Origin: The Scorpion's Sting

            “SIR! There they are!”

            Lieutenant Flint rushed to the side of the bridge, staring up into the sky. The large Sky-Station Hierophant could be seen among the clouds, lowering as it approached the city of Jalandhar. Flint tensed. The Sky-Station was a lot bigger then he imagined it was, and it looked beautiful and sleek compared to the English model it was based off of. Prince Ramaya was truly a fine craftsman of war machines.

            Unfortunately, those machines were now turned on Flint. Flint spotted a flurry of activity from the Station and his eyes narrowed. Tiny biplanes, sleek in design and golden in color, were being launched to face them. Flint hated this type of aircraft due to their maneuverability, speed, and lack of firepower. All they did was harass, like the airship equivalent to a fly.

            Two larger forms were seen rising over the platform and then descending. Flint’s eyes narrowed, and he walked to a set of binoculars by one of the observation windows. The contraption was on a singular track that swiveled around the bridge. The binoculars were far too heavy to lug around due to their complex lens crafting. Flint had bought it in New York, off a Turkish vendor selling these types of optics.

            Peering into the binoculars, he flipped some switches to adjust the view and zoomed on the group. Besides the elegant planes two airships had joined the fight. Flint noticed they wore basic armor and were golden like the biplanes. They were royal aircraft, designed so their looks were just as powerful as their guns.

            “Tell those Sepoy to take their battle stations,” said Flint, smiling, “Let the ‘Boxers’ down in the engine room know we need all the power the Scorpios has!”

            “Yes, Lieutenant,” said a Sepoy Sergeant, running to a communication tube.

            Flint hoped these Indians could fight. The Boxers (the Chinese) were incredibly smart, but they could not operate the same weapons and systems they helped upkeep and clean. Besides, this was more the Indians’ fight then his anyway.

            Just as the roar of the Biplanes rose over the din of the landship, Flint saw his landship come to life. On the deck, troops scurried around looking for their positions. The anti-aircraft turret positions hissed to life, spinning and jerking before beading towards the sky. Certain teams lugged the few Gatling attachments to positions on the railing, plugging them in and preparing them for battle. Finally, a small vibration was added to the mix, and Flint could tell the large, main cannon was preparing for battle.

            “Lieutenant Flint,” said the same Sergeant from early, “The troops will be ready to attack soon, but your cannon will be no match against those smaller fliers!”

            “It’s not for them, it’s for those airships!” said Flint, “But don’t be shy in taking a few of them out while we try to hit those balloons!”

            “Those airships will be out of range soon,” said the Sergeant, “I am uncomfortable with your strategy!”

            “Those airships are royal show ships,” said Flint, “Your Prince Ramaya is too proud for his own good. They are air-to-air combat! They cannot attack well without broadsiding us!”

            “What about their warriors? They can board.”

            Just then the farthest Anti-Aircraft gun turret opened up, its large cannon firing specialized bullets into the sky. About the same time the biplanes began to open fire, their duel machines guns spraying bullets towards the deck.

            “Let’s see them try,” smiled Flint.

            The battle had begun. Biplanes swooped in their first run, all opening fire. Their bullets pinged off the metal hull, Sepoy riflemen diving for cover. The Scorpios’ anti aircraft guns began to fire into the sky. Two biplanes exploded under the shear firepower of the guns. The Gatling crews began firing as well as the biplanes circled overhead. Their bullets continued to harass the planes. The biplanes had tail gunners at the rear of the plane, so even as they flew away they continued to fire down at the ship.

            A few of the planes had small bombs on board, and they dropped them as they swooped overhead. Two landed short of the landship. Their explosions throwing dirt and smoke onto its mighty metal legs. A Third overshot, the bomb shrieking as it flew over the deck and landed in some trees behind the ship. A fourth hit, however, its explosion vibrating the entire ship and its explosion sweeping some Sepoy off their feet.

            At the sight of the battle, the two airships began to rise higher into the sky. Flint almost held his breathe as he calculated in his head the rough range the were at.

            BOOM!

            The landship shuttered as the main cannon fired. The shot streaked through the air, missing the first airship but slamming into the broadside of the second. The ship shuttered at the force, and its elegant features did nothing to stabilize the ship after the hit. The airship capsized and spun in the air, plummeting to the ground.

            The ship continued to tremble and shake, and Flint grabbed hold of a consol nearby, feeling as his ship dived a little.

            “The hell was that!” he yelled, “YOU! Stabilize starboard legs! Full thrusters to port! Other jargon and stuff! Stabilize it!”

            “Lieutenant!” yelled a Sepoy from the communication Tube area, “The Chinamen are yelling something! I cannot understand their accent!”

            “Give me a sec!” Flint yelled, rushing to the communication tube, “Lieutenant Flint, what the hell happened? We’re tipping!”

            “We can stabilize, sir,” came the choppy English from the otherside of the tube, “We can no fire while moving! This walker no-good for that. Shoot big gun while standing! We no-good!”

            “Can you save us!”

            “This no problem. We’ll be right in a second,” shouted the voice, “No more firing while motion!”

            “I got it, you just keep us alive,” said Flint, he turned to the others, “We’ll be fine, how are we doing?”

            “Lost that airship, sir,” said the Sergeant.

            “What? Lost it? How did we lose it?”

            “It was there one second, and now it is gone!”

            “Damnit, Sergeant… how do you lose a giant ship!”

            “Bridge! This is turret four,” cried a voice through the tubes, “That issue screwed with our steam line. We have regained power, but we have a bad jam!”

            The speaker repeated his ply in Indian as Flint ran to the window. Sure enough, a close gun turret was spewing black smoke and the Sepoy supposed to be showing it were running around it with tools, some of them yielding British Le Enfield Rifles and firing into the sky.

            “Crap,” said Flint, his eyes scanning the sky, “I guess we really did lose it. Sergeant, bridge is yours. I’m going hunting!”

            Flint crossed the length of the bridge to a gun rack in the back and he grabbed a Le Enfield himself. Before heading through the exit hatch, he gazed through the bridge at the large Platform making its way towards Jalandhar. He glared once more and headed out the hatch.

            After rushing through the corridors of his landship, he exited a hatch out into the daylight, and into chaos. He must’ve missed the impacts while rushing through the ship, but two more of the biplane bombs had hit the landship. Chinamen and Sepoy rushed around, bringing tools and water to soldiers and lugging away the dead and wounded below deck.

            The rise and fall of the hum of biplane engines filled Flint’s ears as they flew overhead, shooting their twin machine guns. Flint ran out onto the deck, starring up into the sky. He could not see the airship, only the biplanes and the trail of his gun’s bullets into the sky.

            Flint did not bother wasting bullets on firing into the sky. He rushed across the deck of the ship and ran to the turret, which had stopped spewing black smoke. As Flint reached it, he ducked inside. A few of the Chinese engineers were working tirelessly with the gun. The large clip of anti-aircraft rounds was out of the receiver and tossed aside, and the engineers worked to dislodge a bullet from the gun.

            “What’s the status. We need every gun moving, boys,” said Flint.

            One of the engineers spouted off in Chinese and Flint rolled his eyes. One of these days he’d have to learn their language. Outside, the Sepoy yelled to each other in their own native tongue. If he kept up traveling like this, he’d have to learn many more languages.

            Flint decided to man-handle the gun, walking up to the receiver and slamming his foot down on it. The bullet moved slightly, sliding further into the firing mechanism. Flint grabbed the massive shutter that exposed of used shells, and with the aid of a few chinamen, he pulled the mechanism back, shooting the damaged shell out of the gun.

            “Hey, Sepoy,” yelled Flint, poking his head out of the armored turret, “Load it up and fire it. She’s fixed.”

