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Despite the Captain's orders likely demanding the upmost respect, Morianne couldn't help but let out an audible yawn. It was nearly dark dammit! Most people would likely marching off to the land of nod. Despite being a knight herself for quite some time now, Morianne's chivalrous duty was never her top priority. Something always came first. In this case: sleep. Sure, the troubadour did have to admit that being proactive in this instance did make some sense. Jeremiah was a veteran, not some wannabe chump whose rise to power could be ended as swiftly as it had began. This "Bandit King" was serious business. It sure would have been nice to get an extra nod or two though. Beauty sleep is always important.

"Fucking finally!" Morianne groaned. "Horseback always gives me the worst wedgie."

As she shook off the calls of sleep, Morianne looked around the crowd of knights. Tension was undeniably high. Bodies shrouded in plate armor danced the dances of war that the troubadour was all too familiar with.

Morianne couldn't help but feel out of place among them all. Unlike the others, she not plate armor nor sword and shield. She had no formal combat training beyond what she had deemed necessary for her self-defense. Only a red lute sat in her lap. It may have been decorated with the brutal image of a skull, but it was still just an instrument and nothing could change that. It was honestly a wonder how she even managed to get this far. She was no knight. She was no soldier. She just a musician.

Even the actual fighters don't look ready for this. she thought. I might want to take this a bit more seriously...

Katarina's unmistakable twang brought Morianne back from any potential introspection.

"Awl'right cap'n, who dae you ken tae go about for the flanking party in the auld akelarre?"

"Do you want to repeat that for the people who don't speak hick?" Morianne chuckled to herself. Still, Katarina's comments, while in jest, did bring Morianne to question her own value to this little quest. If this was a stealth mission, the troubadour might just find herself as little better than a liability. Her magic was loud and not exactly subtle... She sighed and began to idly tune her lute, patiently waiting for Fanilly—or anyone—to continue. "Thrash wouldn't believe what I've gotten myself into..."

With Alba having arrived at the central market square, she began to sort through the various vendors, hoping that any of them would be willing to barter with her sack of assorted dead animals. After a few failures, she seemed to have found someone willing to purchase.

"So what ya' thinkin' big guy?" Alba asked, slamming her arm onto the merchant's counter. "How much coin we talkin' here? Forty a' piece? Fifty?" The merchant looked down at the wolf-woman's offer then looked back at her. He seemed unimpressed. "Come on. Gimme somethin'!"

"I was thinking about fifteen," the merchant answered as he stroked his beard.

"Per squirrel?" Alba shot back. A dopey smile of sharp teeth grew on her lips while her tail began to wag back and forth. "That's perfect! Now I ca-"

"You break it you buy it, you stupid dog!" The merchant pointed at Alba's tail. "Watch where you swing that thing!"

Alba turned to notice that, in her excitement, her tail had knocked a few small trinkets from the merchant's booth on the ground. Thankfully, none of them seemed to have suffered any significant damage.

Alba swatted her tail back down. "Sorry. Habit."

"As I was saying," the merchant glared as he attempted to regain some composure, "I'll charge about fifteen pieces for the whole bag."

"What?" Alba growled. "C'mon, you've gotta be kidding me. It's all perfectly good squirrel. That's good eatin'."

"It would be if they didn't all look like they were dragged out of the local pet cemetery." the merchant retorted. "What'd you use to catch these anyway? Bear traps?"

Alba averted her gaze. "Uh…no…"

The wolf-woman knew it was probably best at this point to avoid stating that she had been looking for bigger prey...because she did, in fact, use bear traps.

"Right…" the merchant said, giving Alba a skeptical look. "So are you going to accept my offer or not?"

"Fine." Alba groaned. "I'll take fifteen for it."

The merchant scooted a pouch of coins across the table.

"Pleasure doing business with you. Now, get out of my booth."

Alba left the merchant's booth with her head hung low. However, her dour mood didn't last long as she was easily distracted by a few familiar faces not too far away.

