Tackytaff

Smoke and Steel

In Alveby Palace; Orrian Corfina, Dimitrius, Arel Elmys & Catrina Schurman

The evening was warm, moths danced around the candles in the centre of the table, let in through the windows, flung open to allow a cooling breeze to stir the meeting room. The meeting room was not large, walls adorned with hanging tapestries showing scenes of Imperial glory. A pair of bardiche armed Sahalky guards stood by the door, silent and to attention.

Orrian seemed to be in a fine mood this evening, thumbs tucked into his belt, back resting against the side of the empty hearth, a flagon of ale on the mantlepiece. The Monarch was standing, though not being the most caught-up in ceremony, he had made it clear he was happy for anyone else to sit and Arel Elmys was resting in one of the blackened wooden armchairs, a flagon of ale in front of him, "Now is the summer of our sweet content," Arel declared once the relevant people were all in the room and had been provided with something to drink, "The tide of this conflict has turned in our favour, but there is still the potential for this to unravel if one of the Southern human states decides to stab us in the back when our troops are elsewhere. Estornen are a potential risk, though the greater danger comes from the Doel Union, particularly given they have, by all accounts, good relations with D'Ambois, who is becoming a realistic contender for the Throne in the East."

"So, we need to do something about the Union," Orrian declared, "And invasion is not on the cards. If we move the troops from the front, Voron will strike at us."

Catrina stood by the open window, the gentle wind it provided doing little to alleviate the flush of her anxiety. Her drink served as distraction for fidgeting hands, leaving her cup already half empty in the short time it took the conversation to fall on the topic of her homeland. “Sire,” She began, differentially lowering her head to Orrain.

“Not all my countrymen are so eager to tie themselves to the pirates that have long plagued our ports and navy.” Her polite smile remained fixed as her eyes briefly landed on Arel. “No steward, assembly, or province has sworn alliance to any claimant. Doel's borders remain open for trade, opportunities to prove your cause a worthwhile one are plenty.”

"Let's hope the sensible heads in the Union prevail," Elmys sat forward, steepling his fingers on the table, "However, I was aware of the excitement some months ago when the then Captain D'Ambois, under a Union Letter of Marque, managed to do the unthinkable and capture a Calarian Treasure Fleet Galleon," he gave a chuckle, "Back then, had anyone asked me, I'd have said we'd never hear that woman's name again, but that woman has the spirit of a Horse Lord! She would probably be bold enough to encourage the Union to attack, but doubtless there are some in the Union who would see our time of trouble as an opportunity to capture Imperial territory anyway."

"We're moving every soldier we can to confront Voron's armies at Elvesland," Orrian added, building off what he'd said before, "As Lord Elmys was implying, our borders are weaker than they have been in my lifetime. Were the White Pretender not travelling here to swear allegiance, she might be giving us sleepless nights as well."

Catrina’s face disappeared behind her flagon, and by the time she lowered it to speak again, the drink was gone and her face a notable shade darker. “D’Ambois and her empty promises are far to the east. The Empire has been the Union’s most stable neighbour for centuries, but if they need reminding, allow me to help.” She placed her empty cup on the table and took a seat nearer the hearth and centre of the room.

“The Schurman company is willing and able to arm every man that remains guarding your southern borders. Make the cost of attack too high, and the provinces may be still steered another way.”

Dimitri was wearing his dress uniform, a resplendent raiment which was closer to the wear of a nobleman than an officer. A brown fur Kolpak, affixed with a silver crest with black feathers and a ruby the size of thimble capped his sandy blonde head. A patterned beige silk tunic of interlocking natural motifs was covered partially by a cuirass. An officer’s Saber of elven conquest rested on his hip naturally, his stature matching an elgan’s with ease. A green cloak with gold embroidery of the royal lancers drapes naturally, the brown fur on the mantle matching that of his cap. The pristine state of his uniform was impressive, seeing as he had spent the better part of three days riding ragged to reach the capital.

For all his appearance, he had decided to remain silent at the words of his Emperor, until he opened the floor to his most capable captains. “The Hands have ensured the loyalty of the border towns, and have heeded your call to Elvesland. We will break Voron there.” He said with a simple brutality.

“Word of Union treachery will only arrive too late. I would suggest calling on the Sahalky to mobilize so that they would not be caught off guard.” His high-pitched voice carried a gravelly edge to it, as if the possibility of betrayal were certain, and within the reach of his sword.

"We shall!" Orrian declared enthusiastically.

"We could call on the Pobryn to send aid," Elmys mused, sitting back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling, "I am hoping to bring the Sahalky to link up with us here... our intelligence reports that Voron is bringing together an army of 50,000 men, which is far more than us. But yes, if the Schurman Company is able to shore up the border, that would be very useful... though if we could convince them to sign a non-aggression pact, that would be preferable. Perhaps convince them that with the Calarians fighting Voron in the East, this is a perfect opportunity to expand their influence in the Main."

“The Doel Union has been untouched by war, no other fleet on the continent remains equally strong and unmolested. Preparedness means little against such a force when the bulk of your own is so far east.” Somewhere between the alcohol and catching excitement in the room, Catrina's decorous smile had transformed into something toothy and genuine that even the ‘half-elgan's' ominous tone and words could not sober. When she clasped her hands together in her lap they nearly clapped amid the dark silk of her skirts.

“I propose an alternate investment in return for arming your borders. Keep your coin and let us form a contract instead. Lease my company a few rakes of land north of the Union for the extent of a single human life, my own if you like. I will pay for my people to live and work on this side of the border. The Assembly will never come to an agreement on sending raids though Doel citizens, and will be more inclined to hear your pact."

Orrian looked to Elmys, who scratched his chin thoughtfully, "We can certainly do that, but what benefit would it be to you or the Doel?" he asked, "The sea of grass is vast, good for horses, but it has never been a place many people have wished to settle." That was mostly because of the nomadic elgafolk tribes though Elmys apparently hadn't considered that.

