Chapter One: A Crew of Disorderly Misfits

OOC: All good stories start in a tavern.

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A stormy night, with a shocking brew of black clouds and pouring rain. The system approached the minor town of Rustbukit, bringing a small part of its payload down upon the local watering hole, known affectionately as the Condor Inn. The night was a calm one, with some minor revelry and a local group of musicians performing most admirably; Alexander was dressed for success, including his ubiquitous fedora, trenchcoat, and pair of goggles--blind without 'em, as he'd always said!

The bespectacled man sat down on the comfortable, oft-stained, but cushioned seats inside of the diner, and awaited the arrival of his partners in crime, Ed and Cid. They'd been good friends of his from his wrench-monkey days aboard the Tercio--as much as he preferred to call that awful ship Misery--and he knew they'd approve of his offer.

In his holster, a revolver, but in the pocket next to it, a set of papers. Plans and mathematics detailing his latest plan for adventure and profit along the skyways--ferrying cargo with, sometimes, a letter of marque sort of assignment. It was a dream of his, really, ever since first form; to sail among the clouds, to look upon Earth from far above, as though cities were merely anthills. To go to new places, shatter old horizons.

His gaze left one of the attractive women on stage; outside the window was an empty, cobbled road in the center of Rustbukit's complex of dilapidated metal buildings, an amalgam of structured without purpose or reason. But it was beautiful nonethless, with a population just as convoluted as its architecture. He waited, taking in the smell of tobacco and good rum.

Thatch soon walked into the tavern to meet up with Alex and Cid. His wore his usual outfit, comprising of a long overcoat, a gray tunic beneath, and a pair of slacks. In his belt were his two Octagonal Barreled Flintlocks, a Trench Knife, and by his side a scabbard and full tang. He carried his 30-40 on his back, and at his other side was a satchel of various nautical instruments and gear.

He pushed open the door and entered the bar, at once he found Alex. Waving a hand, he walked over and sat a the round table with him. He took off his bandanna and placed it in the pocket of his coat.

"Good to see ya, Alex." Thatch said, shaking his friends hand.

Cid walked along the wet cobbles, seemingly oblivious to the rain. Underneath his jacket, an apparent deformity, similar in size to a ferret, shifted slgihtly. He reached his hand down, tapping the "deformity". It was a small magitek automaton called Frenzy that he always had with him since he built it years ago.

:Where is that place..? Ah! There! The Condor Inn.:

Cid walked into the Inn, the small Automaton climbing out of under the cover of the jacket and crawling on his shoulders, like a metal bipedal ferret. Cid looked around and saw Alexander. He walked over.

"Ribault. Thatch. Been a while. So, Ribault, I hear you wanted to see us for something?"

Cid took a seat after shaking his friends' hands. It was beyond good to see them again.

:I've been loooking for something to do after all...Perhaps Ribault can provide.:

Alex greeted his companions, a smile on his face. "It's great to see you all in good health," he said genuinely. Ordering them both a drink, he got down to business. "I've called you both back for more than memories, as I'm sure you've both figured out."

As they nodded--and Cid's eyebrow raised--Alexander withdrew the papers from his pocket. They showed an indecipherable scrawl of calculations, drawings, plans and notes in true engineering style--but with a few financial numbers circled. As the two looked over his proposal, he explained it.

"I'm sick and tired of groundslogging," he said with not a little disgust in his voice. "I'll put it easily: with my savings, and a little help from you two, I'm sure we can rescue some old freighter from the local boneyard. There's a company around here--S&S Cargo and Provisioning--that's going under. They've two ships to decommission; one's an old wreck, but the other is a Levitas model."

Ah, the Levitas line of ships. Famously cheap, reliable, and rugged. Ugly as Hell itself, for sure, but that could be corrected with enough paint and a flag. And besides, they could be armed in addition to carrying cargo. His airship buddies would realize this immediately.

"It seems as though my friend inside the repossession business is willing to... take a wrong turn at Halltraded, so to speak, and drop the whole hulking thing off just outside of town. We live in there so no brigands up and steal it, and fix 'er up so we can take to the skies once again!"

