"That's the thing lads, these noble folk, they don't give one shite about any of us." Arthur took a drag from his cigarette, looking between the two young men sitting at the table before him. The younger of the two looked to be about sixteen, while the elder seemed to be in his twenties. They were brothers from the area, both of them covered in the coal dust and soot that marked them as workers in the local refinery. A few weeks back, their father had nearly lost his hand in an accident and their foreman had refused to help pay for his recovery at all, which had brought the two of them right to the door of the DPRA. A tragedy, truly, but their addition was more than welcome.

"As far as they're concerned we're less than human. We die in the slums, worked to death making their shite, while they stay cooped up in their mansions drinking and partying until they're tired of it. Pigs, the lot of them. But not for long, if we've got anything to do with it, eh boys?" The two exchanged a glance for a moment, both smiling. The eldest was the first to speak.

"Aye Mister Mallory. We're glad to be on with you sir." He extended his hand across the table, and Arthur quickly shook it.

"Good, good. Now, Mr. Thatcher will get the two of you armed and back out there. We meet here, in the back room, every second Tuesday. But don't go telling anyone that. Not until you've introduced them to me at least, yeah?" He gave the two a look, making sure they knew exactly how serious he was.

"Of course sir."

"Wouldn't dream of it sir."

Once the two lads had gotten their weapons, Arthur decided to accompany them on a little stroll through the slums. It was about midday, so there were bound to be plenty of people out for lunch, and those who couldn't afford lunch would be panhandling out on the street. Either way, about these parts everyone was a potential recruit.

Mthunzi looked down upon the sprawl of Sangaan, its clashing mire of Halta-Banu culture and Cyrenic trading as always drawing him in. Cyren might regard itself as less formal than Dormin and the other old homelands of its settlers but even still it felt too stuffy for the Outlaw to truly enjoy. It was too much of a home for the settlers. Here in Sangaan the only Northerners that could be found were here for profit and power and they brought with them a certain stench that Mthunzi felt drawn to.

There was money there, and where there was money there was opportunity and where there was opportunity "Danny boy" and his gang could be found.

"How you want run this one?" 'Jackie' Masabo asked him, kicking his horse to draw level with Mthunzi. "Get the branch boss drunk and hold him for ransom again?" He stopped to spit a glob of tobacco on the ground between them before turning back with a smile. "The boys do love that one." Mthunzi shook his head and twisted to face the rest of the gang.

"Doc!" He called to a Cyrenic Outlaw that loitered at the back. "Give me your belt and gun."

"Akona." The man said indignantly. Mthunzi did not ask again he just held out his hand. Doc sighed and unbuckled his belt, passing it and the attached holster to the next man, who passed it along the line until 'Jackie' dumped them in Mthunzi's hands. "Why you gotta take them?" Doc whined.

"Cause they look like something a poor herder would own." Mthunzi said as he undid his own belt and replaced it with Doc's, taking off his hat and discarding his rather expensive jacket to better sell the look.

"Can I at least have your guns?" Doc asked, feeling out of place being the only one without a weapon.

"You can look after them, but fire them and I'll have your balls." He said, passing his own belt down the line. "Ntsika, with me." He ordered, clambering down off his horse, the Halta-Banu outlaw doing the same. "Theo, follow us on your horse in about an hour." The Cyrenic outlaw nodded as Mthunzi and Ntsika rubbed some dirt on their clothes and left anything valuable with 'Jackie' before finally, looking suitably common and destitute they set off towards the city.

Donatella Firavanti Lady Supreme, Leader of the Phoenician Expedition, Creative Director of the Phoenix Empire

She had twenty-three Pollonides. Seventy-nine Briecian men and women from the Civallan Guard. Ten seafaring ships from Sleepy Town. From Civalla, she flew by air-ship onto Imoggia and rode by carriage from the aeroport to the town they called Sleepy where her men awaited with uncharacteristic vigor, excitement, and tomfoolery. The town, she remembered from her studies at the University of Briessa, was once called Selponios. It was named by a man that no one quite remembered and by an Empire waiting in sleep on the Isle of Imoggia. Eventually, it came to be called Sleepy for one reason or another. Funny enough, the town proved itself contrary. A town of fishermen and dreamers, a navy taken from them, the only thing the inhabitants of Sleepy had to do was drink, yell, and consort. Donatella almost missed the quiet streets of Dormin. Almost. Several days later, she was still tired from the uncultured festivities because the Sleepy Citizens were loud, crash, and all too curious about the Supreme Lady and their journey south.

That was some days ago, and the travel south provided the Supreme Lady with some much needed comfort. In truth, the sea was largely unknown to her. Her familiarity did not extend beyond pleasure cruises and mid-summer romps on the Victorious Coast. She remembered her vacations on the beaches of Spareen as she and her sister dipped their toes into the warm waters, just dreaming about what lay on the other end of the Cornel Sea. Later in life, Donatella learned that it was only Dorminia that loomed there. But ever the dreamer, she always yearned for something more. Perhaps it was this. Phoenicia.

The thought flickered in her mind as Alkebu drew closer with every passing day. It seemed as if the Faithful was whispering something in her ear. Growing ever louder, the closer they reached the eastern shore of Alkebu. It all depends on Phoenicia. With the shores of Alkebu in the distance, a sight that brought her sickness, Donatella Firavanti awaited arrival at the head of the ship Dominius. Below her, one of the Three Graces of Briece, the Faithful, was carved into the masthead. Despite the rough seas, and the glow of the yellow skyline before her, the Faithful put Donatella at ease. The patron saint of women, childbirth, and maternal instinct, she was revered and worshiped by devout sects in Sartinium where Donatella had grown up. While other parts of Briece prayed to the Three Graces as they pleased, the Sartini were fanatical about it. It was good tidings that, by chance, the Faithful would lead them into Phoenicia.

"Prepare the boats!" the Captain roared behind her, bringing the deckhands into a organized frenzy. Soon, the party was prepared. For the initial scouting mission, Donatella would lead the party into the brush with twenty men from the Civallan Guard reinforcing the twenty-three Pollonides. Without knowing what lay ahead of her, Donatella decided to stay cautious. She would not send all of these men to their deaths. And Alkebu was notoriously unforgiving.

"We will first scout for any fresh water systems," Donatella bellowed to the men who awaited her. "After that, we will look for fertile land. After that, we will destroy every beast on this isle that stands in our way. Alkebu is unforgiving, gentlemen. Do not forget that she will choke you like a woman does in bed. Be careful, men, women, be Briecian, and make your Supreme proud!"

Donatella did not intend on staying behind. She would venture out under the burning golden sun, hack away at the brush, and toil under the demon moon of Alkebu. She had her country to make proud. Her Supreme. Her love. Even now, in her fear, she thought of his smiling face. The handsome way he yearned for things. She would build Phoenicia in his image, and for House Firavanti.

"Onward into Alkebu! May Elarius bless us on his journey."

And so the Expedition went onto shore and into the jungles beyond.

“Well, if they freed me from this prison

If that railroad train was mine

I bet I'd move it on a little

Farther down the line

Far from this ol’ prison

That's where I want to stay

And I'd let that lonesome whistle

Blow my blues away”

The song decorated the air of the cell block. At the last cell, stretched across the back with his hat over his eyes, lay Lazarus. Throughout the night his voice has melted from his mouth, much to the enjoyment of the local police. At the morning rays, the guard unlocked the door to Lazarus’ cell.

“Alright, lad, up you go. Get the fuck out of my building.”

Lazarus stood up, his back aching from the concrete floor. He dusted off the back of his suit, and gave a nod to the copper.

“Thank je,” he stepped past the officer and muttered under his breath, “keep your teeth clean, Dommie gat.”

He strode out of the police precinct, and breathed in the smoggy Dorminian air. Pulling his pipe from his coat, he started a fresh round of tobacco. He moved into the crowd, his feet still moving with his morning’s song.

He followed the winding Dormin streets until he found a particular boarding house. From the street, he could see his sister and children in through the window. He ascended the stout steps, and tapped his pipe against the door.

After a few moments, a crooked old woman opened the door.

