inkings of the wretched pen

“Is it ready?” The baroness impatiently taps her foot on the wooden floor while she watches her paramour wipe a splotch of black oil from his cheek. “Three nights until the gala and I’ve yet to see this absurd device do anything.”

“Worry not, my lady.” The terse machinist grumbles in response. “It will be ready. This will take the prize and propel this city into the future. There is no other machine like this in all of creation. It is my magnum opus-- our nation’s crowning jewel.”

Four thousand miles away, the son of a fisherman toils under the crumbling ceiling of a long-abandoned watchtower. He has not received a day of schooling in his life. His hands, exhausted and bloodied from overuse, diligently work on the minutiae required of them. His fingers dance an unfamiliar yet spectacular waltz, tracing the patterns of circuits described to him by the soft voice that whispers to him while he dreams. He knows not what he creates-- only that it will be beautiful.

The two men will construct the same effigy, identical to the last wire. One will have a red ribbon carefully placed upon its chassis, the applause of a mob of idle sycophants covering its obscene whispers. The other will be discovered and reduced to its base ingredients by a furious crowd, too frightened to listen to the machine’s beautiful song.

The Sinclair Hunting Company is a hunter's guild that operated in the mountains and swamps of Begrava for several years before the Calamity. The Sinclair Hunting Company is best known for hunting and capturing exotic species, beasts of legend, the occasional runaway fugitive, and a journalist.

During an interview, founder Wolfgang Sinclair said to an employee of the Crookwick Gazette, "Shooting things is my pleasure. There's no thrill like the hunt. It's like a game of chess, except it's not dreadfully boring. Each hunt, whether hours or days long, is punctuated by the climactic kick of the rifle. It's an immensely pleasurable feeling that I can't quite capture with simple words. Allow me to demonstrate. Run over there and wave your arms above your head for me, if you please."

Sinclair Hunting Company member and sole daughter of Mr. Sinclair, Sarah "Sally" Sinclair, refused to respond to questions. She instead opted to continue her work on a device that she claimed would "kill them all."

sir you can't smoke that in here

waaah waaaaaaah my best friend die and it ruined my life bwaaaahhhh