[IC] Steampunk ⚙ Big Ass Monsters

[Tera]

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An original role play about steampunk, the hollow earth, and lots of big ass monsters

In-Game Big Events

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Week 0: The Beginning.

[Tera]

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Current Week
Week 0: 11^th to 17^th March, 1861

Notice
Politics: Due to the new election of Agartha's Independent's chairman, there will be no Round Tables this week.

Day	Weather Forecast
Monday	Sunny
Tuesday	Cloudy
Wednesday	Minor Rain
Thursday	Sunny
Friday	Killer Sandstorm
Saturday	Killer Sandstorm
Sunday	Rainy

[Azazaa]

Date: March 11th, 1861
Time: Noon
Location: Austrian Embassy, Arcastein

Outside the Austrian Embassy
Arcastein, City of Aeraport

---

Ah, the Aeraport. The journey here had felt long and irksome - Mostly due to the snobby, foul-smelling Frenchmen the diplomat had had the honor to travel with. He couldn't understand why French people were permitted in first class anyways, they knew nothing of etiquette. Unlike his countrymen. Untasteful. If there was a good side to this, it was the fact that he wouldn't have to travel with a blimp again any time soon.

Either way, this place was like something from another world - Of course technically it was. Or could it be he'd descended to Hell itself? Von Lochau's first impression of the city of Aeraport was how lively and organic it felt, like an anthill, but with people. So... A peoplehill. He'd seen the post cards and the travel guides but nothing on paper could really portray the beauty of this Victorian architecture, this level of detail. At least something good had once come out of Britain. He walked through a crowded park, thinking to himself how perfectly a statue of the Kaiser would fit on the center of it. Or a statue of himself. Or in the best scenario, statues of both. Would it ever happen? Probably not.

He was, of course, in the upper area of the city, or Arcastein. The way it had been organized between three layers thoroughly pleased the Austrian - The last thing he wanted to do was having to mingle with disgusting foreign peasantry in his free time. He hadn't gotten his hands on an in-depth map of this place yet, which was of course a mistake on the Empire's foreign ministry's part. He wondered if somewhere in there was a quarter inhabited solely by German-speaking immigrants. There had to be one. He'd go look for it the moment he'd find an ounce of free time, even if it meant going down to the lower levels.

Von Lochau stepped in the embassy building, politely greeting everyone in his native language and handing over his suitcase to the first person he came across. An older man waved him to the great staircase and introduced himself as Herr August von Galishoff. Service staff, ugh.

His clockwork leg made a loud clank as he strolled through his new office. Lots of warm colors, wood and cloth. He liked the place, despite it feeling a tad outdated and shabby for his taste. "Hire interior designer to do touch-ups", he wrote to the notebook he'd picked from one of the tables. It was here that he'd would be the face of the Empire, or the third head of the double-headed eagle as he liked to think, and the milieu would have to fit this image. More black and yellow, more statues, more national symbols, definitely. A new set of furniture, preferably with more decoration, bling and price. And would somebody please hang his family crest on the wall? Speaking of the wall, the previous ambassador's painting still hung proudly on it. What a fat and unpleasant-looking man, von Lochau though. No matter he'd ended up choking on a piece of his own food.

He'd have to get someone working on a portrait of his own to replace this atrocity as soon as possible. He decided to allow some poor soul from Agartha the chance to try their hands this honorable commission, for he'd gladly support a local artist. Someone would have to ask around about this though, probably that fool Galishoff. Von Lochau clapped his hands to summon the man.

Von Lochau's office, second floor of the Austrian embassy to Agartha

This poster could be found all over the streets right on the following day

[ihinka]

Date: March 11th, 1861
Time: Pre-dawn
Location: Albion City

Matu'i observed as the night forsake it's vail on the Inner Earth's sun. It was a real marvel to see the transition of night to day and day to night. The Keeper of the Lost Technology knew how the sun-appearance, or rather sunrise worked on the surface of the Earth thanks to those members of their nation that had stumbled down to Inner Earth by accident and told tales of their life on Outer Earth.

