The wind whipped around the mooring platform of the governer's tower at the edge of Bezold City. It carried a few stray leaves, tossing them around like a child throwing a tantrum. A cold chill permeated the air, leaving a thin sheen of frost everywhere it touched. The clouds hung low in the sky, disturbing the daylight and threatening rain, snow, or a sleety mix.

Owens-Stark stood, gazing out over his city. No, not anymore, he thought to himself. In one hand he held a small suitcase, monogrammed with his initials; C.D.O.S, and the number 93. He had recieved it as a graduation present from his father after he left Blue Peak Military Academy in Turquoise Moors. The other was linked with Felicity's. Gazing out at the bustling metropolis, she sighed softly. "It's a shame. We only got back, yet here we are, being forced to leave. Funny how life is."

"I know dear, but the reports are true. The council are getting stonewalled by them, and there's no way they would pull this off unless they had a sure fire way of beating us. It's too risky otherwise. The other option, that they want to escalate... I don't even want to think about it... I've seen escalation once before..." He shivered, and it was nothing to do with the weather. "Besides, I telegrammed my resignation to the Empress before we packed. I don't think she'd be too pleased if I sent her another one asking to ignore that." A quiet chuckle. "I tried to get in contact with some other old friends before I left, but I couldn't reach Cal. Hopefully he did the smart thing and got the hell outta here. He always had that knack for knowing when something was going to happen. After that, I decided to avoid the others... You of all people know how bad I am with goodbyes."

Casting one last glance at his old home, he wrapped his greatcloak around his body tighter, and climbed aboard the airship. It was by no means fancy, large, or new but that was exactly what he wanted. Discreet. That way he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. Helping Flicc aboard, he closed the hatch, cutting out the biting November air.

Placing the suitcase in a corner and settling down at the helm, he took a second to familiarise himself with the controls. Grasping the wheel, he smiled. "Where are we going to?" Felicity asked.

"No idea." he chimed back cheerfully.

"What will we do?"

"Again, no idea!"

"Do you at least have a direction in mind?"

He chortled. "Nope! No clue!" His face then darkened, eyes sinking, smile fading, voice losing its playful edge. "I just want to get away from it all. I'm tired Flicc, so very tired. Tired of all the planning and fighting and endless tension. Tired of sending young men and women to their deaths. Tired of senseless losses balanced against senseless gains. Let's go somewhere else, you and I. Let's leave it all behind; the petty squabbles, the endless bickering, the warring, the death." Then, suddenly his mood lightened, the cheerful smile returning as quickly as it had left.

He flipped a lever, grinning as the dirigible shifted. A low clanking sound let Flicc know he had just released the docking grapples. Hopping up from the chair, he guided her, and sat her at a small table filled with charts and maps. Most were of Chroma and the surrounding archipelago, some had further-away, mroe exotic locales shown, and a few showed lands Flicc had never even knew existed. Settling back down into his own seat, he turned to face her, his smile threatening to split his face.

"So, my dear... where do you want to go?"

"I want you to take us somewhere far away. Somewhere that we can start over, and forget it all. A new page, a fresh start."

"As you wish. I know just the place you want. A little island called Tabula Rasa."

She smiled, the first time that day. "Tabula Rasa? I think I could get used to a place like that."

Tang and Sirop consumption up 200%! New tang-burning internally combusting engines flaunted at science fayre!

The details are quite confidential, but these Zeppelins are armed with both advanced missile systems and experimental heavy and light defence guns, as well as the ability to launch VSTOL fighters, Gyrocopters and helicopters.

Greetings, fine gentle-sirs and ladies! I bid you a most splendiferous welcome to our fine islands. Standing at the forefront of steam-based progress, we here at the Academy of Sciences are always on the lookout for new innovators. With that in mind, the esteemed Periwinkle government have tasked us with setting up an official census. Alas, we realised very quickly that our records of citizenship have been... misplaced.

So that brings us to the topic of this letter! Please fill out all the fields below and take it to your nearest postal office. From there, our fine telegram service will forward it on to the Circumlocation Office, who will -after a score of boards, half a bushel of minutes, several sacks of official memoranda, and a vault full of ungrammatical correspondence- officially recognise you as a citizen of our fine territory.

