Edinbara's outskirts blurred into a steampunk watercolor—clocktower gears spinning like drunken cuckoos, laundry lines snapping under supersonic petticoats, and a *GWR 2301 Class* vomiting Earl Grey-scented steam in aristocratic horror. A griffin-rider scout's spyglass cracked upon seeing Carol's shadow high-five a haycart mid-overtake—just as Johnathan's elongated ears vented **[RECREATIONAL VELOCITY THERAPY]** glyphs that spelled *"CHOO-CHOO COWARD"* in reflected sunlight.
"Goodness!" Johnathan tipped his hat to a flock of scandalized pigeons, his transatlantic accent buttering each syllable as Carol's pistons hammered *"HIS BUFFERS ARE CRYING"* through the rails. The *MNR No. 1*'s gold-plated dome reflected Dugarudo's face—a Wolf Furkin experiencing five stages of grief simultaneously—while rail scribes' monocles fogged over sketches of *Fig. 23: Hybrid's Alleged Aerodynamic Gaslighting*.
A bakery's chimney coughed flour as Carol's slipstream vacuumed an entire tray of jam tarts into her firebox—her **[RECREATIONAL SNACKING]** smoke rings coincidentally forming *"NO REGRETS"* in Dwarven runes. "My sincerest apologies!" Johnathan lied cheerfully, tipping his hat to the pastry chef while his shadow puppeteered Carol's throttle with the finesse of a conductor smuggling contraband scones.
The *MNR No. 1*'s aristocratic wheezes crescendoed into a full-blown steam shriek as Carol's wheels devoured the rails, her Laug boiler belching smoke rings shaped like Dugarudo's monocle-less despair. Edinbara's clocktower gears spun like drunken cuckoos, their brass hands melting into blurry surrender as Carol's slipstream vacuumed up an entire street vendor's worth of jam tarts—her **[SNACK THEFT]** glyphs dissolving into *"TASTES LIKE VICTORY"* in High Elvish.
A griffin-rider scout's spyglass cracked upon witnessing Johnathan's shadow high-five a haycart mid-overtake, while rail scribes frantically sketched *Fig. 24: Hybrid's Alleged Kinetic Espionage*—unaware Carol's pistons were vibrating *"HIS FIREMAN JUST RESIGNED VIA SMOKE SIGNALS"* into the tracks. The *MNR No. 1* wheezed like an aristocrat forced to jog uphill, its gold-plated buffers shedding dignity like a nobleman's wig in a tornado.
Johnathan tipped his hat to a flock of scandalized pigeon like things, steam-ears puffing **[RECREATIONAL APOLOGY\]** glyphs that smelled suspiciously of stolen jam tarts—just as Carol's wheels spat gravel onto the *MNR No. 1*'s polished brass dome with the precision of a conductor flicking a monocle into the sun.
Soon the place where they began (and would end), was coming up—Edinbara's grand clocktower looming like a disapproving grandfather as Carol's pistons hammered *"HIS MONOCLE'S IN ORBIT"* through the rails. The *MNR No. 1* wheezed behind them, its gold-plated dome now dented by airborne gravel and existential dread. Johnathan tipped his hat to the finish-line banners—his steam-ears puffing **[RECREATIONAL VICTORY LAP]** glyphs that dissolved into the scent of buttered crumpets and aristocratic tears.
Rail officials scrambled as Carol crossed the line with a smokestack whistle that sculpted *"CHOO-CHOO SUCKERS"* in Morse—her slipstream vacuuming up the magistrate's wig into the firebox. The *MNR No. 1* limped in fifteen minutes later, its aristocratic steam reduced to the pathetic hiss of a deflated soufflé. Dugarudo's face contorted through stages of grief—denial (glaring at Carol's soot-streaked flanks), anger (snapping his silver-tipped cane), bargaining ("Perhaps the hybrid tampered with the tracks—"), before settling on acceptance (fainting into his lace cravat, now embroidered *"VICTIM OF OWN STUPIDITY"*).
Scribes' quills combusted mid-sketch of *Fig. 25: Hybrid's Alleged Velocity-Based Gaslighting Trauma* as Dugarudo Doramondo rose from his lace-cravat fainting couch like a steam-powered revenant. His monocle-less glare reflected in Carol's polished buffer beam—now suspiciously dented in the shape of a grinning face—as his *MNR No. 1* wheezed its last aristocratic puff behind them. "This isn't over, *Gresley*," the Wolf Furkin hissed, his velvet gloves shredding against his cane like aristocratic claws on slate.