“ ‘ow can Ms. Hudson ‘elp ye, dearie? And remember to speak up, my ears ain’t what they used to be!”

Lazarus removed his hat, and leaned towards the old woman.

“I am Mr. Van Zandt, here to visit-”

“Ah! You must be that Cyrenian fellow dear old Patience was talking about. Well do come in, I’ll get you some tea.”

Lazarus gave a small nod, and his best smile. He stepped through the threshold, and hung his coat and hat on a nearby rack. He turned to his left, into a small sitting area. Eleanor was there, painting the streetview. Jeremiah had his nose buried in the continuing tales of Baptiste’s travels. Patience simply watched out the large bay window.

After a few moments of silence, Lazarus piped up, “It seems you all are quite busy, I suppose I shall take my leave then.” He made the beginnings of a dramatic turn out of the room, but before he’d even made a quarter rotation, there was a duet of “Pa!”s that pulled him back into the room.

Jeremiah dropped his book and embraced his father. Eleanor looked from across the room, too involved to fully drop her oils. Lazarus was pulled by his son to a couch situated on opposite the window. The four of them chatted for new close to four hours. Lazarus told tales that were ingrained in his children’s mind. Slaying a supercroc, catching an Alkeban Screaming Stick Bug with a pair of tongs, all their favorites. As the clock showed well past midday, Lazarus remembered his ship out of Dormin.

“It hurts me, everyone. But I’m afraid I must begin my way back to ol’ Cyren.”

Both his children retreated into themselves slightly, a look which seemed to wrap a chain around Lazarus’ heart. He quickly added, “But I think after this next spring, I may spend the warm season in Briece. I may need a break from the humid country to somewhere more arid. How’s that?”

His children perked back up. Lazarus had only spent a handful of seasons with them in Briece since their mother’s passing. They hugged their father tight, and Eleanor blurted out, “Could we get a song before you leave?”

Lazarus broke out into a wide smile, a few hits of laughter jumping out of his throat. “Why of course, dearie.” He cleared his throat, as he had no other instrument with him.

"Hold up your hand oh Joshuae," she said,

"Wait a while and see,

I thought I saw my own dear father come,

Sailing over the sea."

"Oh have you brought any money for me,*

Or gold to pay my fee?

For I have stole the silvery cup,

and hangin' I'm going to be."

"No I have not brought any money for you,

No gold to pay your fee.

I am just come to see you hang,

from yonders gallows tree."

As Lazarus sang the old hymn, Patience turned her head to face her brother. While she remained her usual laconic self, a twist a pain could be seen on her face. Guilt, from a perceived sin decades old. As Lazarus finished the song, she quickly said, “Run out for a minute, children. I need to speak with your father before he goes.”

The kids nodded, and gave their father one last hug and kiss before scampering to a different room. Once they’d gone, Patience rose from her chair and stepped toward her brother. “Is that another of your ‘rediscovered hymns’?”

Lazarus gave a chuckle, and put an arm around his sister, “Stop carrying the guilt. I would have left regardless of what Elder Cohen said. Every time I come around, you try to apologize again for something you didn’t do. I broke the rules, sister, and they decided to kick me out for it. I’m glad it happened. I never would have survived as a farmer.”

She nodded. They had talked about this before. “I just worry about your children. They’ve coped well with their mother’s loss, relatively. But to lose you out in the country, with no closure. I just feel it would destroy them.”

Lazarus pulled his sister closer, wrapping his other arm around her. “That is exactly what keeps me alive in there. Knowing I have them to come back to, it makes sleeping on rocks and brush feel like the finest silk.”

The two stood there for a brief moment, before stepping apart. Lazarus gave his goodbyes to the lot of them, even the old Ms. Hudson. He stepped out of the house and back into the winding Dormin streets.

It was nearly an hour later, and Lazarus was at the docks awaiting his ship back to Cyren. His luggage was serving as a makeshift seat, and his eyes fluttered from person to person. He had spotted a fair few rough folks. He gently padded the old service pistol at his hip, assuring himself it was still there. The ship was due in the next half hour, so Lazarus waited patiently for the ship to arrive and whisk him back to that lovable jungle.

Soraya found that the projects were quite interesting but sadly found no scandal or sabotage to deal with. She couldn't just secretly just destroy one of the projects without a good reason and besides, spies do have morals. However, with all failures comes success, as her dear Maman told her. Soraya left the loud chaos, as she called it, of the World's Fair and decided to take a stroll to one of her favorite parks. Perhaps she would grab some tea as a little pit stop as well, sitting through those presentations did make her quite drowsy and she should always be sharp. Who knows? Maybe she had a target on her back.

Walking through the cobbled streets of Dormin had it's own nuance and Soraya knew very well what it had to offer, good or bad. With a brisk pace, Soraya headed for her favorite tea room, The Weeping Willow. Now it did sound like a morbid name for a tea room, but Soraya found it calming and elegant, being reminded of the flowing tree every time she thought about it. She walked into the tea room and found herself a table alone, asking for her favorite tea, Assam, and some assorted snacks.

Relaxing and reading through papers on recent events, Soraya scoured through to hopefully find a lead on something that could lure her into some work.

The Turn Thread is a recurring thread posted at the beginning of each turn (every 14 days) through which your characters can complete major actions. Most of these actions, unless otherwise stated, do not require an IC post! It will be pinned at the top of the RP sub for ease of access, and it is where you will post important character mechanics actions for each turn.

Several Things to Note:

• The Turn Thread will be processed in order of oldest-posted first! This means, for example, that if two characters are mining from the same mine, and the character with the older post depletes the mine, the more recent character post will receive no coal from that mine! In other words, it is very important to plan your turn thread actions ahead of time and post as soon as possible. Please refrain from posting blank placeholders; comments containing no turn thread actions and posted with the express purpose of holding an earlier slot will be deleted!

• None of the Turn Thread actions will be processed until the end of turn -- with the exception of time-sensitive Battle Actions. In addition, the Turn Thread will be processed using the wealth and assets available at the end of turn. This means that if you are transferring wealth via action in the Turn Thread, you will not be able to use that wealth to purchase assets in that same turn!

• The Turn Thread closes promptly at 12pmEST/11amCST/9amPST on Saturday, July 21st, and the thread locked. Any edits made to a character's comment will be placed under scrutiny by the mods.

Below you will find links to each of the possible Turn Thread actions your characters may take, divided by category: Skill Learning, Fuel, Economy, Alchemy Projects, and Battle. Post all relevant actions in reply to the appropriate category comment. If your action is not in reply to the correct comment, it may be missed!

• Skill Learning
• Fuel Actions
• Economy Actions
• Alchemy Projects
• Battle Actions

Strategos Oreste di Corvo

The admission for the Opera was guarded behind security, as dissapointed patrons were ushered out nobility and money stepped in. Oreste was annoyed to be forced to partake in such crass nepotism, but his esteemed guests would only demand the best. In the corner he saw an older many in uniform arguing with one of the guards. A Dorminian navy veteran by the look of his uniform. The Strategos couldn't tell if he felt sympathy or disgust for the man.

"Try to look like you're enjoying yourself a bit more." His lovely Isabella said, in a somewhat goading tone. She looked beautiful tonight, her red dress and white hat complimenting herself as both fashionable and exotic. She had taken to the upper class lifestyle better than Oreste had, from a farmer's daughter to the wife of one of the most powerful men in Breice, she had endured so much pain alongside him.

"I don't know how anyone is supposed to read me." Oreste said, motioning to his mask.

Isabelle giggled, "It's your shoulders, darling. They're so tight and stiff. It's an opera not a military parade."

If it was still possible for him to do so, he would have blushed, something only Isabella could make him do. For once in his life he was thankful for his mask. He lowered his shoulders and let his wife lead him up to the mezzanine of the lobby. It was here they would wait, Oreste had arranged for a private box. Now it was only a manner of meeting their esteemed guests.

Tonight would be important, but not just for Oreste, it was for the whole future of Breice.

Donatella Firavanti, Supreme Lady of Briece.