“Haven’t they already?” Catrina asked, turning her smile and attention to the favoured lord. “The steppe may lack cities, but is there a corner left untouched by the Elgafolk? Have there always been such numbers of horses parading through the plains? Are your children born knowing to read tomorrow’s weather based on the direction of today’s wind? Your people may not root themselves to the ground as humans do, but they have settled and made a secure home here in their own way. I can see the opportunity in offering my countrymen the same.” A careful frown fell between Catrina's brows as she spoke, the corners of her mouth sobering.

“For all her positive qualities, the provinces' lands are small, and made smaller still by marshes and swamps unsuitable for farming or towns. Instability, costs, and wanderlust drive Doel’s people west past the Evig Ocean in search of new places to make home. Each year, more of our ships and able-bodied men are carted off to forge fortune in colonies lucky to return tenths of the investments sent their way. Agriculturally viable land would help replace the resources being funnelled to the new world. The safety of the steppe may prove a more favourable option to dying in the open ocean to those desperate or seeking adventure.” The folded hands in Catrina’s lap opened, knuckles laced and palms upwards, when she looked again at Orrian.

“A person cannot remain part of a people while an ocean divides them. Doel may claim colonies now, but how long will the colonies claim her once they manage to sustain themselves? You of all understand the pain of watching a society fragment and become something else. Let them come north, lead lives of excitement in your untamed lands, and return home again.”

"Farming," Elmys nodded, as if that was the explanation he had been waiting for, he looked across to Orrian who nodded. "I see no problem with such an arrangement. As Lord Arel said, the lands are vast. There is plenty of room to settle and farm. Beef tastes better than herring!" he declared.

For a brief second Catrina’s jaw clenched hard; each tendon of her neck pronounced before the practiced smile from before fell over her again. She rose to give a small bow and nod of thanks to Orrain then Elmys. “Schurman and Doel thank you. I'll write the necessary letters tonight so that we may begin as quickly as possible.” Was her reply and excuse for departing the room.

Smoke and Steel

Catrina Schurman

Character Description

Name: Catrina Schurman
Species/Race: Human, Doel
Sex: Female
Age: 24
Court Alignment: West Empire
Role: Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping Representative
Appearance:

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:

Sharp-Shooter - From the moment she set hands on her first, Catrina has wielded a pistol as though it were an extension of herself. Few soldiers can match her accuracy with an arquebus, or her speed in reloading a flintlock. Time spent closely observing every aspect of the family company has left her well versed in firearm assembly, repair, and maintenance.

Education - The sole gift her father gave her, and one she took full advantage of. Catrina's youth was largely spent alongside tutors and teachers, paid to mind her. She committed herself to studying the history, languages, and cultures of the circle sea's many nations. She is reasonably quick with numbers, and has a rudimentary understanding of the natural sciences.

Support - While not officially a member of the Schurman Company, Catrina has enough support from its investors and members of Doel's national assembly to oust her brother from his position and replace him. That is, provided she can secure a profitable deal with the Empire before they change their mind.

Weaknesses:

Abrasive - Even before attempting to insert herself into a man's position, Catrina had a way of habitually unsettling others. She's quick to voice her opinions, wanted or not, and defends them with a ferocity that most find off-putting, especially in a woman. Her hobbies of shooting and studying shipping manifests do little to lessen this peculiar reputation.

Non-Combatant - A woman never trained for real combat, Catrina has little physical strength beyond what she needs to maintain her weapon's recoil, and even less stamina.

Equinophobia - Catrina and horses both harbor a mutual resentment for the other. Which side was first to offend is lost to time, but she enters every equine encounter with great trepidation, and rarely escapes without an attempted bite or kick.

Background:

Backstory:

The second child and daughter of the Schurman family, Catrina came into the world as an accidental afterthought. Her father already possessed the son he needed and wanted, and saw Catrina as little more than an object to keep his wife occupied. But, even at three years old, Joest was the center of the every Schurman’s lives; forcing everyone towards his toddler whims and little attention or affection remained for his younger sibling in his wake.

Thus, Catrina grew up over-familiar with feelings of loneliness and envy. Her brother, who society told her ought to be a companion, even a protector, was instead her most relentless tormentor. He pulled her hair, stained her dresses, and destroyed her books at every opportunity. It wasn't helped by her own clumsy awkwardness as a child, too nervous to speak up against his attacks that were always so quickly dismissed as charming boyish antics.

When Joest invited her to practice with the flintlock pistol gifted to him on his 17th birthday, Catrina was sure it was just a trick at her expense. Sure enough, the weapon's kickback knocked her to the ground, but the musket ball was embedded well into the target's center point. It was Catrina's first taste of naturally excelling at anything and, more importantly, at besting her brother; a feeling she'd chase for the rest of her life.

Joest's travel away with the shipping routes, and then with the navy, meant Catrina had a peaceful seven years during which she was able to imagine her brother had simply ceased to exist. After his falling out with their father, Catrina managed to inject herself into his abandoned role; regularly attending meetings and supervising the day-to-day inner workings of the Schurman empire. Her talent with wielding firearms proved an entertaining demonstration to prospective buyers and investors, but rarely was she treated as more than a novelty. It was no great surprise then, that with her father's sudden decline in health and Joest's coinciding return, that she was quickly and systematically shut out of the masculine corporate world.

During the year leading to her father's death, her main point of contact with the company was through Roelof van der Mijlen; a member of both Schurman's investors and of Doel's National Assembly. He'd respected her presence enough to continue their letters well after she stopped attending meetings. They discussed her father's wellbeing, the state of trade in the Union and its neighbors, and her brother's flagrant activities. A week after the funeral, Roelof approached Catrina in person and made a proposal. A marriage contract that would see her inherit what was rightfully hers, so long as she could provide a compelling and safe alternative to her brother. Thus she set out, a newly engaged woman, towards to the East Empire in hopes of securing a trade deal before her brother can.