"Perhaps it is not, but you wagered, and I quote: 'two of my best locomotives'—plural, my dear sir!" Johnathan announced with the theatrical cadence of a radio host unveiling a prize, his cufflinks squeaking **[RECREATIONAL CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATION]** while steam-ears vented lavender-scented glyphs that dissolved into the shape of a tiny gavel.
The rail magistrate's monocle cracked upon spotting the glyphs' reflection spelling *"PAY UP"* in High Elf Folk runes—just as Carol's pistons vibrated *"HIS TAIL'S PUFFED LIKE A STEAM WHISTLE"* through the tracks.
Dugarudo's shadow detached in horror as Johnathan, in his massive form, had his elongated ears flicked **[RECREATIONAL PAYMENT REMINDER]** glyphs that smelled suspiciously like a lawyer's perfumed letter. The Wolf Furkin's monocle-less eye twitched upon seeing the glyphs reflect **"TWO LOCOMOTIVES, PLURAL"** across Carol's polished boiler—her smokestack belching a **[:D]** smoke ring that coincidentally formed the High Elf rune for *"legally binding."* A scribe's quill combusted mid-sketch of *Fig. 26: Hybrid's Alleged Contractual Gaslighting*, ink splattering onto a nearby *GWR 2800 Class*'s tender, which promptly sneezed tea-scented steam in aristocratic disgust.
"Fine then, let's go to my shed..." Dugarudo muttered, tail bristling like a broken telegraph wire as he led them toward the aristocratic locomotive pens. His cravat now read *"VICTIM OF HYBRID SEMANTICS"* in self-embroidered despair, while Carol's pistons tapped *"HIS SHADOW'S TRYING TO ESCAPE"* through the rails.
Johnathan simply smiled again as he lead down at almost ninety degrees, "Oh no my good sir, if you're the big boss of Edinbara's rails, you must have multiple sheds filled with so many prestine trains!" He declared, his grin stretching impossibly wider as his cufflinks squeaked **[RECREATIONAL ENTHUSIASM]** glyphs that dissolved into the scent of freshly polished brass and impending bankruptcy.
The Wolf Furkin's ears flattened as Carol's smokestack belched a puff of laug scented steam—except it wasn't coal, but the shattered remnants of aristocratic dignity. Johnathan leaned forward, his elongated ears flicking **[RECREATIONAL GENEROSITY]** glyphs that smelled suspiciously like peppermint and legal loopholes as they approached the first locomotive shed. Its arched iron doors loomed like the jaws of a particularly judgmental dragon, polished brass hinges gleaming with the quiet disdain of bankers watching peasants approach a vault.
Inside, the scent of oil and aristocratic insecurity clung to rows of gleaming Victorian and Edwardian Era locomotives—each one meticulously maintained to the point of neurosis.
In this shed there was eleven engines, both tender and tank, all of them polished to an aristocratic gleam—their brass fittings practically screaming "touch me and inherit debt." The first, a haughty *LB&SCR L Class*, exhaled lavender-scented steam rings that formed the words *"POVERTY AHEAD"* in cursive, while its Ferret Folk driver eyed Johnathan's rivet-seamed gloves with the suspicion of a banker spotting a counterfeit coin.
"Ah! Magnificent specimens!" Johnathan boomed, his transatlantic accent buttering each syllable as he strode past the locomotives—his shadow elongating unnaturally to buff a *GNR Stirling Single*'s dome with spectral polish. The Wolf Furkin magistrate's monocle fogged at the sight, his quill scratching *Fig. 27: Hybrid's Alleged Spectral Buffing Trauma* into his ledger.
A nearby *GWR 2900 Class* snorted steam that curled into a monocle-shaped smoke ring—one that immediately fogged up in aristocratic horror as Johnathan's shadow patted its tender with spectral familiarity. "Goodness, what a splendid collection!" Johnathan announced, his transatlantic vowels dripping like honey onto hot crumpets as rail officials whispered behind lace gloves.
Their murmurs of *"Dwarvenkin-induced locomotive obsession"* mingled with the scribe's combusting quill mid-sketch of *Fig. 28: Hybrid's Alleged Tender-Based Hypnosis*. Johnathan strode deeper into the shed, his polished shoes clicking against the checkered tiles with conductor-like precision—each step perfectly spaced like railway sleepers.
