Futuristic Edge of the Dunes - Apocalyptic Airship Adventure

[Zab]

The Gambler's Refuge flew through the airspace around Velcha, air flowing through the twin underside turbines that kept it afloat. Aboard the smaller trading vessel was an assortment of goods, a few passengers, and a passion for adventure. Stocked full of the normal trading inventory, the Gambler's Refuge was mildly known across the skies as a regular merchant vessel. At Velcha, the ship had picked up quite a good selection of general goods, as well as some pretty cheap metallic compounds just waiting to be sold to the best smith. Indeed, this trip was going to have been well worth it.


The ship was structured rather plainly. Though large, it held more storage space than comfort. The bridge and captain's quarters, located at the front rather than the back, flowed into a hallway that led right out onto the main deck. Inside the quarter deck, instead, sat a massive, three-floor storage area, complete with small cranes and an opening for the loading platform to extend out the back. From the storage area, or by the stairs on the deck, led to the guns on either side, hidden from view. Connected to them, in the heart of the ship, was the crew area, which also housed its current passengers. The engine room sat under the storage area, connected to the twin turbines. Almost all of the areas of the ship was filled with a good four crew members, with two inspecting the cargo to make sure that it was secure.


The Captain, one Rilkas Orrig, sat in his rather lavish and ornate chair, facing the full-view windows in front of him. All around, metal plates adorned the inside of the ship. She may carry that wooden finish outside, but inside the Gambler's Refuge was armored up to 11. The decrepit and elderly Captain sipped on his alcoholic beverage, though sipped may be the wrong word as the entire drink was downed in one sitting. He laughed heartily to the other members of the command bridge, and pointed his glass forward.


"We got what we came here for, let's head on out to Killig!" he shouted in his raspy voice.


By now, the ship had left Velchan airspace, and turned southwards to start out towards another city on its trip.

 

[Travster]

"Da, Captain." came the affirmative response from a recently sober Dmitri, his voice still husky and broken from the excessive punishment of the night before.


He rubs tired eyes and changes course southward towards Killig, taking a few moments to plot the best route. He'd be damned if he passed through any of the rumoured pirate hotspots for the sake of a few extra hours. Once satisfied, he reaches down to retrieve his silver hipflask from the dark recesses of a coat pocket, green eyes snapping upon its tantalising cap. He licks his lips and extracts his gaze from its death-grip, forcefully jamming the power button with his thumb instead. As the thing whirrs and kicks out a cloud of smoke, its small screen lights up with green writing. Scanning for reports of maelstroms in the area, he jabs a few more buttons and the green writing scrolls rapidly up the screen.


"It looks like clear sailing, Captain, I think we make good time. Da." he adds the final affirmative as a reassurance to himself, eyeing a day-old news report on the latest disaster.


These reports usually cropped up once a month, and those were the ones with eye-witness accounts, so who knew how many countless more unknown disasters occurred each month. Dmitri makes a few quick calculations and reckons by the law of averages that they should have, at least, another day until the next one. He hoped they'd make Kllig before then.


He had just begun pondering the classic if-a-disaster-occurred-and-there-was-noone-around-to-witness-it-would-it-actually-occur line of thought, when he realised he'd been sat staring at the screen for a little too long. He powers the hipflask down with a jab, a shake and a curse, then pulls himself unsteadily to his feet.


"I go to make my rounds, Captain." He announces, turning to find out what had become of Kotik, and to investigate the other crew members and passengers.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

John was busy checking cables and wires. A ship like this didn't just fly and anyone who chose to work aboard such a ship had best be prepared for constant work, that coupled with the threat of pirates, suicidal storms and chances of sudden unexpected death, meant that it brought an interesting crowd of people to its employ but, you got work were there was work to got and, to be perfectly honest John was feeling a little better then he had in a long time. To be sailing on the The Gamblers Refuge once more put him a little at ease and, while he did not know this crew for it seemed largely different from the one he sailed with last time, he knew the captain and, strangely for John, trusted the man. When he heard the orders barked he immediately responded "Aye Captain", not because he had the voice of a Cornish pirate, but because every time he worked on a ship.. it just felt like the one way to show agreement with a captain. He then continued before he could stop himself and said "good to be sailing under you again." Which was so unlike him. He felt like he had a sunny disposition. He could feel the wind and instead of scorning at its biting breeze, he smiled at the thought of adventure. He had checked many of the cables about where he was and, for the time atleast, chose to stand on the rigging, one arm holding on as the other lay on his blade and he just looked out into the distant azure blue sky, almost wishing for an incident with the other kind of azure.


