Sexy Steampunk Babes

Piper was an alchemist. A fairly talented one at that. She was the one who invented Bear-Blood after all.

Prior to her enrolment in the alchemist’s guild, the venerable guild had been churning out a variant of Earth-Blood that did little more than burn hotter and longer. In short, a slight improvement on the base asset of the substance at a ruinous cost in reagents.

Ever-Burn, they’d called it.

The Navy named it Demon-Piss.

Personally, Piper thought the latter name more apt. After all, what else could one name a substance that had an unfortunate tendency to spontaneously ignite when unduly jostled? Just transporting the damnable substance from a ship’s reinforced storage locker carried risk – let alone loading it into a drop-pot, mounting it onto a shard’s underside before then carrying it into battle.

Sure, it was powerful – and woe be to any bucket-brigade or hose-handler set to put out the blazes it created – but the cost in friendly ships and shards destroyed due accidental mishandling or enemy action wasn’t worth it.

At least in the eyes of the Royal procurement committee and many ducal martials.

‘A weapon better suited to the barbarism of the old continent,’ was a line she vividly recalled from her days as a young journeywoman.

Personally, she was of the belief that the damnable substance’s infamous reputation was a large part of the reason for why the invention of carrier-airships was delayed. No captain wanted to helm a vessel expected to carry so much Demon-Piss in its hold.

So, she’d been the one to invent an alternative. One that went against both tradition and methodology. Rather than try to reinforce the nature of a thing, she sought to contradict it by layering two concepts over one another by finding a substance that embodied the contrasts she’d needed.

And she succeeded.

Eventually.

Bear-Blood was an improvement in all regards.

A nuanced mixture of Earth-Blood, bear fangs and gold flakes, the alchemical solution rendered Earth-Blood’s inherent fiery nature inert and safe to transport – until the thick oily substance’s fury needed to be awakened into a fiery cataclysm. Not unlike a hungry bear awakening from winter.

Hibernation was the concept.

Naturally, the Royal Navy had been incredibly interested in a weapon that wasn’t just stable, but actively inert until salmon eggs were added to the mixture. Indeed, it didn’t take long for Bear-Blood to become a staple of Lindholmian navies. And while that alone had not been enough to elevate her to the position of Guildmaster, it certainly paved the way.

Which was all a very long-winded way of saying that Piper was a very good alchemist – and thus why it was so annoying that these days she seldom got to perform any actual alchemy.

Or even oversee it.

Because her boss seemed to think her some kind of jack-of-all-trades who was quite happy to oversee any and every project taking place in the many workshops that populated his domain.

That she was actually qualified to do so didn’t make it any less annoying.

“Steady,” she commanded. “You’re spreading your focus too thin. I can see deformation in the left wing. We’re just expanding the cockpit, don’t let your mind wander.”

And that was fortunate, because Piper had seen the designs for the new wings, and complicated didn’t even begin to describe them.

Forget the insanity that was taking out all but the front ballast – which they were filling with water for some deep-forsaken reason - what kind of madman decided to design wings that fold?

The one she was working for apparently.

“Yes ma’am,” the half-elven mage-smith she was speaking to nodded, though she kept her eyes closed.

All the better to help visualize the changes she was trying to make to the frame of the shard on her right, her hand pressed against the wing on her left, her magic requiring a physical connection to the metal she was trying to shape.

Something Piper knew because she’d spent many a month doing the exact same kind of work – or otherwise tutoring her people on the subject.

Which was why the elven mage-smith’s other hand was pressed against the wing of a different shard on her right. The same Unicorn that was scheduled to be returned to the capital within the next fortnight. For now though, it was serving as a reference for the mage as the half-elf sought to replicate the shape of its cockpit and some parts of the body on the Drake on her left.

Even as Piper watched, the large block of aluminium that had been crudely welded to the body of the Drake shrunk, flowing into the frame of the Drake as the cockpit of the machine lengthened in time with the body.

Not perfectly though, she thought as she regarded a small divot that formed in the cockpit ring.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a huge issue and wasn’t worth reminding the girl of like she’d done with the wing. Imperfections like that were only to be expected where mage-smithing was concerned and was part of the reason why most mage-smiths had a small army of plebian blacksmiths and panel-beaters whose job it was to smooth away any such imperfections with more mundane tools.

Most, she thought again, her mind twisting towards a certain freak of nature who standing next to her watching the changes being made to the shard.

To her knowledge, William Redwater’s work, on those occasions he stepped into one of the many workshops in his domain, was to quote one of the mage-smiths she’d spoken to on the matter, ‘flawless’.

Not good. Not great. Flawless.

That was not a word any mage-smith she knew would use lightly. Not in a vocation for whom flaws were an unavoidable reality. Admittedly, the young woman she’d spoken to was exactly that, young, but the fact remained that William’s talent was rather… unnatural.

