InfamousGuy101

Empire of the Clouds

“There are a bunch of men on horseback from the ridge!” she shouted, not giving Itzi a time to respond. “Alert the others for a possible withdrawal! Can’t tell of they’re friendly or not!”

Giogoula then shut off the phone and climbed back up to the top of the balloon. If things get dicey, then the machine gun nest at the top will be of good use to the crew.

@Badarby

Itzi had spent the better part of the previous evening teaching Zano the basics of piloting the airship and finally managing to get some much-needed rest. Now, as dawn painted the horizon in soft hues of gold and pink, she found herself at the bridge, scanning the systems. Everything appeared to be running smoothly, but her stomach growled in protest, reminding her of the mess hall just a short walk away.

As she turned, the urgent call came over the wired system, followed by a horn blast that nearly made her jump.

Snatching a pair of binoculars, Itzi spotted the riders in the distance, their silhouettes unmistakable against the ridgeline. Her heart sank. “Craps,” she muttered, sprinting to the horn and slamming it into action. “Emergency! We’ve got hostiles incoming!”

---

Down on the yard, Carter was loading the last of the crates onto a cart when the horn's blare broke the morning calm. His head snapped up to see Itzi leaning out from the bridge, frantically pointing toward the horizon. Following her gesture, his gaze landed on the incoming riders cresting the ridgeline. The tension in his body snapped into focus as he registered the danger.

“Get the ship ready, Itzi!” he barked, his voice cutting through the early dawn. His shotgun came off his shoulder, and he racked a round of buckshot with a loud, metallic shink-shink. Turning to the others nearby, he shouted, “Hustle! Let's get the last crates aboard, now! We’re not sticking around to make friends!”

He positioned himself near the cart, keeping his eyes on the advancing riders, though they may not know who they were he knew the chances of them being friends was slim at best, “Let’s move, people! They’re not here for tea!”

Smoke and Steel

Name: Alberic Thorel
Species/Race: Monchian
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Court Alignment: White Wyvern + The Dawnbringer
Role: Captain & Personal Guard of the Dawnbringer
Appearance:

Hider

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:
Combat Expertise: Alberic is a seasoned fighter, skilled in the use of various weapons such as swords, firearms, and naval tactics. His Corsair background has honed his abilities in both skirmishes and larger battles, making him a valuable asset in combat situations. He is also capable of swimming, as most Monchians are.

Loyalty and Dedication: Once Alberic gives his loyalty, he is unwavering. His commitment to Aonène and the cause of the Dawnbringer is steadfast, even when faced with personal challenges or competing goals like his quest for vengeance.

Unconventional Fighter: Alberic is an experienced strategist, especially in unconventional warfare. His time with the Corsairs taught him to outmaneuver larger, better-equipped forces, which translates well to land battles.

Resilience and Endurance: Alberic’s difficult past has made him physically and emotionally tough. He can endure harsh conditions and recover from setbacks quickly.

Weaknesses:

Revenge-Driven: Alberic’s fixation on finding Warin Montfault can cloud his judgment and lead him to prioritize personal vendettas over the broader goals of the cause, putting himself and others at risk.

Reluctant Diplomat: While capable of inspiring those under his command, Alberic struggles with the more delicate aspects of diplomacy, often favoring bluntness over tact, which can alienate potential allies though it may have an positive effect on certain individuals.

Haunted by the Past: The trauma of losing his family and his inability to save his sister weigh heavily on him, sometimes leading to bouts of self-doubt or impulsive behavior.

Background:

Backstory: Born 30 years ago in the bustling port city of Vich, Alberic Thorel was the son of humble merchant parents. His early years were spent learning the intricacies of commerce and seafaring, skills passed down from his father, a seasoned trader navigating the Circle Sea. Alberic’s childhood brimmed with the clamor of docks, the salt tang of the sea, and bustling trade with distant lands. His father taught him the art of ship handling, haggling, and discerning quality goods—a foundation for a promising future in trade.

Fate, however, had other plans. On a routine voyage, Alberic's family ship was ambushed by the notorious pirates of Emiddley, long-time enemies of Vich. Despite their valiant defense with limited weapons, they were overpowered. Alberic's father fell first, protecting his son, while his mother and younger brother were ruthlessly gunned down. Alberic fought fiercely to protect his sister, Meli, but was overwhelmed. He watched in horror as the pirates dragged Meli away, their leader—Warin "Grey Beard" Montfault—mocking him with a chilling promise: "The seas shall bring you no mercy, boy."

Left for dead on the sinking vessel, Alberic felt the cold embrace of the sea pulling him under. Yet, as darkness encroached, he awoke aboard another ship. The Corsairs of Vich had intervened too late to save his family but in time to save him. Towering above the injured boy stood Gerart of the Corsair League, an imposing figure with white hair, a scarred face. Despite his intimidating appearance, Gerart's voice was kind. “You have spirit,” he told Alberic. “Join us, fight for justice, and bring honor to Vich.”

With nothing left to lose, Alberic accepted the Corsair’s offer, setting him on a path of vengeance and transformation.

Under Gerart’s mentorship, Alberic grew into a formidable Corsair. He fought against Emiddleyan raiders, Orcs from the Blighted Lands, and even encountered Filipanasans from the mysterious east. Each victory sharpened his skills and brought him closer to avenging his family. His ultimate target was Warin "Grey Beard," the man responsible for his family's demise, but Montfault had vanished, rumored to have fled to the mainland.

Determined to track him down, Alberic proposed a reconnaissance mission to the Inburian coast, ostensibly to scout Haltian shipping routes. Gerart, though suspecting Alberic’s ulterior motives, approved the mission. Alberic’s ship, however, was ambushed by the Halthians. Their caravel was destroyed in a fiery explosion, and Alberic was captured, bound for the Haltian-controlled mainland.

Alberic’s captivity ended when he was freed by two unlikely individuals: Vassos, a deserting Haltian Owned Man, and Andronika Hasikos, a sharp-witted peasant girl revealed to be a descendant of the old Inburian dynasty. Together, they liberated a group of prisoners, including Aonène de Bellièvre, a fellow Monchian. Their escape marked the beginning of a rebellion against the Haltian Empire.

As the group faced numerous trials, Aonène’s true identity emerged. Her sword glowed with a divine light, revealing her as the prophesied Dawnbringer, destined to save the world from the Blight. For Alberic, the revelation was transformative. No longer driven solely by revenge, he saw Aonène as the Uniter of the Circle, capable of ending the centuries-old feud between Vich and Emiddley and leading the Isles to greatness.

Despite his newfound purpose, Alberic’s quest for vengeance against Montfault lingered like a shadow. The two paths—duty and revenge—pulled at him, forcing him to confront the man he had become and the man he wished to be.

Alberic fought alongside Andronika and Aonène to repel a Haltian army at Tregodwig. The victory was hard-won, solidifying their status as a force to be reckoned with and most importantly fortifying Alberic's faith in Aonène. Following this triumph, Alberic was dispatched to the coast to secure an alliance with Coralie D’Ambois, the cunning, powerful yet unpredictable Corsair empress. As Alberic approaches the sprawling Corsair encampment, he reflects on how far he had come. From a boy seeking vengeance to a man standing at the crossroads of history, he knows the stakes havd never been higher and with the war barely beginning the question remains: can he reconcile his personal quest with his duty to the Dawnbringer and the future she promised?

Empire of the Clouds

---

Smoke and Steel

Was in the old thread as you know, but for the benefit of new players knowledge;

Name: Alberic Thorel
Species/Race: Monchian
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Court Alignment: White Wyvern + The Dawnbringer
Role: Captain & Personal Guard of the Dawnbringer
Appearance:

Hider

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:
Combat Expertise: Alberic is a seasoned fighter, skilled in the use of various weapons such as swords, firearms, and naval tactics. His Corsair background has honed his abilities in both skirmishes and larger battles, making him a valuable asset in combat situations. He is also capable of swimming, as most Monchians are.

Loyalty and Dedication: Once Alberic gives his loyalty, he is unwavering. His commitment to Aonène and the cause of the Dawnbringer is steadfast, even when faced with personal challenges or competing goals like his quest for vengeance.

Unconventional Fighter: Alberic is an experienced strategist, especially in unconventional warfare. His time with the Corsairs taught him to outmaneuver larger, better-equipped forces, which translates well to land battles.

