Battle of Darby Creek (an Arcanum fanifc)

The Battle of Darby Creek

A Steampunk tale based in the world of Arcanum: of Steamworks and Magick Obscura

War, war never changes. The Romani waged war to gather slaves and wealth, The Austurians carved an Empire in their lust for gold and territory, Arronax committed genocide to ensure to supremacy of the Elven Race in Arcanum, but war never changes.

In the 19th century, war was still waged for resources and glory. So it was that the Kingdom of Avine, having grown powerful in the wake of the Calistine Industrial Revolution, not to be confused with the similarly timed Bates Industrial Revolution, waged war with the kingdom of Tupappa, the elves of the northlands and the Lukanin Alliance of the Dwarves on the mainland of Calistine. The Elves wished to keep their magickal supremacy, the Dwarves shocked at the ‘abuses’ of the median races of ‘dwarven technology,’ for no human, elf or orc could ever invent the devices of technology, despite the legends of Vendigroth, and the fact that Tomas Whats never met a mountain dwarf until after he invented the steam engine.

But the truth matters only in hindsight and that truth is that Avine had grown over powerful, carving out a huge empire from its island bastion. All this made possible by the Royal Navy and... For 2000 years, the Avinish had honed a weapon from Vendigroth, a device more expensive than bow, and less effective against magick than the sword: the gun. That is until now. The Vendigrothian Large Bore Rifle, inherited from the Conquest of Avine by the refugees of Arronax’s fury, it is said every Avinish schoolchild could pick off a crow at 100 yards. Now that mettle will be put to the test.

The end of the war is in sight. Across Darby Creek lies Mildera, capital of Tupappa. With its capture, the elves will capitulate, and the dwarves will lose there base of operations, eventually be brought to peace by the blockade of the Royal Navy. Here a hero is about to be made.

AN: Will post more in a sec, and then more when I have it. For once I actually have the whole story planned out and hopefully you will find it's continous action scene to your liking. All comments welocme.

 

October 1883

Darby Creek, Fresna Province, Kingdom of Avine

For a mage or scientist, the difference between magick and technology is the use or misuse of natural law to achieve desired results. For a soldier like me, the difference between magick and technology is a matter of mobility versus firepower. Good sirs and madams, allow me to illustrate using my one claim to fame.

“Five minutes to teleport!” I bellowed, “Weapons check!” I must admit some cowardice on my part, as well as abuse of the officer’s privilege. I had been pinned down along with my fellows for 36 hours at the base of the St. Picts Bridge which spans the misnamed Darby Creek, and I was quite tired. Technically I didn’t have to return back behind the lines for resupply, but I had the authority and I took it.

The good news was that I had brought extra Fatigue Restorers with me and having chewed on that horrid paste a little myself, I had a little spring in the step. Tobacco makes fine cigars, cocoa makes delectable chocolate, and together they make something nigh on indigestible. How this happens I simply shrug and accept.

The loaders, mostly the one half ogre, brought on a huge crate of ammunition and supplies and placed them on the mobile teleporting dais, where I stood with Captain Ludwig Killen, a friend of some years, and an up and coming mage. Now in Arcanum, as in Calistine, elves are both reclusive and reluctant to do any real work, half elves such as Captain Killen had no such compunction. In fact he had just transferred to the reserves when the war broke out in the hopes of making a great fortune teleporting rich clients and precious cargoes all over Calistine in civilian life, and even boasted of one day opening a ley line to Arcanum, which to my knowledge, has never been done.

Now I take this time to explain these customs because they seem so distant from those in Arcanum, where magick and commerce seem so…divorced.

“I got a bad feeling about this…” muttered the good captain, his slender elven seeming to bear more weight than just his uniform.

“What’s wrong Cap?” asked one of my reinforcements, a young lass named Debra Dargin. She was clearly nervous, and rightly so. After the battle I had to write her parents ‘the letter’ and in so doing I discovered she was just a hair’s breadth away from 17. “We’re not going to disintegrate when you pop the purple, are we?”

“No, you ale addled little mink,” replied Grover, a seemingly perpetually foul tempered half orc. Of course if my orcish looks made me look like him, “We might end in the ocean, we might end up back in the Lundin West Ender Pub, Velorian we pray! Or it’ll sputter out and the lil’ half elf will collapse into Dreamland for a spell.”

“That’s enough, Corporal Grover,” I said emphasizing his rank to assure him I’d bust him back to Private first class if he didn’t reign in his tongue.

