Terrans

Empire of the Clouds

Pvt. Aden Robertson

While Aden found the weight of the machinegun comforting he was rapidly coming to hate the lack of communication the machine gun position afforded. Specifically for the various maneuvers that the vessel was performing.

"Son of-" The deck tilted precariously underneath his feet. Gloves made his grip clumsy as he flailed for handholds; wrapping his arms around the gun's base. Aden lifted his head in time to see mass of trees level with his platform seem to skewer to his face. The scout gave a yelp as he tucked his face to the deck; feeling a shower of pine needles and branches fall onto his back; accompanied by a brief sound of tearing.

Visions of a failing airship haunted his mind as Aden picked up his head at the lack of debris showering him. The skies around him clear as the ship started its now familiar climb.

It was to shaky feet that Aden pulled himself to; using the gun pedestal as a support.

Smoke and Steel

Kreznik
Spymaster for the White Wyvern
Trefgodwig

' Why am I doing this?'

The thought came often to Kreznik in the last few months. As he crept through army camps. While sounding out contacts in roadside inns or raucous taverns. More often they came as he struggled to piece together the fledgling network of agents, informants and scouts into a cohesive picture of their situation. Not helped by the chaos of the multi-sided civil war/revolution or the disestablishment of his order.

Kreznik could admit there was a slight bite of loss when he thought of the Shrouded Blade being dissolved. He never asked to be an assassin but they had at least given him some kind of life given in exchange for the one they stole. But they were gone now. Their fortress and training ground razed to the ground; the knowledge, traditions and masters lost in the flames set by at least one side of this war. The problem with the death of the masters was that now there was no one to hold the reigns of the Blades that were scattered across the realm. Skilled, but now masterless. They had started turning to sides and offering their services for coin or country. The ones that had survived at least.

Whatever their reason, Kreznik found his former brothers and sisters to be effective spy hunters. Information had slowed to a crawl at the moment. His reports and communiques were out of date. The only ones who were reliable were the Hounds, the ones he and Fiona had trained personally from former Blade apprentices and promising militiamen and women. But they were too few to risk. Especially as the last one sent had been found swinging from a tree outside of Alveby.

She had been the youngest of the Hounds. The newest but she had so much promise. There had been no hesitation before she set out; anticipation in her shoulder's before she kicked her horse into a trot.

Kreznik wondered if this was how Vassos and Loan felt when they sent their men out. Simple missions that should have been a jaunt back. Guilt and hindsight plucked at his mind when he thought of her. Another face to add to his list. The one's he saw when he blew out the lamps.

His door open with the customary knock; his assistant appearing. Like Kreznik he wore a calvary uniform of the White Wyvern's; simply because it was easier to disguise the coming and goings of the Hounds with military dispatches and scouting then it would have been to explain away civilians. Same for his meetings with the varied leadership of the Whites.

"Sir, She's requested a meeting." Seamus, a Hound more skilled with balancing figures then a blade, had no need to elaborate. Only one person requested anything of him these days; the rest just demanded.

"Thank you Seamus." Kreznik waited for the man to close his door before the assassin stood and gave a groaning stretch. Then a look in the mirror. The man before him looked to have aged years in these months; bags pulled at his eyes and stubble grew unruly across his jaw. His green eyes looked dull; their previous gleam having died around two Hounds prior. Nonetheless, he fixed his "uniform" and pulled on the trappings of his cover. He took a precious second to adjust the pistol; he had gotten better with the thing but he hated how impersonal the weapon was.

His uniform at least looked in order as he departed his "command post" in the commandeered home he had first used. The previous owners had perished in the fighting and no one had questioned the shift of ownership from mysterious men and women to a rotation of militia scouts.

It was a short trip to Andronika's preferred place of council; Kreznik having passed the bodyguard's in decent time by the time he strode in to the meeting place.

"Good day." Kreznik took off his hat as he took his usual position; the most shadowed spot with his back to a wall.

Smoke and Steel

Character App

Character Description

Name: Kreznik "Broekke"
Species/Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 21
Court Alignment: White
Role: Spymaster for the White Wyvern's
Appearance: Standing at a leanly, muscled 6’0”; Kreznik is an unremarkable man for the most part. His skin is fair and his hair is an unoteworthy shade of brown that he keeps cut short. Kreznik’s eyes are described as an intelligently, gleaming green. Noticeable marking's include a scarred cheek courtesy of one of Alberic's pistols, a scarred back that bares the mark of lashes and two thin scars on his left finger from they had been amputated (and reattached shortly thereafter thanks to Andronika."

