SteamNES
- Thread starter Lord_Iggy
- Start date
das
Regeneration In Process
Then you're good. I think I can speak for everyone that we feared it was carmen or something. 
flyingchicken
Deity
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2007
- Messages
- 3,783
I intentionally don't put drawings, diagrams, or even detailed descriptions so that everyone has his/her own interpretation and visualization of the goings-on. Also, I intended to write from characters' PoVs after ther "setup" descriptions, so a character's opinions reflect that character's background and experiences.
I think I can leave it at that. [/JUSTIFICATION(?)]
Hey, Lord_Iggy, are the samurai already abolished or are they still around? I'm interested in writing about samurai strongholds and resitance ala The Last Samurai, only they're fighting steam powered soldiers, quadruped walkers, and other vehicles instead of just rifle-armed levies. Also, I'll be depicting the samurai caste as the evil bastards that they were.
I think I can leave it at that.
[/JUSTIFICATION(?)]Hey, Lord_Iggy, are the samurai already abolished or are they still around? I'm interested in writing about samurai strongholds and resitance ala The Last Samurai, only they're fighting steam powered soldiers, quadruped walkers, and other vehicles instead of just rifle-armed levies. Also, I'll be depicting the samurai caste as the evil bastards that they were.
LittleBoots
The Bloody Banner
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2006
- Messages
- 1,979
hahahah. No, he's more or less intelligent
Entirely obsessed with linguistics. His name is some garbage in Sanskrit or some other language that isn't Greek, so naturally I don't remember well. Should get along fine here. Will probably stick around longer than the medievalists who only made an appearance for BirdNES...
das
Regeneration In Process
The next several weeks went by industriously. After appropriating, with the Shah's consent, assistance and encouragement, several medium-sized buildings at the outskirts of the city (I was informed these were former workshops turned storing houses; but apparently they were also used as dwellings by all kinds of low-lifes until we evicted them), I - and a few suspiciously silent officers Baba Khan had assigned to me (they were compliant, but in their eyes I have read familiar scorn and disgust; fair enough) - have overseen the transformation of those somewhat dilapidated buildings into a proper manufacturing centre, as per my instructions. The Shah's generosity was great as always; we were allowed to conscript a large amount of labourers, from hordes of carriers that delivered tools to the workshop itself and various supplies and materials to the storage to several craftsmen that mended the structures themselves. Aside from the workshop and the storages, I also planned to establish several laboratories in the future; sadly, the equipment needed was somewhat more difficult to procur. We did, however, set up a worker barracks; these would be useful for the assorted assistants, guards and other labourers that might be of some use. I had charged one of the less suspicious-looking officers, named Khaydar, with maintenance of the manufactory in my absence and appointed him commander of the guards at the complex. I myself still lived at my own (the Chief Minister having formally gifted me the entire palace in congratulation for my new appointment) quarters, which fortunately were not all that far away from the complex; I also preferred to work on my newer designs there, in solitude. Furthermore I often had to go to the Palace, or to visit other ministers; I was now a genuine courtier, and that brought with it certain necessities and obligations. The Minister of Works, Muraz Khan, also helped me recruit assistants and apprentices from amongst the more promising of the younger craftsmen, a process that, without the extensive help of the minister and his many underlings, would have been hellishly difficult and impossible. And then there was Baba Khan; every three days at the least, he had me come to his own, lesser, palace and talk.
We talked on many topics. As one of the Shah's most important lieutenants and military advisers, he consulted with me on matters related to military technology, both conventional and my own. He was, ofcourse, also responsible for the protection of the complex. Having established good rapport with him, I felt that I could rely on him as one of my main allies at the court, and a very valuable one as well. Last but not least, he was in charge of the investigations after the first assassination attempt. As such, he moved heaven and hell in his attempts to find out those ultimately responsible; but in the end, all he managed to discover was that the assassin, a young man of apparently Rabiyyan features, was first seen in the city two days before the attempt, had come by the western route (i.e. from Duria) and stayed at a small inn where none knew much of anything about him either.
But it appeared quite unlikely that anyone would travel from another country just to kill me off his own volition. Someone of wealth and power had to be behind this.
I immediately suggested that it could be the government of Duria or Rabiyya, or some other country in the region; but that was not only impossible, it was even unmotivated, as Baba Khan was quick to point out. Who was I, back then? But a court entertainer and inventor; the Rabiyyans apparently had some knowledge of people with my Gift, from what I last heard they might even have had reasons to fear such people by now, yet how would they even discern that I had such a Gift? As if there were not many charlatan "inventors" in the world! Another clockwork man was scarcely worth sending an assassin after. So, no, foreign governments had nothing to do with it. Baba Khan had asked if I had any enemies in Europe; I explained that I did, but none of them knew that I was here, they hadn't even any ways of knowing that I was alive, and in any case they were neither powerful nor inventive enough to send a Rabiyyan assassin to Khur.
That, apparently, narrowed it down to what I feared and in a way hoped for from the start: it had to be some of the locals that disliked the influence I seemed to have attained over the Shah. They could, presumably, have hired the man in Duria and then sent him after me; then again, how did we even know that he came from Duria? He might have come from the west to elude detection, or alternatively they might have sent someone to Rabiyya to recruit an assassin there. The men of the court were wealthy, powerful and all too eager to go to great lengths over an important matter.
That said, Baba Khan had initially suspected this to be his bitter exiled brother, Ali Khan, who easily might have tried to kill me. I was disinclined to believe that; would he not have wanted to kill either the Shah or Baba Khan instead? Ah, replied Baba Khan, but my brother is a coward and a jackal; he would not dare attack the powerful themselves, but he would gladly attack those less well guarded of their allies. Still, asked I, why me? Baba Khan looked at me grimly, but at the same time was clearly embarrassed; there are, he said, some people whose loyalties Ali Khan would have won in such an underhanded manner, people with whom he may well have negotiated this beforehand. I later understood.
---
It was a Khuri summer in Shemran; the city was hot, humid and smelled wretchedly, for it was an exceptionally heated day. Even the bazaars suffered noticeably. Still, heat could never get in the way of something truly important and sacred. In the workshop, al-Shamdli, though he was sweating and though his flask of water was already half-empty, ran about and shouted, calling for labourers to bring more boxes of military surplus and berating a clumsy apprentice. While the complex was set up and running earlier and easier than might have been expected, actual work was going more slowly, in part due to difficulty of attaining the exact needed supplies and in part because the apprentices just were not getting it. In the end, al-Shamdli still ended up doing much of the work; that slowed things down, ofcourse, but still there already were some twelve Janissaries and three Bombardiers in apparent acceptable working condition, stored elsewhere. Little by little, the basic structures of the clockwork men of varying shapes were being completed nonetheless; this and the external elements, such as actual blades and such, were also done well enough by the apprentices, but the actual clockwork - the most important and most difficult part - they just could not seem to do.
And so al-Shamdli went from one "skeleton" to another. Exasperated, he had to re-do the insides of the machines, ordering the apprentices to just keep bringing him the gears. Finally he sat down and immersed himself in the work, ignoring the heat and the fact that, despite having a house full of servants, he still managed to avoid eating in the morning.
Outside, other fanatics of a different cause likewise ignored all physical suffering. For months now, the pale, somewhat monstrous and inhuman Northerner oppressed their souls, hearts and minds, if not their bodies. The Shah, bewitched, granted him more and more wealth and power; and the Northerner, accompanied by soldiers who either knew no better or were forbidden to act by their hearts, took more and more from the people. He was, the word went, a practitioner of sihr, who twisted nature out of an evil will, and constructed shambling monstrosities of men. What for? The people who gathered outside of the workshop to the words of the mullahs and their own common rabble-rousers did not know; but it was clear that from such follies nothing good ever came out, not for them in any case.
They came from the bazaars and the inns to the mosques and the meeting-places; and from there they rushed, arming themselves with what they could find, towards the root of all evil. Some recited from the Quran, some made speeches of their own, but most people shouted, murmured or whispered curses and battle-cries. Few fell away from the gathering mobs; far more have joined it instead, as it went. Guardsmen in the streets have sometimes tried to intercede or intercept; but most stood aside and a few even joined it as well. And in the end, it was not the largest mob in the history of Shemran; far from it; but it still was enough to fill a few streets when its vanguard approached the loathsome devilish complex.
