Dio

I'm tied between special RP events like the gala and a Fanfic/Art repository. I like the RP events, but I also like having an easily accessible, centralized area for ponies to showcase their art and writing. Often individual threads will get buried when RP activity picks up or when new art is posted in a batch. Also, I agree with being able to use spoiler tags. It would allow us to compact some threads that have large numbers of images for those of us with slower connections or screen potentially NSFW material.

I won't disappoint you, Manestream.

Schroedinger's cat. 1. Wear a black t-shirt with the word "alive?" painted on the front and "dead?" painted on the back. 2. Put on cat ears. 3. ??? 4. PROFIT.

Diomedes cocked his head at Tempest Rime's response; or more appropriately her lack thereof. Yes, she was going to be a tough nut to crack. Not bad, she said. Not bad? She didn't see the passion, the life, the energy? No, she must have been watching his technique. Dio's ears drooped for a moment, but only just. Bean counters: always watching the numbers and the motions and never looking past the surface. The red Pegasus blew out an exasperated breath as Tempest flitted upwards, delicate as a snowflake on the wind. She floated back down, a glittering trail of ice crystals trailing behind her, casting a frigid rainbow in her wake. As she returned to formation, she flashed a little smile, very subtle, but definitely not contrived. Dio relaxed a little. Maybe she wasn't going to be a complete pain in the flank. Dio wasn't exactly paying attention to Knightly's run. To him, it was just a blur of seemingly random high-g maneuvers meant to wow but not really accomplishing it. When he returned to formation, he even admitted that it wasn't very good. Dio smirked. As a knight errant, he probably spent most of his time on the ground. They were rapidly approaching the last waypoint now, a massive deciduous tree in the middle of a forest glade. The glade was one of the few safe spots Dio knew of in the forest. The tree provided ample shade and cover from the elements and the open field provided for long sight lines and plenty of space to bivouac. A small stream bisected the field, crossing close to the tree. The tree itself was an object of study. Dio had never been the botanist type, but it still intrigued him how something like this could grow in the middle of the field; the tree dwarfed every other one of its kind in the surrounding forest. The Pegasus glanced behind him at his two companions. 'Anypony feel like taking a break? The big tree is the last waypoint before we get to Dragon Mountain. We can grab a drink of water and take a short breather there before we make the climb at altitude.'

The white pony gritted her teeth and dug her hooves in, causing the waltz to grind to a halt. Sensing the change in momentum just in time, White Feather spun away, righting himself to face Mud Bug's baleful glare. White Feather smiled. So her true colors finally shone through. Far from a fidgety, nervous rich girl at her first gala, this one was a regular firecracker of a farm girl. The stallion merely met her glare of disapproval with a bemused grin. As she jabbed him in the chest, he gently pushed her hoof to the ground with his own. 'I was mistaken,' White Feather said with a twinkle in his eye, purposely dropping his high class smoothness for a moment in favor of his natural lower Manehattan accent. He quickly went back to 'high class mode' after the tease. 'Forgive me for being presumptuous. I was merely trying to show you a good time.' He allowed the mare to turn around fully before continuing. In spite of her remark about his eyesight, he had been paying ample attention to his surroundings, which he leveraged now. 'I suppose there's more to you than meets the eye, Miss Mud Bug.' With that, White Feather stepped backwards and vanished into the crowd once again. [ White Feather exits ]

White Feather cocked his head at Mal's less than amicable response. She was definitely a mage of some sort, judging by the flaming manifestation of magical might floating above her head. It was all the blue stallion could do to keep himself from bursting out laughing at Malediction's predicament. She shrieked and stomped and threw her little tantrum, she fumed and fussed and muddled with her flames. White Feather's tail twitched ever so slightly when he ascertained that he could very well be vaporized in an instant if she decided to fire. He trusted his reflexes to get him out of the way… but there was always the off-chance he wouldn't be able to make the dodge. But would the unicorn even dare to pull that kind of stunt? It was kind of a public area and a full on murder would not go over well with the palace guard. A smile tugged at White Feather's lips as he decided to stand his ground. It was a game of chicken now, and he was the best there was at it. The unicorn finally dropped the flame, leaving nothing but a tired mare panting in a magically chilled circle of swirling air. 'Well there, I didn't expect quite such a warm reception from you, miss. Do you greet all your neighbors this way?' The unicorn seemed to ignore him. With a huff, she marched off with Dark Core, leaving White Feather to chuckle bemusedly to himself. The stallion turned and headed towards the far entrance of the ballroom. Work was work... [ White Feather exits ]

