Topher Lydon

From my writing of her, she was an exceptional beauty and intelligence in her day. Just married the wrong suitor. Blackwood was probably the better choice, and Edward is living proof that Blackwood loved her. But scandal, arranged marriages, and heart break was the rule of the day. Blackwood has shown loyalty to his son, even while Edward was unaware of his parentage. There is a strong reason he wants Edward back where he belongs.

And Kit has a relic battery, not that he thinks it is good enough... Declaration: Petro-Taïr product quality is significantly better than the knock off Karn product. BUY Petro-Taïr, the superior tier!

There, that's the right chapter released, sorry @drpaladin Good morning. And boom!

The scratch of Edward Ashworth’s sharpened goose-quill against the heavy, cream-colored parchment of the master ledger was the only sound in the crimson-draped parlor. It was mid-afternoon, the Covent Garden townhouse wrapped in its quiet, restorative slumber before the chaotic, illicit theater of the night inevitably began. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the weak April sunlight, sealing the room in a comfortable, scent-heavy gloom of beeswax, stale pipe smoke, and expensive

oh BUMBLE !@#$!@$!@# I am not awake, and released the wrong chapter....

Twelve The Logic of Collapse The four youths, grim and utterly spent, were several kilometers past the Misk River Viaduct—a harrowing night's march that had carried them deep into the churning chaos of the frontline support zone. They had reached the area of the Rock Cut, the narrow gorge where Shem had planned to unleash his avalanche. They pulled off the broken rail spur, scrambling behind a mound of discarded crossties and snow-covered debris, ready to initiate their final, desper

There is no way KIT is going to allow HIS Operator to fall into her claws.

Henry's love for Cam is such a pure thing. He's overjoyed that someone loves him, that he gets to love back. No agenda, nope, just honest love.

It was recognized, in the oh look there's a boy in rags hiding behind a wall... who is that. Ahh I recognize him that is Tom.

A large number of Scottish fought in Flanders for both the English and French depending on clan alliances as well as conscription or volunteering.

You would think so, but again, too much power slanted towards Scotland in this particular debate. Will probably change once the traditionalist conservative voters are shed... they are thinning rather alarmingly fast due to conservative policy of the past 14 out of 16 years. *ahem* Makes no comment about sheep voting for the wolf that eats them.

It's done here mostly for the highlands of Scotland that have pretty extreme winter and summer daylight exposure. Unfortunately that tiny minority it benefits holds the nation hostage. Our current government won't risk losing the Scottish vote.

Normally there is some kind of warning, nothing this year.

When I wrote this, there were 16 chapters in total, and the book was largely unfinished, as I said. It became the Falcon Banner... we are closing in on a point where thirty year older me starts writing this again to finish it, and I will do what I can to tie loose ends together and bring this story into something more finished. I released this as a curiosity, the shorter chapters are illustrative of my writing back then. For me it is very nostalgic to see how I used to write, and what has changed. This one, for example, is slow to get going, and very atmospheric... I was just out of my home, I was cold and alone, and that spilled into the writing. I was experiencing dis-associative episodes, thus Shem's interiosity. This was originally hand written on paper, with a mechanical pencil, pot of tea on the kitchen table, as it snowed in Halifax... Heron Cove Road, on top of a Pizza Hut... everything stank of Pizza which for someone who was hungry was not as fun as it sounds. But let me tell you, I spent NOTHING on heating I also had this wonderful thermos tea pot, and that was my winter... so yeah. I know I write a lot about snow in my stories, but I was shaped by it, my most powerful memories were of driving snow storms, and ice.

I will get into it. The Ikon is the cult of personality of the man that Rules Karn. Stalin-esque. Quasi religious figurehead. The Wolf of Karn is Volkov, with eyes on the premiership. The Commissariat are very dangerous, the Council of Commissars control the Duma, king makers. The Volksgaard are behind Volkov. It's murky here for a reason, because Shem, Radé and Brandon have no idea how all this works. Then there is the Red Banner, and the WITCH-HUNTER General who Shem is going to run head first into. Karn is not the singular monolith it appears, it is bound by one maxim, expand or die. And if it's army stops, the whole castle of sand could come crashing down. Karn does have a singular problem, they failed to cut the head off of Taïr, and the people of Taïr are beinning to realize their prince is free, defying the Ikon, and walking unseen in their midst. That's a powerful image to a beaten people. Radé is far too dangerous to the narrative Karn carefully constructs about it's unbeatable machine.

The question starts to become, will Anya betray them? She's starting to see that the IKON's army is nothing but a fairytale, and her father is not the man she thought he was.

This is a fact that Shem is coming to realize slowly. The last hold out for Taïr is no sanctuary.

Tom will figure it out

The liens on the house make that impossible.

Karn marches ever onwards, eyes to the South Radé is coming to realize that his entire world has shrunk to one boy with glasses holding him upright.

Eleven The Southern Advance The rail spur was no longer a desolate line through frozen fields; it had become the arterial vein of an invading army. As the four youths moved south, leaving the relative safety of the Misk River gorge behind them, the atmosphere changed from tense evasion to outright saturation. They had walked directly into the back of General Volkov’s main thrust—the support and supply chain for the most ruthless fighting force on the continent. The air was thic

Oh and now you know where ALL of Edward's Half-Pay was going. Through it all, he ensured his mother's needs ahead of his own.

the clocks went back, I didn't notice... here we are three days later all my clocks are showing different times and I don't know up from down. :: Grumbles:: I will adjust, apologies for the late chapter Good Morning.

The early morning in Covent Garden was a rare, fragile hour of truce. The chaotic, drunken debauchery of the night had finally bled away into the gutters, and the frantic, shouting commerce of the vegetable markets had not yet reached its deafening zenith. Inside the heavily fortified, crimson-draped townhouse, the syndicate was moving through the slow, exhausted rituals of recovery. In the grand parlor, Edward Ashworth sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, nursing a cup of black coffee laced

Brendan will find a way to distract her.