The aeroport in Civalla sat on the converging canals of Maestros and Maestra as they made their journey toward the gateway of Civalla and eventually emptying into the Exarium Canal. The aeroport was recently built and still held the salty smell of the wetlands that surrounded it. Still infused with the technology of old, a watermill hummed in the distance as the airships of the modern world roared as they made their descent downwards. With her gloved hand held by a Pollonide, Donatella Firavanti climbed down the stairs of the S.S. Lionheart. She breathed in that wet, sweet scent of Briece, and thought how good it was to be home if only for a little while.

The captain of the Pollonides, Vitale Alzaelis, saluted his Supreme Lady. Without saying anything, her guards led her out of the aeroport and into a private compartment on the Civallan Transportation System, the CTS. When they were alone, she whipped off her gloves and held her hand to her brow. She was sweating. The august heat was unforgiving, but it was best to sweat it out now before the heat of Alkebu completely dominated her.

"We have twenty-three men ready with ten ships from Imoggia," Vitale said, not mincing any words, cut and dry and straight to the point. "And this is Major Niccolo di Cival. He will be leading the riflemen from the Civallan Guard."

Donatella nodded. Damn it, it was not enough. But Donatella would never betray her Lodovico. Even if he wished a death mission, she would die for him. "I see," she said quietly. The CTS carriage swayed as it moved, and Donatella steadied herself before speaking to Major Niccolo di Cival. She looked around the carriage to see flushed faces, unmoving in their obedience. For a second, she felt herself missing the decadent years when they had ruled the Phoenix Empire, and from there, Civalla if only by reputation and wealth. But that was enough. Ruling Briece was hardly the same thing, and Donatella Firavanti doubted herself, and even her husband, as she thought about their future. Their Strategos denied them once, would he deny them again?

"How many men is the Civallan Guard allotting for this mission?" Donatella finally said to the Major.

Lambert hadn’t done much in Dormin but he had seen a lot. He was a passive spectator mostly, he had not come to show the grandeur of some marvellous creation, nor had he come to haggle and bargain for exotic fancies. There were many things he could not enjoy in the city amongst the colourful celebrations; he could not cheer with glee as another drink found its way into his hand, he could not be swayed and enchanted by the allure of silk laden whores, he could not peer down from a balcony puffing smoke out like a chimney.

Such things killed men, and such things could not kill him. Such things brought happiness to men, and such things could not bring happiness to him. It was a trade he never had the choice to make, but then again, the humans did not make that choice either.

On a lighter note, Lambert had no need for sleep, and so he did not need to bleed coppers for a room. In fact, he wouldn’t bleed coppers for many things. Logika life was cheap, his electrical sustenance was free, and his rent in Syndulla was simply docked from his pay that was high from the sheer number of hours he could work. Like a true machine, he could work for hours on end churning his way through the fiddly production line with a focused precision only paralleled by the mad and the obsessive. Maybe it wasn’t being a machine, maybe he was just mad and obsessive.

It was a lot to think about on a bench in the middle of the night.

A slight downside to no place to stay in Dormin was finding things to do in the darkness. Lambert sat in the middle of the bench, as George curled up within the folds of the Logika’s coat placed down beside him. Even cats got cold on cool nights.

Carefully, Lambert picked up his briefcase from beside him and placed it down upon his lap. He took care to unclasp it and open it over his knees…

A new issue: it was dark.

Solution: make it not dark.

A small click sounded and by thought, just as a man might move his arm, a small light flickered into existence behind the lens of his eye. Now he could see. Brilliant. It was not a new trick, hardly a trick at all anymore. Was it even much of a trick if nobody was around to see? If there was, they would see a small glow in the night. A busy street at day, kept ‘alive’ by a soul not living at night.

Within the confines of the now visible briefcase a small assortment of items presented themselves in a neat fashion. A good selection of tools would allow him to work on a new watch, a special piece of work that shimmered with gold trim and polished metal. It had taken a while to afford the piece, even longer to sell the idea at the dinner table to Bastien despite the man’s great confidence in the machine.

”I think she’ll like it George. Don’t you?”

He looked down at the cat, it’s whiskers and nose protruding from the makeshift coat bed. It simply purred in response beneath the warm glow of the ‘spotlight’ in Lambert’s eye.

”I hope she does.”

Alias was bored. Dreadfully bored. He'd spent the last sixteen days under lock and key in a small room in the Varenthian Embassy, with little more than a bed, a toilet, and his thoughts. Luckily he'd had a pen and his journal on his person when he'd been interned, which had kept him marginally occupied. Still, this was becoming ridiculous. What should have been a refuge had turned out to be a prison, and those he'd expected to protect him seemed more interested in appeasing the mob than defending one of their own. No charges had been levelled, no sentence given, and yet he was still a prisoner. It was ridiculous.

Presenting Alias reclined on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, stewing. If my own countrymen will not have me, perhaps it is time I looked elsewhere. I am one of the greatest minds in the known world and yet they treat me like some kind of criminal! I have brought a man back from death, and they piss on me! Who was it that was attacked? Me! Whose assistants were brutally murdered by a mob? Mine! Whose device was destroyed by a band of raving lunatics? Mine! And yet they punish me. Fools, all of them. Alias slammed his first into the backboard of his bed, grunting with pain and frustration. All because of some illiterate peasants and their "God"! No doubt Clarke will have me by the balls for this whole ordeal, that's to be expected. So you know what? Fuck Varenth, fuck the Guilds, fuck them all. Shooting up from the bed, Alias began to pace.

Surely there are plenty of powerful people who would better appreciate an alchemist of my renown. It's clear enough Varenth won't treat me fairly, where else do I have to look? A smile split his face as the beginnings of an idea began to form. Gilatria, Ulthia, hell even Cyren. All of them have ambassadors in the city, and all of them are leagues better than here. Rushing back over to his bed he sat, producing his notebook and a pen. With that, he began to write.

In the end, his fury produced three letters. One to Maximillian Fontaine, Chancellor of Gilatria. Another to Janos Konstantin, Diuk of Ruskai. And the final one to Daniel Krüger, Doux of Cyren. All respectable men, who would certainly be able to make use of his particular set of skills. Now came the hard part.

Walking over to the door, Alias gently knocked on the polished oak.

"Excuse me sir, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

The man cracked the door open and gave Alias an exasperated look.

"What do you want?"

"I've got a proposition for you if you'd be interested in making some extra money."

"And what's that?"

"I have here three letters, one for the Chancellor of Gilatria, one for the Diuk of Ruskai, and one for the Doux of Cyren. If you were to deliver them for me, I can guarantee you'll be rewarded handsomely."

The opening events of the World’s Fair were not complete without a party, and this one would be a spectacle to behold.

The incredibly wealthy Marcus Aureas had elected to host such an occasion at his family’s estate in the south of the capital. The Aureas Estate was well known as one of the largest and most coveted estates in all Dorminia, and for good reason. At twilight, guests arrived to be greeted by the sight of two large angel statues carved of white stone, kneeling with swords piercing the pedestal beneath them. Behind them and up a small flight of stairs, a massive black gate loomed as the golden letters reading ‘M.A.’ glittered with the setting sun.

Beyond the gate lay the extensive maze of estate gardens bursting with ancient statues surrounded by a vast garden that sprawled through every private nook and cranny. In the hedges, or among the blooming flowers, one could use the intimate setting for discreet discussions or…other activities.

Heading up the path, an intricate fountain engulfed the courtyard, leaving a circular path that led up to the Aureas Estate. Stone angels danced and flitted across the water, spouting liquid from various mouths, and trumpets. The fountain, facade, and gardens gave both newcomers and returning visitors a reminder of the world they entered; one of luxury, strength, and a god-given right to rule.

Guards clad in purple and blue, the chosen colors of the Aureas family, lined the courtyard and the pathway to the foreboding entrance of the manor, protected by Gargoyles that hung overhead. An elderly servant who had clearly been serving the family most of his adult life, stood tall and spindly, accepting invitations from each guest.

The guests were then led inside to be announced in the large ballroom that covered most of the first floor. The ballroom was decorated in the finest materials, and it glittered with the glitz of an old money soiree. The sound of soft music originating from a backward balcony filled the room as servants served the multitude of guests, a task they were clearly very accustomed to.

