[IC] Yggdrasil Chronicles: Iron Grip

[Whoami]

Chapter 1

(Mood Music)

Ephraim Quaid sat in his office, his body slouched back and his feet crossed far in front of him as he stared out over Asgard's newest conquest. What a prize it was. His sharp eyes traced over the brass and copper skyline as it wrapped over the horizon. Thousands of kilometers of urban sprawl was now Ephraim's finest achievement. Despite the sheer size of the city, Ephraim had managed to take it in only a matter of days, with minimal loss of life. It was a strategic masterpiece that would go down in the history books as the perfect example of military invasion. Ephraim knew this brought him one step closer to reaching the top of the Asgardian military, not just this mighty legion. But there was one thing holding him back, a stain on the Quaid name. And that stain was somewhere in the seemingly infinite streets of Tyberia. Ephraim furrowed his brows as he mulled over something, "Where are you..." Ephraim said to himself, tapping his index finger upon his high cheek bones as he thought.

He could see everything from his personal aerial warship. But despite everything being in his view, the details were easy to miss. He cruised at a comfortable altitude of five thousand feet above the highest towers of Tyberia's city center. He was always bothered when a cloud passed over his ship, how dare they. Asgard had mastered nature, yet for all its power, a simple cloud obscure Ephraim's searching gaze and push him back into his office space. Ephraim let out a sigh and span his chair to face his desk again. Papers and classified documents were strewn about his desk. Yet, despite the chaos, there was a very clear method to the madness. He knew exactly what to grab and where to find it whenever he needed it. Ephraim eyed the most prominent folder front and center on his desk. Stamped in large, red, superimposed letters across the front were the words 'Top Secret' and 'Privileged Eyes Only'. The folder had a wax sealed that was stamped with the emblem with the emblem of a Zephyr's eye. The Vigil. The seal had long since been broken by the General. But it couldn't wait any longer.

Ephraim opened the folder flipped through the sizeable document inside. He sat back in his chair again, reaching into his desk to pack tobacco into his ornate pipe carved out of wood from Yggdrasil itself. Ephraim took a puff and pressed down on a buzzer. In seconds, an elven secretary walked through the large doors of his office. "Yes, General? Is there anything you need?"

Ephraim looked at the secretary as she stood straight and proper at the door. "Let us begin."

The secretary watched as he signed off on the top secret document. She quickly stepped forward and resealed the file, then left the room with it at an expediated pace. When the doors closed, Ephraim was bathed in sunlight as his ship cruised out of the clouds. He span in his chair and looked out over the city again. Smoke drifted from his nostrils as he stared out the window, once again lost in thought. While he stared in the distance, a voice spoke up from one of the many sofas in his office. "Are you sure this is the right decision to make, Ephraim? While he's down there somewhere?"

Ephraim didn't turn his gaze from the window. He simply puffed again from his pipe. "He made his choice."

Ephraim heard the figure in his room pull himself up from the sofa. His heavy, plated boots clanked on the marble floor. It approached him from beyond his desk and leaned forward. A stack of papers falling to the floor. Ephraim looked over at the fallen paperwork. He'll have his secretary pick those up when she returns. Now that Ephraim had invested energy in turning his head to the paperwork, he committed and span once again to face to the Aesir. "Find him before it happens, James."

__________

(Mood Music)

"Goooood morning, Tyberia! It's your favorite broadcasting orc, Rok Grom-do reporting live from the Printing Press! Now... I know what you're all thinking. It's the same thing that I've been thinking all day! What on Yggdrasil was with those earthquakes last night?! It's the talk of the town today, I was almost late for the show because every co-worker and their dogs wanted to talk to me about the quakes. While I don't have any answers to give, I can however tell you that a dwarf-gnome team of experts are launching an expedition beyond Tyberia's undercity to investigate the strange quakes. The leading theory now is that those pesky ratoskr folk blew something up again, but I'm sure we'll know for good in the coming day-"

The radio was switched to a different channel. Kaidan Malcador rolled his eyes, "I'm surprised Ada herself didn't choose to be the host of her company's radio show. Everyone knows her voice is as sweet as honey. Instead we get to listen to this brute's voice every morning. Can't stand it."

Kaidan opted to read off of the news paper to get his information, picking up the crumpled cluster of folded paper. "Come on, Malcador, what do you have against orcs?" his mechanic said as he pulled himself up from the magicar's motivator. He was a human, thirty in appearance.

