Infobox
Property Value Aliases — Race Human (Blond) Sex Female Born 13 Solai (I Summer) 3773 Died — Status Alive Dynasty Bjornkram Titles Roles Captain of The Imperial Bloodhounds Origin Bjornkram Village Religion — Factions The Imperial Bloodhounds Height/Weight 173cm / 68kg Family Alan Bjornkram (Father, 💀)
Ennet Vedel (Mother, 💀)
SYSTEM ID: BASE STATS
Class: Bloodhound
Role: Duelist
SAN INIT VIT INT DEX STR 55 16 5 5 10 8 ❤️ HP: 98 / 98
🛡️ AC: 16 (Light)
Overview
Captain of the Imperial Bloodhounds of the Franor Empire and Baroness of Bragge, claimant to the title of Royal Exarch of the Brann Sector.
A white witch - ha, she certainly gave those fur-bloods a fright… they couldn’t even muster a more unique description for this exquisite, pallid woman with her cold, mocking blue eyes. “A typical blond, why insults huh?” she once remarked to a captive wolf-kin, all while shearing his tail off at the root.
Stately in height and athletic of build. A resilient, composed woman, seasoned by the bitterness of life since her youth. Despite her relaxed air, she remains ever-vigilant; her mind and discipline are simply incapable of a lapse in alertness. Striking with lethal suddenness and grace - her skills are honed to flawless perfection, even if executed with a certain haughty audacity.
Appearance
Physiology
A stately height of 173 cm, paired with an athletic, mesomorphic frame. Her physique is remarkably agile, marked by well-defined deltoids across the shoulder girdle. She possesses a pronounced muscular core - sharp obliques and a hardened midsection. Her calves and quadriceps are dense and springy. The latissimus dorsi are developed with perfect symmetry, despite her right hand being dominant. Speaking of her hands - the constant micro-adjustments and the steady grip required to guide the flight of a whip have granted Emma a truly iron grasp and tireless tendons. Her forearms appear exceptionally sculpted and sinewy. Pale skin, porcelain-white with a cold undertone.
Head
An oval face with a sharp jawline and a pointed chin. Her features are elegant, yet tempered and hardened. Platinum-silver hair, cut into a short, unkempt bob with textured layers. A long fringe sweeps across her brow, framing her eyes.
Her eyes are crystal blue, ordinary - human. Or rather, her right eye is, for the left is an Adsel artifact, a custom-made prosthetic fashioned by the Vagge engineer Teitr from a Bragge family heirloom - the Clars pendant. To the naked, slightly hooded eye, it is indeed difficult to distinguish the prosthesis from the real one, but should she squint ever so slightly, you will catch that classic glimmer unique to Mazurite craft.
Posturing & Body Language
Text…
Equipment
Text…
Psychology
Upon granting a thrall the right
— “Go on then, take it! ” — She tosses a dagger at the wretch’s feet. — “Now you hold the same right in your hands as I do: you are free to wield it as you see fit. Come, drive it into me… or perhaps, into yourself?”
The slave casts the dagger aside, the steel clattering against the stone as he collapses to his knees.
— “Even when granted my equal standing, you chose to surrender your will back to me. A truly servile act. Fur dog.”
Though the slave retrieved his “right” following Emma’s words, lunging toward her with sudden desperation, the Captain had already validated her superiority. No further mercies were to be granted. Once his carcass met the earth, Emma returned to her duties as if nothing had occurred, adhering to the strictures of her code and the unwavering letter of the Imperial regulations. Yet, the crimson stain spreading across the soil seemed to whisper to the maiden: “this dog succeeded after all”.
Emma Bjornkram is a woman in every sense of the word. A unique specimen, her resilience etched by the deliberate strikes of fate, she strides forward with unwavering purpose… at least until life deals its next blow. Prior to the events of “The White Winter in Dallai” she could almost have been described as the Empire’s perfect instrument: steadfast, disciplined, and seasoned - a woman who followed the regulations to the letter and held an unshakable contempt for the enslaved. She was a true zealot of her homeland’s ideology. Yet, beneath this veneer of perfection lies a human being, driven primarily by her own hidden agendas. And the slaves… tsk… a common childhood trauma that, whenever it surfaces, strikes at the very root of her understanding of “freedom.”
