“Brace yerselves!” Anne Bunny screamed, just before the world went ass over teakettle.

This wasn't her first crash. When you did business from an airship, you learned very quickly that gravity was a harsh mistress. And they'd had warning of it coming, so it wasn't a surprise.

But it was still never pleasant.

All Pirates who made it to level five got the Shipwrecker skill.

This skill, which was always active, reduced damage and bad luck effects from shipwrecks. Any shipwreck. Once she'd been teamed up with a group of land pirates, who drove wind-powered carts to get around, and the skill had considered those to be ships.

She'd gotten around their sudden but inevitable betrayal by chopping the masts away from their captain's cart and swinging to safety at the last moment, and from the mess that had resulted when they rolled into a chasm, their Shipwrecked skill had helped them not at all, so she had to be mindful of the line between ships and not-ships.

But given the fact that she found herself standing up, hurting all over but still alive and mostly intact, that fate hadn't struck her vessel.

“Karey!” she bellowed, looking about the cracked and broken deck for her first mate. “Be ye dead? If not then stir yer stumps! We've got to hop to!”

The nearest mast groaned and sagged toward her, and she flicked a cutlass out and carved through it before it could crush her skull. Cut into two chunks, the larger part of the mast hit the side of the ship, crunched a large dent into the wood, then knocked down a few trees as it fell.

Water pattered down, and Anne shook her head irritably, stomping along the now-sloped deck as she searched for living souls.

The storm made it hard to see, and the rain made the deck slippery, sloped as it was, but her Sea Legs skill was up to the challenge. “Karey!” she bellowed again, pausing to take a look at the groaning piles that were her crew, looking for a specific face among the battered and bruised bunnies.

One of them muttered something as she stomped by, and Anne thought it sounded a touch disrespectful. She grabbed the wench by the ears and hauled her upright as she yelped.

“Where be Karey?” Anne growled, baring her gold buckteeth in the swab's face.

“D-down!” the crewbunny squeaked. “Down belowdecks, she ran down there before we crashed, cap'n ma'am!”

Anne dropped her back to the deck, ignoring the yellow '12' and the yelp of pain that rose up from the sad sack. Finding the hatch down to the forecastle still clear, she adjusted for the grade of the ship's deck, and clambered down the ladder.

“Karey!” she bellowed, passing by more slumped and groaning crew. Some were still, more were bleeding, but it looked like most of them had come through alive.

“Here, captain!” came the call back, and Anne's shoulders untensed. She hadn't even realized they were tight, thought that had just been from the bruises of the fall.

Now why am I a-worryin'? She asked herself, then shook her head as she turned the corner and found her first mate watching the foc'sle door, a pistol in each hand.

Half the locks were off the door, the heavy chains lying in piles on the deck below, collected in the seam where the wall met the floor due to the slope of the crashed ship.

“Karey,” Anne growled. “What are ye doin? I seem to recall ordering that our prisoners not be let out under any circumstances, and yet here ye be a opening their door?”

“No, Captain,” Harey Karey said. “I got here in time to see a fiddly little wire working through a teeny hole in the door. At least one of 'em knows their way around locks, good enough to use a three-foot length of pick to diddle them without needin' sight. They stopped when I told them I'd blast'em to kingdom come.”

“Ah well that's a relief!” Anne grinned and slapped her back. Karey fought hard to keep the pistols from going off. Anne didn't notice, and laughed. “Ha harrr! And here I was thinkin' I'd have to kill yer and train a new first mate!”

Karey's grin was wide, and she shot a loving look at Anne through cracked spectacles. “Not today, mother.”

“Day's still young,” Anne said, grinning back. Then the grin faded. “I need healers on sweep duty, pickin' up the wounded 'fore they bleed out.”

“Already on it,” Karey said. “Stormy's got a pair of my trainees, and they're workin' their way up from the lower decks. Should be outside in a minute or two.”

“You know,” said a muffled voice from behind the door, a voice that sounded like a young girl to anyone who didn't know better. “I'm a healer. If you'd just let us out we could—”

Anne drew and blasted a shot through the door. In the aftermath of the echoes, she heard people hastily scrambling around in the room. Then low voices.

“Ah, nevermind. I'm sure you've got it.” the small female's voice hastily replied.

“Ye'd best shut up and stay where ye are if ye want to avoid a keelhauling,” Anne spoke carefully, leaning in so they could hear her through the door's newly-smoking bullet hole. “Pretty sure yer little fortune tricks are what got us to this sorry state o' affairs. But without proof I won't kill ye. So long as yer BEHAVE.”

