SteamNES

The Cakefarmer of the West

It was a fine day in Vilnius. Birds were chirping in the trees, soft yet refreshing zephyr blew from the beach cooling the sweats off Edward's brows. It was one of the rather cooler days in late August, but the sun's harsh heat seemed to remain for few more weeks into September.

Edward was busy plowing the land near his small abode off the shores. He had just arrived at Vilnius only a month before, and spent most of his money in obtaining this piece of land and a small house, just enough for himself and Johanna. He planned to live a simple life, but his so-called "noble" hands were not having a swell time adjusting to the conditions of rural life. He scratched his head at the irony of the thought for a moment.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Edward had wanted to finish plowing the field before dinner: pork and corn salad. He was living very modestly, compared to his dinners during his time in Vestlund, but he had no qualms about it. Someone had said, "love can conquer all", and Edward found it truer than he had ever before. But this living style, was too much a luxury to Johanna, who was the third daughter of a carpenter. She had none too much to live with, nor much to eat either, and idea of having meat for dinner everyday was completely irresponsible to her. Yet, she didn't protest when they had beef stew a day before.

Edward didn't bring a fortune with him whe they had fled Vestlund few weeks earlier, but he claimed that he had brought enough. By enough, Johanna had no idea how much, for she hadn't seen much money during her time in Vestlund anyways, but her faith in him was absolute. She was only happy that they were together. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but feel sorry for Edward for leaving his parents and life as a noble back in their homeland. She didn't have much sense of patriotism, but Edward did. He had always wanted to become a navy officer and end the Sverland's threat once and for all, for that was his fantasy, and indeed, leaving Vestlund was hard for him in the beginning. He had assured Johanna that he was happy with the decisions he had made, but she still felt that Edward missed his previous life surrounded by nobles, high government officials, royalties, pretty ladies, and admiration by many. And... his parents.

His parents were James and Florence Verstanheim were both from a noble family, perhaps but nobler than most nobles. The ancient history dates Verstanheim family back to the time when Sverland and Vestlund were fiercly at war with each other. Gideon Verstanheim, a common soldier in Vestlund Army, defended the King of Vestlund to his death, ending up killing fifteen Sverland's assailers by himself, and the Kind had made Verstanheim family noble, and provided the upbringings of Gideon Verstanheim's descendants. To this day, Verstanheim family had the trust of the present King and unmatched influence in northern region of Vestlund.

Edward met Johanna when he was a student in Royal College of Vestlund in a way he'd like to call it fate. And indeed, meeting randomly in the street was highly unlikely, but they had. One day, Edward was returning to his dorm after class, but his friends had persuaded him to go to a party at Felix Eisen's place. When they were riding to the mansion, suddenly, a girl appeared in front of the carriage. Forunately, the driver had managed to stop the horses at once, so the girl was unharmed, but she was frightened very much, and had dropped her jar of flour, which was her pay for the day of service at local merchant's. His friends jeered at and blamed her for their inconvenience, but Edward got out, helped her up, and took her home. It wasn't anything like that he fell in love with her that moment, but he was simply disgusted at the attitudes of his friends, and in order to silently protest their aloofness, he had helped her.

Few days later, the girl came to the Royal College looking for him to repay the debt. At first, Edward refused the payment, but the insistence of the girl compelled him to at least go to a dinner with her father. At the dinner, Edward was shocked to see the destitution, relatively speaking, compared to the lifestyle he was used to, of the common people and vowed to help the girl's family out, whom he was told by her father to be named Johanna. The love came later, Edward had told Johanna once, not at that point either. They spent many hours together, doing miscelleneous things, and as their friendship grew, so did their love. And as Doctor Hayden had once said in his lecture, as random fact of the day, a man couldn't be friend with a girl without a romantic interest. How true the Magister was!

However, their love was not to be, at least in face of his parents. As soon as he turned 19, a legal age of adulthood in Vestlund, he announced his intention to marry Johanna to his parents. But his parents had separate arrangement in their minds. They had wanted Edward to marry Lord Bauron's daughter, Elena. Of course, Edward protested, but his parents were relentless in their compulsion. They had tried to persuade him, rebuke him, guilt him, and every possible things to make him change his mind, but like his parents, Edward was unwilling to change his mind to marry Johanna.