Retort to Gunnar, upon his remarking on her capacity for comradeship
It’s all well and good, so long as you don’t start sprouting fur.
This is merely a defense mechanism to prevent the past from unbalancing her mind. For she, too, had once been the very thing she now loathes: a slave. Well then, enough of them.
Friendship
True friendship is alien to her; what she feels is more akin to care and guardianship over her “children.” She holds a high reputation among her subordinates due to her genuine care and her tendency to demonstrate the value of every member of the organization. Though capable of showing emotion, she usually prefers a mocking, composed facade. For the first time in the squad’s history, she was unable to hold back a solitary tear as they saw one of their own off to the other world.
Hierarchy
She maintains a neutral stance toward one’s station in society, with the sole exception of the enslaved.
Ambitions & Intent
- To uncover the truth behind the destruction of her family
- To seize the title of Royal Exarch, which is hers by birthright
Background
13 Solai 3773 — 29 Baza 3784
Early Years
She was born into the noble house of Bjornkram, within a modest estate nestled near the eastern Franorian woods, far removed from the main thoroughfare. The holdings were humble: a solitary field, a small mine, and a vast expanse of dense forest that swallowed the rest of the land.
With Emma’s mother having perished in childbirth and her father frequently drawn away on urgent matters of state, her upbringing fell to the family butler. From her earliest years, she was tutored in reading, letters, and history, receiving the full breadth of a proper noble education.
Life was peaceful and measured—until Emma’s seventh birthday, when the estate was painted in shades of crimson.
Ruin of Bjornkram
It was an early autumn night. Suddenly, screams shattered the silence. Alan, Emma’s father, rushed out to see the cause and beheld a battle erupting in the pitch darkness. No, it was not a battle - it was…
— “A raid! We are under attack! My Lord?” — the butler’s voice rang out. — “Where is Emma?” — Alan demanded. — “She is in her cham – ” — “Grab her and run for the forest! NOW!”
There was no time for more. Alan vanished into the gloom. The butler lunged toward the girl’s bedroom, but found it empty. Pure, unadulterated panic seized the “savior’s” mind.
“Oh no! Emma, not now… Emma?! Are you here?! Answer me, please!” Only silence answered him.
Meanwhile, Emma was already in the thick of a struggle - a struggle against her own paralyzing shame. She had no plan. At the first sound of screams, she had bolted to the home of her best friend, Austin. But upon arriving, she found only the lifeless bodies of his entire family. Disorientation and fear triggered a total shutdown of her senses. She could not move. It was impossible, especially when… Hush… do you hear that?
“I saw plenty of food here.” “Then hurry, show me where! We have no time.” “Only… it’s a bit of a ‘mess’ in there.”
Emma froze. Terror overwhelmed her so completely that she couldn’t take a single step. She stood rooted to the spot, staring at the door with a sliver of hope that those on the other side were not enemies.
Click. The door creaked open. Then—CRASH. Thud. Gasping. One of the zoomorphs was hurled through the doorway, struck by something heavy. The violent shift in the air snapped Emma back to reality. She knew those sounds. That voice… Father?
“Father!” Emma cried, rushing out of the hut.
She saw her wounded father fighting four of the beasts. With his bare hands, he seized one of the monsters by the throat and tore out its windpipe. Only then did he hear his daughter’s voice.
“Emma? What in the…?”
Alan didn’t have time to finish his word of grim surprise. A wooden mace collided with his skull. Blood sprayed, his vision blurred, yet he still managed to strike back. It seemed that even with such wounds, Alan stood a chance against this pack of brigands. But reality is cruel: the blow to the head took its toll. Her father lost consciousness and, moments later, was mercilessly stabbed to death.
Servitude
“FATHERRRRRR!” - the unrestrained shriek of a small girl tore through the air. Tears and snot - a repulsive sight; children, by nature, love to wail and drown in their own misery. Apparently, I am not the only one who thinks so. Look there - that wolf-man isn’t fond of it either. He approached and pressed something to her face, making the little one fall silent.
She regained consciousness only later, somewhere in a forest. It was hard to tell how much time had passed; her vision was blurred, yet her soul felt strangely calm. There were several such awakenings from sleep until she was finally forced awake.