Strengths and Weaknesses

>list>
Skills: An assassin trained from the cradle by the likes of the Imperial’s Order of the Shrouded Blades; Kreznik is one of the versatile tools crafted by the Empire to keep their grasp. Trained in several arts; Kreznik is capable of many feats one would suspect of his kind. Blades, knife throwing, climbing, sneaking, lockpicking; the hallmarks of his profession. And he excelled at them for his age. He can even swim too. As of late he hast taken to trying to build the White Wyvern's spy rings with moderate success but his beginner's luck might soon be coming to an end.

Weaknesses: While he is a fully trained assassin; Kreznik had only just become an assassin. So he was inexperienced for the world at large and the for the enormity of the events that came his way. Suffering what could be called several crisis of fate and self; he found himself prone to rash decisions and backed himself into a very tricky corner. A survivor at heart; self interest will most likely cause his interests to sway.

Background:

Backstory:
Kreznik’s history is unknown by most except for the mysterious record keepers that reside somewhere within the Order. Kreznik however was like many of the Order of the Shrouded Blade’s recruits; unwanted and young. A young Kreznik was taken from his orphanage crib by an Imperial census team looking to meet the Order’s quota.

At an isolated fortress among the trees; Kreznik was raised along side his class of five dozen other orphans. The trainees were from a variety of races across the realm; selected to allow for the Order to go anywhere the Empire required. Under the eyes of their instructor’s; Kreznik’s class grew in age and skill as they were taught not just techniques but also devotion and loyalty the Order and the Empire. Training was harsh, individualized and based in weeding out the weak unable to serve the Empire. Many trainees washed out and even those that didn’t often stumbled somewhere in the path.

Kreznik himself bore three separate marks of lashing. One from improper devotion to the Empire, one from improper footing during a stealth exercise, and the last administered by his master for an unknown reason at the end of his apprenticeship. Whatever, the reason however; Kreznik’s master still allowed him to pass and the young assassin was given his first assignment.

He was to kill a merchant with ties to a smuggling network embarrassing several Imperial families. Setting out for Inbur; Kreznik disguised himself as a slave with the intention of being “purchased” in Inbur by an agent to cement a deception necessary for his mission. What he didn’t count on was something happening to his caravan en-route.

Unwilling to break his cover; Kreznik tagged along with the slaves for the moment. The ensuing journey before parted ways saw the young assassin killing a member of his order (with the help of the group) and finding a rather peculiar sword stuck in the armory of a keep. Kreznik continued on his mission and has he prepared for the killing blow found the man knew of a prophecy that he was somehow part of.

He thought nothing of it until his master and an Imperial Seer found him licking his wounds in a safe house. A new target; a false heir and a supposed chosen one "The Dawnbringer" traveling with the group of slaves he had briefly traveled with. So Kreznik set out reluctant but ready to do his duty.

Event's played out that caused Kreznik to reveal the sword from the keep he carried was actually for The Dawnbringer; fate having made him a mere courier for the weapon. A slight breakdown at the fact he was a mere pawn of fate preceded an assassination attempt of Andronika and a kidnapping of Aonene. Both of which were halted, barely and ended in Kreznik wounded and captured.

Spared by mercy; Kreznik found himself dragged along with the group the border town of Trefgodwig. Here Andronika gave him a chance; one the assassin took desperately. For he had failed his mission and that carried a heavy price. Allied by necessity; Kreznik found himself the White's intelligence network out of promising recruits and disillusioned Blade apprentices alongside his former training mate; Fiona (an actual turncoat). A hazy betrayal left Fiona dead by his hand and Kreznik feeling more unstable and at his wits end.

In the aftermath of the battle; after Andronika' formerly formed the White's he has been attempting to spread their networks into the empire as well as forming a more formal scouring corps. Both of have been hampered however by his lack of experience in such manners and the sudden fracturing of the Empire. With so many sides; it has become harder to determine loyalties and sway them appropriately.

He still tries however; because he has tied his wagon to the likes of the White Wyvern and its rise will determine his survival.

Empire of the Clouds

Pvt. Aden Robertson

Luck had been on Aden's side in that the room 'Ammo #18' was not rigged and contained a sizable horde of small arms ammunition. It continued to hold as the first row of wooden boxes proudly proclaimed seven point nine two millimeter in its sterile stenciling.