There, they were greeted by a dozen guardsmen in dark green uniforms. The guards assigned by Baba Khan stood steadfast. The crowd stopped at the doors of the workshop, and was not allowed to go farther. It went silent, after a while; then one man, a mullah, shouted: "You are our people! Our quarrel is not with you, it is with the kaffir! Let us through!"
The guards looked at each other; for a moment some of them were in doubt. They remained silent; the doors remained closed.
"Let us through!" - shouted the mullah again. "Let us through!" - chanted the crowd. "We are here for al-Shamdli!" - shouted someone - "Death to the dog!"
The crowd was stopped, but was not motionless; it grew all the more agitated once again, and at the same time it kept growing: more and more people joined in, and those from behind tried to push their way forward, and so eventually the ones at the forefront too were pushed - to step closer and closer, to edge towards the guardsmen, who looked on, coldly, but perhaps also a bit beggingly, for they were none the more pleased with the existence of one al-Shamdli, but were ordered to protect him.
---
And he, al-Shamdli, heard the half-muted shouts from outside while finishing the clockwork, but ignored them, even as some of the apprentices and other assistants began to look around in anxiety. It was only when the Janissary was completed and outfitted with blades that he finally gave heed to the apprehension and concerns of the others in the workshop.
"What is it?" - he asked abruptly after a minute's silence.
None dared speak at first, then one of the apprentices, who stood near the door, said: "There is a crowd. They say they have come for you."
"What?"
"A crowd came for you."
Al-Shamdli instinctively grasped for his sword; this time it was there. He walked up to the apprentice.
"Meaning?" - he asked, knowing the meaning full well.
"They came to kill you!" - confirmed the apprentice, breaking down somewhat - "And... and us."
Al-Shamdli nodded.
"Very well, I suppose they did." - he muttered and looked at the trembling apprentice - "Calm down! This is... fine, this is absolutely fine..." - he stretched the word, then realised that he himself was being nervous now - "Go! Go arm yourself or something, and tell the others to do so as well... Call the guardsmen... Wait! Bring, bring some of the Janissaries, two or three will suffice, they should be more than enough to scare them off even if they do break in."
"Everyone!" - he shouted more loudly as he stepped back to the middle of the workshop, where the tables with some spare parts and tools stood - "Arm yourself, this mob wouldn't dare attack us then."
"I do not think so." - said Khaydar calmly, having already arrived at al-Shamdli's request with the rest of the guardsmen - "They will fight."
"It is merely a mob!"
"A Khuri mob."
"Very well," - conceded al-Shamdli - "I suppose you know them better; still, I am sure we could fight them off."
"Probably." - agreed Khaydar.
"I think we should open the doors and sally out, then." - said the foreigner, after thinking things over for a bit - "I do not want to have a siege here."
"No, that would be madness; there are more of them. We have more chances here."
"You have soldiers out there."
"They might be enough, and even if not, we need as much time as possible; this crowd will only be dispersed when the Shah takes action, all we could do is wear it out."
"The Shah will know?" - asked al-Shamdli, then caught himself on the stupidity of the question - "Yes, ofcourse, I suppose he knows. Hard to move a large mob through the city without the report reaching the palace by now."
"Quite."
"So, we are trying to wear them out?"
"Either that or bleed them white." - commented Khaydar and allowed himself a somewhat unpleasant smile.
---
The crowd was coming closer and closer. The guardsmen looked at each other, now seriously concerned. Finally, a superior officer amongst them shouted an order.
They discharged their rifles into the air, just above the heads of the men in the forefront; some did not quite manage to go above. And then the crowd charged, towards the solid, but somewhat thin wooden door. The guards fired again, they hit several targets, but their shouts were ignored. They fixed bayonets and stood. The crowd no longer was intimidated, and in such uncomfortable close combat even bayonets soon turned out to be useless; men with knives, and axes, and hammers easily beat the men with rifles, swarming over them, and hitting, and hitting, and chanting: "Jahat!" "Death to the dog!" "We come for al-Shamdli!"
The guardsmen remained silent; they knew they could not retreat, they knew they could not give in, they knew they could not win - but they did know that they could die. And so they died, victims of the pent-up rage and wrath of the people. At the gates themselves, some large man, possibly a carpenter or a butcher, but likewise possibly someone else entirely, raised an even more humongous axe; without words the people stepped back as he chopped away at the door, quietly swearing and cursing and staring down the hated piece of wood erected to protect the kaffir al-Shamdli.
The door was cut open. The people charged into the breach. But those inside had time to prepare; and so, as a result of some discussion between an unexpectedly skeptical Khaydar and a disturbingly enthusiastic al-Shamdli, the people were greeted by a thin-limbed metal monstrosity that was full of blades of all kinds. Something was ticking within it. The courageous axeman spat and hit the machine's head with force, leaving an imprint. He was then cut into gory pieces of flesh as the machine rapidly charged out, cutting away at everything it could reach - or couldn't, as throwing knives flew into the middle of the crowd.
Khaydar looked with some disapproval, but was clearly impressed. Al-Shamdli allowed himself an unusual influx of emotions, grinning widely and barely restraining himself from laughing; he was happy to see that his brainchild worked as intended. His smile disappeared abruptly when the machine, deep in the crowd and assailed from all parts, stopped and fell. Shouts of panic were replaced by those of celebration; the old chants once more were heard; and the crowd charged once again into the breach. Al-Shamdli took out his sabre; Khaydar and the guardsmen followed, and as they stepped back al-Shamdli found himself following them. He was no longer in control.
We talked on many topics. As one of the Shah's most important lieutenants and military advisers, he consulted with me on matters related to military technology, both conventional and my own. He was, ofcourse, also responsible for the protection of the complex. Having established good rapport with him, I felt that I could rely on him as one of my main allies at the court, and a very valuable one as well. Last but not least, he was in charge of the investigations after the first assassination attempt. As such, he moved heaven and hell in his attempts to find out those ultimately responsible; but in the end, all he managed to discover was that the assassin, a young man of apparently Rabiyyan features, was first seen in the city two days before the attempt, had come by the western route (i.e. from Duria) and stayed at a small inn where none knew much of anything about him either.
But it appeared quite unlikely that anyone would travel from another country just to kill me off his own volition. Someone of wealth and power had to be behind this.
I immediately suggested that it could be the government of Duria or Rabiyya, or some other country in the region; but that was not only impossible, it was even unmotivated, as Baba Khan was quick to point out. Who was I, back then? But a court entertainer and inventor; the Rabiyyans apparently had some knowledge of people with my Gift, from what I last heard they might even have had reasons to fear such people by now, yet how would they even discern that I had such a Gift? As if there were not many charlatan "inventors" in the world! Another clockwork man was scarcely worth sending an assassin after. So, no, foreign governments had nothing to do with it. Baba Khan had asked if I had any enemies in Europe; I explained that I did, but none of them knew that I was here, they hadn't even any ways of knowing that I was alive, and in any case they were neither powerful nor inventive enough to send a Rabiyyan assassin to Khur.
That, apparently, narrowed it down to what I feared and in a way hoped for from the start: it had to be some of the locals that disliked the influence I seemed to have attained over the Shah. They could, presumably, have hired the man in Duria and then sent him after me; then again, how did we even know that he came from Duria? He might have come from the west to elude detection, or alternatively they might have sent someone to Rabiyya to recruit an assassin there. The men of the court were wealthy, powerful and all too eager to go to great lengths over an important matter.
That said, Baba Khan had initially suspected this to be his bitter exiled brother, Ali Khan, who easily might have tried to kill me. I was disinclined to believe that; would he not have wanted to kill either the Shah or Baba Khan instead? Ah, replied Baba Khan, but my brother is a coward and a jackal; he would not dare attack the powerful themselves, but he would gladly attack those less well guarded of their allies. Still, asked I, why me? Baba Khan looked at me grimly, but at the same time was clearly embarrassed; there are, he said, some people whose loyalties Ali Khan would have won in such an underhanded manner, people with whom he may well have negotiated this beforehand. I later understood.