Smoke and Steel

Joest Schurman

Character Description

Name: Joest Schurman
Species/Race: Human, Doel
Sex: Male
Age: 27
Court Alignment: Black Wyvern
Role: Owner of Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping
Appearance:

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:

Schurman Heir - The sole inheritor of the Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping Company and the accompanying fortune, Joest is one of the wealthiest bachelors in the Union. More relevantly, he is in a position to draft a contract promising supply and delivery of firearms to a potential buyer: hopefully one with enough coin to stay in the good graces of his investors.

Sociable - Joest rarely has trouble charming his way through any setting; be it in high courts or a dock-side brothel. His optimism and open sincerity make for easy friendships with most who come across him, albeit at the cost of the occasional broken heart.

Naval Training - A stint in the navy, and excursions on his family trade vessels, have taught Joest the basics of ship work and navigation. He has training with firearms and pikes; though he greatly favours and excels with the sword.

Weaknesses:

Vice-Prone - At home, Joest's habits of drinking, gambling, and licentiousness towards both men and women are well known. A man with less wealth or social capital would have been ruined many times over with his number of scandals, but Joest still barely clings to the edges of polite society.

Treason - Being a former naval officer, attempting to negotiate a deal with a wanted pirate has blackened Joest's already muddied reputation in his home country. The council and investors of his own company, along with members of Doel's National Assembly, seek to replace him and prop his sister up as a compliant puppet instead. The support of his friends, family, and countrymen wanethe longer he stays away.

Background:

Backstory:

The firstborn and only son of Aelbert and Biatrix Schurman, there was never a question as to where Joest's life would lead: The same wealth and prosperity that had blessed their family for generations. What started as a few small trade expeditions with a single ship had bloomed into the Schurman Shipping Company, reputable movers of merchandise throughout the Circle sea. Three generations in, it was Joest's grandfather who invested their accumulated savings into the innovation of blackpowder and fire-arms, officially adding 'Manufacturing' to the company name as they began crafting the barrels for arquebuses and matchlock pistols. Shortly thereafter, the Second Doel-Calarian war proved the investment a good one. This allowed his son, Aelbert, to further invest in the company's first iron mine.

By Joest birth, the company owned four mines, had dozens of guild workers crafting barrels, and an entire block of buildings dedicated to turning out munitions; in addition to its fleet of ten ships. There was never anything for him to worry about, save finding his own entertainment. Aside from business lessons with his father, both parents were largely distracted by their own social activities, leaving the spoiled boy to terrorize servants, locals, and especially his younger sister without consequence.

Starting in his late teens, he started accompanying the company’s delivery ships; all as part of his preparation to take over the family business. He took well to a sailor's life, remaining with his crew throughout their nights of drinking in disreputable establishments, or gambling money away in dark alleyways. These habits followed him back to Doel. Back home, where his pockets were deeper and his status was known, he quickly began to develop a repute as a wastrel. An unacceptable deviation from his father's plans, the family patriarch hurled threats and cut funds in hope of forcing his son into supplication. Instead, Joest abandoned his wealth and family in favour of pride and independence, and joined the navy.

Military discipline chafed at Joest, but his spite remained stronger and for five years, he sailed as an officer. His dalliances and poor choices continued whenever he came ashore, but the regimented life and frequent travel ultimately did him good. He found little reward in pirate hunting, but enjoyed seeing the vast differences in culture and wealth throughout the Circle sea. He also began to bare witness to the consequences of his family's innovations, and didn't much care for them.

Still, when news came of his father succumbing to illness, Joest discovered a long missing sense of responsibility to his mother and sister, and returned home. Whether Aelbert's heart had softened or simply suffered delirium as a dying man, he forgave his son readily, and wasted no time reinstating him as heir and owner of the Schurman name. He died within the same year.

While considering himself older and wiser than when he had left, Joest still lacked the humility to apologize or address his family directly. Instead, he promised his sister a generous stipend, and relieved her of the duties that had undoubtedly been forced upon her in his absence. His vices still stalked him though, and as whispers of his abhorrent behavior began stirring among the upper social circles again, so did concern from investors and guild members who thought him too immature and unstable to be entrusted with the position.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Joest has taken it upon himself to prove his worth by striking a lucrative trade deal. Why he has chosen the wealthiest of the rebels rather than the stability of a deal with the empire is a mystery to all but him.

Smoke and Steel

Character App

Character Description

Name: Joest Schurman
Species/Race: Human, Doel
Sex: Male
Age: 27
Court Alignment: Black Wyvern
Role: Owner of Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping
Appearance:

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:

Schurman Heir - The sole inheritor of the Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping Company and the accompanying fortune, Joest is one of the wealthiest bachelors in the Union. More relevantly, he is in a position to draft a contract promising supply and delivery of firearms to a potential buyer: hopefully one with enough coin to stay in the good graces of his investors.

Sociable - Joest rarely has trouble charming his way through any setting; be it in high courts or a dock-side brothel. His optimism and open sincerity make for easy friendships with most who come across him, albeit at the cost of the occasional broken heart.

Naval Training - A stint in the navy, and excursions on his family trade vessels, have taught Joest the basics of ship work and navigation. He has training with firearms and pikes; though he greatly favours and excels with the sword.

Weaknesses:

Vice-Prone - At home, Joest's habits of drinking, gambling, and licentiousness towards both men and women are well known. A man with less wealth or social capital would have been ruined many times over with his number of scandals, but Joest still barely clings to the edges of polite society.

Treason - Being a former naval officer, attempting to negotiate a deal with a wanted pirate has blackened Joest's already muddied reputation in his home country. The council and investors of his own company, along with members of Doel's National Assembly, seek to replace him and prop his sister up as a compliant puppet instead. The support of his friends, family, and countrymen wanethe longer he stays away.