The papers listed several more favourable aspects of the deal. The ship had Levium in it already, reducing costs substantially. It was complete, no bits hacked off of it; all it would need was elbow grease and a de-rusting.

Thatch grinned at the proposal and scratched his goatee in thought for a few moments. After taking a swig of his rum, he laughed.

"You know I can pilot anything you throw out there Alex, of course I'll join yer crew. I have really been out of a job since the capsizing of my last ship. This'll be another greater opportunity for myself." Thatch said with his grin.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at the specs for the equipment that the ships would have. His grin turned to a straight face as he looked everything over.

"Whatever we make will have to be... sturdy.." Thatch said with a sigh.

Cid looked over the plans, nodding to himself. A lot that could be done with this ship, indeed.

Cid started to smirk.

"Well, you've got an airship. That means engineering. You know I'm with you."

Cid kept smirking, remembering his last few "jobs". A string of veritable failures because his employer tried to have him build an engine or a machine that would invariably fail.

"So, are we going to be able to avail ourselves to some funds? I've been slightly strapped for cash, given my recent series of idiot employers."

"I've got myself a few thousand Aurum in savings," the now-Captain mused. "Of course, we could get most of our parts for free. Favours, junkyard scavenging, the works--and my 'friend' in this town has supplies we can filch. He certainly isn't using them."

He loved that word! 'Friend'. Anyone who knew Alexander knew what that meant; he had many 'friends' in all sorts of walks of life. It paid to have them, in money and assistance; you never knew when you'd need to call in a favour.

"We'll also need a crew... Ed, you're a fine navigator and pilot, and Cid, you can take an engineering spot. I reckon we'll need at least two or three other guys to make this work out properly--more engineers, surely, and plenty of muscle."

Thatch looked to his two companions and then to the plans again. He stood up from the table, earning questioning glances from Alex and Cid. Giving them both a grin, he pointed a thumb toward the door of the tavern.

"Well, there's no sense just sitting here thinking about things. I say it's high time we get outta here and start building this ship." Thatch said with excitement.

Alex glanced at his armoured watch. Through the bars of its cage, it was plainly 8.50 PM. They had roughly ten minutes to make it to the edge of town; plenty of time, considering it wasn't that far away, but regardless.

"Let us go." His excitement began to grow, and so his words carried louder. "Let's get ourselves an airship!"

At a nearby table, interest stirred as the information reached their ears.

OOC: Hey, DVP and Chef! KC if you register by the time of next post! Take it away, this is your chance! xD

OOC: Whitecloak means medic.

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"Von Winchester, eh? You're a Gaard, aren't you?" Alexander said, raising his eyebrow in mock prejudice. "I'm not so sure we could afford to pass up this opportunity! You want to fly, you can fly. We need a whitecloak, anyway."

Shaking Barry's hand, he introduced his group. "This is Edward Thatch, Navigator and Pilot; as well as Cid Highwind, my Chief Engineer. I am Alexander Ribault, Captain. Call me Alex."

The group of four continued outside of the inn, into the rain. It came down lightly, though there was plenty of thunder and lightning above; certainly nothing a good ship couldn't handle, and plenty unpleasant, but perfect cover for some of the more sneaky activity that was about to take place.

The field was about a half-mile out of town, behind some trees; somewhat secluded, of course, to hide from too-too much public suspicion, but close enough to the scrapyard. They arrived just in time to see a truck pull up, its boiler releasing a steady stream of steam as it did so. Behind it was a massive, hulking piece of machinery.

It was the size of a house quite easily, an enormous metal mass that appeared to be no less heavily armoured than an industrial steam boiler. Its bronze paint was peeling in places, and heavily rusted, though they could make out no logo or insignia in the lightning's flashes. It was, indeed, a terrible looking vessel.

The truck stopped slowly, keeping the weightless giant from being hurled forward using a small catching cage. A man stepped out--short, somewhat rotund, and heavily moustached. As he approached, Alexander signalled for a moment.

"Here's your ship," the mysterious apparition said. "There. Now, my reward?"

