Kozmos
Jew Detective
Brutal....totally metal....I'll write something when I get sober.
SteamNES
- Thread starter Lord_Iggy
- Start date
Fuschia
A Little Odd
Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur,
Your current terms are unacceptable, for several reasons. The greatest of these is that I am not a producer but an inventor of mechanical things; as such, production of any design beyond the first would be out of the question.
Secondly, I do not keep notes or records. I find it damages my mental acuity to do so, and I doubt that any scholars you can spare would make progress on my designs having had little exposure to the methods I use in creation.
Thirdly, as I cannot walk nor ride a horse and I have a large number of important inventions under my supervision, I would require safe transport through more than a few nations for myself and my inventions, something that would be both costly and difficult to obtain.
As such, for now, I will decline your offer. Send a reply if you wish, I will reconsider when I receive one or when it becomes easier for me to travel.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Seiko
--
Now that the letter was finished and on its way, he could get back to concentrating. Concerns such as that were the ones that tended to get in his way when coming up with new inventions. It was a shame it was so.
He had dumped his Tube designs on Paul before leaving the company they had created. It had been remarkably unsuccessful, but he hoped whoever Paul found to replace him would find a way to make it work. It was not worthy of his consideration, not until he finished a few other matters.
He had moved to a larger house, one where his projects could work properly. He had bought the house from the state; the previous owner had been executed, so he got an excellent price on such a large house.
He had tinkered with the house itself after moving the clutter from his old house here. First, he had the inside walls removed from the basement, so the only standing structures were pillars to support the rest of the house; then, he had coated the room in a layer of steel.
He built a Tube system that ran throughout his entire house, one exit for each room. He could send messages to any room from the basement, where he had constructed a council to which every rooms Tubes led to and from. It was very useful.
His brothers had moved in with him, excellent clock makers the both of them. This further added to the clutter of the entire house, covering areas in diagrams, papers, and small inventions of the brothers. Jeremy kept the basement locked, however, and never let them in but once.
The state was paying him to work now. He had guaranteed a working model of a military Dragonfly within a few months. He kept his various failures and successes in the basement. The state offered him many trained workers, and he accepted, although none were allowed to stay in his house.
He was making progress, slowly. He admired the way the Dragonfly worked, and he had built smaller models now that could gain altitude without using a steam rocket. He had done some calculations and found the weight to power ratio made it more beneficial to lose two of the wings and their engines, as well as the fifth engine that allowed for the programming.
This allowed a simple take-off procedure to be done straight up, although none of the models yet were big enough for a pilot, making a straight up movement the only one they could perform.
The experts sent to him by the state were now researching into lighter weight metals that could be used to build the Dragonfly. Hopefully this search would yield interesting fruit, for otherwise he could see no method of performing the miracle demanded of him: a true flying war-machine!
--
Jeremy took a look at the new model. It was larger than the others had been, and had the new two-wing design. The wings themselves had been enlarged so as to maximize upwards air resistance while beating, much like the sails that had traditionally been used on ships; they even used similar materials for the inner portions.
The rest of the Dragonfly, however, did not make presumptions on being anything but metal. It glistened and gleamed, with a seat for a pilot and holding positions for guns if he could get the weight down enough. For now, a simple vertical take off with a model of this size would be an important break-through.
Jeremy went up to the engines with his unofficial apprentice, Radia, the most skilled of the experts the state had to offer; it mattered little to Jeremy that Ronia was Rossovayan. In fact, little about people mattered to Jeremy. They came to the switches that turned on each engine. Jeremy gave a slight nod.
"It is time to test this one, Radia," said Jeremy.
"Time indeed, Jeremy. It has been long enough on the ground, now we will see how it likes the sky," exclaimed Radia.
Jeremy nodded again, and they flipped the switches. Jeremy and Radia moved quickly behind one of the pillars that provided the support for the house as the new Dragonfly model whirred and hissed. Its wings began to flap, starting high and, with Radia's newest system, not hitting the ground to allow for smoother take-off.
It flapped its wings once, and then twice. Jeremy held his breath. It flapped a third time, gave a little groan, and lifted off the ground! It was a success!
"It works! Now all we must do is get the weight down further and a pilot may be added. I will be the first man to truly fly in his own direction," exclaimed Jeremy triumphantly.
While he was talking, the Dragonfly continued to rise. Its wings scraped the ceiling and the fail-safe, also designed by Radia, lessened power to the wings and it began its descent. After a few minutes, it came to rest on the ground with little damage; Radia rushed towards it and turned the engines off before it could begin climbing again.
"We must find a lighter metal, Radia. It is the only way. Every part is needed now, every section integral to the design. I only hope those so-called experts are good enough to find something light enough for our purposes," said Jeremy. Radia nodded and continued to fret over the machine.
Your current terms are unacceptable, for several reasons. The greatest of these is that I am not a producer but an inventor of mechanical things; as such, production of any design beyond the first would be out of the question.
Secondly, I do not keep notes or records. I find it damages my mental acuity to do so, and I doubt that any scholars you can spare would make progress on my designs having had little exposure to the methods I use in creation.
Thirdly, as I cannot walk nor ride a horse and I have a large number of important inventions under my supervision, I would require safe transport through more than a few nations for myself and my inventions, something that would be both costly and difficult to obtain.
As such, for now, I will decline your offer. Send a reply if you wish, I will reconsider when I receive one or when it becomes easier for me to travel.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Seiko
--
Now that the letter was finished and on its way, he could get back to concentrating. Concerns such as that were the ones that tended to get in his way when coming up with new inventions. It was a shame it was so.
He had dumped his Tube designs on Paul before leaving the company they had created. It had been remarkably unsuccessful, but he hoped whoever Paul found to replace him would find a way to make it work. It was not worthy of his consideration, not until he finished a few other matters.
He had moved to a larger house, one where his projects could work properly. He had bought the house from the state; the previous owner had been executed, so he got an excellent price on such a large house.
He had tinkered with the house itself after moving the clutter from his old house here. First, he had the inside walls removed from the basement, so the only standing structures were pillars to support the rest of the house; then, he had coated the room in a layer of steel.
He built a Tube system that ran throughout his entire house, one exit for each room. He could send messages to any room from the basement, where he had constructed a council to which every rooms Tubes led to and from. It was very useful.
His brothers had moved in with him, excellent clock makers the both of them. This further added to the clutter of the entire house, covering areas in diagrams, papers, and small inventions of the brothers. Jeremy kept the basement locked, however, and never let them in but once.
The state was paying him to work now. He had guaranteed a working model of a military Dragonfly within a few months. He kept his various failures and successes in the basement. The state offered him many trained workers, and he accepted, although none were allowed to stay in his house.
He was making progress, slowly. He admired the way the Dragonfly worked, and he had built smaller models now that could gain altitude without using a steam rocket. He had done some calculations and found the weight to power ratio made it more beneficial to lose two of the wings and their engines, as well as the fifth engine that allowed for the programming.