'One hay of a show,' Diomedes said as he strolled back into the VIP lounge with his father. 'I should bug my boss to let me come to these more often!' 'All the best shows happened while you were still a colt, Dio,' Aristotle smirked. 'Back in my day it was about virtuosity, elegance, and technique; skill over spectacle.' 'Stop kidding yourself, you old warhorse!' Dio laughed. 'You enjoyed it just as much as I did! Now let's grab some hors d'oueuvres before the rest of the crowd cleans them out!' The old stallion smiled. They grew up so fast, didn't they? It seemed just yesterday he was dropping a young colt off at Cloudsdale academy, but here standing before him was a stallion. Dio had a lot to learn, to be sure. But tonight Aristotle was quite happy with his progress. Maybe someday he'd even take Aristotle's advice about signing on with the Royal Equestrian Army seriously. The old stallion shook his salt and pepper mane and chuckled under his breath. Aristotle was getting ahead of himself. 'You should talk to that Star Chaser girl,' Aristotle said, a little too cheerfully. 'You seem to have a good bit in common; athletics, a love of flying, a propensity for getting yourselves into dangerous situations…' Dio's ears pinned back against his head for a moment at the mention of both Star Chaser and the incident near Appleloosa not that long ago. The little adventure certainly did make for a great story at the bar or break room, but it was quite the opposite explaining to the postmaster exactly why one of his priority carriers had disappeared without a trace for three days. Dio shook his head, regaining his composure. 'She'd have to be pretty needy to come after a mail pony!' Dio laughed, brushing off his father's remark. But still, he wasn't going to lie; saying the silver-maned filly was easy on the eyes would have been an understatement. 'You're not going to get another chance for a while…' The red Pegasus sighed. He didn't need any more distractions, but he wasn't about to turn down a challenge from his old man. 'Since you insist…' Dio pulled his gala ticket out of his tuxedo jacket pocket, striding up to the Wonderbolts' signing table before the line had a chance to form. Bypassing Soarin and Spitfire, he stopped right at Star Chaser's seat. 'So I heard they were signing autographs here…' he said, gently setting down his ticket in front of the former Wonderbolt.

White Feather artfully slipped through the crowd, evading his previous company, but in serious need of a way to stay out of their sight. As he moved, he adjusted his own appearance, flipping his mane a different way, slipping the masquerade mask into his coat pocket, and even snatching a boutonniere from an unawares stallion as he brushed past in the crowd. He hoped that the much more abundant lighting in the ballroom would provide him cover; the busyness of the area would allow him to hide in plain sight. He wove back and forth through the crowd, looking for his target. The note said the case would be at a table in the corner of the ballroom, but he would have to work his way through an entire mess of ponies to get there. White Feather cocked his head as he assessed his options. What he needed was an excuse to move quickly without drawing attention to himself… an opportunity which came in the form of a white-coated, blue-gowned filly making a beeline for the far side of the ballroom. Perfect. White Feather momentarily slipped back into his feline-like gait, slinking through the largely unawares crowd until he finally was able to approach Mud Bug. Without hesitation, he sidled up to her and hooked his own front leg in the crook of Mud Bug's front leg, whirling around in front of her, in complete disregard for Bramble Rose. It wasn't that he didn't notice the purple colt; he just didn't think he was relevant at the moment. Besides, if he dallied too long with pleasantries, he'd miss his window. 'Dance with me,' he said, twirling Mud Bug around with a flourish. His movements seemed practiced and fluid; no hint of hesitation or nervousness at all. White Feather put on his charm, smoothing out his voice and plastering a sly, goofy grin on his face. A look and a voice for any occasion. 'Name's Quill. Ordinarily I'm a little more polite about things like this, but I seem to have attracted some unwanted attention from a certain mare. I do hope you don't mind my borrowing you for a moment. I promise you that I'm not as terrible a dancer as I look, Miss…' 'Quill' trailed off with the intent of earning her name and perhaps her trust. Having both would make his job a lot easier... he thought as he slowly guided her across the ballroom.

