Inbur was in flames.

Gunfire echoed through the dark streets, seemingly from every direction, the harsh crack of rifles and the dull boom of distant explosions. Arkadios ran. Flames lit the streets from hundreds of fires, throwing eerie shapes into the smoke-clogged sky. Arkadios ran. In truth he didn't quite know where he was running to, but there had to be some route out. Perhaps the path along the Old North Road was still controlled by loyal soldiers? Though there was every chance he'd be stopped at a checkpoint only to discover the men in the Inburian uniform were in fact rebels.

He took a turn in the direction of the road anyway, shoving past a band of civilians who seemed to be trying to evacuate what they could from a burning house, colliding with a young woman trying to push past the other way. She looked up at him with frightened dark eyes, "Help me," she whispered.

Arkadios almost pushed past her, what could he do? But the way she looked at him reminded him too much of his own daughter, Elodie, or the woman she might become in a few years. And he could see the rich cut of her clothing. A noble, he guessed. It was no safer for her in the city than it was for him. Perhaps there was something he could do? Perhaps give her a fighting chance? He nodded, "Stick with me." he said.

And as he ran on through the dark streets, she did. They reached a military base where a soldier was standing guard. Nobody had ordered him to leave he assumed. He approached the trooper, not waiting for a salute, "Captain Andreaou, East Morktree Regiment of Foot," he introduced himself, "Soldier, stand down and join the evacuation."

He looked skywards and paused. He hadn't seen it in the smoke before. A massive dirigible was tethered to the ground nearby, it's imposing bulk rising above the nearby barrack huts. The girl looked at the ship, then across at Arkadios before voicing what he had been thinking, "Do you think that Airship has fuel?"

Or a crew... but that wasn't worth thinking about now, "Let's hope so," he set off at a brisk walk towards the ship. A gangplank was down, leading up into the Bridge gondola. The woman followed, stepping into the gondola as Arkadios flicked the light switch and was rewarded to find lights flickering on across the gondola, "We have battery at least."

He glanced about, there was no sign of life, though there was a clipboard. He picked it up. Cargo deliveries, "Where are the crew?" the woman asked, crossing the bridge to open the doorway into the dark interior of the ship, "Hello?" she called. There was no answer.

Arkadios flicked through the manifest, "Looks like they were converting this airliner into a bomber. But they didn't get further than installing machineguns... I think... if I'm reading this right we should have fuel but I don't know how to fly the bloody thing," he paused, looking up over the clipboard, "What's your name lass? You look a little familiar... have we met?"

"Oh... I wouldn't think so," she gave an apologetic smile, "Though perhaps? Zoe... Miss Zoe Spyrou," she introduced herself.

"Well Miss Spyrou, I think I need to go out there and see if there's anyone vaguely competent to fly this as it could, potentially be our ticket out of here."

The girl's eyes lit up, "Do you think so?"

Arkadios nodded, "If we can get it in the air... and it's more complicated than just cutting the cords and turning the engines on. There are a whole lot of buoyancy controls I know nothing about... not that that first bit is simple either!"

"Should I go and look?" Zoe suggested.

"No I..." Arkadios trailed off. He thought he heard footsteps outside. Casually he unbuttoned his pistol holster, placing a hand on the gun, "Stay back from the gangway," he told her...

James E. Carter

James darted through the narrow streets of Inbur, clutching his Model II shotgun tightly. The city was a cauldron of chaos, sounds of rifle fire overhead, explosions shook the ground beneath his boots, and the stench of smoke and blood filled the air. This was supposed to be a quick job: arrive, collect the cargo and leave. Instead, he found himself trapped in a foreign city under siege, with his crew scattered and likely lost in the chaos. Now, alone and exposed, his only hope lay in reaching the military base he’d spotted earlier, the one where the airship still sat tethered.

Turning a corner, James found himself in a wide boulevard leading up to the base. Relief flickered briefly until he spotted a group of Inburian soldiers ahead. He approached cautiously, raising a hand to signal them, but his instincts screamed something was off. The soldiers wore red armbands, and their behavior wasn’t defensive, it was predatory. He watched as some of them forced their way into a large, ornate house, the kind that screamed nobility.

Taking cover against a corner, James hesitated. Screams erupted from inside the building, piercing even the din of gunfire and explosions. The shotgun felt heavier in his hands as he considered his options. Moments later, the muffled sound of gunfire from inside confirmed his worst suspicions. His jaw tightened as he looked back at his weapon, then at the scene. Could he do something? Should he?

Before he could decide, another scream echoed down a street besides the house, drawing the attention of the rebel soldiers standing guard outside the house. Seizing the distraction, James slipped past, his heart pounding as he kept low and fast. Guilt gnawed at him, but there was nothing he could do, he was a single man with a single shotgun, and survival was all that mattered now.

As he approached the gates of the base, he was greeted by an eerie sight: the gate was wide open, and no guards were posted. For a moment, dread gripped him. Had the base already been overrun? But then he saw it, the massive airship he’d spotted from the docks. Its imposing silhouette loomed against the chaos of the city, its lights glowing faintly in the smoke-filled night.

James cautiously made his way up the ramp leading to the gondola, his shotgun raised. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the distant sounds of battle. As he stepped into the gondola, faint voices reached his ears. Moving quietly, he edged toward the source, peering into the cabin.

Inside, he spotted two figures: a man in a military uniform and a young woman. He tightened his grip on the shotgun, not sure whether the soldier was loyal or a rebel. Slowly, he stepped into view, holding the shotgun at the ready, not directly aimed, but a clear signal that he was prepared to defend himself.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” James said, his voice firm but measured. “Just want to know—can I catch a ride on this thing?”