This allowed a simple take-off procedure to be done straight up, although none of the models yet were big enough for a pilot, making a straight up movement the only one they could perform.
The experts sent to him by the state were now researching into lighter weight metals that could be used to build the Dragonfly. Hopefully this search would yield interesting fruit, for otherwise he could see no method of performing the miracle demanded of him: a true flying war-machine!
--
Jeremy took a look at the new model. It was larger than the others had been, and had the new two-wing design. The wings themselves had been enlarged so as to maximize upwards air resistance while beating, much like the sails that had traditionally been used on ships; they even used similar materials for the inner portions.
The rest of the Dragonfly, however, did not make presumptions on being anything but metal. It glistened and gleamed, with a seat for a pilot and holding positions for guns if he could get the weight down enough. For now, a simple vertical take off with a model of this size would be an important break-through.
Jeremy went up to the engines with his unofficial apprentice, Radia, the most skilled of the experts the state had to offer; it mattered little to Jeremy that Ronia was Rossovayan. In fact, little about people mattered to Jeremy. They came to the switches that turned on each engine. Jeremy gave a slight nod.
"It is time to test this one, Radia," said Jeremy.
"Time indeed, Jeremy. It has been long enough on the ground, now we will see how it likes the sky," exclaimed Radia.
Jeremy nodded again, and they flipped the switches. Jeremy and Radia moved quickly behind one of the pillars that provided the support for the house as the new Dragonfly model whirred and hissed. Its wings began to flap, starting high and, with Radia's newest system, not hitting the ground to allow for smoother take-off.
It flapped its wings once, and then twice. Jeremy held his breath. It flapped a third time, gave a little groan, and lifted off the ground! It was a success!
"It works! Now all we must do is get the weight down further and a pilot may be added. I will be the first man to truly fly in his own direction," exclaimed Jeremy triumphantly.
While he was talking, the Dragonfly continued to rise. Its wings scraped the ceiling and the fail-safe, also designed by Radia, lessened power to the wings and it began its descent. After a few minutes, it came to rest on the ground with little damage; Radia rushed towards it and turned the engines off before it could begin climbing again.
"We must find a lighter metal, Radia. It is the only way. Every part is needed now, every section integral to the design. I only hope those so-called experts are good enough to find something light enough for our purposes," said Jeremy. Radia nodded and continued to fret over the machine.
Fuschia
A Little Odd
Bah! You are right. I suppose I need to get my head into the game, rather than just the game into my head...
Rowan slapped some coinage into the rotund little farmer's hand and quickly shuffled the fruit he had bought into the box. He turned and clumsily tried to make a path through the bustling crowd. After nearly six months living in this strange new land he had begun to pick up the language and his throat was sore from the dusty, hot air and a half hour of loud haggling over the price of a chicken.
Just outside the market, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He glanced to his right and saw the filthy creatures that had gathered just outside the shops and stalls, the beggars. Each looked as though they had been soaked in a cesspit and many of them were disfigured with diseases or by accidents. He craned his neck to see if he could spot Sarsapa. When he had first come to the city of Anyatra, one beggar in particular had caught his eye: a man with no legs who was mute, whether by choice or nature no one knew. Eventually he had heard the man called Sarsapa. Today he spotted Sarsapa crawling from villager to villager and simply putting forth his cup in supplication. Mostly he was refused. Rowan felt the greatest pity for him among all the beggars. He started over and pulled a few fruits out of his box. He could spare a few.
"Svasti, Mr. Beckett!"
Rowan turned to see a large magistrate named Mudha striding toward him with another man following him. The king had assigned Mudha to look after Rowan and make sure that the foreigner was comfortable on his new surroundings. From the looks of it the other man had travelled some distance.
"Svasti, Satri Mudha. How are you this morning, sir?"
"Jolly good!" Mudha replied. He liked to use what he thought were Anglicanisms to impress Rowan. It was at least entertaining for him. "I am so glad I found you Mr. Beckett. This gentleman here has a message for you from Khur. It looks rather important." He paused for a moment and furrowed his brow a little. "Surely you are not leaving us as soon as you are settled in your new house?"
Rowan laughed, "Of course not, my good satri, I have taken quite a liking to your little city."
"Good, good. We would hate to lose such a valuable addition to our kingdom." Mudha turned to the messenger. "This is Rowan Beckett."
The man stepped forward, "Mr. Beckett, I have come to bring you this," he held out a letter. "I am instructed to bring your reply back to Khur with me. I shall be staying at the inn near the palace. Please bring me your response tomorrow."
Rowan took the letter and thanked him. He scowled slightly when he noticed that the seal was a government seal. "I will bring you my response first thing tomorrow morning." All bowed respectfully to one another and went their separate ways.
When Rowan turned back the beggar Sarsapa had disappeared into the masses. Disappointed, he gave the the fruit to several other beggars who had gathered nearby and started for his house.
As he walked, his curiosity got the better of him. He looked about casually to make sure that no prying eyes were around. The streets away from the marketplace were much quieter, and he saw only a few people walking here and there. He brought the letter out of his inner coat pocket, opened it and began to read as he walked.
"...usefulness of people with your--and mine--Gift in matters of State..."
Rowan stopped, took a deep breath, and folded the letter. His first impulse was to tear it in half, but that would have been foolish and pointless he knew. He slipped the letter back into his coat pocket and resumed walking, more slowly now than before. He felt the late morning summer sun pressing on him; he suddenly felt the heat like a massive lead weight, like memory.
He heard the screams and shuddered.
He would keep his oath. Never again would he use his Spark. His Gift the letter called it. Certainly not for any government.
He arrived at his house and opened the door numbly. Inside, he set the box on a table and went to his study. He sat down heavily in the wooden chair, and read the letter again. Having read it a second time he took out paper, pen, and ink from a drawer and quickly wrote out a response.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
I humbly thank you for your recognition and generous invitation. Clearly the Shahdom of Khur will only grow and benefit from such a program. Unfortunately I must respectfully decline your offer. I have retired from such endeavors and have come to Mavadi precisely to remove myself from them. I thank you again for your kindness and wish you good luck in your work.
Humbly yours,
Rowan Beckett
Just outside the market, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He glanced to his right and saw the filthy creatures that had gathered just outside the shops and stalls, the beggars. Each looked as though they had been soaked in a cesspit and many of them were disfigured with diseases or by accidents. He craned his neck to see if he could spot Sarsapa. When he had first come to the city of Anyatra, one beggar in particular had caught his eye: a man with no legs who was mute, whether by choice or nature no one knew. Eventually he had heard the man called Sarsapa. Today he spotted Sarsapa crawling from villager to villager and simply putting forth his cup in supplication. Mostly he was refused. Rowan felt the greatest pity for him among all the beggars. He started over and pulled a few fruits out of his box. He could spare a few.