            The engineers had barely packed up when the Sepoy loaded the clip back in and aimed the cannon, firing again into the sky. Flint fixed himself next to the gun, helping to aim it just ahead of the fast moving biplanes. The cannon fired large anti aircraft shells, looking like oversized bullets. It could fire it continually as long as the shooter could pull the trigger. This meant that the Scorpios could adjust its shots faster then other anti-aircraft means, and catch the biplanes by surprise.

            The gun fired three shots continually. The first was just behind a biplane’s tail, the second slammed into the tail, and the third was forward just enough to ignite the gas tank under the pilots seat. The plane dropped from the sky.

            Flint smiled and cheered with the Sepoy, but his cheers were cut short when the ping of bullets was heard outside and screams followed. He patted the gun team on their shoulders and he took his leave from the turret.

            Outside, Flint could see that in the wake of a biplane’s strife one of the Gatling crews lay wounded and bleeding on the deck. Flint ran to them and check their vitals. Some of the Sepoy would live, but two of them were all but gone already. Flint heard more gunshots too close for his liking and he ran to the Gatling. Slinging the Le Enfield over his shoulder He grabbed the Gatling turret and checked the steam connection. It was still attached, and he flipped the switch so the steam would flow. The gauge stated that he was at full power, and the barrels began to spin quickly. Flint aimed down the sights and spun the gun, aiming at the first plane he spotted. Pressing the duel triggers down, he heard the pit-pat of the gun as it spit bullets into the air. The bullets panged and dented at the armor of the biplanes, but Flint couldn’t get them to pierce the armor, or actually kill any of the pilots or tail gunners.

            “Lieutenant!” came a cry from the Sergeant in the bridge over the tube-PA system, “The Airship Indra is at our flank!”

            “No… how?” cursed Flint under his breathe and he turned around to face the other side of his ship.

            Across the deck he could see the bow of the landship, and the Airship swooped in quickly, positioning itself a ways away from the landship. The ship slowed, and Flint eyes the broadside.

            “Everyone down,” he said, slightly quieter then he meant to, and he ducked his head.

The airship fired, the five cannons on its elegant side bursting with flame. The old-fashioned cannon shells streaked overhead. Only two landed on the broadside of the landship, exploding on impact, the other streaked overhead and landed somewhere behind the ship.

Flint rose, feeling the rumbling of his ship. The Scorpios took the barrage, but after they adjusted it wouldn’t survive another one. Gazing back to the stern, Flint saw the large cannon making its way to bead on the ship. That Airship would not withstand a blow from it at this range. Flint leaned to a communication tube close to him and opened it.

“Prepare the broadside, Sergeant,” he yelled inside, “Tell the cannon to fire when ready!”

Flint flipped the switch from the steam source and shut power to the gun. Unlocking the hose from the steam port he release a burst of leftover pressure. Flint unlatched the gun from the ammo dispenser and lifted it from the port. Slinging it over his shoulder, he turned and began a trot across the landship’s deck, heading to the opposite side of the ship.

“This side,” said Flint, “Sepoy, on me! This side!”

Flint reached the other side of the deck and set the Gatling down on an unused port. Two other Sepoy helped him attach the steam connection and the ammunition supply. Flint allowed one of them, whom had lost his rifle, to man the gun and he un-slung his Le Enfield.

“Lieutenant,” a nearby soldier called out, “They are a danger!”

“Those are old-styled cannons,” said Flint, “They cannot do another broadside while we got them in our sight. We’ll shoot them out of the sky!”

“They will fly out of range, sir,” said the Sepoy again.

“They can’t do it fast enough,” said Flint, eyeing as thee main cannon was almost moved into position, “That gun’s range is too long.”

“Not farther away, sir,” cried the Sepoy, “They will get closer. They are preparing to board!”

Flint had to take a moment to allow the words to sink in, but then he remembered the Corporal’s words before he left the bridge. His eyes narrowed.

“Aim, boys,” he yelled, raising his rifle, “Prepare to fight them! Just let them try to board. Let’s make them realize their own mistake!”

The Sepoy stood firm, watching as gunshots could be seen shooting towards them from the airship. One of the Corporals yelled something in Indian and the soldiers that could, grabbed their bayonets and fixed them to their rifles. Flint felt ashamed, but he knelt down to a nearby wounded man awaiting to be carried off and he grabbed his bayonet and affixed it to his rifle.

“AIM” yelled Flint.

The Sepoy leveled their rifles and the airship, which was now tilting in their direction and getting noticeably closer.

Shoot, damnit. Shoot… Flint’s thoughts ran, they cannot board.

The Sepoy on gun emplacements allowed the steam to spin the barrels, and they pressed the triggers. Bullets shot off, streaking through the sky at the Indra.

“FIRE,” came Flint’s quick response as he raised his own rifle.

The deck ignited with the spurts of gunfire as all the nearby Sepoy fired. The Airship was still far enough out that Flint was unsure of their actual effectiveness. But the Indra was approaching quickly, and Flint could hear their own gunfire beginning to ping off the metal of the Scorpios, and wiz by his head.

“Reload,” said Flint, lowering his rifle to pull back the bolt, “RELOAD!”

The Sepoy all put a new round in the chamber, some of them beginning to get antsy. One shot fired slightly too close for Flint’s liking.

“We’re gonna need some help up here,” said Flint, “And someone tell the gun’s crew to shoot her down. FIRE!”

The group let loose another flurry of bullets. Flint could see the crew on the Indra’s deck take cover, but could not see if anyone had been wounded. The ship was now picking up speed, and Flint could see that they were gonna get slammed. On the side, pick-like hooks were raised, preparing to clamp down on the Scorpios’ deck and hold tight.

“Roload, and prepare for boarding,” called out Flint, “Do not fire until they are right on us. Be sure to take them out before they can get onboard!”

The shadow of the Indra’s balloon was getting cast on the crew, and the decks were almost ready to touch. Flint could see the crew of the Indra throwing aside their rifles. Some raising pistols and firing at the group. Others, however, drew swords and waved them above their heads, giving calls ready for boarding.

Right before the ship head, Flint gave the signal and the last barrage of bullets streamed from the Scorpios. This time Flint could spot the blood splatters off several warriors. Flint fired, watching his bullet pelt a man in the shoulder. He reloaded quickly before the board.

The Indra creaked as the ships collided. The hooks slammed down on the metal deck, latching the ships together. The Landship shuddered, but the Legs were ready for the impact and they steadied the ship. Using the momentum, the boarding party leapt from their ship, firing pistols and swinging their sword in a hail of battle cries.

Someone gave a command and the majority of Sepoy lunged at the falling attackers with their bayonets. Flint, and two other unknown soldiers that had reloaded, fired upward, shooting two attacked right from the sky. Afterward, metal on metal screeched and clanged against each other. Screams rang out from attackers being stabbed by bayonets as well as defenders being slashed by swords.

Flint was lost in the fray. He parried a strike from a large attacker. Flint swung up the butt of his rifle and slammed it into the attacker’s face. As the attacker recovered, Flint rammed his rifle into his gut, burying the blade. The attacker dropped his sword, closing his eyes.

Flint pulled back, allowing the attacker to fall backward in agony. Flint pulled back the bolt, loading another bullet into the rifle. He raised the rifle and aimed at another attacker who was wailing on a cowering Sepoy’s gun. Flint fired, the bullet spraying blood forward with the bullet. The attacker reeled, the bullet digging into his back.

Flint had enough time to spin his rifle around and slide in a new round for an attacker who had killed his target and ran towards Flint. Flint pulled the trigger before he was within range of his sword.  The attacker fell, dead.

“Sir,” cried a soldier, running up to the fray with reinforcements behind him, “We need to dislodge this ship!”