---

Christina and Nikos

Zeppelin #27, Engine Room

---

"Stupido!" Christina yells, banging on the loo door. "Let me out!"
"Shut up!" the bosun said, kicking his heels from a nearby workbench. "I've arrested you on suspicion of bein' a spy!"
"A spy? I work for the company building this thing! I showed you a work order and everything!"
"Cleverly forged," Nikos grins, pushing his cap back. "Thought your disguise would fool me, but why would they hire a 'woman' mechanic?"
"Cretino!" the engineer hollers back, "Because all the men are off fighting!"
"Er, well, yeah, but why aren't you wearing a dress?"
"Because a skirt would get caught in the gears!" Christina shouts, slamming her fist on the door. "Imbecille!"

"That don't explain why you've got a gun in yer bag!" Nikos scowls, pulling it out and shaking it accusatorily at the locked loo door.
"There's a war on! Can't you hear the shooting?"
"You've got an answer for everythin', don't ya?" Nikos sighs, shaking his head. His head turns, hearing faint noises coming from the bow. "Hah! That'll be the shore patrol, come to arrest you, you heathen commie spy!"
"I'm not a spy!" the engineer thunders back angrily.

This idiot was going to keep her there until the People's Army took over the zeppelin and the empire's War Bureau would still be arguing over what to name it!

"Fine! Go get them then!" Christina yells. "I'd rather get shot in a cell than this dirty loo!"
"Hey, I cleaned that myself a week ago!"
"You did a lousy job!"

Grumbling to himself, Bosun mate 2nd Class Nikos Vassiliou heads forward, hearing voices from the lit gondola. "Oy! Oy! I'm coming! I've got her locked up back here...!"

Shoving the pistol under his belt, the sailor took hold of the ladder and moving his feet to press on the outside of the handrail, slid down to the Gondola deck. He turns and scowls at the others.

"Oy! Who let you lot on board?" he demands.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Hopes small flame.
Escape or Die.

War came to the Capital, fires burned and the chaos had already come, the ordered city and quiet meals over a glass of wine and a good seafood were not the noises that filled the streets. Panic was very much the emotions of the city. Smoke came out black, the glow of oranges, yellows and reds.

Hamelin looked from side to side to compensate for his long lost eye as a younger officer, he glanced about the corners, the alleys and the many back ways of the city that ran like an entire network of layers the city possessed upon layers.

He caught one thing, one opportunity and found a route consulting the map he gathered about the city, an easy route and the best option that was viable. The main travel routes would be chaos, the transport was down, so he had to get… creative.

Making his way there he felt not quite the same younger man who could have ran the whole way without pausing he used to be, youth was tempered by experience and cunning though and he made his way with care, minimising his challenges and threats he would have to face. He had to use his weapon but that using the over built and reinforced firearm as a melee weapon to dissuade a desperate man. The loud report of the .455 pattern resolver was hardly discreet.

With this approach he made his way to his target though both without contact, one enemy soldier had a knife into his neck slacking off with a looted cigarette. Dragging him away he was disappointed in his gain, the rifle would be too much of an obvious thing, the bayonet was too long and his training did not cover the use of that option. To further disappointment his pack was mostly empty but took a short break, smoking a cigarette while he rested some minutes alway having availed himself with the remains of the soldiers canteen. The only real thing was to use a small hand drawn soldier's map that told him where they had set a checkpoint and a short cross study told him where to avoid.

One more was evaded and a 3rd group was distracted by looting as they had pushed deeper, but became distracted by a ladies shop for silken things, likely looting it for lady friends back home, or maybe clean and quality material to tightly tie bandages close. Both likely.

The Favain officer met thankfully little else resistance as he broke into part of the city he knew well, having been up near the main seat of government many times on official and social gatherings. He was under No illusions the soldiers invading would regard the international conventions, diplomatic status or his officer rank to help him at all. Probably means he died more than less.

…

It was an hour later he finally bet his life or death. He had been survailing from an alleyway and a broken gate, he saw no obvious trap so he put his Revolver to his side in a ready but not hostile gesture and spoke clearly. The gates were not guarded, the people absent and the area was strewn with detritus of chaos, in the distance he could just about see destroyed and burning airframes twisted in far distances like a child's toy dropped. This was one of the few left able to fly. Those air frames were soon lost behind another drift of a thick choking black smoke and sounds of distant crump of heavy siege guns pounding strong points that remained standing.

An airship marked with the number 27 on its side, intact at least externally, no major holes or blasted sections of steel turned to scrap. It would have to do.

“Favian, Post Captain Le Marinier. Just looking for a way out of the city, assuming you can still fly. Permission to come aboard Airship 27. Last I saw the enemy was moving on the 7th lower circular mostly.” He called up carefully, it was a risk, he could be shot but he would be careful…. The place being so deserted and abandoned was….wrong. The air ship docks could be so busy with people and cargo you could barely swing a clownish.

Either he was dead…or he was not. But right now, he had to try something. A slim chance was better than no chance.

James E. Carter
...

“I’m not looking for trouble,” James said, his voice firm but measured. “Just want to know—can I catch a ride on this thing?”

Zoe could see a variety of ways this situation played out. Many of which were not good. Whomever the newcomer was might not like what Captain Andreaou had to say. Shots would be fired. She considered her options then stepped between them, close enough to the stranger that it would be impossible to miss her if he pulled the trigger, but next to impossible to hit the Captain, "Shall we lower the gun?" she suggested, her voice softly confident. She didn't feel confident, at all! She was terrified, but Zoe was also rather good at hiding that fact, "Unless you are a Revolutionary, we're all friends here. If you are, they might give you a medal for shooting -" she almost said 'me', but corrected at the last moment,"- an aristocrat. But then the Captain would riddle you with bullets and you'd be enjoying your medals from whatever pit of hell is reserved for the Godless."