Finally, his parents decided that Johanna was detrimental to their son's future, and hired a professional assassin to "take care of her". When Johanna was returning home from a day's work at the merchant's, she noticed that she was being followed by a strange man. At once, she changed her destination to the vestlund College, to Edward. It was when she thought she had managed to lose the assassin in the labrynth, or so it seemed to her, of the college, she was confronted by the very man she was avoiding. He drew his knife very quietly, and approached her with menacing grace, when Edward found her. He was told by his classmate that Johanna was on campus and rushed off to see her at once.

Edward had no weapon, but he had his brain. He, at once, knew that the assassin was hired by his parents, and told the assassin that he will return home and obey his parents if he didn't kill her. When the assassin scoffed and left his guard, Edward signaled Johanna to get out of the way, and engaged in melee with the assassin. But he was no match for the assassin. Right before he was going to be stabbed, the assassin fell dead, at the astonishment of Edward. Professor Hayden, who heard a scream, rushed to the scene to save the day with his friend named Raith Renson. Professor Hayden wasn't a fighter either, but his friend was the one who killed the assassin. Professor Hayden entrusted Edward and Johanna to his friend, and they all went to spend the night with a man named Raith Renson.

The next day, Edward was enraged at his parents and decided to leave Vestlund to a place where he could live with Johanna without anyone's disapproval. Hayden had anticipated this and warned Renson to return Edward home no matter what, but Renson had his agenda ("Because you wanted to," revealed Raith Renson when Edward asked him at Vilnius port).

Raith Renson, also a good friend of Johann Gestring, got a sum of money from both Hayden (turns out, Hayden later agreed with Renson) and Gestring, and gave it to Edward to start a new life elsewhere.

The couple stayed with Raith Renson for awhile, and after few months of Hayden's death, they embarked on the steamboat Edward had made toward Rossovy. But when they had arrived at Vilnius port, Raith Renson gave them a piece of paper, hastily written, saying, "Good luck in Rossovy," signed by Isaac Hayden. Raith, Edward, and Johanna stayed their first night in Rossovy at some inn, and Edward heard Raith talking with another man in a room, with great familiarity, from his room. Could that have been Isaac Hayden? He never found out, but Raith was gone the next morning as well. He wasn't sure on what to do next. How would he live in a strange land? What could he do? He could be a hunter. He could be a cakefarmer (he heard from Raith that there were facinating people in the wonderful land of the east who farmed cakes during his voyage). Or He could be a tutor.

He was on his own. No, he was with Johanna, both eager to star a new life now as lovers.

"Well, back to work," sighed Edward, as he resumed his plowing, looking forward to his dinner in few hours.
 
I want to rejoin this NES.

Name: Edward Verstanheim
Nationality: Vestlundic currently living in western coast city of Rossovy.
Bio: Born into a well-to-do noble family of Vestlund, he was brought up by many tutors and harsh parents. He was rather facinated with ships from young age and wanted to become an officer in Vestlund Navy. When Doctor Isaac Hayden created the VNS-Grenadier, he was inspired to create his own steamboat in homage to him. But when he was age 17, he met a girl named Johanna Eichels and fell in love. However, his parents were adamant in forbidding their marriage and even attempted to kill her by employing a professional. Incidentally, Edward was there to kill the assassin instead, and he ran away with Johanna to Rossovy, a country so large where they would go unnoticed, by his steamboat.
Technology: Naval Technology
Forces: 1 Steamboat
Welcome!

Name: Lee Garçon, Roi des Gosses, Empereur des orphelins, Règle des rues
Nationality: Gallic, living in the capital of Gallia.
Bio: Living on the streets of the capital of Gallia, he was a young boy eternally it seemed. Knowing no parents or authority, he grew up in anonimity, tagging along with the gangs of youth(Jeunesse Troupes) that rove the underbelly of the most beuatiful city in the world. He was only called "Boy" or in third person "The Boy". He took this dismissive and dersive term and adopted it as his name, and Le Garçon turned into Lee Garçon.

