The late night is still and smoky in the high port of Blackfish as you board an unguarded vessel. The lamps along the catwalk leading up to her have gone out as no one refilled them in time; stores of oil are running low in the city.
Will's Bluebird is a little unkempt due to a lack of recent maintenance but her lines are good. Somehow the street gangs haven't noticed the lack of guards yet and stripped her bare, but you saw an urchin scurrying off as you approached, they'll be here soon enough.
Jale looks askance at the vessel and shrugs. She's seen worse. Then again, those vessels were losing altitude fast and heading straight to the Churn.
"Any night's a good night you actually wake up from, Mog. Let's see the dawn."
Down the street just after Jale walks a man with a confident gait. It looks like fireflies follow him, but a close inspection reveals something more to it. A fire flickers in the sword he cradles despite the lack of an obvious source.
"We best hurry. Opportunity don't knock twice. "
An old graybearded human follows along behind some of his crewmates from a previous job. Might as well tag along. Don't want ta be pressed and don't want ta see them get themselves killed... He moves quietly and carefully up onto deck."Agreed. Let's sweet-talk this lady later and get her under way now."
Jale pokes around, gunstock club held out in front to lift lids/ropes/shift boxes etc, her face a grimace, nose scrunched, lips curling ever so slightly.
"This deadwhale smells. Who will control it?" she asks in her clipped, slightly accented fashion.
"Ey, Mog. Are you volunteering?" Surtur boards the Bluebird methodically.
"I can 'ave 'er cleaned up soon enough, Jale. After we set course of course. She'll need a new name at tha least. Any ideas? Otherwise, this'll be the maiden voyage of the Free Blacktail."
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"Oh, I can fly her - question is if you'll all be able to hang on when she's got me drivin'," Mog says with relish. He tilts his head for a second. "Though what winds'll be driving us..."
The old salt begins lashing down everything loose, getting ready for the crazy ride his comrade is about to subject this old tub to. "Help me out, will ya?" he calls to the others nearby.
Seps clambers over the rail of the catwalk, having kept an eye out for any unwanted attention. Dressed entirely in grayscale, they are tough to make out in the dim lighting. "Looks clear so far." They seem on edge, but less so as their feet slide onto the deck.
Spotting Pike's efforts they grab a rope and help out, moving with surprising agility for their fragile appearance. When Surtur asks for name ideas they look thoughtful. "Hmm. Oh, Mog, what was it you were saying about opportunity and knocking and...?" They trail off. "I had an idea, but I lost it."
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"Let's name her Freedom's Folly. Or The Fickle Wind. You don't care what you're called as long as we get flyin' soon, ain't that right, me beaut." He's begun talking to the ship again, practically cooing. He shakes his head, focuses again on his crewmates. "You lot got us shipshape yet? I ain't here to die of old age when there's a breeze we could be catchin' outta here."
Surtur latches a rope firmly with his free hand showing a strong grip anyone here would be more than familiar with. He keeps an eye on Harper. Always looking so... frail to him. He should know better by now.
"Folly? Fickle? Ya really know how ta pick inspirin' words Mog. We're on tha same page wit' freedom though. We'll figure it out later. Over somethin' to drink maybe? Mayors gotta have a stash."
Liam made his way back onto the main deck, mentally checking off his inspection of the lower areas. He had wanted to give the ship a professional look over quickly before they set out. If there was some problem he wanted to get started patching it before it became a catastrophe. Not that he couldn’t fix a catastrophe mind, a technician born and raised on a Fixer Hulk could fix darn near anything. As he emerged onto the deck he overheard debate about the name, “Freedom’s Folly sounds nice but unless we hurry up and move out we are going to find ourselves dealing with more folly than freedom. The ship is in surprisingly good shape, nothing we can't take care of on the go.”
"Opportunity Knocks". A good name, Harper. A pity they are unimaginative savages."
Jale listens with half an ear to the debate and dire warnings of imminent danger while making a nest of ropes and boxes into which she deposits her belongings.
"You may be steering, but you aren't the captain Mog, so a little less ordering and a little more... aging. Either that or lend a hand." She looks over to the docks.
"Is that the militia coming toward us?"
The old salt stands up and straightens out his stiff back. He surveys the deck and nods that things seem ready. At word of the watch, he turns to the others "Push off now if we want this 'freedom'! Mog, you better take us out!"
The old fellow leans over himself and puts his back into pushing off from the dock.
The militia is nowhere to be seen but a cluster of mean, dirty faces pops up over the port railing. A young woman among them waves a long staff in the air and calls out "Clear off! This is our haul!" It looks like a street gang has shown up, all of them have similar patches with a lightning bolt emblem on their clothes.