"One thousand Aurum, as promised," he said, withdrawing a collection of pieces of eight. "The codes and all?"

"Aboard."

Thatch looked to the voluminous craft, previously towed by the truck before the small group of companions. His head moved up, as he gazed upon the skyship. They all stood in a small bit of the colossal blanket of shade that the piece of machinery now gave them. Thatch gave a small laugh, his eyes glimmered at such a sight.

"Oh... my god. I never thought I'd be flying one of these things.. but damn am I ready." He said with excitement.

Cid looked up at the airship, grinning to himself.

:This will be useful. But we'll need lots of automatons to help us.: He looked to Ribault.

"Hey, Ribault, this looks like it'll need quite a few automatons to help us out. Think we'll be able to get that kinda workforce?"

Cid considered the ship again.

:Huh...wouldn't be hard to get that many automatons. Assuming we can avail ourselves to enough magitek cores...:

Thatch scratched his head as he looked up at the hulk of a skyship. He could already envision himself aboard what would become like a second home to himself, and no doubt the entire crew. He saw what could be a navigation deck above the body, as well as himself standing at the helm, whistling as he spun the wheel.

He stupid grin was soon plastered on Thatch's face as he daydreamed of what was to be. When he snapped out of it, he thought of the different instruments that would be needed. The sextant and compass were of course necessary, but luckily he already carried those on him.

"I am getting some good feeling from this skyship, Alex." Thatch commented with a smile.

A short time later, the ship was unloaded, lashed to the ground to prevent its blowing away, and boarded by the trio.

It was a wonderful piece of machinery, wrought of steel through and through, with a dignified veneer despite its many years of service. It was a Kripyat machine, produced by Nopolyin Industries for use by practically anyone with need of something that could fly, ferry cargo, shoot at people, and go reasonably fast--it was the standard against which airships were judged, and a proud and quality standard at that. Regrettably, the ship that Alexander was now aboard needed plenty of fixing up, but it was just opportunity to do something that would get him and his newfound crew to the sky.

They inspected the ship from bow to stern. The Helm, a globe of armoured glass with steel reinforcement bars, sat proudly at the front of the vessel and contained her piloting instruments, including joysticks, buttons, levers and all sorts of assorted lights and beeping instruments, as well as a truly prodigious display of gauges and dials. The pilot would have almost a three hundred sixty degree view from this enclosure and could be helped to endure long shifts by a java machine within arm's reach. An amazingly comfortable seat even included a cupholder.

The Bridge, one door away from the Helm, contained a large planning table, under which was situated--to the team's utter amazement--a Model A33G Babbler mechanical computer, of endless use in communication and mathematical figuring. Maps would soon line the walls, alongside filing cabinets and a large, tough-looking safe--not to mention an arms locker that would be put to use shortly. From just outside the Helm door, a ladder allowed an exit to the Observation Deck; a door led aft to the Crew's Quarters. There were also two uncomfortably small hatches in the wall, leading downwards at an angle, into two gutted turret housings, one on either side; a third led to the frontal turret housing directly below the Helm.

Moving towards the back of the ship, through a door, a ladder led down to the Magazine--which was, for the moment, devoid of explosive blastpowder. Beside this ladder were four bunk beds, accommodating eight individuals; leading back into a somewhat wider area was the Galley, or ship's kitchen, as well as the Mess Hall, basically referring to tables and chairs. The culinary instruments in this area were of the utmost quaintness and lended themselves perfectly to one hundred percent contrived cuisine; one luxury, however, included refrigeration, something Alex at least was amazed hadn't been stripped from the ship. Another set of hatches here led to two more housings, again one on either side; another ladder led up to the decks, and a separate one down to Engineering. A door out furthest to stern led to the Head, including a shower. An engineering access route to the rotors existed next to the Head's door. Within this route, one could find a ladder to the aft gun turret.

The lower deck included, at the front of the ship, a very large cargo bay, sufficiently so for perhaps a tank; it included also a crane for loading and unloading large cargo items, to be installed or removed through a dropdown ramp. A door led to a storage facility with plenty of shelving.

