7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Will this remedy it?
Maybe? Eventually? Someday?
Who am I kidding, no. Welcome to the Aether- where the Moon Presence Theme is all too appros.
Will this remedy it?
Maybe? Eventually? Someday?
Who am I kidding, no. Welcome to the Aether- where the Moon Presence Theme is all too appros.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
[X] Try and escape the updrafting current, then do as rapid a decent as you can before de-Aethering
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Try and escape the updrafting current, then do as rapid a decent as you can before de-Aethering
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Three guesses what we can land in when we come out of the Aether?
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
TheThree guesses what we can land in when we come out of the Aether?
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Three guesses what we can land in when we come out of the Aether?
1. Cows
2. Cows at greater elevation
3. Haram islands?
TheFUCKING SPAGHETTISRegina Aero Marina gettin their ass kicked by their own ships
Worse. So much worse than wild pasta getting dunked.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
oh man. the Marine Aeronationale, I wonder if they are much of a shitshow in this verse as they are otl.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Hey, the Regia Aeronautica has competent ships and officers!
...somewhere.
Roasbief would be the Royal Navy, wouldn't it? IIRC, in Zeppelins-verse, they're still a powerful force, if trailing the US Navy and others due to a lack of Navigators. The Marine Aeronationale... somewhere between the two?
World Lore: The Royal Air Navy
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
The Royal Air Navy (or whatever they want to call it this week) is moderatly powerful, benifitting from a large ready cash supply and lots of easily adapted naval tech. In terms of ships and hulls, they have a large number of cruisers armed to the teeth with relatively flat-firing 25-pound guns and eight-pound guns as well as scads of Maxims and Nordenfelts.
The issue is, they're slow. In terms of response time, most English bases aren't able to handle Zeppelins, and more importantly their crippling lack of navigators means they've only got one rapid reaction cruiser squadron (versus the USN aviation arm, which has two or three Navigators per ship, every ship) and they can't reliably base the heavier ships out of most airodromes due to supply consumption issues. Over most of the colonies, the RAN is less a formidable enemy and more a group of bumbling amateurs in outdated and overloaded hulls. One wonders how long the Royal Marines can keep these ships safe against pirates or other raiders of the skies...
A Slaughter
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
1938, Plzen, Czechoslovakia
"Adolph, level the bubble." Captain Roland commanded calmly, looking at the city below them. Fieldworks and gun emplacements to protect the city from bombardment ran rampant, and rocketry batteries tracked the ship carefully as it settled into the racetrack around the city's perimeter. The city's aerodrome had been destroyed in the initial attacks by the Luftwaffe, but the rest still held firm, and that meant supply. Roland's ship had done this run numerous times before- it was old hat at this point, really. The civil wars that had racked Europa were terrible, terrible things, and this was one in a long line of many. Damn Bavarians- now was still a time for unity, not for a bold-faced attack!
"Captain, Plzen calling." The talker said. "They're welcome for the food and shells, and would like to request you make a detour down to the Kaiser to let him know that the last of the communications telegraphs were mined this morning."
"Have they gotten the news yet?" he replied carefully. "About Russia?"
"They're not concerned, no. The Slovaks seem content with the current state of affairs, and the Reds have stopped trying to make an end-run on the boarder."
"Wonderful." Rolland murmered, holding his head in his hands. Considering he'd just been in Bratislava and the opinion that the Whites finally ending the bloody Russian Civil War was a bad thing, this opinion from one of the hearts of the Czech side of the republic was hardly welcoming. Nevertheless, he needed to try. "Send that their compatriots in Presburg feel differently, and to prepare for the bears to try again."
Moments later the response came in. "They'll dignify the Rus with bayonet when the Bavarians learn their place."
"Quite." The captain muttered. "Anything else of note?"
"They're asking if you're still unwilling to conduct a strike on Nuremburg."
"That is correct. This is a civil ship."
