Frostgrave Campaign Between-Game Update: The Tale of Sister Zandkara

     

      The Dreams

      Kodak the Illusionist's sleep had become increasingly restless since his last trip into the ruins of Frostgrave.  His waking hours were bad enough, as he still grieved over the loss of his friend, Sister Riessa, on the last expedition into the frozen city; but now his nights were tormented too.  It started as a dream that continued for several nights; he was in the ruins walking through a maze of alleyways and crumbled buildings looking left and right, up and down, always searching.  There were others with him, vague shadowy figures, dressed all the same in red and white, that walked along with him.  Eventually he would come upon the scene of Riessa's dead body again, and there would be the Templar's sword laying in the snow and glowing.  It would slowly rise in the air of its own accord, flat and parallel to the ground and would slowly start spinning like a compass needle.  Faster and faster it would turn until it became a blur; and then suddenly there would be a flash of light, and the Elf wizard would be thrown from his sleep only to find himself laying in his bed, out of breath, in his sweat soaked night clothes.
    For a week it continued, always the same.  Kodak kept it to himself, and assumed it was his guilt and grief working their way through his subconscious.   Surely it would pass he thought, and he tried to busy himself with his daily routine as a way to distract himself.
    Then the night came when the dream changed.  He was again in the city, but this time he no longer searched feverishly though the ruins, but instead he lay on a pile of broken stone unable to move. He was face down, but could crane his neck to each side, and there he saw the shadowy figures again all dressed in red and white.  This time, though, they did not walk among the ruins around him, but instead they too lay on the rocks and crumbled walls  He could see the bodies were broken and at odd angles like so many ragdolls tossed about.  He tried to see more details but the figures were always shadowy to his eyes. Then suddenly the city dissolved around him, and he found himself seated at a table in his Inn.  He could feel himself relax for a moment in the familiar surroundings then his gaze turned downward and upon the table lie Riessa's magic sword, that he had come to call the Sword of the Sisters.  Once again it began to slowly turn like a compass needle, though this time it did not turn any faster.  It spun slowly upon the table until suddenly it stopped and began to glow.  Brighter it glowed  until there was suddenly a flash of light again.  Kodak heard a woman's accented voice call out "Help me!", and again he was pushed awake and lay there taking deep gulps of air.

    The next night the dream happened again; beginning as it did in the city, though this time he was not laying on the stones but was huddled in a dark corner of a ruin.  Had he crawled there?  He could see out the doorway and there were the ragdoll bodies in red and white as he had seen before. His gaze shifted then to his leg, and there was a large wound running across his calf, crudely wrapped in a bloody bandage. His body flinched in surprise at seeing this, and he could feel a sharp pain radiate up into his hip. Then a moment of clarity broke through in is fevered mind, and realized it wasn't his leg; it was too slender and...feminine.  He suddenly could feel himself rise up as if floating in the room, and he realized he could look down and see himself; except it wasn't him, it was a woman...dressed in red and white. He tried to call out to her, but there was a flash, and once again he was seated in the Inn at a table, and there was the Sword of the Sisters upon it. Like before, it slowly began to turn in circles, and then stopped. But this time the Illusionist's mind was clearer and he realized that it hadn't just stopped, but that it had stopped with the tip pointing directly out the door of the Inn and towards the city.  He looked out the door, but again there was the sudden blinding flash, and he heard the accented voice of the same woman as before call out, "By the Light I pray, help me!"
  Kodak was once again shot like a bolt from a crossbow out of his sleep. He sat in his bed trying to recall the events that he had just dreamt.  Still in his nightclothes, he jumped from his bed and rushed to the vault.  He unlocked it, and rushed in to find the sword, still wrapped in Riessa's bloodstained cloak.  He picked it up, and was immediately shocked by the fact that the bundle felt strangely warm under his fingers. Especially considering how chilly that morning was.  He ran back towards the great room of the Inn, and as he went he called out, "Leigh! Leigh!" .  He rushed to the table that the Treasure Hunter, Melilly Ising, had first set the sword upon the night of that fateful day Riessa had been killed. He unwrapped the magic weapon and set it on the table, then carefully folded the cloak and set it on a chair; his eyes never leaving the blade.
     He heard a cough from across the room, and looked up for but a moment to see his Apprentice Leighlyndana, shuffle into the room; her red hair all tangled like a bird nest, and her bedclothes all wrinkled and drooping off one shoulder. She loudly sniffed, and wiped a tattered cuff across her right eye. "Master Kodak, did you call me?", she said with a husky dry voice.
   "Yes!" the old Elf exclaimed, "Come here and look!" and he pointed to the table.  The Apprentice shuffled over and stared somewhat blankly at the table, until she realized that it was Riessa's sword lying there. Her eyes got wide, and she looked up questioningly at Kodak. "Look", he said again, and pointed at the sword.
     They both stared at the sword for several minutes as it lay there motionless on the table. More than once Leighlyndana shot her eyes sideways to look at the old Wizard beside her.  But Kodak's gaze never wavered.  Then, as the sleepy Apprentice covered her mouth to hide a large yawn, her eyes again got wide as she thought she saw the tip of the blade move slightly.  Then there was no doubt, as the whole sword began to slowly spin on it's center point.  "What...?" she said in a hushed voice.
   "The sword is trying to show us something:, Kodak said back in a whisper.
   They watched in silence for a minute more, and then suddenly the sword stopped.  Like in the dream, it was pointing out the door, towards the city.
"I think someone needs our help",  said the Wizard. "And she's in the city."

