Time and time again, old stories pass by minds curious enough to believe it themselves. Stories such as these speak of a noble avian Republic so grand, it once held whole worlds, if not realities in it's palm. Some say they came from above, others below. Those who lived to pass the first of their tales say they ruled with a bloody, iron fist. Some stories cite them as proud and noble, but others say their existence was shrouded in a veil of cowardice and delusion. The few who dare state they survived encounters with them speak of metal angels falling from the heavens in broad flashes of light. They came not to protect others, however, but instead to protect their own image. Most who tell these stories say they had no name, but on the rarest occurrence, one would recall, "Avisten".
Tall tales preach the undoing of this Republic of Avisten: how their oppressive grip crumbled as their ancient enemies rose up and disrupted their enforced balance. Their own people turned against them in revolt, joined under the charismatic lead of a Faceless Baron. The war was bloody and destructive, as great weapons tore floating islands from the sky and entire generations of history and progress were thrown to the fires of revolution. The verses sing that the collapse of Avisten was so cataclysmic, that the remnants of the ancient government was blasted far and wide across many dimensions.
The hymns affirm that on that night of fate, the skies were filled with mixed tears of sorrow and rejoice.
These stories, while as old as anyone can recall, still hold promises of untold wealth and danger to those who seek it. To this very day, whispers in the streets speak of troves of unclaimed treasure, and bounties of forgotten technology to be uncovered. To some, such tales and rumors may seem like nonsensical tales the poor spread to stir action; to others, the allure of riches and the search for answers that such mad tales instill can attract those just as mad themselves.
It's these madmen that would heed the call.
The first was a young scholar, equally curious and tenacious, who had spent their whole youth enthralled in the mysteries of these ancient worlds.
It could be either luck or fate that she lived not in that old era, where the fascination and collection of such forbidden information was enough to permit good people to disappear in the dead of night. Instead, the fruits of her obsession was just now starting to take form. Her words of a newfound expedition had spread around the underbellies of the city, and their own night of fate had come. Every captain needs a crew, and those who were willing to meet in the earliest hour of morning could soon find themselves in a position of money, knowledge, perhaps even fame.
Be they curious, seeking glory, or just plain desperate.
---
Downrider Inn
Modern Day
11:50 PM
The Downrider Inn sat on a small hill a few kilometers outside the limits of the Capital City. The quaint dive was as old as anyone can remember, with a frame made of logs cut from the large trees that once populated the clearing. While old fashioned in frame, the inside held just as much technology as it did class. Bright orange neon tubes stretched across the rafters, blanketing the tavern floor with a light golden glow. The Inn was rather quiet tonight, with only a few sparse patrons indulging themselves in the modest drink selection at hand.
The owner of the "Inn" was a man just as old and strange as the building itself. He was an avid collector and storyteller, and he had struck a deal with a young scholar looking to launch a new journey. Tonight, the private upper study of the Inn was occupied for the business venture. Inside the enclosed loft sat a large oak table, surrounded by chairs and other furniture. To one end was a marvelous triangular window that ran from the rafters to just above to floor. The bright light of the moon shone through the panes, its blue hues pushed back by the orange lights occupying the rims of the meeting place.
In one tall chair sat the newly named captain of this venture, Dahlia Morgan. The short blue-haired woman was wearing a velvet-colored sweater with a vest over it, with a small pendant strung around her neck. She sat surrounded by various sets of small book and papers, with a dark blue binder set closed in front of her. Her travel pack was draped over the back of her tall chair as she sat with her back facing the great window. There was much on her mind, but for now a log book had her silent attention.
She had arrived well ahead of meeting time along with a few others, to make preparations for the briefing at hand. Joining her was a child-like woman with messy, long auburn hair and a rather skeptical pout upon her face.
Arbitrated Shan's multicolored eyes darted between the door of the room and the large window, outside of which she sometimes could catch a glimpse of a starship. Her new starship - or the one she was going to be flying this time. Piloting was a relaxing way to get around, not like those untrustworthy, seedy taxis or the cramped liners that ferry dozens, sometimes even hundreds of people around. It just happened that getting paid for the process was also quite relaxing.
Sighing, the one named Shan reached into her own small sack, the rest of her luggage packed away on the ship, and with a silence-annihilating crackle wrestled out a packet of trail mix, tearing its plastic wrapper with the ease of thousands of repetitions. Nuts and seeds, nuts and seeds... Sometimes a raisin. Nice! The flavor surprise was enough to stop her from getting completely sick of the stuff.
An MDU-9 Security Android stood behind the pair. However, this particular droid exhibited far from the normal stoic behavior typically associated with the "Bouncers." It leaned over Arbitrated with its off-white faceplate tilted quizzically, insistently poking the small woman's upper back, saying "You are very hot Miss Shan. Why are you so hot? Do you know why she's so hot, Miss Morgan?"
'Miss Morgan' looked up from her book, glancing over at the two. She gave the droid a somewhat concerned look, before sighing. "We need to work on your conversation skills, Cog." Though she knew what the droid meant in his questioning, she withheld commenting for the sake of the small pilot's privacy.
Arbles bounced off of the robot's artificial finger about three and a half times before leaning forward uncomfortably. Hopefully spared the poking for at least a few seconds, she decided to humor the MDU-9. "I dunno, guess it's a new development. Never thought I'd be a model, but I could probably give it a shot at some point." Thankfully looking away, her little mouth curled into a teasing smile.
Having not received any useful information from Dahlia, Cog remained focused on Arbitrated, the girl's attempted humor soaring over his head. "You are well above a fever temperature! Do you feel sick, Miss Shan?"
"Trust me, I'm fine." The childlike woman's face returned to a frown, though it was a fair bit less pronounced than earlier. "I can't even get sick.. Probably. You've never met a sage before?" She interrupted his response with another delve into the trail mix packet, for what little edible stuff was left in it.
Cog paused for a moment, then said "What is a Sage?"
The sage in the room took several moments to silently just... Stare at Dahlia. And then she answered, "Sages are a people. We have, let's say... Interesting natural abilities. And also some side effects, as you seem so curious about mine." Her little shoulders hunched forward.
"They're spread out a little everywhere these days." Dahlia added, not yet looking up from her book. "They're really nothing too extraordinary, they're just biologically inclined to magic."
"....Yeah, that." Came Arbitrated's reply.
"Oh! That explains it then." Cog said, straightening. He didn't say anything else, just stood there, stock still. Silence crept back into the room as the three settled in, waiting for a sign. The sign soon came as a deep knocking was heard from the tight stairwell.
Knock Knock Knock.
Dahlia looked up from her book, setting it closed to one side of her. She piped up at the deep knocking. "Yes?"
The wooden door opened with a subtle creak as a new figure appeared from the frame. It was an older man, well past the age of signing up for an expedition. Dahlia knew him, however: he was one of the expedition sponsors as well as the owner of the very tavern they sat in. "It's twelve, you wanna let em in?"
A wide grin split across Dahlia's face as she straightened up in her chair. "Yes! Bless you, Merv!" The old man, Merv, nodded and left the door cracked open as the captain looked to the pilot and the bodyguard to her side. "It's time!"
"Thank the void!" The little sage stood to her full unimpressive four-foot-three-inch height with a crunch as she balled the empty wrapper, before she remembered that they were waiting for other people to come IN first, rather than going OUT to get back to the ship. Sure there's nothing wrong about this place, but getting on the move as soon as possible has always been kind of a part of Arbs's personality and priorities... Right after getting food.
And so, the three waited.