Resilience and Endurance: Alberic’s difficult past has made him physically and emotionally tough. He can endure harsh conditions and recover from setbacks quickly.

Weaknesses:

Revenge-Driven: Alberic’s fixation on finding Warin Montfault can cloud his judgment and lead him to prioritize personal vendettas over the broader goals of the cause, putting himself and others at risk.

Reluctant Diplomat: While capable of inspiring those under his command, Alberic struggles with the more delicate aspects of diplomacy, often favoring bluntness over tact, which can alienate potential allies though it may have an positive effect on certain individuals.

Haunted by the Past: The trauma of losing his family and his inability to save his sister weigh heavily on him, sometimes leading to bouts of self-doubt or impulsive behavior.

Background:

Backstory: Born 30 years ago in the bustling port city of Vich, Alberic Thorel was the son of humble merchant parents. His early years were spent learning the intricacies of commerce and seafaring, skills passed down from his father, a seasoned trader navigating the Circle Sea. Alberic’s childhood brimmed with the clamor of docks, the salt tang of the sea, and bustling trade with distant lands. His father taught him the art of ship handling, haggling, and discerning quality goods—a foundation for a promising future in trade.

Fate, however, had other plans. On a routine voyage, Alberic's family ship was ambushed by the notorious pirates of Emiddley, long-time enemies of Vich. Despite their valiant defense with limited weapons, they were overpowered. Alberic's father fell first, protecting his son, while his mother and younger brother were ruthlessly gunned down. Alberic fought fiercely to protect his sister, Meli, but was overwhelmed. He watched in horror as the pirates dragged Meli away, their leader—Warin "Grey Beard" Montfault—mocking him with a chilling promise: "The seas shall bring you no mercy, boy."

Left for dead on the sinking vessel, Alberic felt the cold embrace of the sea pulling him under. Yet, as darkness encroached, he awoke aboard another ship. The Corsairs of Vich had intervened too late to save his family but in time to save him. Towering above the injured boy stood Gerart of the Corsair League, an imposing figure with white hair, a scarred face. Despite his intimidating appearance, Gerart's voice was kind. “You have spirit,” he told Alberic. “Join us, fight for justice, and bring honor to Vich.”

With nothing left to lose, Alberic accepted the Corsair’s offer, setting him on a path of vengeance and transformation.

Under Gerart’s mentorship, Alberic grew into a formidable Corsair. He fought against Emiddleyan raiders, Orcs from the Blighted Lands, and even encountered Filipanasans from the mysterious east. Each victory sharpened his skills and brought him closer to avenging his family. His ultimate target was Warin "Grey Beard," the man responsible for his family's demise, but Montfault had vanished, rumored to have fled to the mainland.

Determined to track him down, Alberic proposed a reconnaissance mission to the Inburian coast, ostensibly to scout Haltian shipping routes. Gerart, though suspecting Alberic’s ulterior motives, approved the mission. Alberic’s ship, however, was ambushed by the Halthians. Their caravel was destroyed in a fiery explosion, and Alberic was captured, bound for the Haltian-controlled mainland.

Alberic’s captivity ended when he was freed by two unlikely individuals: Vassos, a deserting Haltian Owned Man, and Andronika Hasikos, a sharp-witted peasant girl revealed to be a descendant of the old Inburian dynasty. Together, they liberated a group of prisoners, including Aonène de Bellièvre, a fellow Monchian. Their escape marked the beginning of a rebellion against the Haltian Empire.

As the group faced numerous trials, Aonène’s true identity emerged. Her sword glowed with a divine light, revealing her as the prophesied Dawnbringer, destined to save the world from the Blight. For Alberic, the revelation was transformative. No longer driven solely by revenge, he saw Aonène as the Uniter of the Circle, capable of ending the centuries-old feud between Vich and Emiddley and leading the Isles to greatness.

Despite his newfound purpose, Alberic’s quest for vengeance against Montfault lingered like a shadow. The two paths—duty and revenge—pulled at him, forcing him to confront the man he had become and the man he wished to be.

Alberic fought alongside Andronika and Aonène to repel a Haltian army at Tregodwig. The victory was hard-won, solidifying their status as a force to be reckoned with and most importantly fortifying Alberic's faith in Aonène. Following this triumph, Alberic was dispatched to the coast to secure an alliance with Coralie D’Ambois, the cunning, powerful yet unpredictable Corsair empress. As Alberic approaches the sprawling Corsair encampment, he reflects on how far he had come. From a boy seeking vengeance to a man standing at the crossroads of history, he knows the stakes havd never been higher and with the war barely beginning the question remains: can he reconcile his personal quest with his duty to the Dawnbringer and the future she promised?

Smoke and Steel (A pike and shot era RP concept)

Character drafting (if, of course, there is room for newcomers—I'm sure you're giving priority seating to people already playing in Circled Sea games). Do any of these factions operate from a position of secrecy, or are all the major claimants declared and accounted for in the coming conflict? And what phase has the fighting reached, if at all?

@TokyoPewPew

One of the Co-Ops here, you can hop on this without having played the previous thread, it isnt absolutely necessary. At the present moment the fighting has been only at its first stages, with the battle of Trefgodwic (a town outside the empire) In the previous thread having been arguably the starting point of this wider war. And while the two warring elven brothers have gone at it as well, the war has barely begun. DB could correct me with this but so far all factions have made their presence known.

Empire of the Clouds

Loading Up

---

Cowritten by @Dyelli Beybi, @InfamousGuy101, @Bingelly, @PrinceAlexus, @Tesserach, @Expendable

---

James wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he heaved another heavy crate of gold onto the cart. The weight of the bars was impressive to say the least; he could feel the strain in his arms and shoulders even as he moved with practiced efficiency. His shotgun hung casually over his shoulder, it felt heavier now.

As he straightened up and stretched his back, his gaze landed on Volodar, who was himself busy stacking another cart with crates, all with a precision that only an elf could manage. Carter smirked, a flicker of amusement lighting up his tired expression.

“This should be a good haul,” he said, his tone half-approving, half-wry, his eyes looking out into the horizon in an empty gaze, “Though I’ve gotta say, a crane wouldn’t go amiss right about now.” Slinging the shotgun over his other shoulder, he glanced back at Volodar, his smirk widening. “Unless, of course, you’ve got some secret elvish magic you’ve been hiding. Levitate these crates into the airship, and you’d be my new favorite person.”

"I assure you, Mister Carter," Volodar replied as pushed the laden cart. "If I had such capabilities, I wouldn't be so foolish as to treat them like a showman waiting for the most entertaining moment. Such gifts may have saved me quite a bit of trouble in the past."

Chamer commented, wheeling past the pair. His cowboy vest and jacket had been shed on a nearby tree, his clean shirt soaked through at this point with stains of sweat. "Lighten up fellows." He chided. "We're moving divisions' worth of supplies. Just us and our bare hands! Right out from under communalist noses. And then we're going to fly off with it into the sunset." There's a boyish grin Chamer wore then that made it sound even more outlandish, and yet, the man had simply given a literal description of what they were doing. "You ever pull off a coup quite like this in all your years Volodar?"

"In terms of treasure?" The elf cocked an eyebrow. "Never, at least as quickly as this, though I can recall far more audacious escapades and equally historic events." He paused speaking for a moment, and look of warm reminiscence swept away Volodar's usually cold expression. "I fought for Equaterra during it's war for independence. I was a revolutionary for a brief moment, more out of boredom than anything else, but it was a cause and it paid well after they won. My commercial ventures elsewhere certainly benefitted as well. I did, however, eventually have to flee the country after some impropriety concerning the newly-established President's wife."

Chamer smiled, looking to Carter and pointing at Volodor with a wide grin. "See there, that's a man that knows how to live a life!" He looked back to Volodor. "One day you and I need to go drinking together sir."

Carter let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at Volodar’s tale. “Well, I’ll hand it to you, Volodar—scandal with a president’s wife? That’s a top-tier way to leave a country. Makes this whole gold venture seem boring by comparison...” He glanced at Chamer, smirking, "That’s a life well lived if I’ve ever heard one.” Makes you wonder how we measure up.”

As they pushed their carts along the uneven ground, Carter’s tone shifted, still conversational but more thoughtful. “You know, I’ve always wondered about elves—how you lot live so long, see so much. Must be something, having centuries to work with. Makes you think about all the stuff you could do if you had the time. Guess us humans, we don’t get that luxury, but maybe that’s the point.”

