Seasons of the Steel Year
Autumn - When Dawn Breaks

Amid the cupric brushstroke tones of the approaching month of Vendamaire casting clouds of color across the rolling countryside, a blade of steel cuts through forest and fen with the thunder of momentum and the unleashed power of cold, precise engineering.  Through its crystal windows, forged from super-heated sand in the forges of the Free East, the swath of the landscape blurs to impressionism; a fleeting sense of the world, it might suggest, base entertainment or mere distraction, when whatever is inside the steel chassis must be true and real and distinct.  Around you, passengers with the look of merchants, disposable income.  On the platform or between stops, others that were clothed in the finery of higher society: nobles, diplomats, and the brokers between.  Inside these cabins lurks meaning.  How real could someone of be if they were to travel via carriage, they seem to ask?

By midday, the train turns into nose north along the coast.  Hot tea is served inside as the colors outside wash from the autumnal to the slatic.  Behind the bare skeletons of marsh trees, misshapen stones huddle about the coastline before the vast pale haze of the Middle Ocean beyond.  Thick banks of dim clouds obscure the reach of the sky.  A storm tonight, perhaps, or fog tomorrow morning.

Before long the terminal chime alerts you to your stop.  The whole of the cabin rises with you, grabbing luggage, sensing haste.  Among the mass of others, you see some dressed like yourself - a uniform, delivered with your acceptance letter, in colors of navy and argent.  Some passengers react to it - recognition, of course.  Welcome some say.  Others, things less kind.

Spearpoint is a town between stone walls with the humble station just outside of it.  A modest shingled shelter on the platform, a small concourse, and a weedy stone road guides the people and carts to the entrance of the town at the tip of the peninsula.  Rocky buildings cluster about the cobbled streets, most squat but glowing within through new, clear windows.  Trails of chimney smoke drift from their stacks off with the wind.  Walking the main road, you see a flurry of activity around your approach to the Academy gates - colorful banners reading the names of local businesses with eager, friendly barkers advertising specials and sales; the warm aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted nuts, and grilled yellow drum, and just behind it the cold tang of the salty air; the cheer of old friends reuniting, potential plans, old stories retold, new stories in waiting.

At the end of the central road through town, a large stone arch - engraved upon their curved faces are the words that were printed across the bottom of your acceptance letter:

Upon Our Shoulders The Future We Build

Beyond the threshold, a collection of stately buildings of fired brick and polished glass; colonnades and quads, rotundas and gazebos, towers and tree lanes.  A ray of sun finds a break in the clouds, spilling brilliant yellow through the manicured lawns and fields.  Spearpoint Military Academy extends its arms to your arrival, austere, stately, grand.  You look up at the surrounding structures and gaps.  In time, you will know them; secrets and lessons wait patiently in time.

In the vast field to the left of the path, several groups of students cluster together beneath tall, painted standards.  You recognize the sigil on one of them - the emblem of Class Nine.  At the base of the standard in front of the group of new-comer students, a fresh-faced man in a minium peacoat over a silver dress shirt waves with an affable smile.  Despite his youth, he has the bearing of a teacher.  From your position, you see three others at the bottom of their own standards - an acridi-kin in a floral bandana barely taller than her students' knees; a dark-furred Lapin-kin in a white and gold duffel coat with a severe expression on her face; and an ophidi-kin so still you could take for a statue were it not for the burning intensity of their measuring gaze.



"Good afternoon, everyone!" your smiling teacher shouts, their voice surprisingly resonate.  "It's my honor to be the first to informally welcome you to Spearpoint Military Academy.  I'm Instructor Issen Oren, the home room instructor for Class Nine.  I'm looking forward to working together with you for a great first year."  He grins widely.  A practiced speech, perhaps, but one well delivered, and genuine.

"Before we get started on our assignment before the opening ceremony - yes, we do indeed have an assignment, even before the semester actually begins! - let's do a quick roll-call."  Instructor Oren draws a scroll from their coat and begins to read, until eventually they recite your name.

What do you do?
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:59, Sat 30 Sept 2023.

Sapphire was wearing practical clothes for school. An backpack that appeared to made of leaves and bark with vines holding it together carried her current world goods. That backpack looking a little odd with a modern magi-tech flint lock repeating musket strapped to the side of it.

She greeted the other students pleasantly enough, introducing herself with a string of liquid syllables that were quite hard to remember never mind speak followed by 'Call me Sapphire'. Probably because of her deep blue eyes.