Part II: The Templar

     She had always heard that when a person is about to die, they relive their life in their thoughts, as a flash of memories.   As Zandkara FeGuar lay there curled up in the corner of the ruin, her mind turned to the house where she was born.
   She came from a small village in the kingdom of Insurikar.  Motherless at an early age and naturally combative, she soon found she had few friends amongst the children her age.  More than one of the village boys who had thought it fun to tease or torment her had gone running home with a black eye or a broken nose.  Her father, Guar, was a simple farmer of parched soil; and his daughter brought him no end of exasperation.  

      As her age advanced so did the level of trouble she found herself in, and by the time she was 12, she had been brought up before the regional magistrate for striking a Captain of the Realm.  Sentenced to a life of servitude in the fabric mills, her father pleaded with the king's official. Only the selling of all his livestock and his wife's few small jewels eventually bought the judge's leniency, and before she was shipped to a fate of unimaginable harsh labor, the sentence was changed to her being committed to a life with the Order of the Lady of the Light; a powerful religious sect with followers and outposts across the known world.
     Zandkara was enraged at her fate; to be locked away in a convent of old hags. Never again to run though the fields of tall harstess grain, or swim in the blue waters of the Obulon.  The priestesses, though, were no strangers to angry young girls who were daughters of the Dark, and their methods had been honed for over 5000 years in how to turn the disobedient towards the Light.  But they also had need for strong arms and willful souls, and though they did not set out to break young Zandkara, they knew exactly how to bend her. By the time she was 15 she had been inducted into the Sisterhood of the Templars of Light, and though just a page to a minor warrior, she was thrilled to be in a world where she was being trained to fight, and her combative nature was admired rather than disciplined.
     How thrilled she had been when after exhaustive years of training and service, she had been presented with her own sword, and assigned her first mission in the name of the Light.  She had done well with that task, and others that followed. Though still young, her name gained some notoriety within the sect.  