---
It was a Khuri summer in Shemran; the city was hot, humid and smelled wretchedly, for it was an exceptionally heated day. Even the bazaars suffered noticeably. Still, heat could never get in the way of something truly important and sacred. In the workshop, al-Shamdli, though he was sweating and though his flask of water was already half-empty, ran about and shouted, calling for labourers to bring more boxes of military surplus and berating a clumsy apprentice. While the complex was set up and running earlier and easier than might have been expected, actual work was going more slowly, in part due to difficulty of attaining the exact needed supplies and in part because the apprentices just were not getting it. In the end, al-Shamdli still ended up doing much of the work; that slowed things down, ofcourse, but still there already were some twelve Janissaries and three Bombardiers in apparent acceptable working condition, stored elsewhere. Little by little, the basic structures of the clockwork men of varying shapes were being completed nonetheless; this and the external elements, such as actual blades and such, were also done well enough by the apprentices, but the actual clockwork - the most important and most difficult part - they just could not seem to do.
And so al-Shamdli went from one "skeleton" to another. Exasperated, he had to re-do the insides of the machines, ordering the apprentices to just keep bringing him the gears. Finally he sat down and immersed himself in the work, ignoring the heat and the fact that, despite having a house full of servants, he still managed to avoid eating in the morning.
Outside, other fanatics of a different cause likewise ignored all physical suffering. For months now, the pale, somewhat monstrous and inhuman Northerner oppressed their souls, hearts and minds, if not their bodies. The Shah, bewitched, granted him more and more wealth and power; and the Northerner, accompanied by soldiers who either knew no better or were forbidden to act by their hearts, took more and more from the people. He was, the word went, a practitioner of sihr, who twisted nature out of an evil will, and constructed shambling monstrosities of men. What for? The people who gathered outside of the workshop to the words of the mullahs and their own common rabble-rousers did not know; but it was clear that from such follies nothing good ever came out, not for them in any case.
They came from the bazaars and the inns to the mosques and the meeting-places; and from there they rushed, arming themselves with what they could find, towards the root of all evil. Some recited from the Quran, some made speeches of their own, but most people shouted, murmured or whispered curses and battle-cries. Few fell away from the gathering mobs; far more have joined it instead, as it went. Guardsmen in the streets have sometimes tried to intercede or intercept; but most stood aside and a few even joined it as well. And in the end, it was not the largest mob in the history of Shemran; far from it; but it still was enough to fill a few streets when its vanguard approached the loathsome devilish complex.
There, they were greeted by a dozen guardsmen in dark green uniforms. The guards assigned by Baba Khan stood steadfast. The crowd stopped at the doors of the workshop, and was not allowed to go farther. It went silent, after a while; then one man, a mullah, shouted: "You are our people! Our quarrel is not with you, it is with the kaffir! Let us through!"
The guards looked at each other; for a moment some of them were in doubt. They remained silent; the doors remained closed.
"Let us through!" - shouted the mullah again. "Let us through!" - chanted the crowd. "We are here for al-Shamdli!" - shouted someone - "Death to the dog!"
The crowd was stopped, but was not motionless; it grew all the more agitated once again, and at the same time it kept growing: more and more people joined in, and those from behind tried to push their way forward, and so eventually the ones at the forefront too were pushed - to step closer and closer, to edge towards the guardsmen, who looked on, coldly, but perhaps also a bit beggingly, for they were none the more pleased with the existence of one al-Shamdli, but were ordered to protect him.
---
And he, al-Shamdli, heard the half-muted shouts from outside while finishing the clockwork, but ignored them, even as some of the apprentices and other assistants began to look around in anxiety. It was only when the Janissary was completed and outfitted with blades that he finally gave heed to the apprehension and concerns of the others in the workshop.
"What is it?" - he asked abruptly after a minute's silence.
None dared speak at first, then one of the apprentices, who stood near the door, said: "There is a crowd. They say they have come for you."
"What?"
"A crowd came for you."
Al-Shamdli instinctively grasped for his sword; this time it was there. He walked up to the apprentice.
"Meaning?" - he asked, knowing the meaning full well.
"They came to kill you!" - confirmed the apprentice, breaking down somewhat - "And... and us."
Al-Shamdli nodded.
"Very well, I suppose they did." - he muttered and looked at the trembling apprentice - "Calm down! This is... fine, this is absolutely fine..." - he stretched the word, then realised that he himself was being nervous now - "Go! Go arm yourself or something, and tell the others to do so as well... Call the guardsmen... Wait! Bring, bring some of the Janissaries, two or three will suffice, they should be more than enough to scare them off even if they do break in."
"Everyone!" - he shouted more loudly as he stepped back to the middle of the workshop, where the tables with some spare parts and tools stood - "Arm yourself, this mob wouldn't dare attack us then."
"I do not think so." - said Khaydar calmly, having already arrived at al-Shamdli's request with the rest of the guardsmen - "They will fight."
"It is merely a mob!"
"A Khuri mob."
"Very well," - conceded al-Shamdli - "I suppose you know them better; still, I am sure we could fight them off."
"Probably." - agreed Khaydar.
"I think we should open the doors and sally out, then." - said the foreigner, after thinking things over for a bit - "I do not want to have a siege here."
"No, that would be madness; there are more of them. We have more chances here."
"You have soldiers out there."
"They might be enough, and even if not, we need as much time as possible; this crowd will only be dispersed when the Shah takes action, all we could do is wear it out."
"The Shah will know?" - asked al-Shamdli, then caught himself on the stupidity of the question - "Yes, ofcourse, I suppose he knows. Hard to move a large mob through the city without the report reaching the palace by now."
"Quite."
"So, we are trying to wear them out?"
"Either that or bleed them white." - commented Khaydar and allowed himself a somewhat unpleasant smile.
---
The crowd was coming closer and closer. The guardsmen looked at each other, now seriously concerned. Finally, a superior officer amongst them shouted an order.
They discharged their rifles into the air, just above the heads of the men in the forefront; some did not quite manage to go above. And then the crowd charged, towards the solid, but somewhat thin wooden door. The guards fired again, they hit several targets, but their shouts were ignored. They fixed bayonets and stood. The crowd no longer was intimidated, and in such uncomfortable close combat even bayonets soon turned out to be useless; men with knives, and axes, and hammers easily beat the men with rifles, swarming over them, and hitting, and hitting, and chanting: "Jahat!" "Death to the dog!" "We come for al-Shamdli!"
The guardsmen remained silent; they knew they could not retreat, they knew they could not give in, they knew they could not win - but they did know that they could die. And so they died, victims of the pent-up rage and wrath of the people. At the gates themselves, some large man, possibly a carpenter or a butcher, but likewise possibly someone else entirely, raised an even more humongous axe; without words the people stepped back as he chopped away at the door, quietly swearing and cursing and staring down the hated piece of wood erected to protect the kaffir al-Shamdli.
The door was cut open. The people charged into the breach. But those inside had time to prepare; and so, as a result of some discussion between an unexpectedly skeptical Khaydar and a disturbingly enthusiastic al-Shamdli, the people were greeted by a thin-limbed metal monstrosity that was full of blades of all kinds. Something was ticking within it. The courageous axeman spat and hit the machine's head with force, leaving an imprint. He was then cut into gory pieces of flesh as the machine rapidly charged out, cutting away at everything it could reach - or couldn't, as throwing knives flew into the middle of the crowd.
Khaydar looked with some disapproval, but was clearly impressed. Al-Shamdli allowed himself an unusual influx of emotions, grinning widely and barely restraining himself from laughing; he was happy to see that his brainchild worked as intended. His smile disappeared abruptly when the machine, deep in the crowd and assailed from all parts, stopped and fell. Shouts of panic were replaced by those of celebration; the old chants once more were heard; and the crowd charged once again into the breach. Al-Shamdli took out his sabre; Khaydar and the guardsmen followed, and as they stepped back al-Shamdli found himself following them. He was no longer in control.
das
Regeneration In Process
This was not the first fight in Gregore Angarine's life; that would be many years ago, at the Academie Gallaise, where, like any self-respecting student, he had involved himself in fencing, and to the surprise of all excelled. A quiet, socially-awkward young man, he was rarely good at conversation or in argument (not for the lack of strong opinions or fine points, but for the unwillingness to bother getting them across); yet when fighting, he was able to be as decisive and brave as necessary and more. Some have suggested that he enlist in the military; but his mother was opposed, and the Gallian military was, in any case, fairly difficult to get into, especially given that Gregore was neither very tall nor exceptionally healthy. Still, the ability to focus in life-threatening situations served him well in his later life.
