Ah, Satan’s Serpent, the greatest constructed airship ever to bless the skies. A home to the broken souls and delinquents, shunned by society, who’s only saving grace is to cling to the fading glimmer of their dreams. Currently, the ship that will lead the crew to greatness is docked at the port of Noxia, where its assortment of unique crew members are individually preparing to set sail on an adventure into the stretches of uncharted sky, with the hopes of finding their Utopia. But one does not simply find a century lost city without a lead, and if it’s a rumor you seek, there is no better place in all of Nasvexia to find one than Noxia.
This shattered hub town hosts some of the skies most travelled and hardened sky-dogs. It isn’t uncommon to see, through a veil of smog, drunkards brawling on the broken cobblestone streets, or peddlers trying to smuggle knockoff trinkets, supposedly from the advanced city of Juriya. It can be a haven for those strong enough to bear the crudeness, or a hell for those whose hearts are too weak to handle the immoral city.
For a worn captain like Archer Bishop sights like these are but an everyday occurrence, not even worth a second glance.
Archer always kept his face hidden beneath his cloak whenever he visited Noxia. Maybe it was the fear of catching eye contact with someone larger than him, unlike many of his peers; he couldn’t stand the idea of confrontation. Maybe it was because he didn’t like sticking out like a dwarf among midgets. But most likely, Archer didn’t want to be recognized. Whatever the reason, it made him look like a suspicious character when he casually waltzed into the Gypsy’s Pride Inn, and took a seat in a dark corner booth.
The Gypsy’s Pride was known as a safe haven for pirates to exchange ideas and stories without judgement. To drink until the brink of total inebriation and be safely escorted into the one of the quaint rooms above the pub. If Archer had hoped to find any information about Utopia, it would be here, catching ear of a madman’s rant. Madmen, Archer had come to find, generally had more valuable knowledge than any person in their right wits. He wasn’t sure madmen were driven mad by their knowledge, or if they were merely sane men who had the title slapped onto them by skeptics. Regardless, their ramblings had been known to spark some of his greatest adventures.
It wasn’t long before someone had noticed Archer. In fact, his presence demanded the attention of the room when he had walked in, but the tavern wench was the first to actually acknowledge him. Setting a glass in front of him with a wink, she said, “Welcome traveler, may I get you something to drink or eat?
Archer waved the glass away, “No, thank you madam, it’s not what I am here for.”
“No,” she looked puzzled, “Then what about a room to stay?”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with another matter.”
The once sparkling smile on the waitresses face twisted into an offended glance, “Sir -”
Archer recognized the tenor in her voice. It was one that every woman from every stretch of life had in common. The nagging tone. Before she could gather too much momentum Archer interjected, “Do you have any information about the city of Utopia.”
The once vivid bustling of the table closest to him came to an abrupt stop. A large man leaned over the back of his seat giving Archer a baffled glance. He studied Archers face with skepticism, as though he couldn’t figure out if it were a joke at the waitress’s expense, or if the man he suspected to be a moron was actually being serious. When he found out it was the latter, he burst into a mocking laugher, “Utopia, you can’t be serious. That place is a myth. Even if it were true it’s supposed to have fallen into the Great Abyss, you’d never find it”
In perfect harmony and without fail the rest of the room fell first silent, then burst into a fit laughter. In a way, this response was suspected. While Archer sympathized with madmen for many reasons, this was the most pertinent. He could relate. In recent years, Archer had found himself becoming the bud of the joke for men too rational to pursue the legends, imprisoned by their own self-doubts. Some would even call him mad, and he couldn’t say he could disagree. Clearly, Archer wasn’t the first to inquire about the city of gold, but he intended to be the last. Still, in a way, he had hoped the rest of the crew was having better luck.
Archer didn’t anticipate that getting information from these fools would be easy.
“Satan’s Serpent set’s sail at dusk, I expect everything to be in order when I return.” Archer’s words rang through the young hopeful, Aria’s, ears like an orchestra’s symphony. Beautifully, and clearly. Everything was becoming so real, so tangible. It was almost as though she could see the tips of Utopia’s towers (or she had assumed there would be towers, Archer was vague about the details) on the horizon. One thing she was sure of, it would be awe-inspiring.
Still, Aria wished she could have joined the crew. She’d never seen Noxia, and despite her objections, Archer refused to let her off the ship. Something about being too young or something. She really didn’t remember; Aria was blinded by her ambition.
Aria found herself humming a tune as she swayed the mop back and forth across the plated deck of the Satan’s Serpent. The movement was so fluid, so consistent, it was almost as if she was dancing with the mop. Normally, any of Aria’s movements were sluggish. If Archer had to rate her performance, she was a less than exceptional cabin boy – err – girl, but was worth having around, if only for her ability to light up the room with her hopeless optimism.
In fact, Aria was known to cause more harm than good. She was clutzy and uncoordinated, and usually ended up making things difficult for their engineer and her assistant. Like clockwork, and unbeknownst to her, she already had.
Now, Aria, wasn’t particularly
dumb, so to speak. But something about her wasn’t quite
there . She had a tendency to drift off into blissful ignorance at the most inconvenient times. It wasn’t until she was blasted in the face by the steam propelling from the massive mast that she noticed it. She had punctured a hole in something, somehow.
Aria panicked, fumbling backwards and tripping over her own bucket, “Aethyra.” She shrieked, much like a mating-call for a banshee.