The Solarpunk Kingdom

The sky was filled with lanterns. Fox shielded his eyes as he gazed up at them. His own lantern was amongst them, somewhere. Up close, it couldn't be more different, with its beaten up bronze housing protecting the flame that spun the wheel that let it rise, but when it was with the others, it was lost in a cloud of light. Perhaps that was it, there, glinting just a little more than the others - but no, it was gone again.

Fox would find it again, later. It always came back home eventually. He'd been releasing this same lantern every year since he was a child - it was just that the last few years, he'd been releasing it on his own. A message to come back home. Before he'd released it, Fox hadn't been able to resist - was never able to resist - whispering into the flickering flame a wish, for those who were still missing to return. It'd been years, though. Fox's whole lifetime, almost. If they were going to come home, they'd have come by now.

No use dwelling. Fox had never much been one for standing still for long, and his hands were getting cold. He pulled on his gloves, stamped his feet in their worn leather boots, and took his leave, disappearing down the city streets. A little questioning clicking sound could be heard from the pocket of his long brown coat, and he patted the pocket affectionately.

"Aye, don't worry, we're headin' home. Won't be out long yet."

The clicking quietened down, content with that reassurance, as he headed towards the Living Quarters. His home was small but cosy, filled with all manner of interesting devices and notes on all of his mysteries. Fox was the greatest detective in the city, probably. In his own opinion, at least.

A pair of strangers were on the street. This was not, altogether, an unusual sight in a city, but they certainly were, and Fox slowed his pace as he neared them. They weren't from within the city, he was pretty sure - Fox made it his business to notice these kinds of things about the people he met.
"Evenin', strangers," he greeted them cheerily. "You visitin' the festival too? Looks real good this year, aye? I like your goggles." He nodded to the younger of the pair, whom Fox would guess to be approximately his age, give or take a year or two, and tapped the pair atop his own head with a grin.

The Hanged Man blinked out of his storytelling reverie when they reached the residential district. The amount of options seemed to be overwhelming, and for a moment he just stood staring. He grabbed his coin pouch, which was clearly quite deflated.

That was when they were approached by another boy, roughly the age of the one who was leading him through the city. The old-fashioned stranger turned his scarred visage to Fox, then bowed to him, as if he was a visiting dignitary. "Well met, young m...aster," he said in his gentle voice. "In sooth, I am merely passing through. I have not had hap to see much of the festival ..." He prodded his scarred lip with the tip of his tongue and peered up into the bit of sky he could see from the crowded street.

Varian noticed Fox and grinned, "O-Oh, thank you! I'm..really proud of my goggles, actually." He patted his goggles one good time. "I haven't been to a festival in years, but it's really lively and I'm all for it." Varian put his hands in his apron pockets and smiled brightly, his bucktooth showing. "I was just showing this guy around, he's a traveler. Thought I'd help'em out." Varian nodded to The Hanged Man, though talking to Fox.

"I come from a village in the Farmlands outside of the City. I don't come around here often." Varian added.

Fox beamed as the older man bowed to him, and promptly dropped into a dramatic bow of his own, one leg dropping behind the other and a hand flourishing before him. What it lacked in grace, all long limbs flying in every direction, he more than made up for in enthusiasm.
"Well met to you too, aye, sir!"

He looked to the other, his smile remaining just as bright. He nodded - that made sense.
"Farmlands are real beautiful. I love goin' for a little wander that way, 'though I rarely have reason. Must be great livin' out there. Either of you got a place to go tonight? It ain't much, but I got a little house. Could set you up for a night or two, probably stretch to some breakfast. If you ain't got nowhere else to be, of course. Don't wanna intrude or nothin' if you got plans already."

The stranger grinned at Fox's eager reciprocation of his bow. Alas, his smile was an unfortunate expression, one that the newcomer might not find terribly warm, for his scar pulled up his lip and turned smile into half-sneer.

The invitation to join the lad was met with an eager nod, then a second bow. "Aye, young master, thine offer ist most kind and comes at a most fortuitous time. I've no room nor board in the city yet, and, ah, there is precious little I can afford. R...est assured, I shall pull my weight to the best of my ability. I-I can chop wood, or scrub dishes ..."