Kaidan bent the newspaper backward to stare at the mechanic, "Nothing. But you have to agree with me that they don't have the prettiest voices. Why not a pointer? Or even just a regular joe?"

The mechanic shrugged, "Who knows. Ada works in mysterious ways after all."

"Hardly mysterious, Ada's using that orc because he's simple minded and easy to lie to." Kaidan said, flipping the paper back up to keep reading.

The mechanic closed the hood of the magicar and leaned against it while wiping his hands with a rag, "Sheesh, almost sounds like you know her. Say... You're a man of high stature... Do you actually know her?!"

Kaidan nodded slowly, glad that the paper hid his head from the mechanic's view. The mechanic blinked when he didn't get a response from Kaidan. "Right, well... Your magicar should be good to go. But I want to test drive before I sign it off back to you. Could take a while, need me to give you a lift somewhere? I know how busy you've been as of late."

Kaidan's eyes traced over the articles in the paper for a while longer before crumpling it back up and tossing it aside. He got up from his seat and climbed into the back of the car. "I have a meeting at Baron Hesser's manor today. Take me there."

The mechanic climbed into the driver seat, "You got it boss! Hey, that actually sounds kinda nice. When are you gonna put me on your payroll, Malcador? You got way more money than that crusty old stubber. A man's gotta eat, y'know!"

Kaidan watched out the window as the magicar backed out of the garage and into the streets of Tyberia. "I'll consider it when you stop asking so many questions."

The mechanic stared back at him through the rear view mirror, "Come on, Malcador! You know I'm just naturally curious."

Kaidan looked back at him through the mirror, "You're also a loud mouth who can hardly keep anything quiet. And I for one value confidence."

There was a long and awkward silence that followed. Kaidan preferred that though. As they drove through the streets, he saw many Asgardian patrols on the sidewalks pestering and practically interrogating people. He look at his stopwatch to check the time, seeing that he might be late for the meeting. Great... Worse yet, there was an Asgardian checkpoint coming up. "Go the long way. There's some extra sap in it you."

"Damned Asgardians... They sure are making life for the average citizen difficult... Why don't they just move onto the next city and let us go on with our lives?"

Kaidan shrugged as he continued to stare out the window. He looked up, seeing the large imperial warship looming in the sky above the city center. "Who knows..."

After Action Report

- High General Ephraim Quaid signed off on a Top Secret file from the Vigil
- He sent an Aesir to find somebody in the city before something happens
- Resistance leader Kaidan Malcador had his magicar fixed while listening to a news broadcast about strange earthquakes
- Asgardian patrols and checkpoints are high in activity
- Kaidan will be late to the meeting at Baron Hesser's manor

[Lucky]

Antedate: Far Sight

Featuring: @GingerBoi123@Lucky

Climacta, Day 15 10:15AM

---

The great city of Tyberia, alight with colorful bulbs all along its many alleys and storefronts, celebrates the near-closing of another year. Two days ago there was a light sludge snowfall, but activities resume as the streets are cleared and the walkways are safe for tourists and locals alike. Stalls show off their best ornamentation, their most popular goods, and their cheeriest voices. One alley in particular, Oring Lane, is no stranger to the festivities as a leather umbrella salesman traipses up and down its cobblestone path and a kabob vendor barely notices the winding line of hungry customers as he happily chats and cooks on his portable copper stand.

Were it not for the delightful mood and demeanor of all the cityfolk, the dreary clouds above that make the day feel like evening would damper the effects of hot cocoa and meat-and-veggies-on-a-stick. One Gnomish Winston Wicklowe is no exception as he struts away from the covered kabob vendor with two hefty cooked stick foods, one in each hand.

”Good-bye for now, Artun!” He takes a surprisingly large chomp out of the biggest chunk of meat from the right kabob. With a mouthful of meat he just manages to utter out, ”And don’t forget, I’m workin’ on a spiffy little gadget for ya!” The young Human could only offer a quick wave in response as he continues his work.

The engineer patters his way back to his workshop, his foot trail winding behind him like a snake with legs as he checks out his neighbors’ window fronts. Eventually he makes it back to his own familiar door, a worn-out bronze handle and a cog door knocker set into a once-beautiful finished hickory door. He looks up at the handle just out of his reach and shifts one of the kabobs over to his left hand and fishes out his Adjustable Arm Angler (™), using the personal widget with practiced efficiency and letting himself in where a fire pit awaits him. Just before the door closes, he turns on his heels and snags the “Out For Lunch” sign from the door knocker.

With a content sigh, the Gnome makes his way to his favorite winged leather chair and settles into it, focused only on the fire and his lunch.

