Legend of Ransera

Brenner woke grumbling through his dry throat. The weight of his throbbing head on the pillow told him, lest he'd forgotten, that he'd overindulged in drink the prior evening. And night. And morning. Even now, he knew it was too early to rise and that he had little enough reason to force himself out of bed. He squinted through bleary eyes and reached around his nightstand for the glass of water he'd hopefully had the foresight to set out for himself. To his great relief, his quaky fingers closed around cool glass and he tipped his head up to gulp down its contents, sighing after the last of the water slid down his gullet. He reached to put the glass back, when he noticed a slip of paper stuck to the condensation on the bottom. He pulled it free and read the note from Stefan.

He smiled. Good thing he'd left a note! He vaguely remembered a snack and a drink with Stefan by the fireplace, but the details of their conversation were hazy to non-existent and he certainly didn't recall making plans for tonight. But, since he had, that settled it. He was going back to sleep. He rolled over and nestled back under the duvet, sliding his cold feet back and forth to warm them up.

When he next rose it was afternoon. He rung for a hearty breakfast, and resolved to pay for last night's indulgences by training with Albrekt in one of the smaller, less trafficked courtyards of the manor. Brenner had known Albrekt all his life. He'd accompanied their mother from the Gelerian Imperium as one of her two bodyguards, when she first arrived well over thirty years prior. He'd been Brenner's first instructor in the martial arts and, though he was getting on in years, Albrekt had never stopped studying and practicing new techniques. Due to this, he was never a dull nor an easy sparring partner and, particularly with the haze of his hangover, Brenner was treated to a formidable workout from his old tutor.

He spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on the letters that had accrued at the house for him, whilst he'd been sailing the skies. It was mostly business, with a few odd personal notes from friends and acquaintances wishing him a happy new year or asking when he'd be free for a drink.

He sat for wine with his parents whilst they took an early dinner, and caught them up on the same mundane experiences he didn't recall sharing with Stefan the prior night. He spoke of his frustration at doing more exhibition than adventure, and Melchior chided him for his heedless angst whilst Sylana indulged and defended her "Little Brynn" as was her wont. After Brenner took coffee and sat with his parents through their dessert, the butler handed him a missive from the Windworks.

"Ah." He grinned, "I'm off to meet Stefan, then." He was glad it wouldn't be too late, as he'd worked up an appetite watching his parents dine on some of his favourite dishes. He stepped over to kiss his mother first, then embrace his father, before jogging back upstairs to change into something less posh and more discreet. He threw on a poet's shirt, and topped it off with a fitted, bronze brocade waistcoat with a wide, black leather lapel and matching accents at the pockets. He found a matching pocketwatch and affixed its copper chain to a button slit, before sliding into the pocket that rested over his left oblique. He tugged on a taut pair of trousers in a pattern that ranged from burnt umber to almost black, with three black leather straps like tourniquets rounding each of his slender thighs with their bronze buckles firmly fastened. He tucked in his shirt and adjusted his vest, then tugged on a pair of knee-high combat boots with a series of buckles that took him quite a while to fasten. The footwear afforded him a bit more height than fortunate had seen fit to grant him, to close some of the gap between himself and Stefan.

Thus garbed, he made his way into the Zaichaer evening and took a cab rather than one of the family's luxury coaches, and arrived to find Stefan already at a table.

"I got your note." He said, as he marched up and tussled Stefan's hair, before claiming the seat opposite him. "You're early..." He observed, checking his pocket watch just to make sure that was actually true. He'd rather lost track of time.

Stefan had woken up only a few hours later than his usual six o'clock, and only a little worse for the late night of drinking. He was not expected into the factory that morning, nor was the factory even open, but worked better in his office there, not to mention that, despite his recent conciliatory fraternal conversation, he did not want to be present for the many social calls from well-wishers and gold-diggers the family would be receiving throughout the afternoon.

So he dressed, in his typical work attire, except the breeches he chose were of a nicer cut and fabric. He could bring along a shirt and waistcoat and change in his office before he left for dinner. His note had said nine and he could only hope his brother saw it instead of accidentally spilling water all over it. Considering that eventuality he poked his head into the kitchen to inform the cook that Brenner would be wanting one of her hangover cures when he woke, and to ask the under butler to remind him of their plans for the evening, in case it got near to the appointed time and it did not seem like he was preparing to leave.

Taking advantage of the skeleton staff he drove himself to the factory in his open-top steam carriage. He didn't get to drive often and enjoyed it. It still wasn't anything like warm out but the trip wasn't long and his coat was.

