Cliba had lived a very agitated life. The Neigix had been born and raised as a slave to the Orc tribes. The specific name of her original owners had not minded much since it had been, effectively, a lifetime of being kidnapped, owned, and kidnapped again. Cliba had lost count of how many tribes she’d been taken by, not that it mattered since, in the end, chieftain Urtha had been the one to join them all under a single thatched roof. Life under the ownership of the tribe hadn’t been too bad; most of what they demanded of her and her flying sistren was to keep the skies clear and sunny whenever they could.
Sure, she’d have to help raid a village or hamlet from time to time, kidnap a few men for the tribe, and all that. However, compared to the things she’d heard maidens were forced to do in the larger cities, it was a pretty sweet deal.
Then had come the blood-suckers, those creepy nocturnal things that took over, pushing for them to raid human settlements more boldly and more often. Then the night of terrors happened, and Cliba had been very glad to remain in her hut waiting for it all to blow over.
Then chieftain Monica was in charge.
Then the Father was in charge.
Then they attacked a walled city… and won.
After that, Cliba’s job was to just fly around all day, report on what was going on, maybe help the weather from time to time, and little else. Sure, there’d been that one time she’d been told to deliver a package to Aubria, but aside from getting her feathers all ruffled while running away from the guards, she’d never really faced much danger.
In fact, despite the few attacks on the city, Cliba’s life had been turning for the better ever since Father had shown up. Now she had her own home, with her own “slaves” - a husband she'd met when she’d been running around raising the alarm of an incoming feral rush, who had two very cute boys - and no Orcs to boss her around! Her job was still that of scouting and sentry, but it was good work, doubly so because her orders were very specifically to avoid combat. And if Cliba was eager for anything, it was not fighting.
If she had one complaint about her new job, however, it would be the smell.
The Lord of Sinco, Father of and greatest boon to the tribe, had apparently suffered a stroke of insanity and deigned it necessary to start extraction pits on the bubbling sickly yellow and green lakes east of Sinco. The stink of sulfur clung to everything, especially Cliba’s feathers, and it made it a pain to get it off after her shift ended. It was so bad that there was an ongoing competition amongst the flying sentries; whomever won their little games of dice would get the east-quadrant, the one spot safe from the rising vapors.
Today, Cliba had not won.
In fact, she’d lost so badly, she’d gotten the worst possible position of all: ground control.
It was as horrible as it sounded, for it involved spending the most time on the ground than anyone else of the sentry duty team.
“And you are certain that the weather will keep for the next week?” Mister Rollo asked, the fat merchant caressing the flabs of his neck like he might somehow get himself to change the weather. “No overtime wind-adjustment?”
“Yes, sir.” Cliba answered, trying not to roll her eyes too hard. “Unless a feral gets uppity and starts messing around, then there won’t be any rain for the next week.”
“Good… good… wouldn’t want to risk the cargo being late. The Lord’s projects cannot be delayed.” The man dried the sweat off of his brow,; he was sweaty often whenever he visited the sulfur lakes. “And… by any chance, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Lord’s well-being… correct?”
“If I knew, sir, I wouldn’t be in a situation where I could tell.” She replied, shuffling her wings as she made a point to look around.
“Yes. Yes. To talk of ill health of nobility is tantamount to betrayal, after all. But you are still bonded to him, yes? The bond is still there?” He pulled out a coin, tossing it at Cliba, she snatched it midair, but noticed how mister Rollo’s Puppeteer scoffed, the ever-prim and proper maiden scribbling something down on a piece of parchment.
“Yes, sir.”
A bond that weakened every day, it was an odd feeling, all things said. Cliba had been used to the bond just snapping like a broken twig the moment she took off the collar or flew too far off. Now, it felt more like it was like a pair of very comfy trousers that were long due a renewal. She was slightly sad to feel it go, to be able to fly around with no sense of the feral curse lingering overhead was nice.
On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to form a bond with her husband.
Maybe they should splurge a little and get some good boar-meat to celebrate once they were properly joined. Or maybe fresh fish? That she had her own money to use on her own things was a novelty to be sure, and though her husband would frown about the whole deal, his complaints were more grumblings because he didn’t get to buy himself some beauty product or somesuch.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes, yes, you may go join the others. If you spot anything-”
That was as good as a direct order to stop being grounded. “We will be the first to raise the alarm.” Stepping out of the stinky wood-hut that they called ‘base of operations,’ Cliba spread her wings wide and took to the sky.
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Standing up from the overly stiff chair, Yasir stared out the window of his office that overlooked the militia’s training grounds. Amongst the dozens of maidens being taught by various teachers, one in particular caught his eye. As it always would. His dearest wife was currently dancing on the courtyard, and every few moments, a glimmer in the air would be followed by a decapitated dummy. It was a shame he could not get an office closer to the training grounds; he’d always loved watching the Spinner’s thread glittering under the sunlight. But the Lord of Sinco’s wisdom regarding safety had won out, and now the “head of commerce” could only watch from a distance where his office might not be struck by a training accident.
“I have done the boring maths. Can I go play now?”