---

---

Christina and Nikos

...

"Oy! Who let you lot on board?" he demands.

"Your gang plank is down. I walked on, Airman," the Captain replied, hand on his pistol. Eyes never leaving the civilian with the shotgun, "The base is evacuating. I had thought we were the only souls aboard."

He hadn't looked away from Carter, but it was clear the next bit was for him, "Lower your gun, Sir. If you aren't a Communalist and your pronunciation of Inburian suggests you might not be, we need to figure out how to get this ship moving before this place is overrun and we all wnd up shot or in prison."

He knew that they needed to get the cords holding the balloon released and the engines working... but there was the matter of buoyancy. He knew vaguely that there was probably ballast holding them down as well. How did you release it? How did you even turn the engines on for that matter? Presumably there was a lever or a button to push to start them?

In the background he could hear someone else calling to come aboard, but he didn't respond. Yet. First they needed the man to lower his gun.

James E. Carter

Zoe Spyrou

"Shall we lower the gun?" she suggested, her voice softly confident. She didn't feel confident, at all! She was terrified, but Zoe was also rather good at hiding that fact, "Unless you are a Revolutionary, we're all friends here. If you are, they might give you a medal for shooting -" she almost said 'me', but corrected at the last moment,"- an aristocrat. But then the Captain would riddle you with bullets and you'd be enjoying your medals from whatever pit of hell is reserved for the Godless."

James frowned, his grip on the shotgun tightening as the woman stepped between him and the soldier. His instincts screamed that this was a reckless move, getting in the middle of something that could escalate any second. But there was something in her calm, almost calculated demeanor that gave him pause. The last thing he wanted was to hurt anyone, especially someone clearly unarmed. He let out a slow breath, lowering the shotgun slightly, though not completely aiming it down.

"Lady, I’m not in the habit of shooting women, no matter how crazy it is to get between two armed men," James said, his voice still wary but softer now. He shifted his stance, keeping his finger off the trigger but still ready, "I’m no 'revolutionary,' or whatever mess you Inburians have got this city tangled in."

He adjusted his hold on the shotgun, easing some of the tension in his shoulders but still watching the soldier carefully. "Name’s James Carter," he added, his tone firm but no longer hostile. "I’m with The Evig Traders' Guild. Came here to do a job, but I guess that’s out the window now. All I’m looking for is a way out before this whole place burns to the ground."

James glanced between the two of them, still keeping his distance but no longer looking like he was about to start shooting, "So, if you’ve got room on this here airship and it’s actually going somewhere safe, I’d appreciate not being shot at for hitching a ride."

Suddenly the clatter of footsteps and the sharp voice of a new arrival cut through the tense air.

---

Christina and Nikos

"Oy! Who let you lot on board?" he demands.

Arkadios Andreaou

He hadn't looked away from Carter, but it was clear the next bit was for him, "Lower your gun, Sir. If you aren't a Communalist and your pronunciation of Inburian suggests you might not be, we need to figure out how to get this ship moving before this place is overrun and we all wnd up shot or in prison."

James regarded the soldier carefully, his hand still tight on the shotgun as the man issued his request. The guy had authority in his voice, the kind that made it clear he wasn’t asking twice. And, as much as James hated taking orders, he also wasn’t stupid enough to stir up trouble when the logic was sound. With a slow nod, James swung the shotgun up over his shoulder, letting it rest there.

"Fair enough," he said, his tone measured but without hostility, "You’re right. No point arguing when we’re all tryin’ to keep from gettin’ shot or worse." He shifted his weight, looking over toward the massive dirigible looming above them. "Now, as for gettin’ this thing in the air, you’ve got a point. We don’t get moving soon, we’re toast."

James stepped toward the control panel, his eyes scanning the array of levers, dials, and switches with a mix of familiarity and uncertainty. "I’ve flown my share of airships, but nothing like this beast," he muttered, half to himself. His fingers traced over a few levers before stopping at one clearly labeled for ballast control. "Looks like we’re gonna need to cut her loose section by section first. These lines’re keepin’ her tied down, and she’s not goin’ anywhere until they’re gone."

He straightened, turning to look at the others. "Someone’s gotta head topside and cut the lines—fast. This ain’t just pullin’ a lever and goin’. We also gotta start the engines, usually in the ones I've flown you they need to be started manually." His brow furrowed as he glanced around. "If we don’t get this bird in the air soon, we’re sittin’ ducks."

James took a step back from the controls, gesturing toward the gondola’s entrance, "If we split up we'll get it done quick. I’ll take a look at the engines if someone else can handle the lines. Sound good?" He looked at the soldier, waiting for approval.

A City Burns

Itzamatul dodged and weaved through the crowds of panicked people as the sounds of explosions and gunfire rippled through the city. Even as she moved, she did so on a sort of autopilot as the sight of her old ship the Even Giver played over and over. She’d been crew aboard the Zeppelin for almost five years, the longest she’d stayed in one spot since she’d left home…and now it was all gone.

What few personal items she’d owned, several months worth of accumulated pay she’d intended to send to her family, and that crew that’d become her friends…all burned…Hells she’d ‘ve burned with them too if she hadn’t stayed out for an extra beer or three. Her fugue broke as she walked into a stack of crates on the curb having been ‘ejected’ by the flow of the crowd. She had nowhere to actually go, and while ending up in the hands of the Communalists didn’t exactly fill her with joy, mindlessly running about was pointless. Taking a seat, she simply watched the panicked flow and waited, only for a flash of a silhouette down a side street to catch her eye amid the drifting smoke.