Since they were here for a while Sapphire placed the backpack on the ground. As she did a number of small blue flowers began to spring up in the grassy field near it, the same colour as her eyes.

As the instructor called out the word 'Sapphire' she raised a hand "Here I am Instructor Oren" and then watched the roll call continue

Vaulda followed the group of similarly dressed students into the grounds proper, glaring at the men as they were allowed the dignity of pants. Her hands tugged at the hem of her skirt, annoyance clear in her expression at the short length. Though in truth, even if it reached her ankles she’d be annoyed. The uniforms were stiff and made them look ridiculous, how was she supposed to fight in this? At least the shoes weren’t bad, though they needed a good hike to be properly broken in. Her rambling gait was unhurried and well practiced, it was one made for long distances with minimal weariness, dark eyes scanning the surroundings. The light reflected off of her long pale braid, maybe she should finally cut her hair she mused. She barely noticed the weight of her pack as it hung loose from her back.

There were other students, some clearly better off than others. Some pretentious elf woman greeted her, spewing out more names than sense. At least she gave a nickname. “Vaulda” was the only response given. She was entirely out of her element, leaving her a bit nervous.

The instructor began to speak, clearly attempting for a friendly tone. It made Vaulda distrust him immediately. She crossed her arms over her chest, slouching slightly as though leaning against an invisible wall. When her name was called out, she let out a loud warbling whistle to get his attention. Once had, she issued a lazy salute before settling back into her slouch, only to once more tug at her skirt and grumble under her breath.

[Edited for uniform clarification]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:15, Mon 02 Oct 2023.

Cal whistled to himself about as nonchalantly as he could as he waited for the train to reach its stop. He had never seen this many people in one place before, much less packed into as tiny a place as they were. His whistling reached a fever pitch until the stop finally arrived, and Cal bustled forward and burst onto the platform, an honest-to-Zephyr bindle over his shoulder with his extremely meager belongings held within.

The whistle's frantic nature reached a crescendo as the tune burst from enclosed train to open air, shifting gears into a rollicking melody, and with it, shifting Cal's immediate mood. He strutted through the Spearpoint gates and into the city streets, whistling a tune as jaunty as his gait. His eyes widened with surprise as he took in the sights of the city market. Almost as if with a record scratch, his little tune is cut off as he instead breathes out a low whistle of surprise.

"If there ain't more dang folk wanderin' 'round here than I ever seen in a market before..." he mumbled around the wheat straw in his mouth, pausing for a moment to absorb all of the bustle of the Spearpoint streets, fresh with the expectations of a new school year.

Finally, Cal ambled into the Academy proper, his nervousness beginning to break through the cheery air a bit. He had just started to whistle a new tune, but the mixture of organized chaos in the courtyard before him caused the tune to trail off almost as soon as he'd started it. Though there were multiple sigils and groups amassed under each, each group was abuzz with conversation and exuberance, a feeling that Cal shared but, suddenly, no longer the only loudmouth in the room, wasn't sure if he was ready to express in kind.

Somewhat awkwardly, he shuffled up next to a blonde woman with a long single braid, just in time for a flowery girl to flutter before them and introduce herself. The girl next to Cal, Vaulda, introduced herself as well, causing Cal to go into auto-pilot and do the same himself.

"Howdy there, I'm Callicus Q. Thump," he'd drawl, offering a hand to each new companion in turn, "But y'all can call me Cal."

The instructor began speaking, causing Cal to shut up, at least for the moment. Once his name was called, however, Cal spoke up once more:

"Howdy ther- I mean-" Cal coughed and made a big show of putting himself together, clicking one oversized foot against the other while affecting a crisp salute and still speaking in the most back-country dialect you'd ever hear in your life: "Present and accounted for, SIR!"

A titter of unkind laughter follows the exuberance of Cal's response, particularly from a clique of students formed around an imposing young woman, not in stature but bearing. A thick cerussitic braid falls down her back. Her hand rests on the ornate sheath of a belted dagger on her hip. She joins the merriment not, but the cast off glare from over her shoulder speaks of more imperious contempt than any noise could.

Instructor Oren chuckles kindly and gives Cal a small wave.  "At ease, cadet - there will be plenty of time for that."  He returns to the list and reads down the list, twelve in all - names like Dandoran, Pettiro, Melfisse - with a final name at the end unclaimed by any in the crowd.  The instructor waits for a response, frowns, then shrugs as he slips the list back into his coat.



