The Half-blood

An aerial battle between two steampunk airships, featuring a half-born Orc named Henry. Totally different to what I normally write, this is for a contest :P

The Spirit of Empire breached the clouds and burst into the sunlight. In the engine room a dozen indentured Goblin laborers shoveled coal into the furnaces like men possessed, powering the mighty gears that made the ship's twin wings flap. On the gundeck three score artillerymen readied rank after rank of cannon and ballistae. On the top deck, groomed and straight-backed officers with golden cutlasses and well-oiled mustaches ordered terrified yet disciplined musketeers and skirmishers into formation. In the crow's nest high above all, Aeronautical Captain Urkutsk peered west through a spyglass.

What he saw chilled him to the bones. A two-hundred foot cloud-chaser - bronze-hulled, ten-decked and of Dwarven design. The sigil of Eric Mortagnon, scourge of the skies, flew from the mizzen mast. He could see the top deck teeming with hordes of well-armed men, Dwarves and ticking-men. They were naught but three hundred yards starboard.

In the magazine, amongst the powder kegs and racks of cannon-balls, a man with brass spectacles and a woolen cloak caught a uniformed regimental by the wrist.

"Lieutenant Torin, sir! May I have a moment?"

"What is it, professor? The third-deck cannoneers are low on powder."

"A request, if I may... I know the captain has offered his opinion on the matter..."

"Confound it, man! Not this blasted business again! The beast will remain under lock and key in the brig until such time as we make port in Aetherdale. That abomination will play no part in the coming boarding."

"But lieutenant, the strength and size of him... He might well prove instrumental to the raid on Mortagnon's ship!"

With a sneer of dismissal Torin pulled away and turned to the door. Professor Archibald Mason grabbed him by the shoulder. Wheeling about, Torin caught him by the throat and held him to the wall. Mason clutched at his forearm.

“Lay a hand on me would you? I’ll have you keelhauled, sir! Tell me why I shouldn’t!”

“The beast, sir… I’ve seen it tear mens’ heads off and fling dwarves across rooms. Even the sight of him will drain the morale of Mortagnon’s crew like bathwater.”

Torin met his gaze and held it for a moment. The clamour of men rushing to battle-stations and the creak of the airship’s hull faded to the level of a distant breeze. Mason swallowed heavily.

Torin sighed and loosened his grip. Mason slid down the wall and thumped onto the planks.

“Rally your filthy half-breed then, man! Have him armed and ready by the time the grapples fly.”

Mason nodded hurriedly and scurried from the magazine.

*****

In a dark and cramped cell below decks, ‘mongst mice and mould and things that slithered and crawled in shadow, the beast of Aetherdale sat hunched. Half man and half orc, he stood two men tall and three abreast. His left arm bore the proportions of a human of average build, but the right was as thick around as a porthole, muscled as that of an ox, skinned in the green-grey leather of a mountain orc, and terminating in a mighty, callused hand.

His face looked remarkably like that of a young man, even down to the chestnut stubble swathing his chin and neck, but his left eye was engorged and swollen. Through it he had the bloodsight - the natural ability of the orcs to see fear in their prey. The pupil was large and crimson, and moved independently of his other, human eye.

He had been staring at the floor of his cell, manacled hands in his lap, when he heard the clink of a key in a lock. He looked up to see the professor, smiling from ear to ear.

“Henry, my boy! It’s time! Time for you to prove your worth to these men!”

The beast frowned with confusion. He opened his mouth and struggled a reply. He was not dimwitted - far from it in fact, but the orcish vocal cords he had inherited from his mother were not apt for uttering the human tongue.

“What… do… mean?”

“We approach the vessel of Eric Mortagnon, Henry. There is to be a boarding, and I have arranged for you to join the fray! Should you lead our troops to victory, your reputation as a freak may be transformed into that of a true hero!”

Henry looked at his orcish hand. There were hard knobs on the knuckles - all the better for striking. The nails were ragged and clawlike, although unlike the talons of a bird these were shaped for sawing and ripping. This was not a hand - this was a weapon. It could tear out a man’s throat, but not hold a pen. It could smash bricks to powder, but not play a violin. It could crush the life from a bull, but it could not cradle a newborn child.

