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 Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 1:44 pm
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT01 >> FRUSTRATION (SOLO RP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT02 >> REMAINING (SOLO RP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT03 >> HIGH EXPECTATIONS (MISSION)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT04 >> THE GUNSMITH'S AEGIS (PRP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT05 >> THE FEAST BEFORE THE HARVEST (PRP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT06 >> WHERE THE THREE ENDS MEET (PRP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT07 >> ADVISOR KRAUS'S ADVICE (SOLO RP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT08 >> BROTHERS (SOLO RP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT09 >> SALUTATIONS TO THE GROUND (SOLO RP)
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT10 >> N/A
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT11 >> N/A
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT12 >> N/A
BANGBANGSHOOTSHOOT13 >> N/A
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 8:01 pm
( SOLO )  ACT 01
FRUSTRATION - IN WHICH EZEKIEL IS RATHER MIFFED BY SWANSON TECHNOLOGY
M I S H K A N Ezekiel North spun Vindicator absently, obeying Enfield’s order of “throwing the damned thing out”. He wondered if Enfield knew of the arquebus’s value, probably not, otherwise he would not have asked Ezekiel to “throwing the damned thing out”. The North boy opened the Enfield-North Arms’s front door, his finger heating the knob that had been previously cooled from the Mishkan breeze. His lips parted when he raised Vindicator upwards so his good eye could have a fine look at the detail once more. He really did not want to “throwing the damned thing out”, it was very beautiful even if it was still in a state where improvement could polish it well. Ezekiel knew this, and he’d made studies beforehand on arquebuses in general. the North boy frowned at the blackness that painted the inside of the weapon in splotches where its balls and gunpowder belonged. The black residue was not from the gunpowder, that much, Ezekiel knew for sure. It smelled bad too.
He gazed at the weapon, then outside. The weapon, then outside.
It was very hard.
He didn’t want to throw the arqeubus away, not Vindicator. It was an original Swanson 1395, and he was fortunate enough to be in possession of it. Good things often smelled bad anyways. His father often said “Lenora, you reek of s**t”, and his mother would laugh and return a few hours later, bathed and well. Nobody was loud after that, and his mother smelled better.
Vindicator was like his mother, in a way. He smelled like s**t, but he was a good thing. Ezekiel didn’t want to throw good things away, he didn’t have a reason to anyways. Good things were meant to be kept, like Enfield said, kept and stored to compare to things that were better. ”’Sall business, son,” Enfield chuckled before, and Ezekiel remembered it. Enfield always said things that made Ezekiel understand better the situation. What he couldn't understand at first was why Enfield wanted Vindicator thrown out.
He would not throw it away. He would fix it to make it better. Better things would not be thrown out, Enfield said so himself quite a number of times as far as Ezekiel would remember.
Ezekiel tapped the symbol on his eyepatch with two fingers, reminding himself of weapon perfection at work. He closed the door, and headed straight for his room. Enfield’s snores could be heard distinctly, and the gunsmith apprentice was glad that his master was not awake to reprimand him for allowing the stench to continue. The smell actually didn’t bother Ezekiel. It made him strangely happy. It smelled bad. His mother smelled bad.
He closed the shop door softly, so that Enfield would not be stirred. He then carefully made his way back to his room, holding the arquebus in an armpit so that his arms could make a fell sweep across the table, sending notes and drawings tumbling from the table onto the floor. He would clean up the mess later so that Enfield would not be mad. He then promptly dropped the weapon from his armpit onto the wooden surface of his table, blowing nonexistent dust (in case it would make his good eye irritated) and turned his attention towards his bed.
It wasn't actually his bed that was the center of his attention, but what was underneath his bed. Charts. Plans. Pictures he drew. He moved a lamp by his floor towards the space underneath his bed so that he could make some sort of distinction of which chart it was he needed. It was actually a drawing-chart he needed, the arquebus one he drew up not too long ago in fact. His fingers brushed by charts full of circles and lines that only he could understand, scrolls filled with past transactions (Enfield would give him a hollering if those were discovered), a drawing of a fat Enfield that made him giggle when he was younger---and alas--the arquebus chart!
He drew the yellowed paper out, bringing it over to the table and spreading it open further. There was something spilled upon its right top corner, and he couldn't make out what it said, but it was probably something unimportant because Enfield always told Ezekiel to write the important things dead in the center so that he wouldn't miss them. He also said it was better for his eye. It actually was.
Ezekiel lifted the arquebus at first.
He set the weapon firmly down on the table. It was time to get to work, since there was no telling when Enfield would wake up. Ezekiel’s nimble fingers deftly removed the plating from the sides of the arquebus. The stench grew even stronger, making even the gunsmith wrinkle his nose. Once the plating was removed, the smell grew even stronger--and Ezekiel had to turn his cheek to cough the smell from his throat.
His fingers tried to remove the black spots by applying the removal oil that Enfield pioneered for stains, a few drops splotched the arquebus paper, and Ezekiel realized it was the same liquid that blotched the corner. Either way, he was faced with disappointment when the black spots clung tenaciously to the wood. It would not be removed, and there was little Ezekiel could do to make it so. Something else struck him as peculiar. The barrel’s hollow seemed rather filled.
“Ach, what is this?”
A groan emitted from his lips when he stuck a rod of thin metal to drag out bits of what it was.
More blackness, except in clumps. Vindicator’s match lock’s reaction rate was already slow as sit was 1395 Swanson technology, the clumps only declined its performance further. Ezekiel was sure the weapon couldn’t even perform in the first place. Drumming his fists on the table, he stared into the three-pronged symbol carved deep into the signatures of the wooden table. The perfect weapon must be achieved, the arquebus could not remain this way.
The gunsmith’s apprentice delicately re-assembled the device, and slipped it into Uncle Arthur’s leather sack that was gifted to the autistic boy on his sixteenth birthday. While it usually carried larger guns, it now carried the stench of Vindicator, though the thickness of the bag masked the odor well enough to conceal it.
He’d have to fix it eventually, and he would do so soon.