Around age 12(He estimated that to be his age), he noticed he had a propensity for science and technology. He could build gadgets and arms out almost nothing. Steam power drew him inexplicably. His meteoric rise was driven by his skill, and Lee became a Troupe leader, living like a King in his underworld tenement palace. Roi des Gosses, Empereur des orphelins, Règle des rues, that is what they called him. King of Kids, Emperor of Orphans, Ruler of the streets. With no regard for the politeness and honor of his aristocratic brethern he protected his own, and destroy his enemies.

Technology: Weapons
Forces: A stockpile of looted weapons and steamarms.
Welcome Swiss! By the way, the translations are so bad, they're good. :D

Veuillez économiser elle!
Literally: Want her save money!

I see you're saying 'You must save her!', but the misunderstanding is hilarious.
 
Okay, I'm in.

---

I don't know why I'm here. No, that would be incorrect. I DO know why I'm here, and I rue the knowledge.

Let me attempt to explain. Imagine for one moment some celestial body, huge in its' own right, hurtling through space. You have force. Mass. Gravity. And in your rocky magnitude, you are the self-crowned king of the universe.

And then...and...then, you approach a star. It isn't a question of resisting, or escaping the sheer power of it. The physics of the universe dictate your submission.

It doesn't matter how many trillions of tons you might have amassed in your billions of years of coalescence, for the cosmos have determined your orbit. You are a compliment to that vast luminescence which shines forth across the universe, simply because it is there. Questioning such an order is irrelevant, because the order of the universe is absolute.

And thus, here I stand.

In the following pages, I will attempt to convey my experiences with that vast intelligence. His name I cannot dictate, for your sake, poor, poor reader. Though I am a prisoner of fate, and my only likely audience within my poor cerebrum, I wish to spare you, imagined reader, the terror and wonder associated with merely invoking his presence. But for my own psychological maintenance, read on, I beg you. But do not seek us out. He is not to be trifled with.
 
Welcome!


Welcome Swiss! By the way, the translations are so bad, they're good. :D

Literally: Want her save money!

I see you're saying 'You must save her!', but the misunderstanding is hilarious.

I took six months of French and spend 1/12th of my year around my Quebecois friends. Babelfish is a must :P
 
The Flyer and Innovation from Unlikely Sources

The rebellion had started, the people were behind it. Vermeulen was a figurehead of the movement, having helped in the official first conflict. It was now a few days later, in the same workshop used to upgrade Boilerplate. Scattered around were books on all sorts of information. Gears, alternative fuels, aeronautics, or atleast a limited understanding of it, and so on. Leopold had been hard at work attempting to think up a new creation. Something that would surely help him win the coming war of independence. It took him a while but he had finally figured out his goal, he would need an airship. Similar in design to those produced by Cid Hibiki up north. He had never attempted something like this before, and lacked the resources to go full scale. He had an understanding of aeronautics and how steam turbines could be used spin a propeller. He also knew any such craft would need have short range in order to work, coal and water weighed so much. He knew oils could be burned to make steam but they were expensive and hard to come by. With the equipment, materials and understanding at his current disposal he had a chance to revolutionize, or maybe die trying too.

The goal was a single seat, combat, flying machine. Main mode of transport being a single steam driven propeller mounted behind the cockpit. The wings would be made in a triple decked fashion, as the books said this would make the most stable vehicle. Most of the crafts weight would be in fuels, a steady, automatic, gear driven feed of coal into a furnace under the engine. He calculated he could possibly get between fifteen and thirty minutes of solid flight depending on the amount of coal being fed into the boiler. Longer flights would mean slower, more unstable flying, while faster would burn the fuel source and possibly explode the craft. A risk he would have to take. It would carry no weapons, only a side arm if the pilot so chooses. The main reason for the craft would be reconnaissance and escaping. After a night of serious thinking and drawing of plans, Boilerplate offered his always encouraging words of wisdom.

“Sir, wouldn’t it be possible for you to crash, or be shot down? A single bullet would puncture the boiler and cause an explosion. How would you escape if you are a hundred feet above the ground?”

