Just another gaming character intro. I know… seems like with all these games I’m playing I probably don’t have time to write, work, sleep… but hell, let’s just say I’d rather be gaming! Besides, I need more little inspirational outlets, otherwise I’ll get stuck with the dreaded writer’s block. Or have to admit that I’m stuck on some of my other stories. Whatever. Here’s some steampunk inspired fantasy fiction. Hope you enjoy it.
Gravelox grumbled as he struggled to loosen one of the bolts on Gearslayer. The adjustable spanner in his hand gripped the heavy iron hexagon in its steel jaws and the gnome hauled on it with a grunt of effort. The rusted bolt shrieked as it twisted, the only warning that it was suddenly loosening and he very nearly split his knuckles on the construct’s thick leg.
“Blasted rain storm caught us out too long.” He muttered, “Didn’t have time to clean and dry you off after that idiot Verlak and his blasted orcs forced us to mush ‘em into paste. Blood gets into the joints and seizes things up.”
The bolt came all the way free and Gearslayer’s leg moved sideways, revealing half an orc’s torso that had gotten crammed into the massive iron scorpion’s leg joint near where it connected to the body. The orc’s ax was tangled in the cabling there as well and was fouling the motion of the limb.
“Scummer and murrain, the pox take those crow’s eaten green skinned yellow livered inbred slugs! One joke about the possibility of their mothers breeding with tusked slugs and they get all bent out of shape.” With the assistance of a pry bar, he began levering the orc free from where it had been mangled into the leg joint. “Sparkplug, a bit of light over here if you please! I need the contrast of color to be able to see where to – oof – pry.”
With a soft hum and buzz, a mechanical lightning bug the size of the Gnome’s doubled fists flitted over on thinly stamped Mithril wings to land on Gearslayer’s side and light began to shine from his posterior. After a few moments of careful prying, the orc’s helmeted skull popped free and the creature fell to the floor with a sickening splatter.
“Rust and ruin I’m going to have to release this cable and re-string it. This poxy rat of a shoddy ax is crammed in here too tight.” He busied himself with more spanners, pliers, lubricants and got the cable loosened. The ax fell, but the gnome’s ears twitched in agitation when he saw that the blade had shorn through half the thick strands of steel.
“Good thing Verlak had some coin on him.” Gravelox muttered darkly, “This is going to cost me more gold and you’ll be on five legs until I can get a new cable made.”
He shuffled back into the interior of his workshop, past the steam hammer and forge to his desk. Pulling a pencil from his apron pocket, he sharpened it and scribbled an order with precise tensile strength, diameter and length down on it.
“Sparkplug, I need you to take this to Drandlain’s Ironworks.” He said, folding the parchment and sealing it with a blob of dark green sealing wax. “Tell her to deliver it. And to hurry. I’m far too busy to be mucking about leaving my shop and engaging in any more tomfoolery of the sort that pox ridden Verlak likes to engage in. Not that he’ll be troubling anyone anymore eh? EH?” Chuckling at his own joke, the Gnome slid the message into his mechanized familiar’s message tube and sent it buzzing on its way.
Gravelox looked around his workshop and sighed. So many projects he had started and not finished. So many failures that had nearly ended in death. So many years of study and research. Finally, his project was finished. Predictably, just when his masterpiece was going out for its walkabout, that big jerk had to pick a fight.
He scratched idly at the spot just behind his right ear where his skull was still healing around the steel shunt that plugged into his brain. Although the others had all said he was insane for drilling holes in his head for the sake of his research, he sure had showed them! Or he would. Once things were ready.
“Pressure. Just like the engine in Wrenn’s ship.” He muttered. “But not with the same kind of propellant. Don’t like that hydrogen. No booms. That’s why I use heat, pressure, proper applications of springs, cams and cables, clockwork and just a touch of aethercrafting. That’s why you’re my masterpiece.”
Gearslayer rattled its metal mandibles in response and Gravelox felt satisfied amusement in his head. The same device that gave him access to control the metal monster without words or gestures also allowed its collection of gears, wires, crystals and aethercraft to respond with vague emotions and sometimes with single syllable words. He smiled, thinking about how shocked his naysayers would be.
“Just like I said, once it’s awakened my dear little pet can think! A thinking machine.” His grin spread wider, “I think I’m only a few steps away from proving my theory about the former existence of the sentient steel creatures called Warforged that I found reference to in several historical texts. It’s only a matter of time, eh Gearslayer?”
The metal construct tapped at the workshop floor with a foreleg as though impatient. Gravelox chuckled, feeling his friend’s anticipation of things to come.
“Yes, while I’m waiting for that replacement cable perhaps I will finish your tail and its injectors hmm?” He moved to his workbench where a rotating set of copper cylinders sat next to an apparatus with a sturdy, retractable needle. Fiddling with his aether powered brazing torch he brought it to a fine point, heating the copper, brass and glass tubing so it could be twisted into the proper shape and soldered together. Humming quietly to himself, he continued to work long into the night.
It was most of a week before the replacement cable came in. During that time, Gravelox began playing with other high-pressure systems. With the addition of aethercraft, he had constructed a modified bolt thrower that could outperform any crossbow. The biggest advantage it offered, other than being more compact and being able to throw a much heavier missile, was the rotating cartridge that he had modeled after Gearslayer’s tail injector.
By spinning the machined steel tubes, he could fire a dozen shots as rapidly as any archer with a bow without sacrificing the accuracy and compact size of a crossbow. Also, he could choose certain bolts and load them in certain barrels to be able to choose blunt, armor piercing or regular broad heads swiftly. He chuckled in satisfaction after firing a series of practice bolts into a target across the workshop.
“Oh this will be perfect!” He said. Gearslayer clattered his front claws in derision. “Of course you can cut them apart or mush them into paste, but I would rather not get that close unless absolutely necessary.”
Drandlin knocked on his front door. He knew it was her because only that irascible Dwarf knocked instead of using the bell pull. She always claimed to have forgotten, but he suspected she just liked to punch things. Setting down his … bolt thrower? He was going to have to come up with a clever name for it… Gravelox hurried to answer the door.
“Got yer bedamned cable.” Drandlin grated, turning her head to spit a stream of tobacco juice into the alley behind his workshop. “The hell’d you do to break the last one I sent ya? Coulda lifted this pile of rat droppings you call a workshop with it.”
“Ah. It got cut. Maybe there was a flaw in it.” Gravelox said, then had to duck another stream of tobacco juice as Drandlin aimed one at his face. “I was only joking!”
“Yer sense a humor’s gonna get ya splattered onea these days gnome.” She said. “Where ya want this cable then?”
Gearslayer had come up behind Gravelox with far more stealth than a metal beast ought to be able, especially with one of his legs removed, and he reached over their heads to pluck the cable from the cart with its huge crushing claw. Drandlin gaped as Gearslayer retreated back into the workshop.
“Just a few repairs.” Gravelox said, and shut the door in her face. Having the last word really was one of the best jokes ever.