Story Seed - Skyward

Image Source: http://bloochikin.deviantart.com/art/Biplane-335183042

Stella whooped with joy, the engine of her bi-plane was purring like a great cat once more. It felt good to be up in the Blue. The two weeks on Terrace Steel Wing while Killian worked the Canary's engine over had been agonizing. She'd hemorrhaged funds to pay for the repairs, her room, her board, and all the while the best she could manage for work was low paying watch duty. 

Now though, the Canary was back soaring through the Blue, and Stella even had a contract. A strong box locked in her storage that needed to get to Terrace Green ASAP. Stella rolled her craft, noting that the engine didn't even seem to notice; she'd have to thank Killian again. She looked up at the Bright, and then rolled the craft onto its wing to get a look down; down into the deeps of the Blue and beyond that the Black. 

Stella righted the craft and set course for Terrance Green. She had a good few hours of flying to get there, and she really couldn't afford to waste fuel until she had a little more coin in her pockets. Leveling off Stella craned her neck and checked in all directions, as well as sparing a glance both to the Bright and the Black. She was alone in the Blue today, or at least alone for a good fifteen or twenty miles. She smiled broadly, today kept on getting better and better, back in the Blue, no pirates or enemy ships in sight, and she had a paying job; it was almost too good to be true.

Four hours later Stella saw a great black column of smoke on the horizon, a sooty line that got larger the closer she drew. After an hour it was obvious the smoke was coming from Terrace Green, and within the next half hour Stella grew more and more horrified as she approached the farming terrace. The buildings, all of them, were still burning, but worst, even more horrifying, was seeing the fields burn. Who could possibly bring themselves to burn arable land, and perfectly good produce. Terrace Green produced enough food to feed a half dozen other Terraces, and now it was burning. Stella circled, saw that the landing strips were clear and brought the Canary down.

Stella dropped down off the Canary's wing and looked around in dismay. Burned bodies were everywhere. The building were either burning or charred ruins. Nothing moved but the dancing flames and the blowing smoke. There was only death and destruction here. But why?

The low droning of heavy engines powering massive vertical lift propellers broke the funerary silence. Stella spun and saw a great airship rising from Blackward. The blood red banners with inverted black triangles made her heart quail. Pirates. The Crimson Points were well known reavers of the skies. "Give us the strong box, and we'll let you live!" thundered a menacing voice from dozens of speakers mounted on the airship.

"Yeah, right," Stella muttered. She clambered up into the cockpit of the Canary and kicked the engine over. It was going to take her best flying to escape. Whatever was in the strongbox in her hold, was enough to get an entire Terrace destroyed, and that meant it was valuable. Too valuable for these pirates to let her live. She took off and immediately dove for the Black. With a little luck the Canary could lose them in the thin air of the deep Blue. 

Nuts & Bolts #64 - Skyward, a Recursion for The Strange

Switching things up this week ...

I created this recursion as part of my Cypher Live discussion of Worlds Numberless and Strange this past weekend with +James August Walls and +Ryan Chaddock . Jim created Sea Lion Abby, and Ryan created Dead Drop End (forthcoming) as part of this exercise. We hope you enjoy our efforts, both the show and these recursions. 

And for my regular readers, the Story Seed you'd normally get today will post on Wednesday and be set in Skyward, please enjoy, and let me know if you would like to see more...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The skies are blue, the clouds are fluffy and white, and the wind carries with it the sound of diesel engines. Life in Skyward is lived in among the clouds. Airships, planes of all kinds, and grand floating platforms all struggle daily to stay afloat. Down below there is only madness and the Black. All around was the Blue, and above the Bright. None know what happens to those who fall into the Black, or those who try to find the ground, but neither are ever heard from again.

Skyward is a recursion of endless skies. Planes and airships traverse the blue moving between the Terraces, platforms of various sizes that keep themselves afloat by unknown means. If not for the Terraces humanity would long ago have died out. These ports contain the only known remnants of earth that allow for food to be grown, and are one of the few places where water can be reliably collected. The inhabitants use food, plant, and animal refuse to synthesize diesel fuel to power all manner of aircraft. The Terraces are also the only places where aircraft can be built, serviced, and launched. In Skyward control over the Terraces power.

The inhabitants of Skyward know that resources are finite, and that any lost ship or man is gone forever. Aerial combat seldom involves firearms, and only rarely do planes get shot down, for anything that falls into the Black is irrecoverable. Instead acrobatic flight and daredevil boarding procedures are the result, with men and women trying to hijack planes in mid-air, or larger ships using cabled harpoons to physically ensnare smaller planes.

Worse still is the well hidden fact that some of the Terraces are beginning to fail, and fall into the Black. Those in power are doing what they can to hide this fact from their people and their enemies, while also beginning to consider the need to capture other Terraces from their enemies. War is brewing in Skyward, a war over what little resources remain.

Hearsay in Skyward:

• Land Ho! - A pilot trader has found actual land, rising up out of the dark in some far flung part of the sky. If true this could mean potential for new resources, and for a great deal of power to those who control them. 
• From Above - Rumor has it that the Bright is becoming less so, as if something were blocking the light from above somehow. Somebody needs to fly high out of the Blue and find out what is happening. 
• Salvage Rights - The Terrace of Iron Falcon has put out a bounty on “salvaged” enemy aircraft. Of course the only way to salvage an aircraft is to board it and kill its pilot or crew. Is the risk worth the reward? 