“Yes ma’am!” Grover, still seated on a box of rations, gave me a sharp salute, all the while leering at my bosom. Now, I’m considered something of a rarity among women in that I take that kind of leering as a compliment. When you’re of orcish blood you quickly learn to cherish whatever good looks you have.

“Weapons check!” I bellowed again. I put on my sapper’s helm, which is a modified dwarven miner’s helmet, and said, “Six grenades, 49 rounds and one in the chamber!” I clicked open my Large Bore Rifle and inserted a .45 caliber rifle round into the breech before slamming it shut. I looked over at Grover.

“Six grenades, 49 rounds and one in the chamber!” replied Grover at once, perhaps a little to eager to kill elves today. But I went to Dargin nonetheless.

“Six grenades, 49 rounds and one in the chamber!” She replied rhythmically, in the unofficial mantra of the Pioneer Section of Her Majesty’s Royal Marines. And so it went with the other three replacements.

“Weapons check complete!” I raised my Rifle high, “Rule Avina!”

My soldiers raised theirs, “Rule Avina!”

“Captain?” I asked

“Yes Lieutenant?” Killen asked in return

“We are ready to depart, sir!”

“Velorian protect us, we’re not supposed to do drops this close to the front line…” But he took out his staff. It was just a staff, but he concentrated on it as though it actually had power. He chanted a few phases in the old elven tongues I do not recall, and struck the ground with the end of the staff. At once we heard a whoosh, and saw a magenta band of rings form around us as we went to our fate…

 

Keep 'em comin', Capt'n!

 

Sorry about the wait. Was getting back into Arcanum itself and forgot about this. Will work faster from now on, I promise!

Part II

Just North of St. Picts Bridge

After a moment of envelopment by the aforementioned rings, we found ourselves looking square at the battle lines the elves had drawn up and reinforced in my absence. I heard Grover utter scatological references, and in that half second, my gut crunched together as I realized there was no water separating us from them. We were in the no man’s land. I could see the loops in the elven chainmail. That was, to say the least, very bad.

“Whaz…What’s going on?” hollered Lt. Killen, somewhat drained from his conjuring. “Where…” and before he could utter another syllable a fireball came front the elven lines and squarely engulfed him. He screamed mightily and flailed around, singling Corporal Grover’s right arm and setting alight the uniform of one of the replacements whose name I cannot recall. More importantly, as much as the loss of the life of my friend was, as the arrows began to fly in our direction, poor Ludwig, fell onto the create of ammunition, crashing though the wood and threatening to set the whole shipment alight!

Well, obviously, someone had to call a retreat. And unfortunately it wasn’t me. It was Dargin. She screamed the order, without authorization, and at the top of the lungs, much to my eternal embarrassment, but with such force we were bound body and soul to obey her.

I did what I could. I fired a round at an elf trying to fire another arrow us. I missed, but pinned him down. As I began to run I grabbed my rifle with my left hand and took out a grenade, spun around and chucked it at the elves, only to have the shipment crate explode, literally right in my face. I found myself in relatively good company, however as the explosion had knocked my companions down face first, whereas I had been knocked square on my arse.

Dargin was the first up, firing a round at the elves, reloading, and screaming a warrior’s cry all together. I couldn’t help but think this young lass could make it through the war with more than some distinction, when a volley of arrows came crashing around Dargin, one hitting her in the eye. She screamed until, a late arrow, probably aimed, pierced her throat. It went right through left side to right, ripping her throat clean open.

I cursed loudly, and bid the other save Grover to head toward our lines. I shouted to him to get Dargin by the feet while I grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. Luckily the acrid smoke of the explosion covered us a little from the eyes of the enemy as we crab-walked to the lines, carrying Dargin to where it was hoped, we could yet save her.

As we got to the bridges edge we began to hear bullets crackling over head. Partially obeying my orders, Sergeant Cooper had begun firing the last of his men’s ammunition in the attempt to cover our approach. Normally, a soldier does not appreciate bullets flying over her head, but at the moment, nothing was sweeter! In short order, we crossed the span of the bridge, trying to ignore the sounds of Dargin’s dying blood gurgles.

At last the trench! What sweet rapture to be in the filth of five foxholes dug together! Quickly, I summoned the medic, who began to wipe healing salve on the throat wound of little Debra Dargin. I held her head upright so that the medic could best dress the wound. But I swear I saw her soul leaving her body through her one eye, as Grover prayed the Valorien the Keeper Prayer. War is often a necessary thing, sometimes a glorious thing, mostly when you are doing the killing. When it is the ones you share bonds with who die, well, the dime novelists do not do that so much justice.