Revisions will be forthcoming to fill in the gaps. I'm basing this precedent on the assumption that dragons grow very slowly and thus have a sort of "intermediate period" where they are about on par with ponies in terms of size and interactions. Dubstep's character Ignusis a younger dragon who works as a personal assistant for Royal Flush in Canterlot. Demetrius and Lavi are similar in size and age. I can see your point in having more than two dragons on board ship, however and I will revise to accommodate that. If there are still issues with even two dragons on ship, let me know. On second thought, I may remove this entirely as a "skill," as it straddles the line between Pegasus weather control and spellcasting. However, it may resurface later as an RP flavor thing while he's flying. If you let me keep the shoes, I'll drop the shield and wing guards. For now, I'm deleting the equipment section as it is not entirely essential to working with the character.

Diomedes As the adrenaline wore off, Dio finally began to feel the weight of his own body. He slipped to his knees, laying down on the cool flooring of the cart, which was now racing along the desert floor at breakneck speed. He wasn't even going to ask the Doctor how he was able to make it do that; there were more pressing issues on hoof. The red Pegasus unsnapped his saddlebags, pulling them off his back and opening them up to get at their contents. 'I've got a first aid kit in my saddlebags,' Dio said, addressing Braeburn. 'You'll want to get some gauze around those needles before you— HEY WAIT!' Before Dio could do anything, Braeburn had already begun pulling the needles out of Willow's haunch with his teeth. Diomedes facehoofed. What if they were toxic? What if they started attacking him? The enthusiasm was good, but his complete disregard for first aid and proper wound treatment was appalling. Diomedes sighed in exasperation. This was going to be a long night. Reaching into his saddlebags, Dio retrieved a small metal box, popping it open to reveal several rolls of gauze and tape, antiseptic cream, and a sheathed knife similar to the one he kept strapped to his load-bearing harness. He unraveled a spool of gauze and fluffed it up into a ball before wrapping it with tape, looking up in time to see the blue molly bringing water to the injured unicorn. At least they had the sense to rehydrate her. He looked to address Braeburn again. 'Take the needles and push them into that pincushion; that will keep them from rolling loose on the floor until we can figure out how to get rid of them permanently.' Pushing the pincushion and antiseptic cream across the floor, he continued. 'You'll want to rub the area down with antiseptic and bandage over with gauze and tape as well to keep it from getting infected. Who knows what could have been on those needles?' Diomedes took the remainder of the gauze spool and made himself a second pincushion, gripping a spare wad of gauze in his teeth as he began the arduous process of removing the needles from his flight feathers… one at a time.

It seemed more ponies were starting to show up, crowding the entrance way and making it tougher to slip through unnoticed. However, White Feather wasn't concerned. In fact, the ice blue pony grinned, welcoming a fresh challenge for his skills. White Feather raised his head and began stepping normally, adopting the gait of a more 'average' patron of the Gala; he had to blend in somehow. White Feather strode past just feet away from an unawares Malediction on his way to the ballroom. 'You two lovebirds gonna stay out here all night?' He chuckled as he brushed past. 'The ballroom is this way if you're intent on cutting a rug!'

Aristotle left the two Wonderbolts to their own devices as the Emcee announced that there was but a few minutes remaining before show time. Wonderbolts, like the best soldiers, all needed prep time to assure that they operated at peak performance. Instead, he turned his attention to the young mare who had addressed him. 'Ah, Star Chaser, always a pleasure,' the old stallion said with a smile. 'It's good to see you back on your feet; even better to see that you haven't lost your edge. I trust that retirement has been as good to you as it has to me?' Star Chaser's wing was still bandaged from what Aristotle could see, but she was just as full of vigor as ever; it was clear that she had continued to train after her initial recovery. 'It's that indomitable spirit that I like to see in the Wonderbolts.' 'Have you met my son Diomedes?' he continued, motioning to Dio. 'It's his first time at the Gala, so do make him feel welcome.' 'Star Chaser,' Dio said, nodding in acknowledgement and picking up exactly where his father left off. Having an introduction and an excuse to make conversation almost made him forget about the suit; having a filly who wasn't hard on the eyes who wouldn't automatically discount him for his intimidating appearance didn't hurt either. 'You'll have to forgive my dad's bombast,' he said, regaining his composure. 'You put him in a military uniform and point him to a fancy event and he gets it through his head that he's the Mailed Fist of Celestia! Dad's here for the show, but I'm waiting on the bar,' he joked. Hopefully she had a sense of humor!