Then he snapped out of it. Looked at the ship, smiled at those who were still on deck and decided to take his drink and have a sip. It was expensive and he planned on making it last, but he felt like if there was ever a time, then it was now.

 

[Uncultured]

"Pretty lady" growled Urr through the tangle of wires and tubes that ran across his face, hidden underneath the mesh of metal and plastic that formed his mask.


As he growled these words, he raised his arm to point towards a woman who was working on some minor repairs along the starboard side of the vessel. While Urr didn't have the best taste in.... well, in anything, Cylon could admit that the woman had an attractive form. Lean and feminine, while also curvaceous in the apt locations.


If Cylon still had his nether parts, he would have attempted some form of small talk with the woman in order to gauge potential interest, but it had been many years since such fleshly desires had been of any importance to the ancient cyborg.


What interested him now was whether or not she would survive if the ship came under attack. How strong would she be? Would she crack under the pressure and flee on an escape craft? Or would she stand tall and fight, and die? Would she lose what sanity she possessed due to the horror of violence before dying at the hands of the hypothetical attackers?


Who would she be once stripped of social and personal feelings and barriers? When torn down by chaos, she'd be honest, open to the world. What kind of person would that reveal?


"I should see what the rage virus does to her..... her body type is within the perfect range for optimal performance, what do you think Urr?" asked Cylon to his massive bodyguard.


"Rage virus" said Urr simply, without meaning or understanding, looking blankly at the ancient scientist.


"Your intelligence has stunted at the level of a toddler Urr, you are beyond my repair, you are truly without hope you daft fool. You will never enjoy the ability to speak in and appreciate soliloquies as I once hoped, or to understand even the most basic of equations, or experience the euphoria of your own bloody handiwork" said Cylon, his voice mechanical and raspy through his voice adapter.


"Urr hammer smash, Cylon think" said Urr simply, placing his massive hand on the cyborg's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.


"Unhand me beast" said Cylon crisply, shoving his servant's hand from his shoulder.


"Hmmmmgmgmgmgmgmg" groaned the massive creature before speaking again "Urr is sorry" he said simply.


"Fool" muttered Cylon as he turned from his servant once more, looking back out over the side of the deck.


With mechanical clicks and the whining of micro motors, Cyclon turned his head to the slowly fading city of Velcha. It had been his base of operations, what some would call a home, and not only would it be years before he could return, but he had lost something, one of the few things he truly cared for, the prestige of his name.


His main lab, located deep underneath the surface of the city, would never be found, his specimens would sit in stasis, waiting for his return, and his equipment would remain untouched. What data he had accumulated over the past century and a half was with him, downloaded to several memory banks located in the rear of what most would call his brain.


He hadn't lost anything tangible. Even the fact that he couldn't access his lab was of no consequence, he had other labs elsewhere, but his contributions to science and history would be stripped from his name. He was tarnished. After what they had discovered, he couldn't blame them, but still, the thought of those contributions, now being attributed to others or to the state drove him physically heated with rage.


One day soon, when Cylon found a way to transplant his brain into Urr's massive body, he would return and massacre those who had burned his name, with those thoughts he cooled his system, returning to whatever the sick old scientist believed was a normal state of mind.

 

[Travster]

Dmitri shades his eyes from the sun with one hand while he appraises the deck. The first to catch his attention are, unsurprisingly, the cyborg and his ogre-minion, though he decides that they are also the last ones he wants to approach. Instead, he heads over to the figure with the sword and the drink, feeling he might have a little more in common with him. The pilot instinctively reaches for his own flask, but his conscience and headache double-team to delay the inevitable for a while longer yet. He tucks his thumbs into his belt as though to anchor his hands.