High above the bustling streets that hosted the festival, a lone figure sat in watch. The life of a vigilante deserter had not been kind, and Ilya had to remain in the shadows for even the most mundane of tasks. Even groceries had become an ordeal to not be recognised by Asgardian soldiers. However, it felt… natural to the Elf. He surveyed the streets through the scope of his precious Silent Rose. In particular, he observed the movements of a small gnome with a shock of pink hair who was walking to his shop. Ilya would wait a few moments longer before making his move.

It might’ve been only a few seconds until the Loads of Loads front door swung back open, the jingle of the bell notifying Wicklowe of a customer. Winston would notice the familiar, tired face of Ilya Scarborough who had just pulled his face covering down. Not the tallest of Elves, but Ilya certainly had the more slender frame of his kind. The only noise was the rhythmic thud of his boots as he marched towards the counter. Ilya had come to pick up his custom order that the two had agreed upon about a month ago.

Word of the eccentric Winston Wicklowe had piqued the attention of the Whisper and he saw an opportunity to further evolve his arsenal. His last pair of binoculars were destroyed from one of Ilya’s personal operations. Turns out binoculars weren’t highly effective bludgeoning tools but it got the job done when nothing else was at hand. When it came for a replacement, Ilya wanted to see what this ‘Wicklowe’ was truly capable of.

Ilya said nothing as he walked into the store, instead finding a chair to block the door behind him, making sure that no one would be able to follow or enter without a decent bit of force. Once he had the entrance covered, he would simply await at the counter.

There is a lull in the air as it is presumed that Wicklowe doesn’t notice the new arrival, still stuffing his maw with roasted vegetables and grilled meats. There is something disorderly about the way he eats, practically growling at the food as he slides a small onion off the long stick. There is much to be said about the way he eats like this alone on a daily basis. Though without any warning, the Gnome hops off his small chair and tosses the bare sticks into the fireplace. He twists his body to look at the Elf in his shop, reaching down to his pants and wiping the grease off before running one of his hands through his hair to slick it back ‘professionally.’

”Good morning, ehh--” Winston finishes combing with his fingers but looks at his stained hand that is now bearing a few loose hairs between his digits. ”Emmett?” His feet quickly take him from the little space that was opposite the front counter and around to the built-in ramp that brings him just below Ilya’s eyeline. Behind Ilya is the small winged leather chair and a fire suitable for a Gnome but not quite enough to heat up the whole store by itself. Thankfully some rattling heater units line the wall’s floorboards.

Winston slides a large, leather-bound book from one side to between the two of them. With plenty of familiarity, he grabs at the center of it and the cover and pulls it open, only about two or three pages off where Ilya’s order is. With only a bit of verbal pauses and rough paper-handling, he finds it. ”Ah! Ilya! Scarborough.” He looks up at the Elf expectantly.

Ilya watched as Winston would sort himself out from his meal. There wasn’t much point to addressing the Gnome’s original mistake or his general cleanliness. Wicklowe got there in the end, so what did it matter? Although, it seemed the rumours were true regarding his quirky mannerisms and behaviours. Ilya gave the Gnome a small nod as he was addressed. ”Yes… I’m… sorry I have butted in during your meal…” The Elf answered quietly, voice afflicted with lethargy. While he did mean his apology, it probably didn’t sound like it.

The engineer’s stubby index finger is pressed against Ilya’s name in the index, some basic info scrawled out in the following lines but it is relatively empty compared to other customers. Ilya’s apology evidently went over his head like a paper dirigible, now turning large sections of the book to a separate area where full invoices are written out.

”Ah, yes. Custom binocular goggle set, or as I like to call it, the Ocular De-Obfuscator! Complete with your requested specifications: dual foci lens, mana-powered low light-vision, and ultra-cool looks!” Winston bends over to retrieve a small simple wooden box with a hastily handwritten tag nailed to one corner of it. While moving quickly, he carefully sets the box down on the counter and pulls open the compartment from one end to reveal a set of inactive goggles, laid atop a linen cloth within a bed of straw for cushioning.

Light, adjustable leather straps are pressed and wrapped up neatly beneath two large sights that will sit comfortably over anyone’s face, more lining on the inside of the eyes. A half steel, half glass compartment indentation sits directly in the center with a light orange crystal, ready to go. Without picking up the set, Winston reaches into the box and his fingers press against particular pieces to demo the product.