The talker nodded and got to using the mic. Suddenly, a loud screech of static echoed out, and a shriek emanated from outside.
"All hands, brace for manuveres!" Rolland yelled. "Gunners, man your stations!"
As the Vojtěch, Rolland's proud ship, jerked in a hard evasive maneuvered, the attack planes came in again. A three-flight of Zeppelin hunters, the twin-engined Messerchmidts opened up with their noses of guns again. Only one was a dedicated Zeppelinjaeger, thank God, with a Boffors somehow rigged into the nose and slinging heavy rockets under her centerline. Three of them were still dangerous enough- a three-centimeter gun was still enough to ruin a ship's upperworks and deteriorate her lift so she couldn't maneuver. Worse still would be a lucky hit to the bunkers or machinery spaces- something almost always fatal to an unarmored hauler.
Rolland refused to fly a defenseless ship, however. Vojtěch carried herself a pair of the new quadruple Boffors mounts herself, as well as a heavy layer of Brownings for anti-airship work. These were no airships, though, as the sides of the ship erupted with tracers many missed. The Zeppelinjaeger was leading the formation around, however, and the crew redoubled their fire on her in order to stop her from launching rockets.
It was resoundly in vain, the four contrails streaking out from under the plane towards the helpless merchant. One failed to spin correctly, diving down into the city to explode harmlessly. The rest sailed true, slamming into the ship and exploding. The 11cm rockets each carried forty pounds of explosive, wrapped in a fragmenting coat designed to shred internals and gut light craft. Against an unarmored merchant ship, two rockets would be enough to put it into a list that would be nearly impossible to correct.
"All hands, abandon ship!" Rolland yelled, as the deck pitched beneath him. The clinometer had rocked from the red to the black, and the altitude slipped away minute after minute as the ship tilted. Frantically moving for a window, the ex-captain pulled out his pistol to shoot it out before a falling map case slammed him on the head. Stumbling to his feet against the tilting bulkhead, he shot the window out carefully before dropping his pistol to grab the emergency parachute. The talker laid against what was the new floor, blood pooling from his head where he'd hit the clinometer. The helmsman hadn't been so lucky- hanging from one wrist jammed in the ship's wheel, he was screaming in pain. Probably, at least- Rolland couldn't tell through the ringing in his ears from the rocket detonations and his gun, but as he grabbed the emergency bridge parachute and set the static line against what was once his chair, he gulped. Doubles of vision swarmed through his eyes, nauseating and making him doubt his knots. Still, it was enough for him. Falling out without grace or purpose, Rolland tried to kiss his ship behind.
All that happened was knocking one of his own teeth out with a hand when the static line slammed open. Moments later, the shock forced him unconscious, and he drifted away from the ruins of Vojtěch and his career.
Over Plzen, the Vojtěch burned. It had taken a half hour before the gas cells had lit off, and the oil bunkers had started raining flame over the city. A handful of parachutes had launched from it, pushing away from the wreck. Whatever handful of gravity-fed damage control systems had been activated had long since lost pressure, the ship being consumed alive as the engines kept turning, burning, leaving the ship a floating grave. The planes had long since left, dropping leaflets as an angry reminder next to the destroyed zeppelin. Survivors were few and far between, with a number of chutes failing to open or injuries turning the saving devices into shrouds. The captain had floated down near the industrial section of town, while most of the surviving crew were in the city center proper, the winds driving them there.
It was about two hours later when the smoldering remains of Vojtěch finally gave up the ghost and crashed. It wasn't an end she had deserved, any more than anyone else who had died in this farce of a war. Her skeleton was still covered by the odd skein of flame, and the pops and crackles of her ammunition stores had finished going off long ago. She was dead now, a ghost of her past self, innards burning to ash as the moon rose over the hellscape.