“Get up, you brat” - growled a crude hound - “Hey, you, I’ve had enough of this.”
In that moment, Emma felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her stomach. “Bleh” - a retching sound escaped her as she clutched the spot where the brigand had just kicked her.
“Finally. Here, wash yourself. You have ten minutes,” - he barked menacingly.
For two minutes, Emma tried to soothe the pain from the blow; another three were spent trying to stand. For two more minutes, she struggled to grasp where she was and what had happened, and then…
“AAA, FATHER, NO!”
Yes, she had finally woken up exactly where she needed to be - in reality. Two other captive children from her estate ran toward her cry. They helped her come to her senses before the “angry dog” could return to bark and bite. Moreover, one of them managed to bargain for an extra day for Emma to fully recover.
By the next day, they had somehow prepared her. It turned out they were captives of a gang of runaway zoomorph slaves. “They” meant Emma and two other children: Lumi (10 years old) and Stellan (6 years old). A sudden spoiler - they will die.
The irony of fate - a slave enslaving a slave. What could be worse? And for what? To vent their rage and feel like true masters, justifying their vile behavior with phrases like “But you did the same to us…” or “When you had us…“. How pathetic, to take it out on children.
In the first week of her servitude, still not fully herself, Emma performed the role of a servant like a silent doll. But then she stumbled while carrying wine in expensive glasses on a silver tray - stolen from her own home. The wine splashed entirely over the leader of this shaggy gang.
“Oh, how tired I am of you,” - the gang leader said - “It’s time to punish you for your bad behavior. Why does a slave need eyes if she doesn’t use them to look? Eh? What do you say, boys? What use are they to her?”
After a few seconds of silence, he gave a sharp gesture. His lackeys seized the wretched girl and forced her onto a table. She was completely pinned down. One held her head, another forced her left eye open.
Nonsensical taunts, a sense of omnipotence, pleas for mercy, tears, begging, begging, begging - but it was all in vain. The air was shattered by GROANS OF AGONIZING PAIN. A blade sawed back and forth against the optic nerve, back and forth… God, how inexperienced he was.
“Vrofr, give it to me, you’re doing it wrong,” - a brief pause - SNIP. And then, a void that instantly struck with a pain so crushing it reached the very brain. The punishment was carried out; the debt for the spilled wine was paid.
The Price of Salvation
Four years of servitude - a term few children could endure, yet Emma and Stellan remained. Where was Lumi, you ask? Nothing unusual; she was merely spoiled goods who chose to end her own life after frequent, careless use and the expiration of her “shelf life.” Emma was spared such a fate, owing to her absolute obedience and tender age. She remained a sweet, compliant, and seemingly innocent one-eyed slave. Stellan was the fortunate one - the gang saw a future brother-in-arms in him, despite his Fair-haired blood. From the earliest years, the boy showed interest in the “furs,” shadowing them, mimicking their gaits, and practicing with makeshift weapons while spying on their drills.
An idyll of sorts: everyone in their place, life moving forward; some serving, some suffering, and some organizing a cleansing operation of the forest camps near the Moth-Neses mountains.
On a night in the month of Bazai, arrows hissed from the darkness - the camp was under assault.
“Cursed! How did they slip past unseen?” - gasped a stag-kin, choking on his own terror. “No matter!” - the leader spat - “Grab the whelps and get to the cellar.” “Why the hell do I need the brats?” “Fool! Have them carry the goods, then dispose of them!”
The sounds of close combat were already near, though it was hardly a fair fight - it was total domination by the attackers. Realizing their defeat, the leader chose flight. He ordered another lackey to the cellar to hurry Riir, that stag-kin, while the rest scrambled to salvage what loot they could.
Meanwhile, in the cellar…
“Move! Take these vials and pack them in the crates, NOW!” - Riir barked, his voice laced with the onset of panic.
Emma and Stellan set to work. Riir’s hooves paced nervously; he felt the clock ticking. Every minute was a step toward a death sentence.
“I SAID FASTER!” - he snapped - “FREIK!” - Riir abandoned his post at the exit to help the slaves. Yet his panic was so great that he feared staying to pack it all. He moved to the second part of the plan.