”This here will close the mana viewer, for when you’re tryin’ to be sneaky. This switch will set up the night vision compatible lens. An’ just flip these to enable zoom enhancement. Once it sets up like this, just turn the eyes to take a closer look; they work clockwise and counter-clockwise.”

Ilya watched intently at the demonstration of the goggles, taking in every feature that was pointed out as he leaned forward to inspect the product further. Once Winston was done explaining, he would look over the goggles for just a bit longer before gently taking the equipment and stretching the strap over his head. Various clicks and whirs would whizz to life as Ilya set about using the features himself as well as shifting his rifle, using the sling, so he could test the combination of his sights with the goggles. ”This is wonderful, Mister Wicklowe.” He would compliment with just as much enthusiasm as usual… which was none at all.

Pushing the goggles up to rest on his forehead, Ilya would procure a pouch of roots and set it on the table. After pushing it closer to Wick’s side of the counter, Ilya would then produce a smaller pouch. ”And this… this can be considered my gratitude.” Ilya had a slight smirk as he set this one down too, the familiar metal clinking meant that Wicklowe had earned himself a small little bonus on top of the price. ”You can treat yourself to some more of those kabobs with this, no?”

While the Gnome readily accepted the remaining payment and whisked away the first root pouch to some unseen place beneath the counter, his movement slowed with the introduction of the second. He eyes it warily, looking up at the Elf several times.

”That’s not necessary, Whisper. If you’ve roots to spare, give it to the needy.” He reaches out and pushes the pouch back across the counter to Ilya. ”You can find ‘em all up and down these alleys.” The engineer murmurs under his breath, muffled by his bushy beard and mustache.

”You know of my nickname? Well then… you understand why I cannot simply roam the streets.” Ilya pointed out before pushing back the pouch. ”I do not care what you do with these roots, but I insist you take them. Or I will simply leave it on the counter when I leave. Your choice.” The Elf shrugged nonchalantly.

Winston huffs, setting both hands onto the counter’s edge and leaning in towards the Elf now. ”Yes, I’ve heard that nickname,” he drops his tone to be quieter, even as he knows nobody else is inside the shop and, thanks to the chair Ilya pushed up against the front door, nobody will stumble into their new conversation. ”After the first time you came in and put that order in, I asked around. An Elf, quiet as the breeze along the walls and expert sharpshooter. Takes measures to not be seen or heard. There are rumors, kid.”

He seems to be focused on Ilya’s presence and what it could mean for him. For the cause. Talking about the money is the least of his concerns for now.

”Are you sure you don’t want to meet those you can help?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. It seemed that some other rumours might be true, if what Wicklowe would be insinuating. ”I do my best work from afar, Wicklowe… but if you think there are those I can help while doing that, then I’m all ears.” The sniper would lean forward slightly as his tone finally had a shift of emotion. An air of gravitas fell over the shop. ”What do you have in mind?”

After Action Report

- Winston enjoys some kabobs
- Ilya covertly picks up his custom order goggles
- Winston hints at helping the people to Ilya

[Lucky]

Winston Wicklowe

Featuring: @Lucky

---

The second story to Loads of Loads is more than a home to all the stored gears and parts for Wicklowe's eventual innovations, but it is also his home. A small corner, surrounded by very large and heavy crates and lightly furnished like a makeshift bedroom, is a simple yet comfortable layout: a solid rosewood work desk covered in blueprints, steel dip-pens of varying colors along with other useful craftsman's utensils, and an adjustable brass lamp that oversees the messy stacks of aging files complete with a simple cushioned wooden chair; a minimalist brass bedframe and bed set with a foot and headboard that are topped with surprisingly intricate spindles and covered in a handmade brown duvet with white trim; a decade-old room heater unit that Winston has to fix on a monthly basis but has reliably kept him warm every heavy winter; and a circular, brown-and-white tasseled rug to take up the center of the otherwise plain wooden flooring.

The gnome has been awake for hours at this point in the morning, entering his room after retrieving a steaming cup of coffee from across the lane that is kept warm in his personal prototype thermos. The old halfling barista has perfected the art of coffee-making and even has a whole large machine that cooks and flavors so perfectly and by the cogs why won't the old fool just let him take it apart and put it back together so he can make a better version?! With a scoff to no one but the stale air, he approaches the lone foggy window that overlooks the alley and wipes it clear. There's never anything to note in this alley, it's too narrow for any traffic beyond two people walking side by side, and just ten feet across the way is the neighboring building to block any daylight save the skies directly above and almost impossible to see without pressing his cheeks against the glass. Which he promptly does, full reddened cheeks flatten as his beard leaves behind hair marks in the uncleared condensation.