So much so that she almost wanted to ask why he had one of his subordinates working on such a critical piece of his burgeoning military rather than doing it himself. Because it was obvious it was important to him, otherwise he wouldn’t be present to watch.

She said nothing though.

Instead, the two stood in relative silence as over the next few minutes the frame of the Drake twisted until it was a warped mirror of the Unicorn next to it.

Even ignoring the myriad small imperfections in the former-Drake’s frame, the Unicorn it was at least partially based on had a back-mounted propeller, while the new one had an opening at the front for said propeller instead. Indeed, that was but one of the many small changes her lord had insisted on, resulting in a frame that was both similar to the Unicorn and yet strikingly different.

“Excellent work,” Piper congratulated as the mage-smith finally took her hands off the machines, opening her slightly bloodshot eyes to smile at her ‘superior’.

“M-my thanks, ma’am,” the girl smiled at her, before bowing to the count. “To you and the lord both, for giving me this opportunity.”

Piper simply nodded back. “You earned it.”

And that was the truth. The half-elf was the most talented mage-smith of the crop the Queen had sent their way. Which was a fairly high bar to reach in truth. None of them had much in the way of experience – hence why Piper had found herself in charge of… pretty much everyone despite being theoretically the head of the Alchemist’s alone – but they were all the definition of hungry young talents.

Hunger that had been stoked to new heights by their lord’s development of the long-desired interrupter gear. Which had no doubt been part of his plan.

Indeed, she turned to her lord expecting him to say some words of his own, only to find the boy had barely even heard the words of the young mage.

No, his focus was entirely on the frame of the newly formed frame in front of him, a hint of something akin to… nostalgia in his eyes.

Then the moment passed and he snapped out of it.

“Yes, excellent work,” he said quickly, before turning his gaze to the other occupants of the room, pitching his voice to be better heard. “In fact, let me speak to all of you when I say that though the task set before you was difficult, each and every one of you has surpassed my wildest expectations in a very short timeframe. And though the work on this new design has scarcely begun, it forms an incredible foundation for what is yet to come. I have not a doubt in my mind that, before the month is through, this new design will be soaring through the skies, carrying the next generation of shard-pilots with it.”

The small speech got an equally small smattering of applause. Something the boy clearly noticed as his smile became a little stiff, but to his credit he managed not to let it show before he turned to her, even as the mage-smith from before limped away with some help from her assistant.

“So, did I say something wrong just then or is there a morale issue I’m ignorant of?” he asked quietly.

Ignoring the momentary flush that threatened to slip across her features at the sensation of an attractive young man whispering in her ear, she made a so-so gesture.

“Mostly the former and a little of the latter,” she said, making him raise an eyebrow before she explained. “The news of who exactly will be piloting the new craft has begun to make the rounds.”

And given that just about every mage-smith in existence wanted to be a mage-knight at some point in their lives, the rumour that a bunch of mundanes might be being elevated to the rank before them was definitely a sore spot.

Piper knew she’d felt a prick of an old emotional wound she’d thought long since scarred over when she heard of her lord’s plans.

“Ah,” the boy said before frowning. “Do you think it’ll be a problem long-term?”

The dwarf shook her head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think it depends on where exactly you plan to position your new ‘pilots’ socially.”

The boy shook his head. “Household guards by any other name. Just because they’ll be piloting a weapon normally reserved for nobles doesn’t make them nobility. Hell, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t elevate them to that rank even if I wanted.”

He could, precedents existed for plebians who’d performed incredible feats, though said nobility was usually awarded post-mortem.

Still, she didn’t feel the need to say any of that as she nodded. “Well, I imagine it’ll be fine then beyond a little professional friction.”

Probably.

…Provided she spoke to the girls about it. Before someone did something stupid.

The last thing she needed was for her guild to be back on the street because some idiot felt slighted about some peasant folk getting to be sky-knights instead of them.

“Oh yeah,” she said finally, turning back to the new frame that had been created. “I figure the profile of this thing is different enough that it’ll need a new name. You got something in mind?”

Because if not she’d have to be the one to name it, and then it’d end up being something like Unicorn-Forward, because she had many talents but naming things wasn’t one of them.

Fortunately, her liege had an answer.

“The Corsair,” he said, that strange hint of nostalgia in his eyes again. “We’ll call it the Corsair-M.”

Well, it wasn’t terrible she guessed, though she did have one question.

“What’s the M for?”

He shrugged as he watched a blacksmith pounding a dent out of the new design’s frame. “Mithril.”

----------------------------

“We can’t stay here,” Yotul announced. “Sooner or later, the Blackstone will find us.”

She’d been expecting an outcry at that, and she was not disappointed, as what felt like half the tribe shouted or cried out their dissent at her words. The noise was cacophonous, bouncing off the walls of the Blood-Oath’s cargo-bay with a vengeance.