“Well, I have thought about that. While in the kings service I had access to many older books. There was a man, couple hundred years ago, the books never mentioned his heritage but I believe he was one of the first sparks. Definitely European. The reason I mention him is because some of his inventions seem to be showing up lately and working, the propeller seems to work fine, I am sure he was one of the first to mention this, as well as human flight.” Leopold rambled on, getting back on topic he looked through his books on the table and found an older one, seemed like a leather notebook of someone. “This is one of his ‘sketch pads’ as I call them.” he began flipping through pages.

“So he has something that would prevent you from falling to your death?” Boilerplate queried.

“This right here, just might work.” he showed a drawing of a curved device, made of cloth, strapped to a falling stone. It was slowing the dissent according to the drawings. “If I can make this and test it, most likely on you, and it works. I think I may have myself a fail safe.”

The night passed and the next morning Boilerplate was sent out to search for weavers and sewers. While Leopold worked in the shop with the blacksmiths to make parts for the flyer. Around nine in the morning Boilerplate returned with a couple women and a man. With a cart load of materials. They began to sew along Leopold’s designs. While they worked, so did he. The day was not wasted. In the afternoon the first ‘Slowy Down Sail Thingy’ was completed. Boilerplate was requested to use his steam pack to fly up to a height in which he would feel uncomfortable and then unfurl the fabric creation and hold on via the ropes for dear life. And in a very un-Vermeulen kind of way the first test was a success, Boilerplate glided down to the ground slow enough to not be broken into a million pieces, he also landed directly in a pile of hay and manure.

“Well, it works. Thanks for the test Boilerplate, now everyone I need about five more of those exactly the same, pack them in bags in a way that if worn I could cut it open with a knife and have it come out and work. If that is to much to ask, do it anyway.”

And the rest was now up to him, complete the flyer and hopefully test it without dieing. Something seemed rather unlikely about that going well.
 
The Royal Wedding

King Germaniski was wearing his usual red outfit and crown, he was standing next to the priest and tiredly awaited the bride. The Grand Hall was decorated with the best banners and decorations, red rectangle banners with the Eagle and Wolf as the embelm filled the rafters, 10 on each side of the Hall. Between each banner stood grand chandeliers that let out a nice red and orange glow making the banners seem much more redder. As the guests look down, they see grandly decorated windows and torchs. As they look down to floor level they can see a statue of the King, they can also see several eagles perched with their ever watchful eyes scanning the room. The wolves stand nearby with constantly moving eyes and an occasional growl here and there. Soldiers armed with pikes stand guard making a long aisle from the door to the priest. These soldiers are clad in armor with a red cloth over the armor, each pike has smaller version of the National flag on the edge. The guest watch in awe as the soldiers practice their arc, being extra carefull not to drop it too low and risk hurting the bride.

Octavian was growing tired by the second, he had loads of work to do and he still had to get his armies downsized and replaced by the new armored soldiers, he cant afford to wait for long. Yet the bride was taking her time making sure she looked her best, Octavian sighed, he just wanted to get this over with. Finally the loud room went quiet and all eyes but the soldiers gazed towards the door. The bride stood there in the traditional white gown, she was a beautiful women and Octavian forgot all about the fact that he was King and just watched as she stood at the door with her father next to her and mother behind. She stepped foward and the captain shouted a command and the pikes lowered, the guest held their breath as the bride marched pass them. Several attempted to reach pass the guards to touch her but each one was promptly slapped away by the guards, the only sound in the room was the call of the eagle as the animal became nervous in the quiet room. Surprisingly the wolves stayed quiet the whole time with not one growl or bark from them, Octavian told himself that he would kill that Eagle when the wedding was over.

Octavian braced himself as the bride stepped up the step and took her place next to Octavian. The father and mother both stood behind the bride and watched, the mother shedding tears of joy and the father watching in pride and achievement. The priest began the speech by clearing his throat, (insert wedding speech here), when he got the part where he says, "Is there anyone here who objects to this wedding?" One man raised his hand, but before any words left, he was detained by the soldiers and hauled out of the Hall. He should not have been standing next to a soldier in the first place. The speech continued. Finally the priest finished up with the rings and kiss and the entire Hall erupted in cheers and the organ began to play. Octavian sighed, finally he could head back to the office and begin running the nation, perhaps even assuming his husbandly duties. But first he must recieve the blessings of kings and nobles who came to the wedding.
 
