Tempest

(game date:  8/19/2021)

We circled the storm.  Only a flat expanse lay on the other side, unbroken by debris.  It was starting to look like the Crystal Pilot did not escape that maelstrom.  Katrya switched on Frank's scanners.

Behind the whirling wall of wind and rain, there was...something.  Something big, and stationary -- much too large to be Cecily's ship.  But down, towards the ground, the scan revealed two heat signatures.  Now we just had to find a way in.  

The storm didn't quite touch the ground, so it seemed logical that we might be able to just roll under it.  But when we dropped down low enough to do that, we couldn't find a way into the funnel of the storm, plus we lost the blips -- they were obscured by the base of that huge object inside.  

We would have to go in from the side, or over the top.  The tac-van began to climb...

"Where's 'at bungee?" Ay yelled, an' then alla sudden there's cords a'droppin fromma roof loike snakes stagin' a coup or summat.  Crikey, it weren't my fault, ay only aksed fer one.  Then there's alarms beepin',  an' gyros whinin', an we's flyin' inta tha soup, an' gettin' swooshed this way an' that, bangin' inta bits o'flotsam as we go!

Then tha buff foxie shouts "Woooooooooooo!" an we punches alla way thru!

This was, undoubtedly, the roughest ride that Frank has ever given us, and I wondered how Ms. Blackrose managed it.

Then we saw her airship on the ground, broken, and realized that the answer was, "just barely."

The Crystal Pilot, or rather, the remnants of it, lay in the courtyard of a spired palace, which in turn rested upon a patch of floating rock.  Outside of the ship were several humanoid figures - not robotic, like the golden mechs that we had seen earlier, but not living either.  No, these looked as if they had been dead for quite some time but had not yet received the memo.  We could practically smell the stench of rotting flesh from where we were, a hundred feet in the air and inside a climate-controlled cabin.  

They were trying to gain entry to the Pilot, where Frank's scanners placed the only two living bodies in the area.  As we watched, one of them actually broke through the hull, but before it could actually enter, it jerked backward and fell.  The distinctive sound of an antique firearm echoed from the van's speakers.

Katrya planted Frank squarely between the fallen airship and the horde of undead, the tac-van's turrets clearing a few as we landed.  We swarmed out, each of us following suit with our weapons of choice.  Well, I intended to, but while reaching for my pistol I realized that no one had told Ms. Blackrose that we were here.  My hand went to the comms button instead.

"Cecily, Hilda?  Zeke here.  The crew is ready to bring you home."

There followed a couple seconds of silence, punctuated by various sounds of plasmer fire, gunshots, and vibro-blades.  Then Ms. Blackrose's exuberant voice rang through.

"You lot don't listen well, do you? Thanks for that. Hilda, the cavalry's arrived!"

I smiled.  "No, I'm afraid we don't."  I gave them our location, then gave my attention to the battle.

Crivens!  This is tha most action I seen in loike, ever!  Plop dab inna middle of a zombie 'olo, roight enough!  Yeh, ay can 'ear yez now, sayin' "There en't na sich thing as zombies," but ay'm tellin' ya mates, I seen 'em, ay smelt 'em, an' oi melted one a' them buggers!

An' then I seen some a' them wot was kilt, melt off their skin an' get up as skellingtons!

But this new fancy kit...it sure was noice ta be wearin' an' no joke.  Tha walkin' dead couldna touch ennybody.

I hate it when something won't stay dead.  

The rotting corpses went down easily, but then rose again, their bones clean of flesh.  I scanned the area for nanobots, but found only those employed by Frank.  This was some form of magic, probably an exotic curse, and well outside my area of expertise.  There would be no quick "off-switch."

Fortunately, it didn't take long, and we sustained no injuries.  When the last animated corpse was sent flying into the whirlwind, Cecily turned to us with a grin.

"So... Guess what we found."

As if we hadn't seen it on our way to rescue them.  A crystal palace.  Surrounded by a perpetual hurricane, to be sure, but without a doubt this was Ama's home - and still resting on what is likely the last bit of floating rock on the planet.

"The undead are new..." Ms. Blackrose continued, as casually as if she were appraising a bit of real estate.

"And the storm?" asked Katrya.  

"Yeah, that's new, too," Cecily affirmed.  "And the gold bots at the city."  

Not a question I'd have though to ask, but it was a relief to know the answer.  I'd hate to think that Ama was holding out on us.  I expressed sympathy for the loss of their ship, but Blackrose just shrugged it off.  "Not the first time," she said.  "It did well, for its age."

Katrya chuckled.  "So we have heard, from an Elder gnome we met."

Cecily tilted her head, and changed the subject.  "I take it you got Hilda's message? I'll admit, I wasn't sure shoving Power through the BAN-Link would do anything other than short it out..."

Katrya and I spoke at the same time, her saying, "Her name.... Hm. Alley, yes?" while I was responding, ""That message appeared on every screen in the city."

"Every..." The former ship's captain almost gave herself whiplash turning back to Katrya. "Alley?"

Katrya blinked, then took it upon herself to resolve both conversations.  Probably for the best.  Whiplash is a serious thing, and they'd already been in a vehicle accident.  

"Every screen," she said.  "We happened to catch it just as were arriving back with her. -Yes, Alley. We'd brought her back to meet with you, at her insistence. ...She is currently waiting back at her home however."

"Little Alley Samaritan..." Cecily mused.  "I guess she would be an elder, now..."

She was a Samaritan?  How many of them were there?  And, I thought it was a title, not a name?  Wait, if it's a name, then could our game designer "C.S." be one too?

That was as far as my train of thought reached before Katrya brought us all back to the immediate task at hand.  "But that can be spoken of later... If there is a way to find the cause of this storm, we should do so."

Cecily answered, "My guess is, something inside the palace. But we haven't exactly had the chance to go searching."

"I don't know that we would want to lose the crystal palace its protection, given the alarming nature of those golden mechs."  Aru's objection mirrored my own reservations.  A few nodding heads indicated that it was the general consensus.

"Alarming is right," Ms. Blackrose agreed.  "They fly like... mechanical bees, and they can shoot burning light.  The Cities didn't have anything like that, before."  She paused, and looked to the group. "So what's the plan then? Investigate the palace, or...?"

Vamir spoke up right away.  "We probably should investigate the palace at least, and if we find something decide what to do about it then.  I'm betting there's more undead in the palace though."

I glanced toward the structure.  The door was ajar.  He was probably right.  Still, I was of a mind to take care of things here and now, and said so.  "If we're going to investigate anything, the palace is right here. Easier to do it now than go away and come back later.  And if there are dangers, I'd as soon take care of them before transporting Ama here.  Perhaps we'll find some information on those golden mechs."

"The zombies aren't that bad," said Cecily, "if you can avoid getting trampled. I didn't have enough bullets and powder for a whole horde, though, so we just holed up the best we could."

Anyone who has seen the Rising Day video has seen at least a bit of those two in action.  They can take care of themselves, and needed no excuse.  

Gordianus volunteered to scout.

Ay wanted ta larf when that 'arfling Gordie was squeezin' through tha doors, but ay din't, onna counta oi dinna wanta go in meself.  Teeny ain't the same fing as sneaky.  

Ennyways, she got through, an' back again, an she sez there's a whole nother batch o'deadies onna other soide.  

Hit's gonner be a long day, it is.  

Hey, Oi wonder iffen that floatin' kitchen gots enny leftovers, for when we're all done 'ere?

(to be continued)