If one were to explore the manor, they would find the first floor that housed guard and servant quarters, large lavatories, and and extensive network of kitchens and storerooms. Upstairs, dozens of rooms including a massive balcony overlooked the gardens and the city beyond, a small debutant room, private party chambers, and, finally, Marcus’ personal solar. Behind the manor lay the family library, Aureas family tombs, and private family residences which were strictly invite only.

Nobility and wealthy benefactors from all parts of the world mingled together. Dorminians, Varenthians, Briecians, and even Cyrenic officials were welcomed to the gathering, though behind the free flowing food and drinks and casual flirtations lay a hint of condescension and mystery. Secrets boil just below the surface of the lavish party, waiting to be unearthed by even the most unlikely of guests. As the powerful and elite brushed shoulders, traded goods, and planned schemes, the story was yet to be written of all the good, or evil, that they would inflict upon the world.

((Come and enjoy the festivities at the Aureas Estate! Upper Class only, lest you be caught and beaten by the guards!))

“Happy Birthday to you!”
“Happy to you!”
“Happy Birthday dear Anna!”
“Happy Birthday to you!”

“Happy Birthday Anna!!”

The wonderful cheers of Anna's family sang as the young Alchemist made a wish and blew out the nine candles on the delicious cake before her. Anna was filled with joy as she received the first slice of the flour vanilla cake. She ate it immediately, loving her mother's baking as Holly asked Anna a question before enjoying her slice.

“Later we can go see the super cool airships, would you want to?”

“Yeah!” Anna cheerfully said with her mouth full; frosting etched on the sides of her mouth.

“That will have to wait though.” Oriel said. “As the party doesn't end without presents.”

Being the child she is, Anna got excited over the idea of Birthday Presents and waited with anticipation!

[Anna has now aged to 9]

[Good Alignment has slightly increased]

Lazarus swirled his pint of bitter, watching the liquid ripple and foam like a miniature ocean. The sun had set some time ago, and his children had retired to their lodgings. He considered it himself, but found himself drawn to the Dormin nightlife. He hated the country, that had not changed. However, it intrigued him in a strange way. He was fascinated by the manner in which people had adapted to the terrible conditions of the modern city. How well they flowed with foot traffic, how they’d developed a personality that was simultaneously grating and amicable. He felt like a scholar, studying a wild beast.

He’d been hopping from pub to pub for the past hour or so. All the Dormin drinks were weak. He remembered the brew old man Van Der Wiel made up. It was clear as water, and hit you like a hammer. This Dommie stuff, brown and mucky, felt like a slap on the cheek. He wished he’d brought a flask with him. The idea of a flask made him think of Longhurst. The general had carried some good Cyrenic brew with him. Certainly not a Van Der Wiel proof, but at least something that hit you a bit.

He downed the glass, payed his bill, grabbed his case, and stepped out into the night. The cool Dorminian air felt good in his lungs, however he had his blue coat was buttoned tight. Years of warm Cyrenic nights had left him poorly prepared for the Dorminian climate. He walked along with the Fair traffic. There were countless other folks wandering much like himself. The Fair attractions had shut down for the night, but that allowed more shady businesses filled that gap. Men and women, in what could barely be called clothes, offered suspicious prices for a night’s “service.” A handful tried to approach Lazarus, however he merely tipped his hat to them and continued on.

He adjusted his grip on his instrument case. A full day of carrying the leather had began to chafe his hands. While he was no stranger to the sensation, pain is pain, however minor. After a decent stroll, he found himself at another establishment. This one seemed to be of a higher grade than some of the dives he had been to previously. He entered the door, and found himself a seat on a veranda to the side of the building. It offered a wonderful view of the city-lights, angled just properly to keep the smokestacks and slums out of view.

He propped his case on the chair beside him, and kicked his feet onto another one. A waiter, the lad couldn’t be much older than Lazarus’ own son, came to take the gruff man’s order.

“A pint of cider, lad. Don’t fret about label. Use your own judgement, I won’t gripe.”

A few half-words stumbled out of the boy’s mouth. He was trained for angry, demanding Dorminians. The laid-back Cyrenic was something new. He nodded and went off “See if they had any cider, sir.”

A few moments after the boy had left, Lazarus felt an itching in his fingers, and a lump in his throat. He unclasped his instrument case, and withdrew his guitar from it’s velveted bed. As he fiddled with the pegs, he searched his mind for a tune, and considered some words to throw in alongside it. After a few moments of thinking, his eyes lit up and he began his performance.

I was a highwayman

Along the coach roads I did ride

With sword and pistol by my side

Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade

Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade

The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five

But I am still alive

I was a sailor

I was born upon the tide

And with the sea I did abide

I sailed a schooner round the Horn to Civalla

I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow

And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed

But I am living still

I was a dam builder

Across the river deep and wide

Where steel and water did collide

A place called Spaza on the wild Tegulia

I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below

They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound

But I am still around

I'll always be around and around and around and around and around

His eyes fluttered shut as he sang and played. The young waiter slid the drink in front of Lazarus before scurrying back to his other duties. His voice came out warm and lovely, and his strumming played the line between somber and bittersweet.

((Open dear friends. Come, let me make you uncomfortable.))

Colette's personal airship, proudly marked with the colors of the Varenthian flag made its way slowly down in the air, like a leaf drifting on the wind, until it quite calmly settled among the other airships at the crowded docks of Dormin. In the capital of a nation that ruled the skies, it was hard for any airship to stand out in the slightest, yet nonetheless word would soon reach the Varenthian embassy that the queen had arrived rather unexpectedly. Some speculated as to whether it was about the rumors of Cyren planning to attack New Varenth, but word of that had yet to reach Syndulla. Other theorized that it was to attend to the matter of the necromancy personally, but that couldn't be true either as such a task was already delegated to one of her Councillors. No, in truth Colette had arrived because she wanted to make sure the Dorminians still knew that the Sordeaus respected them, especially the King. There were radical changes about to happen in Varenth, and she needed to keep the bond between the banks and herself strong.

First though, she would at least take the time to enjoy herself. With a few guards following in tow and her friend Sophie at her side, she stepped off the airship dressed in a relatively plain blue and meandered down the docks of Dorminia and towards the World's Fair. Unlike others of her social class, she opted to take the most direct route through the city to get to the Fair, where people of the more downtrodden and lower sort hanged out. Along the way she gave some charity to those less fortunate souls she came across, and then continued on her way. There was still a balance to keep between kindness and still acting like someone of your rank, after all.

Upon finally reaching and entering the World's Fair, Colette meandered around looking at the various curiosities from around the world and stopping to talk to all sorts of people that either recognized her, or recognized her status from the armed guards that followed her. It was all a very pleasant affair, but the Queen was still feeling quite ill. After having a couple terrible bouts of coughing, she decided to find a relatively open and secluded place to sit on a bench, with her guards hanging back a bit and Sophie going to wander the fair for herself, leaving the Queen of Varenth to sit quietly by herself, watching the crowds pass by and examining the Dorminian architecture that surrounded her.

Dormin

Continuation from this

The message she had sent was quick - only a few lines of cursive handwriting, overtly polite but still brimming with all the anger that threatened to erupt. Sir de Chouet, I beg you to come, as I am in need of your expertise greatly. Meet me at the hotel where I and my husband reside. Eva Louisa Versanto.

Only later did she remember to send a message to the damned Herzog's son, Henri. However, she scheduled that in the evening, unlike the meeting with the professor, that was to take place in the afternoon. Just in case.

There, she waited, with Filippo by her side. The married couple were drinking their coffees, with him frowning deeply at the letter that she held in her hands. They could only wait...

During the trip up Falk's River, Kojo, William and Abigail were treated to many wondrous views of jungle life; the massive group of mountains behind Cyren stretched farther than anyone could see from the coast, and massive trees with trunks as thick as a building lined the shores and in some cases crossed the water, creating a large canopy which blocked the sun in many places. As the Mystery pushed deeper into the interior, a large dark shadow appeared along the starboard side in the otherwise blue water. It appeared to move slowly and with the boat, though it was only about 6 meters in length. Kojo and his charges hung off the rails, their eyes glued to the form.