"There is nothing better on a bright day, comrade." he says, flicking a finger towards the drink and the sky. "Do you mind if I join you?"


He doesn't wait for a response, turning to lean against the railing with an elbow as he continues. "My name is Dmitri. What do you think to the metal man and his giant boyfriend over there?"


Dmitri dips his head and furrows his brow, veiling his eyes in enough shadow that he could surveil the deck, especially the cyborg. He'd flown on enough ships to know that no matter how much you didn't want to, it paid to make a friend or two.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

John actually smiled, it seemed odd to him but he was actually happy at the presence of another. "Not at all brother" he responded, not noticing the dangerous duo behind him until that moment. "A shady pair of toffs if ever I saw one, no doubt about that. Though I'd wager they want to keep their head down, so they should be little trouble." He had put his drink away by now and leaned away from the edge, offering the man his hand "you seem a tad far from your hometown there, you can call me Marshal, everyone does, mind if I ask about where you hail from Dimitri?" He didn't trust the man, for joy to trust anyone it took work, but he didn't dislike him. John was going to watch this man, he could be a valuable ally.

 

[ArcaneUnit]

Bellow Decks:


Orian, was working away on some of his hobby tasking. He didn't care much for the view, not from his experiences anyways. His love and his passion were deeply rooted and invested in his time, not the fictitious and imaginary voyage of his life's possibilities. {He saw beauty on the horizon, but not peace of mind, not hope; No spiritual fulfilment.}


He was sitting in a corner. His oversized dome of a coat, doubled as his work bench and his rucksack. He figured he would whittle away until he was called for a group meal ~ and if there wasn't one, he wouldn't be distressed in the least - he always had a snackbar [ Not a single bar. {A snack bar.} ]. He had needlessly refined one of his pieces since he sat down.


Orian found out a long time ago, that rules which accumulatively make up common sense, first must be realized, but even then are easily forgotten through ambitions, obsession and rashness. He had a rule: Do not fix what is not broken ~ for you can not cut off too little, but you can cut off too much ~ Not what his wife said*. He liked to add his own humor to the Rules, it allowed him the few pleasures he had in life: puns. he liked puns.


He snickered. @ She's blind- or not, but who was too know.. the way she went about..


He looked up from his work. The sounds, lighting, and occupancy of the ship's inner hall was quite cozy. He felt very much at home; to his surprize. *He just felt a little bit the opposite of Closter phobic.


The voyage had cost him a pretty penny, literally ~ He didn't make garbage for a living. **He was riding on a ship worth mentioning to anyone whom were worth mentioning it to at all. He intended to reach his destination. unlike those un-notable Sailors Contracts that were notorious for being targets of piracy, crashing, inadvertent fees, lack of... -there Were reasons: one would refuse to gamble on a less prestigious ship.

 

[MasterIzzy]

Below Decks:


Charles was looking through a window to Velcha as the city became smaller and smaller. no luck... after all this time, coming back and finding nothing. no home... no sister Charles pulled out his locket and looked at a picture of his sister I will find you little sister!





Charles turned his head and listened to the ship. all sounded well the new oil works well. I need to remember the recipe, I bet the captain would want more. he got up and started walking to the stairs leading to the upper decks I could use some air





upper decks:


Charles walked up to the upper and found a comfy spot between on the front of the ship and looked onward to the horizon.

 

[Zab]

Night begins to fall over the deck of the Gambler's Refuge. The sun, blazing from the desert heat and negated by the moving breeze, sets over the horizon while the moon has already raised in the distance. As it flies, the ship's shadow passes over more dull white, brown, and scarred black instead of the dusty colors it normally does. Buildings begin to form underneath the ship, ending in tall spires or flat tops. These ruins of ancient civilization still stand, though the front entrance to these places is nowhere to be seen. Indeed, what is visible is actually the top of tall buildings, only ten-to-twenty stories above the wastes below, with the rest of them hidden underneath the dunes. The mystery of such types of ruins has attracted many scavengers, but none ever so successful at finding anything more than burnt documents in a filing cabinet.


