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Steam and Steel: The Beginning

Steam and Steel: The Beginning

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The annual Steam and Steel event is a collaborative event shared by each of the Iron Kingdoms. The event show cases the abilities of powerful Warcasters, but more importantly, the abilities of the up and rising Journeymen Warcasters. May the games begin.

824 readers have visited Steam and Steel: The Beginning since winglykinglloyd created it.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://privateerpress.com/warmachine

Introduction

In years of piece following some of the most violent wars exchanged between the Iron Kingdoms, during a peace treaty meeting, diplomats pushed for an action that could somehow lift the tensions between the waring nations. Amidst these talks, the idea of the Steam and Steel Tournament came to light. The base of this idea was to create an event in which all of the Kingdoms could bring forth their Warcasters, and pit them in a series of competitions to show off their physical, mental, and magical prowess. Yet, in a trend set by the first Steam and Steel competition, the people of the kingdoms, as well as their respective onlooking military personal, took more interest to the Journeyman Warcasters of each nation, or their equivalent of. These young and proud souls are the heart and future of each of the Kingdoms, and it is upon them that every pair of eyes rest. Filled with passion and patriotism, each Journeymen pushes his abilities to the limit, in hopes to seek victory for not only himself, but for his Kingdom. In recent years, non-Kingdom parties have demanded representation in this competition, and after much debate, they have finally been allowed admittance into this prestigious event. For the first time, at the 5th annual Steam and Steal Tournament, Journeymen and Lesser Warlocks alike will be competing to earn both the admiration of their country, but also the recognition of becoming full-fledged Warcaster or Warlock. With the trumpets sounding, and fireworks cracking in the sky, each individual comes with years of experience under their belt, from all across Immoren, to prove that can be the one that stands above all the rest. Let steam vent, and steel clash!

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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 3 authors

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Character Portrait: Ridley Lawson
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The day had finally come. It was here.

And it was about time.

Ridley mentally boosted the output of his turbine so as to put a little more spring in his step. His grin couldn't be wider, and his stride anymore confident. In a strike of nostalgia, he reflected upon his life, and what it was more than 15 years ago. His family had little to live on month to month, and he worked like a slave in the mechanik's shops. Yet, all of those pained years worth the all-the-more excruciating years he spent under his mentor's tutelage. As a young boy, he would have never dreamed that he'd be standing amongst Cygnar's elite soldiers: the Warcasters. Though, here he was, about to reveal himself to the Kingdoms beyond Cygnar, in one of her most prestigious cities: Corvis. He felt a bit odd walking toward ground of the Steam and Steal tournament. Usually when he was in his silver-shined Warcaster Armor, it was to head off into battle, and spend the next couple hours getting shot at and nearly blown to pieces while maintaining focus on a warjack placed under his control. In these last couple years, war had mostly been his life, surviving one battle to the next, protecting his fellow soldiers, while trying to prove useful to his harsh teacher and commanding officer. Speaking of whom, decided it was a perfect time to thrust her elbow into the back of his head...

"Agggghhh," Ridley groaned as he bent forward a bit, grasping his skull. "That was a tad uncalled for wouldn't you think?!"

Kara Sloan, a Cygnaran Warcaster, and pronounced marksman, hat a heart of stone when it came to showing sympathy for her subordinates. Like all times before, her gaze was stern and fierce, speaking volumes within of itself. She too was wearing Warcaster Armor, plated with the proud golds, whites, and blues of her nation. Except she, unlike him, had her weapon of choice slung over her shoulder. A marvel of firearm technology, Spitfire as it was called, was a custom magelock rifle, capable of firing the most incredible rounds...as well as capable of incredible carnage. As she walked, by passed him, she gave a short scoff.

"Remember where you are, Ridley," she started, her tone thick with authority, "Thousands of eyes are going to be locked on you. They will be watching intently. Some are eager to see you succeed, others are eager to see you fail in everything you do. Remember that this isn't just about you, this about the country you represent."

She stopped for a moment, and placed a hand on his chest plate, which was mostly covered by his light green tabbard. Her hand then traced up to his left shoulder plate, which had the Insignia of the Swan upon it. She tapped it once with her finger, but suddenly grasping the plate of armor where his arm came out, and jostled him violently before pulling his whole body closer to her so that they were face to face.