"An elgan baker in Ustantaka and a human baker in Carnelfenney live very similar lives, Mister Carter." Volodar replied. "The elgan baker is still only a baker. His human counterpart still wakes up in the morning, warms the oven, and kneads the dough, and bakes the bread quite similarly to the elgan until he dies."

Carter stopped pushing the cart for a moment, looking over at Volodar with a thoughtful expression. “You’ve got a point, Volodar, but here’s the thing; your elgan baker’s got centuries. Maybe he gets complacent, figuring there’s always time to perfect his loaf.” He shrugged, brushing sweet against his forearm, “The human baker? He knows he’s got a few decades if he’s lucky. That kind of pressure makes him push harder, try new things, and maybe even outdo the guy with all the time in the world.”

He started pushing the cart again, smirking slightly, “Sometimes not having forever is what keeps you sharp."

"That's a rather romantic notion regarding the capabilities of one's race." Volodar paused for a moment as wiped the sweat from his eyes. Notably, he did not return Carter's glance as he returned his attention to the cart. "But I can assure you that laziness and complacency is as much a human sin as it is an elgan one."

"If I had to spend four centuries of life doing nothing but baking bread, I'd put a bullet in my own head." Chamer commented. "That or become a Communalist."

"I would contemplate it as well, I am sure," Volodar agreed, "Falling upon my sword, that is to say, not joining the rabble."

Suddenly there was the crack of gunfire from the ramparts above, followed by a faint yelp. A few moments later, before there was a chance to truly react, Zoe appeared, waving sheepishly, "Don't mind me! Little mistake... I was figuring out how your funny foreign gun works!"

Chamer was suddenly frozen in place, his own pistol suddenly out of it's holster and in his hand, though he now seemed uncertain what he was doing with it as his eyes glanced up in Zoe's direction.

Beside him the wheelbarrow he'd been hauling gold in was tipped on its side, several gold bars scattered on the ground.

"Sorry!" she called, without sounding particularly sorry, "Now I know what not to do!"

Carter had already shouldered his shotgun at the sound of the crack, his eyes snapping upward in the direction of the ramparts. He exhaled sharply through his nose when Zoe’s sheepish waving came into view. Lowering the shotgun slightly, he muttered, “Just a negligent discharge… though not sure that’s much better.” He cast a quick glance at the others, “Anyone within a mile or two now knows we’re here. Great.”

He waved a hand urgently toward the carts, “Let’s get these loaded before we’ve got company.”

The group moved quickly now, the airship looming larger as they approached.

---

Nikos swore, tearing down the ladder to the hold and racing over to the Inburian rifle he'd left leaning by the dumbwaiter. Plucking it up, he worked the bolt, loading one round, then darted over to the open hatch and peering around the edge worriedly.

Were the communists here? Was someone shooting at them? Did the missing detachment of guards finally showed up? Or was someone signaling for help?

He gritted his teeth.

Didn't they have the guns manned? Why wasn't anyone saying something?

"Oy!" he called out nervously, "Who's out there? Identify yourself!"

Carter shook his head, his voice carrying a reassuring drawl as he called up to Nikos, “Relax there, partner. We’re not about to get rustled. It’s just us, and Miss Zoe decided to play sharpshooter with the sky. Turns out, she’s not much of a marksman!”

He gestured toward the carts stacked with crates as he stepped closer to the ship. “Now, seeing as we’re all in one piece and no reds are swarming us yet, mind giving us a hand getting these crates into the hold!?" He paused, smirking slightly. “Unless you’re too busy with that rifle of yours!”

"There is a war on, you know!" Nikos blustered, lowering the rifle and engaged the safety. "How do we know there's not some hidden crack force of communists that took out the guards before we got here?"

Setting the rifle aside, he walked over to the first cart and with a grunt, shoved one end of the crate over so he could grab ahold of it.

"Well, someone grab the other end!" he scowled. "How many bars are in this, anyway? I was told to keep a count."

"We know there isn't any crack communalists here because the fortress wasn't ransacked by fighting, and the amount of gold already missing means whoever was here left in lorries or with horse carts!" Volodar shouted back as he moved forward hurriedly to take the other end of the box. "Likely a dozen or so delivery bars in here," the Elgan continued, "but open the box and count once this batch is loaded if you must."

"What the Frak is going on, did someone discharge faster than a sailor in their first Pirate patrol." Their was no follow up fire and no signs of enemy as Hamelin panted slightly, he had a heavy wrench in one hand and a Revolver in other having armed himself incase they had a stowaway of the hostile kind.

"Hoists everyone... we did not load main guns with muscles. We used chains and rams... mechanical advantage. Someone's gonna break bones doing it like damn chain gangs.

One at ramp but i can get on here quickly set up."

Hamelin pointed to a block and tackle system he had arranged. He was a little annoyed but also he saw it as his responsibility to mean they did not get people hurt, when he could find ways to prevent it. He was a Officer, he had a duty even if was confused who it was to in present case.

Unless they wanted to make it harder anyways... and be idiots.

Carter smirked at Hamelin, giving the man a nod of approval as he slung his shotgun over his shoulder, “Now there’s some common sense! Glad someone’s thinking ahead—beats snapping a back trying to muscle these crates around.”

Not long after, a platform began to lower, creaking slightly as it reached the ground. Carter wasted no time, moving quickly to load the crates of gold onto it with practiced efficiency. “Let’s get these beauties stacked and up top,” he called, motioning for the others to lend a hand. “No sense in dragging this out longer than it has to be.”

Once the platform was loaded, Carter stepped back and signaled to Hamelin. “All set—send her up!” He watched as the mechanism lifted the platform, carrying its golden haul skyward. Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he turned to the group with a satisfied nod. “Good progress, folks. At this rate, we might just have everything packed up by tomorrow—if luck’s still on our side.” He allowed himself a brief grin.

Empire of the Clouds

James Carter & Itzi Ku

//Snip//

@Dyelli Beybi

"Oh, I’ll be just fine, Miss Spyrou,” Carter replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “But you’re right about one thing, we need someone to cover at the helm...” He reached for his Harlan shotgun, checking the chambers and sliding fresh shells into place with the precision of a man who’d done it a thousand times before, “Ms. Ku’s shown she’s got the grit for this job. I’ll rest easy knowing she’s keeping this girl steady.”

Itzi gave an exaggerated salute, her grin confident as ever, “Don’t you worry! I’ll keep her flying—long as you don’t get yourself shot down there.” She leaned back, fingers tapping idly against the helm, projecting an air of calm that belied the subtle worry in her eyes.

//Snip//

@PrinceAlexus

Carter turned his attention to Hamerlin, nodding at the Favian officer’s input but frowning faintly, “I hear you. Heavy lifting like that’s going to be a chore, and I’d rather have someone who knows their way around hauling munitions than a bunch of green hands fumbling with crates.” He hesitated for a beat, his voice taking on a tone of concern, “But let’s not kid ourselves, you’re not exactly fresh off the docks, and we’re gonna need some of those soldier boys pulling their weight on the ground, too. Gold or not, there’s no sense risking a pulled back when we’ve got able bodies standing around.”

//Snip//

@Bingelly

As Volodar spoke, Carter’s expression didn’t shift, though the faint glint in his eyes showed amusement. The Elf’s distaste was as clear as the polished steel on his sword, but Carter kept his tone light, “Anchoring the ship properly is priority one, and we can rig it to get her airborne again fast if things go sideways. A quick touch-and-go, so we don’t spend more time on the ground than we need to.” He paused, loading the last shell into his shotgun with a click before locking it shut, “And I agree with you, Lord Volodar," the title rolled off his tongue with an certain degree of mockery, "Endurance counts for plenty. We’ll need capable men out there.” Carter’s lips curled faintly, his tone edged with subtle irony, “But let’s make sure they’re capable in all the ways that matter. We can’t afford to let anything petty slow us down.”

“Alright then. Let’s get this circus rolling. Anyone who's coming with the ground team, gear up. Keep sharp, keep quick, and for the love of all things holy, don’t dawdle.”

Empire of the Clouds

James Carter & Itzi Ku

Carter’s jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the fortress below with unease eyes.The lack of movement, no ground crew, no vehicles, nothing, it all set every instinct on edge. His fingers adjusted the trim controls reflexively, steadying the ship as they hovered over the open ground to the east. “You really want to send people down there? A gold reserve fortress just sitting there, doors wide open like an invitation?” He shot a glance at Arkadios and Zoe before looking to Itzi “Feels more like a trap than an opportunity.”