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Posted: Sun May 01, 2011 8:05 pm
( SOLO ) ACT 02
REMAINING - IN WHICH EZEKIEL IS REQUIRED TO WATCH THE SHOP
M I S H K A N ”Good graces, boy! You’ve ridden the damned thing already!?” Enfield snapped, rather appalled by Ezekiel’s untimely appearance. The elder gunsmith was still endorsed in glutton, his face smeared with the spoils of chicken meat. He stared skeptically at his young apprentice, sizing up the youngster before he commanded. There was something on the gunsmith’s mind that needed to be done, a task that needed to be finished before the day was over, and he really only snacked to jog his memory. Ezekiel standing by his door provided no aid at all for him, rather, Enfield doubted that the boy had discarded the smelly arquebus at all. It wasn’t in the North’s character to leave a task incomplete. No matter. Enfield did not want to be in the shop today, because that horrid woman would be visiting, or something else that slipped his mind would be required to have tending to and Ezekiel needed to work more anyways. It wasn't that his apprentice didn't work, it was that he could work more. He was a man.
”If you’re done with that,---then---you watch the hellhole.” Enfield said between bites, gesturing to indicate that the “hellhole” was the shop. He neatly wrapped his chicken ruin in a piece of untamed cloth, making his way to the exit of his room, Ezekiel sidestepping to allow it. They both awkwardly moved into the small hallway. Ezekiel bobbed his head obediently, and Enfield left shortly after. The latter was reluctant.
It wasn’t something Ezekiel wasn’t used to. He was used to being left behind at home because his mother and father were off at the Council doing something rather relevant and important enough to leave him behind. Oftentimes he was left with Arthur to learn, other times he simply left the house to vandalize his signature in the market or granted the lake near his home a visit. But this wasn’t like home. It was anything but small, and it smelled burnt. It smelled very burnt and partly due to Ezekiel’s diet because Enfield made him sausages. Enfield wasn’t a good cook. Ezekiel was, though. He usually made Enfield's food, sans this time because he was supposedly busy with the arquebus earlier. Vindicator was still in his room, hidden inside Arthur's sack.
The North boy made his way to the front of the shop, the part of the shop that he seldom visited and hated the most. He did not like to tend to customers much, but he was improving at it, and Enfield noticed. Touching his eyepatch, Ezekiel observed all the perfected Enfield-North arms that embellished the wall behind the front counter, satisfied that there was something in the front that was worth visiting and looking at.
He grunted when he noticed something he hadn’t before.
It wasn’t a gun.
A small painting of a woman.
Ezekiel didn’t know this woman. She had short, cropped hair, a sandy color that supplemented her clear, amber eyes. Her lips formed neither a smile or a frown, and she had a very small face. It wasn’t a bad face, it was probably pretty to men. Ezekiel was not a judge of human beauty, so he couldn’t really tell any difference or come to any conclusion. He liked the wood-colored dress she wore, as plain as it was. It was free of lace and gemstone, so he figured she was probably a commoner. Why Enfield had her face framed at the store’s front was something Ezekiel found rather hard to answer.
He fell asleep at the counter. It wasn’t a busy day because it was a Sunday. He didn’t sleep for long, though. Someone was being loud, and his dream where he was very powerful and shooting holes in walls to form his three-pronged symbol was interrupted rudely. He was not very appreciative of this.
”Ezekiel? Ezekiel, dear?”
He woke to the tapping on his head, his good eye in focus. The woman who said his name seemed rather upset.
”That’s you, isn’t it?” she questioned, her eyes fixed on him like a doubtful cat. ”Oh, don’t tell me you don’t speak!”
Ezekiel considered this.
“I am Ezekiel North.” he said flatly. Who was this woman? She was the same one in the picture, if his one good eye was indeed as good as he hoped.
”Oh. That’s good, because Enfield said you should be here. Does he still have that silly picture of me?”
Ezekiel nodded, pointing a finger at the woman’s small portrait. This seemed to excite her, she clapped her hands and started rubbing them together, and it bothered the North boy. He didn't like people who couldn't stand still.
”Wonderful! I hear Enfield-North Arms are preparing a larger catalogue soon? I’m from the Imperial Guard, you see. My name is Jasmine Elady, but do call me Joss.” her young features were rather strange to him, they animated quickly and when she spoke, her lips were faster than anything he’d ever seen. She was very weird.
“That is all very true, but Enfield says ‘none of this s**t is ready to be sent to any whorehouse just yet,’” Ezekiel mimicked exactly, glad to have remembered word for word (yet again!) even though his master was drunk when he spoke them.
His words made Joss laugh, and she laughed weird too. She sounded like Uncle Arthur during his coughing fits, except with a woman’s sound.
“I’m awfully sorry--you can come by again tomorrow--” Ezekiel began, though he was cut off by her steady stare. He wondered if he had something on his face, or if it was his missing eye that intrigued her.
”I’m sorry, but you have a very young face. How old are you, Mr. North, hm?” she sounded very amused.
“Nineteen, ma’am, but Enfield says I talk like I’m eighty.”
”Nonsense, lad! You sound lovely. You are just the right age to join the guard, you know?” Joss laughed, slapping the boy roughly across the chest. She was very strong, he felt a bruise forming.
She pointed towards her blue uniform, decorated with fanciness. Ezekiel wondered if Arthur looked like that too.
”See this uniform? I am most confident that you would appear most smashing in it!”
“Miss Joss, are you indicating that I should join the Imperial Guard because they have fanciness?” Ezekiel questioned uneasily. He liked his clothes as they were, Enfield said they were very fitting on him, and he himself couldn’t imagine his reflection withotu them. “I don’t know if I’d like fanciness.”
Joss was in hysterics. She was gasping for air at this point, and Ezekiel didn’t understand why the woman was dying. He didn’t know how to stop her dying either, so he sort of remained stationary where he stood, his hands reaching for nothing in particular while his face was scrunched up.
”NO, NO! You are so silly! There is always a reason to join, mostly to protect and serve the Emperor, but there are other benefits as well if you know where to look, aye?”
“I-I don’t know,” the North boy stuttered, afraid that the woman would keel over and he’d have a corpse to deal with (he’d never dealt with dead people before).
”Well, I’ll be on my way now, do take care of Mikhail for me--he’s an old horse.” Joss said, looking rather smitten with herself or him--something--or the other.
“Okay.”