Any Periwinkle can become a citizen by filling out the application below:

1.Are you a spy or an Orangered alt?

2.Are you a citizen of any other territory?

3.Do you own any property? If so what?

4.Are you willing to fight for Bezold, to protect it against all threats, foreign or domestic?

5.Do you like steampunk?

6.Do you have any special skills that can be used to better the territory?

7.Do you have any battle experience?

8.Are you interested in the lore of Chroma?

In 15 words at most please explain why Team Periwinkle is superior to Team Orangered.

The Centrifuge Sprocket is opening in Bezold, right next to the air base (Which is being re-purposed to service the more common aerial vehicles of your fine republic). Come and visit, and down a pint! If all that's not enough, the bar is built inside the airship we used to take all the beer here. Have fun!

A Rough Map of the pub!

In the months since the Chromaclysm, a wave of innovation has permeated the Republic. Innovators and entrepeneurs flock to the now-independant citystate. Smoke-spewing workshops and towering factories have begun to pop up all through the previously tranquil region, filling the air with the clank and thud of machinery, and the sky is becoming dark with smog. On every corner, stalls selling clockwork curisosities can be found, and the Ducal Academy has produced invention after invention.

Nobody can tell where this path will lead, but one thing is for sure. Soom, things in the Republic will never be the same.

Glory To Bezold! Excelsior!

The battle is complete...

• Skirmish #1 - the victor is Periwinkle by 92 for 73 VP
• Skirmish #2 - the victor is Orangered by 3 for 3 VP
• Skirmish #3 - the victor is Orangered by 71 for 40 VP
• Skirmish #4 - the victor is Orangered by 35 for 16 VP
• Skirmish #6 - the victor is Periwinkle by 67 for 1 VP
• Skirmish #16 - the victor is Periwinkle by 74 for 204 VP
• Skirmish #100 - the victor is Orangered by 2 for 152 VP
• Skirmish #102 - the victor is Periwinkle by 43 for 90 VP
• Skirmish #128 - the victor is Periwinkle by 169 for 155 VP
• Skirmish #243 - the victor is Periwinkle by 172 for 428 VP
• Skirmish #284 - the victor is Periwinkle by 792 for 122 VP

Final Score: Team Orangered: 211 Team Periwinkle: 1073

The Victor: Team Periwinkle

Bezanson was sitting in the staff room, worn out from the week. After the port had been all but destroyed by the last quake, they had had their hands full trying to clear it up and restore the place to working order. As one of the few remaining deepwaters, the provisional government had been all over their asses about getting it back into a usable condition ASAP. Everyone was being forced to pull double shifts, and this was the first chance he had got to truly relax in over 18 hours.

Wandering over to the TV, he flipped it onto the live coverage the Warriors Exhibition. Maybe he'd catch a shot of Lilly and her new boyfriend. Oddly enough, the signal was completely absent, replaced by static. "Thats odd" he muttered, flipping over to the sports channel to catch the Pasto/Snoo game highlights.

Instead of basketball however, a solemn looking man was standing in a news room, reading from a sheaf of papers. "...urrently do not have much knowledge. All we can gather is that there has been some sort of tidal wave that has struck the Island of Warriors. We will bring more as we find out. For those of you tuning in, I will repeat, there has been reports of a natural disaster at the Armed Forces Exhibition. Currently we do not have much- " He stopped listening as the reported repeated his speech. As the words sunk in, a horrifically familiar sound began to fill the air.

Want to join as a citizen! Well we want you!

We need contributions! Text posts, link posts, anything! Dreamcrack will also be held in Periopolis.

If you do, fill this out. Thanks for coming by!

Name:

How long have you been a Periwinkle:

Why do you wanna live here:

Hello brave soldiers of the blue!

Come, eat, drink, and be merry... for tonight we feast! Come share your war stories be the hearth, listen to the bards and be 'entertained' by one of our fine wenches. Or perhaps you need a more sombre moment of reflection for fallen comrades. In which case we have the memorial wall over yonder.

Is this based off of colonial Boston? Because I'm really digging the vibe here!