---
In a café by the Cathedral of St. Bartholemew, a girl clutching her side cried out for help. Like before, nobody came to see her, the scars of wounds too fresh and real for her. Nobody went to help the girl in linen and grime, though- there was always somewhere else to be. Someone else to help. Wailing to the world, the girl stumbled towards the church, seeking help. She found no relief, however, the wrought iron gates barring her way.
Four days later, she left. Plzen never saw her again.
AN: Vote is not closed.
AN2: Some astute readers will notice this happens after the quest, time-wise. These events are not set in stone, however, they are a hint to the future.
- Location
- USA
Didn't really understand the point behind that last paragraph.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
That's ok. When some of the readers start panicking over it you'll get a thorough explanation.
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
[X] Work your way out of the Aetheric updraft naturally and then descend via normal negative lift flight until you can de-Aether safely.
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
[X] Short rotations- you need to preserve manpower even if efficiency drops.
- Location
- Sydney australia
Im tempted to think the girl mentioned in the last paragraph is an air ship girl.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
The aether is a hell of a thing, I assume. That or it's Elizabeth.
- Location
- Sydney australia
I get the feeling something is going to wrong with the lift gear i mean zeppelin are fairly big and i dont think that they are designed to descend rapidly. Heres hoping our new lady doesn't collapse on us.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
So...we're gonna pop out in the middle of a pirate fleet or something.
Hm, compass points as values 1-8, 1 as north...a 7 would be west. So uh, popping out over the agean? or did we go further west...Thonk
Lost in the Browns.
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
Looking around your office, you paced angrily. The manning schedules had been revised, and Donald had already done the announcements. You were still trying to figure out how to get out of the updraft, though. The issue was a matter of current- most Aether flows had a directional, and you'd taken this one since it had a mostly east by southeast heading. Now, this particular ship, which was getting a real name the minute you had the chance, it was theoretically able to tack against an aether current like a sloop could on the water.
Considering all the other broken promises you'd gotten, it meant it was time to get up on the spine and inspect the rig yourself. Dropping back to your rooms, you piled on a pair of scarfs to protect your neck, a down vest, and your heaviest overcoat with a built-in harness. Buttoning the coat and buckling the straps, you pulled on a pair of toques before strapping on your goggles and going over to a ladder. You'd heard rumors back in Istanbul that some fancy new French airships being run by the Sweedes had introduced internal elevators- you'd certainly appreciate it, having discovered your daily routine now included climbing at least fifty feet of ladders and 'stairs' up and down. Still, when you came out into the bracing topside wind, you huffed under your coat. The wind was frigid, and your goggles were as of fog for a moment until you dogged the hatch you'd emerged from. Clipping your static line into the runner clip for moving up to the mainsail, you started puffing your way against the gentle arch of the balloon's back.
It was a good five-minute walk before you were on the thin band of superstructure that defined the upper keel, and another three on top of that to reach the sailing master's station. Once you were there, though, you learned a lot in a little time. While theoretically capable of tacking across a current, the ship's sails need to have their hoists changed to a gaff rig versus the square boom they normally used. Provided the changeover was swift, you'd only be drifting for an hour or two. Thankfully, the sailing master did agree with your decision to adopt the four-hour watches- they'd had not a few cases of legitament frostbite along with the less serious issues of incorrect clothing, and the twenty-odd lookouts stationed over the hull would need to be fresh and ready for your plan to work. It was decided that, bar any issues, you'd begin the tack in three hours from the sailing department.
The next step was to tell the bridge. Now, while you could technically go down to the relay room and just drop a message, that seemed a bit likely to be overlooked. As such, it was time to head on out- personally. Along the way, you briefly considered being on the bridge to direct the maneuver personally, but decided against it. Tacking in an aetheric current wasn't hard, and the only real potential issue would be making sure to counter-roll the ship correctly to handle the rather significant redirection of forces. In the Aether, with propulsion coming from the sails, it was standard practice to bring as much load as you could higher in the hull so as to bring it closer to the thrust, with some fast ships carrying specific sandbag elevators to bring inert ballast up to maintain trim. You were in a ship of war rather than a sandbagger, though, so your best option was pulling as much weight up via loading all the top ballast tanks and running them forward to under the masthead. After a tack, though, you needed to keep the ship from rolling, which meant counter-rolling into the wind and holding her there. Fortunatly, you could do that since you had some extensive trim tanks, presumably to keep the ship steady in a gun duel. For all you could claim to nearly have been in the War, you still didn't have a clue on why some things had been included or removed for your new ship.