"Well, I'm sure they'll be along in time."  His large smile returns to his face as he claps his hands together. His voice, as rich loud as it is soft, carries to the group.  "Cadets, listen up! In a watch and a half, we will join Classes Eight, Seven, and Six in Stellan Lecture Hall-" he points behind him to an stately building topped with a cupola at the furthest end of the campus, "-for our opening ceremony and first dinner of the year.  Since the founding of Spearpoint, it has been a tradition that the new Class of the academic year are responsible for the resourcing and preparation of the ceremony's meal that will feed all four Classes and all of the staff."  A slight murmur of the group calms as he raises a hand.  "The good folk of Spearpoint Town are aware of this tradition - they'll sell you nothing.  Any spice or seasoning will be made available in the Lecture Hall kitchen.  But all proteins and vegetables are to be gathered, cooked, and served by you alone."

"Every previous ceremony has had some truly memorable meals, so I expect you all to meet that challenge.  Remember-" he points at the position of the sun overhead. "-a watch and a half to gather, return here, and prepare the meal.  This is your first assignment, Class Nine.  Good luck!"

What do you do?

"Well it looks like it's on us" Sapphire said "And I.. I don't know about you all, but I've never cooked a banquet in my life. Still there are a load of us and I am sure between us we can make this work!"

"I have had experience in leading teams and making things happen. If anyone else wants to step up and lead or has problems with me in 'take charge' mode just shout out. Things work better usually with someone coordinating, and while I'm not much good at cooking, I can do that"

"Perhaps we'd best just start by announcing what we feel good at doing. There look to be a few tasks

• Finding the food
• Preparing the food
• Cooking the food
• Serving the food
• Providing the entertainment

"Initially the critical problem is getting the raw ingrediants. After we've all sounded off what we are good at, then we can come up with a solution to getting those"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Mon 02 Oct 2023.

Vaulda couldn't help but roll her eyes at the over-eager Lapikin and the ensuing giggles. Amateurs. That there was a first task was no surprise, they needed to make sure their recruits could cut it. Looking at her classmates, a small sneer curled her lip. Maybe half looked like they knew what a good day's work was. Rest looked softer than a Lapikin's butt.

The elf from earlier spoke up to take charge. While someone being in command wasn't an oddity to Vaulda, someone unknown and untested made her wonder just how the elf thought she'd get others to follow. Still, Vaulda knew well enough that clans and companies needed cooperation to succeed. This was probably the same.

Her suspicions about at least one of them was confirmed as the pretentious elf started to take charge. While someone being in command wasn't an oddity to Vaulda, someone untested and just assuming they'd be followed was laughable. Still, she knew well enough that clans and companies needed cooperation to succeed. This was probably the same.

"Yea, alright Sparkles. No need to lord over everyone. I can hunt. Any other that can, let's go. Rest of you go make decorations or something. Wouldn't want you to get your hands dirty, now would we?"

She dropped her pack and removed her jacket. Despite apparent lack of respect for authority or leadership, the jacket was folded with crisp precision before being placed in her pack. Pulling a leather cord from her pocket, she bundled up the long braid, securing it into a bun with practiced ease.

"Do something useful and keep an eye on my bag, will you?" She picked up her bag and tossed it to Sapphire. A quick tap to the sheathed dagger at her waist to confirm it was there was all she needed before heading toward the treeline. Hunting would probably be terrible this close to the school, especially in the damned skirt.  She'd give it a cursory scout but if there was nothing interesting, the instructor didn't say anything about alternate methods of procurement.

[Meta: Vaulda has Command 2 and will take charge of the hunters if no one else steps up.

All disrespect now and in the future is entirely IC, please don't take personal offense.

Edited for uniform clarification]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Mon 02 Oct 2023.

A haughty scoff cuts the silence the initial attempts at organization among the students.  Eyes among the class dart here, there; invisible lines being drawn in their minds.

"A golden elf from a no-name House and a mercenary cast-off have no business taking lead when a true noble is present."  A voice rich with venom, eloquent and effortlessly cruel.  When she turns to face the portion of the students around Sapphire ad Vaulda, her clique turns with her.  They look to her, already following her unspoken command.

"Didn't you hear during roll call? I am Rellka Melfisse of House Melfisse.  That's my House name on the Library.  If we are to have any chance of success during this menial task, then it's under my leadership.  And I can already tell that you-" she motions vaguely at the group of students not included in her contingent. "-are not sufficient to the task at hand."