       Then, earlier that year, she had been brought before the High Priestess herself and named to be a part of a very important and special mission for her Order.  As she sat in the Council of Light, with the High Priestess, and 11 of her Templar Sisters, she heard a story of a far-off land; in it was a city, Felstad, that was the center of all that was magical in the world, but the city had been lost in time.  A thousand years ago, the Order had commissioned a special banner to be made by the magical artisans of the city, an image of the Lady of the Light infused with magical threads and spells, designed to make all who marched with the symbol almost impervious to death, and unswayable in their devotion. The Order had received word that the banner was completed and had sent emissaries to  retrieve it; but before they could reach Felstad, a mighty cataclysm had struck and the entire city had been lost in a storm of ice and snow beyond measure.  All was buried beneath a mile of white; the city...and the banner.
    Now word had come to the Order that the city was thawing, and it was time for the banner to be retrieved and brought to its rightful home. Zandkara, her eleven warrior Sisters, and one of the Elder Priestesses had travelled many miles through strange lands, and across stranger waters to eventually arrive on the outskirts of the ruined city.  For days they searched the ruins, following clues from old texts written by the original Priestesses who had commissioned the banner.  The city was a haven for Darkness, and they encountered all sorts of vile creatures who had survived in the frozen wasteland.
     Then came the night of the ambush.  As the group settled down in the ruins one starless night, they were set upon by an unstoppable evil.  Men in hoods and skull masks, 30 of them, led by a powerful Necromancer, attacked the Sisters from the shadows. The Templars of Light fought valiantly, but the numbers were against them and the enemy's magic too strong.  One by one the sisters fell to the black blades of the skull-masked men. The Priestess tried to turn the tide, but was brought down by a hail of bone splinters blasted from the Necromancers staff. Zandkara would never forget seeing the Priestesses pierced body laying in the snow, the sightless eyes staring back at the young Templar.  Zandkara herself killed 3 of the skull-masked men, but she was growing weaker.  Under her breath she prayed for strength, and fought on. She came up against a tall broad-shouldered enemy who laughed with wild delight as we swung his sword.  Zandkara's muscles ached. "Lady of Light, give me strength!" She fought the man to a standstill, then suddenly she felt a icy pain in her shoulder and a quick glance showed her there was 3 inches of a jagged sliver of bone sticking from her upper arm. It was icy cold, and she could feel it sucking the strength from her. Her arm was going numb. "Lady of Light, give me strength!" she screamed. Then the black blade of the enemy made first contact; as she lunged forward to strike, the enemy's parry slid off her sword and the edge caught the tip of her nose.  Blood began to run down her face and she tasted the salt.  Then the man's back stroke caught her other arm.  She staggered, and tried to deflect a blow but the black blade went low and sunk deep into her calf. Her leg went out from under her, and she fell to her knees and knelt on the jagged ground.  She spat blood from her mouth and tried to stay conscious. "Lady of Light, give me strength!" The skull-masked man drew back with his blade to deliver the killing blow, and shoved the blade forward with all is might.  But confident in his victory, the man's thrust was sloppy and though the black point pierced Zandkara's mail near her heart, it was at enough of an angle that the chain links torqued the blade to a point that it did not go directly into her chest, but instead slid along her left breast, cutting a deep gash, and then lodged in the chainmail folds under her arm. With the force of his withdrawing the blade, the Templar was pulled forward and fell face down on a patch of slushy snow. She could hear sobbing and shouts in the distance, then they faded gently away as darkness overtook her mind.

 

Part III: The Lost One Found

     Kodak rushed forward across the ruins; the rest of the party following behind, eyes scanning the surroundings, ever watchful for danger.  As the old Elf had done since they set out earlier that morning, every dozen yards or so, the Illusionist would take the Sword of the Sisters and lay it on some flat surface, and stare at it intently.  Then as he gazed at the sword it would again slowly start to spin, until it would abruptly stop  pointing deeper into the ruins.  The Illusionist would grab the sword and go bounding off in the new direction.

      The wizard rounded a corner and didn't need the sword to tell him he was close to where the magic blade was taking him.  He stopped mid-stride and stared.  Before him was the scene of a battle; there were bodies strewn about a ruin-filled courtyard, and instantly Kodak recognized the red and white clothing he had seen in his dream.  The rest of the Illusionist's warband caught up with him, and they all slowly made their way amongst the carnage.  Conspicuously absent was the bodies of any opponents.  It was just the figures dressed in red and white, and as Kodak looked more closely he could tell they were all women, foreign women for that mater of a dark complexion.    It was also evident to the group, that the battle had happened at least a couple days ago; for the creatures that feed on human flesh had visited the location before Kodak and his party.  Many of the bodies had been chewed upon some half eaten away. It was not a sight for the feint of heart, and Leighlyndana, had to sit down on a broken wall, and faced away; tears streamed down her face.
      Bash, the Man-at-Arms, said huskily, "There are no weapons, Wizard.  And very little of the armor is left that isn't damaged or broken."
      He was right.  Kodak could see anything of value had been taken.  But the normal inhabitants of these ruins, the undead and the wild things, didn't usually loot bodies as well as feed upon them.   Kodak set the sword down on a piece of broken chimney and knelt to look more closely at a young girl laying on the shattered remains of a fallen wall.  her right arm had been chewed away, and her red and white garments were shredded and blood soaked.  Her lifeless eyes, gazed towards the overcast sky. Kodak tried to put the pieces of the scene together in his mind to figure out what had happened.
     His thoughts were disturbed, by the Treasure Hunter, Melilly Ising, "Sir," she said deliberately.  The sword."
    Sure enough, as Kodak's gaze shifted back to the sword, he could see that it wasn't spinning, but surely it had turned itself in a different direction than the way he had set it down.  The surprising thing to the band standing there in the ruins, all now staring at the sword, was that the blade was pulsing now with an internal light, like there was liquid flame within the metal itself; slow and rhythmic like the sword's very heart was beating.  The Elf wizard thought he could even hear it's beating; yes, like a Human or Elven heart he thought, but much slower...like a heart that is fading...
    The old Illusionist looked from the sword towards where the tip was pointing.  In the distance, about 25 yards away, was a series of what had been low one story building all adjoined together; like they once had been market stalls or small workshops.  Now mostly reduced to little more than a few crumbling walls. One however still held part of it's roof, rising from the back wall and sheltering nothing but piles of broken stonework.
   Kodak strode off towards the building, the rest following a few paces behind.  He got to what had been the doorway and scanned the ruin.  There was not much to see, mostly piles of stones from the broken walls, a pile of rags in one corner, and pieces of the fallen part of the roof.
  The Elf looked back towards the sword, and then back to where he stood; making sure he had followed its bearing correctly.  Surprisingly, even at this distance he thought he could hear the sword's slow beating heart.  Then suddenly the pile of rags in the corner emitted a short quiet groan, and Kodak knew it wasn't the sword's heart he was hearing.