The scout had spent the better part of the day loading ammo into a pair of satchels and hauling the munitions to the arms room. Making sure to stow the liberated cardboard cartons just out of sight before he retired for the night. Gold didn't interest him and there were enough on watch that he slid into a bunk confident he would be alerted when trouble arrived.

****

A man screaming over the ship's announcement system jolted him from a slumber that felt too short. The only thing his waking mind comprehended was battle stations. So that's what he prepared for; hurriedly slipping on his uniform and jamming his boots on awkwardly. Stomping to secure the footwear; he rushed out of the berth. Great coat being pull on one arm while his fighting harness and rifle dangled off one side.

It was an awkward shuffle that Aden took to his post; bracing periodically on the wall the try and fix his boots or pull his uniform on. But by the time he threw open the hatch and stepped out to the machine gun gondola he was at least dressed. Though his helmet had been left in his haste back at the berth.

Not that it registered as the marksman back slung the rifle and hurriedly mounted an ammo belt into the tray of the fore machine gun. He began to swivel the gun....

Then he realized that he had no idea what the threat even was. Awareness was beating back the adrenaline fueled haze his rude awakening had given him. He took a moment to steady his breathing; the chill of the air stinging his lungs slightly.

He groped for the binocular's dangling from his neck; the glass still crisp despite the mileage and he started to scan. Just like he was taught; near to far, one side to the other. Not looking but letting the world stand....

A band of horseman on the ridge. The color's and uniforms blobs at this distance but they would soon be visible at their rate of closure. They would be within range of his guns shortly though their effectiveness would be poor for a while. Especially with him having to judge his impacts and shoot the gun.

So he waited, adjusting his watch cap lower on his skull as he tensed up and waited. The slightest jitter in his left foot betraying the mixture of fear and anticipation he was sadly becoming all too acquainted with.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Theo Rautenhach

He wondered whether it was the joyfulness of youth or just the aftermath of the war; but Theo was struck by how bleak the city was. His days of migrant work might have been rough but the cities had seemed alive. Not utopian or idyllic, but vibrant and bustling with a sense of common energy.

Shuffling and trodding was the mark of most steps; a contrast from the purposeful stride of Theo. Every now and then there would be a group of people standing around; armbands or slogans signifying whatever cause they were standing for. A few had pistols tucked into waistbands or clutched old rifles; but for the most part it was truncheons or clubs.

The Freikorps roamed the streets as well; rough looking men often in the uniforms of their old units. Rifles and the rare machine pistol held in their grips as they went about their tasks; one group hauling men and women out of a busted shop window.

Cries of protests mingling with smashing clash as the militiaman wrestled people bound in ropes onto the ground or into the open tailgate of an idling truck. Off to the side, a trio of militiamen with slung rifles dumped boxes of pamphlets into a barrel. Their officer tossing a match in after a few boxes.

The crack of a gunshot had Theo duck instinctively but none of the Freikorps did. The wails of a woman followed the shot; growing louder as they hauled her out. Tears streaming down a red face as the militiamen on both sides of her dragged her out of the window.

"Dogs." Theo cast a glance at the speaker to his left. She was dressed like a regular factory worker; though her cloths were cleaner. Ink black hair pulled into a braid that disappeared into a workers cap. Rust colored eyes widened in fear as she caught Theo's eyes and realized what he was seeing.

She had a messenger bag of pamphlet's; the same pamphlets being thrown into the burn barrel. The latch had come undone slightly and showed the top of one pamphlet. The sickle hammer and star of the German Communist Party prominent on the header.

Theo realized what she was seeing, a tall man with the scars of the Great War and the eyes of a killer. An ill fitting suit like those used by the Republics secret police. Theo cast a glance at the unfolding scene as the Freikorps hauled the crying woman onto the truck as they dragged a dead body out; white shirt red with blood and limp while being dragged through the filth of the street.

He made his decision with no hesitation he found. Reaching out and tucking the offending pamphlets further into her bag. Redoing the latch before pulling back and giving a small tilt of his.

"Be careful of your words fraulein. Not all of us want more blood." He said the words low. A slight guilt pulling at him as he pulled away from the gathering and crowd and heading back on track. He had never done such things in the Freikorps; but he wondered how many of his tasks had allowed similar actions to occur. How many widows and orphans had he made or opened the way to be made?