Far above him are the frosted heavens, an imperial airship just now coming into view beyond the rooftops, and his dreams to change it all. He pulls away from the window, face colder and slightly wetter than before, and produces a copper pocket watch with his free, gloved hand. An hour before the meeting at Baron Hesser's estate, give or take. He takes a swig from his thermos and inspects himself in the mirror he has hanging on from one of the crates, a temporary decision that's lasted the better part of a decade now. A flair of stripe pink stands out from his otherwise muted black hair, an odd turn from the expected gray. Maybe related to all the mana crystals he's handled over the years. Probably. His skin is leathery and tan aside from the pale circles immediately surrounding his eyes, providing evidence of goggles during his heat works. He lingers on the oil-stained overalls, this pair only being a few weeks old but showing major signs of wear and tear via frayed boot cuffs and shredded knees.

Opting for a new set of clothes, he quickly changed into a clean, less-worn set of brown overalls and gray long-sleeved undershirt. Soon he throws on his heavy jacket, one meant for colder climates but perfect for the small person, and fastens a pin to the front that has the text "Loads of Loads" in circular format and a set of pistons and mana crystals. Confident in his more "official" attire, Winston strides out of his room but stopping just short of the stairs that lead to the main workshop. His steel blue eyes are stuck to the desk, specifically the drawer where he hides Candle. A short debate within his head and he decides against taking it with him for today. Word on the street is the number of checkpoints through Tyberia have increased and getting shaken down for possession of a weapon within the city is the last sort of trouble he wants.

Descending the stairs and traversing the workshop with renewed expedience, he snatches his Adjustable Arm Angler™ by the front door and locks it on his way out. The simple machine is set up onto a hook on the doorframe as he leaves, and soon the engineer is walking down the lane to busier places. Various magicar taxis pass him by, but he enjoys the stroll for about ten minutes before flagging down a vehicle. Small piles of dirty snow still litter the sides of the streets and Winston can't help but think that perhaps he should have checked out the Forecaster and brought along his leather umbrella, just in case. Nonetheless, his trip is uneventful as he shortly told the driver his destination (a quaint little shop of sundries about three blocks down from the Baron's manor) and racked his brain with what he wanted to talk about in the coming meeting.

Dropping off a few roots with the driver as they arrive, he hops out of the magicar and checks his watch once more. Half an hour. Making good time. Can take a look-see in Sunny's Sundries and still be early to the estate. With this in mind, he pops into the store. There are few items of note inside, but he'll come back after the meeting if it doesn't drag on too long. Soon, Winston is on the sidewalk again and makes it to the estate with ten minutes to spare. He uses this time to inspect the property, checking out the hedges, the gates, all the things that people with fortune can show off. Instead of inviting himself in right away, he lollygags around the the property, keeping open eyes for anyone else that walks up. Preferably someone he knows.

After Action Report

- Winston got coffee
- Winston changed clothes
- Winston leaves Candle at home
- Winston takes a taxi to a store near Baron Hesser's manor and walks the rest of the way

[Theyra]

Teuvo Nieminen

It was another busy day at Võsalu Industries. At its headquarters and its local factories is just down the road. One for automobiles and one for airships, respectively. Their newest airship was set to be finished this week. Something that Teuvo was proud of and after hours of coming up with designs with his engineers. However, he would have wished for a bigger hand in it. The demands of running a successful company mean that he can't always be there to help and plan out new designs with his team. Someone has to handle the management and secure the resources needed to operate this company. Something that Teuvo had so far been successful at.

Teuvo himself was sitting at his desk in his office. Leaning forward in his chair and studying a blueprint of an airship that was covered his desk. Looking over intently at the design and sone design notes being scattered across the desk. Almost in a mess as Teuvo took a sip from his cup that was in one of the few open spots on his desk. This airship was particularly important to Teuvo. For it was a personal endeavor that Teuvo personally designed. The first airship of his design and one that he felt confident it would succeed. Though doubts from one of the company's few failures, the Karos class airship, which was launched this year, was still in his mind. Despite the high hopes he had for that airship, it just simply did not sell well enough to cover the development costs. Still, Teuvo hopes that his brainchild does not suffer the same fate. But, time will tell within a week when the first one will premiere if it will share the same fate as the Karos.