Rilkas sits in that padded, comfortable chair, laying back as the buildings become more frequent the further the ship passes into the ruins. Buildings become so tall that the ship passes between them instead of over them. Having sent his normal crew to their quarters to rest and relax, only he and the helmsman stayed on the bridge, making sure that the craft was headed in the right direction. His great yawn was accompanied by his eyes struggling to stay open, tired even as night was only just beginning.

 

[MasterIzzy]

Charles standing in the front of the ship looks at the tall structures as the ship cruises between them. what a glorious time it must have been... being able to build such wonders, and so many! i hope to to find out how they did it.... funny, i think so much about everything around the ship while I still haven't met any of passengers.... charles thought to himself as he looked on the moving background.


Charles turned to the bridge maybe the captain has something that is needed to be done before i turn over. Charles starts walking towards the bridge.

 

[RetroAkabane]

(Are you guys still docked or have you set sail?)

 

[ArcaneUnit]

Orian, made his way through the floors bellow deck where he had been muddling away at his own affairs; wasting time musing over and fidgeting with gadgets which he had no fundamental application to form them to at this time.


He had eaten in the Muck-room with the few other people who had showed up. The crew had yet to fulfill any major tasks to ensure the ship stayed afloat and running, so the Captains voice had yet to come billowing over the com.


He made his way up the steps. The thick leather pads which acted as buffers between his bulky figure and the deck, dampened the heavy thuds of every step as he moved up the steps to the inner passages to the captains courters.


[sHIP DETAILS] (Key Note*)


The[A] hallway between the inner deck and the Bridge had two rooms on either side. The first on the left was large, a secondary-War room, the first on the right was comfortably large, but made up for it's losses with a medical office contained within.


The other two rooms - the one on the right larger then the one on the left - were small, office like rooms. He had been offered to use the one on the right, which not only had more space, but less clutter.


At the end of the hall, to the left a stairwell led down to the neck floor, right outside the captains own stairwell which lead 4 steps up to his Control Post. A small hallways lead right and left from there also, to specific rooms Orian hadn't the fortunate liberty of exploring.


A quirt knock came on the door to Rilkas Command chamber, and Orian entered. He was cautious, and observant to see if he was interrupting, but really in his slow mannerism, the intrusion would have already been made regardless. He was meek, not modest.


"I can begin the work now, if it's not a problem for you Captain Rilkas. I have everything We need but the Codex, like I said."


He had paused only 3 steps in the room, which despite his slow shuffling steps had moved him forward in his bulky frame, a fairly substantial distance (equivalent of any average man's 5 steps.[ despite his short posture. ])


Forehead slightly forward; His head was tilted to his left; his palms up; and seated in his own grandeur. He held the commission papers in his hand. The device he was working on, stood incomplete in the Captains midst: A great pedestal with gears and meters, and instruments, pipes and wires.

 

[ArcaneUnit]

Orian sat down in his cumbersome attire alone next to the large pedestal mechanism he had been hired to work on. He careless made little remarks about the ships untidiness, and the crews peculiar nature, but he kept his head cool. He only looked up from his magnifying spectacles once or twice to see if he had stirred the captain.


The device itself was missing a few of the lenses he had on his person - custom made - as well as some other more "specialized" components which the Captain had made him to understand, were attainable.


Slipping his digits into the device he slipped the lens into place, so that it would not fall out, but nor was it fixed. The resolution and projection of the piece would be problematic.


"I'll let you know when to set the piece." Orian told him, half intruding the captains chitchat.


" And I agree. The skys would be much safer if we all agreed to disdain the same things."


Orian leaned in closer to the device, to glance one last time at the piece he had manufactured to fit nicely into place. The small dial was inscribed with markings so small that they were indiscernible. But if one looked closer, they would see where the secrets lay beneath ~ passageways and "keener eyes". He smirked, allowed the captain to soak in the horizon and hobbled back to the passage bellow decks where his work would continue.

 

[ArcaneUnit]

Orian stepped bellow decks listening closely to the subtle murmurs of conversation while he began his work. No one could see what he was doing, nor could he make heads or tails of even who the voices were from. They all sounded notorious, and from what he had concluded they were.


He set his hands to the pipework before him. It had been installed prior to his boarding. Everything led back to the helm ~


Everything (would once he was finished his contract work).