“I figured,” said Flint.

“The Scorpios cannot move,” he continued.

The reinforcements joined the fray, and helped deal with many of the first boarding party. A few soldiers jumped back onto their ship, and they readied some pistols and rifle to fire at the Scorpios’ crew.

“How do we dislodge it,” said Flint, firing the last shot in his rifle’s clip and he ejected the clip, preparing to put a brand new one in.

“The controls should be on the ship,” the soldier said, “We have to board their ship!”

Flint finished reloading his Le Enfield, and pulled the bolt to load the fresh bullet. All the attackers onboard his ship were almost dealt with, and many of the Sepoy had begun firing onto the enemy ship.

“Board,” ordered Flint, raising his rifle and shooting an enemy who peeked his head up to fire on the crew, “We must dislodge the ship!”

One Sepoy tossed a lit mini-bomb onto the Indra, and it exploded seconds later. After that, Flint’s Sepoy fired wild shots as they leapt onto the deck of the Indra. Flint joined them, leaping the small gap and japing at the enemy crew with his rifle.

Flint raised his rifle and fired at a man wielding a pistol by the upper deck. Flint then turned to a screaming swordsman who was running towards the new boarding crew. Flint lunged out with the rifle and impaled him. With the man falling to the ground, Flint surveyed the ship.

Fighting had broken out on the deck, and Flint’s Sepoy along with the Indra’s crew were locked in combat everywhere. Although heavy fighting had occurred, and still continued, it appeared most of the Sepoy who boarded were killed by gunfire or counter-attack after boarding, and a great deal of the Indra’s crew lay slain on the decks as well.

“Sir, over there!” yelled a soldier, pointing towards a contraption in the middle of the ship.

Flint rushed over to it, and realized that it was the controls to the ship’s boarding hooks. One side’s handle was flipped up, and the others was currently sideways. Flint assumed the sideways one was what was keeping the Indra hooked on. Flint pulled it upward, and braced himself as the Indra shuttered, and the giant boarding clamps released and returned into the ship. The Indra shuttered again, and Flint was cast to the floor. When he rose, his Sepoy were leaping from the side to get back onto the ship.

Flint rushed to the edge, and cursed. The Indra was too far from the Scorpios to jump now, and it was drifting farther and farther away. Flint looked around the Indra’s deck, and realized the reason why was because of an empty helm.

Flint saw only him and one other Sepoy remained onboard, and the Indra’s crew was bearing down on them.

“Well,” said the Sepoy, looking towards Flint, “We die with honor! Fight on!”

With a few battle cries in his native tongue, the Sepoy threw himself at a few crew members and emerged himself back into the fight. Flint turned to notice three crewmen with their eyes on him, approaching quickly and angrily.

Flint drew his revolver, firing a shot into the closest crewman’s gut. With two more shots the other two fell as well. His gunfire had caught the attention of more remaining crewmen, who either grabbed guns and took cover or drew their swords and rushed at him.

Flint ducked behind some debris on the ship, firing at the attackers and killing a few crewmen.

“Ok, got to think of a way off,” thought Flint allowed, looking back at the Scorpios.

Flint noticed a flash coming off the Scorpios, then he noticed the entire broadside of cannons he had below deck light up. Flint’s eyes widened.

“Get DOWN!” he yelled, to no-one in particular a second before the impact.

Cannon shells from his ship ripped through the Indra. Many overshot of flew over the deck without much damage. Flint could feel the shutter of one slamming into the deck, then exploding. Another shutter as two more hit the side. Flint could feel wood shards and heat as the deck began to explode around him.

Flint pulled down the brim of his fedora to aid in shielding his eyes and he rose, looking around pleadingly.

The Indra was coming apart, and yet it was rising rapidly. The deck was cracking if half, the rooms were bursting in flame. Wood and metal was raining down from the balloon and from below.

Flint walked to the edge of thee ship and gazed around. The Airship’s armor was coming lose from the balloon and from the hull and falling towards the earth, allowing the airship to rise due to the lack of weight, and quickly. They were almost triple the height they were a second earlier. Crew and supplies were also being lost overboard and plummeting to their deaths.

Flint spied his ship. The Scorpios’ main cannon was turning to aim at the Airship, and by the looks of it it already had them in its sights. Flint’s eyes widened.

“Oh no,” he whispered, eyes widening, “Don’t shoot me! That’s my ship! Don’t you DARE shoot me with my own ship!”

Just the Flint noticed a few of the falling crewmen began to float, and they had small parachutes appear above their heads. Flint spun around and scanned the dying deck of the ship. On the other side of the deck was a rack of parachutes, and a few people had already taken a few off of it. Two crewman aided each other in getting them on, then they leapt off the side of the ship.

“I’ve had worst ideas” stated Flint, sprinting across the deck and aiming his pistol.

Three parachutes left. A wounded crewman went to grab one of them and Flint fired, the crewman falling over dead. Another crewman noticed the shot, and turned to fight Flint head-on. Flint shot him as well. A third grabbed a parachute and attempted to strap it on. Flint aimed and fired. The bullet slammed into his chest, and the dead man fell back and overboard, the parachute with him. Two left.

Flint had made it across the deck, and he holstered his revolver. Flint picked up a parachute. Before he could put it on, he was grabbed. Flint spun around, and a large Indian punched him square in the face. Flint stumbled back, tripping over the broken railing and falling back, out of the airship.

Flint’s fedora flew off in the sudden wind, and Flint awoke with the blast of cool air after all that hot air. He let out a scream, but held tightly to his parachute.

Flint spun around, attempting to slip the parachute on while falling through the air. He had trouble focusing. The ground seemed so big now… and the debris and dead bodies didn’t fall, but seemed to just float and spin in the air. Flint eyes his Landship. A flash came from the cannon, and quicker then he could follow a large shell streaked through the air and passed him, slamming into the Airship.

BOOM!

The sound of the gunshot reached him as the Airship above exploded into splinters. Flint had just affixed the second strap around his arm and awaited a chance to pull the string.

Flint yanked the cord, the ground now too close for his liking, and gazed upward. Flint’s shoot opened nicely, but as it rose and opened, Flint wished he would’ve waited. The Airship had burst into many flaming piece, and it now made its way downward and toward him. The shoot finished opening and it covered his view from the burning hellhole now approaching him quickly.

Flint looked around, his face scrunching. He was going to die if he couldn’t think of something. Flint spotted one of the Biplanes that was heading straight for him, and his heart quickened.

“Hey… go away!” was all he could manage to say.

The biplane must not have seen him, but by the time it quickly came towards him, it would’ve been too late to do anything. The plane flew above Flint, but went almost straight through his shoot.

Flint closed his eyes, and felt himself get yanked roughly to the side. After a second, he had the sensation of being dragged. When he opened his eyes again, Flint was sideways, and his shoot had tangled in the biplane’s wings. Flint was getting closer to the plane, and he realized the cords wrapped in the propeller were reeling his in like a fishing rod.

Flint slammed into the tail of the plane, hard, and held on tight. He slipped off the pack before it could drag him any closer to the front of the plane and into the propeller. Flint grasped the tail with his life, and he looked around.

The tail gunner was shocked that they had hit a parachute, and the pilot worked to clear his vision and, hopefully, the propeller. The tail gunner stood up and reached out his hand to aid Flint.  Flint grasped it, and wwas pulled farther up the tail. Suddenly, the gunner let go, and Flint heard him yell something in Indian.

Flint grabbed his pistol and pointed it at him, hardening his face. Sure enough, the gunner had recognized his foreignness and was grabbing the tail machine gun to aim at Flint. Flint fired, the tail gunner’s head being jerked back and he slumped into the plane.