Background:

Backstory:

The firstborn and only son of Aelbert and Biatrix Schurman, there was never a question as to where Joest's life would lead: The same wealth and prosperity that had blessed their family for generations. What started as a few small trade expeditions with a single ship had bloomed into the Schurman Shipping Company, reputable movers of merchandise throughout the Circle sea. Three generations in, it was Joest's grandfather who invested their accumulated savings into the innovation of blackpowder and fire-arms, officially adding 'Manufacturing' to the company name as they began crafting the barrels for arquebuses and matchlock pistols. Shortly thereafter, the Second Doel-Calarian war proved the investment a good one. This allowed his son, Aelbert, to further invest in the company's first iron mine.

By Joest birth, the company owned four mines, had dozens of guild workers crafting barrels, and an entire block of buildings dedicated to turning out munitions; in addition to its fleet of ten ships. There was never anything for him to worry about, save finding his own entertainment. Aside from business lessons with his father, both parents were largely distracted by their own social activities, leaving the spoiled boy to terrorize servants, locals, and especially his younger sister without consequence.

Starting in his late teens, he started accompanying the company’s delivery ships; all as part of his preparation to take over the family business. He took well to a sailor's life, remaining with his crew throughout their nights of drinking in disreputable establishments, or gambling money away in dark alleyways. These habits followed him back to Doel. Back home, where his pockets were deeper and his status was known, he quickly began to develop a repute as a wastrel. An unacceptable deviation from his father's plans, the family patriarch hurled threats and cut funds in hope of forcing his son into supplication. Instead, Joest abandoned his wealth and family in favour of pride and independence, and joined the navy.

Military discipline chafed at Joest, but his spite remained stronger and for five years, he sailed as an officer. His dalliances and poor choices continued whenever he came ashore, but the regimented life and frequent travel ultimately did him good. He found little reward in pirate hunting, but enjoyed seeing the vast differences in culture and wealth throughout the Circle sea. He also began to bare witness to the consequences of his family's innovations, and didn't much care for them.

Still, when news came of his father succumbing to illness, Joest discovered a long missing sense of responsibility to his mother and sister, and returned home. Whether Aelbert's heart had softened or simply suffered delirium as a dying man, he forgave his son readily, and wasted no time reinstating him as heir and owner of the Schurman name. He died within the same year.

While considering himself older and wiser than when he had left, Joest still lacked the humility to apologize or address his family directly. Instead, he promised his sister a generous stipend, and relieved her of the duties that had undoubtedly been forced upon her in his absence. His vices still stalked him though, and as whispers of his abhorrent behavior began stirring among the upper social circles again, so did concern from investors and guild members who thought him too immature and unstable to be entrusted with the position.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Joest has taken it upon himself to prove his worth by striking a lucrative trade deal. Why he has chosen the wealthiest of the rebels rather than the stability of a deal with the empire is a mystery to all but him.

Character App

Character Description

Name: Catrina Schurman
Species/Race: Human, Doel
Sex: Female
Age: 24
Court Alignment: West Empire
Role: Schurman Manufacturing & Shipping Representative
Appearance:

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills:

Sharp-Shooter - From the moment she set hands on her first, Catrina has wielded a pistol as though it were an extension of herself. Few soldiers can match her accuracy with an arquebus, or her speed in reloading a flintlock. Time spent closely observing every aspect of the family company has left her well versed in firearm assembly, repair, and maintenance.

Education - The sole gift her father gave her, and one she took full advantage of. Catrina's youth was largely spent alongside tutors and teachers, paid to mind her. She committed herself to studying the history, languages, and cultures of the circle sea's many nations. She is reasonably quick with numbers, and has a rudimentary understanding of the natural sciences.

Support - While not officially a member of the Schurman Company, Catrina has enough support from its investors and members of Doel's national assembly to oust her brother from his position and replace him. That is, provided she can secure a profitable deal with the Empire before they change their mind.

Weaknesses:

Abrasive - Even before attempting to insert herself into a man's position, Catrina had a way of habitually unsettling others. She's quick to voice her opinions, wanted or not, and defends them with a ferocity that most find off-putting, especially in a woman. Her hobbies of shooting and studying shipping manifests do little to lessen this peculiar reputation.

Non-Combatant - A woman never trained for real combat, Catrina has little physical strength beyond what she needs to maintain her weapon's recoil, and even less stamina.

Equinophobia - Catrina and horses both harbor a mutual resentment for the other. Which side was first to offend is lost to time, but she enters every equine encounter with great trepidation, and rarely escapes without an attempted bite or kick.

Background:

Backstory:

The second child and daughter of the Schurman family, Catrina came into the world as an accidental afterthought. Her father already possessed the son he needed and wanted, and saw Catrina as little more than an object to keep his wife occupied. But, even at three years old, Joest was the center of the every Schurman’s lives; forcing everyone towards his toddler whims and little attention or affection remained for his younger sibling in his wake.

Thus, Catrina grew up over-familiar with feelings of loneliness and envy. Her brother, who society told her ought to be a companion, even a protector, was instead her most relentless tormentor. He pulled her hair, stained her dresses, and destroyed her books at every opportunity. It wasn't helped by her own clumsy awkwardness as a child, too nervous to speak up against his attacks that were always so quickly dismissed as charming boyish antics.

When Joest invited her to practice with the flintlock pistol gifted to him on his 17th birthday, Catrina was sure it was just a trick at her expense. Sure enough, the weapon's kickback knocked her to the ground, but the musket ball was embedded well into the target's center point. It was Catrina's first taste of naturally excelling at anything and, more importantly, at besting her brother; a feeling she'd chase for the rest of her life.

Joest's travel away with the shipping routes, and then with the navy, meant Catrina had a peaceful seven years during which she was able to imagine her brother had simply ceased to exist. After his falling out with their father, Catrina managed to inject herself into his abandoned role; regularly attending meetings and supervising the day-to-day inner workings of the Schurman empire. Her talent with wielding firearms proved an entertaining demonstration to prospective buyers and investors, but rarely was she treated as more than a novelty. It was no great surprise then, that with her father's sudden decline in health and Joest's coinciding return, that she was quickly and systematically shut out of the masculine corporate world.

