For What of a Better Term

Dakk chomped on the cigar butt, while adjusting the bolt on the Golem. 

"Hold still, Bekki," he muttered to the big bucket of bolts. "Just a few more turns and you'll be ready for action." 

His hands strained against the wrench, he heard the rust of the screw grind with the metal. This baby had been motionless in the water for several decades. 

"Dakk, you still working on the piece of crap?" August asked as he walked into the workshop. "With all the gold that you got you could buy yourself five or six armour suits; why are you sticking with that crap!" 

"You don't know the whole story, Auggie," Dakk said. "This girl is just getting warmed up." 

"Looks like she's waaaaaaaaaaaaaay past her prime," August said with a chuckle. "Just scrap that rusty eyesore before you get ill." 

Before August knew it a huge wrench zinged past his head and clanged against the wall. 

"What?" August stammered. 

"You watch what you say about a lady now," Dakk told him in a stern voice. "She may be old and rusted but still it doesn't make her useless!"

Barbarian

As the innkeeper finished his tale an eerie silence fell upon the ramshackle inn. The lone stranger at the corner table smiled beneath the shadow of his hooded cloak and took a long pull from his tankard of ale. 

The tale was good, though well embellished. The battle of that evening so long ago had not been so heroic or romantic as the innkeeper's telling made it out to be, but such was always the case with battle tales told by those who had played no role in the fray. He couldn't blame the man for taking liberties with the facts; the old fellow had an inn to run after all, and a good tale was good for business. 

The serving girl came his way but the stranger waved her off; he'd had his fill of ale and of his own past for one night. 

Rising, he collected his sword from where it leaned against the wall next to the table. Its unnaturally perfect metal disguised with dirty leather strips and a worn scabbard so as not to attract unwanted attention. He was here to remember his past, not to relive it. 

As the barbarian reached the door he turned back for a last look on the place where his adventures had begun. What a foolish boy he had been to think that life was so simple. Back then he would have been satisfied to make a place such as this his home, but no longer. Not after all he had seen. His home was among the stars, and to the stars he must go. He felt them calling him. 

The door swung shut and the lone figure was gone, swallowed whole by the darkness of the night outside. 

In the blackness far above a single star streaked across the sky.

The Honor of One

Chem stayed in the darkness of shadow, watching the three hooded assassins jump from building to building. He had received a tip from one of his informants that there was a 5,000 gold contract on the new owner of The Hag's Head Tavern. 

"It's to be done at midnight. The witching hour," his informant had said in a raspy voice. "They are to make her bleed slowly and cut her open with a thousand little cuts." 

"Do you know why?" Chem inquired. He had just paid the informant a small gem.  

"Tis because the owner is a witch," the informant said in a low voice. "She had put a hex on a merchant's son. The son died a horrible, disfiguring death and the merchant wants his revenge." 

Chem now waited for the three to strike. He watched as they moved about, fast and silent like shadows over a field. His nose picked up the scent of two men approaching from behind. He was set up!

The Prisoner

He sat in the cell, twiddling his thumbs. He had nothing else to do. In the cubicle he had called home for the past three days he had done a lot of thinking and a hell of lot of soul searching. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and other prisoners calling out to the orc guard. Either complaining or pleading. To him it was just the same. The rough orc stopped in front of his bars. 

"You," the gruff being said. "It's your turn to die." 

"Well now," Drake said. "We all eventually die." 

"It's your turn today," the guard told him as he unlocked the cell door. 

"That's what you think," Drake mumbled under his breath. He could have gotten out of this place days ago but decided to stay and rest and enjoy the days of maggot-infested gruel to eat and a lumpy bed to lay on. It was heaven compared to the last place he had been.

A Certain Perspective

The inside of the large helmet contained four gems. The first projected the sounds and images surrounding the Golem armour into the mind of its pilot. The second whispered the voices of the pilots of the Golems to each other. The third warned of incoming attacks. No one knew what the fourth gem did - the makers of the large battle suits had disappeared from Citadel centuries ago. 

Letting the pulses and flashes of the gemstones ebb and flow in his mind was a skill Stryker had honed over years. The stream of sensations syncing with the movements in his muscles, commanding the huge steel suit to fly and hover, twist and roll through the shining space surrounding the fortress. Today he was repelling a small raiding ship. 

As he crashed into its hull, a highspeed shoulder-tackle, buckling beams and popping rivets, the gems briefly flickered. Their signals stuttered, faltered. For a brief, dizzying moment he was only aware of himself encased in the armour, staring at the four stones. The world beyond, the fury of battle, became suddenly distant. He felt trapped, or adrift, floating or drowning, somehow both and all of them at once.  

This was the sixth time it had happened to him this past year. The Golem had been checked and rechecked by the station's Arcane Smiths. They couldn't find a problem. 

Which meant...

Tunnels & Wolves

Arch glanced down the alleyway. He saw several beggars camped out in makeshift lean-tos but no sign of the black wolf-like object. There was no screaming or munching sounds so he presumed the creature was in hiding. Arch closed his eyes and scoped out the scenery in his mind, trying to locate something misplaced. Thunder of metal upon metal echoing through the area, like shunting freight cars on a track. 

"Anything, Arch?" Kitty asked beside him. She was trying to catch her breath. 

"It's in there somewhere," Arch replied. His eyes going over the manhole cover pictured in his mind. "It's gone tunneling." 

"Crap!" Kitty mumbled. 

Arch went into the alleyway and towards the sewer grating. "Indeed."

Duty Bound

With so many loyal vessels undertaking the Council's search mission the station felt vulnerable. The Watch had to patrol the streets of the fortress and the space surrounding it. The force was stretched thin.