"Is that Cap'n Noriko over there?" Alba waved, shouting loudly across the market square. She cupped her hands around her mouth just to be sure Noriko heard. "Hey, Cap'n! Over here!"

Interacting with: @Lady Lascivious, @LetMeDoStuff, @dwyer austin


To most people, the light bustle of the early morning crowds, the absent-minded people which scoured the city streets in search of mundane tasks to perform, and the animated wisps that invaded the noses of travelers -- making them nostalgic for their childhoods -- would have likely been a welcomed and pleasant experience, especially for those of weary hearts. However, such was not the case for the Wolfskin woman, the infamous Snow Devil, Alba. To her, such pleasantries were little more than an unearthly cacophony which overwhelmed her enhanced, animal-like senses. Even in her human-like form, Alba still found the ordeal to be an unending subtle annoyance, the kind which could wear down the spirit and undermine the physical body's performance. She wanted nothing more than to avoid such experiences.

As such, to completely evade the grumblings of the waking city of Drakesfoot, Alba had arisen before dawn and prepared for a morning hunt. Alba's plan had been to hunt a bit of game for the bulk of the early morning. Then she would return to the city by the time that most happenings had already come to pass and sell her haul to the local traders. Needless to say, with the winds of the forthcoming autumn season throwing off her smell, Alba hadn't managed to catch anything of merit all morning. She had no luck with her spear, meaning that her bag of catches consisted of squirrels and a few rabbits which her traps had snapped up.

Dissatisfied with her performance, Alba returned to Drakesfoot far sooner than she had intended. Her ears continuously twitched in frustration as she made her way into the city proper.

"Just my luck…" Alba groaned under her breath. "Damn this wind! Beato's gonna have my efin' head for all those traps I wasted. She's gonna be like: 'Where's my money, Fur-ball? You can't just keep wasting it.' And I'll have to say: 'I dunno! Must've run off.' Damn my luck!"

At this point, Alba's beastial growls had managed to frighten a few commoners as she passed. She lamented their reactions, but was not surprised. Alba was a Wolfskin and a brutish-looking one at that. In particular, Alba's attention had been drawn towards a mother who was doing her best to console her son after seeing the wolf-woman and her blood-soaked sack of cute and cuddly rodents. The mother in particular was glaring at her. And while it may have been Alba's paranoia speaking, she believed that she saw that same mother signal some guards her way. Alba, who was not particularly keen on finding out the truth, decided to poke her way through the tight alleyways just to be sure.

Alba sighed. "Noriko doesn't have to deal with this shit."

After making a few sharp turns, Alba had managed to find her way back onto the city's main roads with the intent of making it to the main market square.

"Let's try to get into any trouble today..."

The Savage Snow Devil

Everild Pasternack - A Pleasent Reminder

Despite the thunderous calamity on the frozen-over deck, Everild did what she could to load the cannons. Steadily she ran back and forth, ebony led cannonballs nestled tightly in her arms. The weight of her prosthetic leg caused her to jerk and bob with the ship as it braved through the chaotic ocean waves below. The slick wooden deck certainly didn't help in maintaining her balance.

The deafening howls released by the cannons had made it difficult to fully make out her Captains' orders. However, through the raucous hell of storm and cannon-fire, one call to action rang true in her ears.


What took place after was a blur of colors lost from Everild's own memory. The details of what truly transpired could only be filled by second-hand accounts.




When Everild opened her eyes, she bore witness to a familiar scene. Rocks, sand, dirt, and wood were strewn about in an archaic mess that pinned her down. Everild gasped for breath as she began to pull herself out from under the rubble. She found that, unlike in her younger years, she could manage to pull herself out from the carnage with relative ease. Dragging herself onto the sand, she immediately began tinkering with her iron leg to make sure she could properly walk on it. Over to her left, Kazik rushed to the wreckage that Everild had pulled herself from. Everild shook her head as she looked outward at the supplies and provisions that were torn asunder.