Yasir turned to look at his eldest daughter, Lana, as she held out the parchment up impatiently. “Let us confirm your methods first.” He replied, drawing the teenager towards his overly cluttered desk. It took a moment to free up the necessary space before he could properly look over her work.
“Can I go play?” She asked, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “You promised I could have the day to myself.”
“After you properly finish your studies, little flower.” He reminded her. “Now-”
“You did not say that!” Stomping her foot, she crossed her arms. “You should do as you are told.”
Yasir’s body tensed, and his face fell. “Your mother will not be happy to hear you speak in such a way.”
“She’s n-!” She stopped herself short, clamping her mouth shut, but the words lingered in the air all the same. “May I go play, father?”
Only once before had she spoken the word so poisonously, the day they’d been forced on a boat to give away a life of comfort, the day their lives as wandering merchants began. Yasir saw the pain in her eyes, as fresh as that day that the air tasted of bitterness.
“You may go, my little flower, but please be careful.”
She did not wait to bolt out of the room, face nothing but a mask of unpleasantness.
The echo of the closing door had not vanished before it swung open again. “What happened?” It was his dearest, still drenched in sweat, concern plastered all over her face. “What did she do?”
“She is being… complicated, as all young ladies are at that age.” Yasir replied, trying to avoid the glittering eyes of his most beloved as he stared out the window. “Sometimes I wonder if she would’ve preferred…” The words were too bitter to speak, left hanging in the air.
“Do not speak like that.” Ahina chided him. “Of course she would’ve missed you greatly. Us. It is merely the fiery temper of youth.” She strode further into the office, until she stood across from his desk. “She was the one left in charge of her siblings in our absence.”
“Half-siblings. And of course she’d feel stifled now that she…” He corrected, then sighed, deflating like a broken bellows. “I just wish she could embrace our new life as much as this new life has embraced us.” His fingers ran against the polished wood of his desk. “Master of commerce… fate truly takes us to the most unexpected of places.”
Ahina didn’t speak, but her eyes showed that same hint of distaste she always tried to contain. “I am happy for you.” She declared, honestly, even if there was that hint of pain in her eyes. It was the pain of what was lost, of what could no longer be, no matter how hard one wished for. “I just fear she will never let go.”
“Give it time.” He promised. “The sands will mend all things, even a young girl’s heart. It just needs time.” It was as much a fact as a prayer. “I’ve it in good ears that Lord Richard is on his way back. Perhaps if we had a small celebration upon his return? I know you’ve a few ideas regarding his new dyes…”
Ahina’s many eyes lit up with excitement that she hastily restrained. “Of course.”
Yasir nodded, happy to see his dearest Ahina finally finding true enjoyment from the work that had once been nothing but her family’s duty and great heritage. He could feel it in the air, the winds of change blowing away the chains of their past.
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“No.” Raphaella shook her head vehemently.
“It’s what you asked for.” Barry replied. “You want something that can let you fight in the air, the best weapon to fight in the air, and this is the only one that comes to mind.”
The Metalmouse stared at the paper the otherworlder had sketched. They’d needed the psychic help of her sisters for her to properly comprehend what he’d been trying to explain. But now that she understood, she realized what he’d been proposing was a contraption that strapped several guns into a rotating cylinder that would unload, reload, and shoot all at the same time, allowing it to fire faster than anything Raphaella had ever seen before.
“It is wasteful.” Raphaella proclaimed harshly. “It shoots too much. The Flying Mouse mark 3 cannot carry that much weight.”
“Maybe if the bullets were smaller?”
She thought back to her fight with the Mikilia and quickly shook her head. If she’d been using finger-sized bullets against her, they would’ve just bounced off harmlessly. “Would not work. Maidens are tough.”
“What if we make them big bullets but make it so we could shoot from the ground up into the sky?” Barry asked, a bit hopefully. “We could use that to protect against an incoming attack. In my world, we even have a variant that makes the bullets explode midair like a rocket.”
The Horde shared glances, considering the implications of the proposal.
“We fly.”
The word was echoed, nods were shared.
Their human consultant looked around, confused. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“We fight in the air, the Cog Horde will fly. We do not fight from the ground.” Raphaella declared solemnly, earning eager nods all around. Besides, shooting at maidens that were far up could be a big waste of bullets and boom-paste, neither of which they had an abundance of, at least according to the Lord’s papers about “budgeting.” They needed something more efficient.
Barry frowned, staring at the carvings of the FMmk1 and FMmk2 and FMmk3-prototype-proposal.
“What if winning the fight means your enemy can’t fly anymore?” He turned to them. “If you can make a Neigix stop flying, would that be a win?”
The Cog Horde shared glances, their psychic sisters helping share thoughts and impressions faster still. It took but a moment before they nodded in agreement. If the fliers could not fly, then the Cog Horde would rule the sky over the battlefield.
“Then how about nets?”
Now it was Raphaella’s time to frown.
She knew surprisingly little about nets The horde only knew about nets from the fishers, and the fishers were not Mousegirls because Mousegirls would never dare venture into the deep black-blue.
“We… will research nets.” The Metalmouse declared with some trepidation.
She would need to talk to the Lord about this.
They had parachutes to make the high-sky safe, but how could anyone make the deep-sea safe?