Of course, stepping onto the bridge produced an unthought-of problem- namely, it was just as cold inside as outside, and half the gauges had frozen solid. Specifically, the tension gauges had all locked up, while the electrical ones were fine. Worse, the Ottoman advisors had also locked up from the cold, and you finally just grabbed the wall phone to start dialing the infirmary.
"Gunnery Department, Suukahali speaking."
Grumbling, you kicked a stalagtite icicle next to the telephone mounted on the wall. "Sorry, meant to connect to the Infirmary."
"Ok."
Rubbing your finger in your glove, you sighed and redialed. A few rings later, and the phone on the bridge at the talker's station started up. Rolling your eyes, you tried a third time.
"Infirmary, Chief Nurse speaking."
"Hey Czeslawa?" you asked, grinning cheesily into the other end of the line. "Could you do me a solid and come down to the bridge to help-"
"No, I'm up to my neck in hot compresses here."
"-get some of the… ok." You petered off, sighing. "Think I could beg some help from Lucia?"
"Probably? I heard she was busy, something about how most of her guys were short on cold kit. Not that I blame her, it's almost negative fifteen in most of the halls."
You shivered, nodding. "I know it was cold, but we're into the negatives?"
"Pretty sure, yeah. Left a thermometer out on a cloth to check."
"Crap." You muttered. "Well, I'll be calling Lucia now."
"Good luck."
After a few more tries of the switchboard, you finally got ahold of the Espatiers Quarters, where it seemed Lucia was sheparding most of her ill-begoten charges into the baths because they were the one place on this ship of fools that wasn't somewhere south of freezing. God bless the Ottomans for being silly enough to actually put in a real bath- your boys needed a way to warm up without tromping into the boiler rooms or huddling around the exhaust mains. Getting a fresh set of bridge hands would be enough of a pain in the neck if you couldn't bribe them with warmth later.
---
"All hands, brace for tack!" you yelled out over the bridge, hoping your sheer will could overcome the cold. The talker was talking, helm was turning her about, and you felt the ship dip to the left with the loadmasters shifting as much shit as they could to the right side of the boat in preparation. When the clinometer hit three degrees left list, you grinned ferally.
"Tack the ship!"
In a moment, the ship started bucking, the winds of the aether trying to roll you like a barrel down the slope of life. Your counterweights kept this from happening, every loose scrap of mass holding you upright as the pressure creates whorls and eddies behind your ship's bulk. Moments later, you felt the deck start to hum under your feet, the whirls and pulses of air you were dragging resonating somehow in the ship. You'd felt a ship start singing like this only a few times before, and every time it was a good sign, showing that you hadn't fouled up the myriad ballencing act when any one of a dozen forces could wrest you from your cloudy home.
Long minutes went by, trailing into two hours. The shift was changed, and you still stayed on deck to feel the state of affairs, the ship's momentum and gravity. Each ship had a soul to them you knew, and this one seemed happy she was finally letting go. She'd be a far-reaching ship, that was for sure. Slowly, the song of the hull faded, before Elizabeth called down from her lofty perch on the telephone.
"Captain, we're clear of the current!" she called out via the talker, prompting you to grin.
"Engineering to cut zeppelin devices to naught! Prepare to sink!
Soon, you'd be out of this dredfull mess!
---
It was the next morning, or as close to morning as these things got, when you finally decided you were clear to exit the Aether. Wreathing the sails and with lookouts on the rails that were now merely freezing instead of a bone-chilling knife of cold, you slipped out of your second home and back into your first.