When the Inner Earth natives had first encountered live people from the surface, they'd decided it was worth investigating, even if the Lemurians were somewhat reticent, but still agreed as to assure themselves that these new humans would not pose any threat to New Mu and the inhabitants of hollow earth. Matu'i wasn't born yet when those first expeditions to the surface took place. But the history was unambiguous as to the results from them. The surface dwellers were deemed too aggressive and war hungry to be made contact with. Their technology could pose some interest, as well as their cultural development, but not enough to outweigh their danger assessment. Thus the denizens of Inner Earth decided unanimously not to interfere with the surfacers and protect New Mu's territory so that it could not willingly be discovered.

But still, some humans from the surface managed to find some way into hollow earth and New Mu's explorers either found their corpses or alive individuals who were brought into the fold. Most stayed, in awe with the wonder that was Inner Earth. Some tried to return to their own world. No one knew if they made it or not as the trek to the surface was too dangerous with the Batu'i roaming hollow earth and New Mu could not spare its explorers as escorts to those who wished to return home. They were given every provision and supplies they might need, as well as directions with the safest routes back, but the rest was up to them.

Matu'i scowled, as she knew a perfectly safe route back to the surface, but it was prohibited to disclose its existence to outsiders. The access to Inner Earth which Matu'i's ancestors had used to enter hollow earth still existed, protected and secure by sophisticated machines, part of the Lost Technology legacy of the Giant races, and her obligation to keep in working order. It was also why she was currently awake at the crack of dawn. The on duty maintenance team at the facility protecting the entrance had reported some minor malfunctions they could not repair without the correct replacement parts. They'd called in a consult with the Keeper as the problem could get aggravated with time.

"Yo, runt!" A hand slapped Matu'i on the shoulder almost knocking her out of balance. She twisted to stare at T'min, a fellow explorer. The Keeper grinned at the greeting. On a good day T'min was pushing the five foot margin on her tippy-toes. Her stature indicative of the larger percentage of Lemurian blood running through her veins. But since she had a few years on Matu'i the name stuck.

"Hey, T'min, what are you trying to do, knock my shoulder out! Isn't it too early in the morning for that?" Matu'i said rubbing her shoulder in mock pain.

"Har-har." T'min rolled her eyes and grinned at her friend. "Are you all set for the trek to the entrance facility?" She asked, concern coloring her voice.

Matu'i sighed inwardly. People often did that. Waylaid her on her way out of Albion to ask if she was prepared, if she'd taken enough supplies, if she hadn't forgotten this or that. It made her sound irresponsible and an airhead. And she was nothing but, of course. She wouldn't have lived to be this age had she been. Just because she sometimes lost track of time and happened to run out of supplies and ended up in a bind, didn't mean she was irresponsible! Okay, true, many a time she was saved by all those peoples' thoughtfulness, giving her extra supplies on her way out, or reminding her to double up on those. And she was grateful. She was! But sometimes, like a petulant child, she got irritated, as if people didn't trust her to take care of herself.

Sighing she answered her friend. "Yes, mom, I'm all set. My traveling gear is in order and I've got more than enough supplies to last me the trek to Arboram. After that it's just a day's worth of travel to the facility. I'll be well within range of food and water at all times." She knew her tone was pointed, but she couldn't help it.

"Alright, no need to get testy, runt." T'min laid her hand on Matu'i's shoulder and peered into her eyes. "I worry not because I think you irresponsible, but because I am your friend."

Her soft voice pierced Matu'i's irritation and the scowl left her face. "Sorry. I just..." She didn't finish. T'min knew her well enough to know the reason behind the little outburst.