"You have a damned habit of not taking things seriously. Over the years, I have noticed it takes you some motivation to get your mind set on doing exactly what you need to do." The ice in her voice got even colder. "That. Will not. Work. Here. When you walk onto that field, you are the image of Cygnar. You are our military future, focused into a single individual. What you display out there will reflect as positively or poorly on your nation as it will you." She let go of his armor, and straightened her posture. "With that said, know that you have become an exceptional soldier, one I can say that I'm proud to have trained. Now, get that dirty grin off your face, and get ready. All the kingdoms are waiting."

Kara turned and proceeded down the road, but for a moment, Ridley, smiling his ever constant smile took a moment to look into the sky, watching the ceremonial fireworks as they burst into the sky. He readjusted his armor, and with a little more tact in his step, made way after his mentor.

"You have my word!" He called after her. "I won't let you or Cygnar down. There are some good winds today, and I intend to ride them."

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Character Portrait: Kovnik Adrik Novikov
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Novikov sat back in his seat on the train. It was a small cargo train from the Motherland to the borders of her lands. Across from him sat his "mentor" Oleg Strakhov who seemed a little displeased. Since being put under Strakhov's care he had trained Novikov little the young warcaster being more of a burden then a happy gift from Irusk. The Supreme Kommandant had done this on purpose to try and tame the wild spirit that was Strakhov. Fjorn, the kodiak that saved Novikov's life was chained securely to a car behind them. The train was heading to the edge of Thornwood forest and then it would only be a short trip to Corvis, the train was not just for them. Khador liked to show their martial prowess at the Steam and Steel event bringing many warjacks and parts of their army in order to try and intimidate the other kingdoms. The whole event seemed a little odd to Adrik, it was just a chance for each nation to flex their resources at one another, not to avoid war as it was originally designed for.

"I'm not really looking forward to this either. I can't tell you how many Cygnar assassins will want an attempt at the bounty on my head. I will probably be laying low and have you escorted by an officer to the arena, you understand why yes?" Oleg stood up and looked as though he was about to walk away.

"Da kommander," Adrik nodded sitting up a little. The heavy thuds of Strakhov's boots prompted Adrik to put his elbow on the window leaning his cheek on his own fist. The trees seemed to fly past as Adrik steeled himself mentally for the events ahead.

---

The sound of fireworks could not hide the thundering sound of warjack feet and the boots of winterguard as the Khador presence in Corvis let itself be known. A female officer carried the banner of Khador and walked at Adrik's side as they lead the single force of winter guard and two spriggans into the arena. The paperwork had all been taken care of ever since the process got streamlined in the second games so it was directly on to the festivities.

The first night was always a huge feast before the games where the warcasters were able to meet for the first time and get settled in. Adrik let out a breath he didn't know he was holding until the doors were opened. Khador's force arrived in one of the doors at the same time as the other kingdoms. Looking across Adrik saw the flags of nations he had only previously been attacking. Menoth, Cygnar, Rhul, even the slavering dogs of circle and the drums and pipes of trollbloods could be heard.

Adrik took in the sight to see until it was time for the forces to dissapate and the festivities to begin. A large hall in the arena was being used as a party palace for the guests invited to make them feel welcome in a foreign land. Novikov sat alone now and couldn't help but look at his competition: most notably a quiet figure in a black cloak, a trollblood holding two kegs of beer, and the Cygnaran with lion like hair nearby. When they made eye contact Novikov was not afraid to shoot an icey glance his way before standing up and moving closer. The Khadoran assumed he would do likewise to shake hands and greet, the food hadn't been brought out yet so there was still time to socialize.