During the year leading to her father's death, her main point of contact with the company was through Roelof van der Mijlen; a member of both Schurman's investors and of Doel's National Assembly. He'd respected her presence enough to continue their letters well after she stopped attending meetings. They discussed her father's wellbeing, the state of trade in the Union and its neighbors, and her brother's flagrant activities. A week after the funeral, Roelof approached Catrina in person and made a proposal. A marriage contract that would see her inherit what was rightfully hers, so long as she could provide a compelling and safe alternative to her brother. Thus she set out, a newly engaged woman, towards to the East Empire in hopes of securing a trade deal before her brother can.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja Wickler

---

When Sonja turned to examine the young woman her face remained impassive, even as her eyes lingered on her pooly cut hair and worn clothing. "Just so," She agreed in response. "I'll have to count my many blessings today." The corners of her tightly pressed lips turned upwards ever so slightly, but not into anything that could be called a smile. "You have our thanks for your efforts fraulein." She finished before turning her attention to Temple again.

"If you give me the name of your contact I'll be on my way to examine the police records." Her gaze again looked over the small group. "Along with anyone else who wishes of course."

Empire of the Clouds

Puskurunuwa

---

Puskurunuwa had come to the barrack huts during the dead of night. In the dark it was still easy to slip past the soldiers. Not that it mattered in the end. He'd only just begun his search when sirens started blaring and the camp emptied out entirety, just as large shadows passed behind dark clouds. More air raids. Nuwa left his concealed nook between a desk and the wall. Not that it mattered in the end. His family wasn't there, and prisoners weren't being held above ground anymore. Assuming it had even been the city’s soldiers attacking them in the first place. There had been men in uniforms, but with the city in such desperate chaos...

The rear entrance of the hut took him outside, to a large clearing. Nuwa’s eyes widened as he sprinted closer to the mass in the center of it. An airship. A real, proper airship on the ground and so much closer than the mere glimpses between the clouds he'd seen before.

"Looks a lot bigger down here." He muttered, mostly to himself, while surveying the area for any remaining soldiers. There were none to be found, no one watching the anchoring ropes, or watching the gondola’s entrance. So small, compared to the balloon rigging above it.

Just imagine swinging from the ropes of that thing in the air...

Nuwa knew Kypros wasn't really beside him, chatting in his ear. It was all in his mind, a figment of his imagination that he'd conjured to comfort him since they'd gotten separated half a week before. The knowledge did little to reduce the shock that came when the voices spoke on their own accord, unprompted and unbidden.

It’d be like real flying.

The ghost of his aerial partner finished the thought and Nuwa smiled at the memory of their shared dream. Real or not, Kypros’ echo was at least solace for the panic making Nuwa’s heart race.

"Would get a right smack on the return," He whispered in response, as though Kypros was indeed beside him. He pointed out the slack on the ropes, the divots in the bladder to demonstrate his meaning. "It's not quite ready to go yet. Filled and in the air you wouldn't be able to stick the landing."

We'd catch you.

The smile faltered as easily as it came. Nuwa cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to relieve himself of the distraction. It was hardly the time to reminisce, the sounds of panicked rioting were only getting louder. Without waiting for input from a ghost companion or his own better judgment, he climbed into the airship's gondola. There was quiet shouting to the right so he veered left to be greeted by a room full of panels, levers, and buttons. It all looked rather important for the purposes of getting off the ground and completely beyond Nuwa’s understanding.

More footsteps prevented him from doing anything foolish so he exited the cockpit through a second doorway and found himself in a corridor. One long window spanned almost the entire length. For now it only displayed the flat ground of its landing pad but once they were airborne... The idea almost gave Nuwa enough excitement to forget his panic, and the approaching footsteps. Almost.

With renewed speed, he scanned for a place to hide. Upon investigation he found the ceiling panels opened- but were stuffed with strapped canvas bags filled with what felt like soft fabric. He removed three, and kicked them under a bench, in hope they wouldn't be noticed before takeoff. It was a tight fit, but Nuwa hoisted himself into the small alcove, and folded himself behind more of the bags before closing the panel behind him. Only when it clicked shut did he consider whether or not he'd be able to open it again from the inside. It was too late for anything to be done however, as brisk footsteps approached, only to fade just as quickly. All that was left to do was wait until they were in the air. If he made enough noise to be found once they were already in the air he could hardly be tossed off the side, right?

You're going to leave us here?

Nuwa nearly gasped. Her voice. But it couldn't be Stelia whispering to him, even less than it could have been Kypros, because Stelia was still on the gravel by the docks; an officer's boot at her neck, her face draining into the same pale grey as her unblinking eyes and- A choked half sob escaped his throat. The sound was real enough to force him out of the nightmare and listen for any sign his presence had been noticed. There was nothing, except-

We’re supposed to stick together, why aren't we coming with you?

Nuwa shook his head; as best he could in the confined space. He wanted to argue. He had looked but was met with fire, and gunshots, and screaming, and he...

You're running away

We waited for you Nuwa

Did you even try?

A deep, reverberating groan interrupted the twins' torrent of accusatory whispers. Nuwa blinked in the dark, unaware of how much time had passed. The sound finally gave way to a more gentle whirring of machines, and gradually, Nuwa felt the bags shifting around him. With nothing solid to hold on to, he slid along with them, eventually ramming into the wall of the alcove with a thump loud enough to make him wince from the resulting pain and sound. More footsteps came and went along the hallway below him: louder, and and with an urgency that had been lacking before. The ship was alive and beginning to move.

Nuwa was going to leave Inbur.

He cringed at the thought, anticipating more admonishment from ghosts, but they remained silent. There was only the hum of engines and hissing of pneumatic pipes.