Level: 3
Laws: Mad-Science (diesel-punk)
Playable Races: Human
Size: apparently infinite, actually several thousand square miles
Skills: Skyward Navigation
Foci: Collects Bounties, Pilots Aircraft*, Fires a Blunderbuss**, Steals, Leads, Looks for Trouble
Connections to the Strange: Fly downward long enough into the Black and you can emerge directly into the Strange … but getting back into Skyward isn’t so easy.
Connections to Earth: Occasional translation and inapposite gates open within cloud banks high in the skies.
Trait: Graceful (+1 speed pool)
Spark: 15%
Inspirations: Tailspin, Waterworld, Mad Max, Crimson Skies, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, other pulpy tales of airships

Notes on Foci:
* Pilots Aircraft is a simple reskin of the Pilots Starcraft focus from In Translation (pg 69)
** Fires a Blunderbuss is a reskin of the Fires a Blaster focus from In Translation (pg 46)

As a note, projectile weapons tend to be resource heavy because you often cannot recover the projectiles. As a result firearms in Skyward are much less advanced and common than one might expect. Characters who take the Fires a Blunderbuss focus are some of the rare few who know how to use their weapons for best effect and are willing to deal with the high cost of ammunition and fuel (blunderbusses use a special form of kerosene infused black powder), as well as the potential for sending enemy pilots spiraling down into the Black where their planes and gear cannot be salvaged.

Story Seed - Icarus 2.0

not sure where I found this ....

"You're mad Pemberton, that contraption will work no better than Daedalus' own invention did for his son."

Sir Alistair Pemberton chortled, "Don't fret old man, I won't damage your precious roses if I come plummeting out of the sky. And fear not for me, I am certain that the Aether Wings will work." Pemberton checked the straps once more, tightening them securely across his chest and hopping up and down to see how the wing pack settled to his shoulders. The harness wasn't perfect, and he could already tell some redesign would be needed to make it comfortable for long flights, but that was putting the cart before the proverbial steam powered horse; first he had to prove that his Aetheric panels could truly catch the substance of the heavens and carry him skyward.

Sir Horace Caulfield stamped his foot, "Now see here Alistair, I'm not worried about my roses, though you had best keep your word on that, but about your life and limb. I shall not be the one to tell that hellion of a wife of yours that you've broken your leg, or God forbid, gotten yourself killed."

"And you shall not have to. She will be arriving in due time with Lord Davenport. Should I fail my dear wife will be on hand to berate me to her own heart's content," Pemberton replies with a wry smile.

"Don't be so glib," Horace muttered back.

Pemberton tested the wings' controls and verified that his gauges were reading properly, "I say, don't get all mushy on me Caulfield, I'm a certain that this will work as I am the sun will rise. Why I tested the Aetheric panels with my own dog, and Mister Troggerdon returned just fine, though I do not think he enjoyed his flight. Relieved himself in my best slippers that night." A blast from a steam whistle drew his eyes up, "Huzzah, there they are!"

Samantha Pemberton and Lord Nigel Davenport III drive up in a new auto-carriage, black and white smoke trailing behind. Samantha tsked at her husband as she approached, "Don't you look the daring-doer? Aside from those awful goggles. Honestly, husband, why have you not replaced them with proper diamond glass?"

Pemberton flushed red. "Because these are lucky my dear," ground out before stepping forward and offering the Lord Davenport a stiff bow and his hand, "Sir, I am honored that you came for my test."

"Yes, well, the honor shall be mine if you succeed. Don't let me down, would you?" Davenport was a minor lord, but also the head of Her Majesty's Air Corps.  His presence was quite a coup for Pemberton, and would lend great credence to his offering at the Engineering Society's annual gather the following month.

"Yes, well, now that you are here I will begin. My Aetheric panels will enable this light wing-pack to carry me to the heavens as easily as if I were tethered to a fifty cubic foot helium reservoir." He made one final adjustment to his goggles and gloves, and then proceeded. "If you will all stand back, I shall ascend to the skies like a bird!"

Mrs. Pemberton, the Lord Davenport, and Caulfield all stepped away, leaving plenty of room as Pemberton unfolded the great wings. They looked much like those of a great bird, though the glint of brass beneath the pale white "feathers" hinted at their true origin. The feathers themselves were unique, thin strips of metal, hammered to the shape of a feather and traced with distilled Aether, they gleamed under the sun like something from a fairy tale.

The wings began to flap, and Pemberton took off at an awkward jog before leaping into the air. Astonishing to the three onlookers he the wings did indeed carry him aloft; each beat propelling Alistair further from the ground.  Pemberton twisted his body and swooped into a long and elegant turn, still gaining elevation with each beat. A glance at his altimeter told him that he had passed two hundred feet and was rising steadily.

Soon he was soaring through the open air, high enough that he could not see the amazed looks and gaping stares of the people below. Ever onward and ever upward he flew, eager to see the capability of his wings.

Down on the ground the three soon lost sight of Alistair Pemberton, and finally ceased to look up and instead looked to each other. Each was equally surprised by the success of the test. Samantha was the first to voice her feelings, "It would seem that dear Alistair has indeed proven the naysayers wrong. My Lord Davenport, I do hope that you can see that my husband is far more the genius than even he had thought, which is truly something to be said."

Davenport opened his mouth to reply when a silvery white feather of hammered metal floated down between the three of them, landing quietly on the ground.