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Pvt. Aden Robertson

Somewhere between the pain of being shot and the following shock; Aden was aware that he was being dragged back into the airship.

Well drag being a generous term for the awkward supported stumbling that ended with him more or less collapsing against a nearby bulkhead as his rescuer took a breath.

"There's blood on my dress," she sounded thoughtful more than anything else, which probably wasn't the reaction anyone would have expected, "Hmm... that might actually work for me. Okay, I'm going to get you to a bunk, then you, or someone else, needs to tell me what I'm doing."


Aden's hands, which had already been instinctively clutching his wound, tightened to renewed pain and resulted in a hiss of pain. His aid pack on his webbing was empty; expended days ago on someone else. Not that it had more then a few different types of bandages and-

"Bandages....." He ground out. "...rags, something...."

He tried not to let his panic show through. His pain addled mind trying to remember if they had a doctor onboard.
Pvt. Aden Robertson

Aden was desperately scratching his brain for ballistic tables as the muzzle flashes below twinkled and the guns of their dirigible chattered in response. Mainly because gunnery from a elevated position shifting steadily at moving targets below was not a common practice; nor was making use of a machine gun.

Large, cumbersome, hefty machines that Aden took a disliking too as a cartridge jammed for the third time since he started firing.

"Damn Inburian piece of sh-" His curse cut off as he extracted the mangled casing. Another jerk of the charging handle and he was back to firing. It was hard to gauge where he was hitting given the distance and the scarcity of tracers in the belt. But Aden kept laying into the-

Ping

A round whizzed off the railing in a brief moment of sparks. The resulting ricochet coming so close to Aden's face he felt the sting of the copper jacket shedding.

"Gods!!!" Aden ducked instinctively; knowing in the back of his mind that it was too late a reaction. A few beats to collect himself before he hauled himself back to his gun. Finger's tightening within their gloves to continue their fire. The rest of the box went without incident and Aden ducked to loosen a fresh box from its mounted container. Flipping latches to prep the new ammo.

He wondered how long the ship would remain within range. And if that would be lucky enough for them to get a lucky shot as Aden had almost suffer-

Blinding hot fire trailed down his left arm as he collapsed with the force imparted. He was vaguely aware of warm liquid spreading down his left sleeve and the sudden stiffness of the limb. Instinct took over as tried to prop himself up; honed and reinforced by his brutal introduction to modern warfare weeks ago.

"MEDIC!!! MEDIC!!!!!"
Andronika and Kreznik
Co-Written with @Dyelli Beybi


Kreznik had rapidly come to the conclusion they were overstretched. And by “they” he meant the spy’s and scouts that made up his little domain of Andronika’s camp.

He had no one to spare for her latest foray out. Which meant Kreznik would probably accompany her.

A prospect he found both frustrating and in an odd sensation, eager. It was in this state of mind when he passed through her cordon of menacing guards and even more menacing secretaries, courtiers and aides to speak to her.

“Good evening your hig- Andronika.” The near slip of the tongue even odds nowadays.

Andronika had been lounging in one of the plush armchairs by the fire, one leg slung lazily across the arm. It wasn't ladylike, scandalous some might say, she held a goblet of wine in one hand and for once neither of her 'ladies in waiting' were with her, "Kreznik," she greeted him without getting up, "Anything exciting going on in the wider world... apart from the fact we're about to cross the border?"

"Nothing I can confirm for you yet." He strode closer before coming to a stiff halt a few steps from the fire. " I'm mainly here to inform you my.... your agents are rather scattered at the moment. We have no one available to ride ahead of your march."

Like most times where he admitted his faults he practically was spitting the words. As if rushing them would make someone less likely to understand his failings.

"So I came to inform you I'll be heading out to Ebengrenzstadt tomorrow."

"What are you hoping to achieve by doing that?" Andronika asked. She placed the goblet on a side table, stretching languidly, "Our forces will have scouts deployed."

“Gauging the populace. Making sure there’s no one conspiring openly. Spy hunting.” The last part had a bite of regret to it. “Besides it’s not as if I’m crucial here. Seamus can run the agents as easily as me.”