Nor was this the first time he had to fight off an angry mob, ofcourse; he seemed to recall (yes, in the middle of a battle - that did not interrupt his concentration as he dodged a heavy hammer and impaled a crazed-looking knife-wielding man that jumped right in front of him) a small Alleman city, somewhere in Kirchen, where he first tried to establish himself as an inventor. After his lightning conductor half-accidentally resulted in a major lightning storm and a city-wide fire, the desperate citizens attempted to remove him (even though he already removed the conductor) without waiting for the confusing system of municipal bureaucracy to sort things out. His fencing skills - combined with the conductor - saw him through that day, though it was a pretty small mob and after it was dispersed he had to swallow his pride and quietly move elsewhere. He was not as fortunate on a few other occasions; oftentimes he had to run away through or from a mob, usually being saved by his gadgets, his sword and his luck (not necessarily in this order), but sometimes having to fake his death as well. Incidentally, this also means that this was not the first time he had to run away from the mob, though strictly speaking this was a tactical retreat.
However, it must be noted that previously, he fought alone or assisted just by the Mamluk, whom he had to rebuild several times; on one occasion, he was also helped by a friend, but said friend perished from his injuries soon after, and Gregore decided to avoid making friends when possible. Needless to say, battles against such odds rarely came out well. Now, this mob assailing the workshop was ofcourse much bigger than he was used to. But the odds? They were actually more in his favour than ever before, much more so. Incidentally, the stakes were higher too; Gregore knew that this time he could not, and would not, run away. He was in the middle of a large city, and he was a man of considerable notoriety; he angered many. This was not a provincial incident, but a major disaster in the middle of an imperial capital. And this was the first time he made such progress; he had his own palace here, not to mention the manufactory complex, and a field for a polygon. And last but not least - thought he as another guardsman near him fell down cringing in pain and the survivors, including himself and a likewise-uninjured Khaydar, backed towards a door - he now had something of an army.
Not just the guardsmen. He also had the machines. So as they fell back into a corridor and the crowd attempted to follow, another Janissary was activated and, after letting the last guardsman pass, moved into the crowd. As soon as it advanced far enough, another went in. And another. And a third after that; al-Shamdli, who hoped that this would be enough for extreme circumstances, did not bother ordering more to be brought in. He now doubted the wisdom of that decision, but this should, for now, be quite enough.
He looked around, ignoring the frenzied shouts that came from the workshop (a belated regret did come to him: what will they do with the equipment, and the machines that they hadn't finished yet?! But he tossed aside such petty thoughts soon enough; nothing was irreparable except for death and genuine defeat) and sighed with relief: most of the apprentices and assistants seemed to be alive and most of those alive were not particularly injured, though one had lost an arm and another had collapsed just now from blood loss; fortunately, another, who seemed to know what he was doing, was quick to bind up his comrade's wounds. The guardsmen had taken more casualties of all kinds, though Khaydar, who was in the thick of it, still was mostly unhurt. He was one of Baba Khan's officers; apparently, he had earned that position well enough, though al-Shamdli was unsure if it was a happy accident or a result of a genuine meritocratic policy. In any case, he was evidently not wrong to trust him.
"What now?" - the inventor asked the officer - "Do we keep retreating?"
"Yes, ofcourse."
"Hmph." - said al-Shamdli somewhat disappointedly - "But what if they just pin us to a wall?"
"Inshallah." - responded Khaydar in a calm, almost serene tone that at the same time precluded all further discussion. The mob kept pouring in, advancing even over the mutilated corpses of their fellows, and the machines were once again being overwhelmed. One has already fallen, another ominously stopped in a corner, and the third one was being overwhelmed. The survivors braced themselves, as the infuriated mob, all the more inflamed by thirst for vengeance, began to advance into the corridor...
---
Their fates had been predetermined far from that place, in a palace in a different part of the city. There, Baba Khan, upon hearing of the mob, stood up and, enraged, shouted: "A horse! Bring me a horse, and have my personal guard ready to follow. Also!" - he turned towards another adjutant that followed him as he ran out of his reading room, jatagan in hand - "Contact the garrison, tell them to drown this scum in blood! They will pay for their impudence!"
Baba Khan and his guardsmen charged through the streets on horse-back, scaring away the onlookers. The garrison approached by two different streets at a slower pace; but as Baba Khan roared and slammed into the rear-end of the mob near the workshop the garrison men were quick to join in. After chopping some unfortunate soul in half near the door, Baba Khan jumped down from his horse and, after a brief look at the destruction around him and within the workshop, shouted at the top of his lungs: "In the name of the Shah, stand down and disperse before I rend your insolent dog-flesh into pieces! You cut down my men, you horde of thieves! You wrecked this workshop, it is under my protection! Treacherous coward women dog scum! You..."
"It is you who should step down, for you have been blinded!" - shouted an old man.
Baba Khan stared him down; the mullah refused to step away, and instead looked sternly at the prince.
"I do not wish to spill the blood of a holy man." - Baba Khan finally said, calmly - "But that is what I will do unless you all go away now! Al-Shamdli was hired by the Shah, he is doing work beneficial to the realm and he is under my protection. I swore as much, and though I may rot in hell I will not go back on an oath."
"Your brother would not have chosen an oath given to an infidel over the will of Allah and the joy of the Hereafter, Ba-"
"My brother is not here!" - interjected Baba Khan, once more furious - "He is not! I care not... Go away!"
"No."
"Bah!" - he said, and in frustration hit the mullah with a sword, then looked at his men. The garrison troops seemed somewhat aghast; the guardsmen were, as always, collected and calm. Good. The crowd was already dispersed here, only a few remained within; Baba Khan motioned for the garrison to stay where it was and led the dismounted guardsmen through the workshop; there was a fair amount of people left there, but they all quickly bowed down when they noticed Baba Khan's face. Good.
Some people ran out of the corridor; a few still remained, in pain but alive, there. After them, stepped out Khaydar; his uniform was bloodied, but he did not appear wounded. He saluted.
"Well, Khaydar?" - asked Baba Khan, once more collected and polite.
"Your highness?" - asked Khaydar, even more calmly.
"Where is he?"
"Al-Shamdli?"
"Who else?!" - shouted Baba Khan suddenly.
"He is in there."
Baba Khan stepped into the corridor, jumping over a twitching man.
"Wise one?" - he asked, then finally noticed al-Shamdli. He was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious, and there was a scar on his right cheek; also, a distinct wound on his side, but not a particularly deep one. The guilty axe lied nearby, as did the guilty and, fortunately (for him), dead corpse. Aside from that, all seemed fine - "Good. I want him delivered to my... no, his palace and granted medical attention. I will come there too."
---
My injuries were light, and the damage to the workshop was quite repairable. Still, I cannot say that it was a particularly pleasant experience, apart from that eternal thrill provided to us by a battle for our very survival. In any case, the actual ramifications of this event disturbed and worried me greatly, especially when Baba Khan - who had personally delivered me to my palace while I was unconscious, as always taking a great interest in my survival - explained that this was what he had mentioned earlier. The rioters were led by the lesser of local mullahs first and foremost, but from there the strings led to the chief mullah of Shemran, Mushtaid Aga Zilla. The Shah and Baba Khan, as the latter explained, were not particularly liked by Mushtaid Aga Zilla and the ulema, the clerical elite, in general. None of this dynasty were, except for Ali Khan, the exiled prince. Needless to say, all of Ali Khan's conspiracies had drawn on his popularity in clerical circles, and so Baba Khan was convinced, absolutely convinced that his brother was behind it all. Sadly, his death was simply unacceptable; the Shah was still opposed to it, for whatever reason. Baba Khan departed, promising to try and persuade the Shah to at least put Ali Khan under arrest; but nothing came out of that, as far as I know.