“Enough!” - he drew a knife - “Stellan, lad, I’d rather not kill you. Here.” - He handed the blade to the boy. - “Kill Emma, and you come with us.”
Horror and the sting of betrayal flooded Emma’s mind. Stellan froze, staring at the steel in his right hand. After a few seconds, Riir lost his patience…
“STELL-!” “Of course, Riir. No problem at all,” - Stellan said with a smile, as if nothing were amiss. “Good lad,” - were Riir’s last coherent words as he turned his gaze toward the upper hatch.
A silent, precise strike drove the knife straight into the bandit’s groin. As he collapsed to his knees, a second blow followed - calm, devoid of regret - straight into his throat. Emma would remember that moment forever.
For the first time in years, a tear escaped Emma’s eye. “S-Stellan?” - she began, but the youth cut her off. He seized her hands and struck her cheeks with them.
“Pull yourself together, Emma! Do you think I could ever forgive what they did to Lumi?” - he hissed as she gasped in shock. - “Focus! Fear is our enemy! It won’t let us out alive!” “Yes!” - Emma replied.
“Riir?! It’s me, Laeluma! Vrofr said to hurry you up - we’re vanishing from here!” - the messenger’s voice echoed from above.
No one was watching the exit. No one had time to flee or hide the tracks. The scene Laeluma beheld gave him every reason to finish the small ones immediately. Stellan, with no time for a plan, simply lunged at the enemy with his knife. Valiant and desperate. The boy’s head, like a small, young pumpkin, rolled across the floor, leaving only crimson memories behind. Laeluma liked Stellan; it was a shame to lose such a companionable lad. Nevertheless, the fox-kin moved toward Emma to finish the task.
None could have guessed that Emma would snatch the dagger from the fallen Riir and settle into a stance. Still in tears, her face told the “furs” clearly: she was ready to kill them all.
“For fuck sake! Only more trouble from you,” - the fox-kin grumbled, approaching.
Emma swung, but her strike was parried with ease. Immediately after, she felt a sharp prick in her abdomen. It was so sudden, so clinical, she barely noticed the knife sinking into her.
“See Stellan and Lumi on the other side,” - Laeluma added, preparing to twist the blade out.
But Emma seized his arm, howling with a whistling scream as she threw herself against him.
“What the hell are you-?”
Snip. A dagger buried itself into the side of his neck from behind. Laeluma fell dead, revealing Emma’s savior. Shaken by shock, wounds, and the loss of her friend, the girl’s body decided it had reached its limit. Consciousness flickered and died.
“Stein!” “Yes, Captain.” “Take the child to Ylvi. Let her tend to the girl.” “As you command.”
It was a dialogue Emma did not hear. The man who had neutralized Laeluma was none other than the Captain of the Imperial Bloodhounds of Franora, Dolf Bragge. It was he who ordered his subordinate, Stein, to carry Emma to their field medic, Ylvi. Thanks to this man, the girl’s life would be saved.
The operation was a success? It depends on the perspective. The core of the gang and their leader escaped; of the captives, only Emma survived. What was the true objective?
“Stein! And tell the others: the goods have been recovered.” “Understood.”
21 Abzuni 3784 — 4 Mulian 3791
The Adopted Daughter of Bragge
The treatment of the young girl’s abdomen was a success. She was able to walk, more or less, after a month had passed, and her first steps were taken within the castle walls of House Bragge. The estate itself… gods only know why anyone would need a castle in this forsaken place, but the ancients surely had their reasons. Creeping toward a narrow window on the second floor, Emma beheld the sight of the dismal, blue expanse of the ocean. Surveying the surroundings of her bedchamber, the girl tried to fathom what would become of her. She knew where she was - this was not her first time waking within these walls. After a time, Horus, a servant of Lord Dolf Bragge already known to her, entered the room. After seeing to her health, hygiene, and appearance, he informed Emma of her new status and the duties that came with it.
“I am pleased to see you have finally found your footing, my Lady. Many in this keep wagered you would find your way to the bone-grinder rather than the Baron’s chambers. Those weeks you spent gripped by fever were the final mercy you shall receive. Consider the brand of a slave bled out of you alongside the foul humors of that gut wound. But do not be deceived; the title of Baron Dolf’s daughter weighs heavier than any shackle. You are now one of his five wards, and he will not have you shaming his name with your frailty.
