Finally a new story post...
The last fifteen years had seen considerable changes in Valnothron and in no place more prominently than in House Valcas' manufactories. Among those who had the best understanding of this was Ironmistress Weitas ti'Halsath. House Halsath was a minor house of artisans who owed fealty to Valcas ever since it's creation some three hundred years ago. Like all houses it's members longed to see it rise to the top, but in the meantime it had to make itself useful to keep itself fed and obligations to fulfill. There was also the matter that according to the values of Dark Elvish culture which went back to the First Black Emperor Drow Artisans were looked down upon them. There was some appreciation reserved for the finest artists, the greatest bladesmiths or armorers as well as those who made magical items or bound spells to them like runesmiths, but for the most part drow artisans were to be treated with scorn. Not like The Discarded (the outcasts, disgraced, remnants of broken houses and their get) who were viewed as vermin that could never the less be put to use but they were viewed as sullied by working with their hands like slaves.
Being an Ironmistress was a job that paid comparatively well but earned nobody's respect outside of other metalworking artisans and the slaves working under her authority (not that it mattered). The best that she could hope for is that one of her children went onto greatness while she managed to make Foundry Master, which was problematic since a Drow's lifespan meant waiting centuries to fill dead men's shoes. For three decades she'd consigned herself to doing her job as well as possible, ensuring that her furnaces turned out good metal and goods (mostly cannons, but also kettles, pots, anchors and other such items) and recieving a Scimitar every fortnight as well as the occasional bonus for exceeding quotas.
Then work began on a whole bunch of new projects. The furnaces were extensively overhauled allowing them to make better quality iron with less coal, but that was only the beginning. There were new machine tools for the armories, the new open hearth furnaces, rifled cannons, armor for ships and various other machines. The most notable of all the Steam Engines, which she was tasked to build. Doing so meant reading various spy reports, technical manuals that had been badly translated, learning some of the damnable coldland language and (worst of all) having to follow the instructions of enslaved engineers hoping that the whelps did not develop enough gumption to give her faulty instructions that would result in her getting blown apart. Thankfully the Lady Valcas had the sense to see their concerns and had the designs tested out in a pit.
Despite that the results were amazing. There was an intense mechanical power to watching a steam engine under full. Most people were wowed by ships under steam, but their applications in the manufactories was just as profound. From driving bellows to powering lathes, saws and milling machines, moving loads with belts and chains to powering the newly finished "roller mill" there was an endless set of applications for the energy steam could provide. All of which were needed more than ever to meet the needs of the navy after the defeat at Daagsgrad. Currently they were working on the engines for twelve new steamships with even more down the line, among them being the first steam powered ship of the line. That required assembling the largest steam engine the drow had ever built. It would weigh over a hundred and Ven* empty, twice as big as anything they'd stuck in a ship up until this point. This would require some testing.
It had taken five days to assemble the prototype boiler in the pit, with another day spent inspecting it to see that it was put together properly. Fortunately the assembly had gone without a hitch. Once things were in order to Weitas's satisfaction she had it fired up to test it's performance. The first day saw it rigged up to simmer at low pressure followed by an inspection and cleanup. That went smoothly and there was no sign of damage or stress afterwards. The second day they brought it up to what it would be under full steam and while it did groan a bit there was still no major tear. The third day was the most spectacular of the tests where they removed all the safeties and got the engines as hot as they could. The firebox they used to heat the boiler with was twice as large as the on they had planned for the ship itself and a set of bellows and fire spells soon got it. After building up 124% of their estimated maximum pressure the boiler burst in a gush of steam and shrapnel.
Once things had cooled down she'd left the bunker and examined the hole blown in the metal. She fiddled with fragments and tapped the cast iron, taking note of the sound and way it resonated. It was not as bad as she'd feared it might had been, even though there was still room for improvement. She'd advise some additional reinforcement for the boiler in the final version. It would cost more and it might add a day to the construction process. Even so the last thing that she needed was The Lady receiving a report that their steam powered ship of the line had exploded and her wrath focused on the Ironmistress who let it happen.
*(Drow equivalent of a tonne, 1500 vaul or 884.5 kilograms)
The Manor of House Ferlis was in every sense of the word ancient. It had been commissioned by Sainsien Ferlis during the War of Four centuries with nearly two hundred generations of slaves knowing the imposing stone structure is as the seat of authority. It presided over lands he'd had been bestowed by the Dark Emperor herself after cutting through swaths of men, dwarves and high elves both as a common warrior and after rising through the ranks as a commander, breaking army after army with bold aggression and a knack for exploiting the enemy's weak points, especially fear. Since then the house had produced generation after generation of the finest warriors by who's sweat and blood Valnothron endured and gained glory and victory. They'd been powerful players on the ruling council and had produced their share of Master Generals and a couple of High Lords.