Flint smiled, and attempted to crawl forward to deal with the pilot, who was still standing. Suddenly the plane jerked, and Flint looked up. The pilot began to slump, and Flint noticed the gunshot in his back. Crap, Flint shot him too!

The plane shuttered again, and began tilting downward. Flint holstered his pistol and scrambled up to the tailgunner seat. He leapt over it onto the wing, and scurried to the pilot’s seat. Pulling the dead pilot out and tossing him off the plane, Flint leapt into the seat and grasped the lever.

“No worries, eh Flint?” Flint laughed, “Just got to… keep… going. I’ll half-land it somewhere…”

Just then the rest of the parachute ripped away. The cord was whipped into the Propeller, and the engine puttered and snapped. The Propeller stopped dead, and smoke began to billow from the engine.

“Cool,” said Flint, “That’s alright. I’ll just coast down.”

Suddenly bullets streamed past Flint’s head, causing him to duck. Shots ripped through the wings, and the tail of the Plane was hit as well.

“What NOW!” yelled Flint.

Looking to his left, Flint spotted the Scorpios. The Anti-Aircraft cannons were now pointed in his direction, and shells and bullets sprayed towards him.

“Crap…” thought Flint, “Not again.”

Flint glanced around the plane. If he could find another parachute maybe he could make it. Flint spotted a red lever, and it had a picture of a man parachuting above it. He shrugged, and a flurry of bullets pinging the light armor on the plane caused him to yank it as hard as he could.

Flint could feel a new rumbling coursing through the plane. Flint looked around, but could see nothing. He looked back at the dead tail gunner. Suddenly, the gunner’s body fell into the plane and vanished. Flint’s eyes widened, and he looked at the floor of his own cockpit. The floor was moved away, and many of the mechanics were being pulled. Flint rushed to strap himself in as his chair rumbled with a few last clicks and then it fell, right through the bottom of the plane. The plane drifted over head, then sailed away.

Flint wrestled with the buckle, and snapped it in just as the parachute was released from the back of the chair. A few shots could be heard whistling past him, but then they left him, following the plane farther and farther away. One of the shots hit true, and exploded. The smoking plane spun from the force, and dived towards the ground.

Then it was…. Relatively quiet. Flint could hear his own breathing. His fast… jagged breathing. A few gunshots rang out from the Scorpios, and he could even hear the rat-tat-tat from some surviving biplanes. Flint leaned back in the chair, and gasped for air.

“Woah” was all he could muster.

He watched the Scorpios’ main cannon stop as it swiveled, and fired a shot, the sound following a second afterward.

BOOM!

The round flew into the air, and slammed into the still lowering Hierophant. It exploded, and one of its rear thrusters faltered. Suddenly it began to rise in the air, and Flint saw it was recalling its planes. He smiled.

One loan Landship… and it stopped it from raiding the poor town. Crippled, probably. Flint figured he couldn’t destroy it.

BOOM!

A second shot streaked across the sky, and slammed into the hull of the Hierophant. The Sky-Station was very wounded now. Flint could see they dumped all their ballasts and garbage to soar into the sky and escape the Scorpios’ range.

Flint wanted to go limp in the chair. Smiling, he raised his hand. They had done it! Wounded the Indian Prince and his almost unstoppable rampage when the British Government could not. With his flagship wounded, he’ll stop raiding the small towns and cities. He might even stop harassing the British enough for them to regain control of this country… and then even if he regained his strength he would have to face their full force, and with them having time to deal with him. Flint smiled.

A gust of wind cooled his face. With it, something fluttered down from above, and was swooped toward Flint. Flint reached out and grabbed it eagerly. It was his hat, his Fedora. Flint wanted to laugh, but instead he just tucked it into his coat. He wasn’t going to lose that it again.

Origin: Proof of Concept

            Flint’s smile quickly faded after he had made his way down the path. He had to come to a stop as he found himself at a dead end. The path through the bushes had put him at the edge of a small cliff. A few feet below was a roaring river. Too wide to leap across. Heading a little too fast for Flint’s taste.

            He strained his neck, trying to tell if it was shallow enough that he could still walk it. Looking side to side, he could see he had missed any attempt of a quick way across. He sighed, placing the burlap sack he had been caring down. Rifling through his belt, he found the holster for his flare gun, and checked to insure the yellow smoke was loaded into it. Aiming to the sky, Flint pulled the trigger and released the flare.

            It rose to the sky and exploded in a show of yellow splendor. Smiling, Flint re-pocketed the flare gun and drew his pistol. Odds are he’d have to make his way back around and head to a better position. The yellow may not be the best thing in this daylight.

            Reaching for the sack, Flint was halted by the sound of a bullet being loaded into a repeater. Spinning around, pistol ready, Flint could see a band of four men had cut off his path backwards, and all of them were ready to begin firing their guns once more.

            “It appears you are outnumbered, Yank,” smirked their leader, a tyrant of a bandit lord named Samuel Klintock.

            “Thought you could come out west and pester us?” chuckled one of his companions, “What do we do with Yanks that head too far west, Boss?”

            “Well, let’s see,” said Klintock, pretending to mull it over, “I suppose we can civilize him a bit. Give him a fair trial.”

            The group joined together in an unsettling group chuckle. Flint wondered if he had the skill to shoot all four of them before dying himself. Klintock held a very basic repeater, Winchester Rifle. Two of his goons had, what appeared to be, three-barreled, revolving rifles. The last held a custom double-barreled shotgun, with two revolver cylinders so it could fire up to ten shotgun shells. Flint’s odds did not look too well.

            “Charges?” said Klintock, his eyes narrowing, “Trespassing, bad-mouthing, being a god-damned Yank, discharging of firearms towards my men, and… oh yes: Robbery, thievery, and attempted escape of justice!”

            “Nice list of charges, there,” Flint said, returning his glare, “I have counter charges. Extortion, unlawful taxation, pillaging, assisting pirates… being UGLY”

            “I rule these parts, stranger,” said Klintock, gesturing around them, “My trio of aerial craft made me the master. It means we are not under no laws of these United States, buckaroo.”

            “You hear that, boss?” commented the one with the shotgun, “It sounds as if the ships are starting!”

            Sure enough, the pause that followed gave Flint the chance to hear the faint sound of an engine in the distance. Over the shoulders of his aggressors, as well as the short hill he had just descended, he could still see the top-half of a small, haphazardly put together dirigible making its way towards the group.

            Flint knew Klintock had stolen the ships and pieced them together in a way to make decent war machines. With their operation not being big enough to warrant federal action during the war, they took over a large plot of land and settled down. Now that the war was over, they were left alone due to their tendency to not affect federal matters. The airships, although liable to fall out of the sky on their own power, were enough to hold a small army at bay for weeks. Those, plus his allegiances with many Airship Pirates and Bandits (not to mention his own small army) meant no-one was eager to de-throne him.

            “Well, got to call in your ships for one man?” asked Flint.

            “More of a show of force,” said Klintock, “I don’t want to walk back, and everyone needs to be reminded of who’s really in power!”

            “I don’t think you’re the one in power at all. I am seeing more of a… neglected uprising.”

            “Well, you shouldn’t have broken that,” said Klintock, “There’s a reason others neglect me. Now… give back what you took, Yank.”

            “Happy to,” said Flint, grabbing the burlap sack and tossing it to Klintock’s feet.

            Klintock was uneasy with the sack, so he motioned for one of the brutes to open it and check it. Inside they pulled out around fifty dollars in cash and change as well as a large gold nugget. Klintock’s face, however, brightened when he saw an iron skull that had been decorated with a lot of patterns and symbols.