As Teuvo was too busy reviewing the blueprints for his airship, he did not notice someone knocking at his door and slipped in. A young woman with medium length brown hair and slowly walked up to his desk. Then when she was close enough, she slammed her fists on the desk. Causing Teuvo to snap to attention with eyes wide open. Initially confused but then relaxed and sighed when he saw the face of the source of the noise. "Raili, did you have to do that? You could have said something and not slam your fists on my desk."

"But, where would the fun be in that, speaking with a playful tone and with a smirk. And you seemed to ignore me when I at the door, so I thought I should improvise, and that seemed to have worked." Finishing her sentence with a smile, "I know how... focused you can be with you are working on something".

"Still, try and resort to something else next time, please." Teuvo knowing his sister well enough that may be in vain but, it does not hurt to try anyway. Leaning back in his chair and taking another sip from his cup. "So what did you wish to take about?"

"Uhhh, well...." Raili looked down nervously at her feet and before looking back at Teuvo. "I heard from Maia that your latest lead about the saboteur has turned up cold." Looking almost regretful about speaking about it. "I just wanted to know how you are. I know how much you want to find mother and father's killers."

Teuvo's face changed from relaxed to an almost angry one. Trying to hold back the anger and anguish of his recent failure. A real lead that might have led him to find his parents' murderer just led to a dead end, just like all the others. He abruptly got out of his chair and moved towards the large window in his office. Looking out of it and without looking at Raili, he spoke with sadden restraint, "I... thought that this lead could lead somewhere but,... as you know, it was just a waste of time." Teuvo took a series of deep breaths and turned his head towards Raili. "I will be fine, Raili... I will find a new lead. I always do."

"Are you sure, Teuvo? Raili walked right next to Teuvo and looked up at him. "I know I have said this before but, you know that you can talk to me about this." Raili reached out and held his hand. "I still miss them too."

"I...", Teuvo sighed. "I know Raili and...." Now turning to face his sister, "I promise you that I will be alright. Do not worry about me."

"I will hold you to that promise, brother," and Raili went in for a hug, which Teuvo posed no resistance to. Hugging each other for a short time before Teuvo noticed out of the corner of his eye, an Asgardian airship came into view. At first, it only brought up angry thoughts of the occupation, but then he remembered something important.

"Wait, what time is it?" Exiting the embrace, and looked at his pocket watch. "Shoot, I might be late, and I am sorry Raili for cutting this short but, I got to go." Walking to the coat rack to get his coat.

"Wait, where are you going?" Raili asked while looking confused.

"I got to meet a friend, and I will be back soonish, and I can trust you can hold down the fort until I get back?" Teuvo kindly smirked at her.

Raili had a confident look and crossed her arms, "I might not be in charge, but I know how to handle things, so I think I handle it."

Without another word, Teuvo gave his sister a quick hug before departing from his office while wearing a brown coat. Quickly heading towards the street and flagging down a magicar taxi. Getting in the back seat and told the driver to head to a place near Baron Hesser's manor. While he would prefer to drive there, he felt better doing this when it deals with his second occupation. Once the magicar reached its destination, Teuvo paid the driver and walked the rest of the way. Minding his business, and checked his pocket watch. "Yes," he said quietly to himself. He is going to make it with some time to space. Good, he thought he would be late for a second there.

When he finally reached the manor, he spotted a gnome near the front gate. Guess he is here for the meeting, too, though they seem to be just standing around. Teuvo thought as he got closer. Looking at his pocket watch again, he's got time to kill before the meeting starts. Screw it, might as well see who this conehead is. As he approached the gnome, "Hey and how are you doing? Mind me asking who you are, and are you waiting for someone?"

After Action Report

A new airship will be unveiled this week
Teuvo has another dead-end lead
Leaves his sister in charge while he is gone
Takes a taxi near to the manor then walking there
Teuvo asks who Winston is

[DrRtron]

The quaint little clinic was mostly empty, thankfully. The earthquake hadn't been significant enough to cause mass injuries and the weather wasn't bad enough to bring sickness. The two attendants were left mostly to themselves in the front of the shop. The human girl, Roxy, idly tapped her fingers against the counter. The orc man, Magrun, was sweeping once again. It was unnecessary. The stone floors and walls were all spotless. The simple rugs were free of dust, and the wooden chairs and tables had been polished and swept three times over by now. If not for the idle carvings (names, drawings, seemingly random shapes, and the like) in them they would look like new. Even the paintings of pigs that hung on the wall and the porcine figurines had all been meticulously cleaned. Not that they were ever allowed to be dirty, of course. Faeril took great care in making sure his prized possessions were consistently clean. All in all, it was a quiet, boring day in the front of the clinic.