THERE! She thought as the smoke shifted again, the tail of a Zeppelin, far down the street. She closed her eyes and thought of the city map she’d poured over not long after the Even Giver had made port. That should be the military port… She didn’t even really have a plan, she just sprang from her seat and started to push towards her new goal.

---

Inbur was a fair sized place and the crowds were thick, but in due time she reached the outer fence of the military port; across the way a Zeppelin sat forgotten #27 painted on her tail. Moving along the fence line, she came to a small man-gate and an empty gatehouse, whoever may have been sent to guard this gate having fled elsewhere. Testing the actual door, she found it locked, but a cursory inspection showed it to be the sort of lock only really suitable for keeping honest sorts out.

Looking about she saw no-one, partially because outside the fence it was a largely industrial area and partially because what people would be here also assumed that a military port would be likely to draw enemy fire. Reaching into the small of her back, she drew her pistol that’d been banging around there since she’d gone out for those beers; now she took careful aim and fired several shots, splintering the wood around the lock before giving the door a few heavy kicks. The wook cracked and the door moved. Another couple of kicks and another shot and the lock broke free of the door and she was in, legging it towards #27. Reaching the Zeppelin, she saw several others, quite a few of them armed. Reaching the gangplank, she made a show of tucking away her (nearly empty) pistol and approaching with her hands visible. ”If you’re leaving, I’m coming with you…I’m a trained Zeppelin helmsman, and I’ve crewed ‘em for years, I can help get her going.”

Chaos was the scene that Zano found himself in. Buildings on fire, gunshots ringing out, and here he was, running for his life, like the rest of the scared citizens in the city. Zano did not know where he was going, but that did not stop him from running. He did not care as long it was a way out of the city and not into a group of armed rebels. Though he made sure that his remaining belongings stay on his person. He has lost much this day, and he does not want to lose anymore.

Then, as he reached the remains of the destroyed building, he spotted what looked like soldiers and immediately took shelter in a nearby alleyway. Where they are loyal or rebels, Zano thought, as a sense of dread and fear gripped him. He slowly peaked out and saw the soldiers had a couple captured at their feet. Nobles by the look of their clothing, and before he could think to do something, the soldiers executed them, and their lifeless bodies hit the ground with the soldiers laughing.

Zano quickly retreated to the alleyway, knowing the true allegiance of these soldiers, and went wide-eyed with fear. Is there any loyal soider left in this city? He thought, and when he went to peak at the soldiers again, they departed the scene and went left. Zano made sure to avoid it and went in the opposite direction from there.

He would find himself near a military base when he spotted it. A lone Zeppelin that was still docked, and a thought entered his mind. Could he... while he has not used or been on a Zeppelin before. He does how they work, and perhaps he could get it off the ground and get out of this city. Uncertainty made him pause, but what other options are there? Take a shot at that Zeppelin or risk possible death running, which Zano already has one brush with today.

A nearby explosion shocked him to reality, and Zano made a choice. So he runs to the Zeppelin, hoping what knowledge he has of them will do him any good. Only when he arrived, Zano was surprised to see that he was not the only one to have the idea, and by the time he arrived at the gangplank. A woman was trying to board, and the thought of whether they were loyal or rebels reemerged. But taking a chance, he spoke with an Addonian accent, "Let me come with you too and get out of this city alive."

Private Aden Robertson

'Maybe being a merchant wouldn't have been so bad.'

Aden had replayed that thought a decent amount of times over the last two weeks. Usually, he was hunkering in a hastily dug whole or avoiding a spray of rifle fire. At the moment it was brought on by the pillars of smoke and the steady thump of artillery that seemed to encompass all of Inbur. Gunshots from the cities outskirts had spilled over into the commercial districts; whether from partisans, the Calarian vanguard or the stubborn Inburian defenders was anyone's guess.

All Aden knew was that he was sitting at an isolated gate with his marksman's rifle as the rest of the Inburian army left. Leaving orphans like him, survivors of decimated and ravaged formations, behind to buy time for the still intact units.

Necessary but one Aden wouldn't have let happen if he had known what was going on until he had figu-

Gunshots resounded from one of the other posts. Aden turned seeing a figure sprinting from the long deserted guardhouse.

He hadn't even noticed that the kid manning the post had left. The figure was enveloped by the haze that the city seemed to have adopted with the sudden bonfire of it's buildings and materials. The scout losing sight of the intruder in the gloom.

For a split second Aden wondered why he was even bothering. Chances were he was the only man still manning his post here. If he was lucky whoever got here would accept his surrender. If he was unlucky.....

'Too late to quit now.'

He came to the conclusion as he took off after the intruder; his rifle cradled in his arms as the shape of a zeppelin came into view. The last glimpse of the intruder as they vanished from sight at the mouth of the gangplank into the aircraft's gondola. Aden's approach up the gangway was a half cautious trot with his rifle at the ready.

But as he skidded to a stop he became aware of the rather large grouping of individuals within the zeppelin. Apparently, Aden had been the only man to hold his post. Not that the loyalty was doing him any good at the moment. At least one man wore an Inburian Army uniform without the armband of the partisan/rebels.

None of them however appeared to be a military air crew. So he raised his rifle slightly as he became aware of a shotgun wielding man among the collection.

"This is the property of the Inburian military. Identify yourselves."

Which in hindsight was a stupid thing to say given the state of Inbur and the Inburian military in general. Both of which Aden had unfortunately seen degrade to their current state over the last two weeks. He gave a sigh as he lowered the rifle slightly before anyone could reply.

"Wait... Forget that....Let's....Get out of here first..."