Myself, I was not quite persuaded that it had to be Ali Khan; Baba Khan's prejudice against his brother was both natural and obvious. I kept this to myself, but I suspected that this chief mullah might have been acting of his own accord - apparently my actions were a major irritant to the devout, and that was probably reason enough, as was the fact that the Shah was an enemy; thwarting him in such a way may very well have occurred as a good idea to this Mushtaid. Alternatively, I had my own suspects: the Chief Minister, Ali Hassan Soltan, from whose generosity I had benefited, seemed to be a much more dubious figure than I thought at first, upon some investigation assisted by one of my apprentices, a man whose brother had participated in a coup attempt a decade or so ago and who had barely escaped punishment, not to mention a man who, unlike many other local statesmen, had a very good rapport with the chief mullah. Then again, the Minister of Security, Nasar Mirza Yakub, was distinctly suspicious as well; when I have met this strangely-emaciated man, he was quite quick to pin the blame for the incident on Baba Khan, who supposedly wished to prove himself to the Shah and myself by protecting me in case of the attack's failure. When, a few days later, one of my apprentices tried to stab me (but was quickly shot in the head by Khaydar), Nasar Mirza Yakub pointed in the same direction again, noting that Baba Khan doubtless envied the attention I received from the Shah. This sort of behaviour is inherently untrustworthy, though Nasar Mirza Yakub, as perhaps befits a man of his rank, was something of an enigma; perhaps he genuinely believed what he said, or perhaps he had no idea what had happened but simply wanted to destroy Baba Khan. Still, I avoided telling the prince about my suspicions; from what I have since heard of his actions during this riot, he was perhaps more prone to rash action than I had thought at first.
In the meantime, other matters preoccupied me. Firstly, the workshop had to be repaired; fortunately, as already said, the actual damage was surprisingly light. A new, stronger door was built. The Janissary design performed... well enough, but some adjustments had to be made for superior protection, as well as maneuverability. The main problem, however, was that of cadres; or, rather, there were several problems. Although I believe that I did, at least, gain some respect in the eyes of the guardsmen, the apprentices had, if anything, grown more antagonistic; as mentioned above, one of them went as far as to try and kill me. Attempts to replace our casualties ran into a distinct difficulty; evidently I had not at all gained in popularity after the incident, and while the court nobles and the ministers were more or less supportive and sympathetic to my face, the common folk now both hated and feared me. The workshop, a site of immense bloodshed, was cursed; therefore almost no-one wanted to work there, no matter the pay. Still, there were always some people desperate or fearless enough; and so we did manage to replenish our numbers. Sadly, there was another problem as well; no matter how I tried to teach them, the apprentices just were not able to grasp the intricacies of the clockwork. Possibly I am to blame as well, as I am no teacher; but many of them have grasped most everything else easily enough after I helped, so I was forced to conclude that they simply lacked my Gift, and that my Gift was more important than I ever thought.
This led me to consider a new option, however, a one that might assist not just my present work with the Shah but also benefit my long-term plans in certain ways...
---
"This is interesting," - said the Shah, reclining in the Porcelain Throne.
Al-Shamdli waited patiently.
"It might be a bit... imprudent, though, this soon after the tragic events."
"Perhaps," - replied al-Shamdli - "But perhaps this is precisely the most opportunate time; those opposed to your wise decision have been caught off balance, so to speak, after this incident. They would not be able to oppose further actions effectively this soon; even if they dare, their actions will probably be easy enough to preempt before further harm is done."
"Yes, yes... But tell me: are you sure that our apprentices would not suffice? Perhaps there are some with your... "Gift" as you call it, in Khur?"
"Oh, quite possibly there are, but we have no way of knowing. It is best to try and hire those that have already surfaced. As to the ones you have given me; well, I am sure they are talented, but not in this sphere. To me, they are useless."
"I have discerned as much..." - said the Shah - "Hmm. Actually, very interesting report... you say that you mean to have them contribute their own inventions?"
"Indeed, o wise Shah-en-Shah."
"And not assist with yours? I must admit, I had hoped to have far more clockwork men at my disposal by this time."
"I have no doubt that the ones that I do produce will suffice. And as I have pointed out, at least one of them definitely does have some interesting designs of his own. Very... useful designs. And I think they would be much better at making their own devices rather than following my own designs; this is as much a craft as an art, one might say."
"Truly?" - smiled the Shah - "Fair enough. I do approve the project, though I am somewhat dubious: they might not want to come here themselves, after all."
"That is quite alright, at the very least it still never hurts to try, and it is always useful to know what exactly is going on in such nearby parts of the world. As well as what exactly those "Sparks"... as the Anglian newspapers call them... are up to."
"Good, then." - the Shah applied his signet to the document al-Shamdli had given him - "You are appointed Minister of Artifiction and granted the right to hire Gifted inventors to work for the good of the realm, in addition to other rights as befits a minister."
"Thank you, o generous Shah-en-Shah."
"Think nothing of it." - said the generous Shah-en-Shah of Khur and non-Khur, Abbas Shah - "And incidentally; I would like to know when you would be ready for a demonstration on the polygon. It might be that a war will come even before this year is over."
---
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Sieko (OR: Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab Al-Bayyati) [1] (OR: Dr. Leopold Vermeulen) (OR: Rowan Becket)
Greetings.
News of your talents in regards of mechanical works have reached the glorious imperial city of Shemran, where, ahead of many countries even in Europe, those in power have realised the potential usefulness of people with your - and mine - Gift in matters of state. With the permission of our enlightened Shah, I was authorised to contact you and offer you an opportunity to work in Khur. You would be granted quarters, privileges and a considerable payment (specifics are up to negotiation); in exchange, you will be required to submit to me and the Shah your assorted designs, and produce, as per the Shah's order, such contraptions of your or other design as may be deemed useful for the realm, as well as assist with matters of general industrial and technological innovation as advisers and specialists.
Please send your reply with the deliverer of this message.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli.
---
[1] On the perils of contacting people after doing only the minimal research, or not even that.
Nor was this the first time he had to fight off an angry mob, ofcourse; he seemed to recall (yes, in the middle of a battle - that did not interrupt his concentration as he dodged a heavy hammer and impaled a crazed-looking knife-wielding man that jumped right in front of him) a small Alleman city, somewhere in Kirchen, where he first tried to establish himself as an inventor. After his lightning conductor half-accidentally resulted in a major lightning storm and a city-wide fire, the desperate citizens attempted to remove him (even though he already removed the conductor) without waiting for the confusing system of municipal bureaucracy to sort things out. His fencing skills - combined with the conductor - saw him through that day, though it was a pretty small mob and after it was dispersed he had to swallow his pride and quietly move elsewhere. He was not as fortunate on a few other occasions; oftentimes he had to run away through or from a mob, usually being saved by his gadgets, his sword and his luck (not necessarily in this order), but sometimes having to fake his death as well. Incidentally, this also means that this was not the first time he had to run away from the mob, though strictly speaking this was a tactical retreat.
However, it must be noted that previously, he fought alone or assisted just by the Mamluk, whom he had to rebuild several times; on one occasion, he was also helped by a friend, but said friend perished from his injuries soon after, and Gregore decided to avoid making friends when possible. Needless to say, battles against such odds rarely came out well. Now, this mob assailing the workshop was ofcourse much bigger than he was used to. But the odds? They were actually more in his favour than ever before, much more so. Incidentally, the stakes were higher too; Gregore knew that this time he could not, and would not, run away. He was in the middle of a large city, and he was a man of considerable notoriety; he angered many. This was not a provincial incident, but a major disaster in the middle of an imperial capital. And this was the first time he made such progress; he had his own palace here, not to mention the manufactory complex, and a field for a polygon. And last but not least - thought he as another guardsman near him fell down cringing in pain and the survivors, including himself and a likewise-uninjured Khaydar, backed towards a door - he now had something of an army.
Not just the guardsmen. He also had the machines. So as they fell back into a corridor and the crowd attempted to follow, another Janissary was activated and, after letting the last guardsman pass, moved into the crowd. As soon as it advanced far enough, another went in. And another. And a third after that; al-Shamdli, who hoped that this would be enough for extreme circumstances, did not bother ordering more to be brought in. He now doubted the wisdom of that decision, but this should, for now, be quite enough.
He looked around, ignoring the frenzied shouts that came from the workshop (a belated regret did come to him: what will they do with the equipment, and the machines that they hadn't finished yet?! But he tossed aside such petty thoughts soon enough; nothing was irreparable except for death and genuine defeat) and sighed with relief: most of the apprentices and assistants seemed to be alive and most of those alive were not particularly injured, though one had lost an arm and another had collapsed just now from blood loss; fortunately, another, who seemed to know what he was doing, was quick to bind up his comrade's wounds. The guardsmen had taken more casualties of all kinds, though Khaydar, who was in the thick of it, still was mostly unhurt. He was one of Baba Khan's officers; apparently, he had earned that position well enough, though al-Shamdli was unsure if it was a happy accident or a result of a genuine meritocratic policy. In any case, he was evidently not wrong to trust him.