“Professor… You want… me… kill again?”

“I want you to play to your strengths, my boy. If you are ever to find acceptance on this ship, you must show them that you are more than an oddity or an abomination.”

“But if… I am to be… human… shouldn’t… I… avoid… using my orcish talents?”

The professor sighed and clasped Henry on the shoulder. WIth his other hand he slid the key into the halfling’s shackles and unbound his hands.

“You will never be human, Henry. I’m sorry. If you strive to be so, you will meet only failure. Your best option, rather, is to try and use the non-human blood in you to your advantage. Do not want for that which you cannot have - use that which you do!”

Henry said nothing. He flexed his newly liberated wrists and stood. His bald, warted head brushed the ceiling.

“O...kay…”

*****

When the trumpets sounded, the ships were only twenty yards apart. Riflemen took potshots, as did archers and crossbowmen.

The grapples were thrown, and the ropes pulled tight. As the hulls of the two ships collided, hordes from each rushed to leap the gap. The first to cross would decide whose vessel would be the battleground.

Henry stood on the foredeck, garbed in a leather chestplate that had been let out to allow for his orc-arm. He carried no weapon and bore no orders other than to kill any that wore the sigil of Mortagnon. When the battle broke out in earnest, it became clear that the cloud-chaser, not the imperial ship, would be the one to have its deck stained crimson.

With a run up of three heavy bounds, Henry leapt from the railing. For a moment the void hung beneath him - a mile and a half of nothingness between him and the tempest-tossed seas below. Then the deck of Mortagnon’s ship rose to meet him and he landed on one knee. He cracked the boards where he landed.

Looking around, he saw naught but chaos. The red and gold uniforms of the imperials were mingled hopelessly amongst the ragtag pirates of Mortagnon. Spying a cluster of axe-wielding dwarves, he crossed the deck and laid about them with mighty swings of his fist. When only one remained he picked him up and hurled him overboard.

Next he seized a ticking-man and dashed its head against the mast. The brass cranium smashed open and a multitude of cogs and springs tinkled onto the deck. The spring-loaded dagger fell limply from its hand.

He heard a battle cry behind him and spun round to see a pirate swinging a cutlass at his neck. Swaying back to avoid it, he brought up one booted foot and kicked the assailant in the chest, thrusting him over the railing. He glowed brightly in the bloodsight as he tumbled over backwards.

Leaping from the deck into the rigging with a powerful jump, Henry surveyed the battle from above. He looked for clusters of enemies he could lay into without harming any regimentals. Spotting a party of brigands attempting to flank the soldiers, he flung himself down upon them and crushed three ‘neath his mighty tread. One of the remainder brought his revolver to bear, but Henry seized him by the throat, lifted him off his feet and crushed his skull. All others near him fled.

The rest of the battle was mostly a haze. Later he would remember screams, blood splatters, gunshots, and the clinking of teeth onto the deck. Mortagnon himself turned out not to be aboard the ship, but the battle still proved a key victory in the fight against piracy in imperial skies. It came to pass that Henry fought himself on the deck of the cloud-chaser, standing amongst the carnage of bodies. Viscera caked him from his face to his legs, and his chest heaved with the adrenaline of an orcish bloodlust. He stood in a stupor, feeling the flesh between his teeth and the gore beneath his nails. He was snapped out by a tug on his elbow.

“Henry? By Jove you were magnificent!” cried the professor.

“Feel… sick…”

“Whatever for? You are a hero, my boy! You’ve won us the battle! Splendid, I say! Absolutely splendid! Before, they thought you nothing more than a violent monster! But now they’ve seen you as you truly are!”

Reviews

[Hasan Hersi]

I really liked this!! Its extremely well done with a fair amount of imagery! Definitely a book i would struggle to take my eyes off!

[Lady Annabella]

Thank you so much! :)

[Mikayla_Stagg]

I really liked this. It was very well written and overall just a great story. Keep writing!

[Lady Annabella]

Thank you so much! :)

[gavinmichaels]

Wow...this was awesome. You really bright this story to life!