It hurt to abandon his duty, however suicidal but he knew the difference between sacrifice and slaughter. Being the rear guard in a burning city was definitely the latter.

-Double post-

"Captain Andreaou," the other soldier introduced himself to the new trooper who had lowwered his weapon, "There is also one Airman here," he said, nodding towards Nikos.

He pauses for a moment then stepped over towards the gang plank, "There are enough people who know this ship to get us into the air. But there is no command structure at the moment. I need volunteers to release the cords holding the ship down. There is a danger that at this point, of the ship taking off.

"So I want someone to find us a rope ladder to drop," he continued, "There must be one here. I don't want any volunteers getting left behind. So who is with me?"

"I'll do it," Zoe jumped in, "You will need to show me what to do though."

"We need to follow the rope and release it from the cleat," Arkadios replied, surprised that she had volunteered, "And if the line starts to move, let go! You can get dragged into the air. People have died."

---

Carter and Christina

Zeppelin #27, Engine Room

---

James climbed up the shaft leading into the belly of the massive airship, his boots echoing faintly against the metal rungs as he ascended. The interior of the dirigible was dimly lit, its maze-like corridors sprawling in a way that felt both familiar and entirely foreign.

He wasn’t sure he was going the right way, but he figured the basic principles of airship design wouldn’t be too far off from those of The Rising Eagle. The engine room was likely near the center of the vessel, where the weight distribution could be balanced. Still, this ship was bigger and more complex than anything he’d flown before, and every turn felt like a gamble.

As he moved cautiously through the corridor, the faint hum of the airship’s systems was interrupted by something else, a muffled voice. James froze, his ears straining to catch the sound. It came again, faint but distinct, echoing through the narrow halls. His heart thudded as he pulled his Harlan pistol from its holster, gripping it tightly as he followed the noise.

The sound led him to a closed compartment door. He pressed his ear against it, trying to discern the tone—angry? Frustrated? Definitely not friendly, but not immediately hostile either. Taking a deep breath, James stepped back and carefully turned the handle, his pistol aimed and ready.

The door creaked open to reveal a woman crammed into what was unmistakably the ship’s bathroom. Her expression was a mix of irritation and indignation, her grease-streaked overalls and disheveled hair adding to the absurdity of the scene. James blinked, his pistol still raised, though he quickly realized how awkward the situation was.

"Uh…" he began, lowering the weapon slightly but keeping it in his hand, "This, uh, isn’t quite what I was expecting." He gestured vaguely with the gun, then realized how unhelpful that was and holstered it.

"Who are you?" Christina demanded, her words tinted by her Calarian accent. "Where is that cretino who locked me up in here? What is going on? Have the People's Army broken through?"

This new man didn't look like he was a member of the People's Army, but he also had a gun. Perhaps her accent would inflame his heart, too?

"I am Christina Ferrari, one of the shipyard mechanics. They asked me to come aboard to repair the engines. I had a work order that other.... man took."

James chuckled softly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk at the lady's manner of speaking, "Well, Ms. Ferrari," he said, rolling the name off his tongue with deliberate ease, " Can’t say I know where the 'cretino' wandered off to, but he didn’t seem all that interested in keeping you company."

He straightened, resting a hand on his hip while keeping his tone light, "Name’s James Carter, and no, I’m not with the People's Army or whatever mess they’ve got this city drowning in. Just a guy trying to get this airship running and maybe not die in the process."

James gestured vaguely toward the corridor behind him, "Now, since you’re a mechanic and you’ve got the magic words ‘repair the engines’ in your repertoire, I’d say you’re exactly who I need right now. Unless you’d rather wait for that revolution outside to come knocking?"

His tone shifted slightly, still easygoing but with an undercurrent of urgency, "So, what’s it gonna be, Ms. Ferrari? Wanna show me how to get this thing off the ground, or do we sit here and hope the next person who shows up isn’t one of those lunatics?"

"Engines can wait," she said, all business as she walks determinedly out of the loo and heading midships. "First we fill the lift cells and get off the ground. Tell that cretino to let go all lines, I will not mind if he is left behind, but my gun I may need later. Or get an axe to cut them, we must rise. Once we in the air where they cannot reach us, we can start the engines."

James nodded, taking in Christina’s sharp, no-nonsense tone. "Fair enough," he said, glancing briefly around the insides of the ship, "The others are already on it, cutting the lines. Told them we don’t have time to waste, and I’m pretty sure they’re not planning on leaving anyone behind. Though, can’t say I’d shed a tear for that guy if they did," He smirked faintly.

He shifted his weight, motioning for her to lead the way, "Alright, Ms. Ferrari, show me where we need to go to fill those cells. I’d rather not stick around to find out how friendly those revolutionaries are with their aim."

As they began moving, he added with a casual shrug, "And don’t worry, we’ll get your gun back soon enough. You can count on that."

"We go aft," Christina pointed. "I show you how to fill midships lift cells. then you go forward and inflate those while I go back and inflate those. Normally, there is many hands, but we have only have our two to do this, so we must hurry."

The giant gas bags were partially inflated, the zeppelin not needing them to maintain its shape. She dug out two pairs of gloves and gave James a pair. "Valve gets very cold when we inflate, will take off skin."

"See that mark?" the engineer said, pointing to the thin silver strip under the gage glass. Taking hold of the large wheel, she turned it, listening to the gas filling the bag. "When needle reach that mark, you close valve tight and go to next. If you cannot get valve to move, there is pipe to stick on the valve and turn it. Got it?"

"Oh, very important!" she yells over the roaring gas. "If you see tear in bag, go to next!"

James nodded, slipping on the gloves Christina had handed him, "Got it," he said, his tone steady, though the urgency in his movements betrayed the tension he felt.