It didn’t help that it was a fairly small room containing a lot of orcs. She’d ordered the entire crew assembled, but for a small skeleton staff to keep things running elsewhere.

It wouldn’t do to leave the Screamer unattended after all.

Taking her mind from the duties of those not present, she allowed those who were to voice their complaints for a little while longer. Such was their way after all. But after a good minute had passed without any sign of the noise slowing, she glanced toward her Second.

The older woman’s scowl had only grown deeper and deeper with each utterance from the crowd, and as such she was all too happy to be let loose.

“Shut up you maggots and let the captain speak!” The woman’s roaring voice cut clear through the cacophony, leaving little more than stunned silence in its wake.

Yotul smiled at the sight. Oh, she knew some members of the tribe sneered at their chiefess choosing an ink-born as her second – let alone one that had served the enemy – but it was in moments like this that Olga showed her worth.

Where others saw a traitor to their race who had spent years serving the enemy, Yotul saw a woman with a wealth of experience in how their enemy operated. One who was tough as nails and had a wealth of experience both operating airships and wrangling crews together.

“As I was saying,” Yotul continued. “We can’t stay here. Our deceptions have aided us for a time, but with the loss of the Iron-Tusk and Warcry the enemy will soon discover how we’ve managed to evade them for so long.”

“None would speak!” Igubat shouted, the weather old orc shouted, his shaman staff held in a white knuckled grip. “They would die first.”

Personally, Yotul rather doubted that. A few years ago she might have believed it, but three years of acting as the tribe’s chiefess had rather eradicated what little naivety she’d still had left.

Still, as she saw the old medicine-man’s wives form up around him, she knew better than to directly contradict him. While the old man wasn’t a rival for her position, the healer held much sway within the tribe, and his voice in favour or against one of her actual rivals could be a large factor in any future leadership challenges.

Something she could ill afford even under normal circumstances, let alone when she was abandoning their ancestral home – even if only for a time.

“Of course not,” she lied. “I’ve no doubt what few prisoners the Blackstone take will die spitting defiance at our enemy before they reveal our secrets, but the unfortunate truth is that the downed ships will speak for them.”

Quiet mutters started at that.

“What do you mean chiefess?” Urgat asked, the ship’s cook tugging at her tusks in confusion. “How can a ship speak?”

Yotul resisted the urge to roll her eyes, not least of all because she’d feel guilty about doing so. Urgat wasn’t the brightest soul aboard, but she worked her fingers to the bone to keep the crew fed and their spirits high.

Instead, the chiefess gestured to the nearest reinforced bulkhead. “By being observed by a soul with even a modicum of intelligence.”

And as much as it burned her to attribute a shred of virtue to the monster’s who’d burned down her home, the Blackstones weren’t stupid. This most recent ambush was evidence of that much.

“The modifications we made to our captured ships to hide them aren’t subtle,” she said. “The Screamer. Reinforced bulkheads. Airtight hatches. Gunports welded shut. Enchanted bridge glass. The list goes on.”

Indeed, if she went through every modification the tribes had been forced to make to allow for their great deception, she’d be there for hours.

It had not been fast nor easy – but it had worked. For years. Until those idiots Khurzug and Bula got overconfident and fell for what was an obvious trap.

Three ships, deep into our territory, unescorted, Yotul thought. What else could it have been?

Sure, her heart had burned for vengeance too when she got news of the small fleet burning what villages they found in their path, but that had only reinforced her belief that the Blackstone were trying to lure them out.

Unfortunately, she’d been overruled by the other two captains on the war council and as such had been forced to accompany them. Indeed, it was pure luck that the Blood-Oath had escaped, and bordering on a miracle that they’d managed to lose their pursuers.

Something only possible because of the Blood-Oath’s modification – and their foe’s ignorance of them.

Gritting her teeth, she continued as she saw the light of realization brighten in the eyes of the rest of the tribe – at least, those that hadn’t already reached the same conclusion she had.

“Soon the enemy will know how we have evaded them and they will stop searching empty caves and shadowy valleys for this ship,” she said.

“Let them come!” Igubat shouted. “Or try and fail. They can’t reach us here. Not that they’d dare risk their precious cores in the attempt.”

Yotul didn’t scream in frustration, but it was a near thing. Instead she schooled her tone into something much more respectful. “As much as it pains me to say, honored elder, while they might not have had the capability before they do now.”

“They have the Iron-Tusk and Warcry,” Olga said, uncaring of how the old man sneered at being spoken to by an ink-born. “Both ships will be in need of repair right now, but the Blackstones won’t require long to get them operational once more.”

Nodding, Yotul continued. “And while I’ve no doubt this ship and her crew could defeat twice our number in craft crewed by weak humans and elves, the Blackstone have the means to refit more. It would be a death by a thousand cuts.”