     Leighlyndana was the first to reach the pile of rags, and she knelt down and began to pull pieces of fabric away, until she let out a gasp.  "It's a person!" she said in hushed amazement.  She worked more quickly to uncover the body lying there, then added "A woman!" 

   Bash knelt down beside the Apprentice, and surveyed what could be seen of the woman's face and the bloody remnants of her clothing. The burly warrior pulled his glove off with his teeth, and reached his hand out and placed it down under the scarf around the girl's neck and pressed his fingers against the cold flesh.  He looked back at Kodak, "She's near death and half frozen, Wizard."  He pulled his hand away, and it was then that he realized that the scarf was red, and the cloth clinging to her shoulders had once been white.  "She's one of them," he added; and tilted his head towards the scene of carnage out in the courtyard beyond.

    It was Leighlyndana who regained herself first and began chanting the words of a Healing spell. The woman's eyes flickered half open, and upon seeing Leigh's face staring back at her, the eyes widened.

"What is your name?' the Apprentice asked.

   The girl coughed,  and through blood caked and parched lips, she said hoarsely, "Zandkara."

Epilogue

     By the time they got Zandkara back to the Inn she was a bit more alert.  She had been given food and water on the trip. And Kodak had done a Healing spell on her as well.  They built up the fire in the Inn's massive fireplace, and sat the young Templar down in a chair by it's heat.  All the Healing spells in the world couldn't shake the bone-deep chill you have after a single night in the frozen ruins, and Zandkara had been there for two.  The old Illusionist had dressed the Bone Dart wound in her arm as well, though a magical injury like that takes weeks to heal; and sometimes the injury never does go away completely. The Elf Wizard and his band pulled up chairs around the hearth as well, and they all waited to hear the strange foreigner's tale.

    Zandkara related her story, though the last couple days were a bit hazy to her.  Kodak could tell she was a brave fighter and had spirit and will to spare.  Despite her injuries and the loss of all her companions, as well as most of her armor and her sword, she still vowed to carry on the quest she had been assigned.  And the Elf could see a fire burn deep in her brown eyes when she also vowed to find and repay the masked and hooded men who had slaughtered her Sisters. 

    A few days later Zandkara sat in prayer in a corner of the Inn where a beam of sun streamed in and across the dusty floor, bathing the Templar in a warm glow.  Kodak sat across the room waiting patiently for her to finish.  The Templar finally stood up, and the old Elf could see there were still unhealed wounds by the slow and deliberate movement the woman from Insurikar used to get up off the floor.

     He beckoned to her from across the room, and she walked over to join him. Kodak gestured for her to sit down. "I'd like to offer you a place in my group here", he proposed.  "It's foolish for you to think you can continue by yourself, alone. And with us, you will have the opportunity to search the ruins on a regular basis, as well as hunt those whom you seek, in the company of a group of trained soldiers and explorers." 

   "I will need to consider this", the Insurikarian replied meekly, adding, "It is a very generous offer."