"Ah theht's the langano!" One of the deckhands called out as he looked on, chuckling at the inexperienced tourists. "Big fokker, pretty harmless to us but don't go jumpin' off the side!"

Kojo knew the animal well from stories, but had never seen one himself before. No skeletons or live specimens had ever been studied in Cyren either, so to most of the colonists the great beast was considered something of a sailor's myth. Here it was, however, sitting in the water no doubt waiting for unsuspecting fish or sea snakes to swim by. Soon the boat had left it behind to feed, and everyone resumed their duties.

Curious four-winged crows of all colors flew around the boat, and some even perched on the railings and allowed the tourists to feed and sketch them to pass the time. Horse-apes trudged slowly along the shoreline under the dark canopy of trees in herds, some ate or bathed in small coves that branched off the river.

A bit further up the river, Kojo had the boat stop outside a small cove that housed a waterfall and had once been the sight of an ancient Banu settlement. As they took int he sight, Kojo discovered a small carved pathway in the stone wall of the cove. He led his charges through and behind the waterfall, which revealed a large interior settlement under the rock. The Banu civilization once built great villages of white stone throughout the jungle, but in the millennia since their fall the jungle had reclaimed and stained most of the ruins. This place, it appeared, had been untouched by colonists. The cavern was quite deep and the intact buildings went on for some time. Kojo knew a site such as this was better preserved and therefore should go unknown to their crew, but when he spotted a few small trinkets wrapped in rotted cloth, he could not resist taking them into his pack; an old stone disc used to tell time, a small tablet with faded writing, and what appeared to be a small mask that resembled a serpent's face. They would all fetch a fine price in Sangaan if he wished to sell them.

While Kojo carefully stowed his secret finds, the husband William had pulled out his sketchbook and tried to capture what they were seeing. Though he was older, his hands still danced across the paper and after a few minutes he completed a rough sketch of the interior and did the same with the cove before they left.

Later that evening, they finally came across the spaza at the end of Falk's River. The settlement was known as Kerma by the natives, and the name stuck with its more recent colonial inhabitants. Several dwellings were gathered together in the shadow of a massive mountain pass named Falk's Drift, which included a trading post and two inns with a few rooms apiece. Typically travelers took airships through the mountains to get to Sangaan, but since Kojo and his group were taking a more scenic route, they would set off on foot through the tree-covered mountains in the morning. Legends of the great gorillas that inhabited the mountains were abound, but no colonial scientists had brought back evidence of their existence beyond mysteriously large bones and teeth. Native sketches kept the rumors alive, however, and if one looked in the right places, they might be able to discover the lost wonders of the Alkeban mountains.

"Ta! Pick you up in 3 days' time at that cove off the Tugoli-nan! Be there by nightfall!" Captain Johansson shouted from the main deck as Kojo and the tourists disembarked. The crew was finishing loading their coal and supplies, and would be leaving soon. With the setting sun blocked by the mountain pass, nightfall had already come to Kerma, though there were still a few hours left if one wished to visit the trading post or have a drink before settling in for the night.

Charles de Rendower

Four uniformed men approached a refinery belonging to a foreigner, a Briecan from what they were told. The men all belonged to the local law enforcement in Maastricht, and each were armed with a simple revolver. The lead man carried with him a piece of paper, on it with orders given to them by the Herzog Charles

“You sure this is the right one Pate?” One of the men asked.

“Of course I’m sure, now hammer the letters to the door.” Pate ordered.

“It’s just that the Herzog was very specific with which refinery it was.” The man responded and began to hammer on the door.

BOOM...BOOM...BOOM

—- —- —-

After the law enforcement left, the workers would check the door and find that two copies of a letter had been hammered to the door of the refinery. One for the men who worked there and the other for the owner of the refinery. After the officers left, one of the foremen exited the refinery with a small crowd of workers behind him.

“What’s it say?” One of them asked.

“Give me a second.” The foreman said before reading the contents of the letter out loud.

In the name of the Kingdom of Varenth and under the orders of Herzog Charles de Rendower II, this refinery is to be seized from its current owner. The reasoning for this is that the primary residence of the owner is not in the country of Varenth and thus can be confiscated along with the fact that the wealth of Varenth belongs to Varenth. The owner of the refinery shall be given a compensation of one-hundred and fifty coppers, which will be paid in full within the month. All workers shall continue their employment in the refinery and continue work as if nothing has changed.

The workers simply shrugged, none of this was their problem as long as they continued being paid. The man in charge sent the second copy of the letter to the owner of the refinery.

The Dorminian classification for Briece, Mascron, Arrakanium, Gilatria, was the same. “Civilization.” Even Cyren was given dignity. “Colony.” And the Halta-Banu? Zenzele’s proud home, a land of culture and peace?

“Tribe.” Not deserving, in their eyes, of more than one syllable. “Tribe.” Even the name sounded primitive.

They look down upon us not due to the strength of our character, but of our weapons. That will change.

The first step to modernity would be technology. Every one of these “civilizations” had a place of learning, a place where groundbreaking alchemy was the norm, a university. And Sangaan would have one too.

Where better to find alchemists for such a place but the World’s Fair?

Among the criers yelling of clockwork machines and steam vehicles were people telling stories of the exciting wonders in Alkebu to large crowds. Among the flyers for daily news and startling alchemy were vibrant posters showing off the jungle splendor of Sangaan. Word spread quickly.

Colette was still feeling weak and drained, and she could hardly walk without holding a handkerchief to her sickly, pale face. Still, she was walking at least, and for the first time in nearly a week she walked into the main hall of the Royal Palace, ending her seclusion. Another woman about her age, but dressed more plainly rushed to her side upon seeing her and tried to support the Königin. Colette instinctively pulled her arm away though and looked at the maiden with a raised, stern eyebrow.

"How dare you touch your Königin in such a way?" She accused of the other servant in a tone to match her expression, before quickly dropping the facade and smiling, though still keeping away from the other person. "I'm still not fully healed, you could get sick Sophie."

Edle Sophie Peltoi was a minor noble lady, the second daughter of a Graf out in the Lowlands who happened to have been the only other noble who became a nurse during the Bush War. Though Colette got along well with the commoners, the shared nobility was something the two bonded over, and they had become fast friends. Now, Sophie was Colette's lady-in-waiting, and the first person to see her leaving her room in the past few days.

"Colette," Sophie questioned in a hushed tone with a hint of concern. "What are you doing out here if you're still sick? You should be resting and recovering. God knows if getting up and walking around will agitate the sickness more."

"If you don't think I should be walking around in the halls of my own palace, then you're really going to hate what I'm going to do next." Colette informed her companion with a mischievous grin, though the other only seemed to grow more concerned by the statement. It was too late to stop the Königin though, as she was already walking towards a servant, with Sophie following in tow.

"Good evening Your Majesty," The servant said with a small bow. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"Go grab Major Desgoffe and tell him to bring a small group of guards to the airdock, and then prep one of my person airships for departure." Colette then looked to her friend with a smile hidden behind a handkerchief. "I would go grab some things if I were you. If you still want to catch part of the World's Fair that is."

Though confused and still a bit concerned about her queen's health, Sophie nodded wordlessly and walked quickly off to her chambers, while Colette walked on wards towards Syndulla's air docks. She wasn't going to let a pesky flew keep her from showing respect to the King of Dorminia.

The sun had barely risen over the city’s horizon when Kojo left the crumbling loft he called home. Wispy rays broke through the steamy fog. It was another heavy, muggy morning in Cyren. Another hot August day; the perfect type of weather to embrace escaping the city. The thought brought a slim smile to Kojo’s tanned face as the beads of sweat already formed inside his light tunic.

Yesterday had been a success: new clients, and Dommies at that. They always had the deepest pockets, Kojo knew, and perhaps even a nice tip would be waiting for his open, sweaty hands in Sangaan. Just in case, he would aim to give them an unforgettable tour of his jungle.