"What now?" - the inventor asked the officer - "Do we keep retreating?"
"Yes, ofcourse."
"Hmph." - said al-Shamdli somewhat disappointedly - "But what if they just pin us to a wall?"
"Inshallah." - responded Khaydar in a calm, almost serene tone that at the same time precluded all further discussion. The mob kept pouring in, advancing even over the mutilated corpses of their fellows, and the machines were once again being overwhelmed. One has already fallen, another ominously stopped in a corner, and the third one was being overwhelmed. The survivors braced themselves, as the infuriated mob, all the more inflamed by thirst for vengeance, began to advance into the corridor...
---
Their fates had been predetermined far from that place, in a palace in a different part of the city. There, Baba Khan, upon hearing of the mob, stood up and, enraged, shouted: "A horse! Bring me a horse, and have my personal guard ready to follow. Also!" - he turned towards another adjutant that followed him as he ran out of his reading room, jatagan in hand - "Contact the garrison, tell them to drown this scum in blood! They will pay for their impudence!"
Baba Khan and his guardsmen charged through the streets on horse-back, scaring away the onlookers. The garrison approached by two different streets at a slower pace; but as Baba Khan roared and slammed into the rear-end of the mob near the workshop the garrison men were quick to join in. After chopping some unfortunate soul in half near the door, Baba Khan jumped down from his horse and, after a brief look at the destruction around him and within the workshop, shouted at the top of his lungs: "In the name of the Shah, stand down and disperse before I rend your insolent dog-flesh into pieces! You cut down my men, you horde of thieves! You wrecked this workshop, it is under my protection! Treacherous coward women dog scum! You..."
"It is you who should step down, for you have been blinded!" - shouted an old man.
Baba Khan stared him down; the mullah refused to step away, and instead looked sternly at the prince.
"I do not wish to spill the blood of a holy man." - Baba Khan finally said, calmly - "But that is what I will do unless you all go away now! Al-Shamdli was hired by the Shah, he is doing work beneficial to the realm and he is under my protection. I swore as much, and though I may rot in hell I will not go back on an oath."
"Your brother would not have chosen an oath given to an infidel over the will of Allah and the joy of the Hereafter, Ba-"
"My brother is not here!" - interjected Baba Khan, once more furious - "He is not! I care not... Go away!"
"No."
"Bah!" - he said, and in frustration hit the mullah with a sword, then looked at his men. The garrison troops seemed somewhat aghast; the guardsmen were, as always, collected and calm. Good. The crowd was already dispersed here, only a few remained within; Baba Khan motioned for the garrison to stay where it was and led the dismounted guardsmen through the workshop; there was a fair amount of people left there, but they all quickly bowed down when they noticed Baba Khan's face. Good.
Some people ran out of the corridor; a few still remained, in pain but alive, there. After them, stepped out Khaydar; his uniform was bloodied, but he did not appear wounded. He saluted.
"Well, Khaydar?" - asked Baba Khan, once more collected and polite.
"Your highness?" - asked Khaydar, even more calmly.
"Where is he?"
"Al-Shamdli?"
"Who else?!" - shouted Baba Khan suddenly.
"He is in there."
Baba Khan stepped into the corridor, jumping over a twitching man.
"Wise one?" - he asked, then finally noticed al-Shamdli. He was lying on the floor, apparently unconscious, and there was a scar on his right cheek; also, a distinct wound on his side, but not a particularly deep one. The guilty axe lied nearby, as did the guilty and, fortunately (for him), dead corpse. Aside from that, all seemed fine - "Good. I want him delivered to my... no, his palace and granted medical attention. I will come there too."
---
My injuries were light, and the damage to the workshop was quite repairable. Still, I cannot say that it was a particularly pleasant experience, apart from that eternal thrill provided to us by a battle for our very survival. In any case, the actual ramifications of this event disturbed and worried me greatly, especially when Baba Khan - who had personally delivered me to my palace while I was unconscious, as always taking a great interest in my survival - explained that this was what he had mentioned earlier. The rioters were led by the lesser of local mullahs first and foremost, but from there the strings led to the chief mullah of Shemran, Mushtaid Aga Zilla. The Shah and Baba Khan, as the latter explained, were not particularly liked by Mushtaid Aga Zilla and the ulema, the clerical elite, in general. None of this dynasty were, except for Ali Khan, the exiled prince. Needless to say, all of Ali Khan's conspiracies had drawn on his popularity in clerical circles, and so Baba Khan was convinced, absolutely convinced that his brother was behind it all. Sadly, his death was simply unacceptable; the Shah was still opposed to it, for whatever reason. Baba Khan departed, promising to try and persuade the Shah to at least put Ali Khan under arrest; but nothing came out of that, as far as I know.
Myself, I was not quite persuaded that it had to be Ali Khan; Baba Khan's prejudice against his brother was both natural and obvious. I kept this to myself, but I suspected that this chief mullah might have been acting of his own accord - apparently my actions were a major irritant to the devout, and that was probably reason enough, as was the fact that the Shah was an enemy; thwarting him in such a way may very well have occurred as a good idea to this Mushtaid. Alternatively, I had my own suspects: the Chief Minister, Ali Hassan Soltan, from whose generosity I had benefited, seemed to be a much more dubious figure than I thought at first, upon some investigation assisted by one of my apprentices, a man whose brother had participated in a coup attempt a decade or so ago and who had barely escaped punishment, not to mention a man who, unlike many other local statesmen, had a very good rapport with the chief mullah. Then again, the Minister of Security, Nasar Mirza Yakub, was distinctly suspicious as well; when I have met this strangely-emaciated man, he was quite quick to pin the blame for the incident on Baba Khan, who supposedly wished to prove himself to the Shah and myself by protecting me in case of the attack's failure. When, a few days later, one of my apprentices tried to stab me (but was quickly shot in the head by Khaydar), Nasar Mirza Yakub pointed in the same direction again, noting that Baba Khan doubtless envied the attention I received from the Shah. This sort of behaviour is inherently untrustworthy, though Nasar Mirza Yakub, as perhaps befits a man of his rank, was something of an enigma; perhaps he genuinely believed what he said, or perhaps he had no idea what had happened but simply wanted to destroy Baba Khan. Still, I avoided telling the prince about my suspicions; from what I have since heard of his actions during this riot, he was perhaps more prone to rash action than I had thought at first.
In the meantime, other matters preoccupied me. Firstly, the workshop had to be repaired; fortunately, as already said, the actual damage was surprisingly light. A new, stronger door was built. The Janissary design performed... well enough, but some adjustments had to be made for superior protection, as well as maneuverability. The main problem, however, was that of cadres; or, rather, there were several problems. Although I believe that I did, at least, gain some respect in the eyes of the guardsmen, the apprentices had, if anything, grown more antagonistic; as mentioned above, one of them went as far as to try and kill me. Attempts to replace our casualties ran into a distinct difficulty; evidently I had not at all gained in popularity after the incident, and while the court nobles and the ministers were more or less supportive and sympathetic to my face, the common folk now both hated and feared me. The workshop, a site of immense bloodshed, was cursed; therefore almost no-one wanted to work there, no matter the pay. Still, there were always some people desperate or fearless enough; and so we did manage to replenish our numbers. Sadly, there was another problem as well; no matter how I tried to teach them, the apprentices just were not able to grasp the intricacies of the clockwork. Possibly I am to blame as well, as I am no teacher; but many of them have grasped most everything else easily enough after I helped, so I was forced to conclude that they simply lacked my Gift, and that my Gift was more important than I ever thought.
This led me to consider a new option, however, a one that might assist not just my present work with the Shah but also benefit my long-term plans in certain ways...
---
"This is interesting," - said the Shah, reclining in the Porcelain Throne.
Al-Shamdli waited patiently.
"It might be a bit... imprudent, though, this soon after the tragic events."
"Perhaps," - replied al-Shamdli - "But perhaps this is precisely the most opportunate time; those opposed to your wise decision have been caught off balance, so to speak, after this incident. They would not be able to oppose further actions effectively this soon; even if they dare, their actions will probably be easy enough to preempt before further harm is done."
"Yes, yes... But tell me: are you sure that our apprentices would not suffice? Perhaps there are some with your... "Gift" as you call it, in Khur?"
