A Fistful of Copper Being a tale of magical wonder, chilling courage, despicable cheerfulness, mechanical monstrosities, eldritch engines, the

occasional damsel in distress, and, yes, -money-. [I] WHAT in bloody Gaia's name is that thing!? The corporal stared incredulously from his vantage point in the watchtower at what seemed to be a shambling mountain of loose metal parts and streaming smoke. It emitted the most atrocious noise. Even from high up in the tower, he could hear a loud clanking, a constant screech not unlike nails being dragged across a chalkboard and a jarring jangle of loose metal. Twin plumes of smoke, a darker shade of mustard, streamed from the creature, forming a thick cloud in its wake. By the corporal's estimation, the damned thing was still about two miles distant. And closing, seemingly faster than it looked. Being on the border, especially along the wilder stretch of the Frontier, vigilance and paranoia went hand in hand and was regarded as not only an occupational hazard but as a rather positive trait. With that in mind, the corporal rang the alarm bell like an eggnog-tanked maniac on Yuletide. The still outpost suddenly sprung into life, like an overturned anthill. Troopers streamed from the barracks built into the walls of the pass. A slim, hooded figure raised its arms and a warm glow wrapped around the tips of its arms as the walls of the pass melted and flowed to form a ring of high battlements across the pass' mouth. An echoing, thunderous roar came from the stables. Its doors swung open on clockwork arms, revealing a pair of colossal, darkly armoured knights. Thick smoke the colour of nightshade belched from long, single brass stacks. Their bull-sized, hammer-like fists were sheathed in crackling arcs of bluish lightning and underslung with short barrelled brass contraptions that reeked of sulphur. Their armour was covered in engravings of storm clouds and forked lightning, which emitted an eerie blue glow. The two Warjacks strode smoothly down the road, gears and hydraulic pistons whirring in a purr. A robed figure - begoggled, armoured and wielding a long pike - stood between the two Warjacks as they came to a halt in a cloud of dust and smoke. Dwarfed by the machines, he would've been easily overlooked. He ran a gauntleted hand through his messy mane. As the troopers piled into fortified bunkers and reinforced trenches, and scrambled up to man the completed battlements, the hooded one floated over them and landed just behind Warjacks' master. Pulling back her hood, long auburn hair flowed in waves across her shoulders and down her back. Her fringe covered the upper half of her face, leaving only her pert little nose, cheeks and full lips visible. She cocked her head slightly. Can you hear that, Gavain? Just above the cacophonous din of the approaching creature, a high-pitched, shrill whistling could be heard. And it sounded cheerful. In fact, much too cheerful. Despicably so, in Gavain's estimation.

Nodding, he replied, Yes, I do, milady, that I do. Looking at him, she stated, Sounds rather familiar, doesn't it. Before he could reply, a loud gasp echoed across the pass as both of them felt a sudden distortion of the air and a displacement of sound in front of them. They found themselves staring at the huge bulk of the creature draped with a large and very filled mesh net of metal bits and pieces just inches from their very noses. They took a quick step back as the Warjacks took a step forward, flexing their fists. A hearty laugh was heard as something dropped to the ground in front of the pair. They both blinked at a small child, wearing a wide brimmed hat and clad in a leather jacket, grease stained vest and baggy overalls bloused into shin-high boots, stood before them bearing an ear to ear grin. He tipped the brim of his hat. "Top o' the a'ternoon to yer both, Sur Gavain, Mistress Saphira." A collective shout, equal parts dismay and relief, rang out and echoed down the pass. "THE HALFLING?!"