7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
If you want, I'll push the button for you. Of course, you then have to write an update soon-ish after that, so tell me when you feel like delivering updates.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Or I can do spooky Staff magic! SHAZAM!
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Men jeg trodde forrige gang du gjorde trollmannens stab vi alle snakket norsk?
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
何？ 私はノルウェー語を話しません！
- Location
- 'Murica
You decided to take a tour of your new ship. You'd inspected every inch of her before you bought her, of course. But touring a landed aircraft while she nestled in the grass like a pregnant hen was a very different thing compared to roaming her corridors while she was aloft and under sail. You gave a nod to your pilot who—save for the barest, almost imperceptible twitches of his fingers upon the yoke—seemed fast asleep at his post, and ducked aft off the bridge.
The Caroline was vast silver bird among the aether. A semi-monoqoque design with twin stiff keels running along her zenith and nadir, she carried her decks and machinery spaces within the smooth curves of her envelope instead of hanging them beneath like the trailing claws of a limp fowl. Ribbons of duraluminum stringers curved over her hull in a basket-weave of geodetic curves, leaving a faint hatch-pattern where it stressed the paper-thin aluminum cladding her lift cells and bashing the gasbags into a generally aerodynamic lifting-form.
A sleek barracuda of the skies, Caroline was not. But in a pinch, she might find companionship with a pod of sufficiently obese humpbacks. Unfortunately, her bulbous vastness did not extend to her inner spaces. There were no corridors as such, adding walls merely to partition space was clearly an extravagance her designer thought needless. But your still felt hemmed in by riveted tubing working up Caroline's stout keel. You had to duck your head every few steps to keep from smacking into the dome lights and reinforcing stringers.
A few steps put you at the ladder leading up to the navigator's position. You pondered taking the long climb to talk with Elizabeth, but then thought better of it. You wouldn't want to distract her from her… her… from whatever she does up in her little cubbie. You're certain it involves several of the lovingly polished brass instruments she carried with her. Some version of star-sightings or something. You wouldn't want to break her concentration and force her to find her fix all over again.
And, honestly, you're not certain how much she likes company. When she came aboard, it took you several minutes to locate the very small girl all but drowning under the puddle of very heavy cloth, and her voice was as quiet and soft as a kitten's mew. Mostly quiet though. You got the distinct expression she likes to keep to herself.
You pass on her for the moment, and duck into the mid-compartment. Officers' quarters are to port, with lovely windows looking out and down. The rooms are a mite spartan at the moment, and just large enough to make the need to decorate feel pressing.
Starboard is the medical wing. Sickbay itself is nestled in the extremest part of the compartment for easy quarantine, and there's plenty of space for all the supplies you might need. Czeslawa was exceedingly grateful that you'd given her so much space to work with, although the last you saw her she was looking a little green. Your Polish doctor was the image of a kindly matron.
Her face was nearly as gentle and round as her figure, and her soft voice complimented the equally soft body bundled under her layers of land-style petticoats. Even her sturdy dresses and sturdier apron couldn't quite hide a well-appointed collection of curves you'd gotten rather familiar with when she hugged you after discovering the vastness of her new domain.
You tossed a smile and a pleasantry her way as you passed, which she returned in her own gently-sing-song way. You should probably meet with her again, although you might want to wait until after the evening meal. Something about the way she carries herself makes you worry she'd insist you eat seconds and thirds and clean your plate. Besides, you're in good health at the moment. You don't need a doctor, you need a swordswinger.
You continued aft into the cargo compartment. The cargo bay itself dominates the center, and a vast nest of cables spread its load through the envelope to keep from stressing any one section to breaking. Bunks spread out along the hull's chord, but you're not interested in your crews' bearthing right now. You want to talk to you espatiers.
A ducked step through the access hatch and you're the cargo bay. The air's noticeably colder now. The ramps don't quite seal against the altitude chill, and you find yourself bundling up your coat against the cold.
Lucia's found an open spot in the cargo bay to do her usual exercises. Her hefty rough-shod boots are crossed at the ankles, her heels almost kissing her derriere as she lifts herself up and down on a stout structural member. She's an exceedingly tall woman, and her slender—not thin persay, but slender—only exaggerates the catlike lankiness of her height.
Her stout belt's fitted with padded straps running between her legs, a harness should she need to venture topside, and her hands are taped past the wrist to keep from wrenching should she need to catch herself—or, as you suspect is more likley—need to land a solid punch.
"Lucia," you coughed and fingered the hilt of your saber.
"Hmm?" She grunted and landed square on her feet. It shouldn't have been graceful, but the woman moved like a fox. Like a shark, she was never quite still, always moving, always shifting her weight, always just about to pounce. "Captain." Her Sardinian accent flows like she does, never quite stopping to catch its breath.
