The wind was chilling, freezing even. We could hear the hull of the ship bending and twisting as more and more coal was thrown into the searing furnace. The deck of the ship would get wet and slippery any time we would pass through a cloud and the entire crew would get chills whenever the captain decided it would be a good idea to dive downward through the white sea of clouds. It wasn't as bad going up for some reason. It was horrifying for the first thirty minutes but after about an hour we were all soaking wet anyway so it didn't matter any more.

We had a good three hours of moonlight left before the sun would rise once again, shunning us back to our boring lives and jobs at offices and retail-stores alike but during these few brave hours we were gods of our realm. During these few hours we were unbeatable, untouchable and unbelievably straightforward. The captain decided to dive yet again. The sudden change of pressure hinted at ground as did the large mass of dirt heading towards us from below. It was the dock of Regtel, a pirate port hidden in the clouds. A refuge for the weary and dreaded. A moving refuge for all who wish it and a observation post for those who needed.

The city was on a floating thin red disk with cloud generators surrounding it for miles into all directions. Our ship, a giant of its kind, was a mere ant when compared to any building on the red disk. The city was huge, towering many levels over the streets. Thousands if not tens of thousand of buildings stood here along with their inhabitants. The higher levels were clearly of upper-class - they were bigger, seemed more secure and expensive and held an aura of prestige to them. The main street was a dirt road leading up to the docking bay. On both sides of the street lay buildings, most of which were dedicated to serving visitors in one way or another. From brothels to bars to weapons shops - everything one's heart could ever desire was within grasp but at a price.

Our captain had a reputation on this god-forsaken safe haven - a terrible human being, a wretched soul and a slave-driver of a captain. A reputation he was well proud of and not at all shy to demonstrate. One which gained him many a distinct privileges.

The ship, "Partylla", differs from any other. It's rusty covering give it the appearance of an old and pathetic heap of floating junk but the truth is underneath that cover lay dormant a thirty inch slatonium hull - nearly impenetrable by conventional means and down-right hard with any other.
It was immediately recognized and let through without tax or control - such was the influence of our captain. We landed without a bump and most of the crew landed themselves at the local pubs, taverns and brothels. All except the old man. After ordering supplies to be restocked he went to his cabin and opened a bottle of scotch, lit up the fireplace and swung his legs onto the old, hand-crafted table.

The old man's posture was crooked and a face hung on his head that only a mother could love, if she hadn't been sold. When I say old man, I mean it in the most modest way possible. Most of the crew hasn't reached their thirties and our leader was the exception but we have seen more battle, gained more scars and plundered more ships than most navies combined so we and our skills should not be underestimated. Our will to follow can only be surpassed by our wish to even the score. Gain a mile or two on the balloon of hate and misery. Our quest is not easy and it won't be short but it is ours to keep and ours to fulfil.

The sun rose without a hitch once again and so our adventure ends for today but it's temporary - it always is.