"Svasti, Mr. Beckett!"
Rowan turned to see a large magistrate named Mudha striding toward him with another man following him. The king had assigned Mudha to look after Rowan and make sure that the foreigner was comfortable on his new surroundings. From the looks of it the other man had travelled some distance.
"Svasti, Satri Mudha. How are you this morning, sir?"
"Jolly good!" Mudha replied. He liked to use what he thought were Anglicanisms to impress Rowan. It was at least entertaining for him. "I am so glad I found you Mr. Beckett. This gentleman here has a message for you from Khur. It looks rather important." He paused for a moment and furrowed his brow a little. "Surely you are not leaving us as soon as you are settled in your new house?"
Rowan laughed, "Of course not, my good satri, I have taken quite a liking to your little city."
"Good, good. We would hate to lose such a valuable addition to our kingdom." Mudha turned to the messenger. "This is Rowan Beckett."
The man stepped forward, "Mr. Beckett, I have come to bring you this," he held out a letter. "I am instructed to bring your reply back to Khur with me. I shall be staying at the inn near the palace. Please bring me your response tomorrow."
Rowan took the letter and thanked him. He scowled slightly when he noticed that the seal was a government seal. "I will bring you my response first thing tomorrow morning." All bowed respectfully to one another and went their separate ways.
When Rowan turned back the beggar Sarsapa had disappeared into the masses. Disappointed, he gave the the fruit to several other beggars who had gathered nearby and started for his house.
As he walked, his curiosity got the better of him. He looked about casually to make sure that no prying eyes were around. The streets away from the marketplace were much quieter, and he saw only a few people walking here and there. He brought the letter out of his inner coat pocket, opened it and began to read as he walked.
"...usefulness of people with your--and mine--Gift in matters of State..."
Rowan stopped, took a deep breath, and folded the letter. His first impulse was to tear it in half, but that would have been foolish and pointless he knew. He slipped the letter back into his coat pocket and resumed walking, more slowly now than before. He felt the late morning summer sun pressing on him; he suddenly felt the heat like a massive lead weight, like memory.
He heard the screams and shuddered.
He would keep his oath. Never again would he use his Spark. His Gift the letter called it. Certainly not for any government.
He arrived at his house and opened the door numbly. Inside, he set the box on a table and went to his study. He sat down heavily in the wooden chair, and read the letter again. Having read it a second time he took out paper, pen, and ink from a drawer and quickly wrote out a response.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
I humbly thank you for your recognition and generous invitation. Clearly the Shahdom of Khur will only grow and benefit from such a program. Unfortunately I must respectfully decline your offer. I have retired from such endeavors and have come to Mavadi precisely to remove myself from them. I thank you again for your kindness and wish you good luck in your work.
Humbly yours,
Rowan Beckett
tuxedohamm
Disguised as crow.
Katherine "Kate" Marie Aylor/tuxedohamm
Colour: Something in the blue or green family would be nice.
Nationality: Anglia.
Bio: Kate grew up in a small village on the edge of Anglia, but not quite in Scotia. Her childhood had been normal until her parents sent her off with a Mr. Locke that they said was her uncle. He provided her a nicer life than would have been expected from her village. She secretly attended a men’s college for a couple years before being discovered. She left there and with funds provided to her, traveled around discovering things on her own and adapting her discovered ability to personal uses.
Technology: Generic
Forces: 1 Mechanical Man (Marcus)
Colour: Something in the blue or green family would be nice.
Nationality: Anglia.
Bio: Kate grew up in a small village on the edge of Anglia, but not quite in Scotia. Her childhood had been normal until her parents sent her off with a Mr. Locke that they said was her uncle. He provided her a nicer life than would have been expected from her village. She secretly attended a men’s college for a couple years before being discovered. She left there and with funds provided to her, traveled around discovering things on her own and adapting her discovered ability to personal uses.
Technology: Generic
Forces: 1 Mechanical Man (Marcus)
tuxedohamm
Disguised as crow.
Kate’s hair had grown out in the past two years, its black curls reaching well below her shoulders. It was pulled back out of her face, allowing her blue eyes to glow brightly against her pale skin. Her basque was cobalt, it parted near the collar revealing her white blouse that covered her neck; suffocating her. Her skirt was a light brown colour. She only stuck out because she absolutely refused to wear one of those horrible hats that seemed to weight a ton to her.
She was in a coach with three other women who were gabbing about someone; she had trouble paying attention to it. She could just barely get a glance of the locomotive pulling the train. Yet she strained to get a better look out the window. She knew she looked absurd with her face pressed against the window, but she didn’t care. Let them talk about her once she was gone, that had to be more interesting than the current topics.
The train stopped at a station. Kate was first out once the carriage doors were open. She calmly walked towards the locomotive and gave it a good look over from the side. Nice workmanship here, she thought to herself.
“Kit?” Someone from behind her called out, startling her. “Is that you, Kit?”
Kate spun around. No one had called her ‘Kit’ in years. A guy about her age with golden hair and covered in freckles was walking up to her. His clothes were a little rough looking, but she recognized him. It was Edward, a playmate from her grammar school years. It was improper, he dressed in what amounted to work rags, and she dressed in much nicer clothes; yet she stepped right up to him and gave him a hug. Soot and grease transferred from him to her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other women explode in talk about it.
“What brings you here, Edward?” They were both south of their hometown, but in her mind she at least had a reason and the means to get this far south.
“I’m going to work for Mr. Williams,” Edward gave his toothy grin and continued. “I got a job runnin’ trains. They had me come down here to sign some kind of paperwork before starting. It took forever to get the money to make the trip.”
“You had to pay to get down here?” Kate asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, the whole village pitched in for me. Not an employee yet so had to pay my own way, ” Edward grinned again. “Now I am an employee. I get a free trip up to Scotia now. I’m new so I have to work up there first.”
“You be careful up there,” she said as she noticed one of the men that worked at this station motioning her over.
She walked over. Edward followed just behind, but said nothing. The man pointed to a crate sitting beside the station building. It had been pulled off the train that Kate had been riding. Kate nodded and the man grabbed an iron and began to pull the crate open.
As Kate watched, Edward was called over to the locomotive where the engineer showed Edward how to begin building up pressure as to prepare to leave the station.
The man working on the crate was making some progress, but taking too long for Kate. She looked around and noticed two well dressed men looking intently at her and talking to themselves. It bothered her. As she heard the crate crack open next to her, she saw one of the well-dressed men nod, and both started to walk towards her.
“Marcus! Let’s go! Now!” Kate began running towards the two men. From inside the crate came a burst of steam. The hay used as packing material burst out from inside and a dull, metal-coloured man came awkwardly running out of the crate. The man who had been opening it screamed and fell back trying to get away. Messing himself out of horror at the sight of the metallic man that had already passed by him.