Ready for evaluation.

I love that stamp... so much.

So does she still resent unicorn and pegasi? That kind of attitude will have a very big impact on her worldview and social outlook; even if she's a hermit that lives in a cabin in the woods, she'd still have to go back into town periodically to get supplies or tools. Also, I'm seeing her as a dedicated scientist from how you've described her. Does she have a particular research goal? Any current projects she's working on? Does she ever want her work to be published so her accomplishments can be made known? These goals will also contribute to her worldview and affect her general disposition.

Aristotle: Military formal regalia, or Class-A uniform. No armor, just the military jacket, shirt, and tie with his rank insignia and commendation ribbons. Dio: A tux, which he feels very out of place in. Rook: Dress shirt, dinner jacket, tie. Rook isn't particularly fond of frills or elaborate costumes, but he knows the importance of looking good. White Feather: Blazer and dress shirt, sans tie. Just enough to slip through the festivities and acquire his prize.

A steel heart guarding a golden soul. I love it. The only glaringly obvious error is "Matilda is not a force to be reckoned with," which I'm sure should read "Matilda is a force to be reckoned with," which means she is a very formidable opponent.

As the two unicorns turned away to continue their conversation, a shadowy figure slinked along the parapets of the castle walls. Curiously indistinct, the phantasm glided from one stone projection to the next with nary a sound, always just on the edge of visible and audible perception. With a flick of its neck, the vaguely pony-like form dropped a line from the top of the parapet to the garden floor below. Securing a carabiner to his grapnel line, White Feather gingerly stepped over the edge of the castle wall and quickly abseiled down to the garden grounds. Out of earshot of Malediction and Dark Core, the ice blue earth pony dropped his saddlebags behind a tree and dusted off his suit jacket, slipping on his black masquerade mask in the process. Purposely taking the long way around, White Feather was careful to keep a hedge between himself and the unicorn pair. Work was work, and undue distractions were always an additional complication which would probably irritate his boss. The earth pony chuckled to himself and took a deep breath, letting the distant sounds and smells flood his senses. What was life without complications? 'May as well have some fun while I'm in town!' he said to himself. 'It's not every day I get to visit Canterlot Castle and get away with mingling!' Peeking over the hedge, he noted that Mal and Dark Core were still in the garden, chatting away. Something about dancing? White Feather suppressed a smirk. Though they were between him and the castle proper, they were distracted with each other; he'd be able to slip right past. With almost feline grace, White Feather moved silently around the hedge, coming up behind Malediction, intending to pass her quietly as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Diomedes Dio would have to write his dad to see if they were still on for dinner at the Viridian that weekend, as Aristotle's last letter had mentioned a long series of administrative meetings at the palace; something going on in Stalliongrad? Something was always going on in Stalliongrad. It wouldn't have been the first time that— — that the bartender smiled at him. Dio almost did a double take. Really, if he didn't know any better he'd think that she was actually making a pass at him. The pink unicorn did an interesting trick with Dio's coffee, giving it the press treatment, sans press. The red Pegasus cocked his head in curiosity. Martini really made an art of working the bar; it was just as much a performance as the lady Pegasus at the piano the night before or the indie bands at the Apple Bark back in Ponyville. He watched the bubble of coffee in fascination as it spiraled around Martini's head, lazily dribbling itself into the mug she had floated over to the table. Of course, that's when he realized that she'd been gazing at him the whole time while Dio's eyes had been following the coffee like a colt chasing fireflies. The pegasus' ears drooped for a moment as he realized his faux pas. He cleared his throat, using the distraction to both regain his composure and make eye contact with the pretty pink mare. 'So hon, where will you be flying off too next? Any place exciting, or new?' She said. Dio wasn't sure if she was oblivious to his momentary lapse of attention or merely being polite. He was hoping the former. 'Exciting never goes in the same sentence as Pony Mail unless one is negating the other,' he chuckled, getting back in conversational stride. 'But since you asked so nicely, I'll let you know that I'm headed to Canterlot. Yes, I know it's across the continent, but I can't really choose where they send me to deliver packages now, can I?'