Itzi’s brow furrowed as she kept a steady hand on the controls, her gaze flicking back to Carter, “Maybe they pulled back to a more defensible position. Or hell, maybe there’s just a skeleton crew inside, waiting for orders. Either way, we need the fuel, and whatever supplies they’ve got. That gold won’t carry itself if we’re running on fumes.” She let out a small breath, clearly trying to sound more confident than she felt, “We can’t just sit up here. Someone’s gotta go take a look.”

Carter gave her a skeptical look, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah, you're right with the fuel at least... someone’s gotta look..." He adjusted the altitude controls, lowering the airship just enough for the hanging ladder to dangle within reach of the field below, “We’ll have it hover here, a ground team can descend and anchor it. I don’t like it, but it’s the best we’ve got.” His look over at Itzi, “Keep this girl warm. If something goes sideways, we’ll need to haul out of here fast.”

As the ship steadied in position, Carter unholstered his Harlan pistol, flipping it open to check the rounds before snapping it shut, he looked at Arkadios "I'll head down there with whoever else goes, mine as well have people who can fight volunteer. But if anything seems fishy we gotta bail fast..."

Empire of the Clouds

The Stowaway, The Pilot and the Mechanic

Itzi finds out of a particular stowaway.

Co-Written by @InfamousGuy101, @Expendable and @Tackytaff

---

After his attempts at brute forcing his way out of the air-ship's ceiling proved fruitless, Puskurunuwa had begun wandering the space above the gondola's main floor. It was a tedious process, slow-going and painful to crawl his folded body through the tight passages, dragging his carry-sack behind to result in what must have been a terrible scraping noise to those below.

Only when he felt he couldn't move any further did he stop to rest. As his breathing settled, his functioning senses returned to him in the darkness. The sounds of the ship were still pronounced, but they sounded farther away than before.

Meanwhile, Itzi lay sprawled on the small cot in her chosen room, a cluttered yet oddly cozy space nestled close to the engines. The rhythmic hum of machinery vibrating through the walls was oddly soothing to her—like the heartbeat of the ship. The room was modest, with little more than a bed, a side table, and a small porthole letting in the faint light, but it felt like hers. She liked the warmth radiating from the nearby pipes and the faint scent of oil and grease that reminded her of home, back when she used to tinker in her father's workshop.

Propped up on one elbow, Itzi idly flipped through the pages of a worn journal she'd brought along—a mixture of personal sketches and half-baked designs for mechanical contraptions. One of the pages showed a crude schematic for an improved carburetor she’d once dreamed of building, the margins littered with notes and doodles. With a pencil in hand, she made a few idle adjustments to the drawing, her thoughts wandering. This wasn’t exactly the life she’d planned for herself, but as she scribbled ideas for a compact engine-powered tool, her lips curled into a faint grin. She could still dream, even in the middle of a war, even on this ship where every new day seemed a gamble.

It had been some time since Nuwa heard voices or footsteps leading him to the conclusion he was no longer in the more populated areas of the ship. Most importantly, he felt a draft. Nuwa carefully ran his fingers along the surface supporting him in the dark, slowing inching them closer to the cool slip of air until he was able to discern a small seam. He took a final deep breath the steady himself before prying his nails underneath. Just as his fingertips began to pinch between the seal, it gave away all at once. With a crash and surprised yelp Nuwa tumbled to the floor with only the sparse contents of his bag to cushion his landing.

“Ow.” He remarked glumly while his eyes blinked to adjust to the sudden light.

Puskurunuwa's gaze would be welcome by the gleaming barrel of a .38 pistol pointed squarely at him. The weapon's steady aim left no doubt about the intent of the hand holding it. A woman standing over him, her stance tense and her expression a mix of incredulity and barely contained annoyance.

"You've got about ten seconds to explain who the hell you are," Itzi growled, her voice low but covered with an intensity that suggested she didn’t make idle threats. She squinted up at ceiling, her grip on the pistol unwavering, "And what made you think that out of all places you'd come crawling through my room was the one?”

It took nearly half the time to woman had given him for Nuwa to comprehend what it was he was seeing. He stared at the gun, the woman behind it, then their surroundings, and held back a curse. While not the worst situation he’d fallen into in his short life, it was hardly the stocked kitchen he’d been hoping for.

“Puskurunuwa Petrides” He sputtered when her grip began to tighten on her weapon. It came out faster than usual, and given the woman’s foreign accent he thought it worth a second attempt after a quick swallow. “Friends call me Nuwa,” He offered with what he hoped was a disarming smile and raised his hands, palms forward, before trying to stand.

“Didn’t know anyone was here, honest. You’re mighty quiet.” He stole a glance towards the desk she’d come from before returning his gaze to the gun. “Sorry, but I really was just looking for something to eat.”

Itzi tilted her head slightly, her finger still resting lightly on the trigger of her .38 handgun. Her keen eyes scanned the man who had so unceremoniously dropped into her quarters. He was lanky, with a disheveled appearance that suggested he’d spent far too long in places no one should. His clothing was frayed, patched in some areas, and stained in others, but his face held a roguish charm that, to her surprise, she briefly found attractive. She shoved that thought aside quickly; there were more pressing matters than entertaining the notion of a handsome stowaway.

The name he’d offered—Puskurunuwa Petrides—meant nothing to her. “Nuwa,” she echoed under her breath, as if testing how it felt on her tongue. Her grip on the pistol relaxed ever so slightly, though she didn’t lower it entirely. There was something about him that screamed trouble, but trouble wasn’t new to her. This ship, though—it seemed determined to outdo itself when it came to secrets. First the gold, now a ceiling-dwelling stranger.

Itzi finally lowered the gun, though she kept it in her hand. “Itzi, Ku” she said shortly. “I’m one of the two who flies this thing.” She glanced at the spot where he’d fallen from, an amused smirk creeping across her lips. “So, Nuwa, was the ceiling cozy enough for you? Or do you usually go for grander accommodations?”

Her tone wasn’t entirely unkind, though there was a sharp edge of wariness. She motioned toward the door with her free hand. “Come on. We’ve got a kitchen, fully stocked—lucky for you. You can grab something to eat while you explain how you ended up living in the guts of an airship.”

She gestured for him to lead the way, keeping a careful distance as they moved toward the corridor. Though her gun was lowered, her fingers hadn’t left its grip. After all, charming or not, a man who falls through the ceiling wasn’t someone to trust without caution.

“My luck, I think, was finding you Miss Ku,” Finally standing, Nuwa finished the greeting with an exaggerated bow, hand over his chest. His face had reddened at her words, but the wide smile remained. Internally, hundreds of questions fought to leave his throat; her name alone was strange enough to sound foreign even to Nuwa’s well-travelled ears. Only the weapon between them kept his excitement tempered. Not that it seemed to effect him outwardly; putting on a show of nonchalance while his heart pounded was second nature. He followed her gesture to lead down the hallway and used the new space to stretch the stiffness from his arms and shoulders as they moved.

“I was going to wait out up there until we landed,” He began explaining himself. “Figured it was soldiers that had got us moving and away, but didn’t know which side.” He turned his neck to look at her again. While her dress was strange for a woman, it wasn’t exactly a uniform either. How did a woman become a helmsman anyways? It didn’t seem a question she’d appreciate hearing yet and Nuwa shook it out of his head.

“Fortunately, my impatience was rewarded.” He finished instead, giving a wink before turning back around, hands entwined behind his head and elbows out, as though he was on a casual walk with an old friend rather than a threatened march.

“I don’t supposed you’d do me another kindness and tell me where the ship is headed?”

Itzi walked behind Nuwa, keeping a measured pace as she listened to his explanation. His relaxed demeanor and casual remarks, while undoubtedly charming, weren’t enough to lower her guard entirely. Still, there was something oddly endearing about his bravado, and she couldn’t help but smirk slightly when he winked.

"Well, this ship hasn’t been seized by the reds," she replied evenly, "And no, it’s not entirely run by Inburian soldiers either. Let’s just say it’s a mix of...interests." Her eyes stayed sharp as they moved down the hallway. She pointed to the right as they reached a junction,"That way."