"Turn the valve, watch the needle, close it tight. Move to the next if there’s a tear. Simple enough."

He watched closely as Christina turned the wheel, the roar of gas filling the lift cells echoing through the chamber. The faint chill radiating from the valve made him glad for the gloves—she wasn’t kidding about it taking skin off. James scanned the gauge glass and noted the silver mark she’d pointed out earlier, filing it away as he braced himself to take on his section.

"Alright," he said, moving to his assigned lift cell, "Let’s get this bird ready to fly."

James gripped the wheel and started turning, feeling the vibration of the mechanism beneath his hands. The roar of gas filled the chamber as he worked, his eyes flicking to the gauge every few seconds to watch the needle creep toward the silver strip. A faint hiss from somewhere deeper in the airship made him tense momentarily, but when he couldn’t see any visible tears in his section of the bag, he pressed on.

"You weren’t kidding about needing more hands for this," James called out over the noise, glancing toward Christina. He kept focusing on his task and ensuring the needle stopped exactly at the mark before closing the valve tightly.

Moving to the next cell, he grabbed the pipe Christina mentioned earlier to get a stubborn valve turning, the roar of gas growing louder in his ears. The urgency of the task kept him focused, but his thoughts drifted briefly to how much time they had left before the revolutionaries arrived. He hoped the others were nearly finished with the lines.

"Next one’s good to go," he said aloud, ready to move to the next.

Christina nodded. Already the ship should be starting its journey upwards, a low moan could be heard running down the frame as each bag filled. Outside, it would be hard to see, but the gondola must already be a couple of feet in the air - not yet out of reach. Important was the bags holding the Blau gas, a rip would fill their compartment. If they didn't keep the zeppelin level, it might flow back - towards the engines. Fortunately, they were all cold back there.

Yuri was in the landing field of the Aerodrome as some began arriving, fleeing from the growing chaos. He wasn't surprised, base security had deserted for the most part yesterday. Lucky for the lieutenant his chosen getaway vehicle was not untethered early, he had already loaded and squirreled away his things there so he could lay low. Unlucky part was it was going to be untethered soon, and was rising from the ground.

The signalman was sprinting across the open field towards #27, his air service fatigues rippling in the not-ignorable crosswinds. He was shouting over "Hey! Wait! Wait!" as his lungs burned and legs thundered in urgent bounds. He lept up to the lowered ladder, the lift hadnt put it out of reach yet, but it would be soon as the bouyancy began to shift. He was a fit man, and pulled himself up the ladder with a ferocity.

He would not be left to the Calarians, he had the closest thing to a front row seat to the collapse of the Imperial Army as someone in the capital could have had, reports of broken lines, airship reconnaissance, and confused commands crossed his wires for the last two weeks. He knew only death and chaos would come for him, and as he made it to the top of the ladder, he had a small smile between heaving puffs of breath. He had survived, he had escaped... he had deserted.

The significance of that was not lost on Yuri as he found himself regarding an army captain, his expression evening in a brief lull. He wasn't sure who this man was, but he would raise a salute "Captain." In acknowledgment "Lieutenant Kasrikos, Imperial Air Service Signal Corps, sir." He'd offer sternly in introduction, waiting for acknowledgment even now. Clearly this soldier did not believe the chain of command ever truly failed.

"Glad you had good taste in escape method, wasn't sure if she'd ever take off again."

And manservant

---

Amidst the chaos of the city, the burning buildings the roaring of rifle and machinegun fire near the aerodrome one vehicle stood out from the others. On any other day the appearance of an ivory coloured, gold trimmed Iktani Motors Tochtli Roadster speeding recklessly down the thoroughfare would've spurred angry shouting, perhaps even a police response. Today no one batted an eye.

Rather what set it apart was it leaving the main thoroughfare to drive directly through the fencing to the aerodrome, taking fire from further up the street. One of the occupants was huddled, hands over his head, ducking behind the side-panels while the driver steered the vehicle precariously onto the zeppelin grounds, veering to avoid fire with one hand while firing a pistol over the back of the roadster with the other in the vague direction the rifle rounds had come from.

The zeppelin, it seemed, was already off the ground still tethered by its mooring lines even as people scrambled aboard.

The roadster veered towards the rope ladder on the ground, tires and struts protesting as the vehicle squealed and drifted to a halt next to the ladder. "Get on!" The driver insisted.

The passenger, looking up looked at the ladder, than the enormous travel trunk in the backseat of the roadster. "There's no way to can carry it up there!" He protested.

"Just climb sir."

"That's my life's work Miquiztli, I can't leave it behind! I'd rather die!"

Miquiztli, the driver was already out of the vehicle circling to the passenger side as the rope ladder continued to uncoil. "Get on." It wasn't a question, he hoisted the smaller man by the collar out of the passenger seat and towards the ladder, which the younger man obligingly clung to.

"What's even the point of continuing!? I'm ruined!" The young man exclaimed, looking miserable as the rope ladder began carrying him up into the air.

Miquiztli didn't listen to him, having already leapt back into the driver seat. "I'll see to the mooring lines!" Hitting the gas, the roadster's wheels kicked turf out behind it as the vehicle sped off towards the first set of mooring lines.

Yuri Kasrikos

..
. He wasn't sure who this man was, but he would raise a salute "Captain." In acknowledgment "Lieutenant Kasrikos, Imperial Air Service Signal Corps, sir." He'd offer sternly in introduction, waiting for acknowledgment even now. Clearly this soldier did not believe the chain of command ever truly failed.

"Glad you had good taste in escape method, wasn't sure if she'd ever take off again."