Retirement definitely had its perks. Aristotle Ironwing had all the time in Equestria to catch up on the reading he had meant to do over the years. He could follow his own balanced training routines instead of the joint-grinding, mind-numbing, injury-inducing exercises that the army insisted would make stronger stallions. He could finally sit down and have dinner with his son at least once a week. Finally, he always received complimentary tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala. The old stallion smiled as he stepped up to the ropes of the VIP section and flashed his rank insignia to the guard. Diomedes shuffled uncomfortably behind his father. He hated formal attire; it was stuffy, it was restrictive, and it always meant dealing with equally stuffy and restrictive ponies. Dio unconsciously pulled at his bowtie with a hoof. He was definitely out of his element. But he didn't come here for the 'festivities;' he came here to spend time with his dad. With their jobs the way they were, opportunities like this didn't come very often. Dio sighed and stepped up beside Aristotle. The guard Pegasus snapped a salute off to Aristotle before waving him and Diomedes through the ropes. Captain Aristotle returned the salute and curtly stepped into the carpeted VIP area. Though the old stallion was past his prime, his natural charisma and formal military regalia made him seem larger than life. Even Dio's mighty frame seemed diminished as Captain Aristotle strode toward where the Wonderbolts had gathered, his head held high and his steps most martial in nature. Aristotle did not need armor to look like a warrior; his Class-A uniform and beret were enough. 'Fillies and gentlecolts of the Wonderbolts,' he said, addressing Soarin and Spitfire specifically, but not afraid to speak in front of their obvious fans. The old stallion's voice was like the roll of distant thunder. 'As one of your regular patrons, I am very much looking forward to the show. I wish you nothing but the best of luck in your coming performance.'

Added explanation of family names and streamlined description of his mannerisms. Also fixed broken links.

So he likes to go fast and beat other ponies. What exactly does he do to keep himself fed and pay for training costs? Is he a member of some racing league like Corsair? Is he a free agent in the league system? Is he a drifter like Trixie? When interacting with other ponies, the question of "what's your job?" is inevitably going to come up. "Being awesome" doesn't always cut it; Sunset Sprint is not Charlie Sheen. Also, the last line of his character summary seems to contradict the development made in the final paragraph. He's on the road to recovery and he's mellowed out a bit which is good. But suddenly he's still prepared to do anything to reach the sun? Including running himself into the ground? I'm not going to adjudicate his choices either way, but has his fundamental worldview changed or not? Did the accident reinforce his need to win or did he finally realize that he was mortal and fallible? I know I'm getting kind of nitpicky at this point, but Sunrise has the potential to open himself up to a world of possibilities on the road to self-discovery. Hammering out those last few details and ensuring that his personality is solid will make RPing him more natural to you.