            “My most prized possession,” said Klintock, holstering his rifle to grab it and look it over, “Do you have any idea how long it took to form this just right? To craft this beauty?”

            “Yeah, thought it would look great as a trophy,” smiled Flint.

            “Trophy?”

            “Yeah. My real job was really simple,” said Flint, smiling, “I was hired to get you out here!”

            “What do you mean?” said Klintock, “We have you cornered. Any second my men will be here.”

            “Yeah… but for two hundred dollars, I had to insure you left the city,” Flint smiled, “So… here we are!”

            “What do you mean?” said Klintock, “Why would someone pay you to get me out of the city?”

            “Well… sort of you,” said Flint, allowing a smirk to spread, “You see… what you do not know is… three alarms have gone off in various locations around your little plot of land. The local rangers, for instance, have been so kind as to attack and destroy your guard tower and checkpoint on the south side. That means a good portion of your men are taking up arms and heading down there right now for what they think is some easy battling.”

            Klintock shook his head, smiling, “How on earth does that help?”

            “Because your boys are not waiting for backup,” said Flint, smiling, “In fact, they believe that those airships you scrambled… those are for them.”

            Klintock’s face hardened as he thought it through, and he shot a glance at the others in his group before returning to Flint.

            “Oh, and that is stupid because the rangers have a good many armored walkers at their disposal today, as well as three automaton fighters.”

            “No match for my forces,” said Klintock.

            “No… not all of them. But as I was saying, on the north side of the compound? Your little mining operation has hit a rut… At first glance it would appear that a few fighters from the local tribe have sabotaged your mining equipment. However, any second those northern boys are going to be calling in for backup do to an overabundance of Native warriors who gained the balls to rise against you and take back their land.”

            “I see you’ve been busy,” said Klintock.

            “OH! In the West it will appear that a local vigilante is up to his old tricks and will spend most of the day sniping your troops as they attempt to aid in the rescue of one of your supply wagons.”

            “That is enough!” said Klintock, “None of this matters! I have three airships! I have an army! And after I am done with you none of that will matter in the slightest!”

            “Maybe not,” said Flint, “But surprisingly… it’s not what you have that matters, but what I have.”

            “You have a pistol,” said the shotgun wielding henchmen.

            “I… have a trick up my sleeve,” said Flint, a smile beginning to form as he heard the ground begin to shake.

            The others had begun noticing it for some time, and they looked from one to another as the vibrations picked up in intensity. By the time it had broken the ravine even Klintock couldn’t keep himself from gawking.

            A massive Landship. Six legs casting out, propelling it forward, and cannons shining as the metal gleamed in the sun. It strode of rocks and hills with no effort, and despite appearing to move slowly, it wasted no time in closing the expanse of space between it and the small group. As it neared, it turned sideways to display the row of new cannons both sticking out of its sides and turrets that swiveled sideways. The largest of these cannons turned slowly, but extended the farthest any of the men has ever seen. It looked like a smaller version of the trans-Atlantic artillery cannons used during the war.

            “Still… means… nothing,” stammered Klintock.

            Flint seized his chance. Turning his pistol on the shotgun wielding thug, he fired off a shot quickly, then wasted no time aiming at the other thug and shooting him as well. Klintock had dropped his skull and reached for his rifle as Flint dodged a shot from the second thug. Flint’s third shot got the thug right in the gut, sending him flying back into the dirt in pain. Left standing was Klintock and Flint, both aiming their weapons at the other, ready to fire.

            “I want you to see it,” said Flint, “Watch as it destroys your precious airships!”

            “They are much too far for your cannons,” smiled Klintock, “and now you are at a disadvantage. As they will rise into the sky and rain down death upon that ship! Where on earth did you get a Landship like that?”

            “It’s mine,” said Flint, “I own it. The Scorpios is the first of its kind.”

            “A landship is hardly a revolution,” said Klintock, smiling, “And outdated. Even this old Military model will not save you! Whoever you are… who are you?”

            “I, am Lieutenant Nathaniel Flint, sir. And your city has revolted against you. I was hired to set them free. Two hundred dollars they didn’t even have. I united your enemies to harass you in every way possible and lead you away from your precious fortress. Now that your men are scattered and weak, your fortress closes behind you. The people take up arms. From the south, rangers will gain courage to attack you. For the North, the natives will see to it none who oppose them survive. You can gain no supplies or reinforcements form your camps in the west. And from the east… your Airships will meet their doom.”

            “Shut up, you fool!” said Klintock, “My airships have beaten Doughboys and Rangers alike! I’ve beat back the savages! You cannot hit them from here!”

            BOOM!

            The explosion ripped out through the land, the sound wave vibrating Flint’s ribcage. Looking back, he could see the Scorpios had fired its main cannon. The shot streaked across the sky, causing Klintock to follow it with his gaze. The shot slammed into the dirigible’s balloon, hard, and ignited its gas in an explosion that could be felt from Flint’s location. The wreckage of the ship burned the entire way to the ground below. The other two craft were just beginning to clear the walls of Klintock’s mighty fortress.

            Klintock turned, firing a shot. It missed, but snapped Flint into action. Side stepping Flint dove and fired off several shots. Klintock kept firing as well, except he ran forward and dived off the cliff. Only one of Flint’s bullets hit, digging into Klintock’s calf. Klintock fired off a last shot before disappearing into the river.

            Flint ran to the edge, and fired off several more shots into the river before running out. He cursed under his breath, but ran to the sack. He stuffed the money and the trinkets back into it before running back up the path.

            BOOM!

            Another shot from the Scorpios caught the second airship as it attempted to turn. The ship exploded, and fell from the sky outside of the fortresses walls. The last Airship was turning around, and running from the Landship. Flint could see its weapons flaring. It was most likely firing at the uprising inside the town.

            Looking east, Flint could see smoke rising. He knew that the Rangers would never miss a chance to claim glory for liberating the town. Looking north, Flint could see no smoke. But he also could see motorized carriages and bikes attempting to leave the mountain.

            BOOM!

            The shot streaked across the landscape, slamming into the dirigible and igniting its interior. Flint smiled, putting his hands on his hips.

            “Well… I would say another job well done,” he nodded.

            Flint holstered his revolver and grabbed the flare gun again. Loading the green cartridge, he raised the gun and fired. He could hear the legs shift on his Landship and the ground shake. A large metal leg reached over him and dug into the dirt a few yards away, and Flint could hear the mechanics of the ship screech and wail as it pulled the ship forward and lifted other legs.

            Flint turned around from the fortress when he was overtaken with the shadow of his great ship.

Steampunk Industrial Revolution is Canceled

I am incredibly saddened at SIR 2013 being canceled. As much as they have defended their decisions  and I "do not understand" the full story, I still believe more could've been done.

With SIR out of the picture, there is now a void in New Hampshire Steampunking. I invite ANYONE who wants to to begin doing New Hampshire Steampunk events.

The Secret Swan Society has our Masquerade Ball in the fall and we're designing a vendor event when we can. We are interested in a larger-scaled event as well, or multiple smaller events.

We are also asking interest in a small con event during steampunks "dead" winter months.

Please let us know if you are interested.

Origin: Grandfather Figure

            The music was louder once the door was open. The lights shown slightly brighter, and the flute and trumpet danced happily together. Derik Turnerbatch stood immediately and raised his hand with a wave.

            “Over here, ol’ boy,” he bellowed over the commotion in the small town tavern.

            Lieutenant Nathaniel Flint smiled. Turnerbatch had been a family friend since he was a boy, and he never seemed to age. A boisterous white walrus mustache never left his face and only seemed to grow larger. He was bald as could be on top of his head, and only a band of white hair hiding behind both ears and stretching the back of his head. He often wore a bowler hat, and his outfits only varied slightly in color. As a boy, Flint thought he was a robot, designed to woo-away his grandmother and disrupt their lives.

