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The Return of the Overdue
Farseer the Chief Weathermare stared out across the snowcapped mountains into the almost perfect blue sky. No clouds had been scheduled for this Coronation Anniversary celebration, but one was there, small and very dark. It was more than just unexpected, it simply had no right to be present in a sky that had been climate controlled down to the very last millibar that the pegasi could feel through their feathers.
“What the multiple frack,” Farseer telegraphed madly. “What weather team is scheduled for that sector, get them out there now!”
Looking through her scope again she watched as distant pegasi circled the anomaly, expecting at any moment that it would burst into a sudden squall of rain and fall away to nothingness. She waited for quite a few minutes longer.
“Ma’am, that’s not just a cloud,” they finally reported. “There’s an airship in there.”
Expert windchasers were summoned to guide the derelict to a mooring station. It was borne on the fragile lift given by a tattered air envelope still jammed with buoyant cloudstuffs, retained by tired whiffs of ancient magic.
Ropes dangled in the air, their tips fizzled into tufts by the constant winds. The thaumic engines had long fallen silent. There was no telling how old she was, or how often she might have circled the stormy globe. Her archaic appearance spoke to many decades aloft, or centuries... unsteered, unmaintained and apparently devoid of all life.
Farseer soon arrived and settled on the warped decking, her feathers feeling decidedly awry. She had contacted her colleague Dustcough at the Royal Archives, seeking an identification from some old ship’s registry, and was still chatting remotely.
“I hope we don’t have to go all the way up the chain,” she said. “The only ones still living who might have been witnesses… they have enough to do today with planning for the Celebration.”
“It may not come to that,” replied Dustcough. “We’ve found a specialized Clairvoyant we’re going to ’port to you now. He specializes in remote viewing, but can evoke scenes that occurred in the past. All he needs is something upon which to hang a focal reference, something that was a strong concentrator of life energies…”
Farseeer’s hoof crunched as she suddenly stepped on a fragment of skull, breaking it to further shards. She shuddered.
“Something like this poor pony here, I take it…?”
The Retro-Clairvoyant soon flashed into tangibility aboard the ship, a pale unicorn blinking in the sudden sunlight, and was introduced as Preassurance. Farseer led him to the helm where she had found the skeletal remains.
He threw his head back and let his magic fill the air. There was a shaking rippling burst as something fundamental was wrenched from the past and brought forward to the present, a stark scene etched in black and white before them, an echo of the vanished events of the past which had more or less inexorably led to this present moment.
The scene was a horror frozen to one instant of time. They could see the sails blown to shreds in some terrible storm, and the Helmsmare had fought against titanic forces to keep her ship on a safe course. But one of the spars had been torn from its lashings and fallen upon her, crushing her to the deck.
Farseer steeled herself to look at the terrible sight. “There, there was a brass nameplate on the helm… The Umbra Dun. That’s the ship’s name.”
“Well spotted,” nodded Preassurance as he strained to hold on to the image. “That’s a great start to our investigation.”
The scene vanished as Preassurance’s power ran its course, and where the falling spar and mangled body had been was only open air flowing over the dead bones and splintered deck. All that remained now of the nameplate was a spot of green corrosion, easily confused with mold.
Farseer smiled at him as he recovered his bearings. “Amazing. I’m absolutely stunned that technology like this exists at all. Usually I keep up with the latest research advances in my journals; I’m just wondering if I’ve ever had the chance to meet you in a professional capacity before. Are you an archaeologist? Crime scene investigator?”
“I’m afraid not Ma’am,” he said, shaking his head at her puzzlement with a wry smile, “not unless you or one of your weather ponies wound up breaking someone’s picture window.
“I’m actually an insurance adjuster.”
“What the multiple frack,” Farseer telegraphed madly. “What weather team is scheduled for that sector, get them out there now!”
Looking through her scope again she watched as distant pegasi circled the anomaly, expecting at any moment that it would burst into a sudden squall of rain and fall away to nothingness. She waited for quite a few minutes longer.
“Ma’am, that’s not just a cloud,” they finally reported. “There’s an airship in there.”
Expert windchasers were summoned to guide the derelict to a mooring station. It was borne on the fragile lift given by a tattered air envelope still jammed with buoyant cloudstuffs, retained by tired whiffs of ancient magic.
Ropes dangled in the air, their tips fizzled into tufts by the constant winds. The thaumic engines had long fallen silent. There was no telling how old she was, or how often she might have circled the stormy globe. Her archaic appearance spoke to many decades aloft, or centuries... unsteered, unmaintained and apparently devoid of all life.
Farseer soon arrived and settled on the warped decking, her feathers feeling decidedly awry. She had contacted her colleague Dustcough at the Royal Archives, seeking an identification from some old ship’s registry, and was still chatting remotely.
“I hope we don’t have to go all the way up the chain,” she said. “The only ones still living who might have been witnesses… they have enough to do today with planning for the Celebration.”
“It may not come to that,” replied Dustcough. “We’ve found a specialized Clairvoyant we’re going to ’port to you now. He specializes in remote viewing, but can evoke scenes that occurred in the past. All he needs is something upon which to hang a focal reference, something that was a strong concentrator of life energies…”
Farseeer’s hoof crunched as she suddenly stepped on a fragment of skull, breaking it to further shards. She shuddered.
“Something like this poor pony here, I take it…?”
The Retro-Clairvoyant soon flashed into tangibility aboard the ship, a pale unicorn blinking in the sudden sunlight, and was introduced as Preassurance. Farseer led him to the helm where she had found the skeletal remains.
He threw his head back and let his magic fill the air. There was a shaking rippling burst as something fundamental was wrenched from the past and brought forward to the present, a stark scene etched in black and white before them, an echo of the vanished events of the past which had more or less inexorably led to this present moment.
The scene was a horror frozen to one instant of time. They could see the sails blown to shreds in some terrible storm, and the Helmsmare had fought against titanic forces to keep her ship on a safe course. But one of the spars had been torn from its lashings and fallen upon her, crushing her to the deck.
Farseer steeled herself to look at the terrible sight. “There, there was a brass nameplate on the helm… The Umbra Dun. That’s the ship’s name.”
“Well spotted,” nodded Preassurance as he strained to hold on to the image. “That’s a great start to our investigation.”
The scene vanished as Preassurance’s power ran its course, and where the falling spar and mangled body had been was only open air flowing over the dead bones and splintered deck. All that remained now of the nameplate was a spot of green corrosion, easily confused with mold.
Farseer smiled at him as he recovered his bearings. “Amazing. I’m absolutely stunned that technology like this exists at all. Usually I keep up with the latest research advances in my journals; I’m just wondering if I’ve ever had the chance to meet you in a professional capacity before. Are you an archaeologist? Crime scene investigator?”
“I’m afraid not Ma’am,” he said, shaking his head at her puzzlement with a wry smile, “not unless you or one of your weather ponies wound up breaking someone’s picture window.
“I’m actually an insurance adjuster.”
Under the circumstances, I feel that I am safe to comment that this is a thinly-disguised and spoiler-free ponification of a fascinating detection and horror game, Return of the Obra Dinn, which I recommend to all who enjoy a good puzzle.