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Character Portrait: Overseer Faedra
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#, as written by Lexxy
In the thick of the Gallowswood, Faedra led her small army of representatives to the nearest Waygate hidden deep in her vast territory. Bounding through the trees, they moved with surprising silence. Flanking her right, Remus, a Wolves Chieftain, and his Standard Carrier led a small pack of his best Wolves soldiers. On her left, a group of lesser Druids commanding a sparse pack of argus followed stealthily behind, and protecting the rear was Faedra's guardian, a Pureblood Warpwolf named Vectis. Only the sound of thundering paws hitting the soft earth could be heard as they traveled.
As soon as she had gotten wind of the tournament, Faedra summoned her subordinates for counsel. She explained the importance and potential gain of their participation. Her underlings agreed that this would be an opportunity the Circle may never get again. All of the powerhouses would be present; Khador, Cygnar, Mennoth. Even the traitorous Trollkin were said to have been invited. This would give the Circle a perfect chance to prove their strength as a viable force to be feared. She knew most potents would frown upon this behavior, scoffing at the display and tribute to the monstrosity that is civilization. Perhaps stating that by participating, she was going against everything the Circle had worked towards for centuries. However, the teachings of Orboros are always up to interpretation, and the omnipotents are well aware of that fact. Only those wise and intuitive enough will be successful in the eyes of Orboros.

As they approached the Waygate they were greeted by the resident Wayfarer, who would be the one to transport the crew as close to their destination as possible, acting as a guide. Because this wasn't a full-fledged army, it would be easier to transport the entire group in one go, rather than splitting up. The Wayfarer organized the ranks and began to perform the ritual. A loud, buzzing hum emitted from the surrounding stones as they glowed an eerie green. Teleportation was hard to get used to, and wasn't without danger; loss of limb being fairly common among transportation of large groups. As soon as the last word was uttered by the Wayfarer, the group was suddenly thrust to the edge of the Widower's Wood, just outside the sprawling city of Corvis. The mere sight of it was enough to make a Druid sick. Thick clouds of smoke billowed from the highest towers, and the noise that poured out from the gates was deafening to the forest dwellers. Faedra scowled in disgust at the monument to their most hated enemy. After taking in the sight, the Wayfarer bid her luck with the tournament and teleported away to tell the omnipotents of their progress.

Soundlessly Faedra motioned for her subordinates to follow and they made their way to the city.

---

The night before the tournament, a lavish dinner was to be held as a sort of peace offering and show of good sport among the combatants. Once inside, Faedra opted to distance herself from the rest of the competitors, in order to observe them instead. Her dark cloak and ornate armor paled in comparison to some of those around her, offering her a sort of cover from wandering eyes. Remus, on the other hand was adorned in three white wolf pelts that accented his equally ornate armor, making him stand out a bit more that his Overseer. Faedra felt particularly vulnerable knowing that Vectis was not at her side. Since he was a warbeast, he and the argus had been ushered away to a nearby stable, getting a treatment similar to the machines the others commanded. Remus could tell she was uneasy, glancing at her frequently.
"The stench is unbearable," she commented in a hushed tone. Remus chuckled softly but nodded in agreement. He was bit more lighthearted than she, taking this as something to be enjoyed. It was somewhat easy to pick out who the combatants were, each surrounded by their supporting comrades. One in particular made her blood boil as soon as she laid eyes on him. Around his shoulders was the unmistakable sheen of white fur.
"That Khador whelp is flaunting a Pureblood trophy, Remus!" she spat, nearly lunging at him in blind fury. Remus' hand shot out to block her advance. "I see it, Overseer. There's nothing we can do, lest we be disqualified and made fools of. Get your revenge in the games, make him pay for killing your kin." He was right, if she were to assault him now, they would lose any and all respect. They would become lower than the Trollkin. Faedra stood back and regained her composure, choosing instead to glare daggers at the Khador caster.

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Character Portrait: Ridley Lawson
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"Ridley," Kara started "I meant what I said earlier. I realize it is who you are. You void out negative emotion. It is your defense mechanism when confronted with conflict. You smile all the time because of those around you. You want them to see your confidence, so that it may radiate within them..."

The senior Warcaster opened the door to his temporary living quarters, and let him walk in first before her. It was a lavish room, with a bed suited for a king, adorned with glorious paintings of Cygnar's historic figures. Fine silverware and plates were set at the table on the far side of the room, and the three windows facing outward toward the tournament grounds were accented by flowing blue and gold drapes. Ridley walked around the room, feeling a bit out of place given the bulk and crudeness of his armor in comparison to the majestic feel of the room. He stopped at the window and paused, and for a while, simply looked out.

"That's one aspect I've never seen in any man. No matter how trained they are, no matter how cynical and jaded by the world they might be, people break. Smiles turn into twisted images of fear in the face of death, or into something more solemn has the harsh reality of war falls upon them. Yet you have not once lost your smile in a fight. You've had gashes from blades, holes from shrapnel, but still, you smile."