"Plus I was also asking because P'nir and I were thinking of accompanying you." T'min added cautiously, warry that her statement would bring another irate comment from her friend. She knew how Matu'i valued her independence and hated being seen as an irresponsible airhead. Which she wasn't. It was just that sometime she got so engrossed in her work, she could be a bit scatterbrained. But this wasn't the reason she and her partner had decided to accompany their friend on the trek. There'd been increasing number of reports about Batu'i shifting their territory in the vicinity of the entrance facility. And with Batu'i close by it was best not to travel alone.

Matu'i stared down her friend. She could see the shifting emotions etched on her angled, beautiful face. She could also clearly see the concern in her eyes. "Why?" She asked evenly. "So I can watch you and P'nir make googly eyes at each other all the time." She added with a spark of mirth in her own eyes. T'min and P'nir, a scout and one of the few members of Albion's city watch, were in the she's-so-fucking-beautiful-I-can't-keep-my-eyes-or-hands-off-her stage of their relationship. Not that it wasn't endearing to observe, but after a while it made her feel kinda sorry for herself for not having what they had. And she hated indulging in self-pity.

However, before T'min could answer, a tall woman appeared behind her, grasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Hi, love." She greeted as T'min twisted to give her partner a chaste kiss on the lips. "Talk with the runt yet?"

"Put me down, you goon!" T'min scalded her feet dangling comically in the air. As she was lowered to the ground she turned and elbowed P'nir in the stomach. The taller woman grunted, grinning. "Yes, I talked to her. I was just about to explain how you suggested we accompany her."

P'nir was rubbing her stomach where T'min's elbow had made a solid contact. "I don't remember making it a suggestion." She stared Matu'i down. The two almost on par in stubbornness.

"That's because I'm not a brute like you, my love, going about lifting people over your shoulder and taking them places."

"But I thought you liked it when I manhandle you." P'nir batted her eyelashes innocently at T'min, who proceeded to blush profusely in embarrassment, the comment obviously hitting home. She jabbed another elbow in her partner's stomach and turned to Matu'i.

"Well, that's how it is then. We're coming with you. So don't argue!" P'nir, who'd doubled over at the second elbow in the gut, now stood tall next to T'min, an arm around her shoulders the other still rubbing her stomach, smiling down at Matu'i.

The Keeper couldn't keep a straight face at her friend’s shenanigans. She burst out laughing wholeheartedly.

The trio was off in the next half hour.

---

Date: March 13th, 1861
Time: Evening
Location: Arboram

"I say we wait." T'min looked cautiously at Matu'i and her partner. When it came to brash behavior, both Matu'i and P'nir could be faulted. Both were brave beyond words and liked to test themselves and the odds too much for her liking. "I don't like the reports, we're receiving about this errant Batu'i. It's large enough and it might be looking for a new territory. If it has gone without his own hunting grounds for a while it would be all the more aggressive and dangerous." She continued, not really wanting to give Matu'i and P'nir time to argue with her. "The report of the maintenance team at the entrance facility didn't state anything of great emergency. Plus, we have bed weather coming our way." She finished, looking at the pair in front of her expectantly.

"I hear you." Matu'i spoke first. "I don't like the reports of the errant Batu'i just as much as you." T'min's face brightened in hope. "However..." The Keeper continued and T'min wilted. "The maintenance chief's report was from a week ago. I can ill afford to delay any longer. These are old machines, maintained with repurposed parts. They were made to endure, but if not properly observed and cared for, they will fail. If the maintenance chief deemed my presence necessary, it must be important as the crew there knows their stuff." Matu'i looked T'min and P'nir over. "And I don't need to point out the importance of that facility to either of you. The surfacers are a violent bunch. We won't turn them away should they stumble inside hollow earth. But we don't need to open the doors for them either." P'nir nodded in agreement and T'min as well after a short moment of hesitation.

"If we leave early tomorrow morning, we should be able to make it there before nightfall." P'nir announced.