It was strange being in the huge building that made up the factory and the accompanying offices without another soul. The familiar sound of heating metal and hammers, workman, the hiss of hot air being used to inflate dirigibles were missing, and, surprisingly, the lack made it harder to concentrate.

So it was that he did not become engrossed, also that he didn't eat anything between the breakfast he'd had at the manor and the dinner. His manservant was, of course, with his wife and young children, which meant that no lunch was pressed upon him. When he could no longer concentrate on his regular work he pulled out the schematics for the rocket-pack he'd gifted Brenner and worked on the ideas that they'd spoken of the night before until it was just past eight in the evening. He changed, shaved; grimacing through with cold water, and generally made himself presentable. He had his silver pocket watch, which matched Brenner's in everything but the inscription, matching cufflinks, and a good, dark-green brocade vest. It wasn't near to his finest but he knew, as he locked his office and headed back out to his carriage that two things would be true of the evening; first, there was no chance of him dressing so well as Brenner would, the man had a flair for it, and, second, there was no telling where they might end up after dinner and no point ruining anything nicer.

He arrived at the hotel, where he had a standing table, at a quarter to nine. For once, he was early. He sat, order himself a glass of wine and, five minutes before the hour, a plate of oysters.

Brenner arrived on time, looking as Stefan had known he would.

"I'm glad you managed to find it." His tone was a subtle version of astonished, all of his emoting was done as though behind a curtain when they were in good society. He took the tussling with only a raised brow rather than the swat it would have gotten at home. "Shocking, I know. I forgot that Dienerin would be at home. My stomach was better than a watch at reminding me to keep our date."

"I ordered a starter, would you like some of my wine, it's quite good?" The bottle was only missing the one glass so far, and its contents shone dark blood-red in the crystalline light of the chandeliers.

The oysters arrived then and the waiter took their orders of food and drink with merely a nod. Taking one of the half-shells and drizzling fresh lemon juice over it, he let it slide, cool and tart, down his throat.
"How was your day? Were you out of bed before nightfall? Did mother regale you with my prospects?"

"It was stuck to the bottom of my water glass," It dawned on Brenner in that moment, "Was that another of your contributions? I thank you for it. I woke parched." He took a seat and handed his overcoat off to the maitre d' who'd followed him from the front, when he'd blustered in. The befuddled older man might have grimaced at Brenner, but his moustache was too pronounced to reveal if so.

"I'll be the judge of that." The younger Dornkirk asserted, as he took Stefan's glass and tasted the contents. He puckered his lips and swirled it around, "Mm. Nothing like a Zaichaer Zweigelt." He glanced up, to find the host had only started to turn away. "Oh, good, you're still milling. Another glass, double-quick." He commanded, returning his attention to Stefan.

"No, actually, I-..." Brenner's reply was interrupted by the arrival of the oysters, as well as the second glass he'd requested of the host. "Guess you're off the hook." He said with a wink to the flustered old fellow, and then let the servants go about their business of pouring wine, setting down plates and the like, as he continued his prior thought.

"I was the one who did most of the talking. Mother peppered me with questions the entire time. She's no doubt preparing a file for my submission to the bachelor edition of the courting catalogue." It seemed he hadn't forgotten everything they'd discussed over whiskey, at least.

"Father was quite distracted. Politics, I'll wager. He had the evening edition of the Zaichaer Mirror on the dinner table. I've seen him read the paper at breakfast, but never at dinner. He didn't even seem to notice when mum gave up on his contributing to the discourse and just started openly speaking to me in Kathar." He chuckled, "Mm, don't mind if I do." He said, taking one of the oysters and gulping it down ungarnished.

"How was the office? Quiet, I trust?" He ran his tongue over his salt-specked lips and followed his questions up with a sip of red.

The question of the provision of water came as he was sipping his wine, so he nodded before swallowing,

"No chance you'd remembered to drink anything non-alcoholic while attempting to impress every admiral to ever grace our skies." It was teasing, but the thought he put into his younger brother's care was there too.

His wine glass was promptly snatched away in punishment for his teasing, leaving a surprised expression on his face before he covered it. Somehow, even though the event of Brenner snatching things from him had become a staple of their childhood, he still never expected it.

"Bachelor edition? I suppose they would have one of those, it'd be only fair." Having his faults and qualities laid out for the perusal of young socialites in search of a husband seemed, somehow, less embarrassing than trying to impart such information on a dance floor or in small talk over a tea table.

"Paper on the dinner table? He must have finally resigned himself to the fact that when you're home Mother will have eyes, and ears, for no one else."