The two men approaching her had not expected this. One just raised his hands only to suddenly drop one of them into his pocket searching for something. The other one lifted a truncheon as he approached.
Kate was almost to the men when Marcus had caught up to her. Marcus barreled through the two men knocking both of them down and allowing Kate to run past without any problem. Edward and the man showing him how to work the steam engine saw this commotion. They both realized a little too late that Marcus was heading directly for them.
Marcus clamored onto the locomotive's control platform and knocked both men off the train. Kate followed shortly after. Kate spun and faster than some would think a woman capable, moved a few levers on the locomotive and quickly had it moving forward.
Kate looked back at Edward, “I’m sorry, dear! Please be more careful when you get to Scotia.”
She then noticed the other two men. The one without a club lifted a small pistol and fired it in her direction. Marcus jumped in front of her and she heard the bullet ricochet and hit the carriage behind. She heard the women inside shriek. Kate looked over and made certain the bullet didn’t penetrate the carriage.
The two men gave chase on foot, but Kate already had the train moving too fast for them. Kate, Marcus, and the three nervous women rode down the tracks and were soon out of sight.
--
The local officials eventually got word and later in the day had finally gone far enough to find the carriages sitting on the tracks. All three women were still inside. All three were complete wrecks, bawling about their ordeal. The front carriage had been detached from the engine; it appeared to have been done quite forcefully.
Much farther down the tracks the locomotive was found. Well…most of it. It was sitting on its side, the large drive wheels had been completely removed, as well as one of the steam pistons used to turn them. Other bits and parts had been removed and were missing also.
There was a search and other than a little bit of grease found a few meters away, there was no sign of which way Kate, Marcus, and anyone else that had to have assisted them went.
She was in a coach with three other women who were gabbing about someone; she had trouble paying attention to it. She could just barely get a glance of the locomotive pulling the train. Yet she strained to get a better look out the window. She knew she looked absurd with her face pressed against the window, but she didn’t care. Let them talk about her once she was gone, that had to be more interesting than the current topics.
The train stopped at a station. Kate was first out once the carriage doors were open. She calmly walked towards the locomotive and gave it a good look over from the side. Nice workmanship here, she thought to herself.
“Kit?” Someone from behind her called out, startling her. “Is that you, Kit?”
Kate spun around. No one had called her ‘Kit’ in years. A guy about her age with golden hair and covered in freckles was walking up to her. His clothes were a little rough looking, but she recognized him. It was Edward, a playmate from her grammar school years. It was improper, he dressed in what amounted to work rags, and she dressed in much nicer clothes; yet she stepped right up to him and gave him a hug. Soot and grease transferred from him to her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other women explode in talk about it.
“What brings you here, Edward?” They were both south of their hometown, but in her mind she at least had a reason and the means to get this far south.
“I’m going to work for Mr. Williams,” Edward gave his toothy grin and continued. “I got a job runnin’ trains. They had me come down here to sign some kind of paperwork before starting. It took forever to get the money to make the trip.”
“You had to pay to get down here?” Kate asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, the whole village pitched in for me. Not an employee yet so had to pay my own way, ” Edward grinned again. “Now I am an employee. I get a free trip up to Scotia now. I’m new so I have to work up there first.”
“You be careful up there,” she said as she noticed one of the men that worked at this station motioning her over.
She walked over. Edward followed just behind, but said nothing. The man pointed to a crate sitting beside the station building. It had been pulled off the train that Kate had been riding. Kate nodded and the man grabbed an iron and began to pull the crate open.
As Kate watched, Edward was called over to the locomotive where the engineer showed Edward how to begin building up pressure as to prepare to leave the station.
The man working on the crate was making some progress, but taking too long for Kate. She looked around and noticed two well dressed men looking intently at her and talking to themselves. It bothered her. As she heard the crate crack open next to her, she saw one of the well-dressed men nod, and both started to walk towards her.
“Marcus! Let’s go! Now!” Kate began running towards the two men. From inside the crate came a burst of steam. The hay used as packing material burst out from inside and a dull, metal-coloured man came awkwardly running out of the crate. The man who had been opening it screamed and fell back trying to get away. Messing himself out of horror at the sight of the metallic man that had already passed by him.
The two men approaching her had not expected this. One just raised his hands only to suddenly drop one of them into his pocket searching for something. The other one lifted a truncheon as he approached.
Kate was almost to the men when Marcus had caught up to her. Marcus barreled through the two men knocking both of them down and allowing Kate to run past without any problem. Edward and the man showing him how to work the steam engine saw this commotion. They both realized a little too late that Marcus was heading directly for them.
Marcus clamored onto the locomotive's control platform and knocked both men off the train. Kate followed shortly after. Kate spun and faster than some would think a woman capable, moved a few levers on the locomotive and quickly had it moving forward.
Kate looked back at Edward, “I’m sorry, dear! Please be more careful when you get to Scotia.”
She then noticed the other two men. The one without a club lifted a small pistol and fired it in her direction. Marcus jumped in front of her and she heard the bullet ricochet and hit the carriage behind. She heard the women inside shriek. Kate looked over and made certain the bullet didn’t penetrate the carriage.
The two men gave chase on foot, but Kate already had the train moving too fast for them. Kate, Marcus, and the three nervous women rode down the tracks and were soon out of sight.
--
The local officials eventually got word and later in the day had finally gone far enough to find the carriages sitting on the tracks. All three women were still inside. All three were complete wrecks, bawling about their ordeal. The front carriage had been detached from the engine; it appeared to have been done quite forcefully.
Much farther down the tracks the locomotive was found. Well…most of it. It was sitting on its side, the large drive wheels had been completely removed, as well as one of the steam pistons used to turn them. Other bits and parts had been removed and were missing also.
There was a search and other than a little bit of grease found a few meters away, there was no sign of which way Kate, Marcus, and anyone else that had to have assisted them went.
e350tb
Stupendously Illogical Englishman
"SABATAGE! INSANITY! WHAT WHERE THEY THINKING? WHO WAS THE SECURITY IDIOT WHO DECIDED TO SKIVE OF WORK THAT DAY, I'LL SEE TO IT HE'S HANGED!"
Peter Williams was livid. Even Private Jenkins seemed to hesitate at his rage.
"JENKINS! SARAH! WHERE DID THIS HAPPEN?"
Sarah gulped.
"North of Anglia, sir. We have a reason to suspect it may have been a spark."
Williams calmed.
"A spark, you think? Who was in charge of the train in question?"
"A man named Edward, sir. In training."
"Pay Edward a visit, Private Jenkins," Williams informed, smiling evilly.
Jenkins saluted, and clattered loudly out of the room.
"Sarah, what have you gotten from Darwin Charles?" Williams asked.
"Well, mostly stuff about natural succession and the like, but there is a bilbography reference to the Works of the Mind."
"Whose it by, then?
"A Sarah Aragon," smiled Sarah.
"What do you want," grunted Williams, reaching for his wallet.