The Captain returned the salute quickly, "Captain Andreaou, East Morktree Regiment of Foot," he introduced himself, "We need to get the cords released so we can take off. There should be others firing up the engines. O I'm going to do that. Care to join me?"

---

The ship was not actually too far off the ground yet and as Arkadios sprinted off to attend to a different mooring line, Zoe, who had dropped down, a little ungracefully, next to him, looked up at the Iktani man on the ladder, "Hold a moment... that trunk has your life's work in it?" she asked, "When you get to the top, toss down two ropes. Your man will want to drive back here to save time on the return and when he does, we will attach one to each end of the trunk and draw it aboard. Or hopefully someone stronger than I will. It wouldn't do to loose a life's work if there is a practical way to save it!"

"For now though," she motioned towards the vanishing figure of Arkadios, "I should probably help with the lines. Better to lose a life's work than your life, after all!" she said with a reassuring smile, though in truth she felt a little concerned. She had a sneaking feeling she recognised the man from somewhere. But she didn't dwell on that. Instead she took off after Arkadios.

And manservant

---

Zoe Spyrou

The ship was not actually too far off the ground yet and as Arkadios sprinted off to attend to a different mooring line, Zoe, who had dropped down, a little ungracefully, next to him, looked up at the Iktani man on the ladder, "Hold a moment... that trunk has your life's work in it?" she asked, "When you get to the top, toss down two ropes. Your man will want to drive back here to save time on the return and when he does, we will attach one to each end of the trunk and draw it aboard. Or hopefully someone stronger than I will. It wouldn't do to loose a life's work if there is a practical way to save it!"

"For now though," she motioned towards the vanishing figure of Arkadios, "I should probably help with the lines. Better to lose a life's work than your life, after all!" she said with a reassuring smile, though in truth she felt a little concerned. She had a sneaking feeling she recognised the man from somewhere. But she didn't dwell on that. Instead she took off after Arkadios.

The man, clinging to the rope ladder like a forlorn baby-sloth looked up - holding his bright red tophat to his head and his eyes grew wide as he beheld Zoe above him. At her words his expression immediately melted away into a bright smile. "My lady! You've saved the life of Chamer of Auhque Cōātl. I shall not forget!" His accent was a strange blend of aristocratic Inburian, intruded upon occasionally by hints of Iktani.

At the prospect of saving his trunk though Chamer seemed to come alive. He pulled himself upward, shimmying upward like a drowning swimmer breaking toward the surface, or a man who'd been a top-rigger his whole life and once there threw down the ropes.

"Let's see to those lines then!" And like a bucaneer he seized one of the ropes and swung down waiving and shouting after the vehicle.

Post Captain Le Marinier

Hopes small flame.
Escape or Die.

Well things took a rapid turn for the worst, it seemed the protocol of asking for permission was not going to be a problem, he had asked as captains where jumpy and he did not want to get killed by a panicked soldier or someone who was too jumpy to tell a uniform apart. No gangplank it seemed, they were already preparing for a rapid takeoff.

Nothing for it, chaos was the order of the day as he stowed his gun and grabbed for a rope ladder. He was not used to this but old skills never truly faded and chambered his way onto the boards of the airship checking he had not dropped anything, tossing the old paper map he took from a soldier that was now entirely useless. “A Small chance is better than no chance” He said to himself as he came aboard number 27, maybe they would be caught, shot down or worse. But this was his only chance he saw.

He looked about for the door that would be most like a bridge, somewhere He could get some direction. This ship had to have a captain, an officer met, air or sea. They Had to have someone in charge to be able to take off. Following a captain, any captain was the least thing he could understand and make sense of.

“Who Is in charge, and what can I do to help?” He asked as he walked in looking for someone to reveal themselves as taking Leadership. “I served aboard a dreadnought as a gunnery officer. Hamerlin, Favis Navy or was before I took a desk job.” He said, introductions could wait for formality and time to do them properly.

“I just Lost a few bits in the career change.” He joked darkly as he had an eye patch and Several fingers replaced on his right hand.

Just had to wait for orders.

Giogoula "Giogio" Giorgiou

Giogio was walking through the streets as the chaos ensued, resting her right hand on her holstered revolver in case she needs it as she finds her to escape the capital. War came to Inbur rather suddenly, the Imperial Army was unprepared for a two front war and the horrors that the Calarians employed. She saw one of her police colleagues captured by the columnists and executed for "counterrevolutionary activities." Giogio isn't going to risk staying in the city, despite her working class background. She spent the past months infiltrating commmunalist groups in the city and the chance of some fifth columnist recognizing her is too high for her to stay.

During her escape, she avoided any armed men, regardless of the uniforms or armbands they're wearing. She made her way to what looks like a military area, seemingly still under the control of the Army, or at least not wresting control against the rebels. It did looked like she went through the part of the city that has to fall under the Calarians or the insurrectionists, but that is likely to be only temporary since the military is withdrawing from the city itself.

Giogio saw a bunch of people, civilians no doubt, at the area scrambling to get onto a military zeppelin with the number 27. This could be her chance to escape the city, maybe head to a safe zone where her family could be. She picked up the pace, no way she's going to be left to the hands of the Calarians or the Insurrectionists.

Luckily, she made it to the ladder and began to climb.

Bedlam

To say things were a tad chaotic at #27s entry was an understatement, but considering the burning city, it was not unexpected. Seeing as no-one seemed to object to her, she turned to start towards one of the mooring lines when some flashy motorcar came barreling in, disgorging some fluttery looking fop, before slamming into gear and charging off toward far mooring lines. As the driver put it in gear, Itzi leapt onto the passenger running board and grabbed a hold.