To: Medland
From: Dr. Leopold Vermeulen


There is no need to escalate this into a violent war which you will lose. Release Bellovan along the the following borders and peace will remain.

steamnesbellovanpg1.png
 
To: Rebels
From: Medland

Your illegal rebellion will be put down.

@germanicus- Could the bride have a name?
 
I knew I forgot something. Was very into my story that I completely forgot about giving her a name. :mischief:

Hanna. (changed it, liked this name better.)

Long live the King and Queen! :king:
 
Gazon​

The Fronde St. Gang sat around in their headquarters, throwing a ball back and forth and waiting for their pickpocketeers to come back. Pierre sat upon a no doubt pilfred pillowed chair, ruling his minions like a Lord. Heading a street kids gang was a very luxurious profession.

Pierre sat and mused, tossing a bean filled sack a bit small than his fist up and down. He surveyed dank abode-an abandoned and decrepit Salon. He had maybe 14 kids in there at the moment, and 8 more out on patrol, begging and stealing and making general mischief. Pierre and the Fronders started as a small group, but the became powerful, noted and feared for their willingness to shed blood, accept losses and take on any challenge. They had even slayed an Agent de police, slashing his throat with a knife. There had been repercussions from the police after that-the death of 7 of his boys-but nothing too serious.

A boy ran up to Pierre, knelt(Pierre did love his power) and then stood and addressed him.

"Maître, I bring disconcerting news. The Gang of Lee Garçon has totally driven out the Nova Gang from its turf, and it controls all of the arrondissement that we do not!" The boy said in a rush and obvious panic

Pierre didn't like this upstart, but he was sure he would be killed in some power struggle. Apparently he treated his orphans with compassion and gave them undue trust and loyalty. Only a tyrant could survive the streets.

"I care not. We will deal with him when we must. Now go and fetch me and apple!"

The boy bowed and scurried out the front, locking the heavy iron door that Pierre had installed for security behind him
********​

Lee's gang stood in waiting. They were preparing for the attack. Already, Lee's advance force had taken out Pierre's beggers and rovers. Most were wounded, but two lay dead. It was a dog eat dog world out there, and if Lee was to make his arrondissement safe for his orphans, we would need to eliminate the Bloody Frondes. They were butchers. They had even killed a police man in cold blood-breaking the number one rule of orphan gangs. You could only kill a government official in self-defense. Anything else might bring the Gallic wrath upon them all!

Suddenly, a small boy scampered out of the iron door and locked it behind him. He turned and gasped as he saw the 16 gangmembers lying in wait to attack his own troupe. Jack jumped out and grabbed his mouth before he could scream. He put him in a sleeper hold and he slumped. Lee didn't know where or when Jack had learned his quickness and moves, but they were one of Lee's biggest assets.

Lee gestured for the door boys to move away then motioned for everyone to prepare. Lee then hauled up one of his greatest creations, he called it the steam cannon. It was a shoulder mounted cannon barrel that shot out steam bombs or fire bombs that Lee would construct. There was a steam bomb in this one, and aiming it too the immediate right of the re-enforced door, Lee screamed "COVER" and fired.

With a deafing boom, a huge hole was blown in the side of the abandoned salon. Alain threw a steam grenade into the hole, and following the bang and some screams, Lee shouted "FORWARD!" and his kids rushed in. Armed with knives, rifles and pistols, the pandemonium was deafening.

Lee put down his cannon and drew his pistol and his sword and rushed into the gap. The smoke and steam would have stung his eyes had he not been wearing thick goggles. The scene was of absolute chaos-orphans slaughtering orphans as if they were barbarians fighting over prime grazing fields. Lee saw one of his boys shoot one of Pierres point blank through the head, and he saw one of his female soldiers slice the throat of one kid and swing around to stab another in the heart. Lee himself parried a few blows and randomly fired a few shots, but he made his way to his target, like a hunter on the prowl.