"Oh, quite possibly there are, but we have no way of knowing. It is best to try and hire those that have already surfaced. As to the ones you have given me; well, I am sure they are talented, but not in this sphere. To me, they are useless."
"I have discerned as much..." - said the Shah - "Hmm. Actually, very interesting report... you say that you mean to have them contribute their own inventions?"
"Indeed, o wise Shah-en-Shah."
"And not assist with yours? I must admit, I had hoped to have far more clockwork men at my disposal by this time."
"I have no doubt that the ones that I do produce will suffice. And as I have pointed out, at least one of them definitely does have some interesting designs of his own. Very... useful designs. And I think they would be much better at making their own devices rather than following my own designs; this is as much a craft as an art, one might say."
"Truly?" - smiled the Shah - "Fair enough. I do approve the project, though I am somewhat dubious: they might not want to come here themselves, after all."
"That is quite alright, at the very least it still never hurts to try, and it is always useful to know what exactly is going on in such nearby parts of the world. As well as what exactly those "Sparks"... as the Anglian newspapers call them... are up to."
"Good, then." - the Shah applied his signet to the document al-Shamdli had given him - "You are appointed Minister of Artifiction and granted the right to hire Gifted inventors to work for the good of the realm, in addition to other rights as befits a minister."
"Thank you, o generous Shah-en-Shah."
"Think nothing of it." - said the generous Shah-en-Shah of Khur and non-Khur, Abbas Shah - "And incidentally; I would like to know when you would be ready for a demonstration on the polygon. It might be that a war will come even before this year is over."
---
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Sieko (OR: Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab Al-Bayyati) [1] (OR: Dr. Leopold Vermeulen) (OR: Rowan Becket)
Greetings.
News of your talents in regards of mechanical works have reached the glorious imperial city of Shemran, where, ahead of many countries even in Europe, those in power have realised the potential usefulness of people with your - and mine - Gift in matters of state. With the permission of our enlightened Shah, I was authorised to contact you and offer you an opportunity to work in Khur. You would be granted quarters, privileges and a considerable payment (specifics are up to negotiation); in exchange, you will be required to submit to me and the Shah your assorted designs, and produce, as per the Shah's order, such contraptions of your or other design as may be deemed useful for the realm, as well as assist with matters of general industrial and technological innovation as advisers and specialists.
Please send your reply with the deliverer of this message.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli.
---
[1] On the perils of contacting people after doing only the minimal research, or not even that.
LittleBoots
The Bloody Banner
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2006
- Messages
- 1,979
From: Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab Al-Bayyati, Jizyat of the Eastern Sandsea
To: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
Having considered your offer carefully, al-Shamdli, I have decided to accept. I shall arrive by my own transport with the next two weeks.
In Allah,
Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab Al-Bayyati
OOC: BTW, the al-Shamdli that died in my story was (quite obviously) not das' al-Shamdli. I merely appropriated the title (as it is apparently a [vaguely derogatory?] word for "Northerner" or "Foreigner") to use as a slur for some low-level spark merchant.
To: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
Having considered your offer carefully, al-Shamdli, I have decided to accept. I shall arrive by my own transport with the next two weeks.
In Allah,
Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab Al-Bayyati
OOC: BTW, the al-Shamdli that died in my story was (quite obviously) not das' al-Shamdli. I merely appropriated the title (as it is apparently a [vaguely derogatory?] word for "Northerner" or "Foreigner") to use as a slur for some low-level spark merchant.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
hahahah. No, he's more or less intelligent
Will probably stick around longer than the medievalists who only made an appearance for BirdNES...
Lurker's Comment: His name's probably Mummitrollus Awsomus Newbecus.
das
Regeneration In Process
Well, that's a relief.
I think that might have been the cause of some earlier confusion, but it's not as though someone else (as discussed in the story) couldn't have sent an assassin after an all-too-prominent foreigner.
As to whether or not it is derogatory, I don't suppose it is so inherently (not as far as my character knows, anyway), but it certainly could be used like that as well.
Abaddon
Deity
Iggy, i know you asked me to join this, but with so many NES, i will not have the time!
Also, it seems to be doing just fine without me anyway
Also, it seems to be doing just fine without me anyway
Fuschia
A Little Odd
Well, I was going to do another story, but I guess the amount of time I take to do something doesn't really matter much at the moment. Unlike all those Anglicans, I don't have a pile of enemies at my door...
das
Regeneration In Process
You do have a job offer, though.
Fuschia
A Little Odd
I know. I am currently thinking about how to reply to that...
LittleBoots
The Bloody Banner
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2006
- Messages
- 1,979
Well, that's a relief.
I think that might have been the cause of some earlier confusion, but it's not as though someone else (as discussed in the story) couldn't have sent an assassin after an all-too-prominent foreigner.
I only realized that might have been confusing approximate 30 seconds before I posted that. Ah, well, mea culpa. As a representative angry Rabiyyani xenophobe, I declare that the nation of Khur mocks you without your knowledge
carmen510
Deity
Actually teh1337noob and Donald are good too, with their orders. The good thing is that teh1337noob doesn't talk much, although he DOEs make random orders, such as the rain of chicken butts.
I only originally told teh1337noob, one year before the rest. Then, I told Donald and Motherland, and suddenly like 6 people joined. Can't blame me for that.
Abaddon
Deity
Oh i want to! I jsut don't have enough creative juices left after BjNES.. an all the other nes starting!
August, Year One
Failing to produce anything practical for the Royal College of Vestlund, Professor Isaac Hayden has been sacked. While he has a comfortable amount of money, he will need to find new work soon- a difficult prospect for a theoretical physicist.
Upon the confrontation of Doctor Leopold Vermeulen and Father Leonardo, civilized discussion quickly ended. Learning that Vermeulen was a heathen, Leonardo sent his inquisitors on the offensive. The Doctor barely managed to escape, ducking behind Robert, triggering some of the defensive, systems, then being driven to safety by Boilerplate, who had remained in the vehicle. Vermeulen took a sword slash to his right arm and two musket shots in the right leg. Leonardo lost two Inquisitors, one impaled by Robert and the other crushed beneath its treads. Two other Inquisitors suffered minor damage, which was repaired.
Vermeulen then traveled through Sitala to Gallia, to accept the invitation of King Geoffrey I and work as a teacher/advisor/inventor for the child, and the country.
Leonardo went on to replace Vermeulen as northwestern Rabiyya’s resident European Madman, but in a far worse way. He has, operating out of an unknown base, kidnapped dozens of Rabiyyans, performing horrific experiments on them, and more notably, their brains, trying to convert them to the one true faith. In cities which put up a strong resistance, he simply performed terror raids at night. Some inquisitors have been lost, but all losses have been replaced with the ‘help’ of the local populace.
Peter Williams’ power in Anglia continues to grow, as his railroad Monopoly continues to spread through Anglia, and even into Scotia, where Williams early Steamhulks have helped to put down a highlander uprising. Despite this, his extortionate prices began to anger high government. Prime Minister Lawrence Dryden came to discuss this and other things with Williams, only to be assassinated, blame to be placed on one Robert Jennings, who was killed before a proper trial could take place. While officially, Peter Williams is innocent, many people suspect that he had something to do with the assassination more than just witnessing it.
The Deputy Prime Minister, Winston Brown, became convinced that the Sparks would be the destruction of the nation, set out to kill the only other known Anglian Spark, one Ryan Amedeus. A rather awkward meeting between the two resulted in a change of heart on Brown’s side. He agreed to fund Amedeus’ Air Travel initiative, in an attempt to break Peter Williams’ monopoly.
Peter Williams, always a manipulator fired Amedeus and set out to influence the new Prime Minister’s first election, to protect his cash cow. Brown was re-elected in a minority government, and is working to proceed with the plans.
Doctor Akira Light has finally had some success with his Steam Armour, after several months of continued failures, and many severely scalded test subjects. The new armour is extremely heavy, bulky, and uncomfortable, but it functions. Meanwhile, his Harvester Machine has been sold in numerous regions in Nihojon, with the help of Lord Seichiro Yamamoto.
Gathering together a large group of Pjolak youth, Octavian Germanicus has gained a great number of Henchmen and women, with whose aid he has begun to construct an army of Legionairres. While his production methods are extremely effective, the large majority of new Legionairres are rather shoddily constructed, especially when compared to the original two built by Octavian himself. A choice must be made between Quality and Quantity. In an unrelated note, rumours of Germanicus’ plans have begun to rise to the attention of a few of the nobility and government.
Lord Gabriel Blacktyde is experiencing high employee turnover, but he has a new Steamjack to make up for it. Additionally, the construction of the Sea Turtle, a relatively small, armoured, steam-driven ship, has been completed in his drydocks. Test runs are due to begin soon.
Nikolai Dante, while retaining many of his vices in full force, has begun working on new armoured, self-powered, metal-treaded war wagons (coincidentally developed by Doctor Leopold Vermeulen only a few months earlier) for the Czar’s military. Redemption, he hopes, is on the way.
Allying himself with Lady Lucretia Collatinus, Julius Magnus has acquired the resources to continue his search for the Philosopher’s Stone. Moving from lead to lead (some better than others, as his forehead can attest to), he is currently preparing to travel to a distant, unknown city named ‘Appeleia’, and building an aircraft suitable for such a trip.
William Weir, having more difficulty selling his ideas to the Anglian government under Winston Brown’s government, has nonetheless continued his work, most notably designing the ‘Bucket’ armoured war walker. Work on a rumoured ‘super weapon’ continues.
Gregore Angarine, becoming Chief Artificer of the Court of Shah Abbas of Khur, set out to build a mechanical army for his patron. The job has been beset with difficulties- an inability for many to imitate his work, the general public’s hatred of him, and a mob’s attack on his factory. While it was fought off, the mood of the public has turned strongly against al’Shamdli and, to a lesser extent, the Shah who supports him. Suggesting that more of the Gifted should be brought to Shemran, he has sent out messages to many other people known to have similar skills with technology.
Jeremy Sieko has worked to improve the Dragonfly with the new ‘Mark II’ model. His current job, however, is to create a working ‘Tube Network’, a system of pneumatic pipes used to propel hollow cylinders at very high speeds. Technical difficulties abound, though he has managed to make a small system capable of sending message capsules around a building.
Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab al-Bayyati has been traveling Rabiyya, spreading the alarm about the huge danger presented by the evil taint of foreign technologists. In most cases, his calls have fallen upon deaf ears. Rabiyya has still not made a major reaction, despite the atrocities committed in the northwest. However, Prince Atah, a former pupil of his, has begun to listen with avid interest.
Cid Hibiki has been very busy working on his airships. A few explosive mishaps took place, most of which have been fixed (fire-retardant sealants, factories located away from populated areas). His Airships have begun to go on sale. While this has negated his monopoly, it has provided him with a healthy profit.
Rowan Becket, a previously unknown Anglian Spark, has arrived in Mavadi to start a new life. He has recently received a letter from a man in a similar situation, containing an invitation to Khur.
Map
Failing to produce anything practical for the Royal College of Vestlund, Professor Isaac Hayden has been sacked. While he has a comfortable amount of money, he will need to find new work soon- a difficult prospect for a theoretical physicist.
Upon the confrontation of Doctor Leopold Vermeulen and Father Leonardo, civilized discussion quickly ended. Learning that Vermeulen was a heathen, Leonardo sent his inquisitors on the offensive. The Doctor barely managed to escape, ducking behind Robert, triggering some of the defensive, systems, then being driven to safety by Boilerplate, who had remained in the vehicle. Vermeulen took a sword slash to his right arm and two musket shots in the right leg. Leonardo lost two Inquisitors, one impaled by Robert and the other crushed beneath its treads. Two other Inquisitors suffered minor damage, which was repaired.
Vermeulen then traveled through Sitala to Gallia, to accept the invitation of King Geoffrey I and work as a teacher/advisor/inventor for the child, and the country.
Leonardo went on to replace Vermeulen as northwestern Rabiyya’s resident European Madman, but in a far worse way. He has, operating out of an unknown base, kidnapped dozens of Rabiyyans, performing horrific experiments on them, and more notably, their brains, trying to convert them to the one true faith. In cities which put up a strong resistance, he simply performed terror raids at night. Some inquisitors have been lost, but all losses have been replaced with the ‘help’ of the local populace.
Peter Williams’ power in Anglia continues to grow, as his railroad Monopoly continues to spread through Anglia, and even into Scotia, where Williams early Steamhulks have helped to put down a highlander uprising. Despite this, his extortionate prices began to anger high government. Prime Minister Lawrence Dryden came to discuss this and other things with Williams, only to be assassinated, blame to be placed on one Robert Jennings, who was killed before a proper trial could take place. While officially, Peter Williams is innocent, many people suspect that he had something to do with the assassination more than just witnessing it.
The Deputy Prime Minister, Winston Brown, became convinced that the Sparks would be the destruction of the nation, set out to kill the only other known Anglian Spark, one Ryan Amedeus. A rather awkward meeting between the two resulted in a change of heart on Brown’s side. He agreed to fund Amedeus’ Air Travel initiative, in an attempt to break Peter Williams’ monopoly.
Peter Williams, always a manipulator fired Amedeus and set out to influence the new Prime Minister’s first election, to protect his cash cow. Brown was re-elected in a minority government, and is working to proceed with the plans.
Doctor Akira Light has finally had some success with his Steam Armour, after several months of continued failures, and many severely scalded test subjects. The new armour is extremely heavy, bulky, and uncomfortable, but it functions. Meanwhile, his Harvester Machine has been sold in numerous regions in Nihojon, with the help of Lord Seichiro Yamamoto.
Gathering together a large group of Pjolak youth, Octavian Germanicus has gained a great number of Henchmen and women, with whose aid he has begun to construct an army of Legionairres. While his production methods are extremely effective, the large majority of new Legionairres are rather shoddily constructed, especially when compared to the original two built by Octavian himself. A choice must be made between Quality and Quantity. In an unrelated note, rumours of Germanicus’ plans have begun to rise to the attention of a few of the nobility and government.
Lord Gabriel Blacktyde is experiencing high employee turnover, but he has a new Steamjack to make up for it. Additionally, the construction of the Sea Turtle, a relatively small, armoured, steam-driven ship, has been completed in his drydocks. Test runs are due to begin soon.
Nikolai Dante, while retaining many of his vices in full force, has begun working on new armoured, self-powered, metal-treaded war wagons (coincidentally developed by Doctor Leopold Vermeulen only a few months earlier) for the Czar’s military. Redemption, he hopes, is on the way.
Allying himself with Lady Lucretia Collatinus, Julius Magnus has acquired the resources to continue his search for the Philosopher’s Stone. Moving from lead to lead (some better than others, as his forehead can attest to), he is currently preparing to travel to a distant, unknown city named ‘Appeleia’, and building an aircraft suitable for such a trip.
William Weir, having more difficulty selling his ideas to the Anglian government under Winston Brown’s government, has nonetheless continued his work, most notably designing the ‘Bucket’ armoured war walker. Work on a rumoured ‘super weapon’ continues.
Gregore Angarine, becoming Chief Artificer of the Court of Shah Abbas of Khur, set out to build a mechanical army for his patron. The job has been beset with difficulties- an inability for many to imitate his work, the general public’s hatred of him, and a mob’s attack on his factory. While it was fought off, the mood of the public has turned strongly against al’Shamdli and, to a lesser extent, the Shah who supports him. Suggesting that more of the Gifted should be brought to Shemran, he has sent out messages to many other people known to have similar skills with technology.
Jeremy Sieko has worked to improve the Dragonfly with the new ‘Mark II’ model. His current job, however, is to create a working ‘Tube Network’, a system of pneumatic pipes used to propel hollow cylinders at very high speeds. Technical difficulties abound, though he has managed to make a small system capable of sending message capsules around a building.
Kalim ibn Abd-al-Wahhab al-Bayyati has been traveling Rabiyya, spreading the alarm about the huge danger presented by the evil taint of foreign technologists. In most cases, his calls have fallen upon deaf ears. Rabiyya has still not made a major reaction, despite the atrocities committed in the northwest. However, Prince Atah, a former pupil of his, has begun to listen with avid interest.
Cid Hibiki has been very busy working on his airships. A few explosive mishaps took place, most of which have been fixed (fire-retardant sealants, factories located away from populated areas). His Airships have begun to go on sale. While this has negated his monopoly, it has provided him with a healthy profit.
Rowan Becket, a previously unknown Anglian Spark, has arrived in Mavadi to start a new life. He has recently received a letter from a man in a similar situation, containing an invitation to Khur.
Map
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