1st Ash, 122
Once the Main Chest Plate Panel Number Four had been removed it was a simple matter to hammer out the fist sized dent that a falling piece of wall had caused during he and Eitan's expedition to investigate the remains of the Angevin Estate. The collapse would have killed him if he'd been without the suit, but then, so would have the Dread Mist twisted creatures that he was fairly sure had once been horse. He hoped they had been horses and put them out of his mind. They were dead now regardless.
By the morning the last of the final adjustments and securing beams and wards would be in place and Stefan as well as several hundred other survivors would be lifting off and leaving the city of his birth, likely all their births, forever.
If ever he did return it would be in expeditions to recover things, like the Expedition into the Warrens, not to come home. The city would never be home to decent human beings again. Or, if it ever was, it would be after millennia, when everything Stefan had ever known or imagined was long since gone to dust and even the knowledge of them had been lost. The Vortex that had destroyed the Clockwork Empire still turned, according to scholars and those few foolish enough to brave the ruins.
That was what Zaichaer was now: Ruins.
The thought hurt, just as badly as Stefan had known it would. He let it sit with him anyway, he needed to let it be real in his head if he was going to lead the people who had put their trust, their lives, in his care. They would not be coming back, this was not a temporary evacuation until things settled down. He needed to think long term about the survival of his people. They needed someone to consider how they were to live out the rest of their lives, how their children would live out theirs.
He raised his hammer and brought it down hard.
When he had finally come out of what he had later realized was shock, and began to live like a person again he had eventually returned to the suits. Cleaning off the thin layer of dust from them and starting to work on them again had felt like a homecoming of a different sort. Stefan was not artistic, he could not draw or paint, he had no ear for music, no talent for writing, let alone speaking in an elegant or stirring way. No, if he could be said to have a creative side, an outlet, it was this; making machines.
When he climbed into the suit and closed it around him, powered up the shard matrix that rendered the solid metal of the helmet something he could see through, it felt safe, like being held, like he belonged there. The movement continued to be tricky and he realized he was going to have to adjust the suits to each individual wearer if they were to move naturally. Adjusting the first one to himself made sense, in addition to being his only option if he intended to maintain secrecy. He could change it later, set it up for whichever of his brothers would wear that particular suit. Over weeks he got the walking and arm movement mechanics adjusted, till he could walk across the hanger designed for a whole airship as easily in the suit as outside of it. Running required more time, and then there was getting the activation of the guns and the blade to work as seamlessly as using normal sized ones. Compensating for recoil, at least, went surprisingly smoothly. Perhaps the annoyance he'd endured learning to compensate for it as a youth learning to fire a rifle had finally tuned itself into useful information.
His tests of the flight system had began as a series of little hops. Just activating the thrusting ports for a fraction of a second and getting used to the impact of landing. It had been terrifying, not just the first time, but for days. Falling from heights was just not something Stefan's mind seemed to be willing to adjust to taking calmly and he spent hours sipping on bursts of adrenaline every time he pushed the suit, with him inside it, into the air and then just let himself fall. The good news was that the impact compensation was exceptional. His calculations said he could fall from more than a hundred feet and survive, though the suit would need significant repairs. He himself was not ready to try anything so daring, but he never felt the slightest discomfort in landing, so, slowly his sense of self-preservation adjusted to the idea that the suit would protect him.
From there he graduated to short directed 'flights', which were basically the same one second of thrust but in a direction other than straight up, and where he tried to control the landing with more thrusters. The learning curve was high but he learned that he could land on any part of the suit, face, ass, arms or legs, and almost any angle, and still remain unharmed. Admitting to himself, ruefully, that this knowledge was useful, however humiliating gaining it had been, even with only himself to know, felt like a victory of sorts.
He did learn to land on his feet, eventually, and he did learn to land where he was aiming for. Adding changes in direction mid 'flight' took adjusting to, but his determination grew with his skill. It was a month into Searing when he decided to take his first actual flight, a minute of being airborne while performing several maneuvers designed to test his control. The 35th was to have been his first attempt, but then the 34th happened.