Despite that legacy and much to the annoyance of it's members (among them being it's contemporary head Zenrith ti'Felris) it had fallen from prominence in the last thousand years. It was still wealthy even if the produce from their estates had to compete with that the merchants brought in either through trade or from the colonies (even though the house had gained some minor holdings across the sea) and the warriors it raised were still among the best the Dark Elves could produce and they were still classed as a Great House, but for all that they'd been pushed back politically. They'd lost their hereditary seat on the Council seat nine centuries prior thanks to the schemes and plots of the peddlers. They'd manage to gain a Term-Seat more often than not, but even so it left them at a disadvantage, a fact which boiled contempt and resentment in him for nearly three centuries.
One would be hard pressed to find a Drow who lacked for ambition and did not seek to gain power and prestige either for themselves or their families, but Zenrith had that as well as a score that he needed to settle. As far as he was concerned Valnothron was on a course to ruin and the blame lay squarely with the Merchant Houses. They had their function in society but statecraft was not one of them. From his study of history they'd been a problem ever since the Dark Emperor's death and they had managed to gain some prominance during the time of the Third Empire but even so they'd never been so powerful as they'd been in the last. Trade was a useful thing to have and for that reason House Ferlis had a few investments and merchant vassals. The problem was that the merchants built their fortunes around dealings with lesser beings and so they lost the stomach to do what needed to be done. Leaving aside naval campaigns with The Eternal Foe every few decades Valnothron had gotten into one major war in the last two and a half centuries. There would be the occasional brief campaign against the Allergonian Empire, brief wars to force some trade concession or reprisal, mercenary work, hunting down tribals across the sea and formalized show battles. None of that was real war, the kind that forged true strength and culled the weak from the herd. Cannons and Janissaries had their place, but the merchants had made them to dependent on them. They were content to forever postpone the coming War of Ascendancy when the Dark Elves would cleanse Illvanas of the corrupted ones and take their rightful place as masters of the world. The Warrior houses needed to retake control and put House Valcas and it's like in it's place sooner than latter lest the rot of degeneracy run to the core, even though the opportunity to do so was still a long way off.
As such while it may have been a bit incongruous with his general position there was little surprise that Zenrith firmly backed Valnothron striking the 'Infrastructurals' in what would become the Escort War. Even though the rise of that state in the frozen end of the world hurt the merchant families more than anyone else, they still dared to cross the Drow as a whole. When that collection of avarice cowards could be pushed towards taking up the sword he pushed them as hard as he could to take up the sword and cut down those fire-lock obsessed upstarts. He'd assumed that this would break them free of complacency and end with a reaping of snow covered waste. Instead the Coldlanders had managed to repulse all their attacks with at most minimal losses.
He'd read the reports and heard the firsthand accounts about what their steel warships could do, but as far as he was concerned that only made that more effort should have been brought to bear against them and their continued existence was as much the product of Mercantile cowardice and half measures as said ships vaunted prowess. No more was that evident than at the fiasco that the assault on Daagsgrad was let to become. If the merchant houses had committed their troops slightly sooner the city would be theirs and the final obliteration of that upstart state would be well under way. Instead House Ferlis had lost all but eight of the four hundred and forty warriors that he'd pledged to the expedition from day one as well as the frigate
Sainsien. It would take years and thousands of scimitars to be able to replace the forces lost even taking on houseless gutter rats by the score. Everything about that defeat ate at him, from the gutlessness of merchants to the fact that House Valcas was now making money hand over fist rebuilding and rearming the fleet to the fact that Infrastructure managed to defy the proper order of the universe and beat Felris warriors with peasant levies. So he stewed in his own bitterness and became committed to having those machine obsessed vermin snuffed out once and for all with all Nine States falling upon it in fury.
But despite all that he still had to sleep, and despite the fact that he had to sleep he was unpleasantly woken up by base biological matters. And so he trudged in a semi conscious stupor to the lavatory. It was a quirk of the architecture of the time that Lavatories were situated well away from the master's bedchamber. Had be been able to fully audit his behavior he would have noted that having to go to the bathroom at night was a rare occurrence and that his mind resolved itself more quickly after being rudely awakened. He also would have noticed the fact that while his generally unflinching bodyguard had been standing at his post, his eyes were closed. The only thing he did notice about this odd instance was the sudden sharp penetrating pain and subsequent spreading numbness of a poisoned dagger entering his back. That shocked him into full alertness, but that soon gave way to a haze of a different sort, a burning cold sensation and then darkness.
