Forward Unto Dusk (Semi-open, but please ask to join)

[Tobias Stalt]

Whispering across the deck, the wind spoke softly in Tobias' ear as he stared at the vast world below. The world above cloud level was crisp and fresh, and Tobias could feel the difference from the poison atmosphere of Ettermire. He relished the clean air and watched the plains stretch on for eternity. From the sky, the world looked so simple.

In the distance, the mountains spanned as far as he could see in any direction. Clouds parted only for peaks that scraped the sky, so what he could see was mostly obscurity. Gray and white mottled together in a maelstrom of wispy pillows, and Tobias reached out to touch one. Like a gentle trickle of water, the cloud danced away from his touch and left a cool feeling across his skin. Tobias smiled.

"You enjoy flying too much," Camille complained, gripping fast to her small segment of deck. It was apparent that the woman was less than enthused. "Have you ever seen one of these crash? Huge explosions. No survivors. Big mess."

"Aren't you just a pillar of optimism?" Tobias jeered at her, leaning against the rail as he turned to regard her. The freedom felt fantastic. Small fears in his heart gave rise the the greater emotion of anticipation, and he could scarce contain his thoughts. "Are we going to see the world?" He knew better, but Tobias had great hopes.

Camille snorted. "You don't become a Solider to see the world," she recited as though her words came from memory, "you enlist to leave it. And riding an airship just hastens the process."

"With so much faith in the technology of your employers, there's little wonder why," Tobias rolled his eyes. "We haven't started to free fall yet," he reminded her, "will you stand with me?"

"Fuck you, Stalt," she snarled, taking a staggered step toward the staircase that led to the lower deck. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me when we disembark. Not a moment sooner, or I'll have your man purse cut off so I can put it to better use." Tobias watched her silently. When she was gone, he sighed.

"I might never understand that woman," Tobias decided. Alerar stretched out beneath him, and Tobias dug his nails into the guard rail. His uniform provided little protection from the chill at this altitude, but Tobias seemed indifferent. His eyes sparkled lazily with the fascination of a child.

"Here begins your journey, my child," the whispered voice at his side startled him, but Tobias had not forgotten those intense eyes. Lament stood several steps to his left, smiling sadly down toward the earth. "Is it not beautiful?" The manifestation of sorrow asked, not looking toward Tobias.

"They think I'm just some solider," Tobias informed his strange patron, who glanced over thoughtfully. "They don't know they're liable to fall apart because I'm standing there. Touched as I am by," he gestured toward the entity, "tragedy."

"What is war, Tobias?" Lament asked, and the androgynous being pulled away from the rail. It twisted toward Tobias, taking a step toward him. When Tobias put his hands up to ward Lament away, he heard the voice in his ear. "What is a soldier?" The youth blinked and jerked backward, and he fell into the arms of his oppressor. "What is life? What is a man if not consummate tragedy?"

Tobias shrugged away from the sulking spirit, batting away its ethereal hands. "I don't like riddles," he hissed.

"I have not changed the course of history, Tobias," Lament intoned. "Only you can do that."

Tobias felt a chill down his spine as the words of Lament echoed in his mind. 'What is a man...' A sharp gasp escaped Tobias as though he had been asleep and struck by water. "Do you mean I'm not bad luck?" Tobias looked around for Lament, but found only the ancient deck hand swabbing laboriously.

"Might be you're bad luck, sonny," the wrinkled elder chuckled, "talking to yourself is the first indicator." Tobias blinked. He had begun to think that this demigod had some sick sense of humor, talking to him in lucid, half waking dreams. The soldier offered only a grunt in response to the deck hand, glancing back toward the earth below.

"What is a man if not consummate tragedy?" Tobias asked the old man, who stopped swabbing and genuinely considered the question.

"Life is many things," the aged sailor slowly replied, "victories and defeats, loves and losses." He took a breath, clearly choosing his words carefully. "But without tragedy, there would be no triumph. They exist as two halves of a whole. A man cannot be one without sometime in his life being the other." The geezer let out a laugh. "Or something like that. You're sure a profound kid."

"Aye," Tobias muttered. "Profound." He considered the deck hand's words as he turned, and Tobias made for the bow of the ship. The paradox that life was seemed to answer questions with questions. Every time he thought he had an answer, Tobias found he was just beginning.

Tobi reached into the inner pocket of his uniform, and quietly he produced his orders. Reading them over for the millionth time since the trip began, Tobias drank in the thought that he was to be further trained. 'Private Stalt shows extreme promise in the field of command. With careful honing and the proper education, it is my belief he will be an asset to the Alerian cause...'

