The Eóganachta clan is a very old Taran family, going back far into when it was a kingdom of its own and nearly passing into myth in their own right. Consequently, even in the new, Victorian Tara, they occupied positions of power and privilege that would be the envy of any native Victorian noble, let alone those Tarans unfortunate enough to not have enormous family fortunes and a huge manor to retreat into. It was into this incredibly privileged upbringing that their youngest daughter of three, Aoife, was born. Her two elder sisters Siobhan and Bronagh had enough years separating them from her that they were less siblings, and more auxiliary parents. And so Aoife grew up coddled and spoilt, doted on by four separate different sources. It was an idyllic childhood, and she didn't spare a thought to look outside of the manor grounds.

But all that changed when Aoife was more or less seven years old, when a rumor spread among the Tarans--whether true or not, nobody knows to this day--that the Eóganachta clan had sold out to Victoria.

And that was the only match that the powder keg needed to ignite.

In a single, brutally violent night, the entire Eóganachta estate was razed to the ground, and Aoife's parents were both killed, along with Bronagh and Siobhan. Aoife--scared, confused, and unable to understand what was happening--was pulled from the ashes of everything that she knew and thrust into the arms of a disorganized group of Taran malcontents. Perhaps if she'd been a little older, she would've been killed. But...

...Perhaps she also would've been able to hold on to herself a little bit better.

Within the disdainful Tarans, Aoife Eóganachta became...nothing. They refused to even use her name, refused to let her be Aoife Eóganachta. Just...You. Or Vouivre. And other things, of course, until eventually she the name stuck: Ash Girl. But never again Aoife, and certainly never Eóganachta. No name.

Until she forgot it on her own.

For the next few years, she lived as something like a daughter, and something like a servant. She wasn't quite one, yet wasn't fully the other either. And after a year? Two years? Ash Girl had become her name. She barely remembered even the faintest fragments of her former life, and almost nothing at all of her old home. But still, she was...harmless. And, in turn, in no danger of harm.

But that all came to an end when Ash Girl was eleven years old.

The Taran malcontents--as a whole--were trending to more militant, and more violent. And when she was eleven years old...

Dublinn was born.

It took the Tarans by storm, and Ash Girl with them. She was still a child the first time a sword was shoved into her delicate hands. A scant year of training, and before her thirteenth birthday she was being involved in warfare.

She fought for years, until the sudden catastrophic incident in County Hillock. And it was there that she saw firsthand what Dublinn truly stood for. The blinders were pulled away from her eyes, and she finally saw the horrific biolence and pain caused even to Tarans for what it truly was.

She couldn't be here anymore.

And so Ash Girl ran.

She ran from County Hillock. She ran far, deep into the lands that used to be Tara, back towards where she knew. And eventually, her feet found half-forgotten yet familiar pathways that led her up to a ruin of collapsed, crumbled stone, charred wood, twisted metal and sodden ashes. She stared at it through the lashing rains, and memories began to slowly bubble up to the surface of her mind. as through through molasses. And the first to arrive was a name that she recognize, but felt somehow wrong in Ash Girl's mind.

Aoife Eóganachta had come home.

She couldn't go back to Dublinn. She knew that. Her home--her second home--was gone forever. She shook her head, trying to ignore the shivers that ran through her pale body. And as the rain began to peter off, she slowly, meditatively, began to walk through the ruins.

Every time her eyes played over something even the vaguest bit familiar, new memories began to surface. Memories that she knew belonged to her, but felt like someone else's. She came across her own room at one point, or at least she thought she did; as she stared at the third floor bedroom that had fallen into the first floor, she thought she recognized the shattered remnants of a fireplace and chimney that were piled up inside. She was in a daze as she passed through it all.

Finally, she wound her way into what she remembered now was the living room, and there, where her father once read by the fire, she found the collapsed remnant of the mantle. Almost hypnotized, she acted on a vague impulse and scraped aside the ashes, digging through the refuse of the years until her hand closed around the handle of Claíomh-na-Samhain. A sharp feeling of disorientation blurred through her; she was Ash Girl. But she was Aoife too.

So now...this home was gone, and there was no going back to Dublinn. Not after that. Never again. She thought she might puke.

She did.

But still, the question remained. Where? Where, with this sword on her back, should she go?

Not Victoria, obviously. Maybe Columbia? Yeah, that was...probably the best idea.

Columbia was nice enough. But it didn't hold her for very long, and nor did anywhere else. Unsteady, unmoored, a self-imposed pariah from her homeland, she became a drifter, roaming hither and thither for the next several years. She took odd jobs; she took mercenary work; she took anything she could find. But Siracusa, Leithanien, Iberia; none of them held her for more than six months.

As she bounced around, she inevitably found herself drawn into conflicts, and struck out against what she perceived as injustice. Whether as Aoife or as Ash Girl, she kept roving, kept moving. Until the summer of year 1105.

She was caught up in a conflict again. She was prepared for many things; her skill with her sword and her tough Vouivre physique had carried her through much. But what she was not prepared for was a grenade of active originium detonating nearly underneath her foot.

