead weight of the pilot's foot.
WARNING: PILOT DISABLED, PREPARE FOR CRASH LANDING
REPEAT: WARN-
Think. Quickly!
Church darted his hands to his harness to secure a fastening ring to the canvas crew ropes within the cabin. He felt himself lift up out of his seat as the magitech engine gave out and the craft entered free fall. He saw his team, his men, flailed around like ragdolls in the crew cabin, smashing into bulk struts, their weapons discharging beneath dead trigger fingers. Church felt the stinging pain of a projectile entering into his thigh. With the loades* roar he had ever heard, the craft impacted the swamp's canopy and began to break apart. He felt the burning, wet wound on his leg, the splash of fetid swamp water, and the jarring crash of the gnomecopter into the solid peat below, then nothing.
When he awoke, he heard the soft crackling of fire, and smelt the haunting tinge of burning flesh. His leg was soaked with blood, and he was surprised to even be alive. It must have been a few minutes or so since impact. He reached desperately for the fighting knife on his chest, and cut the canvas band that held him fast, hanging from the now-ceiling of the crashed vessel. With a thud, and a screaming pain in his leg, he fell to the floor - now the left wall of the crew cabin. He felt fabric and warmth beneath him, and realized with horror that he stood on the mangled, ragdoll-like bodies of his men. 3 were accounted for, the others must have been thrown from the wreckage. In the aft section of the craft, an insanely hot, green magical fire raged, slowly snaking it's way toward him. None of the men beneath him were alive, and the captives were nowhere to be found. He cursed beneath his breath, drew one of his pistols, and flung open the door.
04-Feb-2016 07:23:26
