Writing practice: Character sketch for a steampunk elf

Raythorn smoothed her hair into a bouffant and carefully pulled it up into a big loose bun. She stood up straight as she tugged her corset into place, then stepped into her wide heavy skirt, securing it with suspenders over her shoulders. Next, the white blouse with handmade Irish lace collar, and then a jacket. A linen hankercheif with the same lace and embroidery tucked into a discrete pocket, along with a pouch with mysterious contents. The nipped waist and tall collar enhanced her slightly exotic appearance. The muddy greenish-brown of her suit and matching hat reflected just right to make the purple irises of her large expressive eyes fade into a deep well of purply-brown. Her dressmaker and milliner worked endlessly to craft new outfits for her carefully maintained figure. Each generation had trained the next to meet Raythorn’s demands for style, quality, and to use the current styles to make their client, a timeless beauty, conform to human proportions. Last, she pinned on the beribboned hat. She looked in the mirror, brushing a piece of hair into place to obscure her pointed ears.

She stepped out into the street and gave a warm but curt nod to the young servant boy waiting to escort her on the day’s errands. First on today’s list was the monthly visit to her solicitor. They set out, walking briskly with their backs to the wind.

Many years ago she realized that trying to maintain her own accounts was a poor use of time. She found a young man starting his career and entrusted him to keep track of expenses, payments, and make sure her modest wealth continued to pay dividends. Mr. McCullough was full human, but strangely accommodating of the noble races. The handle on his office door was brass, not iron, and none of that toxic metal was found in his furnishings.

Although her footman was there to open the door for her. One of his primary tasks was to allow her to avoid touching, and being touched, by items that might sap her limited strength. He waited in a chair outside while Raythorn received her monthly report and made any decisions on changes in her portfolio. Due to the ongoing food shortage, caused by a blight in the fields, she increased her monthly stipend to the food bank. They discussed this month’s budget for lab supplies, and she informed Mr. McCullough of her plan for purchasing more equipment for their experiment.

“Yes, yes, indeed.” His voice hushed, his eyes darted towards where Jacky waited outside the closed door, then the window, open for the light spring breeze. “Madam, if I may suggest there is more we need to discuss at a more opportune time? The dogs walk backwards and are snickering.”

“Why of course, Mr. McCullough. Will you be available when the moon shines still?”

A subtle nod in reply.

“So, if that is all for today, with many thanks for your continued service, I shall continue on. Jacky and I will be at the lab today.”

With that, she gently offered a gloved hand and took her leave. Hugh McCullough sighed. He expected a more immediate reaction to the threat he was alluding to; he saw a huge threatening cloud ready to rain havoc on Raythorn’s carefully assembled group of scientists and explorers. She was blithely ready to postpone any discussion until the new moon, when they would meet. Hugh McCullough was not only Raythorn’s personal solicitor, but served as the secretary for their secret society.

Why would a group dedicated to improving the lot of all beings, humans and non-humans, on this earthly plane and throughout the aether, need to operate in secret? It’s just easier. No one can argue, protest, and try to stop plans they don’t see coming. What was that recent problem, where someone had thrown, what, a clod, a clog … something in a labor-saving machine. A machine that, if used properly, would free workers from drudgery and leave them free to cultivate more food and create art to the glory of the gods, to explore the aether. There’s quite enough to do keeping bugs from nesting in the warmth of the Babbage machine without worrying about clods who would destroy the very things that might save humanity, and non-humanity, from back-breaking labor.

As Mr. McCullough pondered how, and why, the society so secret the author doesn’t have a name for it operates, in, um, secret, Raythorn makes her way to her laboratory.

What she lacks in strength, with her low Strength and Constitution, vulnerability to Iron, tendency to be addicted to magic, and her unique appearance, she makes up for Intelligence, Wisdom (and old age!), Dexterity, and Charisma.

Her talents with language are due in no small part to her long years on this planet. Some people study classical Greek – while others people spoke it in the gynaecium with the women of classical Greece. While Raythorn patiently helped Jacky learn the scientific Latin he needed to further his studies, she remembered back to times spent engineering Roman ocean boats for greater speed on their trips around the Mediterranean.

Raythorn’s disposition towards continually creating opportunities for others was illustrated in how she took an interest in young Jacky. An orphan, who never knew his father, abandoned by his mother when she couldn’t keep him fed and clothed, growing up by his wits in the boys’ workhouse. He quickly figured out how the large looms operated and became part of the maintenance crew. On Sunday afternoons, he and his crew used thin wood scraps to make gliders, then competed for whose could travel farthest and fastest at the park by the river.

The contest caught Raythorn’s eye, week after week she stopped by the park, as a scientist involved in aerodynamics she was interested in the innovations of this group of novices. She noticed the boy Jacky’s winning week after week, his good nature when he lost, his analyzing and making improvements to his design. She needed a strong young man to carry packages, escort her safely through busy crowded streets, and open iron door handles, and hired him as her footman. Due to quick wit and engaging smile, and his great care he took of Raythorn as they stepped through the city streets, strangers and shop keepers assumed he was her nephew, it improved her ability to almost pass as human. He was a studious sort, who had puzzled out reading English on his own and was picking up Latin just as quickly, especially because he didn’t see it as a different language, just the language of the lab. His great care around the dangers of Eldritch Copper that powers the great airships.

Jacky recognized his current job as Raythorn’s footman was much more; it offered opportunity to study and become a respected lab assistant, or possibly sit for his college entrance examinations, where he’d be a less-respected lower class entry into the academic world. He rather preferred the status of high-class lower class than always struggling to overcome his lack of birthright.

Raythorn, with her assistant Jacky and solicitor Hugh McCullough, take to the skies in fantastic adventures in “Steampunk RPG.”