From this moment, your life belongs not to chance, but to the Schedule. Listen well and commit it to memory, for the Baron does not speak twice:
At five of the clock, you shall rise. By half-past five, you are to stand at the main wing of the castle alongside the others. At the third pair - breakfast, and exactly a quarter-hour later, you must be at the yard. From half-past six until the first half of the seventh pair: training. The Baron has no use for weak daughters, even those who once knew the touch of silk. Lunch at the seventh pair, and then back to the grounds until nineteen hours. After dinner, from half-past seven until the end of the ninth pair, you shall personally clean your wing. Cleanliness is but another form of discipline. You are granted one hour of leisure until the eleventh pair, followed by sleep or watch duty. The roster is fixed; if it is your turn upon the battlements, you shall not close your eyes until dawn.
Mark this well: leaving the confines of these walls is strictly forbidden. The world beyond is dead to you. Any disobedience, any spark of defiance, shall be punished by the Lord himself. His whip knows no distinction between a slave and a child, and the number of lashes will grow faster than your pride.
I trust your stitches are strong enough to withstand such a pace? Have you understood?”
“Along with the others?” - Emma asked, her voice thin.
“Well of course, with your newfound brothers and sisters, milady. Did you truly think you were granted an exclusive honor?” - The servant allowed himself a faint, saccharine smirk. - “You see, our noble Baron harbors a… weakness for forsaken souls. It gives him true pleasure to find children who have tasted the very dregs of despair and ‘save’ them, granting his name and shelter. A true saint, is he not?”
“Within the castle, they call it his little quirk. Five lucky ones, Emma. Five little orphans under one roof, indebted to him unto the grave. The Baron has surrounded himself with you like rare trophies, and he expects you to shine with gratitude at every training session. I advise you not to disappoint him in this noble philanthropy - he very much dislikes it when his ‘gifts’ prove flawed.”
The Trial of Birthright
And so the grueling training began - training, food, then more training. It was hard; a year later, the regimen grew harsher, and after another year, the small subordinates were forced to perform labor. Their duties varied depending on their assignments: some stood watch upon the walls, some cleaned and cooked, while others were tasked with carrying out executions and tortures within the dark, stone depths of the castle. There was not a single piece of fine decor here, nor any luxury. The most valuable things within were only books and weapons, which, in a sense, described Dolf himself and his life’s path. The children overcame the hardships of castle life by leaning on one another, and over time, their friendship only grew stronger. They faced many obstacles and tasks together, each knowing they could rely on the other’s help.
But the sixty-four-year-old Dolf was playing a much more subtle game. He never spoke to the children directly, preferring to engineer situations where suspicion grew of its own accord. Through planted rumors and carefully staged “accidental” scenes, he led the children to believe that Emma was blinded by greed and planned to slaughter them all for the inheritance. The Baron himself played the part of the “disappointed father,” feigning that he had lost faith in Emma and feared her rising ambition. It was a long, calculated gambit that turned foster siblings into paranoiacs, convinced they were merely delivering a preemptive strike against a traitor.
Soon came the “X” moment. At some point, Emma began to notice that something was amiss with her comrades - a sense that notes of mistrust and betrayal were drifting through the air. Her friends shunned her for no apparent reason. The 18-year-old girl could not understand such a sudden shift in behavior. She told herself it would surely resolve itself.
One night, Emma bolted awake, seized by a sudden sense of peril. Opening her eyes slightly, she noticed a dagger poised to pierce her throat. Her reflexes acted faster than her mind could analyze the situation. Before she could even process it, Emma saw a comrade on the floor, bleeding out. A dagger - the very one that a second ago intended to take her life - was now buried in his heart. Seconds later, the other children burst into the room. Seeing the scene, they immediately lunged at Emma. The girl tried to explain, but her “friends” acted as if they had known everything beforehand and that this was exactly how it was meant to be.
Five minutes later, silence fell. Drenched head to toe in blood, Emma went straight to the chambers of Baron Bragge, who was awake and, seemingly, expecting her arrival. Everything had been orchestrated; it was clear now who had pulled the strings. After a long minute of silence, Emma asked only one question:
“And how, in your opinion, did I fare?” - she asked, staring at him with her lone eye through a mask of someone else’s blood.