His system showed him the rest of the locomotives:
1. **LB&SCR E1 Tank Engine**—A stout commuter engine puffing self-important steam rings that dissolved into *"MIND THE GAP (IN YOUR FINANCES)"* above its smug, polished dome.
2. **NER Class S1**—A haughty Atlantic-type exhaling bergamot-scented steam, its aristocratic nose tilted upward as if smelling peasantry.
3. **CR 812 Class**—Small but fierce, this Caledonian pug snorted coal-black laug rings shaped like tiny battering rams, its polished brass whistle gleaming with the unearned confidence of a terrier wearing a top hat. Nearby scribes gasped as Johnathan affectionately patted its dome, their monocles fogging with sketches of *Fig. 29: Hybrid's Alleged Small-Engine Stockholm Syndrome*.
4. **MS&LR Class 9F**—A brooding Midland beast exhaling steam that smelled suspiciously of tax evasion, its rivets arranged in patterns that coincidentally spelled *"NOT A DWARVENKIN PUPPET"* in Morse when sunlight hit its flanks. Officials whispered about Johnathan's "unnatural locomotive magnetism" as his shadow adjusted its pressure gauge with spectral familiarity.
5. **HR Ben Class**—A Highland Railway brute with tartan-painted buffer beams, exhaling peat-scented laug rings that dissolved into *"DWARVENKIN BRAINWASHING?"* whenever Johnathan's shadow passed too close.
6. **SE&CR R1 Class**—A smug Southeastern tank engine puffing steam rings that formed tiny *"MIND THE GAP (IN YOUR LINEAGE)"* banners, its polished brass whistle shaped like a magistrate's gavel.
7. **LNWR "Dreadnought" Class** —A hulking Precedent-type exhaling coal-black laug rings that smelled of liquidated assets, its polished buffers embossed with the Wolf Furkin crest now slightly dented from aristocratic tantrums. Johnathan's shadow stretched unnaturally to tap its pressure gauge—triggering a scribe's monocle to fog mid-sketch of *Fig. 30: Hybrid's Alleged Gauge-Tampering Trauma*—as the locomotive emitted a steam hiss that sounded uncannily like a lawyer calculating billable hours.
8. **GCR Class 8K**—A pompous Robinson-designed beast puffing Earl Grey-scented steam rings that dissolved into *"MIND THE DEBT"* above its gleaming dome. Its brass fittings were polished so thoroughly they reflected Johnathan's grin back at him with unnerving clarity—until his shadow casually buffed them into warped funhouse mirrors.
9. **L&YR Class 5**—A Lancashire brute exhaling laug rings that smelled of textile mills and union disputes, its rivet patterns subtly spelling *"OVERTIME PAY?"* in Morse whenever Johnathan's shadow passed. The Wolf Furkin's monocle cracked as Johnathan's spectral fingers adjusted its whistle chain with conductor-like precision—prompting a scribe's quill to combust mid-sketch of *Fig. 31: Hybrid's Alleged Labor Union Hypnosis*.
"Any decisions yet?" Dugarudo grotted through his sharp teeth, his ears flattening in having to suppress such rage, the Wolf Furkin was practically steaming worse than his locomotives.
Johnathan paused mid-step—his polished shoes clicking against the checkered tiles with conductor-like precision—when the oversized aristocratic bastard's cane struck the back of his skull with a crack that echoed like a snapped coupling rod. His transatlantic "Oh my—" dissolved into steam-vent gibberish as his vision blurred into vignettes of flickering gas lamps and spinning monocles. The last thing he saw was Carol's smokestack belching **[>:O]** shaped smoke rings before his face met the polished floor tiles with the grace of a derailed caboose.
"Finally," Dugarudo hissed through his fangs, velvet gloves tightening around his cane—now suspiciously reinforced with dwarven steel. Around him, rail officials shuffled to work together to pick up the 10 foot tall being that was Johnathan Gresely—his unconscious grin still stretching impossibly wide beneath the dent left by the aristocrat's blow. "Chain him in the laug hopper," the Wolf Furkin commanded, tail puffing with vindictive glee.
Of course dear reader, we both know that Johnathan Gresely was in fact in truth is the locomotive, and so he saw everything clearly, but he was interested enough to let this path play out. So the sound of heavy chains clanking against his limbs was muffled through the haze of unconsciousness—not that the chains could truly restrain a Jubilee Class locomotive's full might, but the theatrics demanded at least some indulgence from him.