            As he aged, however, Flint’s stories seemed to make more and more sense. As his grandmother aged, Flint realized that Derik Turnerbatch must’ve been at least ten years younger. Even now, however, if the old man was anywhere’s near over thirty Flint’s age then he did not show it. He was a vibrant, and as… English, as he had ever been.

            As Flint approached they shared an embrace and Derik offered Flint a chair. Flint noticed that his green, mountain Ale he favored had already been ordered and the remains of some food had been left for him.

            “So, Dearest Nate,” chuckled the man, “How goes that battle?”

            “Very well,” said Flint, taking a sip, “The jobs are not getting easier.”

            “Not any more legitimate, I’m afraid,” said Derik, cocking and eyebrow up and motioning towards a bruised cheek.

            “As Legitimate as they come, these days,” said Flint, “But it won’t be long now.”

            “So the ship is running?”

            “The ship is… in working condition,” said Flint, “I have designs to try and automate the majority of the processes. I believe I can make it so I won’t need a crew of one hundred or so.”

            “You think you’ll get into some decent work once she’s up,” said Turnerbatch, taking out an old clay pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

            Flint shrugged, “What’s considered Decent out there?”

            “Transportation,” said Turnerbatch, strongly, “Freight. Cattle. God-damned pony-rides if need be. Hire it out for shade! I don’t care. Try something that won’t cause me to worry sick and won’t send Winnie into her grave if I were to tell her!”

            “She that bad?” asked Flint, lowering his voice.

            Turnerbatch took a deep breath, looking down at his pipe.

            “She’s not well,” he said, fiddling with a match, “For the good lord’s sake, she’s almost Ninety-Seven! She’d lived a damn hundred years before she’s done.”

            “Anyone ever live so long?” asked Flint, smiling, “Maybe you shared with her the secrets of the Fountain of Youth, eh?”

            “Oh, hush. Age is beginning to call on its debts,” said Turnerbatch, “When you get up this far, let’s see how sly you act.”

            “And what age is that?” asked Flint, slightly too eager for his liking.

            “Oh, white-age… I think,” smiled Turnerbatch, sharing in a laugh.

            Flint did his best to not look upset. How does he do it? Avoid it every time? Flint shrugged it off and leaned back in his chair.

            “So, what are your plans, son?” asked Turnerbatch.

            “Well… I was thinking,” said Flint, smiling, “Well… you know… all these airships.”

            “Back in my day,” huffed Turnerbatch, lighting his pipe, “We were more worried about treaty’s and we worried about the mighty seas. Today… air-travel. Pish-Posh!”

            “A Modern marvel, though, ain’t it,” cried a drunk walking passed that heard it, “To AIR TRAVEL!”

            The entire tavern lit up with the cheer and the drunk walked on. Turnerbatch could not conceal his smile.

            “It is rather nice, and has changed everything,” he said, “When I was only a boy who would’ve thought the skies would be full of Airships and Balloons and Areo-planes.”

            “Pirates,” said Flint.

            “The world will always have those,” said Turnerbatch.

            “They destroy legitimate transport,” said Flint, “It’s ridiculous. Trains, Blimps, Wagons, Landships…”

            “They have weaknesses,” winked Turnerbatch, “The day a machine turns a crew into a god I hope I am dead.”

            “But they are a problem!”

            “Agreed. What are you getting at?”

            “Well…” Flint took out a large bit of paper from his satchel, and cleared off a spot on the table.

            Spreading out the paper revealed a series of blueprints and plans. Concept designs and the like. Turnerbatch said nothing as he looked it over. Every so often he would send a smoke ring or two towards the table as he looked it over.

            A landship was on the paper. Not too big, only three legs. A walker. An outline for engines and cogs and pipeworks. Even Flint’s newest addition, an entire system for maximized automation. Turnerbatch quickly glanced these over. He had seen these all before.

            The newest additions were designs for a large cannon. The cannon would stretch out throughout the length of the ship. The measurements would’ve made this one of the largest cannons Turnerbatch would’ve ever seen. His gaze became very stern as we looked this over. Weapons additions were added to the designs as well, but the addition of this one major cannon was the most prominent.

            “What is this?” asked Turnerbatch calmly.

            “I’ve been studying,” said Flint, “Got too much time in between jobs and while on jobs. Landships and military outposts are vulnerable to airship attack. Do you know why?”

            “They have the high-ground?”

            “Yes and no,” said Flint, “Because they have the same range. Even when they see an airship off into the distance they can never hope to hit it until it is within range. Even rockets and anti-aircraft guns have a very limited range and accuracy. By that point, the airship’s cannons and weapons would also be within range. They could… swoop in. Be in danger for a second before already being right on top of you. Pirates have been using this method for years.”

            “Airships are vulnerable to those seconds,” said Turnerbatch.

            “They have armor and speed on their side,” Flint argued, “and I am not even factoring in stealth and whether or not they creapt up on you.”

            “Your point,” cried Derik, “What is this?”

            “A long-arm,” said Flint, pointing at the designs, “It’s a long-range cannon. Sort of what the military had, only they didn’t have any use. It shot too straight for too long to be used as normal artillery and is too large to be easily moved. However… I… will make it better.”

            “How? You lack the years of training and the flash of genius needed to achieve such a device effective enough to put on a Landship like yours.”

            “I do, yes. However there are… seven? Seven very successful men who do not.”

            “How on earth do you plan on affording such a team?”

            “Oh… I didn’t need to,” smiled Flint, “and… they’ve already done it.”

            Turnerbatch did not say a word. His gaze affixed on Flint and never moved, but asked all the questions in the world.

            “I developed the system,” said Flint, pointing out more blueprints, “And everyone else needed… help. I’ve literally let my reputation build it. A cannon-smith belonging to the US Army, experimental artillery. He designed the longer, lighter, more accurate cannon. A chemist who was having a hard time finding a place in the new west developed a light, armor piercing artillery shell that will be effective against airships. A clockwork engineer trying to run a railroad company needed some favors done. He designed the entire platform and basic support system so that it spins and lowers and raises. He even aided in some of my automation work, and thinks he can make a buck designing such systems for the military.”

            “Unbelievable.”

            “Architect in Florida needed some supplies that were stolen by pirates. He helped design better supports for the legs and platform to withstand the pressure of firing and holding it. Got a mathematician who’s daughter I helped making me an entire system of optics so we can fire it as accurate as humanly possible.”

            “And this… will?”

            “Change the way landships fight airships forever,” smiled Flint, “We’d have greater range then ever before. We can reach out and touch them, those pirates. When we do touch them, we’ll be able to make them feel it, too. Really put a hurt on them! This will change the way anything ever works.”

            “So you’ll become a killer of aircraft?” asked Turnerbatch.

            “Armored Escort, is the idea,” said Flint, “Bank caravans, wagon trails, railroad lines, even minor Landship escorts.”

            “Out west?”

            “Where they need me…”

            “Military?”

            “I hope not,” said Flint.

            Turnerbatch leaned in close, his eyes void of emotion and his voice firm, “Nathaniel, I thought you were going to get out of this… phase.”

            “What phase?”

            “Nathaniel… please. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Fighting? Theft? Killing?”

            “What do you mean, Derik,” Flint rolled his eyes and let out a sigh.

            “Well, it’s just…”

            “It’s just what?” asked Flint, “You know as well as I this world isn’t built for me.”

            “Why couldn’t you go into theater?” said Turnerbatch, his voice cracking a bit, “Do you remember that? A writer? A Scholar? College? Remember what military school was supposed to do?”

            “Funny thing, how that works out,” said Flint, “And strange how money never roles into a scribes pocket.”