With some delicate maneuvering, Ridley took a chair from the table and very slowly eased his way into it. It creaked only little, a show of its fine craftsmanship. As he gazed out, he mentally noted his mentor's words, occasionally looking back at her to give a nod of recognition. She leaned on a wall nearest the farthest window, and crossed her arms over the chestplate of her armor, taking note of his face. For whatever reason, his smile was lesser now than it was earlier. Despite this, she continued.

"Furthermore, in your training at the Academy, it was noted several times that you have an defined affinity for controlling the winds. You took to such spells involving air much quicker than that of lightning, even quicker than that of simple arcane spells. Based on reports, this is unusual. The list goes on Ridley, even when it comes to that Sentinel. That day...you should have died. You had enemies from all sides bearing down on your position, yet for whatever reason, that 'jack displayed unprecedented prowess when it shielded you. Such prowess has been rarely seen, and only by one such other light warjack. Unexplainable things happen around you, and I have yet to determine whether or not that is a good or bad thing."

His face became more grim, though one edge of his mouth was still slightly perked up. Leaning forward, he put an elbow on his knee, and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. The hum of their turbines filled the room for a few moments, before Kara decided the finish up her speech.

"These are things you have probably contemplated already throughout your Journeyman training, and over the course of your tour with me. Perhaps it is something the future will reveal in due time. What I do know is that tomorrow is the chance for you to display your gift." She pushed off the wall and made way for the door, pulling it behind her, yet before it fully closed, she turned to him one last time, "Don't forget the banquet tonight. All of your competition will be there, and I advise you get a feel for who is who. I won't be there as I must meet with some of the city officials. Enjoy yourself, Ridley, and don't lose sight of why you are here. Also...in the closet, you'll find Zephyr."

The young man perked his head up to look at the closet, and before he could turn around to issue a farewell, the door closed. Getting up from the chair, he made way to the closet and opened it. He gave a brief chuckle, and closed it.

-----

The banquet was something he thought would be a rather small gathering, just for the participants. He couldn't be further from the truth. As he entered the exquisite room, he found that not only were their other journeymen and warlocks, but countless other officials and nobles, and not just from Cygnar. As he proceeded further into the room, his eyes traced over each of the kingdom's representatives, including the freshly permitted non-kingdom persons. There were Khadorans, one of whom stuck out a little more than the rest, as he sat to himself a ways away from his people. His youth and solid posture lending to his imposing figure due to his armor. The Menites were off in a corner to themselves it seems, although they too had a unique individual. Standing roughly at 6 foot tall, the man was adorned with countless holy symbols, and despite his young appearance, he had strikingly white hair. For an instant, his eyes met Ridley's, and Ridley could see in his amber eyes a unrelenting fire. The dwarves and ogrun also kept themselves away from the main floor, much like the Druid and her companion. In that moment Ridley say a tensity in her posture, as she took a step forward only to be stopped by her ally. He spoke to her, yet her face showed no calm.

As it was, the only real socializing to be had was that of the officials. Each of the kingdom and non-kingdom folk barely spoke, even to their own. Ridley sighed to himself, as he himself didn't even feel like talking to the diplomats of his nation, who, once they saw him, immediately waved and beckoned him over. His smile took and uneasy turn, and he resorted to the closest thing that he could in order to keep him away.

A glass of champagne...

With a few tinks of his glass using a small spoon, he very suddenly found an entire hall of very important individuals staring down their noses at him. "That...may have been overkill..." he uttered to himself before reaffirming his stature.

"Good evening everyone! I...uh...heh...I am Ridley Lawson of the Cygnar Military." His smile wavered slightly as he heard mumbles within the crowd, and a few scoffs. He beat back the stress, and his smile returned as he walked into the center of the room, glass at chest height. "This is my first time ever really giving a toast, or really any sort of speech, but here it goes."

"Tomorrow represents another step in history, for all of Immoren. This year we have with us the privileged persons of the people not of the kingdoms. These individuals represent the future of their respective lands, a symbol of strength and hope. This tournament is the chance for each one of these gifted citizens to display not only their patriotism, but their inner power. May we all recognize where each of us come from. The Khadorans, who's resolve is as immovable as a frost-tipped mountain. The Menites, who's faith is ever unwavering. The Rhulic, who's determination is as fiery as their forges. The Druids, who mastery of the wilds are unparalleled. And of the Trollkin, who's fierce tenacity and bellowing voices shall never be forgotten. These are people who will show everything they have to the world."