---

Date: March 14th, 1861
Time: Evening

Location: Near the entrance facility

Late next evening the trio arrived harrowed at the entrance facility. A freak encounter with the errant Batu'i they've received reports about had delayed the group, making them take a longer route. When they'd finally arrived, the sun had been completely engulfed by the night's darkness and the only light came from the half-obscured moon. Thankfully the weather had held.

Even late at night, with the moon's light shining, the facility that housed the Lost Technology protecting the New Mu entrance to Inner Earth looked spectacular. Or perhaps it was exactly because of the semidarkness and the magical light of the moon that the whole ensemble looked positively mystical. The trio didn't dally too much, entering hastily. They were tired and stressed out from the encounter with the Batu'i. The chief of the shift at the facility greeted them and showed them their quarters. Any real work would be done the next days. For now they would rest.

[Genbor]

Date: March 11th, 1861
Time: Early-morning
Location: Aeraport, Höllenmaul - Central Shipyard

Wench was leaning against the railings of the Encumber, his assigned airship, with a bored expression, while he took long whiffs of the cigarette he was smoking. The ground-crew was busy working on unloading the recent shipment that the Encumber brought in, and Wench had to stay put while the process was taking place. It was more efficient to unload the cargo before the ship was taken to its own hangar, where it would be too cramped to do the work. Yeah, Wench hated these moments the most during the otherwise enjoyable work.

As he was leaning on the railing, he noticed a couple of the crewmen chatting merrily among themselves, holding cargo while standing in place. It was a typical ruse, looking like they were working yet at the same time doing nothing more than killing time. Wench finished his cigarette and flicked the still burning stub onto the closest one. It landed on the workman’s nape after a miraculous aerial flight, jolting him to action from the unexpected burn as he dropped the box of goods he was holding. The wood shaving spilled out from the loosened lid, and a line of bottles rolled out onto the pavement. At least the goods were still intact.

The workman cursed loudly as he looked up at Wench with hate-filled eyes, but his fellows stopped him from making his way up to the aviator. They knew that if a fight eventually broke out, it would be their fault for not focusing on work, so it was not worth the trouble. Instead, they expressed their annoyance through amusing themselves with tales about what they’d do to the whore who birthed the whoreson, which seemed to amuse Wench. He took out another cigarette and with practiced movement, lit the end of it. Inhaling and exhaling another puff of smoke, he could only think of how boring this part of the job was.

After a long wait, all of the cargo was unloaded and Wench could finally set Encumber down in its designated hangar. He gave the steering wheel an affectionate pat before clambering down the rope-ladder on the side. It was time to collect his paycheck, and that meant celebrating afterward. It’s been some time since his last downtime, and Wench knew he needed it. The last couple of trips were especially thrilling with the recent pirate activity on his usual route, and while he enjoyed the challenge, being on death’s door was draining work. If he didn’t relax now, his focus would dull, and that was an undesirable undesirable. He had to offset it with a desirable undesirable, namely drinking himself into a stupor.

The company clerk was as rigid and cold as ever, but it wasn’t like Wench was looking for her company. She gave him his payload and that was the extent of their relationship, which both of them could appreciate in a sense. Neither of them were very much interested in people; he had his airships and she had her numbers. He did leave a single roll of cigarette on the desk though, before he left with his 9 Ir.ℂ 50 Co.ℂ.

He got on the packed railcar leading from the Shipyard, and got off once it arrived at the Lingot Bank. He couldn’t trust himself not to spend whatever he had on him, so Wench opted to place it into safekeeping until he could find a good deal for the parts and materials he needed next to build the hull of the airship he was making. In his mind’s eye, he could already see it in all of its splendor, with the name Scallywagon painted onto it. It was only a matter of time, and he’d have his freedom. True freedom, unlike the restraints that the company’s blasted rules imposed.

He deposited the 9 Ir.ℂ and then left the premises to make his way down to Mudburg. His destination was the Traveler’s Lodge, although he did take a weird out of the way path to get there, going through a number of dark alleys so he could eventually leave 10 Co.ℂ on a windowsill. The noise behind let him know that it was gone as soon as he turned his back to it, and he moved on with a smile. When he arrived at the Lodge, he got himself a quiet table at one of the corners and ordered a drink.