The Magazine, directly below where the crew would sleep--an uneasy thought, Alexander realized--would be full of barrels. Not just any barrels, you see--hammered-down, tied-down, double-affixed barrels, full of explosives. The chains needed to do this were stashed in a corner, but everything appeared to be in working order. The room was surrounded by thickened, doubly-fireproof bulkheads, and used sparkless machinery--including two "armoured dumbwaiters" and multiple conveyors that could deliver blastpowder to the turret housings.

Perhaps most importantly, the Engine Room contained the steam engine--a smoke-belching, Kole-mulching, eyebrow-singing iron beast, capable of pushing the ship forward at a swift pace with the power of its enormous boiler. Access tunnels led inside of the plated machine; it was at this time that the Captain was certainly not jealous of Cid's job description. Away from the engine were stocks of kole, unceremoniously dumped into bins; before these bins was a large set of armoured trapdoors that would serve as a way to remove a scragged engine and replace it.

The Observation Deck took up the entire topside of the vessel. Another turret housing, also accessible from the Deck, overlooked the aft of the vessel, but mostly the decks consisted of open space. From here, the outside of the ship could be viewed, including two deployable arms for sails, five rotors at the aft of the vessel for thrust, and the Helm at the bow.

For now, the crew slept, after some deserving celebration. The next day, they'd begin preparations for liftoff, to leave the Earth behind. Or so they thought.

Thatch woke early in the morning and got dressed. Slipping his overcoat over his shoulders, he walked sleepily through the ship, investigating every nook and cranny. His eyebrows would cock every once and a while, as he saw something either interesting, or altogether unneeded. As he walked down the main hall, he brought he hand along the steel bulwark that made up the walls, from hull to Observation Deck. He smiled with delight at the prospect of flying this great machine.

He slowly made his way to the bow, noting the Bridge ahead. As he walked in, he leaned against the table and fiddled with the A33G Babbler Computer. He found the device relatively easy to follow, as long as you learn the many different functions to it. Of course, as the Navigator, it would be a duty to learn how to use the computer and all other devises in the Bridge and Helm. He grinned as he found his own affinity for this kind of work.

As he entered the Helm, he gazed through the bubble window ahead, allowing a grand 360 Degree view of his surroundings. He started to inspect the various buttons and joy-sticks, and their various wires which traveled below the deck toward the mechanics underneath. Realizing he had to always have to have the mechanics in the Helm at top shape, he relished the idea of being the engineer, who would no doubt be under considerable strain to keep the ship in the best order possible.

"Good thing Cid's here..." Thatch thought to himself as he brought his head back above the dashboard from the wiring below.

From his satchel, Thatch brought out various maps made, and nautical instruments that would indeed be quite useful in this new skyship. Using tape, he fastened his large maps, made by himself, onto the Bulkhead by the bubble. The maps made showed the various topographical features they would encounter on their journeys, as well as the bodies of water, all in great detail. Notes at the side of the map held the positions of annual weather patterns and systems, encountered by Thatch during his sea voyages.

A large red triangle by a continent known as Romago, stood out before Thatch as he looked at the map. His smile turned to a frown the longer he looked at it. The Romagian Triangle... brought back sour memories for Thatch.

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It was in Romago, only a year or so before the current time, that Thatch and his pirate crew were. They had recently come across some very.. valuable merchandise in the port city, and had scrambled to leave. Upon boarding their ship, and setting sail, Thatch took a bearing that he had never taken before, feeling the innate urge to explore some new territory. As they sailed, ox-eye clouds overtook the sky, and even while it was morning, it was as black as black could be. The waves were stronger than anything Thatch had experiences before, and they tossed the ship around as though it was a rag-doll.