   "One more thing, " Kodak continued, and reached down by his side and placed the Sword of the Sisters up upon the table where they sat.   Zandkara's eyes widened.  "It sought you out; saved you in fact, " Kodak added. "And like you, it seeks vengeance.  The two of you are...much alike. I think you should have this"  

     The Templar reached out and grasped the sword. The grip felt warm to her touch and a tingle went through her body.  Kodak looked on, and was not certain, but he thought he could see that same liquid light within the sword's blade, pulsing rapidly with the woman's own heartbeat. Perhaps it was just the reflected sun that was streaming in the windows. Slowly, Zandkara stood, and taking the sword firmly in both hands she swung it in slow wide arcs around her head.  She could feel the power the sword contained, and it's own need for vengance.

    Smiling, for the first time that Kodak had seen, she said, still swinging the sword in deliberate and practiced arcs, "They say, 'A man may have many brothers at home, but his true brother...or sister...is to be found out in the world.'  I think I have found my true sister.  For that I am grateful.  She stopped swinging the blade, and held the sword upright directly in front of her face, staring at her own reflection in the polished metal.  "I will accept your offer."

   Author's note:  On the Frostgrave Magic Items table (pg. 63), the item for a roll of 20 on a d20 is: "Banner of Courage".  If at anytime I roll this result in the curse of normal game play, The Banner of the Order of the Lady of Light will have been found, and that part of Zandkara's quest will be complete.  She will need to decide at that point, if it ever comes, whether to leave Kodak and his group to return the banner to her home, or stay to complete her quest of vengeance.

***

THE JOURNEY OF VICTORIA HAWKES

A couple years ago I took a creative writing course and did the following for one of the assignments. It is meant to be a prologue to a Victoria Hawkes novel that I hope to finish some day.



Prologue

Charleston, South Carolina
April 12th, 1861

The three Confederate airships came in from the south, low over Charleston Harbor. The sky was a dusky blue and details were becoming more visible in the predawn. The sun was going to rise soon. Captain Abernathy, standing on the deck of the second ship, could make out the pinpoint lights and the black mound in the distance that marked the location of the small, federal-held fort in the waters below.
Abernathy was a veteran of the Mexican War in 1848. He had been a crewman on one of the United States’ primitive two-balloon vessels in that war and had subsequently risen to command of his own ship in ‘59. It had been a hard decision for him to resign his commission in the U.S. Aeronautic Corps but first and foremost he was a son of South Carolina; and whatever course the state set, he followed. He had seen war from the vantage point of the skies before and knew its terrible cost. Abernathy regretted knowing he would be seeing it again. He removed his sweat stained captain’s hat and ran a hand through his graying hair and turned to his first mate, William Langley, and said, “Have the squadron form up and prepare for the attack.”
“Yes, sir!” Langley replied. He was young and enthusiastic, his uniform neatly pressed and clean. The son of a Charleston politician, he had received this post through a government favor arranged by his father. He was intelligent and quick to learn though, and had quickly become competent in his job. He turned and relayed the order to the junior officers of the crew. An midshipman hung a series of three colored signal lanterns from the rigging of the ship. In the boiler room, the engineer and his men scrambled to build up the steam pressure. Thick black clouds billowed from the smoke stack on each vessel as the twin propellers in the back began to pick up speed. Slowly the three 40-foot ships, the Columbia, the Charleston, and the Palmetto, maneuvered into attack formation.
The wooden hulls and the rigging groaned and creaked as the movement caused the vessels to swing under the four massive gas bags that hung above each one. The bags, each almost 18 feet in diameter, were arrayed in a line above each ship, running parallel to the length of the hull. Each sphere was filled with Apollium the rare gas discovered in the early 1800s that had three times the lifting power of hydrogen and was not flammable. The airship hulls were covered with one-inch-thick iron plates. At the front of each airship was mounted a 3” Rodman rifled cannon. They featured the new Harrison Recoil Device that allowed the cannon to be fired with little affect to the motion of the ship.
On deck, by the light of oil lamps, the airmen prepared bombs to be dropped over the sides of the ships. Each one was an iron sphere the size of a large pumpkin. Some were solid iron for the purpose of battering the fort from above; others had percussion fuses to detonate and explode on impact, targeting the fort’s defenders with shards of metal and damaging the fortifications with their explosive force. It took three men to lift each one, so the airmen worked in groups as they lined a half-dozen of the weapons along the wall on each side of the deck. One man pulled a hunk of chalk from his pocket and scrawled, “For Abe Lincoln” on the black iron side of the nearest bomb. He and his partners chuckled and went back to their work.
The airships had been part of the Federal airfleet but were commanded and crewed manly by South Carolinians; therefore they remained in the state when it seceded in December 1860. Their mission now was to help eliminate the last Federal affront to their state’s and the Confederacy’s sovereignty: Fort Sumter.