The thoughts plagued him all the way to the police station. Where he found Sonja and Adam awaiting his arrival outside the front.

"My apologies for the delay. Freikorps caused a small disruption to my travel."

Empire of the Clouds

Private Aden Robertson

There were a few perks to being a member of an Alpine regiment. One was the wide array of spotting implements on his person; so Aden had been one of the first to spot the outlines of the fortress on the revealing horizon. He had watched as the towers and parapets had resolved in greater details under the magnification of his field glasses.

He made a mental note to add a sketch of the fortress alongside his coming journal entry; it would make for an excellent eye catcher.

At the present however, he turned his attention to the crew as they discussed their latest plans for the seemingly deserted fortress.

" I believe I should be one of the first into the fortress." He offered, voice slightly muffled by the scarf pulled around his face. He gestured at his uniform, worn by two weeks of travel and fighting; but still noticeably Inburrian with the markings of the 46th Alpine on his shoulder. "I at least have a noticeably friendly uniform and if the place is filled with Communalists or traps.....well I guess I'll just have to trust that my senses are up to the task."

Luckily, the scarf hid the slight expression of hesitation he had at the idea of heading into a booby trap or Communalist infested fortress.

He decided his helmet wouldn't be needed given the lack of artillery or trenches at the moment. His Kraussers', the rifle and pistol, still secured to his person. The sniper would probably be unwieldly in the confines of the castle but the pistol would suffice within the halls.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Theo Rautenbach

Theo hastily wiped away the smudge of jam still clinging to his cheek as he turned to Sonja.

"I can accompany you." He gestured at his clothes though and made an attempt at looking sheepish. " Let me make myself look presentable however; I'd rather think the police would look down on a demobbed soldier such as me."

The former militiaman went to make his way to his modest quarters where his borrowed suit sat hanging in the small closet. It took no more then ten minutes for him to change over and swap his weapon's to his new wardrobe. A dark brimmed hat squashed low on his head; covering up the bulk of his shrapnel scars.

Empire of the Clouds

Private Aden Robertson

It struck Aden as he sketched the profile of a few of his shipmates. He had finished the visage of Arkadios as Aden remembered him from the armory; stern and imposing. The outline of Carter as he helmed the airship; the drawing comparable to that of a captain bracing against raging seas. It was as he outlined the frames of Zoe, face pulled into a grin as she teased Carter, that it came to him.

' I survived. I survived. I made it back from the mountains. '

His sketching stopped abruptly. The line becoming misshapen and darker as the sniper pulled back his pencil. His abbreviated two week journal entry was a few pages back; it did little to show the experiences he had went through.

Aden realized his breathing was becoming shakier as he remembered the first hours of the war. The scramble to the front. His best friend; Lucius, taking a bullet in the initial scramble for cover. The first shot in anger he ever took. How it missed the fresh faced kid who's only crime had been to wear the wrong uniform. Scraping away at rocks and loose dirt with desperation as mortars fell on him as the kid he missed reported the sniper.

The marks of day still evident on his hands; thin, angry red scars still showing the after effects of his adrenaline fueled panic. They shook still.

His mind still om that day. The young Calarian soldier picking his head up cautiously and how it filled his crosshair. The distance making it seem so much smaller; the pain of his bleeding fingers as he pulled the trigger again. The distant clang of metal on metal, a helmet flying off and a brief spurt of red. The face falling out of a view and a cry of grief. Aden had moved on by the point the mortars fell again; but that face stayed in his mind.

Had he killed someone's friend? Brother? Would he remember them all?

Then he killed his second, third and fourth man two hours later. His fifth and sixth came five hours after that. Aden realized then that it never became easier to do it. Just to forget it.

He had no idea how many he had by the time he had escaped onto this airship. But here he was now. Sipping coffee and sketching away as he helped steal gold from a nation that he had chosen to fight for. Just so he could go back to fighting for an army that had left him behidn in a doomed city.

"Gods above I'm a mess." He said aloud to the bridge. Not really caring who heard it.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Theo Rautenbach

The previous night might have yielded no more then a body but Theo had not been discouraged. As odd as the evening had turned out to be there was a rather mysterious air to the whole affair. Something more captivating then his previous terror filled days of militia work. It was like something out of a paperback; one of his few pleasures in the trenches.