The thing was, once things were set up with a combination of the efficiency of a military base and that of a factory, there hadn't been as much for Stefan to do as even he'd had as the manager of the Windworks. He did his fair share, even forcing his way in to do some of the manual labor a time or two, but it made people uncomfortable when he was sweating among them. As Delia had explained, they liked to know that he was up in his office, or somewhere similar, ensuring that they were all safe from the horrors outside, giving orders and running the machine of their lives so they could concentrate on their work. That was all well and good, but Stefan needed to be busy himself. The massive engines that were being rapidly put together that would raise the Windworks into the air did occasionally need his expertise, and he insisted on personally overseeing the creation of the dragonshard latticeworks, but, more often than not, with Delia over seeing the domestics and Eitan in control of the Order and the Military, Stefan was at loose ends.
After some debate, and some guilt, which his family swatted away like an unwanted fly, he returned, in the time he couldn't fill with genuinely useful work, to his workshop. The difference was, now, Eitan had insisted on knowing what it was that had been rattling around his brother-in-law's brain for the better part of a year. In preparation for explaining what the suits were Stefan had prepared quite a few notes, diagrams, and a speech. Eitan had grasped the purpose of the suits almost the moment he'd seen them, guessing the function of the different parts often as soon as he saw them and usually, if he asked a question, he came up with the answer as soon as Stefan had gotten out a word or two of answer. This, for whatever reason, despite the other man's enthusiasm and delight, had annoyed Stefan to no end. Calming breaths and taking a firm hold of his emotions had bee required, and to remind himself that Eitan was, in some ways, still healing from the trauma of saving all their lives.
The recollection had been enough to settle his unwarranted annoyance, and the suggestion that Eitan act as a second tester, allowing Stefan to observe from the outside, perked him right up. Adjusting the second suit to the half-elf was easier than adjusting the first one to himself had been. Firstly because he had done it once before and learned a lot, secondly because he could make adjustments and have the pilot test them without having to climb out, make the changes, then climb back in, see if they had worked and repeat it dozens of times until it was right.
To the older man's mutual frustration and pleasure, Eitan also learned to operate his suit must more quickly than Stefan had. He told himself it was partly because it was so well adjusted to Eitan specifically, and partly because he had refined the design so much since he had first tried to operate his own. The truth was a combination of those factors and the fact that Eitan was just made for that sort of thing so much more than Stefan was. He also seemed fearless, which Stefan was decidedly not.
When, as the date of the impending take off drew near, Eitan, currently in the suit and speaking down to Stefan, who was a third of his height, suggested that it was time to take the suits out for a real test, Stefan had blinked up at him. Somehow, despite all the effort, a part of him had still believed the suits were just a project, just a thing he was tinkering with. Accepting that they were ready for use in the real world was unexpectedly jarring.
Eitan was right though, there was no reason not to use them as they had been designed, and, consider the dangers of sending anyone out into the city to gather supplies, every reason to employ them. They were adjusted to Stefan and Eitan specifically, so there was no question of them being used by anyone else for the time being. Eitan also added wards, the same sort as he'd used on the Windworks and the Hall, ones to keep physical attacks away, ones to keep the Mists at bay, even ones to protect against lightning strikes, as they had lost one ship and several men to the ones that shot out of the Vortex storm.
Once it had been explained to what they were now calling The Council, (Delia, Luca, Eitan, Stefan, Orator Beeman, the highest ranking Captain from both Navy and Army and three representatives of the civilians, one each of the workers, the families and those who hadn't been previously associated with the Windworks) that the suits existed, and that they were going to be used, several suggestions were made as to where they should go and to what purpose. The priorities were supplies. Food they had gathered in abundance in the first days after the catastrophe, and water they had, but medical supplies were needed, as well as other basic necessities. People were making do with what was on hand, sewing clothing from sail cloth, rendering fat for soap, but whatever could be gotten was needed. There was also the matter of information. Every major headquarters of Government had fallen, and there were only periphery reports of how much of what had been kept there had survived.
There were personal desires from both Dornkirk and Angevin, but they were not mentioned during the meeting of The Council. Surely everyone had personal desires and they could not go to everyone's home digging for treasured mementos. The decision was made to go to shops that held needed supplies in the streets right outside the Windworks first, that way, if anything went wrong, they would be close enough that Eitan could wrap them in a bubble of negation and they could just walk back. If everything went well, they could branch out their excursions from there.
