A story of the Sons of Bugman AEC, the first tale of the Path to Glory host of the Hidden Reserve.
“You seen the inside of those things? Think that’s valuable?” Voices of breathless awe. The crew had gotten into speculating, never a good sign. Speculating was, in fact, a dangerous pastime – for captains – and always had to be quelled early.
Captain Okbryn Whisperport let the heavy thumps of his magnetic boots announce his presence. The four duardin, previously craning over the railing, now scrambled to attention.
He loomed and said nothing. They tightened their throats and replied nothing. The haffen, whose job it was to speculate was doing so further up the deck. Obliviously, he pointed and hooted at a giant serpent plowing through the earth below and declared, “Edible!” The whole crew reflexively turned their heads in time to catch Esme cackle with delight and scribble his findings into a creased and grease-stained notebook.
Someone — Skyf, Okbryn realised — cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, you should take a look at these cavern mouths down below, captain. Looks like amberbone within.”
Amberbone? Okbryn lifted an eyebrow sceptically, intrigued. He thrust his arm out, palm up, and Skyf immediately provided a spyglass, already extended. With a fluid, trained motion, the frigate captain lifted it to his monocled eyepatch, locked it in with a twist and a clack, and angled his head down so he could see scan the ground. The masticating motion of the ravines made them easily identifiable, and so it wasn’t long for his focus to sharpen in to… yes, there. Translucent and golden stone peeked from behind undulating obsidian spikes. Amberbone indeed.
He returned the spyglass with a curt motion. They looked at him expectantly, and when he rubbed the beard of his mask, the eager crew grew animated again.
“We’ve seen dozens of these in the area! Imagine if they all got them!” offered Bergrim.
“Nassol still has wizards even after all that fighting,” Angwyr provided.
“So we already have a nearby and ready market!” Olf supported.
“And there’s some sturdy ground in those ruins where we could make base camp. It’s got pillars to anchor the Brynzongor too ‘til we know what we’re doing with it,” furnished Skyf.
“Edible!” Esme, in a realm of his own, barked in loud triumph as he noted some large lizards basking on the rocks.
A mechanical grumble emitted from Okbryn’s mask. This crew really did take every opportunity to speak too much. There was nothing worth arguing in the plan, which made him want to argue more. He didn’t, though. A losing argument wasn’t worth the pain. More than half his crew was aboard the Brynzongor behind them, keeping the massive krontanker barely under their control in the wild winds of Ghur. The sooner they tethered it to something, the sooner he’d have all hands and heads and voices working to solve the problem of what to do with it. Like the amberbone below, the Brynzongor was too valuable to pass up but also too much trouble to handle without reinforcements, which they’d receive once they had fixed coordinates to give the other fleet captains.
Static crackled. The crew stood at attention, trained to know their captain was about to speak through the ship’s communication array. Okbryn braced himself for the sting; though his voice was a raspy, barely audible whisper in his ravaged throat, the speakers magnified and echoed it through every corner of the skyvessel. “We *bzzt* set course for those ruins starboard side. Relay orders to officers aboard Brynzongor to make ready to anchor.” With a gloved hand he reached under his mask to massage the old wound at his throat. “Everyone. Landing and battle stations. Never assume safety.”
——————
Captain Okbryn’s mantra proved true once Captain Forgegrog and his Revenue Cutters hit the ground. They disembarked via repelling lines to the worked-stone platform beneath, some ruin from before mortals were scattered to the winds, chosen for it seemed to hold at bay the massive mouths that began swarming at the booming sound of the endrins. The plan was for this vanguard to test that limit. Unfortunately, that meant everyone’s attention was not on the mud-encrusted ballista pivoting to aim its lethal bolt in their direction.
A rough twang was their only warning, but the weight of the dried mud on the barbed missile must have altered its intended trajectory, and it curved down too soon to succeed at a direct hit at the frigate. The Hidden Reserve veered larboard. Marked duardin and a confused haffen frantically yelled and called out other sightings:
“Orruks, aft!”
“Crossbows, starboard!”
“Edible, there!” Esme Brandyport, culinary prospector and gastronaut, shouted off the starboard side as a great gnashtooth violently shook dirt and debris off its muscular and leathery frame. Riding astride it was a tall, lanky orruk grunting orders.
“By the Code, not another danger weasel,” Dammin, Okbryn’s master gunner, groaned in recognition, recalling how ubiquitous they were back at the siege of Nassollotyl. He swiveled the chase gun to verify it was just the one.
It was, thankfully, but for the duardin already on the ground, that was cold comfort. Already the Revenue Cutters were ducking behind the bases of pillars, cursing to the ancestors at being outranged and pinned down by orruk crossbows. All they could do was take the occasional pot-shot with the only weapon with range – the light skyhook – but once the orruk sharpshooters started to mark and harry poor Grontonsson, stuck now behind the back stair of the ruined platform, that option evaporated.
This was a battle to be won from the skies. Overhead, the Hidden Reserve fought to climb out of range of that ballista, focusing the power of the endrins on defence. Carbines and ship cannonade ripped through the greenskin infantry, but could do little at maximum range to penetrate the erected magical barrier, a strange talisman held high by the warboss, around the artillery.
Mizzenmaster Brynlyn’s Flying Bricklayers would be the ones to punch through with their drill launcher. Using the frigate first as cover, the trio made a rapid descent into the line of pillars, zigzagging through them on the approach. Brynlyn helped shield the heavy drill launcher with her fellow endrineer Tysh, and when Tysh took an unfortunate hit to the endrin for her effort, the drill behind her whirled to life and was propelled forward by a blast of pressurised aether. It bit through the barrier, clean through the orruks bowline, leaving the warboss alone to smash its trinket to the ground in fury and frustration.
Now they only had one problem, a danger weasel charging straight for the arkanauts. But in defending his artillery, the orruk had acted too late.
“Skewer it.” Okbryn gave the command, conveyed loud enough through the speakers for the duardin below to hear.
“Aye, captain,” Dammin grinned under his mask.
——————
At their new base camp, Esme whistled a whimsical tune as he unpacked the essentials from the cargo hold: a large stewpot and a ladle many times larger than himself. Arkanauts were hauling the designated edible gnashtooth carcass up the stone stairs, straining from having had to rush swiftly from the softer earth so as not to let the Mouths creep up on them. Tents and a fire had been set up. The Brynzongor was safely secured to the most structurally sound pillars by great weights and chains, as was the Hidden Reserve.
Safe? Not likely, but good for now. Eager to convene again with his officers, Okbryn disembarked from his ship. However, on the ground, he was met first by Brynlyn, fresh from scouting.
“Some aelves and beasts, captain. Hard to tell them apart. They say they wish to extend an invitation to ‘a fellow hunter.’ Orders?”
“Let them *bzzt* approach,” Okbryn took the risk. Strangers in a strange land meant information, which he needed, and maybe profit. “But put everyone on guard and *zzzt*”
“And never assume safety, I know, captain.” Brynlyn saluted with a wink, already turning to tell everyone else without being dismissed.
He shook his head. An overly familiar crew was also dangerous for captains, but for today, Okbryn would permit it.