The Baron smiled and replied:
“Insufficiently,” - after which he rose from his chair and slowly drew a sword from its sheath. - “There is only the matter of finishing what was started.”
A heavy and grueling duel erupted between Emma and Baron Dolf Bragge. At sixty-four years of age, the Baron remained a formidable master, yet he succumbed to the onslaught of young, cold fury. On his deathbed, Dolf named her the new Baroness of Bragge and died of severe puncture wounds.
Behold, the New Baroness
She did not rule for long - it was not her calling. Her first concern was not the furnishings, but her direct and practical legacy. Naturally, for Dolf’s sword was the ancestral weapon of his house. Sharp, of high quality, and rich with mazurite. It appeared to be an artifact, yet it was not - or perhaps it was, who can tell. No one will ever know now, for Emma ordered it reforged into a true artifact whip. The project was highly ambitious and the requirements extreme; many engineers found it beyond their skill. Consequently, the creation of her personal weapon dragged on for many years. The second family heirloom was smaller - the Klars pendant, with a finely engraved mazurite crystal at its center.
“It is unseemly for such a treasure to lie idle,” - Emma declared, ordering a search for an engineer capable of crafting an artifact from it.
A renowned engineer named Teitr, from the city of Vagge, answered her call. He proposed crafting an artificial eye-artifact from the pendant, capable of restoring her full sight and ensuring no enemy could hide from her. The Lady accepted his proposal with enthusiasm. The artifact was completed within a few months right there on the Bragge estate - the engineer did not even need to return with it to his city, which lay on the far western edge of the Empire. Emma bestowed a name upon this artifact: it is called Adsel.
During her first winter, the Baroness departed from the Bragge lands, entrusting the burdens of governance to Castellan Trygve Aryk. She set out for the Imperial Military Academy to earn her place among the Imperial Bloodhounds and hunt down her captors. Oh yes, it had been her long-held dream - to settle the score for everything they had done and for everyone they had slain. Emma’s only fear was that they might already be dead.
1 Unillah 3792 — 22 Namtaran 3799
Becoming an Imperial Bloodhound
Indulging in Memories
Ah, those unforgettable academy days. I recall it well: after the dead days of Gudey, the sky grows bluer, and the grass begins to rustle. Children run across the square, while you stand like a parrot on the parade ground on the other side of the barrier, watching as the “childish” world slowly closes off from you for an indefinite period. Hmph, well, a definite one, of course - but the feeling was such that you would never run across that square again.
The records state that Emma was 18 at the time of her enrollment — quite late for a student of an elite order.
Father’s Love
My father threw me in there at 12, showing his love in that way i guess, hah.
She passed her exams with honors and then some — hardly surprising, given her life’s path. What is far more interesting is how she was even admitted to the exams. The law dictates that a student must be at least 12 and no more than 16 years of age to receive clearance. A bribe? A title? No — neither. Cross-referencing the archives, I concluded that Emma was fortunate to arrive at a time when such a law did not exist… it would be introduced six years later.
Following her magnificent entrance results, Emma was free to choose any specialty she desired, yet she went into the Bloodhounds. Given her objective, this was the most sound decision.
Thoughtfully
Though, I would still have preferred the “Corrective” post..
She studied well, a good girl, such a clever girl — but none of that is interesting. Where are the conduct reports? Surely there must be something of note. Ah! Here it is! The treasure for which I suffered so much.
Report of Rita Velgjor, 9 Unillah 3792
To the esteemed curator of the Imperial Bloodhound Corps. The conduct of the newly initiated student Emma Bragge (Imperial Bloodhound Corps, Group 2A) is unworthy of her status. Her insolent smirk and unceremonious behavior are intolerable within the academic halls. On the 8th of Unillah, during the 7th session, this student dislocated her classmate’s shoulder by lunging at her from a bench for no apparent reason. I request that Emma Bragge be transferred to Group 1D.
Oh yes! This is it! Let’s see — smashed a vase over a student… locked herself in a classroom with everyone else and refused to open the door for the instructor. Hah, what a service record; I’ll have to tell the others later. And what happened next? Due to her poor conduct, the curator finally agreed and transferred Emma to Group 1D — a specialized group of enforcers. If you end up in Group “D,” it means only one thing: — “How they are going to ride you hard there”.