He was happy to offer his aid. The brief joy of answering a call for help. Hopefully there would be no serious trouble. Part of him, though, would welcome it. A flash of danger, the ring of the alarum. Something to pull from him that sense of purpose, the feeling of adventure. 

Chem Finder sat on the edge of the balcony of the Watchtower in the Greenery district, eyes scanning the curving laneways below for any disturbance.

In Rough Waters

Torvel whipped the wheel around, doing a complete 180 within the ribbon itself. He aimed for the wall and ripped a hole making another tear and scaring the hell out of another ship in the process. The Nexus Wave sailed straight through another ribbon, causing another tear. Torvel maintained control and was adjusting for the differences in the rift. 

"What's going on, Captain?" Gates shouted as he entered the pilot's den. "Is there a storm?" 

Torvel held the wheel and gave it another sharp tug. "Just taking a short cut!" 

"Are you mental?" Gates yelled at him. "You could destroy the ship! You have to know what you're doing and when to do it!" 

"It's a good thing then that I do know what I'm doing," Torvel said behind  his laughter. It was the only time he cackled like a maniacal fool, and that gave Gates all the comfort he needed. Torvel had been sailing the stars for several years...

Where to Begin

Kitty dropped down from the rafters and onto the floor; like a cat she landed daintily on her feet. Her eyes scanning around her, mind making mental notes on what was where. She had heard tales of what happened to those who dared break into Severin's shoppe, but she wanted to see for herself. Experience it firsthand. 

The sound of windchimes continued to play though there was no breeze in this stale shoppe. The smells of grease, metal, and oils were pungent as ever. Before she proceeded she crouched down to the floor and her hand lightly touched the area before her. She smiled then; it was going to be much trickier than she had thought.

Voyages

He clasped the wand around his wrist, checked that the straps were secure but not too tight. He could feel the soft buzz of the arcane energy humming inside the freshly charged device. The numbers of the Battery Mages were low this year; charges were being rationed until new recruits could be located. Stryker's weapons had priority status, though; the safety of the citizens of the fortress and the many travelers whose ships docked there depended on the Lieutenant and his team. 

The Council had decreed a series of exploratory journeys to worlds with arcane lore, in the hopes of bolstering the ranks of the Batteries. It was a well-rewarded but often exhausting role in the fortress. It took a great deal to run the massive station, much skill and craft, magic and wisdom. And strength. For when the enemies came. 

A good friend of Stryker was set to sail to today on one of the ships enlisted for the Council's mission. Sometimes he envied those who found their paths taking them across the vast sea of space to planets named and unnamed, known and forgotten. His role was here though, on Citadel.

For Want of a Better Term

"Mother?" 

"Yes?" 

"Were you a commander in the Big War?" the young child asked. "I heard that you had legions of people under your command and that you had sent many bad bad men to the other life!" 

"I did what I had to do," she replied. "Why don't you go out and play?" 

"I will after you tell me what you did," she said. "Some people call you an angel... Are you an angel?" 

"I am what I am," she replied. She smiled at her daughter and scrunched up her face a bit. Much like a mother cat to a kitten.

"You go and play now and I will tell you all about it later." 

"You promise?" 

"Promises are meant to be broken."  

On that note the young girl stuck out her tongue at her mother and scampered out the door.

Prologue

The tavernkeeper still got ears to bend and eyes to widen from the telling of the tale, though the night that spawned it was years past. Travelers from nearby Burrengard and even the Port of Sakkersly beyond still came to his ramshackle roadside inn to hear the story of the Flying Ship. The strange tale of the the Elfin Princess and her magic bracer, the steel Golem that had attacked her, and the band of adventurers - strangers in the tavern until the fighting started - who had saved her. And the strangest part of all, the massive ship that sailed not on waters but on the air, that gathered the Princess and her new allies up and flew them off to the stars.  

Sometimes a merchant or a sellsword would challenge the truth of tale, to which the innkeep could only shrug. Most, though, listened to his story with bent ear and wide eyes, as if it had really happened. For indeed it had.

To Be Continued

The Professor addressed the latest team. The newest Dragons. It wasn't the first time the roster had been replaced, or recombined. He had worked with so many of them throughout the strange non-years of the Metaplex, the liquid time of plureality. All of the lost and the found, the warriors, the outcasts, knights and assassins, witches and spies. The different teams gathered and sent on their missions, and always The Professor there to guide them, to never really be a part of them. Except the times that he had been, or the times he was never there at all - though most of those he couldn't remember... 

Dexter, Wraith, Darius, Callan. Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki, Aqua. Akimoto, Tatterdemallion. Cromwell, Bern, Caden. Siltailus, Falador, Rickson, Cloak, Nurendemyr. The Kat, Misfit, Silver. Odin, Merlin, Kele-De. Mick. Marshal, Michelle, Nick and Jonas. Nick, Pat and Charlotte. Soma and Heresy. All the Travelers, the Blueberry Hill Gang, the Shelter Team. Bishop, Twofeathers, Trump. Pretty George. Maggie Magenta.

And now, Stone and Riveta, Donnelly and Mayganne, Scorpio. He had explained to them as much as he could, what he was allowed to, what he was able to. And what the plan was. Desperate and uncertain, but the only way the Professor could think to turn this situation around. It wasn't safe to contact Simon Light in any local versions - the Professor had had to quarantine him. But maybe if they went far enough around... Find him, some version of him, somewhere else...

There was no telling if any of them would make it, or who they would be. If they would remember or understand anything. If they would find him and reach him. If that would be enough of a convergence to change things. If this would save things or end them.

The Professor had briefed them. He had taught them all the mantras and visualizations that he knew for transferals. Had exposed them to specifically modulated energy fields. Had read them modernist poetry, shown them certain movies. Tried anything he could think of to help them.

And now he was going to send them into another world and hope that they would somehow return...