What greated you was… well, mountains. Lots of mountains, mostly running east-west, the early morning sun greeting you rather obnoxiously from that unique down angle that was the only real negative to using an airship. Between them was a fairly broad valley, a small city in it and a narrow road of farms. Somewhere in the distance a train was running, judging by a moving smoke plume, while the new day dawned on…
"Bridge to Navigation, where the hell are we?"
A moment later, you got your reply. "Absolutely no clue, Captain."
Well fuck.
VOTES
Where are you?
[] Write-in (Pure write-in, no penalty for failure.)
What are you gonna do?
[] Go to that town and see what you can see?
[] Thaw out your Ottomans and see what they know?
[] Disregard Presented Options, Write-in? (Subject to GM Veto.)
Considering all the other broken promises you'd gotten, it meant it was time to get up on the spine and inspect the rig yourself. Dropping back to your rooms, you piled on a pair of scarfs to protect your neck, a down vest, and your heaviest overcoat with a built-in harness. Buttoning the coat and buckling the straps, you pulled on a pair of toques before strapping on your goggles and going over to a ladder. You'd heard rumors back in Istanbul that some fancy new French airships being run by the Sweedes had introduced internal elevators- you'd certainly appreciate it, having discovered your daily routine now included climbing at least fifty feet of ladders and 'stairs' up and down. Still, when you came out into the bracing topside wind, you huffed under your coat. The wind was frigid, and your goggles were as of fog for a moment until you dogged the hatch you'd emerged from. Clipping your static line into the runner clip for moving up to the mainsail, you started puffing your way against the gentle arch of the balloon's back.
It was a good five-minute walk before you were on the thin band of superstructure that defined the upper keel, and another three on top of that to reach the sailing master's station. Once you were there, though, you learned a lot in a little time. While theoretically capable of tacking across a current, the ship's sails need to have their hoists changed to a gaff rig versus the square boom they normally used. Provided the changeover was swift, you'd only be drifting for an hour or two. Thankfully, the sailing master did agree with your decision to adopt the four-hour watches- they'd had not a few cases of legitament frostbite along with the less serious issues of incorrect clothing, and the twenty-odd lookouts stationed over the hull would need to be fresh and ready for your plan to work. It was decided that, bar any issues, you'd begin the tack in three hours from the sailing department.
The next step was to tell the bridge. Now, while you could technically go down to the relay room and just drop a message, that seemed a bit likely to be overlooked. As such, it was time to head on out- personally. Along the way, you briefly considered being on the bridge to direct the maneuver personally, but decided against it. Tacking in an aetheric current wasn't hard, and the only real potential issue would be making sure to counter-roll the ship correctly to handle the rather significant redirection of forces. In the Aether, with propulsion coming from the sails, it was standard practice to bring as much load as you could higher in the hull so as to bring it closer to the thrust, with some fast ships carrying specific sandbag elevators to bring inert ballast up to maintain trim. You were in a ship of war rather than a sandbagger, though, so your best option was pulling as much weight up via loading all the top ballast tanks and running them forward to under the masthead. After a tack, though, you needed to keep the ship from rolling, which meant counter-rolling into the wind and holding her there. Fortunatly, you could do that since you had some extensive trim tanks, presumably to keep the ship steady in a gun duel. For all you could claim to nearly have been in the War, you still didn't have a clue on why some things had been included or removed for your new ship.
Of course, stepping onto the bridge produced an unthought-of problem- namely, it was just as cold inside as outside, and half the gauges had frozen solid. Specifically, the tension gauges had all locked up, while the electrical ones were fine. Worse, the Ottoman advisors had also locked up from the cold, and you finally just grabbed the wall phone to start dialing the infirmary.
"Gunnery Department, Suukahali speaking."
Grumbling, you kicked a stalagtite icicle next to the telephone mounted on the wall. "Sorry, meant to connect to the Infirmary."