No reply from within, but Anne decided she was satisfied. She nodded to Karey. “Keep a guard, then. I'll head up top and see if we've got any carpenters left among the survivors. They'll have a tall task ahead to get us... ship... shape...”

Anne stopped, surprised. The wreckage of the Cotton Tale was moving.

The ship was rocking, heaving like it was on the ocean.

“Did we land on it?” Harey whispered. “Did we fall on the dragon?”

“Ye have yer orders!” Anne yelled, calling over her shoulder because she was already moving, heading down below, forgoing the ladders to hop down each hatch and pound down the narrow stairways.

“Clear the way!” she bellowed, and a group of limping crewbuns threw themselves to the sides of the passage as she hurtled through.

Down the remnants of the ship. Down, wincing whenever she water trickling down from above, or a hole where hull should be. Down into what would be the bilges on most ships, but was the engine room on the Cotton Tale.

And there, in amongst the wreckage of what had been a set of magitechnical components, was a massive bulge in the hull that shifted and rocked, warping the thick planks and heavy metal components above it. Wood groaned and splintered, and her poor, battered ship creaked and groaned with it, but over all the cacophony she could hear something.

She could hear voices speaking just under the hull. Muffled voices, frantically chanting skills.

The calmest among them was saying “Mend,” over and over again.

The shrillest among them was piping up with “Godspell Mend!”repeatedly.

A gasping, panicked male voice said “Create Earth,” twice.

A burbling voice said “Manipulate Water.”

Which was followed immediately by a scholarly-sounding voice saying “Hm... adjusting for the ratio... yes. There it, mmm... is. Manipulate Fire.”

And a tiny, tinny voice shouted. “I just got a skill-up! Do it now, now now now!”

Then all the voices were drowned out by the sound of a rising whistle.

Anne was not an engineer. Anne didn't know that the sound was coming from steam, steam escaping from what was essentially a stone cannon hurriedly forged by an Earth Elementalist under the instruction of a tinker who really only knew gun design. She didn't know that the barrel of it had been filled with water, water that was now being superheated while two teddy bears quietly and steadily threw mending spells into the unstable structure to keep it from exploding, cracking and boiling them with hot steam, or collapsing and letting the ship crush them all.

None of these things were evident to Anne Bunny, who stuck to her bailiwick of piracy and let other people handle details like science, magic, magitech, and all that business.

But while Anne might be a bit ignorant of high-pressure ballistic physics, she was still a bunny beastkin. And she knew danger when she heard it.

She dove for cover an instant before—

CRACK!

WHAM!

PTING!

CLACKCLACKCLACKCLACKclackclackclack...

When the dust cleared, Anne poked her ears up, twitching in the holes of her captain's hat. She heard groaning, a few hastily-muttered healing spells, more mending, and the scrambling of small creatures. Also what sounded like a very large cat meowing frantically.

She followed her head with her ears, pulled a pistol, and stared at the hole in her deck, through which a sort of rounded stone bubble protruded. It had a hole in the center, much like a chimney, and it was smoking... no, steaming from that hole. She glanced up to the ceiling of the deck above, and found that some sort of projectile had been blasted clear through it. The clacks were the sound of loose items from the galley, the next room up, falling down into the engine room.

The cat yowled again, and her fur rose on edge. Definitely a predator. Definitely big. Anne pulled the hammer back on her pistol, and bared her teeth. “Put yer head up,” she whispered, as the debris settled around her, and the steam slowly cleared. “Put yer head up and I'll give ye a new eye, me furry friend...”

But it wasn't a cat that poked its head up first. It was a black top hat, a tiny one, followed by a button-eyed face that WAS furry, true, but definitely wasn't a cat.

I be knowing that style o'hat, Anne thought, and for a moment she suspected that her prisoners might be trying a game, or taunting her somehow. She considered putting a bullet in that ursine snout on general principles... but decided against it. Clearly someone had poked their stuffed toy up out of the hole. It'd be a waste of a bullet, and whoever was down below would doubtless take the opportunity to charge her.

And then the bear SPOKE.

“I'm very sorry to have intruded and made a mess, but I think you dropped a house on us.”

“Ah! Be that what happened?” Anne said, hiding her pistol behind the fallen shelf she'd taken cover behind. “Bit of a storm goin' on. Thought we were over wilderness when we came down. Ye be havin' a house out here, then?”

“Not precisely. Well, we sort of did, but it was only temporary.” The bear tilted its head, then looked down at a muttered question from below. “Yes, it's safe.”