And it was his jungle, he nodded to himself. He was born to live there and the necessity of living alone, without a family, had forced him into the horrible concrete landscape called a city. There were few things he hated more than Cyren and its pompous elite. Although Dommies could be their own sort of pompous, he snorted to himself.

It was a short walk back to the Copper Tree, the tav that he had frequented yesterday and where he had met the tourists. It was, Kojo thought as he crossed the quiet street at the crack of dawn, his home away from home. Or even just his home. God knows that his loft was almost completely destroyed. Waiting outside of the Copper Tree were the two tourists from yesterday. A grin flashed across Kojo’s face as he saw them decked out for the jungle exhibition; a reminder of what adventure lay ahead.

“Ta! Howzit?” The look of confusion that crossed their faces widened Kojo’s grin even further. “My apologies, mate, forgot you were abanti. How are ya this mornin’?”

The couple, acting as outgoing as possible for two tourists in the early down in a foreign city, gave a rundown of their morning so far. The man, speaking first, told Kojo of their packing and preparation for the coming trip. It sounded to Kojo like both were prepared for everything.

“Well then, se’ and miss, I do believe we are ready to start our adventure into the wild. Let me lay out the route for you that we’ll be taking.”

Pulling out a map from his pant pocket and unsheathing a large hunting knife from his waist, Kojo stabbed it into the wooden post holding the Copper Tree. The metallic emblem jangled lightly as Kojo drew the route with his finger.

“First, we will go to the port and hire a river boat to take us down Falk’s River,” Kojo dragged his finger down the river South-East of Cyren. “We’ll travel to near the bottom, sleeping on the boat itself tonight, and arrive at a small lodge and settlement near there by dusk tomorrow.”

Turning to the tourists Kojo emphasized the next point. “Now, the jungle is no place for a se’ or miss during the night, so we’ll sleep at the lodge itself.”

"The next morning," Kojo traced a line directly across from Falk’s River to the river Tugela, “we trek through the jungle, old hunting paths and the like with occasional abandoned outposts. We’ll rest on the third and fourth night in two of these outposts I know. By the fifth day we should arrive at Tugela, or the river Eden to colonialists.

“From there we take another river boat from the trading post on the coast down to right here,” Kojo stabbed at a mark along the coast of Tugela. “There’s a second trading post there that we’ll land at. From there it’s a jaunt on a somewhat well-maintained road through the jungle and we arrive at Sangaan. The whole trek should be no more than six or seven days, more than half on boat."

Kojo turned to find the two tourists eyeing the paper and clearly lost.

“Don’t you worry now, mates. You’re with Kojo and I’ve done this trek before. I grew up on the frontier. You’ll be fine provided you stick with me.” To emphasize his point Kojo ripped the hunting knife out of the post and caught the map.

“Now, this way se’ and miss. Lets get a hurry on and hire a river boat from the port. We have a date with the jungle."

“Spectacular! Spectacular!” the showman shouted. He was a stout and greasy man, thickly accented with all the flourishes and pageantry that the Varenthian language could offer. The theatre behind him was nothing remarkable, but on the billboard read in blocky, black letters:

THE THEATRE OF LIGHTS PRESENTS A SHOW OF ELECTRICITY IN MODERN VARENTH.

“A show of lights,” the showman stage-whispered, his hands gesturing wildly as he addressed the audience. “A show of life. My dorminian friends, my friends from lands abound, I invite you into a most spectacular show. A show that shows a show never seen in the world before! Behold the Varenthian Man! Or…”

The showman wiggled his eyebrows as he comically leaned forward, a purse little smile on his stretched pale-blue lips, and whispered: “The Varenthian woman.” As he spoke, two women, ladies of the Red Light, appeared behind him, and linked their arms around the short carnie’s back.

“And it’s all free today!”

The showman side-stepped to invite the audience into the theatre. Over a carpet of red, the curious guests queued forward, taking a program from the red ladies with either a judging sneer or a curious smile. Inside, a proscenium-style theater awaited them as a fading chandelier hung overhead. A wide sheet of canvas stretched over the stage. There were no actors, no set props, no chorus. Just an instrumental band seated where they usually were, awaiting the moment when the lights would dim and the show began.

Moments after the audience took their seats, darkness fell and enveloped the anxious theatre. An infant cried out. The audience breathed a hushed murmur of disappointment until a low, foreboding sound began to rumble from the pit. Quickly, it turned upbeat, the score mirrored an industrial Varenth, a jewel of ingenuity. A marvel of innovation. Click, click, click. A crank squealed and, in a flurry of light, pictures crawled over the surface of the canvas. Marvelous, moving, magnificent pictures.

The fifteen minute reel begins:

FADE IN:

THE THEATRE OF LIGHTS PRESENTS…

A SHOW OF MODERN VARENTH

THE VARENTHIAN FACTORY WORKER

After a long hard days work, the Varenthian miner returns home. Covered in soot, we owe the Steam Age to our refinery men.

LECTURE AT THE UNIVERSITY

In a room of the most learned of Varenth, the secrets of the skies are uncovered. To the stars and beyond, our Varenthian scholars will surely get us there.

GOOD TIMES AT THE DIAMOND

The can-can! Red Light girls sure know how to throw those ankles.

FISHERMEN FROM THE FROZEN COAST

It's an arduous and unforgiving job, but these Rougian fishermen bring in seafood for all of Varenth. Tomorrow they'll go back out into that rough sea, and bring home another large catch.

THE HUMBLE COAL MINER

Though they may look hardened and unfriendly, these coal miners are men like you and me, digging up the precious mineral that runs our everyday lives.

FADE OUT.

When the cranking quieted, the lights flickered on, and the film exhibition finally ended, the showman clapped his hands and the curtain fell. The projectionist sat up from his stool at the back of the theatre, and wiped the sweat from his brow. The projector was heavy, and it was stiff, but it was the closest to magic that he’d ever seen.

Welcome to the first ever film screening in the world of Black Skies! Film is a new invention. Procure the technology and make your own films, and if you're an alchemist, build on the technology to create new ways of capturing stories and exhibiting them either on the big screen... or the small one. Films are in their infancy, and haven't spread across the world yet. For that effect, a list of films has been created to serve as a ledger. The list is short now but it's up to you to create, capture, and spread moving pictures of Black Skies!

Dormin

"We have to write to Giovanni," Filippo mused aloud, unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke. "Who else? The Ordederchis? Desicas?"

"Ordederchis face exile from the Palazzi," Eva shook her head. "Sara's marriage to you was one of the means to save head, I think. We can write, but I have no idea how that will help our cause. But I do know that we have to do something before the trial." She looked at him sadly. "They could lock you up for life. I don't know how I'd live with that."

Filippo kissed her cheek. "They won't. I promise you they won't." His promises, so easily given, did little to alliviate her worries and her anxieties - if her husband got incarcerated, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. Not even motherhood, which she didn't particularly find herself in, gave her such pleasure as being a wife.

Lodovico would never have her full loyalty. He would have a part of it, if he made her a Serene, but not complete.

"You know, he asked for my loyalty to both Briece and him. I assured him of my loyalty to Briece, but made sure he knew a part of me, at least, would always be loyal to you." She whispered into his chest. "He has no control over the Justicas, as he made sure to remind me. Blessed Elarius and his angels, does he think me stupid?"

"No man could think you stupid," Filippo sighed. "Now, let's write to the Desicas. And the Ordederchis, just in case."

Colette laid in her bed, looking as pale as snow and sick as a dog. It had now been two weeks since her throat had gotten sore, her sinuses became clogged, and she could hardly go a minute without bursting into a fit of coughs. Her days had become miserable and not even the clean airs of Rougia helped. What on Earth did I do to this deserve this illness, the Queen wondered to herself. Her limbs felt more weary than they had ever felt before, and it took all her effort to sit up and take a small sip of water. Of all the times for this to happen, why did it have to be during the World's Fair?