A smile stretched across his face, and Tobias watched the sun crawl toward the horizon. The day was almost over. A sea of clouds danced in the firelight cast by the sovereign star, and Tobias found himself entranced. It was like nothing he had ever seen. Tobias stood on a gondola that sailed through a sea in the sky, and his waves were the clouds most men stared up at in awe.

This was truly a beginning.

[Oliver]

Wind was for the winged, or so the saying went. To find himself, unnaturally so, aloft above kingdoms angelic unnerved Oliver Midwinter. He looked once more over the guide rail, nervously and sheepishly, and tottered back to the relative safety of the windswept deck.

“Ugh, there has to be another way to Ettermire…”

His demi-scarf and tabard flapped like caged beasts, his cloak whipped as though possessed. Sorcerer suited himself into order, and looked out across the maelstrom of last light love. Colour caressed castles on craggy cliffs.

“Any other way at all.” He kicked the rail, his boot ill-suited protection against the blow. He swore loudly for aid from the gods.

His words were hollow, foolish pleads to nobody. Every turn of cog and beat of steam driven piston had made him anxious. No matter how hard he tried to eat or sleep, walk, or talk, nothing calmed him. He settled on a nervous disposition and cheap parlour tricks to entertain the deck hands as a feeble sort of distraction.

“You wish laddie,” girded a gruff looking man with a beard as venerable as his career. A slap with boulder like hands almost knocked the sorcerer off his feet. “The walk’d kill ya for sure!”

Languishing in that arduous truth, Oliver glared daggers into the boson’s back as he strolled to the port side. His laughter, a staccato baritone cacophony filled the ship. A strange mix of toothless smiles and uniformed leers served as his juror whilst he was found wanting and left bereft of a reply. He frowned.

“Not before you took a ‘fall’ off the ship…,” came the retort, much too late.

Deflated, the youth strolled on, bucking his ideas and looking for another poor misfortunate soul to fleece for a meal’s coin. He produced a pocket of cards, tarot, not playing, and began to shuffle them with the skill of a croupier and the gall of a thirty-year gambling veteran. They felt warm to the touch, as though insidious spirits and guardian angels bound in the leaves of dogged, painted card.

In the distance, on ship’s bow, a man appeared in lament or perhaps whimsy. Emotions undid logic, and that was sign enough for Oliver to approach with a coy whistle and an innocent enough smile. He approached left, caught the man’s attentions, and stepped forwards with a half-hop scoot.

“Hello sir,” was his insidious opener, “care to pick a card?”

The sorcerer, white haired, wearing spectacles, and lugging books on both hips hardly seemed the sort to mug a man blind. Given they were now in Alerar, where fortunes were made and broken in grease and grime, perhaps he was exactly the type – trying to make ends meets on clouds no longer silver, and times no longer golden. He fanned them expertly, their faces downwards, and smiled ear to ear.

[Tobias Stalt]

"Card tricks," Tobias clicked his tongue in disdain after a moment of careful assessment. The youth before him was certainly dressed strangely, though Tobias felt overdressed in his own uniform. There was something about the general population that made him wary, and something even stranger about someone who introduced themselves with cards. The thief in Tobias' mind jumped up and down like a child, an accusatory finger jabbed toward the newcomer. "How... quaint."

There was little good in suspicions aboard an airship; if the boy did intend to steal from him, there would be nowhere to go but down. The idea of falsely accusing some boy of petty theft seemed ridiculous to begin with. With an awkward smile, Tobias decided he could not be harmed by a simple indulgence.

With two fingers, he deftly plucked a card from the deck and glanced at it. He blinked. "Figures," he murmured quietly, and he extended the card face up back toward the dealer. "Hanged Man. All sorts of wonderful tidings, hmmm?" He knew there was probably far more to the card's meaning than just a hanged man, but the general consensus was that such things were associated with ill omens. "Let's hope they come for us after we're back on the ground," Tobias said with a wink.

"Tobias Stalt, by the way," he introduced himself to the youth before he allowed a word to get through, "Private, 908th Division of Alerar." The sky around them had been clear all morning, but white clouds on the horizon were fanned out like smoke from a pipe.

"The weather instruments are showing normal readings," the Boatswain called across the deck, and Tobias glanced up with vague interest. A weather report seemed like the last thing he should worry about, but it made sense on a ship. "Those clouds sure came up fast."

"They're just clouds," Tobias muttered. He hated when people said things that made him uneasy. "Anyway," he turned his gaze back to Oliver. "And you are...?