[Drakey]

Date: March 11th, 1861
Time: Early-morning
Location: Outside the City Limits

Mikhail rode within the cockpit of his Foundry Truck. It had taken him quite some time to not only procure the vehicle, but to fix it up as well. Anyways, it drove well now. The clock-powered navigation system was doing a superb job, taking him directly to a silver vein that he had stumbled upon a few weeks ago. Leaving the cockpit, Mikhail passed through the hall that ran down the length of the truck. In the back were its boilers, which heated the foundries on either side. Right in front of the foundries sat the processing rooms, which was where his spiders brought any and all materials that they managed to procure.

A butterfly, small and simple, lazily flew past him, its copper wings beating furiously in their clockwork bindings. Several more followed after the first, circling around Mikhail. Then, after landing softly on his shoulders, Mikhail took them one by one and wound their springs back up. The butterflies then flew back into the air, their flight now precise and exact. Smiling to himself, Mikhail let one of them land on his mechanical arm. Pulling his goggles down with his free hand, he studied the small machine in his grasp. There were several light scratches on its wings. Not enough to affect its flight, but it was something that would have to be fixed eventually.

Letting the butterfly leave his hand, Mikhail stepped over one of his spiders. They were usually walking on the walls or the ceiling, but sometimes they would travel along the floor. This one in particular was outfitted for maintenance. Such as cleaning and rust removal, things like that. Now the next to rooms, in front of the processing rooms but behind the cockpit, were his research center and his living quarters. Relatively small, his living quarters only took up a small portion of one of the rooms. The rest of the room along with the room opposite the hall were filled with pieces of machinery and future projects.

Then, at the very front of the truck was the cockpit. Nothing much, it held a steering wheel and the dials for the engine. Usually manned by two or more of his spiders, Mikhail actually enjoyed driving the vehicle around. Now underneath the cockpit and the rest of the truck’s body were the hangars. Now these were hardly full, but they held Mikhail’s full company of spiders, which was twenty in total.

Sighing to himself, Mikhail suddenly hit the wall to his left. The entire truck tipped over, and then rocked back into its upright position. His eyes opened wide, Mikhail took a moment to get his bearings. Gritting his teeth, the man ran into his living quarters. There, leaning against the far wall was a rifle. Grabbing it in his hurry, Mikhail was clad in brown pants and boots, a white button up shirt covered his chest and arms, which was in turn covered up by a brown vest. Slinging a bandolier with bullets over his shoulder, Mikhail ran to the truck’s top hatch. On his way he began to order his butterflies and spiders.

“Alright! Execute code 95! We are under attack! Execute code 95!” Immediately, in response to his words, the hangars opened up underneath the cockpit. Immediately, 15 spiders crawled out from the truck’s mouth. Their metal legs clicking against the metal floor, walls, and ceiling of the hangars. As Mikhail twisted the hatch open and thrust the door up, he poked his head up. A large beast, like a lizard and nearly half the size of his truck, was standing there. Thankfully, its focus was completely on the spiders down below.

His butterflies flew up through the hatch as well and began to circle around the beast. Their eyes now opened and recording. Their signals travelled through the air, received by his goggles. All of a sudden, Mikhail could see what they saw along with what he saw. Their views had already been sorted on his vision, as such he could see the beast just fine. “Damnit, it’s a fucking Sand Viper.”