It was in the middle of this area of water, that Thatch hastily began to chart using the sextant and compass. His found, by looking at the great dark clouds, that all the area it took up, was a giant triangle, probably over a couple of miles in every direction. This triangle, became known to the crew, as the Romagian Triangle, an area of the densest storm clouds, and the most horrifying storms a man could endure. The storm encountered by Thatch and his crew, spelled fatal for their ship, and over half of the crew... they shipwrecked.

~~~~~~~

As Thatch remembered this harrowing tale, he found himself shaking slightly. He held his hand and put it back on the dashboard until it stopped shaking. He cursed under his breath and closed his eyes tight, trying not to remember what his crew had to go through.. and the ultimate sacrifice that many made. After that time, he made a solemn vow, to his late crew, to get through that Triangle in any way possible, for those who dared to try in the first place. He wiped his eyes of the tears that has rightfully formed, and looked away from the map.

Not even his own friends knew of what happened, but he knew they would ask once they saw the large triangle of red, fatefully scribed onto the map. But the worst thing that had occurred to Thatch... was that Triangle would be an inevitable obstacle in this new ship's path, and even in the air, the danger it posed was just as great as if it were on the sea.

Cid, having woken up early, was already examining the engine. It was slightly rusted, and looked to need some fresh gears and new oil.

:Not bad for something pulled out of a Boneyard. At any rate, looks like I've got quite a few gears needing retooling. Looks like I'll need some more oil as well. Still, I've seen many an engine and this one is far from the worst! Better write that supply list down...:

Cid pulled out a small notepad and scrawled the list on it, as well as a few other things that weren't as essential, but would certainly help out.

"Huh...new set of wrenches might do me some good. Maybe a few crates of scrap and a small case of Magitek cores? Costly, yes, if they are new. Might be cheaper if they are older. Might even find a few on the ship."

He nodded, looking at his Automaton as if it would understand. He looked at the pad.

"Oh, well, my handwriting's a mess. At least Ribault, Thatch and most engineer types can read it. Well, time to go locate our Captain. Bet he can't wait to see this list."

Cid rolled his eyes, knowing full well that which he needed would be more than costly, but also would be most advantageous in keeping the ship moving smoothly. He walked out of the quiet engine room, fairly alone in the starkly quiet interior of the ship.

OOC: DVP, we don't have private rooms and our sickbay would probably be the mess hall. You could put a sign on a medical cabinet though, that's going to be there.

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Alexander's eyes scanned the list. He stood, nodding at Cid, Thatch, and the newcomer Barry. The materials would have to be collected, including some furnishings, gears, engine parts, automatons, levers, circuits, and punchcards. All of this could be scrounged from Rustbukit, but it would take some doing, and so the party of ambitious fliers found themselves in the town market.

They walked in, however, on panic rather than commerce. The central area of Rustbukit consisted of shop upon warehouse upon storage facility; the area was beautiful, if quaint, but this day there was a panicked crowd before a speaker on a podium--obviously the member of some sort of political office. The crowd around him was dispersing, many clearly in a state of shock and fear. Alex tapped a man on the shoulder.

"What has happened, sir?" he asked with a fair bit of concern.

The man looked at him with anger in his eyes. "Lord Errorprone happened," he replied. "Radioed us, ordered us to assemble a tribute to him. The usual threats..."

As the citizen stormed off, the Captain looked back at Cid and the others, then around the plaza. Boxes of parts were being removed from several places, including--aye caramba!--a set of Magitek cores. All of this going to the Pirate lord above--and yet easily enough to fix their ship, with extras. He joined his comrades in a huddle.

"Are any of you up for a cannon battle anytime soon?" he asked in a hushed whisper. "I'm sure that this town could supply us with enough that we could blow the bastard out of the sky--but I'm not going to expect any of you to put your lives on the line."

He grinned. This was exactly the type of adventure he'd hoped for.

Thatch grinned devilishly. His gripped the handles of both his pistols which were hanging on his belt.

"Alex, you should know me better than that. I'm a pirate still, even though I work under you now." Thatch said with excitement.

Looking to all the crates and goods going to the pirates, Thatch whistled with surprise. He ran his hand over a barrel filled with various parts, oddly enough needed by his own crew here.

"Shit.. this Errorprone guy must be some pirate if he could get the people to give him this much." Thatch said sarcastically. "I think it's about time we show him what defeat tastes like, aye?"