Feeling braver, he let the exileration wash over him. Puskurunuwa Petrides was going to fly out of Inbur.

The mix of fear and excitement quickly overcame good sense and Nuwa found himself attempting to shuffle on his back along the ceiling, fruitlessly kicking in search of a loose panel; desperate to catch a glimpse of the ground disappearing below.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja Wickler

---

Each passing winter had a greater effect on Sonja's constitution. This one still hadn't fully arrived, but the chill of morning mist was enough to stiffen her fingers even underneath thick gloves. She'd left her bag at her office at least, prepared for a long march to find the group from the night before, allowing her to keep tightened fists in effort to prevent numbness. The graveyard was completely deserted aside from the group from the cabaret, most rested and renewed for the day. She wondered what sort of sight they made; a strange collection for a funeral party. The closest one last night's victim was to have, she supposed. It was unlikely anyone would come forth to pay for a proper service. A shame they didn't even know her name yet. Sonja flexed both hands and began massaging the tension out of the knuckles on her palm, shifting her focus to Temple's recounting of the night's discoveries. Ghost stories were one thing, but police ignoring evidence to tidily ignore murders was a real, worthy case. So long as the foreign nurse was believed to be more trustworthy than the police.

"I'm familiar with Munich police records." Her reservedness of the night before was gone, replaced with a brisk urgency to end whatever this mess was. "I'd like to see them for myself, check for any commonalities as you say." She gave a single quick nod to Temple before continuing.

"For now, I believe the only connection we do have on the victims is that they are from the city's most vulnerable populations. While perhaps not a glamorous task, it may be worth the effort to seek out some hovels in the area. Our victims may have friends looking for them that wouldn't reach out to the police." Her lips pressed into a hard line. "They deserve warnings if nothing else."

Only when she finished speaking did the throbbing in her fingers subside enough for Sonja notice the morning cold stinging her cheeks. She tucked her chin into the scarf at her neck and hoped for quick agreement on their course of action, if only to get out of the chilling weather.

Empire of the Clouds

Puskurunuwa

Name: Puskurunuwa Petrides
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Nationality: Shariq
Appearance:

Years of traveling and training under the sun has left Puskurunuwa's already olive complexion dark, and turned his once black hair sandy. His face remains boyish, and could be considered handsome on the rare days he bothers to shave: otherwise he’s sporting the eternal patchwork stubble that ironically adds to his youthful appearance. Warm brown eyes and full lips add to his charm- until they part into an easy smile that showcases a set of shockingly large, crooked, and brilliantly white teeth. Puskurunuwa owns little in the way of clothing and stains of varying ages mark his trousers and shirt, both sagging on his lithe frame of five and a half feet. Even his belt is fastened by an extra self-made puncture some inches from the proper holes. Working as an acrobat has given him some degree of muscle, but only enough to for the speed and nimbleness such performances required.

Personal Effects:
All of Puskurunuwa's worldly possessions can fit in a repurposed grain-sack, and easily swung over the shoulder. Inside it contains:
- a curved knife half the length of his forearm
- white chalk
- a single spare shirt
- about 15 feet of rope
- a handful of precious gems, most cracked or scratched in some manner
- a box of matches
- an unlabeled bottle of dark brown spirits
- a tin oil lamp, it's glass flame shield long lost

---

Background:

Occupation: Circus Preformer, petty-thief
Backstory:

Whatever glory was to be found in rebuilding a long dead empire was lost on rural peasant children. All Puskurunuwa knew of Shariq was his family's cursed plot of land and the destitute fishing village miles to the north. There was never the means to travel any further. The family's farm failed to reliably produce, and most years they found themselves short on meeting taxes and their family still larger. Puskurunuwa's counted seven younger siblings by his tenth year, and possessed increasing awareness of their shrinking dinners. Rather than continuing to labour fruitlessly on barren land and watch his family’s starvation, Puskurunuwa packed what little that was his own and headed west, towards the distant grey horizon that was The Inburian Empire.

His original intention was to find work in the capital's ever growing factories. The road to Inbur, however, was enlightening. Puskurunuwa, who'd barely met more than a dozen people over his entire life, found entire towns and settlements seemingly crawling with them. He stopped in most, taking odd jobs anywhere that would take him, earning just enough to continue on his journey. The further west he went, the more unwelcome he was. Be it his age, nationality, or class; he was often met with harsh words and slamming doors. By the time he'd toured around the bay to the capital, Puskurunuwa had come to the conclusion that labour, be it on the farm or in the city, did not suit him.

So began his life as a miscreant urchin on Inbur's streets. A few years were spent picking pockets and modest thievery from merchants and visiting nobles on the docks. It just enough Puskurunuwa fed and dry, with plenty of free time to do as he pleased. Most was spent pestering the city's other miscreants; beggars, drunks, and street walkers. All were targets for young Puskurunuwa’s constant yammering and curiosity. Eventually he gained enough of a reputation to approuched for jobs on behalf of others. Most involved light burglary, or a planting, but it paid more than pinching pockets.

It was one such job that had Puskurunuwa visiting Lord Landry's Big Top Circus in 1071. He was working his way into the eponymous owner's safe when some commotion outside lay his plans to waste. Lord Landry returned to his office early, and found Puskurunuwa folded tightly inside his small safe some hours later. He offered the boy employment - as a performer. The following six years were the greatest stability Puskurunuwa had ever known. He became a master at trapeze and contortion - skills that had always come naturally, but little practiced as more than a means to an end before. While he never took to reading or writing, the far and frequent travel uncovered a talent for picking up languages. With the help of his gregarious, almost over-familiar, personality it rarely took more than a few weeks in a new region for Puskurunuwa to begin speaking comfortably with locals.