"Ok."
Rubbing your finger in your glove, you sighed and redialed. A few rings later, and the phone on the bridge at the talker's station started up. Rolling your eyes, you tried a third time.
"Infirmary, Chief Nurse speaking."
"Hey Czeslawa?" you asked, grinning cheesily into the other end of the line. "Could you do me a solid and come down to the bridge to help-"
"No, I'm up to my neck in hot compresses here."
"-get some of the… ok." You petered off, sighing. "Think I could beg some help from Lucia?"
"Probably? I heard she was busy, something about how most of her guys were short on cold kit. Not that I blame her, it's almost negative fifteen in most of the halls."
You shivered, nodding. "I know it was cold, but we're into the negatives?"
"Pretty sure, yeah. Left a thermometer out on a cloth to check."
"Crap." You muttered. "Well, I'll be calling Lucia now."
"Good luck."
After a few more tries of the switchboard, you finally got ahold of the Espatiers Quarters, where it seemed Lucia was sheparding most of her ill-begoten charges into the baths because they were the one place on this ship of fools that wasn't somewhere south of freezing. God bless the Ottomans for being silly enough to actually put in a real bath- your boys needed a way to warm up without tromping into the boiler rooms or huddling around the exhaust mains. Getting a fresh set of bridge hands would be enough of a pain in the neck if you couldn't bribe them with warmth later.
---
"All hands, brace for tack!" you yelled out over the bridge, hoping your sheer will could overcome the cold. The talker was talking, helm was turning her about, and you felt the ship dip to the left with the loadmasters shifting as much shit as they could to the right side of the boat in preparation. When the clinometer hit three degrees left list, you grinned ferally.
"Tack the ship!"
In a moment, the ship started bucking, the winds of the aether trying to roll you like a barrel down the slope of life. Your counterweights kept this from happening, every loose scrap of mass holding you upright as the pressure creates whorls and eddies behind your ship's bulk. Moments later, you felt the deck start to hum under your feet, the whirls and pulses of air you were dragging resonating somehow in the ship. You'd felt a ship start singing like this only a few times before, and every time it was a good sign, showing that you hadn't fouled up the myriad ballencing act when any one of a dozen forces could wrest you from your cloudy home.
Long minutes went by, trailing into two hours. The shift was changed, and you still stayed on deck to feel the state of affairs, the ship's momentum and gravity. Each ship had a soul to them you knew, and this one seemed happy she was finally letting go. She'd be a far-reaching ship, that was for sure. Slowly, the song of the hull faded, before Elizabeth called down from her lofty perch on the telephone.
"Captain, we're clear of the current!" she called out via the talker, prompting you to grin.
"Engineering to cut zeppelin devices to naught! Prepare to sink!
Soon, you'd be out of this dredfull mess!
---
It was the next morning, or as close to morning as these things got, when you finally decided you were clear to exit the Aether. Wreathing the sails and with lookouts on the rails that were now merely freezing instead of a bone-chilling knife of cold, you slipped out of your second home and back into your first.
What greated you was… well, mountains. Lots of mountains, mostly running east-west, the early morning sun greeting you rather obnoxiously from that unique down angle that was the only real negative to using an airship. Between them was a fairly broad valley, a small city in it and a narrow road of farms. Somewhere in the distance a train was running, judging by a moving smoke plume, while the new day dawned on…
"Bridge to Navigation, where the hell are we?"
A moment later, you got your reply. "Absolutely no clue, Captain."
Well fuck.
VOTES
Where are you?
[] Write-in (Pure write-in, no penalty for failure.)
What are you gonna do?
[] Go to that town and see what you can see?
[] Thaw out your Ottomans and see what they know?
[] Disregard Presented Options, Write-in? (Subject to GM Veto.)
Last edited:
- Location
- Sydney australia
[X] Tajikistan
[X] Go to that town and see what you can see?
[X] Go to that town and see what you can see?
Last edited: