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Iron Quill (Loss): Losing Her


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I have been traveling with her for months now, losing her and finding her again. Mostly, traveling with her means following her until I have to stop for food or sleep or something and she keeps going, then trying to track her down afterwards.

I don't even know why I'm following the Clockwork Brass Herald. Perhaps it's because I still feel like I'm on assignment from the Neverborn to protect her. Maybe I'm looking for answers and understanding - I was always curious about dangerous things, and that kind of curiosity killed the cat. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm so used to following dangerous orders that I don't understand that I seek out that kind of situation by instinct.

I knew that I couldn't stop or settle down any more. I was a fugitive, wanted by the Guild for some big crimes. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve made a lot of mistakes lately. I kind of sold out my species to the Neverborn. Kind of blew up a Guild warehouse. Definitely tampered with a lot of contraband material. I think I might have accidentally tampered in some kind of forbidden magic, too. I have no idea how I might have done that, but somehow I built that Clockwork Brass Herald, cobbled together from a bunch of other dangerous artifacts.

Could be I was falling in love with my creation, like Pygmalion. It wouldn't be the most disastrous romance I've had.

For her part, she allowed me to travel with her. Most things she encountered, she would cut down with that nasty artifact blade I'd handed her from the warehouse. She was swift and merciless and her Soulstone eyes glowed as she killed. But not me. She never made a threatening motion toward me. I took that as a good sign that maybe she liked me.

Still, she didn't slow down for me when I needed to stop for something, so I lost her every night or so at very least.

She wasn’t as fast as a horse on the straightaway, but she was nimble. She vaulted over walls, skulked through alleyways, danced pirouettes across the city skyline. It was hard to find her when she was slipping through the streets, but easy to watch her as she danced through the world. As big as she was -- about half again as tall as me -- she was surprisingly graceful. And despite the music box that played as she went -- a soft little carnival tune -- she was surprisingly quiet.

As I had followed her, I’d gotten myself supplied for travel. I’d stolen a hardy morgan from in front of some drinkhouse while we were still in Malifaux City. I traded stolen musical instruments and other goods for food and bullets in markets as she slipped through alleyways nearby. I had kept an eye on her as much as I could as she cut a path through the city, up the walls, and into the Quarantine Zone.

I had thoughts in my mind of the Herald fighting her way through the Quarantine Zone one zombie at a time, but it wasn't necessary. By chance, fate, or unspoken plan, she passed through the Zone by day and was out the other side by dusk.

I rode alongside her the whole time. Sometimes I would ask her questions, or try to entertain her with music. She would step around me when I was in her way, but otherwise she never much seemed to notice my presence. I followed her all the more eagerly, like a lovestruck suitor who would become bored with a girl that didn't spurn him.

Out into the wilderness we went, avoiding pursuit, keeping a good clip. I would camp when I was too exhausted to follow, then try to track her in the morning. I was getting better and better at finding her again, but she was nine feet tall and made of brass and clockwork, so I shouldn't get too proud.

The travel was surprisingly uneventful. I guess I was lucky that way. Those prairies are hungry for fools like me.

Then trough the badlands, past the other side, and into the Bayou. She kept to the roads, at least. I imagine she would have sank otherwise.

I lost her again one morning out there in the swamps, but followed her tracks right into a hidden camp. I rounded a corner and there I was in the middle of it - bright tents everywhere. Scuttering shapes. Music. Fires. Caged Warpigs, all decorated and painted. Little green ones all dressed up as acrobats and dancers.

While following what I thought was her path, I’d stumbled into the middle of some Gremlin carnival. The Gremlins made quite a sight: little and green but covered in bright colors from scavenged bits of everything. They cheered and played music. They did dances and had motionless wooden sawhorses painted up like carousel animals.

Then they noticed me.

The squeezebox washboard music didn't stop, but it grew more ominous quite suddenly.

They watched me cautiously. I started to notice pepperbox pistols and sharpened things in their hands, noticed the sharp spikes on their tools and tricks. I looked behind me, and sure enough, there was a Gremlin there with a dirty old musket as big as he was, covering my escape route.

Some part of me thought of them as children, playing with dangerous toys, worried they'd hurt themselves. I've heard talk from other mercenaries -- that's the sort of misconception you don't stay alive to nurse for very long.

Well, it was as good a day as any to die. I made peace with the mysteries of my existence, and gritted my teeth. I might not survive this, but at very least I would go down fighting.

They seemed surprised when I pulled and cocked my own gun. Where I faced, they took cover behind tents and bushes. The problem was, I could still see them lurking and skulking in the corners of my eyes. I was surrounded and outnumbered, and we’d both made it clear that this was likely to be a fight.

I supposed the only question was which of them would jump out and attack first and get shot. They’d kill me for sure either way, but most likely, whoever jumped out at me first would die before the rest overwhelmed me. So they were hesitant, waiting for someone else in their caravan to take the sacrifice first shot. Or maybe they were waiting for something else.

Before that happened, I heard a noise of something big moving. A huge figure tore through one of their brightly dyed rag-patch tents. The Gremlins scattered out of its way.

And I was surprised that after all this time, I didn’t recognize her at first. My Brass Herald was there in all her finery and more. She was decorated with snips and charms and swatches and bells -- one part bellydancer and one part decorated general.

The Gremlins scattered and scraped to get out of her way. At first I thought it was first, but then I noticed them make little gestures toward her - salutes to their straw hats, or toasts upward with their rusty mugs. They were afraid of her, to be sure, but they were afraid of her like they would be toward any of their leaders.

Someone had put a big black felt top-hat on top of her head.

I looked around at all the assembled Gremlins. They had lowered their weapons and were watching me with serious expressions, waiting to see what would happen next. Maybe they thought the Brass Herald was going to kill me.

I hadn’t been away from the Brass Herald a full day yet, and somehow the Gremlins had discovered her and decorated her and, most surprising of all, gotten her to stay in one place, a thing I’d never managed.

They watched me, and started to look a little reckless. I started talking, not knowing what I was going to say until I heard my own voice saying it..

"Hey, listen up, all of you!" I barked with more authority than I felt, "The Dancer's in charge here, on account of how she can knock down any of you without much thinking. But what you didn't know is I'm the only one who can understand and speak for her, so you'd best do what I say. Any questions?"

They looked at me blankly and shrugged. The Brass Herald just looked around impassively, a dim glow in her Soulstone eyes. I was surprised at myself. Were these words coming from the Brass Herald, or was I just improvising to stay alive? Would the difference matter?

"Good enough,” I said, “Now, someone bring me something to drink. And a big plate of food. Then pack up, everyone! It's time to take this show on the road!"

They gave a raucous, dangerous, echoing cheer, and I felt a heaviness in my stomach. Where was I taking these creatures? Who was in charge?

I looked back at the Brass Herald and hoped she’d have some answers for me.

At least I wasn’t alone.

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