Once the Main Chest Plate Panel Number Four had been removed it was a simple matter to hammer out the fist sized dent that a falling piece of wall had caused during he and Eitan's expedition to investigate the remains of the Angevin Estate. The collapse would have killed him if he'd been without the suit, but then, so would have the Dread Mist twisted creatures that he was fairly sure had once been horse. He hoped they had been horses and put them out of his mind. They were dead now regardless.
By the morning the last of the final adjustments and securing beams and wards would be in place and Stefan as well as several hundred other survivors would be lifting off and leaving the city of his birth, likely all their births, forever.
If ever he did return it would be in expeditions to recover things, like the Expedition into the Warrens, not to come home. The city would never be home to decent human beings again. Or, if it ever was, it would be after millennia, when everything Stefan had ever known or imagined was long since gone to dust and even the knowledge of them had been lost. The Vortex that had destroyed the Clockwork Empire still turned, according to scholars and those few foolish enough to brave the ruins.
That was what Zaichaer was now: Ruins.
The thought hurt, just as badly as Stefan had known it would. He let it sit with him anyway, he needed to let it be real in his head if he was going to lead the people who had put their trust, their lives, in his care. They would not be coming back, this was not a temporary evacuation until things settled down. He needed to think long term about the survival of his people. They needed someone to consider how they were to live out the rest of their lives, how their children would live out theirs.
He raised his hammer and brought it down hard.
When he had finally come out of what he had later realized was shock, and began to live like a person again he had eventually returned to the suits. Cleaning off the thin layer of dust from them and starting to work on them again had felt like a homecoming of a different sort. Stefan was not artistic, he could not draw or paint, he had no ear for music, no talent for writing, let alone speaking in an elegant or stirring way. No, if he could be said to have a creative side, an outlet, it was this; making machines.
When he climbed into the suit and closed it around him, powered up the shard matrix that rendered the solid metal of the helmet something he could see through, it felt safe, like being held, like he belonged there. The movement continued to be tricky and he realized he was going to have to adjust the suits to each individual wearer if they were to move naturally. Adjusting the first one to himself made sense, in addition to being his only option if he intended to maintain secrecy. He could change it later, set it up for whichever of his brothers would wear that particular suit. Over weeks he got the walking and arm movement mechanics adjusted, till he could walk across the hanger designed for a whole airship as easily in the suit as outside of it. Running required more time, and then there was getting the activation of the guns and the blade to work as seamlessly as using normal sized ones. Compensating for recoil, at least, went surprisingly smoothly. Perhaps the annoyance he'd endured learning to compensate for it as a youth learning to fire a rifle had finally tuned itself into useful information.
His tests of the flight system had began as a series of little hops. Just activating the thrusting ports for a fraction of a second and getting used to the impact of landing. It had been terrifying, not just the first time, but for days. Falling from heights was just not something Stefan's mind seemed to be willing to adjust to taking calmly and he spent hours sipping on bursts of adrenaline every time he pushed the suit, with him inside it, into the air and then just let himself fall. The good news was that the impact compensation was exceptional. His calculations said he could fall from more than a hundred feet and survive, though the suit would need significant repairs. He himself was not ready to try anything so daring, but he never felt the slightest discomfort in landing, so, slowly his sense of self-preservation adjusted to the idea that the suit would protect him.
From there he graduated to short directed 'flights', which were basically the same one second of thrust but in a direction other than straight up, and where he tried to control the landing with more thrusters. The learning curve was high but he learned that he could land on any part of the suit, face, ass, arms or legs, and almost any angle, and still remain unharmed. Admitting to himself, ruefully, that this knowledge was useful, however humiliating gaining it had been, even with only himself to know, felt like a victory of sorts.
He did learn to land on his feet, eventually, and he did learn to land where he was aiming for. Adding changes in direction mid 'flight' took adjusting to, but his determination grew with his skill. It was a month into Searing when he decided to take his first actual flight, a minute of being airborne while performing several maneuvers designed to test his control. The 35th was to have been his first attempt, but then the 34th happened.