”Ah, tell Enfield I’m still younger then him and he should always reconsider. Tell him the truth: I am twenty.”
“Ms. Joss, does Enfield also call you Ms. Joss? Oh. I will tell him.”
”Yes, Enfield calls me Joss. You may call me whatever you well please, but I should be on my way to return! Good-bye my dear North! The Guard might p***k your interest, aye? Sometimes they find you--it was that way for me, a young pretty dame with nothing but a sword in hand.”
“Godspeed, Joss.”
And that was the end of it, and it left Ezekiell North very confused. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her. He wasn't sure if he liked her either, she was sort of something that would take him awhile to get used to, and he also didn't understand why Enfield knew her or what it was the two of them had to "reconsider" that had to do with Joss's age. He also didn't understand how Jasmine became Joss. Joss sounded very ugly to him, Jasmine sounded better. It was snazzy in the beginning, and it slid to a calm note towards the end. Yes, Jasmine suited her more.
He wondered where his own name came from.
He only knew where Vindicator's name came from. He read it in a book somewhere, a short story about a man named Lawrence freeing enslaved peoples from a horrible monster. The book said Lawrence was a vindicator. Ezekiel didn't like Lawrence's name much, but he liked Lawrence, so he named the Swanson after the synonym for the man--which he found to be good enough.
Names were weird, and so was Joss.
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Posted: Tue May 03, 2011 4:11 pm
( MISSION ) ACT 03
HIGH EXPECTATIONS - IN WHICH EZEKIEL NORTH CONTRACTS AND ENLISTS
M I S H K A N mission prompt “Enfield-North Arms is not an unknown title within the lands of Mishkan, and its brand has been a subject of much discussion amidst the Advisers as of late. We have looked upon your works, Ezekiel North, and have noticed your profound skill in firearms, but in light of current times are afraid that such skill can be used for dark things. To wield such power and give it to the common man as you and your master does is a dangerous trade, especially with Enfield-North being such a popular brand amongst the public. Examinations are vital to further your company's long standing, Mr. North.
We request that you seek examination of your trade and practice with the Imperial Guard's main headquarters in Ashcroft. Authenticate Enfield-North Arms and become a part of the Imperial Guard, and we will ensure that both the rich vitality of your company and the stable funding for your craft will go unharmed, so long as you provide your knowledge of gunsmithery as a part of the manufacturing firm for the Panymese Empire. We are aware of your master Mikhail Enfield and encourage his presence at your presentation as well, as we will also require his full compliance. The Headquarters will be open for you at any time, so long as you are prepared, and five Captains from all regions will be there to authorize your place in the Imperial Guard. To get inside of the Headquarters, please be sure to give them the second paper of this letter, branded in blood and letter by my name.
I hope for the pleasure of your cooperation,
Adviser Krause
Ezekiel stood up from his workbench upon reading the letter and scurried across the hallway to Enfield’s office. Enfield did not notice the door creaking open, and Ezekiel poked his head in, slightly inclined. His mentor was bent over a book, examining a rifle by candlelight. Enfield always looked that way when he was reading, moreso a scholar than a smith. It was rather comical to Ezekiel, and the boy wanted to laugh a bit. When Enfield stirred, Ezekiel quickly stiffened, afraid that Enfield would see his expression.
Enfield coughed, aware of his apprentice’s presence. He didn’t notice the letter.
“Ezekiel... was this model one of yours?” He asked, not looking up from his work. His dusty fingers tapped the weapon. Ezekiel, still holding the letter, took a step closer into the light to identify the weapon that Enfield held. He recognized it immediately by the radical cranked cylindrical lever on the top of the weapon, and nodded. Yes, it was his model. He beamed, proud that Enfield took notice. He was always proud when Enfield took notice.
“What is this... pipe on it? Some new wizardry you’ve cooked, eh boy? Does it work?”
It wasn’t.
“Sir, it’s a system I devised that should be simpler, and easier to handle than one of our regular levered repeaters.” Ezekiel shoved the letter into his pocket, took the rifle from Enfield, and pushed the pipe upwards, letting it fall to reveal a space behind the breach of the rifle.
A demonstration like always, routine, routine, routine. It was the only way to convince Enfield of anything.
“Ten rounds could be loaded directly into the rifle,” he pushed the cranked piece of steel back to its original position, and tapped it shut.
“And then fired.” He pulled the crank backwards, and pushed it forward once more.
“And then fired again.” Crank back, Crank forth.
“And again.” Back, and forth.
“And yet again.” Ezekiel handed the rifle to Enfield. “This whole system is as simple as the device that holds your garden gate shut. I’m certain the people will figure it out somehow. If not, I can demonstrate to the customers.”
“Then bring it to Krause.”
Ezekiel was taken back. Enfield knew about the letter already? he thought, quietly touching the paper in his pocket. He wondered if the funny Joss woman told him, the one that looked nice and thought that the militia’s fanciness suited him. He wasn’t sure if Joss would be with Krause. Krause wanted his cooperation, or at least, his and Enfield’s cooperation, but he wasn’t sure if Joss knew about this. He hadn’t thought of Joss until now, and already his mind was making fantastical leaps--something it only started to do recently.
Enfield coughed again.
“I cannot go with you, as my health denies it. Take your new rifle, and some of our signature repeaters. And for the love of God, leave that damn Arquebus; no need bringing a broken weapon, let alone a dirty one to see people of importance!” Enfield muttered hastily, though he stressed the Arquebus part to Ezekiel’s notice.
“Yessir.” Ezekiel replied, mundane in his answer.
Enfield really did not like Vindicator. Ezekiel hoped to change that.
He left the room with the rifle, taking it with him into the warehouse, and grabbed four of the fabled Model 1411s into his arms. He hoped the Imperial Guard needed new barrels. It would be a shame if they were using weapons that weren’t mine, Ezekiel said to himself, drifting into thought. In a sense, the militia was like his mother. In fact, lots of things were like his mother. Customers, actually, “people”, not “things”. He had everything they probably needed but he didn’t know what to get them. He disliked people who couldn’t decide; he detested tending to the customers in the shop front. Enfield, however,always pressed that Ezekiel was rather eloquent with sales but the boy begged to differ. It wasn’t a measure of modesty, moreso of irritation.