A few knocks sounded at her door, and at first Colette ignored them, wishing to be left to heal and suffer alone. The knocks sounded again though, and this time a rough, deep voice accompanied it. "Colette," the man started. "I know you're not in a capacity to be working in your normal administrative capacities, but there's been an urgent message from Dormin. It would seem the Archmaster of the Apoths started a riot at his demonstration. Apparently he murdered a man and then resurrected him in public. He's currently in our embassy seeking refuge."

A few moments of silence followed, as Colette stared out her window with glossy eyes, pondering the situation as best she could with her head feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice. She could feel the impatience and anxiety exuding from outside the door. "Colette..." The voice came again, expecting a response. With a heavy sigh, the queen finally spoke up with a hoarse and quiet voice.

"Uncle, send a telegram to Treveiler. Tell him that this situation is mostly his problem to deal with while I'm bedridden. He is to follow a few guidelines though. Whatever decision is made, the local Bishop must agree with it. The Archmaster must not be granted any special privilege due to being Varenthian, for he has forfeited the right to being considered under my protection when he committed such a heinous transgression. Whatever happens, we cannot risk owing Dorminia more money, or god-forbid going to war with them. Varenth will support whatever decision Dorminia makes, so long as it doesn't contradict the wishes of the Church. Finally, if the Guild Magistrate has any problems with how this situation is handled, she can send me a telegram personally. Is that all you needed Uncle?"

"Yes, that'll do fine. I shall leave you to recover for now."

With the footsteps of her uncle drifting off into silence as he walked away from the door, Colette's eyes drifted heavier as she tried to fall asleep. Another bout of coughing stopped her from experiencing such pleasure though, and again she was forced to stare glossy-eyed at her ceiling, waiting for this dreadful illness to pass.

Resting her stave at the edge of the table, Anna plopped back into her seat with a bit of a grunt. Her Journeyman-Younger: Holly Clover, sat next to her to assist her if needed as Anna placed her books onto the desk. Her parents: Oriel and Grace, were out getting groceries to serve their meals for the next few days; leaving Anna in Holly's utmost care.
The two Apoths had decided to spend the entire day at the local inn working on Anna's Green Tea Project rather than attend the Guild Demonstrations. After experiencing the displayed wonders of the Fair already, Anna was a bit saddened on missing the Presentations; however, her own passion for her project overshadowed the gloom as a fire burned in her heart to become the magnificent Alchemist she always dreamed of being.
Both Anna and Holly read through a single book on Human Anatomy for hours; primarily the digestive system. Holly explained certain aspects to Anna and inevitably quizzed her several times to see what she knew.

“-and because of this absorption after leaving the stomach, that's why it is important for the body to receive the proper nutrients, even in tea.” Holly finished explaining.

Anna sighed. “It's a bit more difficult and complex than I thought it was.”

“Yeah, it's not as simple as following brewing recipes like your past projects.” Holly couldn't help but chuckle at Anna's confession as Oriel and Grace returned with a single basket of various food to last the four of them.

“Mom! Dad!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Kvetina.”

“So apparently there was a riot at the presentations today.” Oriel commented. “The Devil of Dorminia they call him.”

“A riot? Here at the festival?” Holly questioned.

“Yes, and it resulted in the lives of many from what we heard, it sounded awful.” Grace added. “To think if such a thing happened during your presentation…”

“But, I'm not a Devil though…” Anna murmured innocently.

“That's right.” Holly defended. “If the people got into such a riot then it must have been for a very serious reason.”

“Still, if things appear to get more intense for any reason, we're going home; Fair or not.” Grace said sternly. “Your birthday is coming up at the end of this month and I don't want it to be ruined by the worst of people.”

“Yes Mom…”

Holly nodded as well and turned back towards Anna. “Well, getting back on track, we can start the next chapter on the heart and its functions.” She said turning the book pages.

After that both Anna and Holly went to continue reading until Anna soon let out a yawn indicating that she is due for a rest sometime soon.

The Turn Thread is a recurring thread posted at the beginning of each turn (every 14 days) through which your characters can complete major actions. Most of these actions, unless otherwise stated, do not require an IC post! It will be pinned at the top of the RP sub for ease of access, and it is where you will post important character mechanics actions for each turn.

Several Things to Note:

• The Turn Thread will be processed in order of oldest-posted first! This means, for example, that if two characters are mining from the same mine, and the character with the older post depletes the mine, the more recent character post will receive no coal from that mine! In other words, it is very important to plan your turn thread actions ahead of time and post as soon as possible. Please refrain from posting blank placeholders; comments containing no turn thread actions and posted with the express purpose of holding an earlier slot will be deleted!

• None of the Turn Thread actions will be processed until the end of turn -- with the exception of time-sensitive Battle Actions. In addition, the Turn Thread will be processed using the wealth and assets available at the end of turn. This means that if you are transferring wealth via action in the Turn Thread, you will not be able to use that wealth to purchase assets in that same turn!

• The Turn Thread closes promptly at 12pmEST/11amCST/9amPST at the end of the 14th day, and the thread locked. Any edits made to a character's comment will be placed under scrutiny by the mods.

Below you will find links to each of the possible Turn Thread actions your characters may take, divided by category: Skill Learning, Fuel, Economy, Alchemy Projects, and Battle. Post all relevant actions in reply to the appropriate category comment. If your action is not in reply to the correct comment, it may be missed!

• Skill Learning
• Fuel Actions
• Economy Actions
• Alchemy Projects
• Battle Actions

An hour or so had passed. Lazarus, while waiting for his family, had spoken with a number of fairgoers. While far from a social creature, he enjoyed the exposure to a controlled amount of foreign culture.

His foot tapped the leather case beside him. He glanced at a juggler walking through the crowd, and heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Pa!”

With finesse honed from years of near-death experiences, he whirled on the ball of his foot to see his daughter, Eleanor, heading his way, with her brother and aunt in tow. Before Lazarus could care to react further, she wrapped her arms around him.

“You made it! And in a suit no less.” Eleanor examined the material, a cheap cloth dipped in some manner of cheap pigment. After a few moments, she was pushed aside by his son, Jeremiah. Lazarus palmed the boys head.

“Oh dear, it seems Jeremiah’s gone missing. Wherever will I find him.”

The boy’s arms pinwheeled towards his father, a half-real attempt to grab him. After the joke had run its course, Lazarus pulled his arm back and let the boy crash into his chest.

“Oh look, there’s the lad.”

The two children pestered him with half a dozen questions in half as many seconds. Lazarus held up a hand, and then reached into his coat pocket. He first withdrew a small brown parcel, which he handed to his son. Jeremiah undid the packaging with the greatest of ease, and withdrew a small, well-bound book from within.

“The Travels of Clouseau de Baptiste!” The boy opened the book and let his eyes sprint across the text.

Lazarus pulled a second parcel from his pocket, which he handed to Eleanor. The young woman tore the packaging open without a hint of caution. From the wrapping she uncovered a vial, filled with a liquid the most brilliant blue. She held the vial close to her eye, examining the liquid up close.

“I can’t believe you found it, Pa. It must’ve been an ordeal to acquire.”

Lazarus gave a small laugh, and then began to herd his children deeper into the fair.

“Aye, it was an interestin’ tale, which I’ll tell jou after we have some fun. Howzit for ya?”

Both his children nodded, placing their gifts into their pockets. As the group walked, Lazarus finally greeted his sister.

“Thank jou, Patience. It’s wonderful seein’ you all.”

His sister had grown much older since he last saw her. Her hair had begun to gray, looking much like his own. A few wrinkles had grown in her faces, in her forehead and at the edges of her eyes. But she still held the same demure look she’d had since he was born.

“I was more than happy, Laz. Charles had been wanting to come, though it seems he’s more interested in the Dormin architecture. The man cared more about the local bank than the Alchemy Exhibit.”

Lazarus gave a smile, pulling his sister close.

“I tells jou, that Charles is no good for jou. Jou need a good, honest man.” The two of them knew he was joking. While Lazarus did not care for his brother in law when they first meet, he’d grown to respect the man.

The quartet carried on through the Fair, ooo-ing and awe-ing at the array of cultural and technological delights. After some time, they found themselves in an area more devoted to carnival games. Jeremiah and Eleanor tried their hand at various games, but eventually they came upon a game built to test one’s marksmanship. In seconds, Jeremiah was pulling on his father’s sleeve.