The fort’s defenders were not idle as the Confederate airships approached. The garrison could hear the soft distant thump, thump, thump of the airships’ engines in the fading darkness above. The fort’s commander, Major Robert Anderson, barked orders to his small garrison and prepared to defend the fort as best he could. This was it; the moment he had known would come since he garrisoned the fort five days after South Carolina seceded.
When Anderson arrived he had found the five sided brick structure at the entrance to Charleston’s harbor in bad condition and immediately set to having it repaired. The Major also saw to the installation of a battery of four rifled aerial guns on the top level of the three-tiered fort. These supplemented the few standard heavy cannon which already stood on Sumter’s walls. The aerial guns were 12-pound breechloaders mounted on angled rails on a framework shaped like the letter ”A”. The framework was mounted on a rotating base so the cannon could be quickly turned to fire in any direction.
The fort was manned by two companies of the 1st U.S. Artillery. They numbered only a little over 100 fighting men. There were also the 29 men of Battery B of the 1st U.S. Aerial Artillery. The men busied themselves within the fort getting ready for the approaching assault.
The first shot was fired at 4:30 AM by one of the Confederate land batteries located on James Island at the south end of the harbor. The other Southern batteries, also located at various positions along the harbor’s edge joined in. Fort Sumter’s defenders returned fire upon the attackers, many of the shots falling harmlessly in the water or behind the batteries. Likewise, the attackers’ shots had little effect on the five-foot-thick walls of the fort.
Meanwhile, the three airships lined up for their approach. They were about twenty minutes from passing over the fort. Captain Abernathy, on the Charleston, ordered all lamps doused onboard the ships. The Federal Aerial gunners in the fort below could still make out the dark shapes of the approaching vessels.

The gunners at the bow of the Colombia, the lead ship, prepared their 3-inch Rodman gun. When they reached a thousand yards from fort Sumter, they opened fire with their first shot. The cannon ball landed short in the ocean before the walls of the fort. They adjusted range and fired again. This time the shot landed against the southern wall, doing little damage. The other two ships, the Columbia, ahead and to the right of the Charleston, and the Palmetto on the left behind her - opened up with their guns, too.
The small shells had little effect against the walls of the fort. When the airships reached 500 yards, they started to load fused shot - hollow shells filled with explosive that would be set to detonate over the fort, raining down iron shrapnel on the defenders.