His fellow performers became his family, constants within a never-ending cycle of changing cities, local hires, and audiences. Xquic, the fire-dancer with a low voice, taught him how to grind grain with stone and turn it into bread with nothing but water and a campfire. A small family from Sakha managed the animals, and they quickly accepted Puskurunuwa into their unit. They took him along on hikes when they found themselves traveling the countryside, showing which plants could be made into tea, and mushrooms that would poison. He tailed the impossibly large strongman, Cllément, relentlessly, always wanting more of the Monchian's improbable stories until the latter's patience wore thin and picked up the boy with one hand and shotput him away. Twins Stelia and Kypros were his siblings in aerial performance acts; their lives in each other’s hands each time.

It was Puskurunuwa's eighth time in Inbur since joining the troupe when the Calarian invasion began. By the time their forces reached the capital, the circus family was scattered. Landry’s available funds, and their collective savings were all quickly spent as the city's tensions grew in anticipation of enemy forces. Puskurunuwa found himself completely alone by the time they arrived. As lost and stranded as when he'd come to the city ten years before.

Empire of the Clouds

Character App

Character Description

Name: Puskurunuwa Petrides
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Nationality: Shariq
Appearance:

Years of traveling and training under the sun has left Puskurunuwa's already olive complexion dark, and turned his once black hair sandy. His face remains boyish, and could be considered handsome on the rare days he bothers to shave: otherwise he’s sporting the eternal patchwork stubble that ironically adds to his youthful appearance. Warm brown eyes and full lips add to his charm- until they part into an easy smile that showcases a set of shockingly large, crooked, and brilliantly white teeth. Puskurunuwa owns little in the way of clothing and stains of varying ages mark his trousers and shirt, both sagging on his lithe frame of five and a half feet. Even his belt is fastened by an extra self-made puncture some inches from the proper holes. Working as an acrobat has given him some degree of muscle, but only enough to for the speed and nimbleness such performances required.

Personal Effects: All of Puskurunuwa's worldly possessions can fit in a repurposed grain-sack, and easily swung over the shoulder. Inside it contains:
- a curved knife half the length of his forearm
- white chalk
- a single spare shirt
- about 15 feet of rope
- a handful of precious gems, most cracked or scratched in some manner
- a box of matches
- an unlabeled bottle of dark brown spirits
- a tin oil lamp, it's glass flame shield long lost

---

Background:

Occupation: Circus Preformer, petty-thief
Backstory:

Whatever glory was to be found in rebuilding a long dead empire was lost on rural peasant children. All Puskurunuwa knew of Shariq was his family's cursed plot of land and the destitute fishing village miles to the north. There was never the means to travel any further. The family's farm failed to reliably produce, and most years they found themselves short on meeting taxes and their family still larger. Puskurunuwa's counted seven younger siblings by his tenth year, and possessed increasing awareness of their shrinking dinners. Rather than continuing to labour fruitlessly on barren land and watch his family’s starvation, Puskurunuwa packed what little that was his own and headed west, towards the distant grey horizon that was The Inburian Empire.

His original intention was to find work in the capital's ever growing factories. The road to Inbur, however, was enlightening. Puskurunuwa, who'd barely met more than a dozen people over his entire life, found entire towns and settlements seemingly crawling with them. He stopped in most, taking odd jobs anywhere that would take him, earning just enough to continue on his journey. The further west he went, the more unwelcome he was. Be it his age, nationality, or class; he was often met with harsh words and slamming doors. By the time he'd toured around the bay to the capital, Puskurunuwa had come to the conclusion that labour, be it on the farm or in the city, did not suit him.

So began his life as a miscreant urchin on Inbur's streets. A few years were spent picking pockets and modest thievery from merchants and visiting nobles on the docks. It just enough Puskurunuwa fed and dry, with plenty of free time to do as he pleased. Most was spent pestering the city's other miscreants; beggars, drunks, and street walkers. All were targets for young Puskurunuwa’s constant yammering and curiosity. Eventually he gained enough of a reputation to approuched for jobs on behalf of others. Most involved light burglary, or a planting, but it paid more than pinching pockets.

It was one such job that had Puskurunuwa visiting Lord Landry's Big Top Circus in 1071. He was working his way into the eponymous owner's safe when some commotion outside lay his plans to waste. Lord Landry returned to his office early, and found Puskurunuwa folded tightly inside his small safe some hours later. He offered the boy employment - as a performer. The following six years were the greatest stability Puskurunuwa had ever known. He became a master at trapeze and contortion - skills that had always come naturally, but little practiced as more than a means to an end before. While he never took to reading or writing, the far and frequent travel uncovered a talent for picking up languages. With the help of his gregarious, almost over-familiar, personality it rarely took more than a few weeks in a new region for Puskurunuwa to begin speaking comfortably with locals.

His fellow performers became his family, constants within a never-ending cycle of changing cities, local hires, and audiences. Xquic, the fire-dancer with a low voice, taught him how to grind grain with stone and turn it into bread with nothing but water and a campfire. A small family from Sakha managed the animals, and they quickly accepted Puskurunuwa into their unit. They took him along on hikes when they found themselves traveling the countryside, showing which plants could be made into tea, and mushrooms that would poison. He tailed the impossibly large strongman, Cllément, relentlessly, always wanting more of the Monchian's improbable stories until the latter's patience wore thin and picked up the boy with one hand and shotput him away. Twins Stelia and Kypros were his siblings in aerial performance acts; their lives in each other’s hands each time.

It was Puskurunuwa's eighth time in Inbur since joining the troupe when the Calarian invasion began. By the time their forces reached the capital, the circus family was scattered. Landry’s available funds, and their collective savings were all quickly spent as the city's tensions grew in anticipation of enemy forces. Puskurunuwa found himself completely alone by the time they arrived. As lost and stranded as when he'd come to the city ten years before.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Sonja

Name: Sonja Marie Wickler (née Brandt)
Gender: Female
Age: 46
Nationality: German
Appearance:

[+]

There are lingering traces of a once-beautiful youth remaining on Sonja's face. Her hair retains it's golden hue towards the ends, though dulls with threads of grey the closer it reaches the roots. Smile lines and crows feet mark time's affect on soft, loosening skin, their friendliness thwarted by the much more severe and prominent frown etched permanently between her brows. She remains an imposing figure despite her age, standing at nearly 5'11 she's taller than most and has a sturdy frame hidden under layers. A modest and practical woman in both appearance and demeanor; her clothes are always clean and pressed, but plain and several seasons out of fashion. A pair of pearl earnings, a simple gold wedding band on her left hand, and a small silver watch bound to the left wrist with a blue velvet band and clasp are the only adornments she allows herself.