He took a second portion of the appetizer and downed it, again sipping his wine after. He enjoyed the way the flavors followed each other. "Mmm, too quiet actually. I couldn't settle down. I'm too used to hearing the action inspired by my thought, I suppose. Without anyone to even float my ideas towards I ended up working on that idea for the rocket pack we spoke of last night. I don't suppose you remember any of that?"

His eyes followed Brenner through his oyster and accompanying drink. They had similar tastes, it could hardly be helped really. Salads arrived promptly, on chilled plates with accompanying chilled forks. He wondered how the natives of Kalzasi got along without the wonders of modern technology to heat and cool plates and silverware. He knew, of course, that they didn't have anything like the hotel he was sitting in, so, they got along by being primitive.

Brenner furrowed his brow and began to protest Stefan's assertion,

"You're-..." He wrinkled his nose and slumped his shoulders, "...not wrong. I think the closest I did to hydrating was starting the evening off with sparkling wine, before I fell down a whiskey cask. But worry not," He said, swirling his present glass, "I've spent all day hydrating, so I'm ready to do it all over without all the foreplay of drinking with non-Dornkirks." He lifted his wine,

"To brotherly love." He toasted, and allowed himself more of a gulp than a sip, to follow it up.

"Well, if there is a bachelor catalogue out there, I wouldn't be surprised if mum was the publisher and we alternate months on the front page." He slid an oyster through a smirk, tipping his head back and swallowing it down, savouringly.

"Oh, don't be daft. I'm just her baby. You know mums are... She made all her mistakes with you in that first ghastly year, and she'd perfected motherhood by the time I came along so..." He was too tickled with his jibe to finish the thought, but his chuckles ebbed ere long.

"I'm too used to hearing the action inspired by my thought", Brenner repeated in his best Stefan impression. "That's proper haughty, Stef! I approve. It's that kind of talk that'll hook your future wife, and yes! I remember talking about my favourite toy. Of course I do..." The details were hazy, but he felt no particular inclination to elaborate on that.

"So, were you able to make any formidable improvements to the apparatus? I really think a line of them could be a huge boon to the Corps. Imagine! If we got them working well enough? Gave them some real longevity? We could vie with the bird boys of the North on their own terms." He leaned in and lowered his voice, "Perhaps that would inspire Brass to stop pussyfooting around and put their marks where their mouths are."

He raised his glass to his brother's toast and added, "To drinking with Dornkirks.", before drinking.

"I'm suddenly very glad our father never decided to branch out into publishing." He grimaced but it was for the joke and dissolved into a smile again immediately. "I think we'd know if she were doing it secretly, she'd be always demanding new portraits."

Taking up his salad fork he shook his head as Brenner's sentences fell about in laughter.

"Imperium! Can you imagine how awful of a baby I'd have to have been for her to learn all she needed to know about being a mother in eleven months? No. I was the quiet baby. You were the screamer. I'm not even sure she knew there was a baby in the house till you came along." Of course, Sylana had spent almost her entire first year as a month pregnant, so, naturally, she had been distracted from her first offspring. Stefan didn't remember any of it, he imagined his first memories were being shown the bundle that had been Brenner on his brother's day of birth. It might have been too.

Concern, and then exasperation painted his features and a little color came to stain high on his cheekbones.

"I didn't mean it like... You know what I meant." He took a bite and just let Brenner go on talking rather than bring any more attention to his perceived arrogance. For all he knew that sort of talk was how one garnered the favor of potential spouses.

"I was able to get down the idea of using more than one shard, I think a latticework of small ones throughout the inner chamber would work even better than my idea about using several large ones in concert." He went on to explain the idea. Brenner hadn't been raised to take over the family business but you couldn't grow up in the Dornkirk household without understanding how mechanisms worked. "I really think it would work. The problem is getting my hands on a hundred or more shards of the right kind. Wouldn't it be just a kick in the balls if we made a trade deal with the Kalzasians for a steady supply and then used them to burn their soldiers out of the sky?"

A grin flashed briefly at the conspiratorial whisper,

"They certainly would have to put their marks in if they wanted enough of the packs to contend with the bird soldiers. I'd have to retrofit a part of the factory to produce them in that number and they wouldn't be cheap. In comparison to the fighting and lifting capacity of the 'Victory, it'd be exponentially more expensive to lift just one person." For a moment he looked ready to start doing math on the linen table cloth but he shook himself out of it after a moment. "I could get you some numbers after the holidays, if you really think your daring flights with the prototype can inspire the Brass."