The hallway opened into the dining gondola, a spacious yet utilitarian room with rows of tables bolted to the floor. It wasn’t fancy—far from it. The room had a military efficiency to its layout, but the presence of a few scattered mismatched decors hinted at a more casual atmosphere among the crew and passengers. On one side, a self-serve buffet with steaming trays of food waited, accompanied by stacks of metal plates and utensils.

"This is where you can grab a bite," she said, gesturing toward the buffet. "Help yourself." Her voice softened slightly as she added, "The berry tarts aren’t half bad." She slid her pistol back into its holster at her waist but kept her posture upright, her confidence in control, yet still watchful. Itzi leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she waited to see what Nuwa would do next.

Nuwa dropped the topic of their destination as readily as she’d evaded answering. They were going wherever they were going and he had neither the means nor knowledge to change course. Not that he would know were to go anyway; away from the reds was about as far as his own plans had gone. He instead gave his attention on the spread of food available. When he had a plate piled high with a generous portion of each offering her returned to her.

His companion didn’t seem to have anymore questions for him, content to simply stare. Being watched was never something that made Nuwa uncomfortable. The silence however…

He tried to focus on the food. His manners left much to be desired- if they existed at all. A spoon was the only utensil he took, and even then barely used, preferring to eat with his hands and making a mess of the table and himself. If these mixed interests were going to shoot or throw him overboard he’d at least have a full stomach. He did his best not to think of the last time he’d had a proper meal.

We shared those buns, filled with meat and warm enough-

“I should thank you,” He said aloud, nearly choking on a potato as the words came out, but he was desperate no to let his thoughts wander a second longer. “I hope you won’t find trouble for allowing me this.” It was hardly the question he wanted to ask but he wouldn’t directly pry when she was already suspicious of him. He attempted casual conversation instead. “It’s all very good. Is the cook Inburian?”

Itzi leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching as Nuwa devoured his meal with what could only be described as unrestrained enthusiasm. It was... a bit much, but she wasn’t one to judge. Still, the scene made her feel a little awkward. Was this the kind of thing she could get in trouble for? Not that she had a boss anymore—at least not in the usual sense. Right now, she was here for one thing: a payout, hopefully large enough to make all this nonsense worthwhile.

When asked about the cook, Itzi gave a small shrug, her lips quirking into a faint smirk, "If there’s a cook, I haven’t met them yet. Honestly, I think this stuff just shows up. Probably stock from before the ship was repurposed. Buffet-style, military efficiency, no frills." She gestured loosely to the spread. "For all I know, it’s leftovers from some fancy gala that never happened."

She tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied him, "But let’s talk about you, Nuwa. How exactly did you end up stowing away in this airship? My guess? You’re running from the reds. Can’t imagine they’d have been big fans of your table manners," she teased lightly, though her gaze remained steady, clearly waiting for an answer.

Nuwa laughed politely and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to clean some of the mess. “Never know when a meal might be your last, might as well enjoy it.” He spooned more food into his mouth, taking the time to consider how much of the truth he was willing to share. Itzi seemed fine enough, if a bit wary, but the ‘mixed interests’ she spoke of could have meant anything. Hell, she could be with he Calarians and just waiting for him to confess something. She’d be wasting her time, but Nuwa’s conscience wasn’t clear enough to not hesitate.

“I’m afraid I don’t have many interesting secrets to reveal. There was fighting and I wanted out, getting on a ship seemed the best option, and I didn’t exactly have a ticket.” It was true enough for him to say it confidently. Whatever notoriety that had come his way during his short time in the city would have been that of a pickpocket, hardly a war criminal worthy of putting a name or face to.

“Before that, it was my employer that brought us to Inbur. Lord Landry’s Big Top Circus; the best show in the whole Cirlce Sea!” For the first time since their meeting, his easy smile faltered. “Or was the best, I should say. We got a bit scattered with… Everything.” He took a moment to swallow more food and bar any further thoughts on his family. “Don’t think the Calarians or Inburians every gave us a second thought really. Just found ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He placed his spoon down and forced the grin back to his face as he looked at her expectantly. “Hopefully this isn’t more of the same.”

“Ah, a connoisseur of revelry and entertainment.” He inclined his head to her appreciatively. “The trapeze was my speciality, contortion tricks a close second. Would catch the odd knife, but more often spun around on the board, could walk the rope too, but...” He shrugged “Flying was always more fun.”

She at least appeared to be relaxing around him, but it was hard to forget about the weapon still tucked away somewhere under the table.

“Have you ever-” Before he could get any more wistful or return questions of his own, they were interrupted by someone entering the hall in search of refreshment.

Yawning, Chrstina Ferarri walked into the dining area, one hand under her shop coat, scratching her ribs.

"Buongiorno," she managed, heading toward the coffee urn. Picking up a cup, the skinny mechanic poured a little into the cup and held it up to her nose, sniffing it. She frowned, then risked a sip.

"Coffee good," she decided after a long moment, filling the mug, then grabbed a plate and began putting eggs, sausage, and toast on her plate, followed by a pastry. A cauldron held some curious sort of slow bubbling gravy that made her shudder. Christina then sat tiredly down at a table next to Itzi and Nuwa and frowned.

"Mi scusi," she said, staring at the pair. "You, I know."

Her finger then pointed to Nuwa. "You, no. You are...?”

Another woman, with a clear Calarian accent. He raised an eyebrow at Itzi, who appeared unperturbed and not at all surprised by the newcomers presence. For his part, Nuwa went quiet as he watched her move about the room, apparently oblivious to his own existence until sitting a foot away.

He gave her a small nod to her question before beginning his introduction. “Puskurunuwa Petrides. Circus Preformer and accidental stow-away, recently discovered and rescued by the lovely Itzi.”

Itzi smirked at Christina, leaning back slightly in her chair as she gestured toward Nuwa. “Much like everyone else on this ship, Mr. Nuwa here decided he’d had enough of the enriching ideas of the Communalists. And, well, when you’ve got nowhere else to go, I guess crawling into the ceiling of an airship seems like a good idea.” Her voice was teasing, but her expression was lighthearted.

She grabbed another piece of her berry tart, popping it into her mouth before continuing. “Of course, now that he’s here, I figure he might as well be useful. Maybe he’ll provide some good entertainment while we’re busy trying to save the gold reserves from landing in the wrong hands.” She tilted her head toward Nuwa, her tone turning playfully pointed. “But let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Petrides—no more sneaking into rooms. At least not without an invitation.”

She gave him a sly wink before looking back at Christina with a grin.

Christina nodded wearily as Itza warned the stowaway about sneaking into rooms. "In training, *esercito popolare* taught how... What is word? No matter. We taught to cut lower parts. Best you stay out.”

Nuwa’s gaze volleyed between the two women. He continued spooning at his food, but with comparative reservedness, and a small frown drawing between his brows. The talk of his potential usefulness made him wary, but the mention of gold reserves snagged his train of thought and refused to let go. Only when he looked up to see Itzi winking at him did he notice his lack of attention; failing to recall her final remarks. He smoothed his features back into a relaxed smile and hoped she didn’t expect a response.

"So no wings, good," Christina said, pausing to take a bite of sausage. "Anyone else up there?"

“I came alone and haven’t seen anyone else.” Nuwa replied to the Calarian as she began her own line of questioning.

"Communalists killed my parents," the mechanic stated flatly. "Running good idea if you no can fight."

She eyed Nuwa up and down. "You can fight?"

“Not much of a fighter either so you won’t be forced to demonstrate that particular ah- skill.” Nuwa’s voice hitched at the end of the sentence, forcing him to clear his throat before desperately latching to the next topic, and allowing his attention to return to Itzi.

“I was wondering about the rooms myself, I don’t suppose there are any left?” He rapped his fingers on the table. “Do we know how many people are aboard for that matter?”

Smiling thinly, Christina took a sip of coffee, then frowned. "Rooms? You have rooms? Where get room?”

"Dozens of empty rooms, probably meant for the crew or passengers before all this chaos kicked off. I’ve already claimed mine, though.” Itzi's voice took on a mock-serious tone, “Of course, that was before a certain someone decided to burst through the roof like some kind of circus cannonball. That someone might just owe me a little handiwork fixing said roof.” She raised an eyebrow at Nuwa, her smirk widening.

Turning to Christina, Itzi continued, “But don’t worry, Ferrari. There are plenty of rooms left. I’ll show you two around and get you each one that’s nice and comfy. Preferably with ceilings that stay intact.” She jabbed a thumb toward Nuwa with a grin. “And hey, maybe we’ll find you one with a trapdoor or something, in case you feel the need to do any more dramatic entrances.”