Pulling his rifle up through the hatch, Mikhail steadied it against the top of the truck. Taking aim, he wanted to shoot the beast anywhere in its head. Then, pulling the trigger, the bullet went flying towards the beast, passing right over its nose. Mikhail cursed as he loaded another bullet, cursing himself even more when the Sand Viper turned its attention to him. “Code 43!” He shouted. Immediately, the butterfly that had stayed with him relayed the order to all his other machines. “Code 24!” The truck began to move again, this time circling the Sand Viper and the spiders. The spiders moved as well. Like one metallic wave they surged against the beast, cutting away at its ankles and climbing up its back. Several of them got hit by the club on its tail as another got caught in its mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Mikhail aimed at the beast again. However, when he pulled the trigger this time the discharged bullet made contact. The piece of metal gouged into the beast’s cheek. Making it howl in pain and focus itself on Mikhail again. Releasing his breath, Mikhail shouted, “Code 2!” Then the spiders attacked. The Sand Viper, distracted and following Mikhail’s movement as he circled the beast, did not stand a chance. Immediately the spiders surged up at the beast’s hardly protected stomach. Ripping and tearing, viscera and blood splattered against the ground. His once coppery spiders were now covered in blood and gore.

Screaming the Sand Viper thrashed around, but it was already too late. The spiders were inside the beast now, ripping and tearing away. Eventually they reached its heart, and with a cold shudder, the Sand Viper slumped to the ground. Leaning back against his own truck, Mikhail sat there, confused. The battle was easy, too easy. Not only that, but the Sand Viper had been dangerously close to the city. This was strange, but Mikhail certainly wasn’t going to report it. If he did that, then the authorities would discover his little silver mine. Getting up, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and called out. “Code 99! Code 100!” The spiders began to crawl back out of the beast’s stomach. Several of them grabbed their injured comrades and brought them back into the hangars.

The rest began to dismantle the Viper’s body. They started at its head, separating it from the rest of the body, then they made a slit all the way down the throat to the tip of the tail. Moving quickly and efficiently, they removed the teeth from the jaws and the scaled skin from its flesh. Laying it out to dry, they returned to the corpse. Cutting away at chunks of meat, they stored them away in a cold room that was on the same level as the hangars. Then they removed the bones, and after cleaning them off, stored them within the hangars. Awaiting the skin to dry, the spiders began to dig a hole. Once it had reached a satisfactory depth, they emptied the unusable remains into the pit. Thankfully, the hide was dry by the time they finished filling the hole back in. Then they stored the hide in the hangars as well.

Sighing, Mikhail watched as his spiders stored themselves back in the hangars. Climbing back into his truck, the butterflies following him, Mikhail made sure to secure the hatch. Making his way to the cockpit, the man punched the coordinates for the silver vein back in. Grumbling, he went into his workshop. There were spiders that needed to be fixed. Damn, that fight had taken several hours.

[ProfessorAYZ]

Date: 17th of March, 1961
Time: Noon
Location: Front of the Sardinian Embassy, Aerport

Finally, Franco had arrived after a long and delayed airship flight due to the painfully inconvenient sandstorms. He had returned from a long trip to his homeland, to watch the proclamation of the Kingdom of Italy and Vittorio Emmanuelle himself be crowned the King. He had then toured the city of Rome, the soon to be capital of Italy, a great sight to behold. The legacy of the pope had ended, and the legacy of Italy and maybe even Rome, had just begun.

Even though he had an umbrella tucked into his armpit, he let the rain hit his head through his thin hair, it felt rather relaxing. After standing in the rain for a while, he suddenly realised that he probably didn't look normal, standing still in the rain with an umbrella he wouldn't open. He broke out of his relaxed state and had a look around, people were already staring at the old man curiously. He didn't waste any more time standing in the rain outside, he quickly started to move towards the building. The building had a very classical Italian, almost Roman looking exterior, as opposed to the many others around it that were Victorian in style. The building's exterior was renovated a year before to look like this, at Franco's request. One thing that did catch his attention though, was the fact that the embassy had not yet replaced the Sardinian flags outside with the new flag of the Italian Kingdom. What an absolute insult to the new Italian State! Franco sped up his walking pace, and marched into the embassy. He greeted everyone in a rushed and rather harsh way, and walked up to a group of the servants. In a rightfully angered fashion, he shouted at them to replace the glorious Sardinian flags with the even more glorious Italian flag, how dare they not recognise the unification of Italy! He then ordered one to take his suitcase and wet coat to his headquarters. The old man had caused quite the commotion, and waited a bit to calm down. As the faces which had been looking at him turned away, he made his way towards another old gentleman to make small talk: 'Don't they know how rude...'