Perhaps the military would be decisive.
Come first light, he was on his way. Enfield had called for a wagon, which had arrived on time. Piling the five rifles into the empty wagon, he took note to include Vindicator in his own personal sack (because he didn’t want Enfield to be angry nor loud). First light was a quiet light, and Ezekiel liked it. People were asleep, the town was quiet, and nobody hollered at him because they were asleep. Enfield was asleep too, but he was awake enough to call for a wagon and that was fine with Ezekiel.
The road to the headquarters was a sleepy but certain one. Ezekiel hurried the mules, and Vindicator continued to stink (so Ezekiel removed him from the bag of guns and placed him in a holster within his vest). He didn’t fall asleep though, even if it was early. Ezekiel always figured sleeping to be a thief of a form: taking away precious time that could be devoted to innovation. However, dreams were different. Dreams were where all the plans came together, so sometimes sleeping wasn’t so bad; at least, a double-edged sword. On this particular ride, he was glad he didn’t fall asleep because the headquarters was perhaps the most barricaded system he’d ever seen with his good eye. The Emperor’s soldiers that were nearby stared at him quizzically, though some of them recognized him as the co-owner of Enfield-North due to his iconic eyepatch. Ezekiel did not say hello.
It didn’t matter.
Joss reappeared from behind a gate, her eyes bright with recognition when she saw him.
”Oh, bless Rhine, Mr. North, you decided to join us? Joss said excitedly ”Ahh, this is so very exciting!” She approached him while sheathing her sword. Ezekiel didn’t notice her sword was even out of its sheath earlier until she sheathed it, really. He wondered what she was doing earlier, but he couldn’t think straight while she shot her mouth rapidly like the arquebus (if it worked). She was dressed more plain today, in brown instead of the military uniform she donned before. He liked her in brown, fanciness never did anyone Ezekiel knew any improvement.
Joss was interrupted by her superior, a man dressed head to toe in fanciness, a beard dripping from his jaw and ending at his chin. He resembled Enfield, but he towered over the smith in height. The man’s arrival silenced Joss immediately, and he opened one great hand expectantly.
No introduction was necessary, and Ezekiel placed Kraus’s second paper in his hand. He waited patiently while the giant scrutinized the form. The latter looked over the North boy’s shoulder at the wagon, measuring up the arms the boy bought with him. He then waved his great paw again, and several soldiers approached the wagon, emptying its contents.
Ezekiel was glad that speech was not necessary for the exchange. Simple “Yessirs” and “Nossirs” were all that the giant needed from him, and it seemed as if the military and Enfield’s deal was made well. He, however, dreaded the thought of joining the imperial guard. He was sure that Enfield had skipped that part while reading Kraus’s paper, though Ezekiel did not. He liked the military, but he did not like the fanciness. He did not like the fanciness on Joss, and he was certain that the fanciness would make him look silly.
Finally, the giant sized up the boy himself, grunting at Joss who already had a prepared uniform in hand.
”Keh. Forget it, Elady. He doesn’t want it.” the man said, thrusting a thumb at Ezekiel at the mention of “He”. ”He won’t need it yet, not now, at least.”
Ezekiel decided he liked the dripping beard man.
”However--”
Ezekiel looked up again.
”He will need to keep it close. Ezekiel was it?”
“Yessir.”
”High expectations, boy.”
“Yessir.”
”High expectations, though from what my brother has told me...you will fulfill them well.”
Ezekiel nodded slowly, wondering if he misheard.
Brother?
”You appear confused; I am Stokes Enfield, has Mikhail spoken of me?”
Ezekiel shook his head in denial. Enfield rarely talked about his family, and when he did, he only mentioned himself as the sole character. Ezekiel stared at Stokes' dripping beard, and wondered how good of a smith the other Enfield brother was.
"Good. Then my brother is amiable with your enlisting. Rockris, Lewis!"
Two soldiers still carrying armloads of Enfield-North weaponry turned to him, their cheeks red from the exercise.
"Are those all that remain?" Stokes questioned sharply. Joss made a little noise, most likely because she craved attention as well.
"Yessir," the two men replied in unison, though Lewis chuckled at the sight of a disgruntled Joss.
"Elady, return to the headquarter interiors with Lewis and Rockris." Stokes paused. "North--you will return to your brother with news of your enlistment and a successful contract. Congratulations, and we will be expecting nothing less of brilliance from you. I hear you are a wonder shot. Pray you live up to your title."
He eyed Ezekiel wearily before retreating with the trio.
Ezekiel could make little of what happened, sans that he had fanciness now, and Enfield would want to hear about everything that happened. He would ask Enfield about Stokes, he was very curious about Stokes.
The North boy hurried the mules for return.
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Posted: Tue May 03, 2011 4:20 pm
( PRP ) ACT 04
THE GUNSMITH'S AEGIS - IN WHICH EZEKIEL SAVES A PRODIGAL SON AND REAPS A PROFIT
M I S H K A N  F O R E S T ( N I G H T )click the gunpowder for link
FEATURING: Dorian Arelgren, Lettie
STATUS: COMPLETE
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 1:01 pm
( PRP ) ACT 05
THE FEAST BEFORE THE HARVEST - IN WHICH EZEKIEL AND ENFIELD SATISFY LETTIE'S SEEDS OF REVENGE
M I S H K A N E N F I E L D - N O R T H ( M O R N I N G )click the gunpowder for link
FEATURING: Dorian Arelgren, Lettie
STATUS: COMPLETE
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 2:28 pm
( PRP ) ACT 06
WHERE THE THREE ENDS MEET - IN WHICH EZEKIEL FINDS SHYREGOED MORE CHARMING THAN MISHKAN
S H Y R E G O E D T R I N I T Yo T A V E R N ( A F T E R N O O N )click the gunpowder for link
FEATURING: Dorian Arelgren, Lettie ; Wickwright Finch, Hopkin
STATUS: COMPLETE
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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2011 12:27 am
( SOLO ) ACT 07
ADVISOR KRAUS'S ADVICE - IN WHICH EZEKIEL NORTH LEARNS AN IMPORTANT LESSON
M I S H K A N
Having left the tavern, Ezekiel found that his new smock was a bit stiff on his arms and that his range of movement was limited. But nevertheless, his buttons were shielded from the elements and that had to amount for something. He needed to head to Advisor Kraus again because Enfield said she was a "big customer" and that meant Advisor Kraus would be seeing an awful lot of him and an awful lot of the Enfield-North weapons. No matter, he needed to hurry to Advisor Kraus, he didn't know her well enough to know if she'd be angry with him for being late, but he thought maybe she wouldn't because he kept his buttons clean. His back straightened as his running quickened into a stride. If Enfield didn't take the wagon yesterday, Ezekiel would not have to run. Sometimes he wondered if Enfield planned everything out the day before so that he would always get the wagon and Ezekiel would only get it sometimes.