Anne stood as the others emerged. All toys, save for one man, and yes, one big cat that eyed her with wariness, and predator's focus. She bared her teeth and the cat backed up. Then she turned her challenge into a smiling grin, and surveyed the battered and disheveled toys, and their flesh and blood companions. “Ye be in the belly o' the Cotton Tale. A... merchant airship, on her way to trade wi' the fabled kingdoms o' the east!”

“Airship!” that was the teeny little metal girl with the big hat speaking. “I've heard of those! Do you have cannons?”

“Aye, and they're totally bitchin'!” Anne grinned wider. “Got them off o' a manowar that we raided in a night... er, trade. Aye, the bargaining went hot and heavy there. Because we be merchants. Metaphorical raid, ye see. Plundered them financially.”

“Can I see?”

“Aye, ye surely can,” Anne said, tucking the pistol into her belt and spreading her arms wide. “Tis the least I can do for nearly slaughterin' ye by accident! Follow me fer the tour, me lovelies!”

And indeed it gave her pride to show off her ship. Even if it was a bit crunched up and full of holes. She used the opportunity to check out the port side and the scorchmarks that blanketed it, leading the band of dollies and their token living minions outside into the still-blasting storm.

“That looks pretty bad,” their leader, the top-hatted one said.

“Aye. Dragonfire did a number on us. It jumped us when the storm started. 'Twere a fierce few minutes.”

“Dragons?” Their human looked spooked, and put a hand on his sword as he cast around.

“Don't ye fret, me boy. We took out a wing, me lad. It crashed some ways back, and I doubt it survived.” Anne shrugged. “As the doxie said to the dope fiend, we were all pretty high at the time.”

“Mom!” came a voice from above them, and Anne squinted up, tilted her hat to keep the pouring rain out of her eyes. Lightning illumninated Stormanorm's veiled face, as he stared down at them. “Do you need help? Should we blast'em?”

“No!” Anne hollered back. “I'm just giving them a tour! Since we be RESPECTABLE INNOCENT MERCHANTS and all that! And that's the thing ye do! Now come on, me hearties, let's get ye back inside before yer fur gets all collywobbled.”

“I don't know what that means, but lead the way,” said the bear in charge.

“I'm Threadbare, by the way,” he said once they had put the hull between themselves and the storm. “And these are my friends...”

They made introductions, and Anne happily accepted his offer of aid to go out into the storm and search for survivors who might have been thrown clear. And she was quite fine with putting their human up and out of the rain. Less fine with the cat... the smell set her teeth on edge, and she knew that all of her crew would feel the same way. But she found an empty store-room to throw it into, and the little black squeaky bear comforted it and assured it that she'd be back later for her Mopsy. It was all rather adorable, so Anne decided there was no need to “disappear” the beast before the toys returned.

She pointed the lad to one of the rear cabins to rest and recover, got a few rescued crew busy totalling the damage and assisting the carpenters, then found her way back to the foc'sle's door. Harey was still there, but now her ears were tied around her head, bound with the twine she usually used to keep her ponytail braided.

“Harey!” Anne bellowed.

Her first mate glanced back and unbound one ear. “Aye, Cap'n?”

“What in the hells are yer doin'?”

“They tried talking to me a little while ago, Captain. I followed your orders and when they started to sound convincing and reasonable I plugged my ears.”

Anne sighed. Then she pounded her knuckles against the door until she heard people moving around inside. “Just because I promised I wouldn't kill the lot o'yer, don't mean I'm above creative maiming,” she snarled. “Keep still and shut up, and ye'll be off me ship after our current job is finished! Test me again, and see what happens!”

Silence then, which she took for assent. She spent a minute filling in Harey on the situation with the unexpected animated toys, then left her to resume her duty.

The toys were true to their word, and brought back a handful of survivors... along with several bodies, for burial. By that time the storm had died down to a gentle rain, and she organized the crew who weren't on carpenter duty to go and dig graves while the soil was wet.

“Normally we do burial at sea,” she explained to Threadbare. “But that be far from here, even if our ship was up to it.” Anne sighed, and surveyed the tilted deck, and the wreckage strewn about. “Tis a sorry sight. We'll be weeks repairing. Ain't good, that. I had plans to be somewhere in ten days, but as it stands we'll be travelin' by foot ta get there. Ain't lookin' forward ta that, I'll have ye know.”

“I actually think we could help you with that, if you like,” Threadbare offered.

“Are ye sure? I'm not one for turnin' down help, but I don't see what difference it'd make in the long run. Even if the lot of ye were Carpenters, Tinkers, and Smiths, she'd still be down for a week, between this and the engine repairs.”