"What you promised," Sarah replied, "Living like Gods. In one month."
It was Williams' turn to smile, and stated;
"Well, I can put yoiu in a phase two SteamHuman in about three weeks, much better the Jenkins'..."
Peter Williams was livid. Even Private Jenkins seemed to hesitate at his rage.
"JENKINS! SARAH! WHERE DID THIS HAPPEN?"
Sarah gulped.
"North of Anglia, sir. We have a reason to suspect it may have been a spark."
Williams calmed.
"A spark, you think? Who was in charge of the train in question?"
"A man named Edward, sir. In training."
"Pay Edward a visit, Private Jenkins," Williams informed, smiling evilly.
Jenkins saluted, and clattered loudly out of the room.
"Sarah, what have you gotten from Darwin Charles?" Williams asked.
"Well, mostly stuff about natural succession and the like, but there is a bilbography reference to the Works of the Mind."
"Whose it by, then?
"A Sarah Aragon," smiled Sarah.
"What do you want," grunted Williams, reaching for his wallet.
"What you promised," Sarah replied, "Living like Gods. In one month."
It was Williams' turn to smile, and stated;
"Well, I can put yoiu in a phase two SteamHuman in about three weeks, much better the Jenkins'..."
tuxedohamm
Disguised as crow.
It's where the rails were. I already had this story running around in my head before I found the thread. I just had to adapt it to earlier level tech.
But yes, it is quite good water.
tuxedohamm
Disguised as crow.
@e350tb: Feel free to give Edwards a last name if you need. And to clairfy and avoid any potential confusion...the two "well dressed men" are not your employees, but hired goons for another yet-to-be-named source. They were waiting at the station for Kate to arrive.
e350tb
Stupendously Illogical Englishman
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Name/Player: Malik al-Safwani ibn Hashim al-Maqqi.
Colour: Doesnt matter.
Nationality: Rayabbi
Bio: Taken in by an Imam, the Ghost of Maqqar was given another chance to serve his god.
Technology: Generic
Forces: 1 Calibah
Thick, black storm clouds thundered over the capital of Rayyiba, sending the inhabitants of the city of Maqqar scuttling indoors. The spires of the Mosques towered above both sides of the main street, and reached into the far limits of the sky. A thick scream echoed against the crashing thunder, heads turning as the commotion ripped through the streets. Pulling at the long wispy strands of his blond as he thundered through the dusty ally, the boy tumbled past the inquiring heads. Covered in thick, sweltering robes that hid him from view, the boy was covered from hid to toe except for a small opening that exposed his sapphire eyes.
The boy shoved his way through a thick crowd, stumbling into the soldier a particularly thick merchant and ended up plummeting onto the ground. The man shrieked, raising his hand to swat the rude as he yelled a curse at the young boy (-al-innaha!). The boy recoiled from the assault, rolling over several times and continuing to muddle the already ruined robes. The fat merchant continued to beat on the boy for some time, taking his anger out on the young child. Finally tiring, after working up a sweat in the crackling heat, the obese merchant ordered his thugs to seize the boy by the collar and heave him up. The merchant retrieved a large cane from the ground, and took one final swat at the boys stomach before having the thugs throw the boy away.
As the sky finally split open and rain began to tumultuously pour out of the heavens above. The thick strikes of the downpour quickly covered the ground, and the deep dust converted into a mud quagmire. The boy lay in the mud, sobbing and bruised, for hours until finally the blackness embraced him. As the embrace of the empty took complete hold, the skies above let out a last crack of lightning.
/\/\/\/\
The boy gasped as he awoke, the scents of fresh rain tasting distant on his sore tongue. The boy cringed- his left eye had swelled shut, and as he gently opened his right the boy felt fresh stabs of pain. His head was throbbing, and as he gently sat up stars burst into his vision. After a few minutes, the boy was able to take in his surroundings as the small room came into view. He was- without a doubt- in a room of a Mosque spire, the thin circular walls leaving little doubts in his frazzled mind. The walls were painted a brilliant white, untouched with any sign of dirt. A single door was etched into the wall, and a trapdoor arranged on the other side of the room. The room was sparsely furnished, empty save a thin bookcase and the bed the boy was lying on. The bed was composed of thin slits of wood, hammered together is a northern fashion. The boy looked down, with a surprise as he discovered the bright, white robes and white lines stretched on the bed.
Tentatively, the boy stood up and stretched his aching legs as he hobbled across the room. The boy slowly twisted the door open, and stepped through the wooden arch. It led to a balcony; the boy shuffled towards the edge of the balcony and peered below. He was stunned, as he peeked over the edge, to see the streets below so far down. The room was at the top of the spire, with the Mosque (and its spire) tucked away in the corner of the city. The boy stared down, easily putting the height of the balcony at last six buildings tall.
Slowly, but surely, the boy rested his weight on his hands and on the rail that surrounded the balcony. Testing the structure, he slowly placed his entire weight on and held his breath for a mere second. The rail held and the boy let the air out of his fragile lungs. The boy slowly lifted one leg over the rail, and straddled it as he peered below, attempting to gather his courage. Finally, he pulled his other leg of the side and held onto the railing. The boy closed his eyes, feeling the hot rays of the sun beating upon his unprotected brow. The boy was shirtless, shielded by only a lower turban. In the bright light of the sun, the boy was finally revealed to be what he was- an albino. His skin was paler than the midnight moon, stretched around his figure with his rubs sunk it. He let out his last breath, and slowly let his fingers slip from the stone railing.
Is it really that bad? The voice rang out suddenly, nearly startling the boy into losing his grip. Managing to secure a finger hold in the last minute, the boy jerked his head around (wincing) as he sought the source of the voice. In his limited vision, the boy had missed the imam that was currently reclining on a side of the door. He was dressed in white robes, complete with a turban, and possessed a flowing white beard. His charcoal eyes, casually skimming over a thin sheet of parchment, paid the boy little attention. Apologies, my son, but I was hoping that you merely wanted a taste of the wind. Care to come back to the side of the living? he asked quietly, finally making eye contact with the boy.
..Why? The boy breathed, grimacing as the pain in his head continued to throb.
It would be a complete shame if a strong breeze were to come along and knock you from your perch. He said softly, dropping his book onto the balcony. Slowly, the boy climbed back over the rail and sat on the ground beside the imam. Now, son, tell me your name. He said with a smile.
Malik. The boy answered.
May Allah soothe your pains, Malik. You may call me Abdul-Ghaffar- if you wish. Tell me child- what is so wrong that you would disgrace yourself by such a move?
The boy looked down, staring at his pale skin. Look at me- I am a ghost; an abomination against all good in Allahs will. I am evil incarnate- the bastard child of the Evil and a whore of the streets. I deserve to suffer; I deserve to die.
