themadgrenadier99

10 FEBRUARY, 1868 The Ophelia struggled against the raging wind, raindrops thundering down upon its rigid frame like rocks. Bullet holes lined the airship, and the squealing hiss of punctured pipes overcame the beastly roar of the weather. Its lone functioning propeller feebly slaved on, forced to the brink. Most of the cells were ripped to shreds, their pressurised gasses exploding out into the ashen air, causing the ship to slowly descend into the ravenous maw of the desert opening below them. Grey cursed inwardly, but maintained his outer calm. Behind him, Collin wrestled furiously with the wheel. He brutally shunted it against the wind,

21 JUNE, 1868   Grey observed the room quietly from his corner, just another secretive adventurer passing through the churning gates of Timbuktu. All around him swirled other patrons, dancing, mingling, feuding. Across his table, Zéphyrine was upright, stiff like a soldier, armed with pen and paper. She looked at the slight englishman before her, her mouth twinging in subtle disgust at his groomed wild hair and practised fool's grin. His features were roguish too, proudly wearing his weather-worn face, slightly-greying hair only adding to his boyish charm.   "It's unlike you to be this quiet, Brown. Shouldn't you be up having the lad