Captain Sturmovik Someday, we will all pay for our sins. I can only hope that day comes for me after I retire. Name: Captain Sturmovik. Formerly known as "the Osprey" (Stallian: Skopa) Sex: Male Age: Stallion, nearing the end of his prime Species: Pegasus Coat Color: Ruddy red with white fetlock "boots." Gold and white pinion feathers. Eye Color: Green Mane/Tail Color and Style: White mane, longer, but trimmed and kept under his black watch cap. Tail is also white and is usually tied off to keep it out of the way when working. Watch cap has a sewn-on patch with the crest of Stalliongrad on it. Cutie Mark: A sextant overlapping a six-pointed star, symbolizing his love of sailing and astronomy as well as his knack for navigation. Physique: Burly and muscular. Years of working on airship decks have given him an impressive physique that bears the marks of hard labor. A few scars from combat are hidden by his watch cap, telnyashka, and flight jacket. Has a “Russian cross” branded on his left shoulder. Occupation: Airship captain/merchant mariner, former sky pirate. He is registered as a contractor for the Stallian Guard and regularly transports military personnel and materiel during non-combat operations. Motivation: Make enough bits to comfortably retire. Keep his crew safe. Keep the past from catching up with him. Origin: Stalliongrad, Kuznitza district. Currently operating a merchant marine vessel; modified Horizon-class, called the Artorius. Likes: A job well-done, Stallianoya Vodka, astronomy, classical music, starry nights, thunderstorms, oranges, his balalaika Dislikes: Cowardice, appearing weak in front of others, deals gone bad, his past catching up with him Character History Sturmovik was born the eldest son of two factory workers, a mother making textiles in Veya and a father who worked as an airship loader for a Kuznitza factory. Sturmovik grew up working the loading docks at the factory, fascinated with the airships that came and went and soaking up every story of pirates, fantastic battles in the sky, and sailing among the stars. After some coaxing, he convinced his father to allow him to sail on one of the very ships that hauled cargo from the factory. A young Sturmovik loved every minute of it; the open sky, the wind in his mane, the steady rhythm of work on an airship deck. However, one day his ship was attacked by an Aquellian raider. What was supposed to be a smash and grab operation turned very messy very quickly, as the Stallian crew were not willing to give up their cargo very easily. The battle ended with the ship crippled and all of the crew either wounded or captured. A young Sturmovik was dragged across the deck and dumped at the talons of a Griffon captain. The Griffon pirate captain, impressed with the colt’s tenacity, gave him the opportunity of a lifetime: join his crew, sail the winds, and sleep among the stars. Convinced that he would never see his home again, Sturmovik reluctantly agreed. The years that Sturmovik spent aboard the pirate vessel forced him to grow strong, battling for respect as a pony on a ship that was mostly Griffon. One day, the Captain, in planning a raid decided to bring Sturmovik into the fold. The raid called for an ambush to be executed along the Aquellia-Stalliongrad Trade Spine near Roughrider Ridge. However, the aerial terrain was hazardous, requiring meticulous attention to detail and a strong ability to navigate in order to traverse it. Sturmovik turned out to be a natural at aeronautical navigation. With pencil in mouth and plotting tools on hoof, he plotted out a course in an hour what had continued to perplex far more experienced airmen. It was with this that he earned his cutie mark. With Stumovik as his navigator, the Griffon captain gained wealth and infamy, as he could always be counted upon to appear from nowhere, strike like lightning, and abscond with a substantial haul before vanishing again. However, not all went according to plan. Eventually, his luck ran out and the captain suffered grievous wounds during a raid. Before passing, however, he gave command of the ship to Sturmovik. While many of the crew were shocked, Sturmovik proved himself a capable leader, navigator, and tactician, keeping his crew together through thick and thin and upholding the legacy of the old Griffon. Adopting the namesake of his former patron, Sturmovik began calling himself Skopa, or “The Osprey” in native Stallian. To conceal his identity, he wore a signature beaked mask and red and gold armor into battle. In all the years of pirating the Trade Spine, Sturmovik was never once umasked. Because of his speed, precision, and hardworking crew, Sturmovik acquired considerable plunder by attacking commercial shipping at the cost of putting heavy strain on Griffon-Equine relations during the time period. The thrill of the hunt and the glory of close combat motivated him to continue until a joint operation targeting pirates by ISU-143 of the Stallian Guard and I Order of Her Majesty’s Honor Guard resulted in the destruction of his ship and the death or capture of most of his crew. Sturmovik and a handful of crew managed to escape, but decided to part ways, hoping to throw off potential tails by the REA and SGU looking