"Honestly, it was shortsighted of him not to." Brenner knitted his brow, "A publisher can influence the narrative... Especially one who supports the State. See? It's this kind of thinking that proves you're going to take Dornkirk to new strata." He ran his index finger around the rim of the salad plate, absently, as his eyes remained on Stefan.

"You really should look into publishing... But, well. We'll let you get married first, so you don't have to worry about being catalogued as the notion seems to confound you so." He placed his focus upon the course in front of him, smiling blithely through Stefan's imaginings of their early childhood. His mind wandered to an odd thought- He wondered whether memories so remote might be restored through magical means. Then he wondered whether they might be revived by science. Anything worthwhile that could be achieved with magic, could be achieved through science more purely. Anything that could be achieved by magic that could not be achieved through science was inherently blighted. Such was the common sense of their household.

"Mm." He glanced up from his now half-finished salad, nodding at Stefan's reasoning.

"The solution seems sound but, I'm afraid, impractical enough to be disqualifying. I wonder if there's a means of powering such an apparatus that doesn't rely upon those damnable dragonshards. I am loathe to rely on a power source so difficult to procure as well as being..." And he lowered his voice, lest he spoil the suppers of other guests at tables within earshot, "...arcane in nature." He polished off his first glass of wine and set the empty glass down. His eyes rose to a chandelier that hung above. It rather reminded him of the Searing Victory, insofar as it was little more than an ornament placed where it was to make a statement.

"Stef..." He began, thinking back to his earlier musings, "Do you believe the common wisdom that anything worthwhile can be achieved through science?"

The idea of going into publishing was interesting, but it would have to be something to hire a manager for. Stefan himself knew he wouldn't have the mental energy to split between two major industries.

"I'll look into it, see if any of the middling publishing houses are looking to sell. No harm in knowing, and, who knows, maybe I can find a publishing heiress to take to wife." He pushed his salad plate away, signaling that he was ready for the main course. A moment later the waiter was at his side, removing both the smaller salad plate and the empty oyster plate with practiced elegance.

Stefan ignored the man entirely. As much as he imagined his head was still in his middle-class roots of practicality he was very used to being served in almost every aspect of his life.

He tilted his head to one side, a sure sign that his mind was going back to thoughts of individual flight apparatus. "It could be done with fire, of course, but it would be exceptionally dangerous. Even if I could develop a suit with strong enough fire retardant properties to protect the wearer, take off from the deck of an airship could be catastrophic. The chance of failure mid-flight, the inability to stabilize or steer..." He shook his head, more sadly than anything, "It just wouldn't work. I wish I could find a way to make steam viable but I haven't thought of one yet. It's clean, easy to manufacture."

He paused to lean back and allow the main course to arrive. He had ordered a roasted duck with shallots and vegetables, he particularly enjoyed the way the chef prepared it. He wasn't one for gamey meat usually. His imperialistic nod without looking at the staff to indicate his meal was correct would have done an emperor proud. The look never touched Brenner, of course. Taking up his heated dinner fork and knife he began slicing into his bird, the grim idea of the Kalzasian prince touching his thought process flash-pan quick before being dismissed for pleasanter topics. His brother's question was first on the list. He did give it due consideration, but his opinion hadn't ever really changed.

"I do." His tone was earnest without judgment, "I know that magic can achieve things faster and that there are many things we haven't learned to do yet, but I believe that someday science will pass magic by, leave it in the annals of history, an archaic curiosity. Until that happens I recognize the necessity of its controlled use. Our soldiers deserve healing, our city protection, and stability. It's like, do you remember when you were little and you had that stuffed bear? The weird one with the long tail? You used to drag it around with you everywhere and couldn't sleep without it. You needed it, and that was fine, but you're a man now and I doubt you ever think of the thing. Magic is a crutch and when someone needs a crutch there is nothing wrong with one, but a healthy person shouldn't just walk around with one for no reason. It would show them diseased in a different way, in their minds. I think magic being used by those without dire need and no other chance causes an illness of the soul."

It wasn't a universal idea, but it wasn't an unknown one either. "The way magic twists things, it's not just on a physical level, it's something deeper." He shuddered a little, barely a movement, but something Brenner would notice.

"It certainly causes an inherent laziness to develop." He took a bite, tone less gentle as he thought over how magic made a society weak. "I know I probably sound like Father." His ghost of a smile returned,
"What do you think?" Brenner would know that even if he expressed views very different from the ones Stefan did that his older brother would listen to him with the respect of a peer.