"This certainly is not how I expected our journey to fare," Everild said as she fiddled with her leg. Upon further inspection, the weapon's firing mechanism was significantly damaged and too wet to properly fire a bullet. "Maybe I should have taken that newer model Elias had talked about." Everild chuckled to herself. "Not much I can do about it now. I just have to fix this on my own time." Everild helped herself up and took a look at the surviving crew. Looking up, she saw Charlotte addressing them all and doing her best to inspire hope.

Meanwhile, Everild shook her head in disgust with her own lack of skill in helping those who were injured.

"Does anyone require attention?" she called out. "I may not be a healer, but I am more than willing to-" She was cut off by the sound of gunshots. On quick reflex, Everild drew her pistol and took a shot at the encroaching Royal Navy. One of the sailors took the shot, causing his left leg to twist in directions not meant for the human body. Everild then turned and proceeded to snap up a piece of driftwood from the wreckage as she waited for them to draw closer.


Full Name: Everild Pasternack
Allias: Dancing-Gun

Age/DoB: February 15th, 1754 (27)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Class: Brawler


  • Martial Arts/ Hand-to-hand combat
  • Weapon Proficiency: Handguns
  • Cartography
  • Navigation

  • Sai
  • Truncheon
  • Handgun
  • Steel leg cannon prosthetic


Like many Czaszkan people, Everild possesses fair skin, pale-blonde hair, and blue eyes. She styles her mid-back length hair into a low ponytail, complementing her fit physique quite well. Although easily her most defining feature is the mechanical marvel that resides just below where her right calf should be. It's a prosthetic limb; a reminder of the war from ten years ago in Czaszka.

Typically, she wears a white blouse with black shorts and covers her left leg with a pale blue skirt. Belts around her thighs secure her metal leg and left boot. In cold weather, she wears a navy blue jacket, resembling an officer's coat.

Personality: Everild, having both served the nobility of Czaszka and the militaristic White Herons, is typically quite strict. She is a diligent and dignified woman. However, she is not devoid of kindness and is especially polite to those she sees as friends or family. This behavior combined with her monastic training and adherence to routine makes her not too unlike a teacher or older sister. Due to her self training, she often attempts to see the bigger picture in a given scenario but can be blinded by her optimism.

Biography: Everild was born in the capital of Czaszka, Kolzow. She was the eldest daughter to Elias Pasternack. Their life wasn't an easy one. As peasantry, Everild's family had issues supporting themselves. So, at the age of ten, she and her family swore allegiance to a noble house and began working as servants. After a few years, Everild's younger brother, Kaspar was born. The Pasternack family was united in taking care of the young Kaspar. However, due to the rising tension in the empire, when the noble family ultimately sent off their sons to war, Everild and her mother were sent off as well to serve as nurses on the field.

She and her mother were stationed at a makeshift fort a good few hours away from the capital. It didn't take too long for the Danic army to arrive. When the siege began, the cannons ripped straight through the loose stone and wooden beams. Everild found herself and her mother buried under the rubble. There were very few survivors. Everild herself even would have died had it not been for the Danic battle reporters who dug her out. With their help, Everild managed to return to her home. This was three days after the Danes had taken Castle Zeidik.

When Everild had returned home, she watched the nobility walk out, leaving the country to the Danes. Despite how she had heard of the rebel movements but had little interest in them. Why would she help reestablish the throne when they had abandoned the throne? She didn't want to help the nobility; not anymore. She had already lived that life. She just wanted to know why. Why after all the talks of the great empire and chivalry would they abandon what they built? That was all she needed.

She did her best to help her family, but with her missing leg and newfound questions, she could no longer be her old self. She needed to find those answers, even if it cost her. Rejected by the military for her missing limb, she only had one option available to her to proceed in her selfish quest. She joined a rebel faction known as the White Herons. She hid this fact from her family under the guise of a cartographer apprenticeship. She hated it, but they provided what she needed and her new skills gained a bit of notoriety. With enough funds and a few favors, she was able to commission a new leg from her rebel allies.

With her new leg, she gained renown as the "Dancing-Gun" Everild. Then her Letter of Marque arrived...

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