for them. The experience was humbling for him, showing that even a stallion at the top of his game could be beaten. The loss of his ship and his crew proved to be a watershed moment for Sturmovik. His entire operation was splintered and his fortune gone, leaving him with a blank slate as it were. It was here that he realized he was perpetuating someone else's legacy rather than forging his own path. Sturmovik decided to start anew, returning to Stalliongrad and signing on with the local merchant marine; "going straight" and leaving the mask and armor of Skopa behind. Several years later, the Captain found himself in charge of a new airship, and with legitimate business interests on hoof. He mostly keeps to himself, preferring not to ruin the good thing he has going for him. He currently operates the Artorius as a fast cargo hauler and naval auxiliary vessel. Sturmovik runs a tight ship. While he allows his crew substantial leeway while on shore leave, he demands discipline while sailing. His gruff, no-nonsense manner are quite offputting to the upper crust of Equine society, but any working-class pony will quickly appreciate his straightforwardness. Like many Stallian ships, the Artorius is racially integrated, capitalizing on the strengths of each species that works within her hull. The crew both fears and respects him, the former because of his imposing physique and intimidating glower; the latter because of his skills and experience. Still, the Captain cares deeply for his crew and is fiercely loyal to them, not wanting another disaster like the loss of his last ship. In spite of his adamantine exterior and gruff disposition, Sturmovik still has his softer side. He enjoys stargazing, seeing the sky as a work of art rather than merely a navigational tool and a traveler’s aide. He also retains his love of music, keeping a balalaika in his cabin and often attending musical performances while on shore leave. Sturmovik can often be heard strumming a tune and singing along in his spare time. The Airship Artorius Originally a rusting scrap heap in a Beakbreak City ship-breaking yard, the Artorius was acquired and rebuilt and recommissioned for use by Sturmovik. Based upon the Horizon-class airframe, the Artorius is a small ship optimized for speed over comfort. Though its exterior is beaten and scarred from weather and wear, its internals rival the sophistication of the newest Victory-class Griffon warships. The Artorius’ refit substantially upgraded its engines, giving the Artorius superior aerodynamic performance at the expense of being high maintenance. In crisis-time, the Artorius’ internal hardware has hookups for Aquellian pneumatic cannons that are standard armament on military airships. Crew of the Artorius Sturmovik surrounds himself with the most capable sailors and crewmen he can find. Of these, there are very few that he trusts with his past. Master Sergeant Alastair “Goldy” Goldmane: Griffon. Sturmovik’s first mate is a former Griffon marine who served with the infamous 13th Regiment ("Bloody Thirteen"). In spite of his former profession, he is amicable and gregarious. Demetrius: Green Dragon. Demetrius is a wheeler, dealer, and all-round scumbag, or so the locals say. Demetrius prefers to refer to himself as shrewd, cunning, and above all else, preeminently pragmatic. He has a head for numbers, a penchant for cards, and a a silver (if forked) tongue. He serves as the ship’s supercargo, cataloging, trading, and selling the ship’s wares and acquisitions. He also serves as a conduit for less than legal jobs, though Sturmovik has kept him in check in recent days. Tonic: Unicorn. Experienced healer, herbalist, and endless fountain of snark, Tonic provides a foil for Sturmovik's more serious nature as well as fufilling the need for a ship's corpsmare. Skill Set Street fighting. Despite his age, he still throws a mean left hook and is faster than his burly exterior would suggest. It’s always helpful to be able to fight when you sail and often frequent the haunts that sailors do. Command. Sturmovik hasn’t lost his edge from his pirate days, still knowing how to motivate his crew and get things done in adverse circumstances. Aeronautical Navigation. As his cutie mark suggests, Sturmovik is an excellent navigator and avid astronomer. Balalaika. Sturmovik is quite good at balalaika and has a repertoire of folk songs to both strum and sing. Pieces of Kit Telnyashka. Originally exclusively military wear, the telnyashka has filtered into mainstream Stalliongrad society as a symbol of Equestrian pride and masculinity, especially among the mariners and working class. Sturmovik's telnyashka bears the dark blue stripes of 10th Battalion's naval infantry. Watch cap. Due to the cold of the north and at altitude, Sturmovik and his crew often wear watch caps to keep warm. Sturmovik's particular cap has the crest of Stalliongrad sewn onto it. While in port, he often wears a forage cap with the emblem of Stalliongrad's merchant marine. Flight jacket. Canvas flight jacket with wool liner for protection from cold and the wear and tear of day to day work. Legacy Application will remain behind spoiler tags for records:

Here we are again. Wouldn't have it any other way.