She stood, brushing off her overalls. “Finish up your food, circus boy. You’re coming with me to help scout out rooms. Oh, and don’t think I’m joking about that roof. If you’re going to freeload, you might as well contribute, right?”

Empire of the Clouds

The Debate

The civilian group debates the morality and logistics of taking a portion of the gold, revealing ideological rifts.

Co-Written by Badarby, Bingelly, Dyelli Beybi, Expendable, InfamousGuy101, Imaria Theyra, Tesserach

---

The airship cruised smoothly through the open skies, the hum of the engines a constant backdrop to the unfolding morning. Carter stood at the helm alongside Itzi, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a compass as he checked the map spread out before him. The morning light bathed the world below in a soft glow, revealing a patchwork of farms and villages that seemed untouched by the chaos tearing through the cities.

Carter glanced out the window, his gaze lingering on the tranquil countryside. "Almost feels like home," he said absently, his voice carrying a rare trace of warmth. "West Fork had fields like that. Wide-open spaces, hard-working folks. War’s got a way of skipping over the simple places… until it doesn’t."

Itzi, who had been adjusting a lever and monitoring the altimeter, turned to him with a grin. "Beautiful, isn’t it? Flying something like this... I never thought I’d get the chance. Back home, my folks would lose their minds seeing me at the helm of a ship like this," she said, a touch of pride in her voice. "They’d probably try to throw a big party for me. Mama would insist on roasting a whole hog, and Papa would just sit there, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it."

Carter chuckled faintly, keeping his eyes on the compass. "Sounds like good people."

"They are," she replied, her tone softening. She let the moment linger before brightening again. "You know, we should name this thing. Every good ship deserves a name. How about Skyward Dream? Or maybe Cloud Chaser? What do you think?"

Carter glanced up from the map, offering her a sidelong look. "I think you’ve got a knack for optimism," he said dryly, though there was no malice in his tone.

Itzi raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Oh, come on. You don’t have any suggestions? West Wind? Freedom’s Wing? How about Mainer Pride?”

"All those names are terrible and make me think of people who live in swamps and are missing teeth," Zoe supplied as she made her presence known on the bridge. "Personally, I'd just call it 'Zoe'! Simple, elegant, and regal," she declared with a slight smirk.

"Might I suggest: The Unrestrained Hubris," came the somewhat annoyed call from the other room. The young Iktani Chamer was engaged in going through the contents of his storage trunk, papers strewn everywhere as he sorted through them.

Carter glanced at Zoe, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Naming a ship after yourself, huh? Sounds like something straight outta the old continent. What’s next, slapping a family crest on the side and declaring it a monarchy?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Zoe the Zeppelin… real humble, that."

"Well yes, that is the continent we are on," she nodded. "And good point, yes, we should paint my crest on it as well. How good are you at drawing dragons and wyverns?" she asked.

"Ware below!" called out the hoarse voice of the boatswain's mate, Nikos. The little man slid down the ladder carrying a carafe, with coffee cups tucked in his jacket pockets. "Coffee, sir and ma'am. What's going on?"

"Dragons and wyverns?" Mitunbaal, dressed in traditional garb, raised an eyebrow at the mention as she scribbled notes down in a journal of some sort. The arrival of the boatswain caught her interest momentarily. "Yes, black coffee if you please." Turning her attention back to Zoe, she added, "So you must be a noble, I presume?"

On the chart table, Nikos put down a cup and filled it with steaming brown liquid, then carried the cup over to the lady. "Be careful, it's hot."

"Zoe Spirou," Zoe re-introduced herself with a slight bit of hesitation. "I suppose you could call me that, but nobody that significant... but having our own airship - it's a bit of fun, isn't it!"

She paused before offering Nikos a bright smile, "Yes please, Sir, coffee would be most welcome."

"Coming up, ma'am!" he smiled, hurrying back to the chart table and pulling out two more cups from his pocket and filling one. He carried it carefully to Zoe.

"House Spirou," Mitunbaal repeated as she looked over the woman quizzically. After a moment of thought, she offered the woman a smile. "Ms. Mitunbaal Vasiliou, at your service, Lady Spirou."

"Your coffee,” Nikos passed yet another cup to Mitunbaal who gladly accepted it.

Pausing her typing with a yawn, Marietta looked to the Boatswain's Mate. "Sir, may I take a coffee? I'm unsure we got your name as well.”

"Yes, ma'am!" Nikos bustled back to the chart table. "Boatswain's Mate Vassiliou, Nikos Vassiliou, ma'am!”

He filled the other cup and carried it over to Marietta, the scruffy man giving her a friendly grin.

"Your coffee. Sir, would you like a cup?”

Carter nodded toward Nikos as the man approached with the coffee. "Yeah, I’ll take one, thanks. No sugar, no cream." He leaned on the edge of the chart table, watching as Nikos poured.

Itzi held out for her own cup with an eager smile. "I’ll take some too, Boatswain, but load it with sugar if you’ve got any. Sweet enough to keep me awake and flying this big girl."

Carter glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on each person. "So let’s see," he began, his tone dry but amused. "We’ve got a typist," he gestured to Marietta, "a scholar," nodding toward Mitunbaal, "a damsel," his smirk landed on Zoe, "and a scrappy boatswain who looks like he could punch out a bear." He chuckled softly. "And somehow, I’m supposed to believe we’re all going to survive if the soldier boys decide to turn this ship into their personal command post."

Itzi, not looking up from her cup, slid her hand briefly toward the holster at her waist, hidden under her overalls. "Well," she said casually, "guess we’ll just have to make sure they don’t try anything stupid." She shot Carter a sidelong glance, her expression coy.

"Damsel?" Zoe gave a small laugh. "I prefer the term 'charming high-born rogue'... but on the subject of our good soldiers... they are doing their jobs," she shrugged. "They will listen to me, though. It's the natural order of things," she declared. It wasn't clear if she was serious or joking... or a bit of both.

Giogoula walked into the area where the other civilians were gathered, holding a cup of water.

"Trying to grab gold from the treasury seems a bit dangerous when we’re in a good position to fly to safer areas," she said, taking a sip of water.

"The main is still on the table..." Itzi chipped in.

"Sorry, it's just black coffee," Nikos said, pouring—then froze, spinning his head as coffee spilled out on the chart table. "Eh? Grabbing gold? Oh!"

"Sorry!" he cringed, setting the carafe down and pulling a rag from yet another pocket, trying to blot the spill. His voice got very casual. "So, what's all this about the treasury?"

"Well, actually, it's flying in the direction of Mitteland, so it’s not that dangerous," Zoe shrugged, then turned to Nikos. "We are going to assist the Government in retrieving some of the gold reserve and, perhaps, take a modest cut for our hard work."

Bringing the cup to her lips, Marietta took a little sip, letting the hot beverage flow over her tongue. She paused for a moment before spitting the coffee right back into the mug. "Boatswain, this is the worst coffee I’ve ever had. This is a pale imitation of anything even resembling coffee. I’d wager the damned Communalists have a better drink."

"Beats rotting in one of their prisons, drinking putrid water and eating stale bread..." Carter commented as he sipped the coffee, letting out a refreshing sigh.

"You should be happy that there is a hot cup of coffee for consumption at this time," Giogoula responded.

"Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. Name’s Giogoula Giorgiou, my father calls me Giogio," Giogoula said. "Work for—well, worked for the city police.”

"Err, sorry, ma'am. I think that Communalist engineer must be sabotaging the percolator," Nikos apologized, bowing his head, before turning back to Zoe, "A modest cut, did you say?"

"Depends on how much we can lift," Zoe replied to Nikos, "but this is an airship, so—a lot."

The young Iktani appeared then through the hatchway, wearing a matching deep green dinner jacket with gold trim, white lace cravat, and hat—having apparently changed at some point since take-off. He sidled up beside Marietta, offering her a steaming cup of liquid. "Try this," he suggested, observing the proceedings while taking a sip from the bottle of expensive tequila he'd tucked under his arm.

Despite his almost whispered voice, the Iktani poet fidgeted next to her, looking slightly annoyed.

"Well, Sir, find him and string him from the side of the ship for making a fool’s showing of Calarian culture. Those damned godless, immoral charlatans have to keep ruining everything they can even ephemerally touch."