"I hope I wasn't bothering you," you said. She's doffed her sheepskin foul-weather coat for now. And while she wore it over a shirt and vest, she steadfastly refused to button her collar up, preferring to let a simple neckerchief or scarf insulate her from the cold. A practical enough look, but it affords you a glimpse of the bandages keeping her womanly figure under control.
"Ship's too cramped to get a good workout in," she said with a shrug. "What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping to practice my swordplay," you flourished your blade with a smile. "Pirates afoot and all that."
"Mmm…" you haven't figured out how to read Lucia's face. She's always got a twinkle in her eye though, and you can't shake the feeling that she's looking at you the way a wolf looks at a lone, fat rabbit. "I can do that. But I'll need to see your sword."
"Of course." you handed her the weapon grip-first with a half bow, only for her to snatch it from your hands and toss it aside.
"That's crap." Her rich accent only gets richer as she drew out the last word. "Where you gonna swing that in here, eh?"
"I—"
"What you want," she grabbed small hatchet from off a crate and shook off the leather sheath. "Is this. Or a good, sturdy club. Something that you can swing without cutting your ship half to threads. Something…" she tossed the short axe in her taped-up hand and caught it again. "Something that you can afford to drop over the side a few times. Because you're going to drop it over the side."
>wat do?
The Caroline was vast silver bird among the aether. A semi-monoqoque design with twin stiff keels running along her zenith and nadir, she carried her decks and machinery spaces within the smooth curves of her envelope instead of hanging them beneath like the trailing claws of a limp fowl. Ribbons of duraluminum stringers curved over her hull in a basket-weave of geodetic curves, leaving a faint hatch-pattern where it stressed the paper-thin aluminum cladding her lift cells and bashing the gasbags into a generally aerodynamic lifting-form.
A sleek barracuda of the skies, Caroline was not. But in a pinch, she might find companionship with a pod of sufficiently obese humpbacks. Unfortunately, her bulbous vastness did not extend to her inner spaces. There were no corridors as such, adding walls merely to partition space was clearly an extravagance her designer thought needless. But your still felt hemmed in by riveted tubing working up Caroline's stout keel. You had to duck your head every few steps to keep from smacking into the dome lights and reinforcing stringers.
A few steps put you at the ladder leading up to the navigator's position. You pondered taking the long climb to talk with Elizabeth, but then thought better of it. You wouldn't want to distract her from her… her… from whatever she does up in her little cubbie. You're certain it involves several of the lovingly polished brass instruments she carried with her. Some version of star-sightings or something. You wouldn't want to break her concentration and force her to find her fix all over again.
And, honestly, you're not certain how much she likes company. When she came aboard, it took you several minutes to locate the very small girl all but drowning under the puddle of very heavy cloth, and her voice was as quiet and soft as a kitten's mew. Mostly quiet though. You got the distinct expression she likes to keep to herself.
You pass on her for the moment, and duck into the mid-compartment. Officers' quarters are to port, with lovely windows looking out and down. The rooms are a mite spartan at the moment, and just large enough to make the need to decorate feel pressing.
Starboard is the medical wing. Sickbay itself is nestled in the extremest part of the compartment for easy quarantine, and there's plenty of space for all the supplies you might need. Czeslawa was exceedingly grateful that you'd given her so much space to work with, although the last you saw her she was looking a little green. Your Polish doctor was the image of a kindly matron.
Her face was nearly as gentle and round as her figure, and her soft voice complimented the equally soft body bundled under her layers of land-style petticoats. Even her sturdy dresses and sturdier apron couldn't quite hide a well-appointed collection of curves you'd gotten rather familiar with when she hugged you after discovering the vastness of her new domain.
You tossed a smile and a pleasantry her way as you passed, which she returned in her own gently-sing-song way. You should probably meet with her again, although you might want to wait until after the evening meal. Something about the way she carries herself makes you worry she'd insist you eat seconds and thirds and clean your plate. Besides, you're in good health at the moment. You don't need a doctor, you need a swordswinger.
You continued aft into the cargo compartment. The cargo bay itself dominates the center, and a vast nest of cables spread its load through the envelope to keep from stressing any one section to breaking. Bunks spread out along the hull's chord, but you're not interested in your crews' bearthing right now. You want to talk to you espatiers.
A ducked step through the access hatch and you're the cargo bay. The air's noticeably colder now. The ramps don't quite seal against the altitude chill, and you find yourself bundling up your coat against the cold.