[BespeckledCeph]

Date: March 13th, 1861
Time: 8:43
Location: Interior Gardens of the Church of Arcastein

Arthur was getting impatient. It had been a while since his last experiment, and it didn't turn out so well. He needed something more, something more rewarding. As he tore a leaf off of a nearby bush, he thought we would go stalk for his next prey. Someone regal, very high. Yes.

---

Date: March 13th, 1861
Time: 14:42
Location: Arcastein Streets nearing the Austrian Embassy

The posters were everywhere. Some new ambassador had just came to town, a perfect specimen for what Arthur had in store. He was devising a plan, a sinister one, one with minimal casualties, but still required a little fun. He was looking for an artist, and all Arthur needed was a good artists work to sway him into a false sense of security, and maybe an opportunity. He scrubbed his mind, and he remembered that one of his "patients" had mentioned that their brother was painter that lived in Arcastein. He was only a few streets from Arthur's location coincidentally. That was his target.

The streets were dirty today, the cleaner comes a little later in the day to clean up the cities mess. None of the world mattered to him except his work. Arthur blended in here more than other places as some sort of performer, these people hadn't heard the horror stories of him yet, and probably won't, they will live in complete ignorance.

There he was. The door was encrusted in a thin layer of gold foil, what a pity for it to go to waste. The knocker on the door was in the shape of a bear, and made of bronze. He gently knocked on the door, and a medium sized man answered with a puzzled look on his face. Showtime.

"Hello sir, I would regret to inform you that your sister has recently been deceased by unknown causes. I have come to bring you what she had put in her brief will." He pulled out a few Iron chinks, she wasn't very rich so it made sense to him.

"Oh, I didn't know, would you like to come in and maybe explain?" He motioned for him to come in.

His first, and only mistake. No second chances in his world.

"Thank you sir." He handed the man the currency, and started heading up the stairs. His tools were on him, and the time was nigh.

The stairwell was lined with his paintings, this would easily be good enough for what he was thinking. The man led him up the stairs and into a very lavishly furnished living room. The man sat down on the couch, and Arthur looked at his paintings while coating a cloth with a new concoction he had made. He walked up behind him, and the man turned around.

Arthur laughed maniacally and grabbed him, putting the cloth to his nose and mouth, "Take a deep breath for me, and this will all be over soon enough." The man went limp, only unconscious, but not dead. He wrote a brief note about what he had done to his sister, and that if he told a soul, he would know and that he would be next. Now that that was all done and dusted, he went into the man's living quarters. A large painting of a naked woman hung over his bed, most likely a lover of some sort. It was of extraordinarily high quality, the better than all his others. Seemed good enough. He took it off of the hook hanging it and headed out of the door.

---

Date: March 13th 1861
Time: 16:22
Location: In Front of the Austrian Embassy

The embassy wasn't as fancy as expected. Maybe it was just that it was new, but Arthur liked it, it made them more wholesome and relate able. None of that mattered though, he was here for business. He walked up to a receptionist type person out in front.

"Hello, I am here to see Mr. Lochau about the artist he has requested." As he said this, he motioned to the painting currently strapped to his back.

"Of course sir, right this way." He seemed annoyed for some reason, but Arthur brushed it off, he was only another piece of the puzzle.

The man led him up the stairs and to the right to a long corner with very nice lighting, much better than usual homes, and it complemented the tapestries and furnishings very adequately. The man swung open the door, and a gust of musty air came through. There was also Mr. Lochau, sitting in his chair.

"I hope this will be adequate Mr. Lochau." And with that he left him.