Nikos blushed, then said, "I can't, they made me give her back her gun. It's a wonder if we're not all shot in our sleep."

Turning back, he finished filling the two cups and handed one to Itzi and Carter. "Sorry about that. How much do you think we can get aboard?"

Carter sipped his coffee again, giving Nikos a sideways glance as he posed the question. Setting the cup down, he leaned on the chart table and gestured broadly to the airship. "Well, if this thing’s built like most of the big haulers I’ve seen, she’s got a payload capacity of… what? A few hundred tons, easy. Now, that’s not counting how much fuel we’ll need to make the trip or the weight of the people on board." He tilted his head toward Zoe with a smirk. "But I imagine Miss Zoe here might have a better idea of what’s actually stashed in that vault—and what we might ‘redistribute’ for our troubles.”

Seeing the offered cup of tea wasn’t accepted, Chamer shrugged and paced toward the window, remaining quiet though his agitation clearly hadn’t settled. He took a deep sip of tea, causing a tremor to run down his spine as he stared out the gondola window toward the distant horizon, listening to the conversation as he braced his hands against the window.

"If we're tied up to the treasury's mooring post, then everything's got to come through the accommodation ladder. It ain't built for anything but foot traffic, iffen you beg my pardon."

"It's not like they're going to let us winch it aboard from the ground."

Nikos paused, scratching his chin stubble. "Maybe if we put down boards on the sides, we could use hand carts... but someone's gotta be pushing from underneath. That's gotta be heavy."

"Might I have some coffee? If there is any left." A shy voice spoke as Zano entered the room, looking a bit relaxed but still carrying his satchel and clutching it with his left hand. "I take it we have a task ahead of ourselves?"

"Oh! Sir, I’m sorry, sir!" Nikos blushed again. "I'll go fetch a fresh pot."

Snatching up the carafe, he hustled over to the ladder, rapidly climbing up. Footsteps echoed as he ran toward the galley.

"No, no, it is fine," Zano spoke to Nikos. "I mean... ," and Nikos was gone.

"There is more there than we can lift," Zoe replied with a shrug. "So we load her up with hand carts and so on until the ship can carry no more. Then off we go!"

Zoe took a sip of her coffee before remarking, "Well, I’ve had better, but we are on an airship! All part of the adventure, I suppose."

"I hope he adjusts the percolator. And who are you, sir?" Marietta said, gesturing to the new arrival in the gondola.

Zano sighed, looking at the others in the room. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Zano Mirazdar.”

In the galley, Nikos filled the carafe from the percolator, then paused to fetch a cup to pour in a little coffee for a sip. It was bold, bitter, brown, and hot—regulation navy coffee. "Civilians," he muttered, finishing it off before stuffing a few more clean cups into his pocket.

"Ware below!" the bosun called out, sliding down with the carafe in hand and more clean rags. "Sorry about that, sir. Just a moment!"

"Sorry about the taste. I can see about making a fresh pot. Haven't found the sugar yet from stores."

Zoe stepped back, waiting for Nikos to finish serving coffee, before gently catching his arm and drawing him aside. "Sir, while we are all very grateful for a hot drink, you, I believe, are the only person who is supposed to be here. How about you show me how to make the coffee, and I can help with that in the future?"

"Er, it's not right that a lady such as yourself be making coffee," Nikos protested, shrinking back. "I'd never hear the end of it from the officers!"

"Well, I should simply convince them otherwise," Zoe replied, as if that were the simplest and most obvious solution to the military not wanting her on the ship.

"Nonsense!" she replied to Nikos with a bright smile. "In fact, I think it would be quite fun. Why not show me, at least?"

“There is no rush, and you did not have to make more just for me," Zano said to Nikos.

"If you say so, ma'am!" the scruffy bosun nodded reluctantly, knowing he was between a rock and a hard place.

"To Phos tou Kosmou... indeed." Chamer gave a snide laugh and took another swill of his personal tea, followed by a sip from his liquor bottle.

Carter’s expression darkened for a moment at the sound of the Iktani language. He didn’t understand their exact meaning, but the tone struck him, digging into his mind like a whisper of something unresolved. He stared into his coffee, letting the conversation flow.

Itzi, however, was less introspective. Letting go of the helm briefly, she gave Nikos a small smile as she accepted more coffee, still black. "Thanks," she said, taking a tentative sip and wincing slightly at the bitterness.

Turning to the room, her voice took on a more serious tone. "Look, I think we’ve all got the skills to make this work—Carter, Christina, even me and the others. But," she paused, cautiously glancing around for Yuri and Arkadios before looking back at the rest of the civilians, "we gotta be smart about this. If the military folks don’t hold up their end of the bargain, or if they decide that ‘their country’ matters more than the people on this ship, we’re the ones who’ll end up with nothing. Or worse."

Chamer finally turned away from the window to face the assembled group, holding up his hand. "I'm sorry—I am a stranger as it were in your land, but I do have one question about this great adventure." The Iktani's eyes were bloodshot and wide. The man had a manic, frenzied look about him, though he paused as if waiting for permission to continue.

Both Nikos and Zanp glanced at Chamer worriedly.

"Their country is my country, Iktani," Mitunbaal spoke up suddenly, "And it is the country of several of us in this room. Understandably, we would not wish to leave it to fly halfway across the globe in an Imburian military vessel to do God knows what at the impulse of foreigners."

"I agree with Ms. Vasiliou, even if I fall in the minority of people who wish to leave the continent as someone who was run out of my home twice," Marietta commented.

Chamer waited for a calm with a wan smile. "Is this truly how the Great Inburian Empire dies? A group of so-called educated, so-called skilled people—members of the great and vaunted elite—standing amidst the greatest marvel of engineering known to the world, debating coffee and planning a theft—I'm sorry, 'skimming a little off the top'—only to slink away like thieves in the night? All while Communalists ransack the city that was once called the light of the world."

"Better for the military officials to transport most of the gold to a safe designated location," Giogoula added. "I wouldn’t want a bunch of foreigners to decide what to do with my wealth, either."

"You can't leave the treasury for the Communalists, sir!" Nikos protested. "Them'll just take it back to their boss, those gormless idiots, as he starves them half-blind."

Chamer nodded to Nikos. "Then let's do the job properly. Like proper men and women—not pretty criminals scheming while the world burns. Or is honor truly dead in this continent?"

Carter leaned casually against the table, his expression calm, swirling his coffee before taking a slow sip. "We’re not stealing anything. We’re making sure that gold doesn’t fall into the hands of those red loonies." He looked directly at Chamer and Giogoula.

"And yeah, there’s a finder’s fee involved—call it payment for risking our necks to make sure it gets to the 'right people.' Better that than it ending up funding a revolution or lining the pockets of someone who’s got no business having it." He shrugged, his tone steady. "We’re doing a job, plain and simple. Everyone wins."

Mitunbaal scoffed. "Thievery by any other name. At least be honest about the dirty work, or would you then not sleep at night or find comfort in God?"

"What do you think's going on down there? You think the Communalists aren't taking everything for themselves?" Nikos said hotly. "That's thievery, alright. And if you protest, they shoot you."

Carter shrugged, unbothered. "Call it what you want. It’s still better than letting the reds walk away with it."

Itzi smirked, leaning on the helm. "Dirty work, sure, but at least we'll smell better doing it than they will."

"Except, sir," Mitunbaal turned her attention to the bosun, "we aren't dealing with the Communalists. We're dealing with the House of Hasikos and the Inburian state."

"Pah!" Chamer scoffed. "Look at you all, wringing your hands, positively salivating at the prospect of—dare I say it—redistribution of wealth!"

"Indeed," Zoe agreed, nodding to Nikos. "This is a patriotic act. We're saving gold that would otherwise pay Communalist soldiers and buy their guns and ammunition and returning it to our people. My people. If we take a commission for the work, is that so bad? Otherwise, which able-bodied crew would want to do this?"

"This is simple pragmatism," Zoe said, stabbing a finger at the table with the charts on it to emphasize her point. "That pragmatism is what built this Empire. We do what we need to do to survive."

Starting to get fired up, Marietta threw her hat into the discussion. "Exactly, you all have the correct idea. Leaving it only lets the Communalists have it, and they'll use it to keep their bandit kingdom afloat for another 10 years. I think we will get paid for our valiant efforts. The gold will allow the Imburians to keep fighting. It will certainly liven their spirits, allowing our higher moral character to shine through again, alongside allowing the remaining forces to purchase war-making material. Should the Communalist state continue to keep fighting and winning wars on the back of their underhanded tactics, such as poison gas, honor will be dead on this continent. What's the next thing they'll develop, especially if they get the gold? Land battleships? A squadron of war airships?"