"Now you're cooking with coal!" Brenner nodded, emphatically. A publishing heiress would be just the thing. "And if you don't like her, just foist her on me. I'll make it work." He sat back as the waiter returned to clear the plates and refresh his wine glass. As soon as it was full, he drew it to his lips and then placed it down close by.

"Right..." Brenner grimaced. He was certainly glad Stefan bore a mind that had both creativity and technical know-how. The younger Dornkirk knew the basics of what was expected of him when it came to manufacturing, but he'd have had no idea how to translate a great idea into a practical, functioning apparatus. That was all Stefan's jurisdiction. Brenner's was keeping ships operational once they were built, not figuring out how to get a leviathan-sized weapon of mass destruction to float in the air as quietly as a cloud.

Brenner's dish was placed before him: Calves liver with sliced onions and gravy, and a heaping side of mashed potatoes. He took up his silverware and sliced into the tender offal, cutting himself a sliver. His eyes rolled back as he took his first, relishing bite. When his pupils rolled back down they found Stefan, as he began to answer the question he'd posed about science versus magic.

"Mm." He said, before swallowing the bite he'd taken to respond properly. "I think the thing about magic is that it's inherently biased. To believe in science is to believe in equality. Any man can fly in an airship, but not any man can sprout wings from his shoulder-blades and fly like a bird. Magic creates an... an unnatural hierarchy." He scooped up a bit of potato with his fork,

"These creatures with their misguided... I might go so far as to call it a childish belief in gods, need to believe that something favours them enough to endow them with otherness with what I'm sure they regard as superiority. What we're really fighting for, and I'm sure they'd scoff at the notion... is equity. An even playing field." He paused,

"I do remember that bear." He nodded, "And what you may not remember is that I didn't merely grow out of carrying it around with me. Father took it away from me, and I cried for days. But I am better for the hardship." He gestured across the table with his potato-laden fork,

"It is my belief that it will be thus with magic. This world will not grow out of it of its own accord. Science will not gain favour and cause magic to be outmoded. Like a child doting over a toy, some father, or..." He smirked, "Some Fatherland will need to take it away and burn it, as our father did to Mr. Schmusen." A tinge of sadness twitched his cheek, but it was scarcely noticeable as Brenner was simultaneously parting his lips for that long-awaiting bite of potato. He paused,

"I'm sorry. I hope I'm not spoiling your dinner, bringing up such foul things. A palette cleanser." He sipped his wine.

"I'll keep an eye out for anyone who fits the bills." He would too, despite his jovial tone. As much as he was resigned to his own marriage being one of political gain he knew Brenner would have a more lenient choice. Stefan wanted him to be happy, and, in this, he was glad to be the elder.

He nodded along as he ate, taking in the information and agreeing with it in the same thought. "Magic is a meritless system. You can not earn your way into its ranks with effort. A ruling class should be made up of those who have fought for it and, in doing so, understand the travails of those who place themselves beneath them. I've heard that the majority of nobility in Kalzasi are magical beasts. Can you imagine the plight of the citizens? Submit to the rule of powerful creatures or suffer their wrath. I can't but imagine they will welcome the breaking of such a system. Change is hard for anyone, but if they were granted freedom from such oppression surely they would hail their liberators."

He peeled a long strip of meat from the bone and took the time to chew and swallow.

"I wish I could think it was childish. Gods are an excuse for behaviors that, otherwise, would be wrong. Behaviors that are wrong." He shook his head in disgust, unable to go on, especially since he knew Brenner knew these things well. Raising his glass he tilted it toward his brother,

"Hail Zaichaer." The salute was a confirmation of and agreement with the fight for equality. Zaichaer, and the fallen empire it represented, would rise to the call for equality all over Karnor, and the brothers Dornkirk would answer.

When the topic shifted back to their childhood he wiped his mouth unobtrusively with his napkin and met his brother's eyes.
"I do remember. Who else was there to crawl into bed with you so you could sleep those first few nights? I completely agree with you. As painful as the situation was, its resolution was part of my meaning. Having our crutches pulled away is never pleasant, but we must learn to walk, however painful. Look how you turned out. Face of Zaichaer. "

The last sentences had a decidedly flirtatious tone and he looked the man sitting opposite over in exaggerated appreciation.

"Not at all." He waved the thought away like a buzzing fly, "Thought aids the digestion." He sipped his wine also, despite the words. "Are you in the mood for dessert? I saw they are serving Zaichaer Kranz and some sort of gateau invented by the chef."

Knowing the night of drinking ahead of them Stefan was not inclined toward anything sweet and heavy, though he normally would have indulged.