A Junian Story of Legend
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3rd Aquari of the month Vellogromn,
Addressed to Cabin #17, Bunk #4
Of the Naval Vessel "Lockjawe",
Post Review of Captain Jerimiah Tartan
Miss. Raddendale,
It has been quite some time since the greenhorned girl you were trained for the city guard at Brackendow under my instruction. You have laboured with great zeal in the five roats since those days - and have proved yourself both honorbound and skilled as both an officer, and as a professional in the field of combat.
I am sure, by now, you have caught word of the incident only a few degrees North of Marion's Falls? Old Captain Kadwell has sailed his last, it seems. Many have been suspect of his advanced age becoming troublesome to his position of command, though he would hear none of it - his tenacity is something to be respected! However, this folly has severely set back the preparations of the "Steam Bird" due to Kadwell's unfortunate 'landing' as he insists on calling it. I suppose we should be grateful there were no casualties.
Kadwell has since begrudgingly resigned his position to his Admiral, Mr. Cornelius Bagley - a highly capable Airman himself, and therefore the position of Admiral was moved over to Lieutenant Maynard Millburn. Now, while normally these positions continue to be deferred to the next highest in rank amongst the officers, I have decided to go out on a limb and refer you to Commander Corbyn. You have been accepted for interview by Captain Bagley and Admiral Millburn. It is set to take place two weeks from the arrival of this letter, the Fifth Aquari of this Month, at 0900 hours. I trust you are capable of finding Bagleys office. Should the interview go well, you will be transferred to Commander Corbyn's ranks in the NorthEastern Quarter.
My sincerest apologies for deferring immediately to your personal notice instead of to Captain Tartan, but if I had the opportunity to hand-deliver this news to you, I would have done so.
Best of Luck, Piper.
Issued From the Desk of Commander Ezekiel Prescott
823, Lisney Avenue
New Albion, Animaeris
Signed, E. Prescott
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Piper would have squealed in delight and shot up out of bed, had it not been nearly one in the morning and her cabin mates asleep. She had already learned the hard way during her earliest days aboard the ship that sitting up too quickly would result in quite the knock on the head due to the confined space of the bunk.
She held the letter to her fluttering chest as she thought about what all this meant - even though she had seen it coming, it was still a surprise that left her heart pounding and her mind racing.
Commander Prescott recommended me! Me! To not only an Airship Captain, but to a Commander of a different Quarter!
Five years she'd prepared; all in all a short time to become an airman. She would be one of the youngest in history since she'd begun her military career at the age of fifteen. At Brackendow Ridge she had come in as a recruit for the local militia and had trained directly under Commander Prescott - who had been only a Captain at the time. She rose through the ranks quickly under Prescott, and displayed tenacity and resolve quite unmatched by any of her fellow recruits.
Though it wasn't as if she'd had many other options.
Piper often pondered during those early months if it was pity that drove Prescott and the others who had mentored her. Until during one meeting, when she had gathered the courage to ask him directly.
The first thing he did was give her a hard rap on the head with his knuckles three times.
"If you think you're getting any better treatment because of your situation, then you'll do good to fill that empty head of yours with the definition of duty and how I follow it! Had a good deal of girls and orphans alike, and booted plenty of them out of my ranks."
Piper read between the lines of the derisive response. She could feel the blood rush to her face.
Prescott cleared his throat. "Now then, with that out of the way, I hope you'll be satisfied with twelve hours extra duty for wasting my time." He shooed her out the door before she could issue a response.
After passing through her rigorous training, Piper was accepted into the ranks of the City Guard, which had completely bored her to tears. The position was mostly for show of authority, and consisted primarily of standing stock still outside of government properties for hours on end and trying to look important to deter any would-be rabble rousers.
Not long after she became a footsoldier, which was little better save for the freedom of travel, the patrols of her unit led her to every city and town in the NorthWest Quarter of Animaeris. They were sent to watch for troubles and provide support for local lawmen struggling with outlaws or some of the unsavory creatures native to the outer recesses of their untamed land. Though the work was grueling and required little thought, it was when she was first certified to carry a rifle; a standard-issue Wrayburn Repeater for patrol units. Aside from her study of the Skyfleet, learning to handle a rifle had been her favorite part of military training, and her skill with one had earned her a fair amount of praise and promotions during that time. Though the purpose of the patrols were to keep the peace, the presence of the militia itself was usually enough to diminish any public unrest that required military action.
She had only needed to use her repeater on one occasion. That time, it had been Regganorians.
Their mission had taken them North to the border of the first Quarter, to a little valley known to the locals as The Crescent, and home to the village of Westgulf. The area was a neutral territory between the borders of the Republic of Animaeris, tribal lands of Hashamwe, and the Kingdom of Regganor - the only region where citizens of all three nations had settled, and was therefore home to a wide variety of disputes. Though a great number of families of both Regganorian and Animaerisian descent had chosen to settle in Westgulf, many also saw it as the perfect place to stir up old rivalries since the Regganorian loss of the Copper War and the many little conflicts that had sprung up between the two nations since. In this particular instance, a group of old Regganorian soldiers-turned-brigand had decided that they would run a tavern keeper out of town for his choice of bride. Though in technicality the militia should have stayed out of the neutral territory so as to not be seen as a direct military advancement, they were forced to take action when the brigands turned to arson.
Piper's platoon had still been nearly two miles away from the village, yet could clearly see the billowing black clouds fleeing the scene above the treetops. An acrid odor had only just begun to creep through their ranks as they marched on. By the time the Inn had come into view, it had been mostly reduced to smoldering rubble, though the townsfolk strangely paid it no mind as they crowded around the square. As the soldiers pushed forward, the sea of citizens parted at the sight of them - more so at the weapons held at their navels. It had become clear to Piper in an instant what had attracted the attention.
A man not past his fortieth year rested on his knee. His eyes stared straight forward, but his face was marred with a grim and tired countenance. The fairness of his hair and skin marked him as Regganorian. Beside him a woman no later in years than he wept openly, brought to her knees as well. It was the chestnut hair and tanned skin that sold her out at an instant as Animaerisian. A source for her sobbing could easily be found in the armed man who stood tauntingly behind, a sword pressed to her throat.
Piper's Commanding Officer, a pedantic, thin-faced man named Captain Henshaw, was quick to issue orders for the ranks to split up in order to secure the perimeter of the town and corral the townsfolk. Meanwhile, he himself stepped forward to deliberate with the Brigand leader over his demanded ransom. From her station at the entrance of the village parish, it was easy for Piper to monitor the situation. It was also just as easy to see that it was not going well. At first, the barbarian and his men sneered and jeered at the lone officer and his persuasions of peace - though it was not long in coming before their mockery turned to angered scowls at his vain attempts. Piper sighed and stepped into the church.
A modest, narrow stairway led up to the church gallery where a solemn window stood to allow in natural light for the choir; she propped it open easily within a few moments and knelt down to continue observing the unfolding events. As the brigand's face grew apoplectic with anger, Piper smoothly checked to ensure that her weapon was loaded. As his men almost imperceivably closed in around the Animaerisian officer, she shouldered the rifle with ease. While his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, she lightly released the safety catch with her thumb. And when he at last raised his sword on her Captain, she blew a walnut-sized hole through his forehead.
Piper's breath released as her target collapsed to the ground in a cloud of dust. With a shaky hand she re-racked her bolt and relatched the catch. Though the process was automatic and almost mechanical for her, it was made all the more difficult with her eyes never leaving the fallen man. It did not take long for the rest of the militia to convince the remaining sellswords to lay down their arms.