“It's funny you should mention Carpenters and Smiths and Tinkers,” Threadbare said. “Because we've got two Carpenters, two Smiths, and a Tinker among us. And more importantly, we've got two people who can Mend.”

“Mend?” Anne furrowed her brow.

“Mend.” Threadbare said, pointing at a hole in the deck that rapidly filled in.

Anne's eyes opened wide, and her laughter was glorious, heartfelt, and happy.

It still took the better part of a day. The two bears spent a good part of it sharing a golden crown of laurels back and forth and napping, which was a strange thing to see for little stuffed toys. But when they weren't sleeping, they were casting up a storm, and bit by bit, component by component, they put her ship back together. Between that and everyone else handling the less-complicated repairs that didn't require magic, the Cotton Tale soon took on a working shape again. Not perfect, but it didn't have to be. And hells, they even managed to do something about that knocking noise that the fourth propeller had been doing for the last few months.

And on the morning of the next day, Anne gave in to temptation and hugged the lot of them at once, doing her level best to squeeze the stuffing out of the stuffed ones. “Bahahahahha! You lot have saved me tail! And me Tale, for that matter,” she said, sniffing to keep tears in as she surveyed the rebuilt and mostly functional Cotton Tale. “Though I regret nearly killin' ye, I couldn't have picked a better party to crash land on.”

“The pleasure's all ours,” Threadbare said, patting her arm. “You helped us too. You told us that there was a dragon very near the place we were going. Now we have some idea of what's causing all the trouble out this way.”

“Hmf. Still don't feel like a fair trade,” Anne said, putting the toys on the deck and rubbing her nose as she thought. “I like havin' things square, and we're a bit too far... let me think.”

And after a moment, she nodded. “That's it then. Stormanorm!”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Get the Scalesmasher!”

She heard his breath whistle behind his veil as he inhaled.

“Well boy? Did I stutter?”

“No Mom! I'll grab it right away!” And off he went.

“Can I ask a question?” Buttons piped up.

“Ye certainly can,” Anne smiled. “Answers are optional, though.”

“Why's he wearing all that heavy clothing?”

“Ah. Tis because male bunnyfolk be a rarity,” Anne spread her hands. “We alone o' the beastkin have to seek mates outside our species because they be so rare. So he bundles up to avoid temptin' the rest o' the crew into doing things they shouldn't.”

“But wait,” Apollyon said, looking puzzled. “From the talks we've been having... aren't most of the crew his sisters?”

“Aye, which be another reason why he does it. Never underestimate the drive of a bunnykin who prefers men! Twould be unnatural if any succumbed to THAT temptaiton. Best taken off the table, on these long, lonely voyages between ports. Or visiting menfolk of a fleshy persuasion,” she said, winking at him. From what she'd overheard from a few of the idle crew, they'd been doing their damnedest to tempt him out into the woods for a little piratical Arr and Arr between shifts. Trying and failing, though she thought if they'd had more time...

Apollyon coughed, and looked very sorry he'd asked. Fortunately at that point Stormanorm returned with her intended gift.

She drew it from his arms, a massive wooden mallet bound in gold, with the two heads carved into the shape of very surprised-looking dragons. “The Scalesmasher. It be guaranteed pain to any dragon that gets within its reach. I got it from a long-abandoned hoard several adventures ago, and never had the chance to use it. May it serve ye well!”

“Er... thank you,” Apollyon said, stretching out his hands for it.

She slapped them. “Oh it ain't for you. Threadbare, hold out yer paws.”

“I can lift that, I'm strong enough, but I think I'm a little small to carry it,” he said. “I really don't mind if Apollyon holds it for me.”

“Nay, there be a trick to it,” Anne said, flipping the handle to show a dial. She turned it, and as she did the mallet shrunk down. “Now it ain't at full strength unless you turn it up to its regular size, but this'll let you store and carry it until ye find a dragon that needs a good thumpin'.”

Mollified, he took the hammer. And then they said their goodbyes, as they disembarked and the airship lifted up, rotors thrumming and sails out to catch the wind. Soon they were specks on the ground, and Anne turned to go take the wheel...

...then turned back, as a flash of motion caught her eye.

Cards were falling from the front part of the ship, small scraps of parchment that twisted in the air and scattered downward. And at the very edge of her vision, she saw Threadbare catch one and study it, then look back up at her.

Anne rolled her eyes. One last desperate bit of shenanigans from the prisoners, no doubt. But it didn't matter.

What mattered was the job that lay ahead, and now that she'd seen some of the denizens of this land, the warnings and dangers she'd gotten from that old man made more sense.

“Good luck, little bear. It was certainly to me own fortune that we ran into ye...”