It was ok with Ezekiel though, so long as things got done and Enfield said "good work, lad, doubling your dinner for tonight" because "doubling" always meant "good".
Ezekiel shook his head. He didn't want to think of dinner right now, and regretted not asking Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons for food earlier at the tavern. Dorian Arelgren had not looked very good, so the North boy decided it was probably not a good idea to ask Dorian Arelgren at the time either. Sometimes he needed to be "sensitive", like Enfield said, to other peoples' troubles. People were awfully strange and Ezekiel only understood people sometimes anyways. He furrowed his brow.
His thoughts weren't very focused right now. He thought of Advisor Kraus, and her tight lips and narrowed eyes. He did not want her to look that way when he got to the military post, so he ran faster.
The tavern wasn't too far away from the next military post, but it meant going through a forest (again). He was quite used to forests now, having been through them many times over. He felt that he should have talked to Dorian Arelgren and the other man a bit longer, but he quickly reminded himself that Advisor Kraus was waiting so he had to hurry. He was in the military now, and the idea that his responsibilities doubled because of it was hard for him to digest. He was accustomed to simply staying in the shop to craft or build, never deliveries. He used to be in more than out more, but it was all very different very quickly now. He didn't even get to see Enfield's maybe brother a lot, and he didn't have the time to ask Enfield if Stokes really was his brother or if they were just good friends (because in stories, sometimes 'good friends' were 'brothers' and the terms were interchangeable).
The forest clearing came into sight, and Ezekiel continued onwards. Fairton wouldn't be too far, and he'd marked the trees for a more efficient passage. He paused momentarily within a clearing to collect his breath, hoping that he would make it in time. After a short pause, he continued again, his feet keeping up with his breath now, better than before. He closed his eyes in the final dash, leaving the forest as only thoughts behind him.
"Ok," Ezekiel confirmed when he saw soldiers stare back at him from the post they guarded. They recognized him and worked quickly to unbar the great, wooden door, allowing the tall boy entry to meet the Lady Kraus, or whoever it was to be the preliminary greeter. One soldier cocked an eyebrow at the sight of Ezekiel's uniform, a goofy grin spreading over his face at how the boy wore it.
Ezekiel chose to take no notice to this. He was doing what was good, protecting his buttons from getting dirty. His front was a mess though, from the forest's dust and dirt. Leaves had made their home in his hair, also, and twigs caught onto his boots. He didn't have a problem with any of those things because they were not the weapons he was supposed to deliver, according to the Imperial Guard's wishes. He was surprised to see that the confines of the post were quite empty and that few soldiers remained inside. Enfield had told him to expect many people and therefore to pick his words carefully, which made sense to the North boy, because Advisor Kraus was a very important person. He inferred that she must have been very strong too if there were few soldiers left behind. Firstly, women usually had many men around to protect them, but if she was a strong woman, she wouldn't need as many, or maybe none at all. Joss was still training, so Joss needed her friends, as Ezekiel recalled.
He was motioned to wait by a stack of barrels, and he twitched his nose at the smell from them.
Gunpowder
Advisor Kraus was also prepared, and this gave the North boy a small amount of relief.
"Mr. North?"
A woman's voice called. It sounded strong, confident, and thick. Ezekiel lifted his chin and stood tall. Through his good eye, he could make out the outline of Kraus from afar, and he could see that she was also very tall and had the same austere features as Enfield when he wanted to get something done right away. Her tight lips relaxed at the sight of him, and she gestured to a nearby soldier to relieve him of his sack.
"How many repeaters Mr. North? We'll have them counted as we should, but hearing it from the horse's mouth first is a method of professionalism. I assume you're adjusting well to the Imperial Guard?"
Ezekiel opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.
"The uniform. You need to wear it correctly, Mr. North. See, you've gotten the front ruined. While normally such ignorance to the Guard's attire would earn you a punishment of some sort, you've come a long way and you are rather young for a soldier. It seems almost cruel of me to, but mark my words, the next time you do something foolish..."
She paused in mid-sentence, wondering what affliction would horrify the boy the most. Her eyes adverted from his uniform to his blank face, and she sighed and shook her head. She turned away from him momentarily, gazing at something in a nearby tower. It seemed her focus was distracted, and Ezekiel took the moment to interject and explain himself like he should.
"There are thirty repeaters because Enfield didn't give me too much time to work on them," he remarked awkwardly. "But they are all functional and tested to ensure operation. I wear the uniform backwards because I don't want to get the buttons dirty. Military uniform is fanciness and fanciness needs to stay clean where it's fancy," he continued steadily.
There was a pause.
Kraus studied him for a bit with wide eyes and slow nods. "Ye-e-es."
Ezekiel resisted the urge to frown. Advisor Kraus said "yes", but he knew that she truly meant "no". Nonetheless, she continued on her speech from earlier, sighing before she began.
"You are very young, Mr. North. Additionally to your youth, you have expectations because of your craft and ability. You are a valuable resource and you musn't forget so. Your responsabilities have doubled, but it's for the good of Rhine and the welfare of Mishkan. I am indebted to you in some way, but you musn't forget your duty to the Guard---" She touched his chest lightly. "---and that begins with respect to your uniform."
"Yessir," Ezekiel nodded, staring down at his dirtied front.
Kraus smiled lightly, something Ezekiel didn't expect of her so quickly to do.
"There's a washroom inside, you might want to cleanse yourself and borrow a steed in your return. Mikhail Enfield is quite the jester in sending you here on foot! It is quite a far journey Mr. North."