            “No, it’s earned! Cent by cent, boy,” said Turnerbatch, “It’s done honestly, with honor. If it’s money you want, come work with me. I’ll see to it you never starve.”

            “Derik, please.”

            “No, YOU please,” Turnerbatch jabbed his finger towards Flint, “Now, Your Gram was a bloody good woman, and she would’ve never put up with this! What would your father say?”

            “I don’t know, Derik,” spat Flint, his mood souring, “What WOULD my father say? Why don’t you tell me?”

            “I don’t know,” said Derik.

            “Exactly. Doubt he’d even know.”

            “It hurts, boy,” said Turnerbatch, “I care for you like a grandson.”

            “You don’t think I’m doing right by you? By my grandmother, rest her soul.”

            “I think you’re going to lose yourself. I’ve had to stand by and watch as the boy I knew slowly dies and a new man took his place.”

            “Isn’t that what happens in life?” said Flint, taking a sip from his mug, “The boy grows up?”

            “He doesn’t die.”

            Flint sighed, leaning closer to Turnerbatch, “I’m trying not to die. I’m trying to find myself again… I’m trying to be somebody.”

            “And this… aircraft-destroying… Scorpion thing is going to give it to you?”

            “I think it’s my ship and it’ll… let me try.”

            Turnerbatch sighed, and pulled Flint closer.

            “Nathaniel… please.”

            “Derik,” Flint stopped him, “You know you were always like a Grandfather to me. You and Winnie both. You mean the world to me. I… I have to do this.”

            They sat in silence for some time. Flint eating, Turnerbatch smoking. It wasn’t until Flint fetched his own small pipe that Turnerbatch suggested that they move outside into the night. They sat and smoked together, both gazing off.

            “I’m glad you came,” said Turnerbatch, smiling at Flint, “You never visit often. However… you always make time when you are needed.”

            “Thanks for seeing me,” said Flint, “I miss you guys. I miss it up here…”

            “I still see you,” said Turnerbatch, “The boy. Always wanting… more. To blaze a trail. Make sure everyone knew your name. Insuring people remember your accomplishments.”

            “Careful there,” chuckled Flint, “Get any deeper in thought we might lose the train!”

            “Promise me you won’t lose yourself,” said Turnerbatch, resting his hand on Flint’s shoulder, “Promise me you won’t let this… mercenary… outlaw deal overtake you.”

            “I’m going to make a change, Derik,” said Flint, “I’m not trying to lose myself. I’m trying to make a difference.”

            “Are you sure?” Turnerbatch frowned, giving Flint a glance, “You wish to make a mark in the world… but you go about it as all others.”

            “One day,” said Flint, “At the moment, money is the enemy.”

            “Is it? I would say it was your jobs.”

            “That’s what money is!” said Flint, “You earn the money, you build the ship, then… then you succeed.”

            “Is that all it is?” said Turnerbatch, who withdrew from his pocket a large purse, tossing it to Flint, “Then, here!”

            Flint opened the purse and thumbed through the cash, coins, and checks inside.

            “No, oh no,” said Flint, tossing it back, “I have never needed your money or mooched off of you, Derik.”

            “Oh, hush your mouth,” said Turnerbatch harshly, “This is not a mooch, this is an investment. Our investment in YOU!”

            Turnerbatch threw back the money. Flint’s face turned to a scowl, but Turnerbatch did not care.

            “I spent many a decade building up myself, boy. Building businesses and contacts and connections and favors and… investments. I was not rich overnight. However, even though I am very generous and I try to do good now… I missed many an opportunity to help on my climb up because it was… wasn’t profitable. I let down a good many people… all because of this… this money. The need of wealth.”

            Flint said nothing as the conversation took a pause for them to puff on their pipes a little while longer. Flint looked across the way to a broken sign reading “Scores, Big Opinions, and News”, only a few of the letters stayed lit.

            “Accept the investment,” asked Turnerbatch, “And never let money get in the way. Hold your morals high, Flint. Never think twice to stop and help those who really need you. Never overcharge your services. And for God’s sake, Flint, make a change in the world. But not one that makes you a statue or gets put in history books… but one that changes lives, and lively hood.”

            “This is… too much. I could never use it.”

            “You’d be surprised,” said Turnerbatch, puffing, “We’re not looking for a return on anything big. Just… to be very proud.”

            “I am going to try to make you proud,” said Flint, “This… is very generous of you.”

            “No,” said Turnerbatch, “Generous would be to cut away all ties and make you come to work with me.”

            “What was that place, I used to play at?”

            “What?” asked Turnerbatch.

            “That old building,” said Flint, pointing at the sign across the street.

            The letters ‘S’, ‘c’, ‘o’, ‘r’, , the “B” was lit up but the pottom loop was unlit, the ‘I’, the ‘g’ was lit up but it was missing its tail, and a second ‘s’ was alight.

            “I believe … it was the Alan Timberland’s Warehouse. The place for the Scorpion Syringe… yes?”

            “But all the kids called it the “Scorpios Club”… because of the sign,” said Flint, pointing, again at the sign, “You think it’s a sign?”

            “I think… you’re looking too far into it,” said Turnerbatch.

            Flint took out his plans, mumbling, “A walking… mechanical Scorpion…” then he turned to Turnerbatch, “What ever happened to that old place?”

            “Torn down… for the future of what’s it called…”

            “Interesting,” said Flint, smiling.

Origin: Platinum Chest

            The lamp swung from side to side. Light was thrown around the dimly lit room. It must have been knocked in the commotion. Billy Elliard took a few steps back. He breathed heavily. Blood was flung from his wrist.

            Nathaniel Flint was gasping as he leaned back in the wooden chair. His nose bled only slightly, but he had bitten his lip with the last punch. He cracked open his eyes to view the thugs that surrounded him.

            “So… the code,” spat Elliard.

            Flint’s eyes passed to a large chest sitting not too far away. The Platinum alloy of the chest made it priceless on its own, but what lied within put its casing to shame. Two tumbler knobs were positioned on the front of the chest. The correct two-digit combination the twin tumblers created would release the compressed-air seals.

            Flint’s eyes moved to the two other thugs. One bald, large man with a quirky smile. The other was a lean, long-haired, ex-ranger with a large brimmed hat. The ex-ranger held Flint’s own fedora in his hand, fiddling with it playfully.

            “I already told you, I only know one side,” said Flint, “What’s inside, they do not want getting out.”

            “Damnit, Flint,” Elliard smilled again, “You are a tough nut… they teach you this in the stripes?”

            Flint glared at the ex-ranger, “You… that is my hat.”

            The ranger smiled, showing a brass tooth.

            “Now, I do admit, I am getting tired,” said Elliard, taking out a switchblade knife, “Now, I need that stone.”

            Elliard ran his bloodied fingers through his thinning hair. Someone at the door made a noise, and Elliard turned half-heartedly to look. Flint rolled his eyes, knowing that odds are it was Elliard’s own posy just getting antsy.

            Elliard returned to his spot real close to Flint’s face, brandishing the knife as a warning that past head-butts were to be met with a stab. He smiled, his eyes digging into Flint’s.

            “Thirty-Three,” said Flint, very calmly.

            Elliard froze, his eyes widening. His pupils brushed over Flint’s face. His ears even appeared to twitch.

            “Forty-Nine, Twenty-Three,” said Flint.

            Elliard’s eyes raised to that of his bald companion, then to the ranger before smiling.

            “There we go,” he yelled, leaping away from Flint and to the chest, quickly turning the tumblers.

            The ex-ranger wasted no time turning and watching the tumblers spin, seeing as we was the closest to the chest. The bald thug wandered close, his gaze shifting from Flint.