“Give it a go, pa…” the boy leaned closer to his father, “show those Dommie priks how to shoot.”

Lazarus glanced at the game, and after a moment of consideration, walked over to the stall.

“One go, please.” He handed the attendant the necessary fee, and prepared himself for some crack shooting.

##The World's Fair

In light of the recent riots, the Varenthian Ambassador figured he would finally make his way to the World’s Fair. It had been a stressful time for Treveiler, and to make matters worse, the yellowing, aching headaches seemed to haunt him. Occasionally his mind would slip and throw him into old, old memories, of a time where things were…different. James had no explanation for the bouts of madness, save that he probably should have been a writer instead of a information broker, or politician.

The sparkling sun that had once rose above even the tallest highrises and the lowest streets of Dormin had now all but left the skies, for they were filled with black cloud after black cloud, ominous signs that rainfall was imminent. James had worn a pristine white suit for this outing, though he had opted to take a cane in case he had one of his episodes whilst making his way through the grounds. Though if I do, I doubt this bloody stick might help, he scolded himself. The cane was made of a fine rosewood, a maroon-brown texture to the shaft, with a comfortable grip made from leather and steel. Despite the lack of sun, Treveiler wore dark, rose glasses with a similar colour to his cane, the aim being to hide his eyes and draw slightly less attention to himself. He had a crowd to avoid, after all. He could not serve his Queen if he had been beaten by the mob.

As he made his way inside, he approached one of the staff and whispered his wishes in their ear, voice soothing and sweet as silk.

"Send for your Guild Magistrate, or whomever might see me now." he spoke, lowering his glasses just slightly so that the poor alchemist would know for sure whom they were talking to.

THE HOTEL ELYSIUM, Some Days Later...

The Hotel Elysium buzzed with the news and gossip of a Devil in Dormin, and as servicemen and nobles bustled around its luxurious corridors, the mood was sour and dampened. The first day of the World's Fair had been a day of elation, but today, it was one of fear and sorrow. So many dead. Even in Briece, as different as they were, did not condone acts of devilry.

As tales of evil spread throughout the streets, tales of love were questioned and weighed inside the fine rooms of Supreme Lodovico's suite. Donatella had heard, even marginally, of plans to head southward. As a daughter of Sartinium, and as a victim of the plagues of Alkebu, Donatella was instinctively nervous about the plan. But as her husband spoke to her of tobacco and gold, she withered even more. Her daughter hadn't never seen the sun for she died under the moon in Nicalousville.

“Beauty, Donatella,” Lodovico said with a fervor. “It will make the people see. What are they looking for if not a beautiful life?”

“They are looking for stability, Lodovico,” Donatella returned just as hotly. “They will not love you because you are a beautiful man and because you bring them to beautiful places!”

Lodovico shook his head, smirking. He stood with his back to her, a terrible slight in Briecian culture. Donatella balled her fists, waiting defiantly for an answer. She was wrong, his fierce wife. Even in her faults, she was beautiful, and that was what mattered. He turned around to face her and only then did he notice the tears springing to her eyes. Lodovico did not come to her comfort.

“You overestimate them,” Lodovico responded. “I am sending word to Cipriano and the Strategos. We venture south, and with Dorminia, we will soar! On Alkeban clouds!”

“Do not make the same mistakes that Baldassario did.”

“Baldassario was fat,” he finished.

"Can't you see that death will not sleep?" Donatella's voice wavered, and tearfully, she collapsed into the armchair beside her. Her energy faded from her face, and Lodovico could not bare to see his wife in such disarray. On his knee, he knelt by her, taking her perfectly manicured hand and pressing it against his cheek and lips. "Briece will not thank you if this fails, my love."

"We will take back our nightmares of Alkebu and make them ours, Donatella. Our child... she will live in our city. The entire city will be for her. What is more fitting than that?"

"So be it. Send your telegrams," she finally said while rising from the chair and disappearing into the powder room to leave Lodovico on his knees upon a lush carpet of gold.

SPAREEN, JULY 21 1744

"DECISIVE VICTORY FOR FIRAVANTI," the Daily Spareen read as its front-page headline. Lodovico lowered the newspaper as Cipriano Firavanti strolled into the room flanked by two lower-ranking Salvators who stood behind their Syntag dutifully.

"Congratulations, brother," Cipriano said. Lodovico set the newspaper aside. "Scusi, my Supreme."

"Congratulate me when they cheer for my Parade of Supremacy," he responded while motioning for Cipriano to sit beside him. "But that won't be for a near month."

"A month?"

"Tell me, Cipriano, do you remember our story of Alkebu?"

"When we were children? Si," Cipriano responded. "A world of fantasy below the monsters of the south. Bah, the Mascroni. Alas, manhood reminds me that they are not monsters but men."

"Soon, I will be in Dormin for the World's Fair. And soon, I will have the Dorminian's ear," Lodovico said in a hushed tone, keeping his eye on the Salvators who guarded the doorway with eyes forward and ears shut. Syntag Cipriano Firavanti trusted them with his life, Lodovico did not.

"Like we always dreamed, brother," Lodovico continued. "We will build Phoenicia. Wait for my word and you will lead the expedition south. Now call for the Strategos, we have much to discuss."

TELEGRAMS FROM SUPREME LODOVICO FIRAVANTI AT THE HOTEL ELYSIUM

Cipriano, Brother

Sending word to Strategos. Lead the expedition. It has been approved. We are closer to Phoenicia. Your Brother.

Honorable Strategos,

Need Salvators to go south. Sleepy Town will provide ships. Syntag Cipriano will explain further. Your Supreme.

Dormin

Usual breakfast at the hotel started normal enough. Butlers ran around, providing people with their teas, toasts, butters, and any food they had ordered ; men and women of money, either aquired through wit and intelligence, or through birth, sat and laughed, discussing whatever. There were too many languages at once for Eva to pick up what most of them were saying, so she gave up soon enough, and turned her attentions to her husband, who was eyeing her curiously.

"What?" she raised her brow, removing dark brown hair, let loose, behind her back. The butler came with their order, two hot cups of coffee, bread, cheese, and bacon. Filippo nodded, and the man left.

"Your dress. Normally you don't show that much skin." He replied, and she looked at her clothing. He had a point, normally she wore her dresses buttoned up to her neck, or at least close to it, but that day, she chose something more revealing, ivory coloured gown with silk and lace, accompanied by a small, light purple necklace. While her hair was normally tied in a braid, that morning it was partially loose, reaching the half of her back, lighty waved and kept together by a small pin at the back of her head. She looked like a Briecan now, a Briecan proper, not hiding under clothes.

"I don't. I wanted to do it this morning," she shrugged. Filippo caught her hand.

"You don't have to. I'd never ask you to wear something you are not comfortable in, for my sake. You are my wife, wheter in Briecan or Varenthian dress."

"I have to do it, Filippo. People doubt I'm a Briecan, and Lodovico especially-"

"Why do you care about the opinions of that man, Eva? Do you like him, want to take him to bed?" Filippo frowned, letting her hand go and taking a sip of his coffee.

"While I do admit I find him attractive, I would not take him to bed, unless it was neccessary to win what I want," she sighed, buttering her bread. "And you know what I want. We've been working towards it for a while now."

Filippo looked at her, visibly slightly annoyed. "I thought Varenthians don't have sex outside marriage."

"I try not to be Varenthian."

"Just remember Briecans marry for love, and not for.. other things."

It was her turn to get annoyed. "Do you doubt my love for you?"

"Of course not," he shook his head. "Just.... You know how I feel about Firavanti." He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "No better than Bacchante was, but harder to manipulate."

"There are many means of manipulation," she whispered back. Filippo supressed a laugh.

"I married the right woman," he said soon afterwards, clearly in a better mood. Then, he raised his cup slightly. "To our marriage."

"To our marriage," she echoed, raising her own cup and toasting him. The day could finally start on a good note.

(OOC: Open to anyone who wants to visit the Versanto couple in the hotel they are staying in.)