"My dad usually has a place to stay, but I imagine he could change plans a little bit if he hasn't rented a place to stay already." Varian said. "You want me to go see if I can find him right quick and ask, y'know, if you have room for just one more." Varian looked at Fox.

"He shouldn't be too far. He's here at the festival too."

Fox didn't mind the man's strange smile. It was at odds with the warmth he felt from the man, but clearly the result of the scar, not of a lack of friendliness, and Fox did his best not to judge people based on their appearances. He waved away the man's offers of repayment, shaking his head.
"Nothin's necessary, mate - but I appreciate the offer an' all, of course, though." Fox wouldn't mind if the man wanted to help out with the everyday tasks - washing up, or stoking the fire, or watching the food as it cooked - but he wanted him to know it wasn't required; the offer came with no strings attached, and the help would be appreciated on its own merits.

He nodded to Varian brightly. "Aye, there's always room for one more. Well, it ain't big, so I guess objectively there ain't always room for one more, but you get my meanin', aye? I'd love to host another friend, is my meaning. We'll wait here for you - it ain't too cold out tonight."

"Thou art a kind soul," said the stranger. When Varian mentioned his father, the man hesitated, looking back to Fox. "Thou art certain thine own guardians are amenable? I do not want to put ye out."

Since it seemed likely that Varian would go to fetch his father, Hangman approached a nearby lamp post and leaned back against it, so he could take some of the weight off his feet. "Pardon me. It hath been quite the journey since my last rest."

Varian had went and found his father, told him about it and then came back with a tall, quite bulky, man who had a red vest with fur around the neck of it. "Okay, so this is my dad, Quirin." Varian held onto Quirin's arm.

Quirin smiled and held his other hand out (since Varian was holding his one arm) to shake hands with the two if they chose to do so. "Nice to meet you, Varian was telling me about you two the whole time we were walking back here."

Fox couldn't help a little laugh at the question about his guardians being amenable. "Aye, my ma would've murdered me for not offerin' you to stay, an' all my parents made it their business to look after others and all. They ain't around to offer you to stay, though, so I gotta do it in their stead."

He shook his head at the man's apology, cheerfully, leaning his own gangly body against a wall, one knee raised to press the sole of his boot against the bricks. "Don't mind on my behalf or nothin'. You must've been on some neat adventures, though - must have some good stories. Maybe ones you could be tempted to share over a hot meal?"

As Varian returned with his father, Fox straightened up, as if to make a good impression. He shook hands with Quirin, firm and polite, so as to be almost surprising in its maturity.
"Aye, it's grand to meet you too, Mr. Quirin, sir. I'm real looking forward to playing host to some friendly guests. Fox Quillen-Elvin."

It was difficult to tell which had come first: whether his pointed features had grown into his name, or his parents had, seeing his face, bestowed the name upon him. Either way, it certainly suited him well.

The stranger's smile turned bittersweet at Fox's comment about his parents. "She would be proud of thee," he assured the boy. The suggestion made him laugh again, head shaking ruefully. "O, mind what thou askest for! When an old axe such as I beginneth to r...eminisce about his past, 'tis difficult to make him button his lip."

Varian returned with his father, and the stranger straightened up to bow. "Hail and well met, master." Quirin had tired eyes, just like the stranger did. He shook the man's hand with warmth--his own was shaking slightly.

His attention swung back around to their host-to-be. The name suited him. The stranger supposed he'd have to offer one in turn. "I am most oft cleped the Hanged Man," he explained, "though 'tis more grim moniker than name, iwis. Others name me Falche or Kite, for mine armaments, or Nonaime, or C-Crow, or Hangman. Ye may clepe me what ye will, good masters."

Quirin shook the two's hands. Quirin indeed had tired eyes, he was a single father and an ex-warrior for a group no more.

