InfamousGuy101

Empire of the Clouds

Itzi – Taking to the Skies

Itzi gritted her teeth, both hands steady on the controls as the airship lurched beneath her. The ballonets deflated, the ballast dumped, and the ship began its ascent—not gracefully, but it was rising. The wind caught them hard, pushing against the hull, and for a moment, the airship swayed like a drunken sailor. Hold steady. Keep the nose level.

She forced herself to focus, adjusting the altitude controls in careful increments, not overcorrecting. She'd studied the techniques, knew the theory inside and out, but now? Now it’s just me, my hands, and this ship.

The engines roared, the pressure gauges fluctuated slightly, but everything held. It’s working. She exhaled through her nose, fingers tightening, eyes flicking over the instruments. No amount of theory could replace experience, but hell if she wasn’t earning it right now.

“Come on, girl,” she muttered under her breath, as if speaking to the ship itself. “We’re not dying today.”

She spared a brief glance out the window. Below, the fortress was shrinking, the ground falling away, but the ridgeline—the horsemen—were still visible. Itzi felt her pulse hammer, her gaze retuned to the skies where she hoped they'd find safety.

Carter – A Helping Hand

Carter was gripping a support beam near when movement caught his eye. Nikos, tearing across the yard like hell itself was at his heels.

“Shit,” Carter muttered.

The ship was rising fast, the mooring lines already cut. If Nikos didn’t reach the gondola now, he wasn’t reaching it at all.

Carter let go of the beam and lunged, cursing at himself all while at it. Grabbing a thick net still hanging from the hull the mainer braced himself against the deck, extending a hand out toward the sprinting Inburian.

“Move it, sailor!” Carter barked, arm outstretched. If he jumps, he might just make it.

Empire of the Clouds

Likewise. Lost a true G

Smoke and Steel

Alberic Thorel

Port of Rodelkog

---

The harbor was alive with the sound of waves lapping against the hulls of ships and the rhythmic calls of sailors preparing for departure. The air carried the scent of brine and wood tar, mingling with the distant scent of roasted fish from a nearby market stall.

Inside a small, dimly lit cabin near the pier, Alberic sat alone at a wooden table, the flickering lantern casting long shadows on the walls. The parchment before him bore the ink of his restless mind, his quill hovering for a moment as he contemplated his next words.

The war was moving faster than he had expected. Would Andronika and Coralie truly work together, or would their ambitions rip them apart before the real fight even began? Mainland rulers had a way of turning allies into rivals faster than any storm at sea.

But deep down, Alberic cared little for who sat on the throne of some shattered empire.

The Isles were what mattered. Vich, Emiddly, Favis—his people. Coralie had brought so many Corsairs to her side, more than he thought possible. If she had that much sway, what did that mean for the League? Did Gerart and the Council of Captains still hold any power, or had they become little more than ghosts in an era they no longer controlled?

His real loyalty lay with the League, with the dream of a united Circle Sea, and more importantly, with Aonène.

She was the true Uniter, the one who could break the cycle of blood between Vich and Emiddly and forge something greater. But she was out here, tangled in the affairs of landlocked wars, when she should have been back rallying the isles, standing before the League, and taking what was rightfully hers.

With a frustrated sigh, Alberic sealed the message he had just finished writing—a direct call to Gerart and the others. A plea, or a warning, depending on how they saw it. Coralie was rising, and if the League didn’t move soon, they’d be answering to her instead of calling their own shots.

Just as he finished, the door to the cabin creaked open, and one of Coralie’s messengers stepped inside.

“Message for the League?” the man asked, eyeing the sealed parchment.

Alberic handed it over. “Sealed and ready. Make sure it reaches them.”

The messenger took the letter and, without hesitation, pulled another scroll from his belt, wrapped in deep crimson ribbon and sealed with wax.

“This one’s for you,” the courier said.

Alberic furrowed his brow, taking the scroll. Coralie’s seal. He turned it over in his hands, but before he could break it open, the courier raised a hand.

“Open it once you’re aboard,” the messenger instructed, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Orders from the Empress.”

Alberic gave a slow nod, watching as the man left, disappearing into the bustling dockside.

Left alone with his thoughts, he turned the scroll between his fingers. What now, Coralie?

Outside, the ships were nearly ready to set sail. The war was moving. The tides were shifting. But to whose benefit?

He would soon find out.

Empire of the Clouds

Itzi Ku & James E. Carter

---

Itzi – Prepping for Takeoff

Itzi’s fingers danced over the controls, her eyes flicking between dials and gauges as she ran through the final checks. Everything was primed—engines ready, ballonets inflated just enough to keep them grounded, and the ballast waiting to be dumped. All they needed was the signal that the lines were free and everyone—everyone—was aboard, including the last of the gold.

Her stomach twisted with nerves, but she shoved them down. Now was not the time for doubt.

She checked again—fuel pressure, rudder responsiveness, altitude stabilizers. Everything was where it needed to be. No mistakes. No failures.

Taking a sharp breath, she pulled her pistol from her belt, pulling the side and making sure a round was there. Would she need it? Hopefully not. Hopefully, they were about to take off and leave all of this behind.

But her hands still trembled slightly as she released the slide back in place.

Was she really up for this?

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to home... to the warm, salty air of the Main, the familiar streets, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from a busy market stall. A far cry from where she sat now, heart pounding, waiting for the moment they’d rise into the sky or fall into chaos. She wasn’t here just for herself. She had to make it back. Not empty-handed. Not with just a story of how she almost had it.

Gritting her teeth, she tucked the pistol back in its waist holster and refocused.

Just a little longer. Get everyone aboard. Cut the lines. Drop the ballast. And then, they’d be free.

---

Carter – Time to Fly

The last crate of gold swung up on the crane, rattling slightly before settling into the cargo hold with a satisfying thud. Carter exhaled through his nose, gripping the shotgun tight as he took one last glance at the castle. That’s it. No more trips. No second chances. The moment that gold hit the airship, it became theirs.

He turned, stepping quickly up the stairs of the cargo hold and onto the deck as the others followed behind, sweat-streaked and breathless. The engines rumbled, the air thrumming, it was obvious that the crew inside the ship had begun work already. They were seconds away from getting the hell out of here, assuming nothing went sideways in the last stretch.

That was when he spotted Zano and other crew working the lines, hands moving fast to free the last tethers holding them to the ground. Carter smirked, adjusting his shotgun on his shoulder as he called out, “Damn fine timing, Mirazdar. Any later, and we’d have been sitting ducks out here, waiting for an invitation to dinner...”

He didn’t need to explain what kind of dinner, evveryone already knew it’d be lead instead of lamb.

With the gold aboard and the last lines dropping free, Carter made his way to the ballast release, rolling his shoulders as he took position. He gripped the lever, bracing himself. Once this goes, there’s no stopping it. The ship would rise, and with any luck, they'd leave behind the horsemen, the fort, and hopefully war itself, at least for him and those with no interest in fighting for a cause that wasn't theirs.

He turned his head toward Arkadios, Itzi and anyone else in the bridge, calling out over the growing hum of the engines, “We ready to let this bird fly?”

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.