Ezekiel shook his head.
"It was ok. I met Dorian Arelgren of the Ribbons and a Mr. Wickwright Finch on the way, but I didn't get to speak to them for long." he admitted. He scratched his head at this, and he almost pinked when she stared some more. Advisor Kraus liked to stare a lot, he noticed, and he wondered if she stared at just about everyone she came across, like how Joss talked to everyone she came across.
"...You don't leave the shop much, do you, Mr. North? Made any friends?" she asked carefully. Her eyebrows were knitted together, and she held on of the repeaters he delivered in her hands. She seemed to be feigning focus on it, but pretended to aim it all the same to test how well her arms coordinated to its weight.
"Nosir. I only get to talk to people sometimes, usually very brief. I think it's become a habit because Enfield puts me in the shop front to talk to customers about what they want to buy. That is all."
She frowned again.
"That won't do Mr. North. You will have to try to make more friends, especially in the Imperial Guard. It is all about reliance and shared responsibilities in here, you are not on your own. Do you understand, Mr. North?"
He shook his head. He did not understand. He was never required to make long-term relationships.
Kraus lowered the repeater, and spoke more softly this time.
"In the Guard, we rely on our comrades to come to our aid when we are in dire need of them. On the battlefield, all you can rely on is the blade and shields of your fellow soldiers, but some may not feel they are obliged to you unless you are obliged to them. Friendship becomes an obligation, but it is a strong feeling that ties people together. It's a wonderful thing, Mr. North. I suggest you seek it."
Ezekiel stared, his lips twitching.
"I do not know how to make friends. I don't meet people I think that want to be my friend."
Kraus looked at him funny. "What about Mr. Wickwright and Dorian Ribbons?"
Ezekiel looked down.
"I don't know if I'll see them again. And they are not in the Guard so they will not save my life when I am in dire need."
"Mr. North, it doesn't matter who it is that becomes your friend, their affiliation, I mean. It's the fact that the two of you made a connection and made it last. If you see the two again, be sure to try, Mr. North. In the meantime, you must find more soldiers to befriend--they are important."
Ezekiel nodded, feeling strange.
"Now I've kept you long enough. The washroom is to the North and the stables are beside it. Wash yourself and your uniform, take a steed and depart swiftly! None of your hanging by here, there is nothing more to see."
With a slight push, Advisor Kraus disappeared into the tower from which she came, leaving Ezekiel North with his own mission to fulfill.
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Posted: Sun Oct 23, 2011 3:57 pm
( SOLO ) ACT 08
BROTHERS - IN WHICH EZEKIEL NORTH AND MIKHAIL ENFIELD HAVE A TALK
M I S H K A N
"What's wrong, boy?" Enfield yawned, slapping his mouth with a large hand. He eyed Ezekiel when he threw himself on the shop floor, staring through a ghostly, opal eye at nothing in particular. He seemed occupied on something else altogether, and Enfield felt that he wasn't in the right place to say just what. Ezekiel North was the enigma of Mishkan, a genius at that, but nothing more than a genius at weaponry. At most other things, he had little to no clue of how to act or do. His face told the same story today, and Enfield threw the boy a small bag of candies he received from Joss not too long ago. He never ate anything she gave him, he usually gave it to a customer or whatnot.
"Alright, I see you don't want'a talk 'bout it. It's fine, take a chew at least," Enfield encouraged while scratching his head. "Children love 'em. There's nuts inside, I think. Covered with chocolate. Sommat like that."
Ezekiel absently pulled the bag's lips open, dumping the sweet contents into his mouth and giving the chocolate-covered nuts a good chew. He swallowed it rather quickly, the entire bag's contents. It was very sweet, and he wasn't sure if he liked it that sweet. He frowned at Enfield, and the man shrugged. Enfield seemed to be waiting for him to say something, so he decided he would to put Enfield at an ease. He rolled over to his side.
"I met Advisor Kraus today," he said.
"Oh? How'sat?"
"Not sure. She said 'you must find more soldiers to befriend--they are important' and that I must make friends with other people too."
"Well I'll be damned, boy! That's all I've been saying these past years, and only that woman gets through to you? Damn."
Ezekiel looked at him with a new expression.
"How do I do that? What do friends talk about?"
"Beats me. Common interests? My best friend is my bro'er. Brother. Stokes Enfield. Left me for the guard, but can't blame him. He's always liked a good 'venture. We talked mostly about smithing I guess."
"I met Stokes Enfield. He is a nice man."
At this, Enfield was interested.
"Did you, boy? Was he chatty? He's the more chatty one."
"Yes. But you didn't answer my question. Advisor Kraus said it was important to make long, lasting relationships. Stokes Enfield was not a long lasting relationship."
Enfield frowned deeply, drawing himself up from the counter and yawning loudly. Ezekiel stared at the ceiling still, knowing that he'd made a point with Enfield and that Enfield was wrong. Enfield was never a gracious loser, and he surrendered with a soliloquy of a sort while Ezekiel listened.
"Mm. Stokes is my younger brother, and of course, the one with the worse beard. If he screams at'cha that he's the older one, he's lyin'. He's not. We grew up together in this shop with our pap, he was a strong man with good arms, and we learned from him how to smith. At the time, the Guard wasn't too much of a big deal, and neither were we. Enfield Arms didn't have you yet, yeah? It was just the three of us. Mam died of the Plague early on, but we never knew who she was, just what she died of. Didn't care, really."
Ezekiel nodded, chewing on the corner of the small bag. Enfield continued.
"So pap made deliveries while Stokes and I made swords and shields. The smaller swords we made daggers 'cause they were, well, smaller. We were alright at it, and pap said they were 'able to be marketed off'. It was all good for awhile, but pap died too, of drowning. Fell into a lake or sommat on a delivery, and I took care of Stokes for a few strong years."
"I guess it was to be expected that Stokes would leave, yeah? He always liked the way the Imperial Guard came into town with their nice horses and clothes. Stuff we didn't have. Couldn't afford. So he left, and I thought it was a'right. No bother."
Ezekiel turned and stared at him again, with the expression of Enfield, you're lying.