Varian perked his head up, "My name's Varian. You have a really neat name, Fox, so do you! I think I'll go with calling you Crow." Varian said to Fox, and then turned to Hanged Man, who would soon be titled Crow by Varian. "I guess we're friends now, huh? Ha ha." Varian laughed, there was a little tiny snort hidden under his laugh.

Fox smiled gratefully about the comment on his mother being proud. He hoped she would be. "Oh, I ain't goin' to ask you to button your lips or nothing. I want to hear all your stories, sir, 'cause what's the point of anythin' if not to share it through stories?"

He glanced at the older stranger as he replied to Quirin. "Aye, Crow, if that's agreeable. Although those are all great options. I like Kite, too."
He turned his smile to Varian. "Thanks, mate. I think Varian's a grand name, too. I reckon we must be friends by now. To home, aye? To food and a warm bed, if we're all agreed."

Assuming the others would follow, he strode off up the street, in the direction of the rather twisting route to his home.

Varian chose well--"Crow" went well with "Fox." He bowed his head, accepting the lads' choice of moniker with good cheer. Kids made friends so easily--it made Crow grin. He didn't often spend time with children, for they often found his face upsetting.

He fell into step behind Fox. As they went, he tilted his head to regard Quirin. "What is thy trade, Master Quirin? I-if I may ask."

Quirin looked to Crow, "My trade? Well, nowadays, I'm a farmer. Of Pumpkins, specifically." Quirin didn't even mention the warrior status he previously had in the past. Strange...

Quirin glanced to Varian and put his hand on Varian's shoulder as they walked, "My son here is an engineer, and does alchemy as well. He's a little messy about it, but I support him and his work as of recently." Quirin looked at Varian and smiled warmly. "He's really good at his trade."

Fox walked with long, loping steps that covered ground quickly, clearly very much at ease in these, his home streets. He listened in to the others' conversation, glancing between them with interest. His long coat swept around his legs as he strode, fluttering above his boots.

"Aye, you're an engineer, Var? What sorta stuff d'you work on?" he asked, enthused by the topic. Maybe goggles weren't the only thing he and Varian had in common. "You an inventor, or a tinkerer, or a maintainer, or...?"

"A most noble vocation, farming," said Crow. There may have been a hint of bitterness or sadness to his voice. His sword seemed to weigh heavily on his hip, like a leaden plumb bob. But it only lasted for a moment--Quirin sounded mighty proud of his boy, and that made him smile again. "O, is he? Such trades require great mental prowess."

Unfortunately, Crow struggled to keep up with Fox's long-legged stride--his own gait was hindered by both his limp and the weight of his armor and other gear burdening his shoulders. He did his best, but he'd wind up lagging behind.

Varian looked at Fox, "Oh! I've been trying to make all kinds of stuff! I've been working on a way to get hot water to my village in the Farmlands, but I...accidentally keep blowing of half the village with it..." Varian rubbed the back of his neck.

Quirin awkwardly laughed and patted Varian's shoulder, "He's trying though. He's getting better about the whole explosion thing."

It took Fox a small distance to notice Crow was struggling to keep up, but when he did, he bit his lip in apologetic sheepishness and slowed his pace to something easier to keep up with.
"Is there anythin' I can carry for you, Mr. Crow, sir?" he offered, given that the man was carrying quite a lot of gear, and Fox wasn't carrying much, except in his coat pockets, in which he had most of a toolbox. He'd only been planning on a brief excursion into the centre.

"It's a proper good cause you've got there," Fox said. "An' it's like my ma always said - you can't make an omelette without a few explosions here an' there. If you'd like to chat plans, I'd love to see what you've tried so far."

Crow chuckled awkwardly at the casual revelation that Varian had done so much damage in the past. "Er, no casualties, I hope?" he asked. If the two boys planned on engaging in such shenanigans, the old axe could but hope there wasn't a similar outcome.

Though Crow smiled gratefully when Fox slowed his pace, he shook his head at the offer to share his load. "Gramercy, lad, but nay. It's all s...ettled on my shoulders in just the proper way--'tis easiest for me to carry it alone." The smile turned a little somber. "I am accustomed to traveling solo."