The explosion itself didn't do a huge amount of damage. That wasn't the point. The problem were the countless shards of originium that blasted into her, afflicting her with a crushing infection immediately.

And...she didn't know what to do after that.

She never thought she'd be infected. And she wasn't exactly in a place with stellar treatment of the Infected; the south of Ursus was not a great place for her to be. So she just kept trying to do what she'd done before.

But it did not go well.

Even as close to the edge of the plate as she was, she couldn't even make it all the way. And it was then--barely functional, deeply disoriented and dizzy, aching all over from her oripathy--Aoife was discovered and saved from death's door by a woman who called herself "Firewatch." Said something about an organization; Ash Girl wasn't quite in the proper mental state to really figure out what was going on. And right before she passed out, she heard Firewatch talking to someone over a radio.

Next time she woke up--just a month ago now--she was in Rhodes Island's medical bay, and felt better than she had in weeks. It took time for her to mend, and to discover what had happened, and where she was. And soon afterwards, she discovered her Arts. Her very, very powerful freezing arts. And as she recovered, she came to a resolution. It had been years ago now since she'd lost her second home.

It was time she find another.

Operator Seven’s military record is boring. Too boring, if you will. Having graduated from the Uman Military College in Deity Grypherburg, she immediately enlisted in the Ursus Second Army as an officer, attached to a raider contingent mandated with patrolling the northern tundra. Over the course of her deployment she earned a number of military accolades, before finally being honourably discharged after six years of service. She then chose to sign on with Rhode Island as an operator.

Now, this smells like horsecrock to me. Come on, who earns an award for bravery fighting some bandits? Her records don’t even say who she fought!

Normally, I would just let it slide. But let me tell you, I couldn’t take Seven’s smug attitude when I asked her. So I looked deeper.

Well.

I don’t have all the details, but certain documents acquired show her participation in numerous expeditions into the Infy Icefields. Most of her combat logs are still beyond my access, though there is some indication that she has had frequent conflict with Columbian mercenaries. Most interesting of all however is the way in which she left service. There’s been a coverup, but from what I can tell Seven was charged with the murder of a superior officer. She was given the opportunity to be discharged on her own terms, but either way she was effectively kicked out of the Army. Was it politics, or something more? Either way, it looks like her relationship with Ursus is fraught.

–HR Operator S

The sky is blue. Grass is green. The Montpelier feather proudly adorns the Gaulish eagle, one that is and will ever be.

While legend states that the Montpeliers were one of the first settlers of Gaul, historical record traces their roots to the Hippogryph migrations at the dawn of the new epoch. Nevertheless, the Montpeliers stand as one of the oldest Houses in the lands of Gaul, having practised their traditions for a thousand years. Many a time they have been uplifted as cultural symbols of the mighty Gaulish Empire, a representation of the Eagle’s eternity. Foreign observers hence often assign the Montpeliers more power than they actually wield, festivals and celebrations resulting in an outsized image of strength that they do not actually possess.

In truth, the Montpeliers survived due to their inoffensive nature. A House of little power politically or economically, for most of their existence they have been mere minnows in a sea of sharks, surviving only through luck and the deft acumen of its members. It was only after the rise of Emperor Corsica I that the Montpeliers achieved any true prominence, the then-head Laurent having made himself indispensable in the imperial struggle for power. In the restructuring that followed the Montpeliers had finally achieved ascendency, uplifted to a ducal house for their service. A thousand years of buildup, culminating in political supremacy.

It would all unravel in two decades.

After the end of the War of the Four Emperors, the Montpeliers had managed to cling onto their ancestral possessions, now under the rule of Ursus. Stripped of all power, set upon a path of vengeance, laid down by their ancestors. Under the guise of subservience they plot, so that one day Gaul might be restored.

[Classified Log]

I do not think Elise Montpelier truly understands the magnitude of what she desires.

That Elise was able to find me was a feat of its own. I was never closely associated with her family, even in the times of Gaul. She must truly be commended to dig so deep as to search for me. Yet, I do not know how much I can give. I have told her what I can, the rest is up to her.

The Wild Hunt had not been an easy task for the people of Yan. It required the aid of a Feranmut, and the total mobilisation of its people. All to break the back of the Feranmut, to establish human supremacy within the realm.

The breaking of a few hundred took millions, what can a single person do to break one?

I had met her great-grandfather briefly, before the fall of Lingones. He was a calm and collected man, loyal to the Emperor. In hindsight I should have expected one of Corsica's men to vow their revenge, he stirred too much loyalty not to. It was only natural that the Crow chose a target among his retainers, it always had a knack of choosing the most vulnerable after all.

Nevertheless, no matter the conclusion to her search, Operator Seven and the ability to keep the Crow under observation will be useful assets for the future.

–Dr. Kal'tsit

Under the eyes of the world, I solemnly swear.

To free Gaul, so that it might soar once more.

To strike the serpent, and all its scales.

To pay blood with blood, so that vengeance be sated.

May my soul be bound and shackled. May my blood be rotted. May my sight be tainted. I offer this in sacrifice.

In perpetuity will this oath be honoured.

Laurent Yves Montpelier
Claudia Montpelier
Jean Montpelier
Elise Montpelier