Slowly the imam stood up and walked towards the boy, finally kneeling front of his pastel face. No. Child, how could you ever think those things? You are special- so special that Allah took the time to personally craft you from the purest sands of this world. Do not despair over what you have been given- my child, do you not have faith in Allah?
It is my faith in Allah that determines my death wish. The boy said slowly.
The imam stood once more walking to the wooden door hewn from the stone. He paused in the archway. If you were to repent for this attempted crime, and dedicate yourself to the will of Allah, he would forgive you. You could serve him more alive than dead. The imam said, slowly entering the spire.
Slowly, but surely, the boy stood once more and the ghost slowly entered into the Mosque.
OOC: Sorry for this horror/ripoff.
Colour: Doesnt matter.
Nationality: Rayabbi
Bio: Taken in by an Imam, the Ghost of Maqqar was given another chance to serve his god.
Technology: Generic
Forces: 1 Calibah
Thick, black storm clouds thundered over the capital of Rayyiba, sending the inhabitants of the city of Maqqar scuttling indoors. The spires of the Mosques towered above both sides of the main street, and reached into the far limits of the sky. A thick scream echoed against the crashing thunder, heads turning as the commotion ripped through the streets. Pulling at the long wispy strands of his blond as he thundered through the dusty ally, the boy tumbled past the inquiring heads. Covered in thick, sweltering robes that hid him from view, the boy was covered from hid to toe except for a small opening that exposed his sapphire eyes.
The boy shoved his way through a thick crowd, stumbling into the soldier a particularly thick merchant and ended up plummeting onto the ground. The man shrieked, raising his hand to swat the rude as he yelled a curse at the young boy (-al-innaha!). The boy recoiled from the assault, rolling over several times and continuing to muddle the already ruined robes. The fat merchant continued to beat on the boy for some time, taking his anger out on the young child. Finally tiring, after working up a sweat in the crackling heat, the obese merchant ordered his thugs to seize the boy by the collar and heave him up. The merchant retrieved a large cane from the ground, and took one final swat at the boys stomach before having the thugs throw the boy away.
As the sky finally split open and rain began to tumultuously pour out of the heavens above. The thick strikes of the downpour quickly covered the ground, and the deep dust converted into a mud quagmire. The boy lay in the mud, sobbing and bruised, for hours until finally the blackness embraced him. As the embrace of the empty took complete hold, the skies above let out a last crack of lightning.
/\/\/\/\
The boy gasped as he awoke, the scents of fresh rain tasting distant on his sore tongue. The boy cringed- his left eye had swelled shut, and as he gently opened his right the boy felt fresh stabs of pain. His head was throbbing, and as he gently sat up stars burst into his vision. After a few minutes, the boy was able to take in his surroundings as the small room came into view. He was- without a doubt- in a room of a Mosque spire, the thin circular walls leaving little doubts in his frazzled mind. The walls were painted a brilliant white, untouched with any sign of dirt. A single door was etched into the wall, and a trapdoor arranged on the other side of the room. The room was sparsely furnished, empty save a thin bookcase and the bed the boy was lying on. The bed was composed of thin slits of wood, hammered together is a northern fashion. The boy looked down, with a surprise as he discovered the bright, white robes and white lines stretched on the bed.
Tentatively, the boy stood up and stretched his aching legs as he hobbled across the room. The boy slowly twisted the door open, and stepped through the wooden arch. It led to a balcony; the boy shuffled towards the edge of the balcony and peered below. He was stunned, as he peeked over the edge, to see the streets below so far down. The room was at the top of the spire, with the Mosque (and its spire) tucked away in the corner of the city. The boy stared down, easily putting the height of the balcony at last six buildings tall.
Slowly, but surely, the boy rested his weight on his hands and on the rail that surrounded the balcony. Testing the structure, he slowly placed his entire weight on and held his breath for a mere second. The rail held and the boy let the air out of his fragile lungs. The boy slowly lifted one leg over the rail, and straddled it as he peered below, attempting to gather his courage. Finally, he pulled his other leg of the side and held onto the railing. The boy closed his eyes, feeling the hot rays of the sun beating upon his unprotected brow. The boy was shirtless, shielded by only a lower turban. In the bright light of the sun, the boy was finally revealed to be what he was- an albino. His skin was paler than the midnight moon, stretched around his figure with his rubs sunk it. He let out his last breath, and slowly let his fingers slip from the stone railing.
Is it really that bad? The voice rang out suddenly, nearly startling the boy into losing his grip. Managing to secure a finger hold in the last minute, the boy jerked his head around (wincing) as he sought the source of the voice. In his limited vision, the boy had missed the imam that was currently reclining on a side of the door. He was dressed in white robes, complete with a turban, and possessed a flowing white beard. His charcoal eyes, casually skimming over a thin sheet of parchment, paid the boy little attention. Apologies, my son, but I was hoping that you merely wanted a taste of the wind. Care to come back to the side of the living? he asked quietly, finally making eye contact with the boy.
..Why? The boy breathed, grimacing as the pain in his head continued to throb.
It would be a complete shame if a strong breeze were to come along and knock you from your perch. He said softly, dropping his book onto the balcony. Slowly, the boy climbed back over the rail and sat on the ground beside the imam. Now, son, tell me your name. He said with a smile.
Malik. The boy answered.
May Allah soothe your pains, Malik. You may call me Abdul-Ghaffar- if you wish. Tell me child- what is so wrong that you would disgrace yourself by such a move?
The boy looked down, staring at his pale skin. Look at me- I am a ghost; an abomination against all good in Allahs will. I am evil incarnate- the bastard child of the Evil and a whore of the streets. I deserve to suffer; I deserve to die.
Slowly the imam stood up and walked towards the boy, finally kneeling front of his pastel face. No. Child, how could you ever think those things? You are special- so special that Allah took the time to personally craft you from the purest sands of this world. Do not despair over what you have been given- my child, do you not have faith in Allah?
It is my faith in Allah that determines my death wish. The boy said slowly.
The imam stood once more walking to the wooden door hewn from the stone. He paused in the archway. If you were to repent for this attempted crime, and dedicate yourself to the will of Allah, he would forgive you. You could serve him more alive than dead. The imam said, slowly entering the spire.
Slowly, but surely, the boy stood once more and the ghost slowly entered into the Mosque.
OOC: Sorry for this horror/ripoff.
das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: Always good to see things heating up. I have always said that you have extreme moderating talents, Lord_Iggy; this RPG-ish character-based NES might very well succeed where others have failed. We should use you on experimental NES concepts that haven't worked too well before more often, you and Daftpanzer.
I'd hire him, but he's a theoretical physicist. So I suppose that just goes to illustrate the point. Why is a Spark theoretical in any case?
No, you see, it makes sense that more would surface, now that enough examples have been set in Anglia itself and Spark role models abound; that may get more latent Sparks to start thinking and discover their abilities. I just hope they take after Ryan Amadeus rather than Lord Gabriel Blacktyde.