Plus, she was blatantly lying about the first part. Ignoring the fact that she wasn’t even sure how the Blood-Oath could fight in their current locale – they certainly couldn’t unseal the gunports – the Blood-Oath had already been part of a much more even three on three battle and lost.

Not that she’d say as much to the old healer, whose fervour had an unfortunate tendency to outshine his sense.

“And that’s ignoring their new weapon,” Olga said with some finality. “The same weapon that spurred our now lost brother ships into action.”

She saw even Igubat pause at that.

The Kraken-Slayer.

They still knew nothing about it, not beyond what it was capable of.

And that was terrifying enough.

“So, what do you propose?” Ragash asked, the healer’s headwife taking over for her husband as the man seemed to sag in on himself. “We travel halfway across the planet to beg aid from despots little different from our current lot? Taking with us the Free People’s last remaining airship when they need it most? The Council of Tribes would call for our heads and be right to do so!”

“And that’s assuming we don’t run into any kraken nests on the way over,” Yelle, the airship’s lead engineer chimed in absently. “The Screamer might keep the big beasties away from the Blood-Oath’s tasty little core, but that only works so long as we stay away from their nests. The second we stray a little too close, we go from a scary thing to avoid, to a threat.”

Yotul nodded slowly, well aware of what she was asking. “That’s true, but I believe it’s worth the risk. Or rather, we’ve no other option but to take it.” Turning toward Ragash, she spoke slowly. “I’ve little doubt that should we return to the Council of Tribes, they would demand we stay and defend the Razorbacks… but to what end?”

She gazed out across the crowd. “The Blackstones will come for them in force, and we now have but one ship to defend ourselves.”

Though in truth, even when they’d had three ships to call upon they hadn’t had the means to openly contest the Blackstone fleet if it chose to push on the last refuge of the Free Orcs.

The airships were useful for ambushing lone patrol ships, but it would require years and many more victories and captured vessels before the Free Orcs could contest the Blackstones openly.

And even that would require that the rest of the Invaders stayed away.

No, something drastic needed to be done.

“The Free-Orcs will go to ground as they always have. The mountains shall shield us from our foes, as they always have. The Blackstone will search fruitlessly, finding little more than empty villages to burn. The presence of a single ship will not and cannot change that.” She slammed her foot down, the sound echoing through the deck of the ship. “To that end, I say we head East. Not to beg for aid from Invaders of a different ilk, but to use their greed to our own ends.”

She grinned, as the first signs of interest spread across her audience. “As a hunter might smash Wyvern eggs against the wall of the cave of an orc-eating bear to lure both beasts, we too shall lure our foes to tangle against one another, so that we might profit off their handiwork. Whether it is bear or wyvern who survives the clash matters little. The survivor shall be weary and weak.”

She had them, she could see it – until someone spoke.

“Only in this case, ‘baiting the trap’ means giving up our only technological advantage over our foes. Because they’ll want the Screamer,” Yelle said in her dispassionate way.

Only, instead of Yotul being the one to respond, she was surprised to hear Igubat speak.

“A weapon the Blackstones already have or soon will,” the older healer said, some of his earlier energy returning to him. “With that in mind, we lose nothing by passing it onto the other Invaders. No, I like this plan. Wyvern against Bear. Very orcish.”

Despite herself, the young woman flushed a bit at his words. “I try, honoured elder. For the Tribe.”

“For the Tribe!” The room, rather than just the man, cheered back.

Well, with that it seemed they’d accepted her idea.

…Even if it was insane. Yelle hadn’t been lying when she spoke about the risk of running into a Kraken Nest. Sure, the merchant map on the bridge had them all marked out – but recent events with Al’Hundra meant that much of it was now likely wrong as new kraken moved in to fill the vacuum the old goddess had left.

And assuming they even made it… they’d be a single ship, far from home, low on supplies, attempting to negotiate with a people that even the Invaders of her home consider barbaric and backwards.

To be fair, those same Invaders thought the same of her own people, but given these were fellow elves the Invaders were speaking of, she was inclined to believe it.

Still, they had to risk it.

“Everyone,” she called out. “You may return to your duty stations. Bridge crew, accompany me there. We have a course to set.”

The roar of enthusiasm from her tribe warmed her heart, so much so that she didn’t even mind too much when barely a second later an icy cold drop of water managed to drop so perfectly that it ran down the nape of her neck.

Scowling as the cold tingly sensation ran down her spine, she glanced up at the offending piece of leaky bulkhead.

Need to get a repair crew on that, she thought as she turned to march out of the room, Olga hot on her heels. The last thing we need right now is to start leaking.

Marching down the hallway, she idly spied a fish flit past the nearest porthole before swimming out once more into the inky blackness of the ocean, the enchanted glass there serving to keep the massive weight of the water beyond out of the ship.

Yes, it would be better to get that leak fixed sooner rather than later.