Lucia's found an open spot in the cargo bay to do her usual exercises. Her hefty rough-shod boots are crossed at the ankles, her heels almost kissing her derriere as she lifts herself up and down on a stout structural member. She's an exceedingly tall woman, and her slender—not thin persay, but slender—only exaggerates the catlike lankiness of her height.
Her stout belt's fitted with padded straps running between her legs, a harness should she need to venture topside, and her hands are taped past the wrist to keep from wrenching should she need to catch herself—or, as you suspect is more likley—need to land a solid punch.
"Lucia," you coughed and fingered the hilt of your saber.
"Hmm?" She grunted and landed square on her feet. It shouldn't have been graceful, but the woman moved like a fox. Like a shark, she was never quite still, always moving, always shifting her weight, always just about to pounce. "Captain." Her Sardinian accent flows like she does, never quite stopping to catch its breath.
"I hope I wasn't bothering you," you said. She's doffed her sheepskin foul-weather coat for now. And while she wore it over a shirt and vest, she steadfastly refused to button her collar up, preferring to let a simple neckerchief or scarf insulate her from the cold. A practical enough look, but it affords you a glimpse of the bandages keeping her womanly figure under control.
"Ship's too cramped to get a good workout in," she said with a shrug. "What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping to practice my swordplay," you flourished your blade with a smile. "Pirates afoot and all that."
"Mmm…" you haven't figured out how to read Lucia's face. She's always got a twinkle in her eye though, and you can't shake the feeling that she's looking at you the way a wolf looks at a lone, fat rabbit. "I can do that. But I'll need to see your sword."
"Of course." you handed her the weapon grip-first with a half bow, only for her to snatch it from your hands and toss it aside.
"That's crap." Her rich accent only gets richer as she drew out the last word. "Where you gonna swing that in here, eh?"
"I—"
"What you want," she grabbed small hatchet from off a crate and shook off the leather sheath. "Is this. Or a good, sturdy club. Something that you can swing without cutting your ship half to threads. Something…" she tossed the short axe in her taped-up hand and caught it again. "Something that you can afford to drop over the side a few times. Because you're going to drop it over the side."
>wat do?
- Location
- Sydney australia
[X] you take the proffered axe and adopt a ready stance
- Location
- USA
[jk] But I like that sword
In all honesty, we probably want to take her advice and learn to fight with the ax (hatchet?)
In all honesty, we probably want to take her advice and learn to fight with the ax (hatchet?)
- Location
- St. Petersburg
An axe is even worse for the ship if it misses.
Well, she has a point in that our weapon should be expendable, at least.
- Location
- USA
What kind of sword did we even have?
wkz
Probably on the other side of the world from you
Or: if it's anything like a standard calvary saber... One meter or so long, thick blade and all cutting edge on one side.
(PS: tried to do an image search to paste here... and got lots of Fate/Stay Night)
[X] you take the proffered axe and adopt a ready stance
- Location
- St. Petersburg
I don't know what they make their ships out of. To me, the idea of doing any serious harm to the ship while swinging sharp implements sounds ridiculous, unless we somehow hit the baloon or the ropes... several times over. Make things less pretty and get your weapon stuck in the wood (?), yes. Damage the ship's integrity, hardly.
But then again, there is such a thing as videogame logic.
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- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
[X] Take the hatchet, draw our belt knife, get ready for two-weapon magic.
Consulting with a couple of active sword-practitioners I know, half-swording with a saber is not as effective in close quarters like this as a hatchet and knife, so lets go for the combo that works well in trenches and tight places.
Consulting with a couple of active sword-practitioners I know, half-swording with a saber is not as effective in close quarters like this as a hatchet and knife, so lets go for the combo that works well in trenches and tight places.
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- Location
- USA
[X] Take the hatchet, draw our belt knife, get ready for two-weapon magic.
Seems legit enough for me
Seems legit enough for me
- Location
- Australia
That works too.
[X] Take the hatchet, draw our belt knife, get ready for two-weapon magic.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Yep. You're carrying a Model 1840 saber- about a meter long, respectably heavy, and reasonably sharp. Pic related.
Warning, though. They were called Old Wrist-Breaker for a reason. That said, if you're fighting topside you want the extra reach to cut safety lines and a good lunging attack.
Swords aren't exactly small, no.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
You have a knife. A singular knife. Fortunately, you have upgrade your personal armory as an upgrade option when you finish this trip.
You're not liable to do major damage to the ship if you overswing, but cramped quarters and longer swords don't mix. More importantly, hitting a lift cell is game over for everyone involved- because a flood of hydrogen or helium can and will kill you via suffication, to say nothing of a hydrogen plume hitting an exposed flame and creating an explosion.