Pierre was behind his cushy throne, firing haphazardly with a six shot that had emptied a while ago. Lee bounded forward, punching someone in his way in the nose and knocking him cold. The taller Pierre saw Lee and drew himself to his full height. He stepped from behind the throne and drew a long blade.

"You little sh*t. You think you can just come into my house and slaughter my kids?! I shall have your blood upon my blade. On guard!"

Lee just smiled and stuck his sword into his sheath.

"You do not deserve the honor of my knife. Burn for your sins!" Lee then reached into the brown satchel swung over his shoulder and pulled out a glass orb filled with a clear liquid with a flint button atop his. Pierre stared at the little leader.

"You would kill me with a ball of water?"

"No, Pierre, I immolate you with an orb of hellfire."

Lee pressed the button and a spark ignited the liquid. He threw it straight into Pierre and the fireorb shattered on his person. Pierre became a living, breathing, burning effigy. He fell and the fire spread to the wooden walls and engulfed his throne.

"YOUTH, lets leave this place. Kill all those who don't surrender, and take those who do back to our home. We shall care for their wounds there. The butcher is dead!"

And as they streamed out of the burning building and headed back to their home, they all shouted "Long live Le Garçon"
 
>_>

I have three tests in the next two days, yet I feel so bad about not writing anything.

V_V
 

Pierre was behind his cushy throne, firing haphazardly with a six shot that had emptied a while ago.


Based on this quote:

Only a few groups have access to rifles. Muskets are still far easier to manufacture in large numbers.

I have been under the working assumption that small arms (such as rifles, muskets, and pistols) are around Napoleonic era technology, and thus there are no six shots yet. I would appreciate some clarification on this issue, since my character has been developing some arms (anti-armor rifle, pepper-box, crude grenades) and I would be rather embarrassed if I’m busy inventing proto-revolvers when the full blown thing is distributed widely enough that a kid has access to them.
 
Based on this quote:



I have been under the working assumption that small arms (such as rifles, muskets, and pistols) are around Napoleonic era technology, and thus there are no six shots yet. I would appreciate some clarification on this issue, since my character has been developing some arms (anti-armor rifle, pepper-box, crude grenades) and I would be rather embarrassed if I’m busy inventing proto-revolvers when the full blown thing is distributed widely enough that a kid has access to them.

If that is the case I apologize. I was unaware and I will change it. Its not really needed in the story anyways...
 
Unfortunate reader,

You are perhaps not yet aware of the situation in which we find ourselves. If, moving beyond my initial stumbling introduction without gross incredulity, you have provided for me a captive audience, then you are surely fated to read on. It is a wicked fate that we are bound to, but surely being bound in company is infinitely preferable to being bound alone.

Still, I cannot help but feel that you will be drawn to him, as I was. Not like moth to candle, but as an eager reader to a very well-stocked but ultimately malevolent library. We are clearly both men of intelligence, but that is our folly: Were we not metal, the magnet of his brilliance would not pull us so.

I am not one of the Gifted. I thank Heaven each day that I live to see the dawn without the pall of insanity flickering across my vision. For that is what the 'Spark' truly is. There are many charlatans, and the vast majority of them brilliant mechanics or theorists. But a genius is not a Spark. A touch of ambition, perhaps, but not a touch of insanity.

Sanity, however, is a label invented by the unintelligent to control those whose minds have moved beyond. The reason for 'Insanity,' as it is commonly described, is that the minds of some have moved so far beyond human conventions that they become a danger to others. But the Gifted, while completely insane, are calculating, ruthless, and utterly rational. That is the root of their madness, and the core danger they represent. Once you detect this enigmatic presence, you would be wise to run. Most sane men do. But you, my dear reader, and I, are already rooted to this sad tale.
 
I'll quiting this... no motivation or reason or ambition at all... my one of you kill john and take his invention for expairiance or let him sell his rovers far and wide!
 
People don't get XP from killing each other... just a deep feeling of satisfaction. ;)

BTW, welcome Thlayli!
 
I'll quiting this... no motivation or reason or ambition at all... my one of you kill john and take his invention for expairiance or let him sell his rovers far and wide!

Rovers are useful for exploration, not so much wars.
 
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