He rose his glass, and turned in a slow circle to meet the eyes of everyone. "A toast, to the heralds of Immoren's future!"

For a while...no words were had. Sweat rolled down Ridley's face, and once again his smile slightly broke. Just then, a small clap within the crowd was heard. Then another, and another, and another until the hall filled with great applause. The journeymen nodded graciously toward the crowd, finally taking a drink of champagne. As the claps came to a stop, Ridley casually walked toward a wall, a bit of a wobble in his legs. He braced himself against the wall, and let out a series of labored breaths, one hand on his knee to keep him balance.

"Mother of Morrow" he rasped "...never the hell again."

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Character Portrait: Kovnik Adrik Novikov
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Adrik froze in his tracks when he heard the clinking of silverware on glass. Admittedly he was one of the crowd members who scoffed at the Cygnaran. To show such gall and arrogance to call all the attention to yourself it was something only a Cygnaran could do, it simply put a bit of ice over his heart. However, the young kovnik was not expecting appraisal to all the nations present. It was quite refreshing and really seemed to cut the tension in the room down a bit. Adrik took a look around and noticed an air of pride pervade everyone, the spirit of sportsmanship prevailed somehow. The Khadoran knew for a fact if these same people had been gathered in any other fashion it would most likely mean war.

Impressed, Novikov was one of the quieter claps in the room. Before he could start his stride again he saw Ridley walk away quite quickly. Adrik adjusted the shawl made of his warpwolf pelt trophy before pursuing the Cygnaran warcaster. He wondered if the rumor of 'The White Fang' had preceded him as he gave another glance over his shoulder at the rest of the room. Catching up to Ridley Adrik had to crane his neck a little due to his awkward stance. "You look pale as ghost." Novikov had been working on his Sulese for quite some time however his accent was still heard in his speech. "My name is Kovnik Adrik Novikov, I am from the Motherland."

He was sure anyone who could see him knew, Adrik was from Khador. His red armor and decorated bronze Khadoran anvil could mean little else. For the first time Adrik realized he had come to size up his competition and gather information, but he hadn't prepared anything to say in his mind. "Your speech was impressive, surprised to not see you cut from their stares." After Ridley straightened up Adrik watched as a man with a serving tray walked by them. With deft hands Novikov grabbed one of the small sandwiches and took a large bite out of it.

The Khadoran warcaster brandished the sandwich as though to bring attention to something before swallowing. "With the amount of cortexes your people make. I'm almost shocked to not see the servers be laborjacks." Adrik's confident smirk didn't last long as he finished the finger food. Leaning on the wall with the Cygnaran he looked out to the other people of the competition, trying to match eyes with at least the other competitors if not their escorts as well. The Khadoran looked at the female officer that had led the winterguard he was with. He found himself letting go of a sigh, if he didn't have this gift he would probably still be in her boots or even dead at the hands of the horrors Zevhanna had him up against. Shaking his head ever so slightly he pushed the memory of the day he had discovered his powers back deciding now was not the time to think of such things. His icey gaze returned to Ridley maintaining their conversation. Honestly Adrik was just killing a bit of time, Strakhov had previously told him that the dinner was to just gather everyone and make them full before a big speech from the competition's representative to greet everyone and announce the first event for tomorrow before sending everyone to bed.

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Character Portrait: Karn Forgebreaker
Character Portrait: Kovnik Adrik Novikov
Character Portrait: Ridley Lawson
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Character Portrait: Overseer Faedra
Overseer Faedra

A quiet, yet fierce looking Orboros Overseer with a wild air about her

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Karn Forgebreaker

A tall thiick bellied trollkin standing tall above his peers emmiting an aura or stone's strength.

Character Portrait: Kovnik Adrik Novikov
Kovnik Adrik Novikov

The White Fang of Khador

Character Portrait: Ridley Lawson
Ridley Lawson

A young man with a stalwart air about him, Lawson is Journeyman of defensive nature, but is free flowing as the wind.

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