The adventures of Basrig Slate and the Stonegear Enclaves continue! Missed the last chapter? Read the full lore HERE.
Klaxons rang and vents hissed deep within the Baruk Drugir’s shielded reactor room. Warning runes flashed an angry red and pressure gauges ruptured as safety relief valves spat scalding hot liquid on nearby mechanics. Frantic repair teams raced back and forth lugging heavy tool chests and crates full of repair materials all the while taking great swigs of Fire Whiskey from chilled flasks. Standing in the middle of it all, was High Oremaster Basrig Slate.
“Divert all available energy from secondary systems and reroute full power to the void coolers.” bellowed Slate. “And for the great book, get a Scrivener repair team to seal off this fluid leak before we’re all sucked out the bloody void!”
Peering around with bloodshot eyes, Slate looked nothing like he had 3 months prior. His once pristine armor shone a dull gray with its Silmarum power crystals barely visible under thickened layers of engine oil, rock dust and blood. His greatcloak was torn and patched, even his once mighty beard was matted and singed from neglect.
With a grimace, Slate stuffed a thick calloused finger in his ear and turned to find the source of the incessant alarm. “If I have to tell you one more bloody time to shut that klaxon off I’ll have your damn beard you tool nipper” yelled Slate to a young repair technician nearby. In his haste to obey, the technician sprinted toward a nearby control panel and accidentally crashed into a low hanging thermal control valve. The screaming klaxons cut off at once and the room went silent as a contented hum thrummed through the deck plating.
“Ha, I knew you had it in you laddie” laughed slate as he slapped the stunned technician’s back. “Now get to the tool room and find me a bi-direction check valve for the maintenance crew.”
Data scrolled on a nearby screen indicating the void coolers were only operating at 60% efficiency, but still managing to cool reactor core three to an acceptable level. Control valves could be heard hissing as actuators modulated the flow of cooling fluid to critical systems. With an audible grunt and another swig of fire whiskey, Slate thumped down from a pile of gears and stomped off towards an Autotech Scrivener who was neck deep in a pile of cabling and muttering obscenities under his breath.
“How’s it look down there?” Slate asked. “Any chance we’ll be able to move faster than a drunk void snail in the near future?”
“No.” Replied the heavily tool ladened figure without turning his back. “And with you standing there my thermal readings are off by ten degrees which could compromise the splicing procedure. In turn, this would lead to the void cooler catastrophically failing followed by a runaway thermal reaction that’ll…”
“Enough!” shouted Slate, “Just get the accursed thing working so we can get a move on, I want to be planetside in less than four hours.” Under his breath Slate grumbled, “Damn wirebeard” and kicked a loose nut into the messy pile of wires in front of him.
With a start, the Scrivener quickly stood up as half fused wires, broken cable ties and debris cascaded around him. A thick face shield protected goggled eyes and a writhing mass of semi-intelligent tendrils formed a thick mechanical beard that twisted and turned in fluid patterns.
“If you wish to kill us”, said the figure holding up two sparking wires. “Simply connect these together and you’ll short out the environmental system. If instead you wish to regain motive power I’d suggest you leave the repair work to me”. With a huff he turned around muttering about lack of respect and loudly began to strip wires with an automated tool.
Slate was about to reply when his comm-receiver chimed indicating a priority 2 message had arrived. With a glance he quickly scanned the messages’ contents and, with a toothy grin, stomped off towards the loading platforms.
As he wound his way through the various habitation decks, processing facilities and storage areas, Slate took in the sight of his once mighty flagship. Hasty repair work was evident around every corner. Spliced wires stuck out at odd angles and entire wall plates had been replaced with thick metal mesh and vacuum sealant. Soot covered most surfaces, evidence of massive fires that swept through many decks during the anomaly collapse. Even basic corridor lighting was mostly ancient lanterns scavenged from the hold to augment the failing synth-lights flickering in the stale recycled air.
Reaching the loading docks, Slate moved towards a group of Stonegear Warriors who were piling equipment onto battered looking Hematite Class Ore Haulers. Cargo crates full of ropes, pulleys and mining tools were hauled up and locked into place on the vehicles exterior. Mission critical items such as extra ammunition, heavy weapons and provisions were stored inside its armored shell. Great gouts of steam belched from cooling vents and Silmarum power crystals glowed brightly as the vehicle’s engine rumbled with power. Stepping around toothed metal wheels, Slate headed for the Foreman who was giving orders to nearby warriors and directing the loading operation.
Stomping his boots as a form of salut, Foreman Filgrum Brimgold greeted the High Oremaster and turned his attention away from his men.
“Status report” said Slate without preamble.
“Ore Hauler one, two and six are fully loaded and Granite squad is ready for planetary landing.” Filgrum responded.
Moving to stand in the way of a leaking hydraulic hose that was dribbling viscous fluid onto the floor, he continued “The techs have looked over the vehicles and while there are a few slight issues, nothing should be overly detrimental to the mission.
Slate chuckled and slapped a thick hand on the Ore Haulers side. “These beasts’ll take more than a few dents to bring ‘em down, that’s for sure. Plus, I’ve decided to come with you so as not to miss out on all the fun”
Bringing his flask to his lips, Slate looked out beyond the hanger doors and stared out at the dull gray planet behind him. With a belch that speckled his beard with droplets of fire whisky he said “Let’s see what we can make of it” and trudged up the nearest boarding ramp.