The entourage chuckles behind her as the other students shift their feet nervously.  Rellka's eyebrows draw down into a sharpened glare.

"Go pick flowers. The real warriors will find the feast for the ceremony."

She dismisses you with the flick of her wrist.  She turns, snapping her braid, and begins a march west from campus, taking nearly half the Class with her in a slow, uncertain trail.

Instructor Oren watches without comment, the smile never moving from his face.  He observes, as if curious what will happen next.

Sapphire takes a moment before responding. Rellka was obviously just spoiling for a fight to establish dominance. She wasn't going to rise to that: a fight would just be 'an auto-fail' on the task from her perspective. Better to let Rellka try. Perhaps Rellka would even succeed. Especially if Sapphire could support her.

"Rellka of House Melfisse," she begins, giving due emphasis to the name "Your family's esteemed contribution, especially the library, speaks volumes of your lineage's dedication and wisdom. If you believe that under your leadership we stand the best chance, I shall respect and support your direction. However, let us not forget that unity and collaboration will be our true guiding stars."

She casts a thoughtful look around at the assembled group, "Each one of us here has unique skills and insights. If we combine our strengths and heed each other's counsel, success will surely be within our grasp."

With a graceful nod, she adds, "And if you deem it beneficial for me to gather flowers or undertake any other task, I stand ready."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:28, Mon 02 Oct 2023.

Cal responds to Instructor Oren's easement with a bashful grin, his saluting hand running nervously over his flattened ear as if it were a strand of long hair. Even as he does, he can't help but notice the braided individual looking at him with some sense of scorn. This brings a bit of a glint to his eye, his grin hardening into something more resembling a smirk. Regardless, he steps back, melting back towards the group formed by Sapphire and Vaulda and others.

Instructor Oren continues to give the Class Nine their first instruction, and Cal's eyes go wide at the idea of a ceremonial, celebratory meal. Now, Cal had never even so much as considered attending a banquet before in his life, much less putting one on. But ol' Paw Softfoot had told him about the weekend meals they'd have on the farm back before the war. Everybody would pitch in with their favorite dish or the nicest yield from their crops that week, a couple of the hunters would go out and find some game, and everyone would sit together and visit over a huge, hot meal.

Cal was almost too busy daydreaming to recognize that Sapphire had taken the lead, breaking down the task at hand into smaller pieces to be tackled in groups. Cal looks at her, puzzled, and lifts an interrogatory index finger, just about to ask what the heck she means by entertainment at a meal, when his interruption is, itself, rudely interrupted by the haughty braided classmate.

She introduces herself, again, demanding center stage as she forcefully wrests control of the situation away from Sapphire. Before long, she is marching off herself, with most of the class taking her lead. Cal can't help but roll his eyes, even as Sapphire moves to assert some kind of rapport with the noble.

Cal, instead, just looks to Vaulda, his eyes flicking back towards Rellka as he speaks. "Sure is easy ta stand tawl when ya gotta golden rod crammed that far up yer arse, eh?"

He chuckles a bit to himself, shaking his head in satisfaction at another joke well told. "Ah don't reckon yer about to start followin' her lead neither, will ya?"

By the time the plea is finished, you are orating to empty air.  Rellka Melfisse looks to have completely forgotten your existence as she continues her march west, her entourage close and her nose pointed towards the gathering clouds.

[Command Roll Result: 4 ; ineffective in this case - Rellka is absolutely convinced of her authority among Class Nine and has no evidence to the contrary.]

Vaulda stopped in her tracks as she and Sapphire were called out. Her eyebrow rose as she watched the struggle for dominance between the two self-proclaimed queen bees. Correction, there was no struggle. She was surprised how quickly Sapphire backed down. All talk, no action, typical. She sighed and tugged at the hemline of her skirt again. A wicked thought crossed her mind as she looked to those following their self-proclaimed leader. No, none of the men looked her size, their pants would all be too big. Ah well, they were safe for now. She was going to find pants that fit even if she had to kill someone.

The voice of the Lapikin next to her caught her attention. “I follow those that have earned their command. So far, I’m just seeing a lot of posturing. As you said, easy enough to do with a golden rod up your ass.”

Glancing over, she finally took a good look. Might be the fluffiest student but didn’t look like the softest, all things considered. Certainly more amusing than the others so far.

“What about you? Any good at the hunt? I trust those bootlickers about as far as I can spit, which I’ve never gotten the hang of.” For the first time since arriving she actually smiled, though it was gone as quickly as it arrived.