Personal Effects:
Sonja's wardrobe is never complete without a hat, a pair of gloves- silk in the summer, leather in the winter -and a medium sized dark carpet bag that serves as both briefcase and handbag, carrying her many necessities;
- A leather-bound journal
- Italian and English translation dictionaries
- A silver lighter two inches long and one wide
- A pair of reading spectacles
- A tin flask filled with a clear and strong alcohol
- 2 pens and inkwells, one black one blue
- A red lipstick that appears completely unused
- 2 needles and spool of thread
- A spare set of stockings
- 2 scarves, one silk one wool
- A handful of hat and hair pins
- Identification papers and a few hundred marks

Her late husband's Mauser C96 remains in her possession, but rarely leaves it's locked hiding place in her office.

Trade: Private Investigator
Backstory:
Sonja was born the fourth and final child of the once-affluent Magdeburg Brandt family in 1877. The family’s hardships started shortly after her birth and most of Sonja's life and early memories were that of a particular sort of impoverishment: Completely dependent on the charity of distant unseen family in far off places and sparse remains of an old inheritance for survival. Neither of her parents worked, instead clinging to their pride and memories of wealth that she had never experienced. All while surrounded by true the destitution of their neighbors. While she hardly had the words to describe it at the time, her family’s combination of ego and ignorance grated and shamed her.

In the late 1880's, the Brandt matriarch contracted tuberculosis. As her mother faded, Sonja's father turned further towards drink. Both brothers fled to find their own fortunes elsewhere. When it became apparent even from the outside they could no longer manage themselves, the community her family had always scorned came to their aid. Each day a different family would come with a dinner, hot bathing water, or clean laundry. More often than not, Sonja would follow them out again, desperate to flee the suffocating remains of her family. Among the squalid dregs of Magdeburg's lowest class she developed a sense of solidarity and identity.

At 19 her mother finally passed after nearly a decade of sickness. The end of her life also meant an end to the charity that had kept the family fed and housed. The generosity of her distant relatives had reached a limit when all that remained of them was a drunk widower and young woman old enough to work for herself. Sonja wrote to them all in desperation. Out of her dozen letters, one responded. A great aunt that had come to her mother’s modest funeral and found Sonja fetching and clever enough to be deserving of a final piece of kindness: A proper education abroad. Within six months she was packed and on a train to Zurich.

She had been intended to stay only for three years, taking music and art classes at a small woman's university. However, one evening while accompanying a group of friends to a marxist rally on the steps of the University of Zurich, she met Michael Wickler. Six years her senior, he was well traveled from a short time in the military, and working towards his doctorate in law. What began as a clumsy attempt to recruit Sonja to a cause gave way to a handful of dates and soon enough, an engagement. Sonja was practical enough to know marriage was the ultimate goal of her education, but Michael saw things differently. He charmed her with flattery and encouragement, gave her the words and understanding for what she had felt her entire life, and incessantly pushed her to continue her education. Under his pressuring she eventually found herself enrolling in the University of Zurich herself. After two rounds of degrees, first in the natural sciences, then another in law, the couple finally returned to Germany as Mr. and Mrs. Michael Wickler.

They made their start in Munich, where Michael had friends, family, and ties, and were able to start a firm in only a few short years. Sonja's interest in her husband’s work matched his own. They took cases for unions and renters, jobs that paid less but offered greater fulfillment. Most days were spent in the too-small poorly-lit office working in silent tandem. Officially, her role was that of secretary, but it was rare for a document or letter to be sent out without being approved by Sonja's discerning eye. Michael found himself embroiled in the SPD shortly after they'd established themselves, through connections he'd made in Zurich. At first Sonja had merely tagged along; taking minutes of meetings and refreshing pots of coffee for the groups of mostly men. Except for one way, when day a contingent of women joined them, identifying themselves as the Munich BDF. In them, Sonja found a cause she could call her own, and thus began her work for woman's suffrage.

Then the war came. Micheal was sent off with the rest of the reservists, and never returned. Sonja moved to live with her sister-in-law, Ada, an agreeable woman married to a police captain. Their four children were all grown and gone and Ada was grateful for the companionship and one less empty room. Without Michael there was no more law work, and Sonja threw herself into political activism to compensate for the loss of both. The SPD's agreement to the war became something of a betrayal in Sonja's mind, and her politics continued to veer left, to the MSPD shortly after it's formation, and eventually the KDP.

Towards the end of the war, she began work in an ammunition's factory; and more importantly it's respective union. For two years she re-immersed herself in the working class she believed herself championing. That career was cut short too, after the strike in 1918, followed by the end of the war. Shortly after, women were granted voting rights, and her work for the BDF was no longer needed as it centralized itself in Berlin for more global affairs.

Hardly content to live as a retired widow before reaching 50, Sonja found her own way of occupation. Over her two decades in Munich, she'd accumulated a number of contacts and friends within different spheres of the left-wing movements in the city. Her unique experience, education, and temperament positioned her well to continue aiding the communities that had been abandoned by their government. Her first job was for the union she'd been a member of during the war, a simple case of wage theft. They hadn't expected a woman to investigate, nor deliver key evidence directly to the police captain as well as every union-sympathizing lawyer she knew. From there, one paid favour led to another, and while the pay was as irregular as the work itself she eventually managed to begin renting out a small office in a squalid district of the city.