Nikos snorted, patting the railing. "It's what they were planning for the Sword here, weren't it?"

"If you want pragmatism, let that gold buy guns and soldiers’ wages. You all can take your blood money—if that's what you truly want—but I'll have none of it! If I am a man, and alive, then let it be said I lived and fought for freedom—not sucking the lifeblood of a nation in its moment of need and doing the Communalists' work for them. Put a rifle in my hands, and I'll help you liberate your gold, but of ill-gotten gains, I want none of it. I don't want it! I can forgive foreign mercenaries demanding their pound of flesh, but those of you who are Inburian should be ashamed to call yourselves such!" With that, Chamer spat on the floor.

Carter smirked faintly as he sipped his coffee. "That’s acceptable to me," he said casually, setting the cup down with a clink. "Means more for the rest of us who aren’t too proud to take what’s earned."

Itzi grinned, raising her cup with a playful glint in her eye. "To pragmatism, survival, and a nice hefty cut!" she cheered, tipping her cup toward Carter.

Carter chuckled, raising his own cup slightly in her direction. "Cheers to that."

Nikos, shaking his head, interjected, "Sir, there's just a handful of soldiers, and most of 'em aren't ours. It isn't fair to risk civilians for this. But we're the only ones who can."

There was a flash of anger in Zoe's eyes. She stepped forward, "I have the right to give that gold to whom I please," she declared. Then, abruptly seeming to cool off—or at least giving the pretense she had—she shrugged and smiled brightly. "If I can get it, that is. Which I will!"

At Zoe's approach, Chamer smiled wryly. "Oh-ho! A reaction? So there remains some shame left in Inburia for its discarded national character after all. Perhaps there's hope, and I have a suggestion—if any here care to hear it."

"What is your suggestion?" Zoe crossed her arms across her chest. "It would be impolite not to hear you out."

"Yes," Carter added, "do tell..."

Chamer stood straighter, a fire burning in his eyes. "Let me say this communalist host, this horde, this blight, may yet be beaten back, but if it is, it will be no thanks to men and women who plunder Inburia during her hour of need. So let's have no more talk here of stealing ammunition, food, and vital war materials out from the hands of the brave men and women below our feet who even now bleed for this struggle while we drift here amidst the clouds, counting out coins that don't belong to us."

He paused to survey the room, his voice hardening. "As I see it, everyone here has a choice, and it's a simple one: either you're a part of this struggle, or you're not—and your opinions can be safely ignored. Return to your cabins. You'll be disembarked at the next safe part. For those who choose to stay, a united effort is required. Faction will destroy us. Denying gold to the enemy is a laudable effort, but a war chest is no one's private property! And I, for one, will not suffer to see it squandered by those who neither fight nor suffer."

Chamer took a breath before finishing. "The terms I propose are simple enough. You'll be afforded a fair patriot's wages, but if you're in: it's commitment to the cause, to unity of purpose and command, to learning how to crew this ship properly, and to ensuring that if we do this thing, we have a responsibility to see this gold—should we attain it—is effectively put towards ending this communalist blight. Every last coin accounted for and spent in service of the effort. Now: who's in, and who's out?"

Carter tilted his head slightly, glancing at Itzi with a raised brow as Chamer's impassioned speech came to an end. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud or roll his eyes. "Well, that was... a lot," he muttered under his breath before speaking louder. "Look, I agree with the basics. If we get this gold, it should go to the right people to fund the fight against the Communalists—fair enough. But let’s not pretend people don’t deserve some reward for risking their necks. Patriotism or no, effort should be compensated."

He sipped his coffee, letting the bitter taste distract from his unease. Fighting a war that wasn’t his didn’t sit well, but he’d already decided that staying alive—and profitable—was his primary goal. Still, this self-righteous talk of noble causes grated on him. The Inburians could bleed themselves dry for their land; he was just here to keep the ship running.

Itzi leaned on the helm, her brow furrowed in thought. Chamer’s lofty words struck her as idealistic—noble, maybe, but disconnected from the reality they faced. "Fair patriot's wages, huh?" she murmured, half to herself. She admired the sentiment, but growing up working the fields and chasing dreams of the sky had taught her that noble causes didn’t put food on the table. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of respect for his passion. "I’ll help, sure," she said aloud, her tone light, almost teasing. "But it better be a pretty fair wage. Seems like a lot of work for no pay."

Zoe paused, chewing her lip as she gauged the room's reaction to Chamer’s speech.

Mitunbaal offered Chamer a brief applause before speaking up herself. "There is an honest man among us. Praise God for that."

Nikos nodded to himself. If they weren't careful, this self-righteous man would get them all killed.

"So, uh, more coffee?" he asked, holding up the carafe.

"Clearly, this is going nowhere, so what if we put this up to a vote?" Giogoula suggested. "And we present what the majority wants to the officers?"

Arms crossed, Carter took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Fine by me," he said casually. "My vote? We go for the gold, but with the understanding that everyone gets their fair share for the work they put in. If that means most of it goes to fund your war, great. But if we’re risking our necks, then some of it better stay right here—on this ship—with the people who make it happen."

Itzi glanced over her shoulder at Carter, then shrugged. "I’ll second that. We get the gold, help fund the fight, and make sure those of us doing the heavy lifting don’t walk away empty-handed. I’m here to help, but I’m not working for free." She gave Nikos a grin. "Now, about that coffee..."

"I shall offer what I said before... 10 percent split evenly between all people. Any person can choose to give their share back to the Empire if they want," Zoe declared. "High-minded people and our military friends undoubtedly will. I... well... I'll decide if I want to return to the Empire or not. And that will inform whether I need the money or not."

"Here, here!" Chamer roared. "A toast to the end of Inburia! And to the people who, by simple majority, voted themselves amongst the richest presidents over her dying days!" He picked up his bottle of tequila and took a long swill of it before bowing with mock formality. "Congratulations to the new lords and ladies, how brave you all are, 'risking your necks' floating 10,000 feet above the fray aboard your luxury airliner! To think my best friend in this world gave his life just so you lot could stand here disgracing his memory."

And with that, Chamer threw the tequila bottle on the ground and stormed out of the gondola, heedless of the broken glass under his boots or the tequila spilled across the floor.

"I believe I've made my position clear enough. God willing, you'll make the right choice," Mitunbaal said, frowning as she rose to her feet. She scanned the room one last time before moving toward the exit. "I shall make sure he does not injure or further embarrass himself."

Giogoula crossed her arms, her tone firm as she spoke. "I will add in my own piece that it’s simply irresponsible for us as a whole to demand the officers give a portion of the nation’s treasury to us in a time of national crisis." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the group. I can’t believe a foreigner cares more about not robbing Inburia than some of you do. This entire argument sounds like the rhetoric made by fifth-column agitators at rallies I’ve infiltrated before. The country is in peril, and its citizens are fighting over wealth instead of helping.

She turned toward the hatch, her thoughts still swirling, Perhaps the military folks will be nobler than the crowd gathered here.

Nikos leaned on the railing, deep in thought. Of course, he mused to himself, me being military 'n' all, I ain't entitled to any gold, no how. In fact, them in charge is gonna be lookin' to me to explain how I let this zeppelin get taken over by all these people.

I'll have to say it were a rescue, to save civilian lives, he continued, puffing up his chest a little. That it was necessary to keep the zeppelin out of enemy hands. I might even get a medal!

His smile faded, and he slouched. But what's a medal? It is a target to shoot at!

And besides, I'm only enlisted. Rescuing civilians only counts if you're an officer or an officer sees you do it. Then there's my prisoner, a spy, now running our engines! A medal is further and further away.

"Excuse me," Nikos muttered, looking a little green. "I think I’ll go check on the percolator."

As Nikos shuffled toward the ladder and the group began to disperse Carter let out a low whistle, glancing at Itzi, "Well, that was a show. What do you make of it?"

Itzi shrugged, smirking faintly as she tapped the rim of her coffee cup. "I think we’re on a ship full of people who might just talk themselves into something dangerous. Should be fun." She leaned back on the helm, the group still dispersing each carrying their own thoughts—and tensions—with them.