”As my old commander used to say, we rise together or we fall together. Let’s pick up Sparkles’ pride and figure out what we need to do.”

"Ah," says a gentle but deep voice from the side. The Trogg is hunched over slightly, having done his best to join the gathering inconspicuously despite standing more than a head taller than their instructor and many of the others here. "I wandered off in the wrong direction, so finding food may not be my strongest point, but I can help with the actual hunting and prep some."


"The name's Iapeton," he adds. "All the arguing so far doesn't seem to bode well, not that I'm one to speak. But I guess multiple teams makes sense too"

The elf's long ears wilt like a struck hound's.  Watching Rellka and the other group of students wander away from the campus, she never felt so far from home.  The pride of House Pillichir, indeed.

"Fine," she mutters.  Her hands grip into fists. Not angry - settled. This was how it was always going to be.  "Fine. Of course."

She turns to the others, head high, eyes oddly pale and distant; a gentle glimmer of sun on a stone wet from rain.

"I suppose it's us, then. I'll help however I can."

Cal's eyebrow perks up slightly as Vaulda speaks of earning command, his ear lifting up none-too-subtly in tandem with it. He gets the impression that she comes from some sort of military stock, but she wasn't really much like his Paw, who happens to be Cal's only real point of reference in the matter anyway. Besides, there were more important things to worry about now, anyway.

He opens his mouth to speak a response to her question, but the sudden bass voice nearby causes Cal to nearly leap out of his boots. He turns to face Iapeton, his usually-sleepy eyes widening to full circles, even managing to display a bit of the whites around his large brown eyes. He looks on in a mixture of amusement and true awe, his mouth running before he can even stop to catch it.

"Zephyr blow me down if y'ain't the biggest sumbitch Ah've ever-"

Cal finally regains control of his impulses, snapping his jaw shut and giving Iapeton a wide, toothless grin. "Ah'm sorry, that was awfully impolite a' me. Nice to meetcha, Iapeton," he finally says after composing himself, almost certainly butchering the pronunciation of Iapeton's name in the process.

"T'weren't too polite a' me ta leave a lady hanging like that, neither," he'd continue, turning back towards Vaulda, but his cheery grin steadily degrades back into a more pensive frown.

"But truth b'told, Ah've got more experience in the growin' of food than Ah do the huntin' of it, an' Ah'll reckon that, how'ere long a watch an' a half is, it shore ain't a whole growin' season." Cal's grin returns, but the droopiness of his eyes gives it a more bashful presentation this time around.

"But!" the lines of Cal's eyes lift in their centers, and his smile glows a bit brighter as he lifts up an index finger in interjection. "Ah know that wile carrots still grow all over the Northern Realms, Ah usedta always go out in the late afternoon to see if'n Ah couldn't snag a few grown ones around the way fer the night's stew. Ah betcha Ah could go find us some of them lil' dee-lights fer a start!"

He looks over at Sapphire, who returned deflated from that nasty encounter with Rellka. The excitement in his eyes softens a bit, but his smile only grows warmer as he regards her. "Ya know, uh, Sapphire, right? Ah thought you had a purdy good idear from earlier with how you was breakin' everythin' up inter tasks an' such. Ah think you oughta revisit that, maybe while the Hawss and the Bawss over here," his thumb jerks towards Iapeton and Vaulda, "Hit the road fer some wild game?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:24, Mon 16 Oct 2023.

Vaulda found herself feeling a little sorry for the elf now that the boldness was gone. The deep voice of the new addition gave her a bit of a start. As she did with Cal, she gave the new student an appraising look. Their merry little band was rather ragtag but at least looked more capable than the ones that followed Melfisse.

“As I was telling Cal, I don’t trust anyone that uses their family name to claim authority. Or those who follow blindly. And I don’t think Instructor Oren appreciated that little display. So we can sit around and make decorations or we can make sure we complete the task. You ever been to a banquet Spar…er, Sapphire? I haven’t, don’t think they have either.” She scratched her leg nervously, was she getting soft already? No, just need to work as a team, that’s it.

“Cal says he can find some carrots. Iapeton and I can get some meat. So if you know anything about entertainment and prettying things up, I think that falls under your plans. That rabble has too many in their party, I don’t think they're not going to be able to find good game this close to the school. So it’s on us to get the job done. If you’re all in agreement on that?” Damn it, why did the elf have to look so put out?