"A'right--ah-right. He wouldn't come home even if I asked nicely so I just left him there. He tried getting me into it by sending a silly woman of some sort who seemed to take a liking to me. She couldn't 'cruit me, but she did happen to damn well like me. She seems to like you too. Hm. Joss. Don't remember her real name and don't seem to give a damn."
"Oh. So Enfield has no long lasting relationships?" Ezekiel interjected, he seemed rather sullen. He adjusted his eyepatch and sat up straight now, his fingers drumming the floor beside him. He wouldn't get any answers from Enfield, and the latter knew this well.
"No. Can't. I stay here."
"So if I want friends, I have to go out there?"
The realization was an ugly one, something Ezekiel dreaded but knew had to be done. He knew before asking Enfield, but hearing the confirmation from his mentor was enough somehow.
"I suppose so, North."
"...Enfield? Are we friends?"
The question knocked the elder man off his guard, and he appeared to be baffled, watching the boy with a new, odd look.
"I'd want to think so, North."
"So if you are my friend, I just need to learn from other people to become their friends because Enfield taught me and we have a long-lasting relationship."
"I guess you can put it that way, yeah."
Ezekiel's lips did something funny, and the other man realized that it was a smile. The younger of the men tapped his eye-patch and stood up.
"Okay. I need to learn from other people then and become friends," Ezekiel declared, which made his mentor laugh lightly.
"Yes, North. Possibilities are damn endless if you look everywhere. I'm hitting the sack. You should too soon. It's dark."
But Ezekiel didn't hear him.
He could begin anywhere at anytime, and this thrilled him. But for tonight, it was a long night, traveling back from Kraus's post back to the store, and sleep called for his company.
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Posted: Tue Nov 22, 2011 11:32 pm
( SOLO ) ACT 09
SALUTATIONS TO THE GROUND - IN WHICH EZEKIEL NORTH IS NOT A PART OF THE SYSTEM
M I S H K A N
Ezekiel woke violently, flailing his arms and landing with an audible thud on the wooden ground. His dream was not a nightmare but it wasn't anything soft either. He dreamed that Joss gave him fancier uniform. It was heavy because of all the golden decorations on it and weighed him down; he got shot to death very badly by an invading force because he couldn't move very well. In his dream, Joss had longer hair and seemed prettier. Ezekiel rarely dreamt about women and Joss was much older than him, and he wondered if this dream meant anything. He would ask Enfield later, and he would do his best to avoid Joss. He wasn't accustomed to seeing her very pretty to him, nor did he want her to give him a uniform that would make him get shot. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand, and he could feel the indentation of a missing eyeball. Relieved by it, he flipped his eyepatch back to where it belonged, and yawned loudly.
He kicked a nearby stool when another yawn joined him.
Ezekiel quickly scrambled to his bed, his hands in front of him with the palms facing out, as if to shield himself from an invisible enemy. He was certain that he wasn't imagining things. He knew what was real and what was not, such as a normal Joss and a very, very attractive Joss.
"Who's there? There's no use in hiding," he advised, his voice slightly off-tone. "Come on, out with you. Come on."
At first, there was no reply, so Ezekiel decided he probably was dreaming and yawned again, but immediately slammed his hand against the wall when he heard another yawn harmonize with his. He knew something was odd, and he yawned again to continue his experiment. The yawn came as expected. Good. Now to test different variables. Maybe the invisible stranger communicated through yawns. Or maybe it wasn't used to speaking yet, or maybe, just maybe it was a mute. And it could only yawn. The gunsmith would see to it.
"Cooahhmmmmmm Ahhhoot," Ezekiel said in yawn-speak. He waited, but no creature nor person revealed themselves, at first, at least. He frowned in disappointment and placed his hands on his cheeks. The invisible thing did not want to be his friend, but it did like to yawn with him. Ezekiel wanted to be its friend though, if it did want to talk to him, because Advisor Krause said that connections were of a chief importance. Defeated, the North Boy lied back down on his bed, wide-awake and slightly grumpy. He decided that yawning was a dumb way to communicate and it made sense why humans spoke clearly, unless they were Enfield. Sometimes Arthur used unclear things that were called "mettafors" that Ezekiel also found dumb.
He jolted out of bed when a scraping sound was clearly heard, and something fell with a quick thud onto the floor.
He looked over.
It looked back.
"Huh."
A miniature man with black skin and glowing white eyes blinked at the North boy, his dotted mouth thinned in a line. He cocked his head at Ezekiel as if he didn't understand a word the boy breathed. Where his fingers should have been were gold gun-barrel like ends. Ezekiel couldn't tell if it were friendly nor hostile, but he knew it wasn't his. Maybe it was from the wild. A lonely island where people yawned to speak. It was as little bigger than his hand. He was probably dreaming so he decided he would probably go back to sleep.
"Salutations," the little man finally said.
"Hullo." Ezekiel answered back. It apparently spoke Panymese.
"Who are you?" the miniature asked. He appeared to be very puzzles and kicked at his hat on the ground. He didn't put it on his head and Ezekiel was sure of himself that he wasn't going to touch anything the little man owned.
"Ezekiel North. What are you?" Ezekiel asked. He remembered what Lettie looked like, and Lettie was a 'Plague'. Whatever this thing was looked nothing like Lettie and was much, bigger too. This was not a Plague. This was a very little man who spoke Panymese and shouldn't be in his room.
"An arquebus, I think."
"You don't look like one. Where is my arquebus? Where is Vindicator? This isn't very funny, little man. That arquebus is good. It is rare." Ezekiel felt himself grow angry. He was certain the arquebus was on his desk before he fell asleep, and not only was it gone, but a strange little man who asked strange little questions was in his room. He swooped down from the bed and grabbed the little man tightly with both hands, pressing them together to make the miniature fellow as uncomfortable as he could.
"But I am! Oh, I am! I am the arquebus, I am changed!" the creature squealed, his fingers smoking.
"Say it again, I dare you," Ezekiel warned.His impassive voice edging into a near-snarl. He glared as hard as he could at the little man.
"S-salutations?" the miniature tried weakly, relaxing himself in the North boy's vicegrip.
That did it.
"SALUTATIONS TO THE GROUND!" Ezekiel cried, hurling the little man to the floor. "YOU'RE NOT AN ARQUEBUS, YOU ARE A LITTLE MAN. Don't try to convince me otherwise--you haven't shown a very good stack of evidence, aye?"