So he had returned to the Nightwatchmen the next day; his ill fitting suit exchanged for work pants and a patched grey coat. His Luger still sat nestled in his armpit but his knife had been added to the back of his waistband. Lightly armed perhaps compared to his old days on the Western Front; but he couldn't carry around his MP-18 or the massive trench busting Artillery Luger he had used in the early days as a stormtrooper.

His excitement has remained even as the others made use of their talents to try and pattern the manner of creature (or man) that they now hunted.

Wait....

"Did you say the first victim was a grave digger?" Theo stood up now; his humble breakfast of bread and jam abandoned on a back table. a stray smear of blackberry jelly clutched to the corner of his mouth. "Did he die in the middle of a job? As in digging a new grave?"

Empire of the Clouds

Pvt. Aden Robertson

Character Description

Name: Aden Robertson
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Nationality: Inburian Nationalized ( Born Favis)
Appearance:

appearance

Fair skin and freckled; Aden is a lean 6'0" with dark eyes and dirty blond hair in a short cut at the moment. He typically carries grin on his face and many find him looking rather young for his age. Typically found wearing his Inburian Alpine uniform in a mottled shade of tan and green with bandoleers of rifle ammo draped across his chest and belt.

Personal Effects:
- Krausser Firearms R-01M Accuracy Pattern Rifle (Gewehr 98 with x4 Zeiss Optic)
- Krausser Firearms P-15 Trench Pistol (P-08 Luger)
- Fighting Knife
- Compass
- Binoculars
- Silver Lighter (Engraved; " 46th Alpine: First to Fight, Last to Break")
- Four Cigars
- Sketchbook (Functions as diary, range table and..... a sketchbook.)

---

Background:

What is your job Inburian Army Marksman
Backstory:

Aden originally came from a merchant family that plied the trade routes of the Circle Sea. The Robertson & Robinson Trading Co. having routes that traced all the way back to the days of pirates trying to carve out slices of legitimacy. It was into this legacy that Aden was born in a sleepy costal town after coming a month early.

Schooled and provided for; Aden spent his early years with his paternal Uncle in Vichy. Learning of the logistics and skills needed to keep the Robertson and Robinson Trading Co. afloat and profiting as changes in technology and politics caused the family to try and keep up. When he was old enough he took to the seas and visited the ports of the Old (and occasionally) New World under the watchful eyes of his father. However, a life of the sea and the ports began to grow on Aden as year after year of sailing, balancing books and constant traveling made him start to resent the life of a merchant.

His relationship with his parents began to strain until one day as they made port in Inbur; an argument caused a teenaged Aden to storm off their ship. Originally intent on simply enjoying some alcohol; Aden overindulged and was eventually wrapped up in a bar fight that ended with severe property damage. At first, a mistake of identity had Aden marked as a repeat offender; and the constables taking care of his charges said that he would be heading for a labor farm for hard labor. But the constable said he looked like a good kid and offered another chance; the Inburian Army was always recruiting and his buddy was able to get pardons for minor cases such as Aden's.

A mixture of hangover, sudden hope and resentment to his family caused Aden to say yes. By the time his family figured out where he was and went through the proper channels to contact him; Aden was a private in the Inburian military and in the third class to enter the infantile 46th Alpine Regiment. Aden had no intention of going back when he was both enjoying the new feeling of a unknown world of military service and the uniqueness that was the Inburian Army's new program.

An attempt to leverage the distinct terrain of the Calarian border; the 46th Alpine Regiment found themselves trained in scouting, patrolling, and marksmanship. Perfectly geared for the limited combat Inbur dreamed of occurring. Aden graduated with pride and found himself stationed on the Calarain border. A tense but relatively calm posting.

The invasion took them all by surprise; both in intensity and its modern tools. Most of the 46th died under a hail of gas artillery that Aden avoided by virtue of scouting out Calarian artillery observers. The remnants of the 46th and other border units tried to put up a fight but found it impossible to stem the tide of Calarians and the insurgents that seemed to appear spontaneously.

Having found himself in Inbur after his latest fighting retreat; Aden is currently attached to a rearguard force made up of survivors that managed to make it to the city. Their purposes to buy time for the more intact formations to regroup elsewhere. At the moment, the scout is currently manning one of the gates to the Imperial Palace's military aerodrome as he waits for orders even as the sounds of gunfire grow closer to the base.