The spymaster made it a point not to linger on the slight shift of Andronika's dress to a temporarily lower position. A distraction he could ill afford at what he assumed would be resistance to his wishes. As well as her, rather terrifying, ability to turn any conversation her way.

"Spy hunting... to be honest, I'm more worried about spies here," she declared, nodding towards another chair, "Take a seat, have some wine," she paused for a long moment before asking, "Do you know why I'm particularly happy about this 'Ebengren-whatsit' development?"

Kreznik took the proffered seat though he made no moves for the wine. Instead, regarding Andronika as he gave what was probably wrong answers. “Change of scenery and a power base away from a king trying to get you to marry?”

"Half way there, I am now honour-bound to play my hand before accepting a marriage offer," Andronika gave a small shrug, "It's still in the King's interest to support me, but it means it's harder for him to make support contingent on the marriage. This, however, makes this moment interesting... I can't say what moves are afoot or even who the players are," she leaned forward slightly, "I won't tell you what to do, but I'd suggest that if you want to go to that unpronounceable town, talk to the Garrison Commander and make sure nobody makes a move against him before we can get there. That would involve moving openly... at least until you get there." She paused a moment before adding, "A worst-case scenario would be to arrive and find the doors barred because some Empire-loving underling had hanged our friend."

“ I’ll try to make sure the loyalists keep their head down… at least until you can win them over.” The assassin leaned forward, matching the heir’s movement. “Probably in some foolhardy display of bravado that we will fall over ourselves trying to get ahead of.”

He tried not to notice the faint scarring on her neck. Or how her eyes seemed slightly more guarded then when he had first met her in the aftermath of the slave caravan. A seeming lifetime ago.

"It's all a risk," Andronika replied, with a playfulness that hadn't changed, "Roll the dice. Maybe we win, maybe I end up dead... or needing to dye my hair and sneak away. Any thoughts on colour?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“Blondes the easiest to dye.” Kreznik offered. Though the thought of Andronika without her dark curls was a contrast he couldn’t really imagine.

He waited a beat; unease prickling at him before he did something unusual for him. He blurted what was on his mind.

" How do you do it? How do you get used to it?"

Andronika looked a little surprised at the question. She paused momentarily before giving a small sigh and a wry smile, "I'm not, but I don't have much of a choice in all of this. I feel like a ship being steered by a crew... so I pretend I'm in control, put on a smile, make a joke and try not to stop and think too much; because, if I do, I'll either scream, or cry, or end up in a stuporous ball in the corner."

Kreznik's face shifted a bit at her confession. Crestfallen, the most apt description, to those who knew the man.

" I see....." His gaze shifted to the wine bottle.

Andronika seemed to read the gesture, straightening up in her chair before leaning over to pour a second goblet, filling it almost to the brim, more than the vessel was really designed to hold, before passing it across to Kreznik, "So tell me, what in that answer makes you look so glum?"

The assassin took the glass and seemed to regard its contents. A habitual sniff before an experimental swig of the alcohol.

“The Hounds. The scouts. We keep losing some…… not every time I send someone out. But….. the ones we do lose.”

His expression became visibly pained.

“The last one was so young. She was so eager…. I thought she would do fine.”

He took a gulp of the wine. The slightest of sheens in his eyes.

“I’m sending others to do their deaths and I don’t know how to keep it up. Killing or being killed…. I have no problem. But sending others…. it’s not… I don’t…..”

Andronika set her goblet aside, leaning forward to rest her fingers on Kreznik's wrist, "Can I suggest you refocus their energy on protecting our own high value people. We can decide the rest in embassies and on battlefields, so long as our key people stay alive to do so."

Kreznik took a breath, glancing at Andronika's touch.

" If that is your wishes.... I will relay it...I just thought..... Offense over defense..."

The impulse to take another gulp stilled momentarily by the slight grip on his wrist.

"The problem for our Court is that its centred around a small number of charismatic people," Andronika replied, "If a significant person is taken off the board then the enterprise will fail. Vestele, for instance, if someone gets to her then our ability to treat with Orrian is compromised. If we cannot form an agreement with Orrian then we become a small dog nipping at the heels of two fighting giants.

"What we want to see happen is for Orrian to allow us to suppress Mitteland. Even if that involves paying him tribute or swearing fealty. We assist him in driving his brother East, if necessary and we build up our power base amongst the Mittelvolk before we move to secure the allegiance of my sister and my... well I think she's probably my cousin. The pirate anyway.