The impact was a hard one, and the gentlemanly-dressed little man performed a few tumbles before landing once more on his bottom. The little man opened his mouth to speak after rubbing his bottom, but Ezekiel interjected by pointing a rough finger in the stomach of the creature.
"Where have you hidden my arqeubus?"
The little man glared back finally, showing some fight.
"Hat."
At first, Ezekiel did not know what the little man meant by 'hat', but when he looked at the little man harder, specifically, the little man's hat, the doubts were cleared and the meaning settled. The North boy lowered his chin to the ground so that he was eye-level with the impish thing.
"So you are Vindicator. You are mine. I am Ezekiel North, you are mine."
Vindicator was apathetic about this.
"Aye. I am Vindicator, and I curse you like the others before you."
"Good."
Krause was right. He would get along with his new friends.
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Posted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 5:13 pm
( SOLO ) ACT 10
DE-EVOLUTION - IN WHICH EZEKIEL NORTH IS UNHAPPY WITH VINDICATOR AS A "LITTLE MAN"
M I S H K A N
"Do you shoot well?" asked Ezekiel, eyeing the gun barrels on Vindicator's hands, or, he supposed, those were the little man's hands.
"Aye." came the reply.
"Do you know how to prove it?" asked Ezekiel again, and Vindicator looked around Ezekiel's chambers before coming to an obvious conclusion.
"Can I shoot at all of this? This is yours?" the plague asked, bewildered.
Ezekiel blinked.
"What."
"Can I shoot at any of this? Do you like it? Do you like table?" the Plague questioned, and Ezekiel realized that Vindicator was referring to everything inside the gunsmith's room. Vindicator pointed at several maps that Ezekiel had attached to the wall of his room. "Do you like...do you like map?"
"What can I shoot?"
At first, Ezekiel was at a loss of words. "Wait here," he told Vindicator, "I will bring you a good target."
In somewhat of a daze, he fumbled out of his living chambers, and retrieved the portrait of Joss from Enfield's desk. Enfield would not need it, Ezekiel would not need it, and Joss gave it away. He returned to his room, where Vindicator was waiting like a very small dog, sitting in like one in fact, and Ezekiel placed the portrait neatly across the floor on the ground. Vindicator's glowing eyes gave off a squinting look. He had never seen another person other than Ezekiel North before. Especially one that was not a boy!
"Do you like her? Who is she?" he asked, curious.
"She is Joss." Ezekiel quickly shot back, he wanted to start getting to the gun testing part of his interview with his new little friend, and he didn't appreciate how many inquiries he was receiving in return.
"What does Joss do?" asked Vindicator.
"Joss gives me heavy uniforms that could kill me. I don't want to die. So shoot Joss."
"...Ok."
The arquebus raised his hands to eye level and his fingertips roman candled to life. It was a spectacle that should have reminded Ezekiel of the popopopopop-ing of raindrops on the river, except louder, and it should have ended the portrait of Joss, swiss-cheesing the paper with holes. But nothing happened, and Ezekiel was disappointed. Gunsmoke was all that was present. It suddenly occurred to him that Vindicator could not shoot from his hands any more because he was no longer a gun, but a little man. But even as a gun, Vindicator could not shoot. Being a little man only complicated things, and Ezekiel frowned. He had taken a step back, from gun to little man. Now he had to find a way to turn little man back to gun.
"Well, ********." said Vindicator, and Ezekiel noted his plague's posh-ness, since the exclamation came out sounding more like "Weel, fook."
Ezekiel nodded in agreement with Vindicator's profanity and rubbed his hands together. "I am going to turn you back into a gun. We are going to make you shoot boolits." He said "bullet" as "boolits" to match Vindicator's posh-ness.
"Don't patronize me" grumbled Vindicator, stomping his little foot on the hard wood. The North boy smiled, and picked up his new friend, bringing the little man to the workbench and relocating Enfield's box of protractors, rulers, compasses, and other implements to the foot of his stool.
"Lie down on your belly with your arms outstretched. Here, on this board. With your arms akimbo- like a prostitute that really wants her money." Ezekiel instructed, placing a plank of beautiful birchwood on the center of the table. Vindicator obliged, and did as he was told.
Reaching into Enfield's grimy old table caddy, the boy's fingers found a stick of charcoal, and he deftly began to draft an outline of the little man onto the wood. Ezekiel then realized that this weapon's firing mechanism would be unlike anything he had ever designed, being based around a little man rather than a flint. "You are a little man, not a flint," he thought aloud, pulling another box of parts- trigger springs and other metals from underneath the workbench and placing it within arm's reach. The boy began thumbing through the mess of parts and alas found what he wanted- a set of leaf springs.
But rather than to attach the leaf springs to a trigger mechanism, Ezekiel fashioned them into crude handcuffs and bolted them- very carefully- to the board, locking the little man in place.
"What are you doing?" Vindicator asked, rather startled at the bondage that he was receiving.
"Turning you back into a gun." Ezekiel replied, still focused on the task at hand.
"Oh, okay."
With Vindicator secured in place, Ezekiel began to work on the plank itself with his trusty saws, files, and sandpaper. "Walls" were the first to be erected, and a hinged plate was chosen as a top cover to allow for easy internal access. Not too worried about aesthetics as this was a prototype, a pair of scrapped carbine-length barrels aligned with Vindicator's cuffed hands was next on the list, followed by a modified trigger assembly (the trigger now directly connected to a paddle- positioned over Vindicator's rear end- that would "alert" him when to "shoot") and stock- "borrowed" rather shamelessly from a vaunted Model 1411.
In a matter of hours, and with Vindicator sprawled on his stomach rather uncomfortably, the "Vindicator Rifle" was complete, with a crude set of iron sights more or less held on to the boxy "little man housing" with nothing more than epoxy.
"Now you are again a gun." Ezekiel grinned, admiring his handiwork.
"Say that ten times fast", replied Vindicator, his posh-ness muffled by the rifle around him.
(( fin Dec 18, 2012 ))
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Posted: Thu Dec 20, 2012 10:53 pm
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Posted: Thu Dec 20, 2012 10:54 pm
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