Arthur placed the painting next to him and observed the surrounding area. It had the same lighting as the hall, and the fact that it was getting late complemented it greatly. The browns all molded together to make a very sightly scene.

"I see you are looking for a painter sir, I might be able to help with that, but I feel I could propose a deeper and much needed proposition to you. Someone of your status doesn't like to get his hands dirty do they? I feel like I could do these things for you. How else do you think I got this painting?" With that he rested his elbows on his legs and waited for Mr. Lochau's response.

[Azazaa]

Date: March 13th 1861
Time: 16:25
Location: Austrian Embassy

Schreech, went the door.

Lochau hastily pulled a stack of documents from the other side of his desk to cover his half-empty whiskey bottle, and the bunch of empty ones laying beside it. He fixed his posture, swiped his hair off his eyes and tried to look as official and representing as he could. He'd gotten virtually no visitors before, and that idiot Galishoff had always informed him beforehand earlier. He eyed Redding from head to toe and made a mental note to lower that stupid servant's salary for letting such an unpleasant-looking individual inside in the first place.

Oh, and how funny this man was. How funny. A pesky outlaw for hire, who wouldn't need one?

"I am looking. For. A painter."

Lochau said with the coldest voice. He was about to get up and show Redding the door, but didn't. Perhaps there was truth to the man's words, and perhaps someone like this could come in handy on the long term. Perhaps. Or not. The Austrian hadn't really managed to make any enemies in the Aeraport, but that could of course change any time. Especially once he'd find the time to familiarize himself with the ruling political factions and their goals. He obviously wouldn't want to risk losing his reputation over some trivial matters anyways, would he?

"Ehm... I must inquire, does a man like you slither from one influential person to another, or did you come here, to me, for some specific reason? Do I look like I... Actually, forget it. I don't really care all that much. Out of my office, please."

He snapped the fingers of his right hand and lazily raised it to point towards the mahogany door.

"Also, return that painting to wherever you acquired it from. By God do I hope you haven't done harm to the hand that created it."

[Sierra]

Thursday, 14 March
Early afternoon
Southside Air Docks

The Jade Dragon was a heavyweight for her speed. The ship was no brawling galleon for sure, but she could run down even an imperial hunter. The Dragon was technically in the hunter category of airships herself, but firmly on the fast side and with a large caliber chaser gun. During Sam’s time aboard, they had gunned down boats almost three times the length without difficulty. A pressure-driven slug gun on the port side made quick work of the larger boats’ larger crews. Sam had barely stomached the sight of a machine gun mangled corpse the first time she saw one, but that was well before her time aboard the Dragon.

The boat had arrived at Aeraport for some much needed shore leave and restocking. The Jade Dragon’s captain had reserved the berth for two full weeks. The rest of the crew appreciated the downtime but Sam wasn't one to be overly comfortable stick on Aeraport for too long. She had already said her farewells to most of them as she disembarked. “Well Captain James, it has been my pleasure. I bid you adieu and may we meet again.”

She gave a tip of her hat as she turned away from the good captain. “Are you sure you won't join us again when we head out milady? Navy galleon take on the roster!” he called after her.

“Alas Captain, you know I cannot stay here got two full weeks. I will be long gone by the time you depart. Another time for sure!” and Sam turned and left.


Sam did little in the way of planning. Were she better at the practice she would have another ship to board the same day. Sam made her way through the less glamorous parts of the city towards an old tavern labeled the Traveler’s Lodge. Sam had learned early that illegal more fun activities were fairly readily available among the loose-lips drunkards, but not so much on public advertising notices. Honest work bored her. She took a seat at a table and ordered herself a bourbon on ice.

The table wasn’t for any expected company. Rather she wanted a workspace to clean a rifle. A barstool didn’t provide that. While her weapon did need it presently, it was as much habit of hers to do so when in a bar. Even the most wasted of sailors would think twice about making a fool out of himself at her expense with her shiny hardware scattered about in plain view.