The thing was, once things were set up with a combination of the efficiency of a military base and that of a factory, there hadn't been as much for Stefan to do as even he'd had as the manager of the Windworks. He did his fair share, even forcing his way in to do some of the manual labor a time or two, but it made people uncomfortable when he was sweating among them. As Delia had explained, they liked to know that he was up in his office, or somewhere similar, ensuring that they were all safe from the horrors outside, giving orders and running the machine of their lives so they could concentrate on their work. That was all well and good, but Stefan needed to be busy himself. The massive engines that were being rapidly put together that would raise the Windworks into the air did occasionally need his expertise, and he insisted on personally overseeing the creation of the dragonshard latticeworks, but, more often than not, with Delia over seeing the domestics and Eitan in control of the Order and the Military, Stefan was at loose ends.
After some debate, and some guilt, which his family swatted away like an unwanted fly, he returned, in the time he couldn't fill with genuinely useful work, to his workshop. The difference was, now, Eitan had insisted on knowing what it was that had been rattling around his brother-in-law's brain for the better part of a year. In preparation for explaining what the suits were Stefan had prepared quite a few notes, diagrams, and a speech. Eitan had grasped the purpose of the suits almost the moment he'd seen them, guessing the function of the different parts often as soon as he saw them and usually, if he asked a question, he came up with the answer as soon as Stefan had gotten out a word or two of answer. This, for whatever reason, despite the other man's enthusiasm and delight, had annoyed Stefan to no end. Calming breaths and taking a firm hold of his emotions had bee required, and to remind himself that Eitan was, in some ways, still healing from the trauma of saving all their lives.
The recollection had been enough to settle his unwarranted annoyance, and the suggestion that Eitan act as a second tester, allowing Stefan to observe from the outside, perked him right up. Adjusting the second suit to the half-elf was easier than adjusting the first one to himself had been. Firstly because he had done it once before and learned a lot, secondly because he could make adjustments and have the pilot test them without having to climb out, make the changes, then climb back in, see if they had worked and repeat it dozens of times until it was right.
To the older man's mutual frustration and pleasure, Eitan also learned to operate his suit must more quickly than Stefan had. He told himself it was partly because it was so well adjusted to Eitan specifically, and partly because he had refined the design so much since he had first tried to operate his own. The truth was a combination of those factors and the fact that Eitan was just made for that sort of thing so much more than Stefan was. He also seemed fearless, which Stefan was decidedly not.
When, as the date of the impending take off drew near, Eitan, currently in the suit and speaking down to Stefan, who was a third of his height, suggested that it was time to take the suits out for a real test, Stefan had blinked up at him. Somehow, despite all the effort, a part of him had still believed the suits were just a project, just a thing he was tinkering with. Accepting that they were ready for use in the real world was unexpectedly jarring.
Eitan was right though, there was no reason not to use them as they had been designed, and, consider the dangers of sending anyone out into the city to gather supplies, every reason to employ them. They were adjusted to Stefan and Eitan specifically, so there was no question of them being used by anyone else for the time being. Eitan also added wards, the same sort as he'd used on the Windworks and the Hall, ones to keep physical attacks away, ones to keep the Mists at bay, even ones to protect against lightning strikes, as they had lost one ship and several men to the ones that shot out of the Vortex storm.
Once it had been explained to what they were now calling The Council, (Delia, Luca, Eitan, Stefan, Orator Beeman, the highest ranking Captain from both Navy and Army and three representatives of the civilians, one each of the workers, the families and those who hadn't been previously associated with the Windworks) that the suits existed, and that they were going to be used, several suggestions were made as to where they should go and to what purpose. The priorities were supplies. Food they had gathered in abundance in the first days after the catastrophe, and water they had, but medical supplies were needed, as well as other basic necessities. People were making do with what was on hand, sewing clothing from sail cloth, rendering fat for soap, but whatever could be gotten was needed. There was also the matter of information. Every major headquarters of Government had fallen, and there were only periphery reports of how much of what had been kept there had survived.
There were personal desires from both Dornkirk and Angevin, but they were not mentioned during the meeting of The Council. Surely everyone had personal desires and they could not go to everyone's home digging for treasured mementos. The decision was made to go to shops that held needed supplies in the streets right outside the Windworks first, that way, if anything went wrong, they would be close enough that Eitan could wrap them in a bubble of negation and they could just walk back. If everything went well, they could branch out their excursions from there.