The brave Federal aerial gunners stood beside their weapons despite the hail of metal that flew around them. The Confederate airships were in their range now. The gunners cranked the weapons to the lowest firing arc and the battery officers ordered the guns to fire. All but one of the first shots missed. The projectile that hit caught the edge of the front bow of the Palmetto, sending splinters into one of the Southern gunners.
The firing on both sides continued as the Columbia, Charleston, and Palmetto moved steadily closer. Three of the gunners on the 3rd aerial gun had been hit by a near airburst. The 2nd aerial gun’s sergeant was wounded and the weapon’s framework damaged. It was leaning at an angle. The crew tried to put a crate under the damaged leg to hold it and still fire the piece, though the accuracy was lost and the whole weapon shook like a demon when it was fired.
The ships were starting to suffer also. The Columbia took a rudder hit and had trouble keeping lined up with the fort. The Palmetto took another hit to its gun crew. The survivors were trying their best to keep the gun firing, but it was hard for the two remaining men to keep up the same rate. The Charleston was still unscathed.
The standard batteries in the fort and the Confederate land batteries still hammered at each other. The brick walls of the fort were starting to show large scars where the heavy shells had hit them.
The airships reached a point where they were too close to fire their bow cannon without overshooting the target, so the gunners stood down and the wounded went to find their ships’ surgeons. The bomb crews now lined the deck walls, preparing to heave the bombs over the sides.
The flying ships were now in close range to the aerial guns below. The Federal crews fired as fast as they could. Two of the guns were firing solid rounds at the undersides of the hulls; the other two were firing explosive shots above the ships to hit the airbags and crew.
In a matter of minutes, the Columbia had taken a hit directly under the engine room that caused several pipes inside to burst, spraying the engineers with steam. The power to the propellers dropped almost immediately with the loss of pressure and the airship slowed down dramatically. The remainder of its rudder was also destroyed, so the airship started to veer off its course.
The Charleston received several bursts near its foremost two gasbags and these began to deflate quickly as the gas leaked out of the many holes and gashes. The ship began to tilt forward at a severe angle as the front balloons lost their lift and the back two maintained theirs. The crew had to grab for anything they could or risk being pitched into the sea, or the fort itself. Captain Abernathy stormed up and down the deck, his footing sure on the severely sloping surface. He ordered the airmen to adjust the lines to the remaining two airbags to distribute their lift and the ballast to be dumped to try and right the situation.
All three ships were taking heavy crew casualties too. The bomb crews along the walls were particularly vulnerable.
The ships were now at the fort’s southern wall. The Columbia, with its useless rudder and engines, was drifting inland and only just passed over the southwestern corner of the fort. Her captain ordered the bombs overboard despite being so off target. Most of them fell harmlessly into the water, though three hit the fort’s corner. One was an exploding bomb and it detonated so close to the edge its fragments rattled harmlessly against the brick. The other two were solid, and a large part of the fort’s corner exploded into rubble under the force of their impact. One of the aerial guns was stationed on the top of that corner, and its crew and weapon were lost under the collapsing debris.
The Columbia passed the fort and drifted on over the shore. Its captain looked for a safe place to set the battered vessel down.
Next the Charleston was at the walls of the fort. It was still leaning forward at a terrible angle due to the loss of its front two balloons. The men aboard found it hard to maintain their footing and lift the bombs to the deck’s walls. Captain Abernathy bellowed above the sounds of battle, “Full ahead, and we’ll give them the devil! There’s no turning back now!”
The ship was seconds from being in position over the fort. The Captain raised his sword, ready to give the order to drop the bombs. Before he could give the command, one of the airmen holding a bomb with another two crewmen slipped in the blood of a dead comrade on the deck behind him. The airman fell, lost his grip on the bomb, and his two partners dropped it to the deck. With the tilt of the ship, the heavy iron ball started to roll toward the bow of the vessel. It knocked down crew like ninepins as it careened towards the 3-inch Rodman gun at the front. It hit a last crewman, shattering his ankle, and bounced towards the ammunition locker mounted on the deck behind the cannon. It was a fragmentary bomb and its impact with the ammunition locker set off the bomb’s percussion fuse. There was a momentary delay and then it exploded. The explosion set off the powder charges in the ammunition locker, and the bow of the ship disappeared in a fireball. The airbags broke free at the front and then the remaining two burst. The whole airship up-ended; dumping men and bombs alike into the fort. Captain Abernathy and a dozen other crewmen including First Mate Langley managed to grab hold of something and stay on the ship which was now burning at the front where fifteen feet were missing off the bow.

Below them was a massive explosion in the fort as the entire payload of bombs and almost all the crew landed on top of Sumter’s powder magazine. The southeastern wall of the fort blew completely out into the sea. Half the guns in the fort were unseated from their mounts and as many Federal gunners were killed. The surviving aerial gunners on the top level of the fort’s northern wall ran for cover as the flaming wreck of the Columbia descended like a comet down upon it. The airship hit with a massive explosion as the boiler burst, leveling a large section of the fort’s wall and leaving a huge crater on that side of the fort. Captain Abernathy and First Mate Langley perished in the blast.
The crew of the Palmetto, coming up behind the Charleston, looked on in horror as their sister vessel met its fate. To add their barrage to the inferno below seemed pointless. Two-thirds of the fort was smoking ruins and they couldn’t be sure if there were any of the Charleston’s crew still alive in the wreckage. The Palmetto’s captain decided to turn away from the attack and head after the Columbia to see if it could offer assistance to the wounded ship.
On shore, the land battery crews stood in awed silence, their cannons momentarily forgotten.
In Fort Sumter, Major Anderson, the fort’s commander, was nowhere to be found. The survivors assumed he was buried somewhere under the rubble and wreckage. The highest ranking officer who could be located was a lieutenant; Lieutenant Worthy. Despite having a wounded arm, the officer was still able to walk.
The flag pole with the American flag, which had stood in the center of the fort, had been vaporized when the bomb load from the Charleston had landed there. Worthy ordered one of the surviving sergeants from the 1st Artillery to make a white flag from a undershirt which lay on the ground bloody and without an owner. Worthy took the flag from the Sergeant and slowly crawled up the remains of the fort’s wall that faced towards Charleston and waved it solemnly at the Confederates on shore.
The war had begun.