The greybeard barks to his fellows. "Company all right." He then stands on the gangplank (or whatever would be the easiest way for them to board) and bellows "Not likely. This is our ship and yed better shove off yerself!" He stands with his boarding pike across his body, ready to make good on his claim. He doesn't glance behind him, just trusting and hoping that his friends back him up.
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"You may be steering, but you aren't the captain Mog, so a little less ordering and a little more... aging. Either that or lend a hand." She looks over to the docks.
"Aye, marm!" Mog gives an insouciant salute to Jale from behind the wheel. He moves to begin hauling lines before the rival crew interrupts them.
"I'd listen to the man, boyos - last fight Ol' Pike there got in, he lit the town on fire in a rage after he'd wrapped up his business with the offendin' party," Mog helpfully chimes from the opposite side of the deck, as he started immediately moving to put some distance between him and the clear trouble. "None of you got family on this rock, do you?" he asks unconcernedly.
Seps draws their cutlass and moves to stand defiantly next to Ol' Pike. "There must be a dozen gangs out there that know better than to take us on. You really want to try?"
Jale smiles back at Mog, then darts her head back as Pike warns of actual company.
The warrior jumps up on her nest of boxes and pulls out her boomerang, gunstock club in her other hand.
"Not a fighter among them. Tell you what, let's promise this - everyone of you we catch we drop into the Churn." She follows this up with a feral snarl.
"OI, WE AINT LETTIN' A DAMN SOUL SLOW OUR DESTINED COURSE! ILL 'AVE ALL YER HEADS ABOARD WITHOUT YER NECKS!" Surtur raises his great blade in both hands as his temper ignites, his hair ignites, and the other group ignites. One of those things is not like the other things.
With startled yells the gang vanishes, half of them burning and all dismayed by Surtr's challenge. The smell of burning hair lingers behind them as they scatter down the catwalks.
"Feh. Weak-willed."
Liam had taken the strange looking rifle off of his back when someone had said that they thought they saw the militia. When it turned out to be a simple gang he relaxed slightly. Gangs could be trouble but were unlikely to really slow their group down. An armed militia on the other hand might be a different matter. They needed to move before they had to deal with that as well. When Surtr makes a great show of things Liam just shakes his head, “One of these days you’re going to burn up something useful and Ill be right cross about it. But I cant deny it sends a clear message. One that we don't really want to wait around for a militia reply to if we can help it.”
With that Liam slings his rifle back onto his back and moves about the deck helping wherever is necessary to get them moving. Working on a Fixer Hulk had always meant doing a bit of everything so there weren't many jobs he wasn't at least passingly familiar with. The sooner they were on the move the better so he was willing to help wherever it was needed.
Ol' Pike laughs heartily at the flaming miscreants' departure. "That's right! GIT!" Then get turns to his mates, agreeing with what's already been said about skedaddling.
Seps looks plainly relieved to see the gang running without a full-on fight, and they nod firmly to Liam's comment. "Yeah, let's get airborne. No more waiting for opportunity to knock - time to break down the door." They quickly get to work helping the technician prep the ship for flight, securing loose components with a tool that seems to shift from hammer to screwdriver to wrench with a twist of the handle.
The small ship doesn't seem to be the world's fastest but it does maneuver like a dream as you deftly take it out into the mists. Little else is moving given the late hour and the conditions.
As you approach the edge of the island there's a deep thrum from up ahead. Some rather larger airship is coming in.
Seps turns to the captain, then realizes there isn't one and looks back at the ship. "Can anyone tell who it is?"
Pike squints his seaman's eyes and takes a look at the larger lady bearing down on them. "Liam, know anything about that rig?"
Ol' Pike figures the other ship is running heavily laden but can't tell anything more than that.
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Pike grunts. "Looks like we could outrun'er if we gained altitude fast. Any ideas?"
Jale watches the larger vessel hove into view with no small amount of trepidation.
"Mayhap it iz just coming in? Let's concentrate on removing ourselves and worry about them if they worry about us...
Seps nods slowly. "I like the altitude idea. Gives us more options, once we see what we're dealing with."
Pike agrees hurriedly. "Up! Up! Up!"
You take your ship up into the sky and a bulky ore carrier comes out of the mists as you do so. There's a small fighter on its deck - not usual for an ore carrier - and a large woman in an armored coat next to it yelling insults at you ending with "... and the port master's hearing about this!"
Pike calls out to the rest "Let's catch wind, all!!"
"Aye."
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"Aye? Tell 'im that Mog Calloway sends his regards!," Mog yells over the railing. "You know, thinking on it - I don't think I've met the port master there," Mog says conversationally to the rest of the crew. "Never gone in nor out by... conventional means from that port. Might be the man's never heard of me and it's all a wild goose chase." Mog leers cheerfully and begins to whistle.
Jale breathes a sigh of relief and returns to creating a space on deck in which to lair, hopefully out of the way of the necessary tasks.