What is more interesting is the fact that they are growing in number in Rabiyya and the Southeast, though there are logical explanations here too (these places are good for an escape and a new start).
IC:
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Seiko
I am quick to assure you that none of the problems you have mentioned are problems that the Shah and I cannot overcome easily enough. It is your Gift as an inventor that matters most to us; any peculiarities that come with that Gift are a small price to pay, and as long as you are willing to assist us with your inventions that is quite enough.
As to your transportation: it is indeed a major complication, but the Shah shall do all within his power to assist you. It is possible that we will acquire superior ways of transportation soon enough, but at present the most reasonable option would appear to be the amphibious one, if you find it acceptable. Otherwise, a large caravan may be sent to retrieve you and your inventions. As to safety, the Shah is willing to commit some of his elite guardsmen to escort you and your inventions; at the moment there is nothing safer in this part of the world.
I await your reply.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
---
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Rowan Beckett
Your decision is regrettable, but understandable. I shall bother you no further, though if you do change your mind at some point in the future know that the Shah of Khur will always welcome you with open hands.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
I'd hire him, but he's a theoretical physicist. So I suppose that just goes to illustrate the point. Why is a Spark theoretical in any case?
Holy. Lots of Sparks in Anglia. Must be something in the water.
No, you see, it makes sense that more would surface, now that enough examples have been set in Anglia itself and Spark role models abound; that may get more latent Sparks to start thinking and discover their abilities. I just hope they take after Ryan Amadeus rather than Lord Gabriel Blacktyde.
What is more interesting is the fact that they are growing in number in Rabiyya and the Southeast, though there are logical explanations here too (these places are good for an escape and a new start).
IC:
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Seiko
I am quick to assure you that none of the problems you have mentioned are problems that the Shah and I cannot overcome easily enough. It is your Gift as an inventor that matters most to us; any peculiarities that come with that Gift are a small price to pay, and as long as you are willing to assist us with your inventions that is quite enough.
As to your transportation: it is indeed a major complication, but the Shah shall do all within his power to assist you. It is possible that we will acquire superior ways of transportation soon enough, but at present the most reasonable option would appear to be the amphibious one, if you find it acceptable. Otherwise, a large caravan may be sent to retrieve you and your inventions. As to safety, the Shah is willing to commit some of his elite guardsmen to escort you and your inventions; at the moment there is nothing safer in this part of the world.
I await your reply.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
---
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Rowan Beckett
Your decision is regrettable, but understandable. I shall bother you no further, though if you do change your mind at some point in the future know that the Shah of Khur will always welcome you with open hands.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
Fuschia
A Little Odd
Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur,
I do believe I have the solution to our transportation problem! Within the next few months, I will complete a project that will allow me to travel with minimal difficulty from my home here to you in Khur quickly and efficiently.
First, however, I must finish the project. It will take some time, a few months, maybe more, maybe less. For the moment, I send with this letter my apprentice Rodia. He is skilled, although not as greatly as myself. His purpose shall be to inform you as to what accommodations I require to exist comfortably in Khur. In turn, he carries with him a pair of important inventions to be turned over to your government.
As for details in our agreement, I have a few stipulations, the first of which is that my brothers will come with me and shall be paid a fair, albeit lesser, wage and live with me. They are my greatest assistants besides Rodia, skilled clock makers the pair of them.
Second, I require workers with great technical skill, as few or as many as you can supply. I shall not myself supervise mass production of the majority of my designs and, as such, I need only the most skilled workers you can provide without jeopardizing your own research. If there are none to spare, I understand; my brothers and Rodia shall provide help enough until you can spare more.
The third, and most important, of my requirements is that you leave within my power the ability to leave at any time as I such desire. If I decide to leave, I shall leave you the majority of my inventions and take nothing you have given me but for my wages.
If you can agree to these minor details, keep Rodia there to arrange for that which I will require. My arrival will be delayed only by the speed at which I can finish my newest form of transportation.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Seiko
--
"I want you to take this message out to the Khurian messenger, Rodia." said Jeremy. He hesitated and then continued, speaking slowly, "And...I shall require you to travel with him to Khur. It is of the utmost importance that a proper dwelling and research facility be prepared before my arrival."
"What if he refuses to allow me to travel with him?" asked Rodia.
"Tell him he must take you if he is to have the reply. I am sure that Al-Shamdli would find it more important to have my reply than to not have any unexpected visitors," said Jeremy. Rodia took the letter, put it in one of Jeremy's personal envelopes, and then stopped, looking thoughtful.
"What would you have me do once I reach Khur, Jeremy?" asked Rodia.
"I am setting to you a pair of tasks, the first one being of only minor importance: you must have these Khurians build me a properly modernized research facility geared towards improving and producing my Dragonflies," said Jeremy. Then he paused, thinking slowly, and then scribbled something on his always handy notebook. Ripping off a page, he handed it to Rodia.
"Do not read this until you reach Khur. This is your second task, and it is the greatest task you will ever receive from me. I hope well that you can perform it," said Jeremy.
"I shall do my best, Jeremy." At this, Rodia turned and walked swiftly up the stairs, his first steps on his journey to Khur.
"I only wish that it did not have to be you, Rodia. I just hope they will not suspect anything..."
--
Rodia,
I need information. You must tour the facilities of this Al-Shamdli, trade the Tube and the Dragonfly I send with you for information on his designs, and learn the way around the court of Khur. Find who supports and who opposes our benefactor.
I do believe I have the solution to our transportation problem! Within the next few months, I will complete a project that will allow me to travel with minimal difficulty from my home here to you in Khur quickly and efficiently.
First, however, I must finish the project. It will take some time, a few months, maybe more, maybe less. For the moment, I send with this letter my apprentice Rodia. He is skilled, although not as greatly as myself. His purpose shall be to inform you as to what accommodations I require to exist comfortably in Khur. In turn, he carries with him a pair of important inventions to be turned over to your government.
As for details in our agreement, I have a few stipulations, the first of which is that my brothers will come with me and shall be paid a fair, albeit lesser, wage and live with me. They are my greatest assistants besides Rodia, skilled clock makers the pair of them.
Second, I require workers with great technical skill, as few or as many as you can supply. I shall not myself supervise mass production of the majority of my designs and, as such, I need only the most skilled workers you can provide without jeopardizing your own research. If there are none to spare, I understand; my brothers and Rodia shall provide help enough until you can spare more.
The third, and most important, of my requirements is that you leave within my power the ability to leave at any time as I such desire. If I decide to leave, I shall leave you the majority of my inventions and take nothing you have given me but for my wages.
If you can agree to these minor details, keep Rodia there to arrange for that which I will require. My arrival will be delayed only by the speed at which I can finish my newest form of transportation.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Seiko
--
"I want you to take this message out to the Khurian messenger, Rodia." said Jeremy. He hesitated and then continued, speaking slowly, "And...I shall require you to travel with him to Khur. It is of the utmost importance that a proper dwelling and research facility be prepared before my arrival."
