ON HIATUS || PLAGIUM'S SEQUEL
Afternoon tea, walks about the garden...and a ride on a mechanically powered steam-carriage? Enter the regency steampunk world of Plagium!
We rejoin Tracey Higgenbottom as she explores the steampunk countryside of Dnal...
When Tracey Higgenbottom was invited to visit her friend Meridith in the countryside, she imagined she would spend it relaxing by the ocean, walking in gardens, or recounting her latest adventures with her dearest friend. What she didn't imagine was that she'd be crammed into a steam contraption, hurdling along an uncomfortably bumpy road.
Tracey sighed, tugging at her scratchy traveling clothes. Having never traveled far from home, let alone out of the expansive capital city of Mondon, she found herself to be desperately out of her element.
How did I end up in this situation, she groaned to herself, watching the landscape whiz by at a dizzying speed. Despite this, the woman was unable to quite fully distract herself from the circumstance at hand.
Tracey had a firm dislike of steam-powered vehicles and did anything in her power to keep away from the contraptions. And yet there she was, sitting among a group of passengers en route to the countryside town of Strattengear. She listened to the carriage's tank gurgle and burst, its boiling water within sent sprouts of hot, scalding steam. I don't like this, she thought with a small frown, twisting her handkerchief.
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I wouldn't be on this thing if it weren't for Meridith, Tracey thought. She sighed. We've barely had the chance to speak since she's moved away with her husband. It must be years since we've last spoken, she thought. The familiar sectors of Mondon were long gone, and long stretches of grasslands filled a majority of the horizon.
Steam technology was a fairly recent development in the country of Dnalgne and—as with anything new and innovative—was met by either speculative wonder, complete distrust, or wary apathy. Tracey fit the last of these categories — neither for nor against it, but decidedly cautious of it. She tolerated the useful advances it provided but otherwise preferred to keep her life safely steam-free.
"Not a fan of steam-carriages, are we?" a passenger next to her said, looking at the crumpled handkerchief in Tracey's hand.
Tracey blinked and looked at the speaker. The man appeared to be no more than twenty-five. He sported a smart mustache and his dark hair peeked out from beneath a towering top hat.
He smiled.
"I'm not too fond of these new inventions myself," he said, looking about the carriage. "But seeing this is the only means of transportation nowadays, I suppose we must make do, mustn't we?"
"Yes," Tracey simply replied, averting her gaze to the window. Since the previous month's events—the abduction of her guardian and employer Mr. Porter—she had grown wary of talking to those whom she didn't know.
"It's quite lovely out here," he continued. "Do you come this way often?"
"...No," she said.
The man nodded. "Strattengear is beautiful this time of the year. I suggest you take a stroll about the beach as soon as we arrive," he said. He looked outside with a happy sigh. "I can only imagine the quality of portraits I'll be able to paint in such an environment."
Tracey gave him a tight, polite smile, then slowly turned towards the window.
The man, seeing Tracey's demeanor, gave up the pursuit of conversation and resigned to talking to the passenger on his other side.
Much to Tracey's relief, the steam-carriage soon rolled to a halt. She hopped out of the carriage, bags in hand. The driver had taken them to the town square, a modest-sized area, surrounded by unassuming buildings and crowned with a glittering fountain in its center. "Now," Tracey said as she rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a letter, "Meridith said that she'd meet me by the fountain..."
A glance verified her friend was not by the fountain.
"I suppose I must wait, then," she sighed, lugging her bags along. Tracey perched on the edge of the fountain pool and watched as the other passengers exited the steam-carriage, bustling and bumping into Tracey. "
Well, then," Tracey indignantly sniffed, pulling her luggage closer to herself. The man who earlier spoke to her politely tipped his head towards her as he continued on his way.
Alone in the square, Tracey scanned the surrounding buildings in search of any signs of her friend.
Instead of finding Meridith, however, she spotted a small envelope by her feet.
"Oh!" she said. Tracey hesitantly looked around. The steam-carriage, which had lingered for a few minutes, was already well into its journey, sputtering and trundling along a road leading out of the town.
"...I suppose it wouldn't hurt to hang onto it," she mused, rising from her spot to take the parcel. "Someone may have dropped it while they were leaving." She flipped the envelope in her hand. "Let's see who this was for."
Tracey paused.
"What's this..." she said.
On the envelope was a single addressee:
Tracey Higgenbottom
"Who wrote this?" she said. After another brief moment of hesitation, she returned to her seat by the fountain's edge. Should I open this? she thought. Surely whoever dropped this must've wanted to hand this to me themselves... Tracey frowned. Unless...this was no mistake.
Tracey surveyed the square once again before ripping the envelope open.
Inside was a single, thick sheet of paper. A small note was scrawled on its center:
Protect the annulet.
"...What?" Tracey blankly said, staring at the sheet of paper.
She was baffled. Who was the letter from? What was an annulet? How was she to keep it safe? Tracey could think of no answer to her questions.
The last time I got a note like this was when Mr. Porter went missing! she thought, slowly lowering the paper. "I thought I'd seen the last of these when we found him," she said. She grimly chuckled, folding the sheet. "Well, at least it's not combustible," she said.
Regrettably, the sheet of paper was indeed combustible, and as such, promptly dissolved into thin air before Tracey could finish folding the letter.
Tracey stared at her hands as she sat frozen in place. "Oh...," she whispered. "Oh, gears."
With the dissolved paper went her last hopes of a relaxing vacation.