            Flint’s eyes slowly closed. He had already loosened his rope restraints and had been biding his time for a plan. Now, he was presented with one. His left hand twisted against the rope, and broke free with a soft snap.

            “Seventy-Two,” he said, raising from the chair and discarding the now useless rope to the side on the floor.

            In the same motion, he raised the wooden chair he had been in above his head and rushed forward. He had enough time to say out another number before the bald one turned and saw him.

            The look of horror didn’t have time to register on his face. Flint brought the chair down hard on his bald head. Wood splintered and shattered. Flint was left grasping the back end of the chair as the seat and legs rained down on the floor and the bald one fell to the hard ground.

            Flint grasped the back end as a throwing knife and chucked it towards the ex-ranger.

            “My hat!” yelled Flint as the back end slammed into his cheek as he turned, and the shock caused him to leap backward, over the small table, and fall behind it.

            Elliard spun around, the knife poised to be used. His eyes glared and his teeth barred like an animal as he searched the gloom for Flint. Flint ran at Elliard, and threw up his foot in a punt as Elliard advanced on him as well. The kick landed on Elliard’s already tired hand, which could not grip the knife. The knife soard up and away into the gloom.

            Elliard threw his full force into Flint. Flint, standing on one leg, fell to the ground with Elliard on top of him. Elliard rose and threw a punch, and reeled back for another punch. Flint threw a punch of his own, catching him underneath the jaw. The unexpected hit allowed Flint to gain the leverage he needed to push off his attacker and roll slightly farther away.

            When Flint stood, Elliard was already rushing him, his hands finding their way around Flint’s throat. Flint used this to throw two quick gut-punches, causing Elliard to kneel over. Flint grabbed his head, and brought his knee up into the man’s face.

            Elliard stood straight, now, backing away from Flint. His nose had burst open, and blood cascaded down over his mouth. Flint took a few quick steps forward, putting all his weight behind a closed, fisted punch on Elliard’s left cheek.

            Elliard’s knees buckled, and he fell back. His eyes closed as he hit the ground, knocked out.

            Flint shook his hand, trying to ignore the seering pain he felt from that punch. The bald thug was still moaning on the floor a little ways away. The ex-ranger stood from behind the table, a pistol swinging the room.

            Flint took a look around him, and dived behind some old crates as the ranger keyed in and begun unloading his revolver into the crate. Flint sat up, back against the crate. His bloodied hand ran across something metal on the floor, and his eyes darted to it.

            It was Elliard’s pocket, knife.

            Five…six… click. The ranger was out of bullets. The room smelled more like gunsmoke and looked slightly foggy. Flint rose from behind the crate and charged towards him. He secretly prayed the ranger didn’t have a second pistol, as most usually carried more fire arms then pirates.

            The Ex-Ranger had been caught off-guard. He had come around the table and started walking to the crate, so he was caught in the opening trying to jam bullets into the chambers. At the sight of Flint, he cast his revolver aside and reached for a secondary pistol strapped to his waist in a cross-holster.

            Flint threw the knife, aiming for the Ranger’s hand. It missed its marked, but managed to dig into his gut, causing his to fumble his pistol as it left his holster.

            Flint tackled him, the pistol flying off. Flint threw a punch or two before getting up, and rushing to his supplies on the table where Elliard had rummaged through them. Behind him, the ex-ranger stood up and cursed, pulling the knife from his gut and tossing it half-heartedly to the side.

            Flint reached his supplies and rummaged through it for his gunbelt. Stealing a glance behind him, he saw the Ranger looked around and spotted his little pistol on the ground not far away. The ranger lunged for it, just as Flint blind-grabbed into his bag and felt cold steel.

            Flint pulled his LeMat and cocked it in one fluid motion, aiming it as the ranger reached his pistol. Flint pulled the trigger. POW. A loud gunshot rang, and Flint’s bullet sunk into the ranger’s back before he could even fully grasp his pistol. POW.

            At the second shot, the ranger went limp, and the breath left his body. Flint let out the breath he had been keeping in, and breathed. The rousing of the bald thug on the floor grabbed Flint’s attention. He had awoken to the sound of gunshots, and lazily attempted to peer across the room.

            Flint turned his pistol on him. One bullet right into his skull silenced him. Flint’s eyes were starting to tear up slightly at the smoke. He heard commotion outside, but since no-one attempted to open the door he let them be for now. Stepping over to the table, he gave the tumblers a free spin and walked behind the table, placing his hat atop his head.

            Flint knelt over the ex-ranger, searching his pockets, grabbing bullets and cash he could find.

            “My… hat,” he mumbled to him, “Bastard.”

            He did the same to the bald one, then he approached Ellaird. Elliard was in bad shape. He lay bleeding on the floor. Flint rand his finger through his pants and pockets, then through his waist coat. A large roll of bills were in one of the pockets. Flint smiled, fingering through it.

            “This, my boy,” said Flint, “Is payback. For the delay… and for severely messing up my clothes.”

            Elliard made a gurgling sound of a sigh, but no audible words.

            “When the ol’ girl’s fixed, rest assured I’ll come back this way and level your little outfit,” said Flint, using this time to grab his thigh-holster and gunbelt and strap it on, “Until that day, I find myself in a strange predicament… your men still outside and all.”

            Flint checked the platinum chest, and smiled when he saw it was untouched. Good, he thought, if all went well they wouldn’t even know he had been kept up.

            “I need this payment, old friend,” said Flint, returning to Elliard, “I can smell it… the exhaust… the gunpowder… they diesel… I can smell my… freedom… my chance. It’s so close, mate.”

            Elliard sputtered, “You will die a nothing, Lieutenant.”

            “Nobody will remember you, Billy,” said Flint, smiling, “They don’t remember us. No matter what. Be we thug.”

            Flint slapped Elliard’s chest.

            “Be we treasure hunter,” Flint touched his own chest, and then motioned the two of them connecting, “Or even old war heroes.”

            “You… are no hero.”

            Flint jumped as a crash was heard from the door. Elliard’s men had begun trying to get in. Flint looked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. The door wasn’t even locked and they were trying to break it down. Flint returned to Elliard, taking out his revolver and pressing it to his chest.

            “Neither are you,” said Flint, smiling, “Don’t you read? They recognized you after all, Billy. Your medals were revoked. Uncle Sam says you owe them for those banks… and that orphanage. Strange how that works.”

            Elliard’s eyes flashed anger, before he began coughing, and one eye closed for the last time. The other lingered on Flint. Flint smiled, cocking back the hammer.

            “I’m still a wild card, boyo,” said Flint, “and all I want… is my ship.”

            Flint fired his gun. The last of Elliard’s breathes escaped him, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Flint rose and walked to the table, quickly throwing on his pack and dealing with the rest of his gear.

            Elliard’s men continued to slam into the door. The door creaked and cracked with every hit. Flint opened his LeMat, throwing away the useless shells and fully loading new shells into the new design. He put his hand on the chest, and quickly wondered what he’d do with the object.

            Crash, the door came off the hinges and one man fell to the ground ontop of it. Two other quickly ran through the door, pistols raised. Flint cocked his pistol and aimed, wasting enough time to insure he’d shoot the bigger’s head and pulling the trigger.

First origin Story is Up!

    I got a few sections of my origin stories done and I am excited to post a few of them! Seeing as they are meant for the Secret Swan Society we are collecting all of them there. So, head over to the Society's blog and check out the first origin story!
    If you are awaiting the others, then just send a holler and I'll consider posting a few here as well. Wouldn't be so bad! Super excited! Also, look out for more posts.
    I have also been doing some work over at the Citizens of Antiford website with some character stuff. Cannot wait! Their site is growing quickly. Go check them out and give them some love.