A strict schedule, strict instructors, strict everything. Mmh, well, in truth, it’s nothing special — you are just watched more closely. And the contingent isn’t particularly pleasant. Emma spent a little over a year in Group “D” and then immediately filed a petition for advanced specialized training, where she ultimately landed. The advanced specialized training group “Val Afl Raun Dea,” or simply “V.A.R.D.” Yes, it is incredibly difficult there. Old Dolf underwent his training in that very place. For Emma, it was “the kind of place” where one needn’t even try — the body, the reflexes, and the simple conditioning of the late Lord Dolf would instinctively take over the process.
Approximately three years later, Emma graduated from the academy with the rank of Deputy Squad Commander and immediately joined the Imperial Bloodhounds. Both in her studies and in service, the Baroness performed remarkably well, demonstrating analytical and tactical abilities far beyond a novice. But most importantly — her determination and dedication. These two strengths quickly propelled Emma to the rank of Captain. In just three or four years and…
With envious astonishment
A Captain already?! Outrageous. And where was I? Playing along with the nobles? Curse it all! I should have been born in a different time and a different place. Perhaps in a different body and with a different mind, but let’s not dwell on that.
Yes, she attained the rank of Captain. The title of Captain loosens one’s hands and provides the opportunity to conduct independent investigations, a tool Emma utilized with great success.
Despite her personal motives, the Captain acted through official channels — yet, as fate would have it, her formal assignment diverged significantly from her actual intent. On one hand, the papers cited the “…pursuit of runaway slaves…” and other such duties, but the records contain not a single whisper of her true reasons. If Emma saw a chance to push her private vendetta through official accountability channels — she would never let it slip. Consequently, in the archives, her revenge reads like an utterly low-priority task that had lost its relevance, yet found its place in the “Successfully Closed” stack.
26 Solai (I Summer) 3797
— ”Captain, we’ve only just finished celebrating your birthday, and you’ve already announced a new operation. I hope this one has a proper ‘literage’?” Laughter erupted across the entire department. — ”Ha-ha! You’re off the case — you’re going to Viggo for the Nord-Vek inspection.” The laughter roared even louder, drawing the attention of other squads passing by. — “Eh?! What’s the joke?” — the curious onlookers inquired. — “Nothing much, just Eilif heading off on a long-term assignment.” —“Assignment? Where to?” — the uninvited guests asked. —“To the backend of nowhere,” — Eilif replied gloomily. — “To the cold, western, deep, and wretched backend of nowhere.”
Emma Bragge filed a petition to be recused from the Nord-Vek inspection, proposing a candidate from her squad in her stead — one Eilif Morn. The stated reason was the “…verification of leads and interrogation of informants regarding the runaway slave case No. 1021-O.” Since Emma accepted full responsibility for the potential incompetence of her replacement, the petition was granted.
Ultimately, the Captain and two of her subordinates set out on their hunt. The road was far from easy — their first stop was the village of Frumskin, where Emma secured a valuable lead. There, she was introduced to a “big shot” of the main trade routes — a merchant transporting goods from another empire. He agreed to ferry her to the “right” location if she, in turn, provided security for his cargo until it reached its destination. Emma agreed, and the caravan moved south. First, Nytt Castle, then Fottrinn Castle. Everything went smoothly — according to the documents, perhaps too smoothly. Why is there no detailed report of the cargo at either location? Were the inspections even conducted?
Note on the Absence of Cargo
There is no data anywhere regarding what this Southerner, Olivier, was actually transporting. I suspect no inspections were ever carried out. The cunning fox simply used Emma to pass through checkpoints without scrutiny. I find it hard to believe the Captain didn’t realize this — it was a blatant abuse of power.
Indeed… after passing Fottrinn, it’s a matter of “go where the eyes lead.” Tracking their next steps was an arduous task. They never reached Unbastis Castle, which means they veered into the forests of Moth-Neses. It was there that she unearthed information about those slaves — though from whom and by what means remains unknown.
Relations
Family (Dynasty)
Friends & Allies
Enemies & Rivals
Organizations
Interesting Facts
Arts & Gallery
Transclude of Path_To_Art