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The Airship Venture [ENDED]


Captain Fidley

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The following broadsheet was found posted on a storefront in the town center.

Newly Arrived from TALONOPOLIS

AIRSHIP VENTURE, moored directly above the TOWN SQUARE of PONYVILLE.

OFFERING a WIDE SELECTION of FINE TRADE GOODS from around the known world and BEYOND

PASSAGE available in SPACIOUS ACCOMMODATIONS with LUXURIOUS FURNISHINGS

EXPERIENCED CAPTAIN and SKILLED CREW

ACCEPTING FREIGHT CONSIGNMENT at MODEST RATES

INSURANCE AVAILABLE

INQUIRE with CAPTAIN FIDLEY or FIRST MATE WHITETIP

Anypony looking up could see the massive airship floating overhead, swaying gently in the wind in the midst of a siderweb of thick mooring lines. The massive cargo doors were open, and a fenced platform had been lowered to the ground from the gondola. In front of this platform some tables were set up displaying a sample of the exotic wares onboard- fine Griffon metalwork, spices from far islands, bulk sacks of flour and grain and many other necessaries and trinkets.

Behind these tables is a bored looking Griffon, his coat a dirty gray save for the pure white tips of his wings. Another is at work on the platform, fussing over some mechanical part. This one would be a light brown if he wasn't covered with grease, engine oil and coal dust. He's wearing goggles and a tool belt covered in wrenches and other mysterious mechanical bits.

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Tempest Rime, after her usual morning routine, headed down from her high cloud to file some paperwork. She noticed the airship with interest, Griffon trade ships were unusual, even in the bigger cities. She decided to stop by on her way to work, flitting down from above the airship and shaking the morning frost from her mane before stepping in.

She glanced through the items on display with great interest, as rare and usual things were always exciting. Before she allowed herself time to really look around, however, she decided she ought to speak with the proprietor. She approached him, pulled the current weather schedule from her saddlebag, and cleared her throat.

"Pardon me, Sir. I'm from the local weather bureau, and we had actually planned on a small shower this afternoon. It's nothing we can't reschedule if necessary, but I am unfamiliar with the stress-resistance of your vessel. Would you like me to file a change in the schedule for you?"

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Whitetip looked up from the pad of figures he had been scratching at with an ink-dipped talon, his look thoughtful. "Depends on the factors involved, aye? Wind is the most worrisome, though the Cap'n bought those mooring lines used off a bulk freighter twice our size. We'll uproot those trees they're tied to before they part. Rain is not an issue, its actually welcome. We're low on fresh water and I can have lads rig our water collectors before the storm. Can't think of much else, though it really depends on what you ponies call a "small" shower, aye yes. Worst case we end up needing to drop the anchors, though I wouldn't want to tear up a pretty square like this.

He turned and hollered to the dirty griffon working on the platform, "Hey Wrenchhead, whats that mess of an engine room lookin like?"

The grease-streaked griff downed his tools and came over, trying to wipe grease off his blunted talons with a filthy rag but really only spreading it around. "Oh, she's on standby and ready, mate." he muttered in a quiet yet intense voice. "I still want to pull the number three piston and check the bearings, but that can wait, again." he sighed.

"Well, there you have it, young miss." Whitetip said, going back to his figures. "Let me know if you need anything else. We've got all manner of goods, the make and quality of such is simply rarely seen."

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"Hmm," Tempest pulled out a note pad and did some quick calculations. "Ship's profile with the tensile strength of the trees... By my estimates you'll probably be fine, so long as the lightning won't cause you damage. Floating up there makes you a likely target for stray lightning strikes. I assume you have some means of dealing with that, and I doubt there will significant electrical activity, but you can't be too careful. The last thing I want is for your marvelous vessel to be damaged."

She glanced over towards the engineer. "Speaking of which, I don't suppose you could enlighten me as to how it works, could you? It looks gloriously complicated."

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The thought of lightning got Whitetip's attention. "We'll have to rig a ground wire." he said thoughtfully. "There's an iron lightning rod on the dorsal mainmast, so we can lower the ground wire right quick if you don't mind us digging a small hole to anchor it." He reached under one of the tables and grabbed a speaking trumpet, shouting up to the ship "Ahoy on the ship! Roust the larboard watch! Rig for lightning and check the lines for slack!"

With that he spread his wings and hopped into the sky. "I'll take me leave now, miss. Preparations to make, laggards to start, you know. Hold down the shop for me, Wrenchhead!"

At that the grease-streaked griffin looked nervous. He spent most of his time down in the engine room, where the whirring and clanking of the machinery had made him a bit deaf. The prospect of sunlight alone was alien to him, and here he was in a foreign town talking to a strange pegasus. So he lapsed into his main line of defense, impenetrable engineering jargon.

"Well she runs on high-pressure steam, for the most part. We've got, lesse, three Tinderclaw twenty-three bravo boilers that the Cap'n salvaged off a patrol boat, so they're all milspec and brasswork. Most of that steam goes to the lifting diaphragm in the bag. Steam's lighter than air so it keeps the boat flyin'. The rest of it runs the main plant and generator. The main is an old Goodwing 3 compound, but she does the job of turning the props when we need 'em. I spend most of my time on overhaul of that thing, while the rest of the black gang keeps the boilers stoked with whatever fuel we've got. The generator just spins and makes the juice for our lights, I'm no electrician so I just know engines..." he trailed off, staring awkwardly with his bright eyes and at a loss for anything else to say.

"Er... nice weather, I suppose?"

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((Sorry I was gone so long, Dragon Age 2 ate all my free time.))

"Hmmmmm, steam power, huh? How awful. I can't stand that much heat. Clouds are fine, once they've cooled off a bit you know, but have you ever been to the factories in Cloudsdale? Dreadful. But yes, I suppose the weather lately hasn't been too unpleasant." Tempest sniffed and gave the engineer a disapproving glance.

"Well no matter, I suppose I'll have a look around. You've certainly got some fascinating unique items. I don't suppose you have any recommendations, do you? Something that I could keep in my cloud house without it falling through the floor would be ideal." She began to rummage through the items on display with aloof interest.

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"You might be interested in the spices, they're great for adding some color to bland food. We've got big bags of pepper, cumin and sea salt, some very good chili powders and a couple tins of this stuff called curry that has quite a kick to it." Wrenchhead said, conscious of the sudden coldness in Rime's voice. "Other than that we've got a lot of quality metalwork. Some nice steel horseshoes, very hard wearing and zinc coated to resist rusting. Nails, bolts and other hardware. Er, over here there are some scissors and we've got a variety of knives for cooking, as well as some pots and pans and all that."

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Tempest pokes through the goods on display one last time. "Hmm, well I don't see anything in particular at the moment, and I should be getting to work. Perhaps I will come back after the storm. I'll let my colleagues know they should keep winds down. If your captain needs anything else, any of the locals ought to be able to point out one of the weather ponies."

With that, Tempest saunters off towards the town hall for a pleasant morning of sorting and filing paperwork.

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