”HEY!” She called out, pointing to a mooring line. ”Slow and swing by that one, I’ll bail out and get it untied while you get the other!” The driver startled at her sudden arrival, but then nodded and swung towards the direction of her pointing. Slowing the car to a brisk jog, Itzi bailed, intending to hit the ground running…sadly that was not to be.

Her stride was off as she hit, resulting in a stumble; fortunately she was able to catch herself enough so that instead of faceplanting, she merely fell and rolled. Unfortunately, as she rolled, her pistol went flying, landing hard on its backstrap. It impact dislodged the trigger seer and the gun fired once before locking open. ”Mierda…” She muttered as she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved the gun. Closing the action, she tucked it away again before jogging over to the mooring line and unfastening it in short order. Line handling like this was something she could almost do in her sleep. With others seeming to be streaming towards the remaining mooring lines, she headed back towards the gondola and hopefully escape from this damned city.

---

Puskurunuwa had come to the barrack huts during the dead of night. In the dark it was still easy to slip past the soldiers. Not that it mattered in the end. He'd only just begun his search when sirens started blaring and the camp emptied out entirety, just as large shadows passed behind dark clouds. More air raids. Nuwa left his concealed nook between a desk and the wall. Not that it mattered in the end. His family wasn't there, and prisoners weren't being held above ground anymore. Assuming it had even been the city’s soldiers attacking them in the first place. There had been men in uniforms, but with the city in such desperate chaos...

The rear entrance of the hut took him outside, to a large clearing. Nuwa’s eyes widened as he sprinted closer to the mass in the center of it. An airship. A real, proper airship on the ground and so much closer than the mere glimpses between the clouds he'd seen before.

"Looks a lot bigger down here." He muttered, mostly to himself, while surveying the area for any remaining soldiers. There were none to be found, no one watching the anchoring ropes, or watching the gondola’s entrance. So small, compared to the balloon rigging above it.

Just imagine swinging from the ropes of that thing in the air...

Nuwa knew Kypros wasn't really beside him, chatting in his ear. It was all in his mind, a figment of his imagination that he'd conjured to comfort him since they'd gotten separated half a week before. The knowledge did little to reduce the shock that came when the voices spoke on their own accord, unprompted and unbidden.

It’d be like real flying.

The ghost of his aerial partner finished the thought and Nuwa smiled at the memory of their shared dream. Real or not, Kypros’ echo was at least solace for the panic making Nuwa’s heart race.

"Would get a right smack on the return," He whispered in response, as though Kypros was indeed beside him. He pointed out the slack on the ropes, the divots in the bladder to demonstrate his meaning. "It's not quite ready to go yet. Filled and in the air you wouldn't be able to stick the landing."

We'd catch you.

The smile faltered as easily as it came. Nuwa cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to relieve himself of the distraction. It was hardly the time to reminisce, the sounds of panicked rioting were only getting louder. Without waiting for input from a ghost companion or his own better judgment, he climbed into the airship's gondola. There was quiet shouting to the right so he veered left to be greeted by a room full of panels, levers, and buttons. It all looked rather important for the purposes of getting off the ground and completely beyond Nuwa’s understanding.

More footsteps prevented him from doing anything foolish so he exited the cockpit through a second doorway and found himself in a corridor. One long window spanned almost the entire length. For now it only displayed the flat ground of its landing pad but once they were airborne... The idea almost gave Nuwa enough excitement to forget his panic, and the approaching footsteps. Almost.

With renewed speed, he scanned for a place to hide. Upon investigation he found the ceiling panels opened- but were stuffed with strapped canvas bags filled with what felt like soft fabric. He removed three, and kicked them under a bench, in hope they wouldn't be noticed before takeoff. It was a tight fit, but Nuwa hoisted himself into the small alcove, and folded himself behind more of the bags before closing the panel behind him. Only when it clicked shut did he consider whether or not he'd be able to open it again from the inside. It was too late for anything to be done however, as brisk footsteps approached, only to fade just as quickly. All that was left to do was wait until they were in the air. If he made enough noise to be found once they were already in the air he could hardly be tossed off the side, right?

You're going to leave us here?

Nuwa nearly gasped. Her voice. But it couldn't be Stelia whispering to him, even less than it could have been Kypros, because Stelia was still on the gravel by the docks; an officer's boot at her neck, her face draining into the same pale grey as her unblinking eyes and- A choked half sob escaped his throat. The sound was real enough to force him out of the nightmare and listen for any sign his presence had been noticed. There was nothing, except-

We’re supposed to stick together, why aren't we coming with you?

Nuwa shook his head; as best he could in the confined space. He wanted to argue. He had looked but was met with fire, and gunshots, and screaming, and he...

You're running away

We waited for you Nuwa

Did you even try?

A deep, reverberating groan interrupted the twins' torrent of accusatory whispers. Nuwa blinked in the dark, unaware of how much time had passed. The sound finally gave way to a more gentle whirring of machines, and gradually, Nuwa felt the bags shifting around him. With nothing solid to hold on to, he slid along with them, eventually ramming into the wall of the alcove with a thump loud enough to make him wince from the resulting pain and sound. More footsteps came and went along the hallway below him: louder, and and with an urgency that had been lacking before. The ship was alive and beginning to move.

Nuwa was going to leave Inbur.

He cringed at the thought, anticipating more admonishment from ghosts, but they remained silent. There was only the hum of engines and hissing of pneumatic pipes.

Feeling braver, he let the exileration wash over him. Puskurunuwa Petrides was going to fly out of Inbur.

The mix of fear and excitement quickly overcame good sense and Nuwa found himself attempting to shuffle on his back along the ceiling, fruitlessly kicking in search of a loose panel; desperate to catch a glimpse of the ground disappearing below.