The back of the clinic was a different matter entirely.

"Ow!" The young man jerked back in pain, pulling his shoulder away from Faeril and earning a scowl from the dwarf in front of him. "Stop jerking away, I can't set your shoulder if you keep runnin away!" The human jerked away at the sharpness of the tone, tears in his eyes. "It hurts." Faeril rolled his eyes. "Of course it hurts! You jumped off of a ladder that was twelve feet off the ground!"

"I didn't jump off! I fell during the earthquake!" Faeril held up his hands in mock apology. "Oh, I'm sorry! A little movement of the earth and you lose all your balance! Hills must be absolutely terrifying for you! Now hold still or your arm is gonna get stuck like that!" The man gingerly held out his shoulder as Faeril reached forwards once again. The dwarf paused as he saw the young man tense in preparation for the pain. He sighed. "This isn't gonna work. Here, we'll have to try something else. Roxy!" His attendant poked her head through the curtain, looking at the young man on the bed and Faeril on the stool in front of him. "Yes, Fae?"

As the young man relaxed, distracted by Roxy, Faeril moved quickly. Before his patient could even react he popped the shoulder back into place. As his patient howled in pain and surprise, before quieting down at the realization that his shoulder felt much better, Faeril hopped off of the stool and walked into the front of the clinic. "You know the drill Roxy, tell him what to avoid doing, for how long, and how much he owes us. I'm going to go see if there's anything to do now aside from watch Magrun attempt to sweep through the ground. She gave a light laugh, stepping aside and then into the back to reassure and inform their patient.

"Any dirt left in the shop Magrun?" The orc gave a light chuckle. "No sir. I made quite sure to eradicate all forms of it during the several hours before our first and only patient." Faeril nodded, looking up at his various pig figurines. "And you made sure to check the pigs for their issues as well?" Another chuckle. "Yes sir. Everything is in tip top shape." Faeril snorted lightly. "Make sure to check our supplies. I don't want us to be caught off guard when the after shocks collapse the town around us." Magrun shook his head, setting the broom aside. "Yes sir. I'll go make sure that we're ready for the after shocks that will surely be worse than the light tremors that we experienced earlier." He walked into the back, ducking through the curtain as Faeril glared at his back. "Mouthy little ungrateful...." Faeril muttered, walking outside.

"A letter for you sir!" He was accosted almost immediately by a runner. Before he could reply, a letter was put in his hands and the girl was gone, running off to her next delivery. Faeril opened up the blank envelope and quickly read over the brief letter. Roxy was setting their patient on his way as he put the letter away, turning back inside in thoughtfulness. "What do you have there Fae?" Faeril jerked out of his inner thoughts and blinked at her. "Oh, uh, a letter from a cousin. I've got to leave the clinic early today."

"Why's that?" Roxy's eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. She couldn't remember the last time Faeril had left the clinic early.

"We've got a family meeting, Roxy. And no, I'm not telling you why. Stop being so nosy!"

Hours later

Faeril kept his head down and his eyes forward, fear and adrenaline pulsing through him as he walked by the Asgardian patrol. There wasn't even any good reason for his fear. He had already burned the letter before leaving for the meeting and it was incredibly unlikely that anyone would recognize him years after he had left the army. Still, his fears never died. This group was the third of such patrols he had encountered on his extremely roundabout way to the manor, and though he was sure they would recognize him and drag him off to prison as a deserter each one kept ignoring him. It was a blessing that he would never fully accept, for any relaxation on his part could easily result in them finding out who he was and what he had been. So he kept his head down and walked quickly, every sense straining for a sign that the patrol was going to stop and accost him or recognize him. None ever did, and he saw the manor within sight soon after. It was a relief to be near his goal and somewhere that offered some safety from prying eyes.

What was not a relief was the two strangers apparently chatting by the front gates for no reason. A gnome and a human, idly standing around where he was heading. Either they were going to the same place, for whatever reason, or they were hoping to find someone rich to beg money off of or pitch ideas too. Either way, he wasn't going to stop and talk. Too many prying eyes, to much time he didn't need to spend out in the the open hanging around. Faeril didn't stop as he advanced to the manor, ignoring the two by the front gate and going forward into the manor. He breathed a small sigh of relief as the door closed behind him, looking around. It appeared he was the first one here, if you didn't count the two outside. Which he did not.

After Action Report

-Faeril treats a young man who fell off a ladder and dislocated his shoulder during the earthquake.

