Current mood:	bouncy
Entry tags:	capitan deacon, empress aranea's revenge, steampunk, story

ALL HANDS ON DECK! (For storytime!)

The Airship Empress Aranea’s Revenge drifted through a starry night, moving with a startling grace above the sea of clouds. She was a large ship, stretching nearly 60 meters at her gundeck, and her silvery connecting beams hugged the body of her rigid balloon, a stark contrast on the black-on-black of the ship. Her gleaming silver-and-violet representation of the Royal Seal on the bow shone in the moonlight—all in all, a most impressive vessel.

We intrude here, upon the thoughts of Her Capitan, Bridget Deacon.

It is always quiet above the clouds. 

There is the solemn hum of the engines, of course, and the soft whisper of energy of the Atmospheric Condenser but these have become second nature—like the sound of my own breathing or my heartbeat.

There is a discordant sound behind me and I turn.

My first mate looks up at me questioningly, the sprawling body of one of the biological automatons twitching feebly at her feet.

“Commander,” I ask “What, by the Eight Skeins, are you doing?”

“Percussive maintenance?” Her smile is sly, endearing, brilliant. “It knocked over the navigation crystal stack.”

“If you break it, you’ll have to explain to the Doctor why.”

“Promise?” 

Bloodthirsty, the lot of them. I smile. “For realsies.”

“Commander, when you are done with it, make sure there is enough left so I may make it an example to the crew to always be aware of their surroundings,” Chaplain Stratovarious grinned as he looked up from his Codex, his glasses reflected a menacing and maniacal glee.

Creepy to the hilt, our Chaplain and Political Officer sometimes seemed to simmer in his own Chaos.

It was delightful.

“Ensign, make certain we’re on the correct bearing and then bring the Doctor on-line.”

“Aye, Capitan.” The young officer carefully spun the wheel of the massive ship of the line, and consulted her star charts. After a few adjustments, she lifted the mouthpiece of the communication line and (after pulling the call-bell) carefully extended it to me.

“Doctor?”

There was silence, then a faint scream in the background followed immediately by the sound of clattering machine parts. More silence. “Uh, aye, Capitan?”

“Let’s give the Empress a show, shall we? Prepare the Dimensional Disruptor.”

“Aye, Capitan.”

“Seal the Deck!”

With a clamor of bells and shouts, the rigid guidelines of the shield are raised, and the web-like crystalline-and-silver grid slid on tiny wheels upon its oiled track. A loud CLACK, and it was locked down. 

Another hum added to the chaotic glory that was the Ship’s song, higher and more melodic as the shield came online, channeling the mystic forces of the Ether to seal atmosphere into the ship.

I smiled at the crew on the bridge. “We’re about to make history, people. For the Empire!”

“FOR THE EMPIRE!”

“Engage the Disruptor!”

There was silence, and then a horrific shriek, as the ship tore every preconceived notion of reality from its moorings, and cast it into a blessed sea of Chaos.

Then, silence. This was promptly shattered by the Doctor’s voice coming up from the Ship’s Comm.

“Oh. Uh. Oops. Crap. HIT THE DECK!”

There was dead silence as nervous faces, peering through the Shield at the alien landscape behind them turned to exchange horrified glances with those nearby. They hesitated not a heartbeat longer before their owners fell to the ship’s deck, clinging desperately to anything anchored firmly.

Then, a horrific explosion blinded the night.