Introduction
- Location
- Germany
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=} The Thunder of Coins {=
Dieselpunk with Vampires, flying Trees and Igors - Oh my~!
=} The Thunder of Coins {=
Dieselpunk with Vampires, flying Trees and Igors - Oh my~!
The world of Idamar had seen much in the time since humanity first touched upon it: great wars and great changes in equal measures as empires rose and fell, cities prospered – only to collapse and be left against for centuries, waiting for their eventual revival. But what event could have been greater than the Eclipse of realities that happened scant four centuries ago? Worlds had intersected at a most opportune moment – and from these rifts streamed new and alien beasts and people, overrunning the Eastern Continent of Liaqon in three different and squabbling invasions that brought new techniques, magics and technologies to a society that was just doing its first steps into early modernity! But how could knights, pikeman and even the exalted companies of gun witches stand against a living and breathing forest, which nurtured its own ecosystem and murderous children for the sake of expansion? How could the legionaries of the ancient Empire of Trubec fight against the monstrous beasts of the bloody courts, whose infect spread to those they bid, and which were controlled like attack dogs by those higher in rank of them? How could even the vaunted chivalry of the Kingdom of Givria stand against the scarred and surgically improved shock troopers of the Stratocracy, which were able to outrun horses on foot and tear down buildings with their bare hands?
The whole continent was given up and those under the control of the invaders became fertilizer, food stock or spare parts. For the next few decades after the invasion the intact western powers were mostly content to keep the invaders in check by blocking the sea passages between the two continents and fortifying the island of New-Boromih, which blocked the only safe sea-route between the continents which wasn't completely suicidal to take due to riffs, chaotic streams or the underwater leviathans, which more than often destroyed whole ships who infringed too far into the area of the deeper seas.
Well – for most of you that is ancient history, but I am compelled to start with all this dramatic stuff by regulations, I fear. My name is Anne Strindt, I am going to be your squadron leader till you got your first few rounds and mission under your coat's rookies. For those of you who jumped into the recruiting trains without reading the large print on the side or for whom the journey here was filled with rather old-fashioned alcohol recruitment methods: Welcome to New Boromih, you have volunteered for the Duchess Own Patrol. A few centuries ago our efforts had been mainly aimed at preventing the Forest, Stratocracy and Beasts from leaving Liaqon and landing on the shores of the Western Kingdoms, but that has been quite a while ago. So sorry for all those of you who were hoping for a righteous crusade against our "new" neighbours – todays situation is slightly more complicated.
With the Forest busy pollinating or whatever else you can call it splitting up into different coloured sections and fighting for ground and sun in the brutal way only plants can do, The Stratocracy's colonies in our world seemingly content to hold to what they have right now and dig in and the Beast doing whatever their blood thirsty nobles are fancying in the last two hundred years, we find ourselves in a new and fragile balance. After the Revolutions in Reikahia and the succession crisis in Kiamaa, the western Alliance of all states on the continent of Zeanas, is a mere shadow of itself. They are still holding regular meetings every year, promising to hold together and protect one another from another invasion – but they know the Forest is harmless as long as we keep it back and the Stratocracy an interesting trading partner. Today we are more often hired to fly mission for one kingdom or republic against another or smuggle information and technologies from buyer to whatever mad Stratocracy Scientist has holed up in the wastelands.
You heard me right rookies: "hired". New Boromih might have been large enough when they evacuated Old Boromih centuries ago, but if you haven't looked out of the window, you might notice that every bit of the island that is covered in farms and houses, is dedicated to slaying beasts of the sea that play with our ships, like you would with a floating piece of soap in your bath. All of us: every pilot, every machine is an investment of the Duchess memorial fund, under the protectively grasping hands of our gracious Duke and our ever-squabbling parliament. Each flight you make is going to pay better than many of the manual labours out there will see in months or years and that is even without the spare parts, fuel and new machines we get over other contracts for services.
We, the Duchess Own Patrol, are one of the most important institutions for social, economic and diplomatic stability for our home: we hire out to nearly everyone on the globe, we escort diplomatic missions and we destroy any dangers to New Boromih when they become apparent. We make sure the airship trading lanes stay secure and we inspire those below us to follow our example.
Wealth and Fame awaits those of your ready and able to become the kind of pilot that everyone's wishes they can be.
So now that the peep talk is out of the way: Your names and machines rookies!
The whole continent was given up and those under the control of the invaders became fertilizer, food stock or spare parts. For the next few decades after the invasion the intact western powers were mostly content to keep the invaders in check by blocking the sea passages between the two continents and fortifying the island of New-Boromih, which blocked the only safe sea-route between the continents which wasn't completely suicidal to take due to riffs, chaotic streams or the underwater leviathans, which more than often destroyed whole ships who infringed too far into the area of the deeper seas.
Well – for most of you that is ancient history, but I am compelled to start with all this dramatic stuff by regulations, I fear. My name is Anne Strindt, I am going to be your squadron leader till you got your first few rounds and mission under your coat's rookies. For those of you who jumped into the recruiting trains without reading the large print on the side or for whom the journey here was filled with rather old-fashioned alcohol recruitment methods: Welcome to New Boromih, you have volunteered for the Duchess Own Patrol. A few centuries ago our efforts had been mainly aimed at preventing the Forest, Stratocracy and Beasts from leaving Liaqon and landing on the shores of the Western Kingdoms, but that has been quite a while ago. So sorry for all those of you who were hoping for a righteous crusade against our "new" neighbours – todays situation is slightly more complicated.
With the Forest busy pollinating or whatever else you can call it splitting up into different coloured sections and fighting for ground and sun in the brutal way only plants can do, The Stratocracy's colonies in our world seemingly content to hold to what they have right now and dig in and the Beast doing whatever their blood thirsty nobles are fancying in the last two hundred years, we find ourselves in a new and fragile balance. After the Revolutions in Reikahia and the succession crisis in Kiamaa, the western Alliance of all states on the continent of Zeanas, is a mere shadow of itself. They are still holding regular meetings every year, promising to hold together and protect one another from another invasion – but they know the Forest is harmless as long as we keep it back and the Stratocracy an interesting trading partner. Today we are more often hired to fly mission for one kingdom or republic against another or smuggle information and technologies from buyer to whatever mad Stratocracy Scientist has holed up in the wastelands.
You heard me right rookies: "hired". New Boromih might have been large enough when they evacuated Old Boromih centuries ago, but if you haven't looked out of the window, you might notice that every bit of the island that is covered in farms and houses, is dedicated to slaying beasts of the sea that play with our ships, like you would with a floating piece of soap in your bath. All of us: every pilot, every machine is an investment of the Duchess memorial fund, under the protectively grasping hands of our gracious Duke and our ever-squabbling parliament. Each flight you make is going to pay better than many of the manual labours out there will see in months or years and that is even without the spare parts, fuel and new machines we get over other contracts for services.
We, the Duchess Own Patrol, are one of the most important institutions for social, economic and diplomatic stability for our home: we hire out to nearly everyone on the globe, we escort diplomatic missions and we destroy any dangers to New Boromih when they become apparent. We make sure the airship trading lanes stay secure and we inspire those below us to follow our example.
Wealth and Fame awaits those of your ready and able to become the kind of pilot that everyone's wishes they can be.
So now that the peep talk is out of the way: Your names and machines rookies!
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