"What if he refuses to allow me to travel with him?" asked Rodia.
"Tell him he must take you if he is to have the reply. I am sure that Al-Shamdli would find it more important to have my reply than to not have any unexpected visitors," said Jeremy. Rodia took the letter, put it in one of Jeremy's personal envelopes, and then stopped, looking thoughtful.
"What would you have me do once I reach Khur, Jeremy?" asked Rodia.
"I am setting to you a pair of tasks, the first one being of only minor importance: you must have these Khurians build me a properly modernized research facility geared towards improving and producing my Dragonflies," said Jeremy. Then he paused, thinking slowly, and then scribbled something on his always handy notebook. Ripping off a page, he handed it to Rodia.
"Do not read this until you reach Khur. This is your second task, and it is the greatest task you will ever receive from me. I hope well that you can perform it," said Jeremy.
"I shall do my best, Jeremy." At this, Rodia turned and walked swiftly up the stairs, his first steps on his journey to Khur.
"I only wish that it did not have to be you, Rodia. I just hope they will not suspect anything..."
--
Rodia,
I need information. You must tour the facilities of this Al-Shamdli, trade the Tube and the Dragonfly I send with you for information on his designs, and learn the way around the court of Khur. Find who supports and who opposes our benefactor.
Symphony D.
Deity
Intrude: This is really just something of a popular misconception. Enrico Fermi, Robert Oppenheimer, Werner Heisenberg, Nikola Tesla, and James Clerk Maxwell were all "theoretical physicists" and some of their larger achievements in the realm of experimentalism need no introduction, and all fall under very Spark-esque headings. To be a physicist of any sort, you pretty much have to do both halves. One of the few major exceptions during the "Golden Age" was Einstein, I suppose.
Also, Gordon Freeman was a theoretical physicist...
das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: Still, the fellow in question doesn't seem to have done much in the way of experiments or anything.
IC:
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Seiko
I have just now received your letter. The Shah and I thank you for sharing your inventions, and look forward to working with you personally. Your apprentice has made a favourable impression at the court. Rest assured that all shall be arranged for your and your brothers' arrival.
Your conditions are perfectly acceptable; sadly there are not all that many appropriately-skilled workers available at the moment, but I shall see what can be done. Perhaps some more of the local craftsmen could be recruited.
If there is any reasonable way in which we can assist your present project, please do inform me.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
IC:
From: Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur
To: Jeremy Seiko
I have just now received your letter. The Shah and I thank you for sharing your inventions, and look forward to working with you personally. Your apprentice has made a favourable impression at the court. Rest assured that all shall be arranged for your and your brothers' arrival.
Your conditions are perfectly acceptable; sadly there are not all that many appropriately-skilled workers available at the moment, but I shall see what can be done. Perhaps some more of the local craftsmen could be recruited.
If there is any reasonable way in which we can assist your present project, please do inform me.
Respectfully yours,
Al-Shamdli
Fuschia
A Little Odd
Al-Shamdli, Chief Artificer and Minister of Artifiction of the Shahdom of Khur,
There is one way in which you can help me. I am looking for an exceptionally light weight metal. I have some people here helping me with it but they are very poor at their jobs, to say the least. I would be most appreciative if you knew of such a metal and could send me a sample; I am sure the inept workers here will be able enough to duplicate whatever you send them.
Beyond that, there is little you can do to hasten my arrival. It may be in one month, maybe two, or it may be that I will have to rely on you for transport if this project fails. For now, though, expect me in about three months time, as I am making some drastic improvements on the design.
Make sure Rodia is comfortable while at your court, it would be regrettable if anything happened to him. Keep him busy doing something, as well, for otherwise he gets restless and may decide to leave. That would be even worse, for he knows some of the details of my inventions. If he attempts to leave, council him against it. If he forces the issue, have him incarcerated or, if you have to, killed. It is important that my designs do not fall into other hands.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Sieko
There is one way in which you can help me. I am looking for an exceptionally light weight metal. I have some people here helping me with it but they are very poor at their jobs, to say the least. I would be most appreciative if you knew of such a metal and could send me a sample; I am sure the inept workers here will be able enough to duplicate whatever you send them.
Beyond that, there is little you can do to hasten my arrival. It may be in one month, maybe two, or it may be that I will have to rely on you for transport if this project fails. For now, though, expect me in about three months time, as I am making some drastic improvements on the design.
Make sure Rodia is comfortable while at your court, it would be regrettable if anything happened to him. Keep him busy doing something, as well, for otherwise he gets restless and may decide to leave. That would be even worse, for he knows some of the details of my inventions. If he attempts to leave, council him against it. If he forces the issue, have him incarcerated or, if you have to, killed. It is important that my designs do not fall into other hands.
Perhaps,
Jeremy Sieko
Flames were all around the city. The people here had driven off Leonardo, but he was back, this time with 20 Inquisitors. The people here were screaming, as his cyber men carried off the remaining population in Iron cages to his lab, while others were being tied to a cross and then burned. Leonardo smiled. he was doing the right thing. He was doing His work. The fools in Espan wouldn't recognize it, nor forgive it, but he was the one who was right. After the city was burned, and several captives had been taken, only then was he content to return to his lab.
His underground lab was immense. Built by heathens turned robotic slaves, there was experiments everywhere; a robotic monk that could recite the bible by heart, a new effective torture device in which you sat in a chair and you several electric shocks will run through your body, tested on the monk who failed to recite a passage Leonardo asked for, a new spy he called TECH (Tiny eyes converting heathens) which was one of his first experiments, but now perfected, which was a mouse that he could see and hear through, and other things, including his destroyed zepplin.
“Now!” Leonardo said, “I shall conquer this nation”
Using the humans he had, he modified them. These were not like his Inquisitors though, who had at about half of their former human self. These would resemble humans, but be made of complete metal. They were mindless, soulless, and were fused together in to a new machine, he called a Crusader. This Crusader had every weapon at his disposal, and the greatest armor around. Leonardo smiled. This crusade would be a success.
His underground lab was immense. Built by heathens turned robotic slaves, there was experiments everywhere; a robotic monk that could recite the bible by heart, a new effective torture device in which you sat in a chair and you several electric shocks will run through your body, tested on the monk who failed to recite a passage Leonardo asked for, a new spy he called TECH (Tiny eyes converting heathens) which was one of his first experiments, but now perfected, which was a mouse that he could see and hear through, and other things, including his destroyed zepplin.
“Now!” Leonardo said, “I shall conquer this nation”
Using the humans he had, he modified them. These were not like his Inquisitors though, who had at about half of their former human self. These would resemble humans, but be made of complete metal. They were mindless, soulless, and were fused together in to a new machine, he called a Crusader. This Crusader had every weapon at his disposal, and the greatest armor around. Leonardo smiled. This crusade would be a success.
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