-He receives a letter informing him about the meeting and he leaves the clinic early in the hands of his two aids, Roxy and Magrun.

-Taking a very long and roundabout walk through the city, Faeril makes his way to the manor.

-He ignores Winston and Teuvo and heads straight inside.

[vietmyke]

Cormag Ruunsten

---

Craa^ssch_nnnk!!!

The panicked caw of morning birds as they flew away mixed with the half hearted grumbling of several orcs as gathered around a pile of fallen steel bars. One of the crew had knocked a set of bindings loose, causing a pallet release its payload across the construction site, irritating many an eardrum of many a grumpy orc. Of course, the earlier earthquake had thrown many of the supplies into disarray across the site, and the crew had already been undergoing cleanup efforts since the early morning. No one was keen to have more to clean up.

Cormag, the construction site foreman eventually stomped his way over to the center of the congregation, the slight limp and the uneven sound of his footsteps a tell tale sign of his appearance. Furs were thrown over a thick work shirt and canvas pants, and a pair of thick leather gloves covered both his orcish hand and the steel replacement. One hand held a still smoldering cup of coffee, the other held his furrowed brow. As he stepped into the group of workers, the group quickly split apart to reveal the individual at the center of it all- a younger orc who was maybe just reaching late adolescence.

"S-sorry boss." the younger orc managed to stutter, rubbing at an injured arm before another Orc pushed their way up to the front- this one a larger, more scarred orc. Almost twice the size of the younger one, this orc had the look of a veteran, one eye colorless, and more scars and broken tusks then one could count on two hands.

"Sorreh? Thasall you have to say fer yerself?" The older orc half grumbled, half spat, "We olready 'ave enough work to do without yew screwing the pooch every focking hour."

"That's enough Gorrn," Cormag interjected, raising a hand and placing himself into the middle of the crowd. "It's a simple accident, and I won't have you talking to my people like that."

"Yer people?" Gornn nearly exploded, "Cormag you mana-fer-brains I'm yer people." the older orc roared, taking a step towards Cormag.

"Aye Gorrn, you are my people" Cormag agreed, his voice a withering low growl, taking his own step forward and closing the distance between the two, "So start acting like it."

The two stood there for a moment, a few of the other orcish vets taking a few cautious steps forward in case a fight broke out. Gornn stared daggers at his boss before turning his eyes away in a worldless snarl. Taking a step back he turned and walked off. "Don't let it happen again kid." the orc grumbled in a quieter tone as he stomped away.

Looking at the younger orc, Cormag gestured towards the site's temporary office with his chin, "C'mon Norag." he said in a warmer tone as he led the two back. "How's the arm?"

"I-it's alright boss." the younger orc stammered. I'm sorry- I mean I didn't mean to- that is I-"

Cormag waved the younger orc into silence, "Its alright Norag, Gorrn's been especially irritable for a while now, don't take it personal. Take it easy for today, and go get that arm looked at."

There was a knock at the door, Cormag looked up as a small runner boy entered the office and breathlessly handed a letter to Cormag before bustling off with little more than a howdy do. With little fanfare Cormag tore the letter open and gave it a quick readthrough, his brow furrowing as his eyes ran across the words. Cormag heard Norag's voice pipe up. "U-uh is everything alright boss?" Cormag lifted his eyes to meet the younger orc.

"Ah its nothing kid, just an old friend in town asking for me. Now go on, go get that arm looked at."

---

A few hours later and Cormag was making his way towards the manor. Despite taking care to ensure he wasn't followed, Cormag found himself relatively on time. A few Asgardian patrols had spotted him, one had even questioned where he was headed, but as far as anyone was concerned the foreman of the Nar Ir Har construction company was on his way to see a doctor about some work related pains. The front of the manor was as impressive as ever, with the only notable things out of place being a pair of individuals standing out front. One was a human Cormag didn't recognize, the other was none other than Winston Wicklowe- the gnome currently credited with Cormag's ability to walk and function as a normal member of society.

"Afternoon gentlemen," Cormag said with a nod, walking between the two and going straight for the door. "The Baron's not a huge fan of loitering, so best step inside before you're told to leave." Cormag added, giving Winston a type of look, as if willing him to enter the building as well.

after action report

- Cormag resolves a dispute between a few employees of Nar Ir Har
- Cormag receives a letter and heads off to the meeting
- When stopped by patrols, Cormag tells them he is heading to see a Doctor.
- Cormag spots Winston and Teuvo outside and subtly tells them that they shouldn't be standing around outside.