Nevix — Roleplayer Guild

March 11, 1897
I am nobility, which is why it pains me to travel in such squalor. I am born of the purest blood in all of Scotland, I am the Baron of Ayton, Tavish Edan Archibald. I was the younger sibling of my family, living in the shadow of my brother who was to become the baron. Once our father died and he claimed the title, he squandered our fortunes and drove the barony into the ground. Deciding that he couldn’t live with the guilt of sullying the family name, he hung himself, making me the rightful Baron of Ayton. Unfortunately, by the time I took power it was too late. I had to sell everything I owned, letting the land go for half of market value so I could keep the title of baron. With no marketable skills and no land, I was forced to leave the country to find work. Now here I am, traveling in the steerage section of a ship with all of these lowborn commoners. There is no worse fate for a nobleman such as myself. 
March 16, 1897
I met an english speaking immigrant today. Unfortunately he is of common blood, but I’ve forced myself to speak with him. If I don’t have some human interaction soon I might just lose my mind. He came to me yesterday, and began speaking to me in his native Irish. I knew the language when I heard it, but I didn’t understand it.
“You mistake me for someone as lowborn as yourself, If I wanted to speak to Irish peasants I’d go to my servant’s quarters.” I said, in the Queen’s English, tinged with a Scottish accent. The Irishman laughed laughed heartily.
“If you had servants, you wouldn’t be traveling in steerage, friend.” The Irishman said with a grin. “The name’s Conn, Conn McCarthy. If I knew you spoke English, I’d have used it in the first place.”
“I am the Baron of Ayton, Tavish Edan Archibald.” I said, impressed by Conn’s happy demeanor in this squalor. 
“A baron? Travelling steerage?” He laughed heartily once more. “That’s rich! Welcome to the plight of the commoners, Tavish.” He said, grinning all the while. There was a time I would’ve struck any commoner who dared to question my nobility, but no longer. He was right, I was nothing more than a commoner with a fancy name. For the time being at least, once I made my fortune in America I’d be on my way back to Scotland. I’d buy back my land and once again become the true Baron of Ayton. Conn and I parted ways. I went to sleep with visions of my future riches in my mind.
March 21, 1897 
Things are not looking good at the moment. The seas are choppy at best, wretched at worst. It’s going to be another week or two. Conn and I spoke again. He told me about his brother who had gone to the States a few years earlier. I told him my story. Why not, I can kid myself about how much lower on the social scale he is than me, but we’re both travelling steerage. I’ve humbled myself. That sentence makes my skin crawl. 
March 27, 1897
The man sleeping 20 feet to my left died of typhus last night. Conn is saying that a lot of people have it. Our own private epidemic. Great.
March 29, 1897
Conn got sick. The Captain says it’s going to be another three days before we land on Ellis Island. Though the very thought disgusts me, I’m going to have to play nurse to a commoner. Oh, if father could see me now. I spoke to him earlier.
“Tavish really, I’m fine.” He says.
“But that’s the thing, you aren’t.” I pull my hand from his head. “You’ve got a fever. Just keep drinking water.”
“You’re a good man, Tavish.” He says.
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“I’d say so.” That got a chuckle out of me.
“Go to bed, Conn.”
March 30, 1897
Conn hasn’t woken up yet. His fever has gotten worse and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been worried before, but never terrified. That’s what I am, terrified. I can say with all certainty that Conn McCarthy is the only person that treated me like a person and not an asset. I didn’t need a title. I needed a friend.
March 31, 1897
Conn woke up.
“Tavish?” He asked drearily.
“Conn?” 
“I think I’m going to die.” He said without changing his tone of voice.
“Don-” my voice broke “Don’t say that, Conn. You’re going to be fine.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves, Tavish.” He tried to laugh but broke into a cough. “I’m not going to make it through the night.” I didn’t respond. Every few hours I would check to see if he was still kicking.
“Conn?”
“Tavish?” A few hours later.
“Conn?”
“Tavish?” Another hour.
“Conn?” No response. “Conn?” I put my hand his shoulder. He was cold. “Conn, quit playing around.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “Conn, wake up.” He didn’t.
April 1, 1897
They let the first and second classes out first. They were uncharacteristically swift in getting us off the boat. I’m thankful, if I had to spend another minute with Conn’s body I would’ve screamed. The process of getting through the Island itself was fairly unremarkable. It was a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense. Hours waiting to get off the boat. Physical examination. More waiting. Delousing. More waiting. Round after round of questions about myself. More waiting. Finally I was let out. Out into Manhattan, but I felt no excitement. Instead, I wanted to scream. There was a time where I would’ve appreciated such efficiency. Now, I all I could do is ask Why are they treating us like cattle? Further, it seemed like no one cared about the deaths of the immigrants on the boat. Three died from the Typhus outbreak. I didn’t understand, the world didn’t stop because of Conn’s death, but it felt like I had.
October 27, 1897 
	I expected America to be a land of extravagance and wealth. Instead it is a land of menial labour and mediocre (at best) pay. I’ve managed. I work at a factory that makes some product I couldn’t care less about. They cremated Conn, for health reasons. I bought him a plot in the local cemetery. The headstone just has his name and his death date, he never told me his birthday. I couldn’t find his brother. His funeral consisted of only the priest and I. I live in a tiny apartment, but it’s better than the boat. I sold off my title to some fat cat business man. I could try to mask my contempt for the rich, but I won’t. I hope he chokes on it.  Am I happy? Not by any means. Could things be worse? Most definitely.

Is this any good?

Jaron hadn't stopped smiling since he had boarded the airship. Everything was so...interesting. The people, the weapons, hell, even the walls. He was even wowed by the fancy paper they had printed his orders on. He unfolded it and read it for the seventh time.

"You are to make your way to the meeting room, there you will meet your teammates and commander." It had taken him an hour just to find the hallway. Once he found the right room, he became sick with apprehension. What if his teammates hated him? What if his commander was mean? What if they thought Serpentis was lame? What if they thought he was lame? All these questions and more bounced around his mind for awhile. Eventually, he sighed and opened the door to find... a fairly mundane room empty but for a table and a blond haired swordsman. He took a seat and when the swordsman failed to speak, drew Serpentis.

"My name is Jaron." He smiled goofily "Swords are cool, aren't they?" 

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