"There's nothing wrong with an offensive strategy, but imagine winning dozens of battles but with everything collapsing because one link in the chain disappeared."

“I apologize…. I’m not… I was never trained for this.” The admittance seeming a great confession in his mind even if his delivery was rather anticlimactic.

"I'm a farmer's daughter will dellusions of grandeur," Andronika gave a winning smile, letting her fingers linger on Kreznik's wrist for a few moments before drawing them away, "We're all working out how to play our roles as we go along. For now take the security of the court and our embassies as the top priority of the Hounds."

He tried not to notice the lack of warmth her now absent grasp had left. His uncertain resolution prior to the battle seeming more pointless now.

“I will do as my lady commands.”

"Only if that's what you want," Andronika gave a small laugh, "Don't forget Kreznik that you're a free man. I exchanged a steel cage for a gilded one, but it's a cage nonetheless."

Kreznik paused for a second. Regarding Andronika as he pondered.

Why did he stay?

With his Order abolished and the Empire collapsing no one would notice one assassin fleeing. It wasn’t as if the rest of escapees turned Andronika’s council welcomed him. The only one who didn’t appear to despise him in sight currently lounged no more then an arms length away.

Which was odd given that he had almost succeeded in killing her once.

“What would you do then if I left tomorrow?”

"Pay you out, give you a kiss on the cheek and wish you the best," Andronika replied, with a raised eyebrow that seemed to ask what else he thought she'd do, "I'd rather you didn't though."

“Pay me?” He seemed rather shocked at that concept. The faint heat on his neck at her second action he left unsaid.

“Can’t see why you want me around. Osonia can replace my duties. There are far more experienced killers than me in your employ…. and none have attempted your death.”

Kreznik looked slightly sheepish as he admitted the last.

“Honestly, I expected Vassos would have had me fitted for a noose by now.

"That would be dishonourable. When a debt is forgiven you can't go and claim it back later," Andronika smirked slightly, "And you really can't think of why I'd want you around?" she let the question hang for a moment before adding, "Like it or not, we've been through a lot together, you and I."

“We have… the escape, the dungeon, your attempted murder….” He tried a smirk with the last one, finding it rather foreign, but pressing in anyways. “…this town…”

The assassin trailed off at that. A moment of silence before leaning forward in his chair.

“I can guess why. But I thought you and the prince.”

"The Quinians see me as their chance to put their own house on the Imperial throne," Andronika said before adding, "He hasn't even tried to seduce me which I find quite odd."

“So what you are saying is you are not besotted with the Quinian heir at this very moment?” Kreznik said the last part with what he hoped concealed a small amount of relief.

Andronika gave a guffaw of laughter, "I've barely met the man. This is political machinations, nothing more, nothing less. Though I'll admit I'm loathe to commit to a marriage," she paused, before adding, leaning forward and lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Seduction is a weapon as . Why would I trade that away if I don't need to?"

“So if we picked up where I left us? Before the battle…” He was on the edge of the chair as he leaned forward; the slight tingle of the wine on his lips and down his spine.

This was such a bad idea. Vassos would definitely fit him for a noose.

The comment drew a throaty laugh from Andronika, "Before you told me I needed to focus on the task of claiming the kingdom?" she asked, before adding, teasingly, "Why don't you test your luck and find out?"

“Your chambers or mine? Or is that too …presumptuous?” He reached a hand out to cup her cheek. Waiting, hesitant.

This was such a bad idea. He knew it and yet it felt natural…. or at least easy.

Andronika smirked slightly, leaning forward, "That depends, can you be very, very quiet?"

His only answer was a cocky smirk and a slight lean forward. “Where are we going?”

Andronika leaned back in her chair, setting her goblet to one side, "Well in that case," she said, her dark eyes twinkling, her tone teasing and heavy with promise, "I don't see any reason to move rooms at all."

“Bold move my lady.” Kreznik set his goblet aside as well as he rose and put his hands on either side of her shoulders.

His personal misgivings and doubts shoved away for the moment. He could lose himself in here if but for a minute.
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.

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.
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.
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."
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.

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.
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