The assassin was among the best of Valnothron's guild, no one else would suffice to go after the leader of a Great House. Even with a cloak of invisibility and a wide variety of clever tools and spells at her disposal getting Zenrith into a position where she could strike was no easy feet. It involved introducing a combination of several different subtle potions introduced to him via his cutlery and his wine that only got the desired results in concert, a similar ploy with more powerful time delayed sleeping potion for the bodyguard, careful plotting of movements plotted to within a few steps while living in the manor's cellar for a week with a specially trained weasel required to do some critical work. But the contract had been fulfilled and with that the assassin made a daring escape. For the work she had done she had earned seventeen thousand scimitars that night, which was half the total contract. While she did not pry into the matter, she had correctly assumed that her employers believed that the last thing Valnothron needed was a radical firebrand pushing for endless escalation.
Like thousands of other teenagers Arina Shatski had come to Dalatyr in search of credits for both herself and her family, prospects of a life that did not involving farm work and to serve the cause of Infrastructure. The needs of wartime production had increased the needs of the industrial workforce and campaigns to bring in additional workers had been stepped up. She'd thought she might get a job as a clerk somewhere as she'd managed to get two whole years of schooling and could books hundreds of pages long, though it turned out in Dalatyr children got six years of schooling at least. Even so the Dalatyr Labor Bureau had found her work soon enough.
Arina's first job was as a construction laborer at a new arsenal complex on the outskirts of town. Lacking technical expertise it basically involved a lot of carrying stuff and screwing screws in on machines as a technician instructed. She came in towards the end of summer and ended a few weeks after the battle of Daagsgrad. To her surprise she was soon offered a job on sight once work was completed even though there were additional construction projects going on. As it meant less heavy lifting, working in the warm and paid a credit and a half more per day she accepted.
Even so after the first week she was second guessing that decision. The new job was not hard, but it was incredibly boring. The new armory complex's first product was shells for the military. The navy needed as much as it could get so they were made on a moving line. Empty brass casings went on one end, shells came off the other after a dozen workers were done with them. Her job involved operating the line via a simple lever control attached to a dispenser. The line moved in it's default position. When she pushed it up the line stopped and dispenser poured out a measure of propellant powder into the shell, usually up to a mark inside the shell. If the shell was only partially filled, which happened often enough, she pulled the lever down and topped it up using a measuring spoon before sending it on it's way. At the end of the work day they also had to wipe down the machinery with soapy water to avoid any chance of it blowing up on them. The facility was also under tight surveillance with lots of armed guards, many of them with specially trained dogs. The armor was in general off limits to unauthorized personnel in general and some sections more than others. Brass came in for the shell foundries in labeled boxes but the supplies for the inner facilities went through in unmarked boxes
One thing she noticed in the long hours of industrial work was the fact that the powder loaded into the shells was different to the stuff that her father used in his hunting musket. That was like pebbles while this stuff was larger and more regular cylinders. The official policy was that these pellets were better than regular gunpowder and left it at that. Even so she'd seen a lot of the things go down that line and the armory had several of them. She sometimes wondered what they were going to do with them, but one thing was certain: the Drow were not going to enjoy it one bit.
The third son of the owner of a small orchard Jholin of Asmla was a hearty hard working young man who's simple nature belied a capable if unambitious mind. He enjoyed working with rubber trees and was fine with his lot in life, even if it would have been nice to own the orchard instead of just working there. As such it came as a suprise to him when he was met by one of the strange clothskinned people from downriver that the clan had been doing business with. With the aide of an interpreter and some remarkable images she managed to convey him that they had considerable interest in having him work for them growing a rubber orchard in exchange for a house, food and various goods and services, among them the ability to send things to his family. After discussing this with his parents for a bit he decided to give it a try. After a few days on a barge he'd arrived at their new settlement and was quite impressed by the neat streets, two story buildings with glass windows, workshops full of strange tools who's function he could only guess at, the massive iron barges which lay at anchor and similar, even if some of the people doing dirty jobs were unsavory types.
Even so most of his work took place outside the town's walls in a plot of land set aside for the trees. With the assistance of an interpreter he'd instructed a few workers. Using some seeds he'd brought with him and was provided with he had soon gotten some sprouts growing in clay pots, which he transplanted into larger pots as time went on. It was a bit dry for them, even though they were able to pump in additional water which helped them along. The communications barrier was a big obstacle for Jholin, even the local tribes of what he considered to be normal had their own tongue. But as time went on he acquired the 'Infrastructural' Language word by word and sentence by sentence. After seven months he had picked up enough to hold a conversation, even if it was clear he got plenty wrong. Nothing went horribly wrong in that time, though it would still be another six years before the trees were ready for tapping.
As promised a house was built for him and he could acquire goods using credits and send them to his family. The biggest problem he faced was loneliness. Being cut off from his family and old friends had been a bigger blow than he'd expected. This became less of an issue as time went on but even so he still felt like an outsider. Several attempts at interacting with the Infrastructurals directly were made, the first of which being awkward but gradually he got better with them. Among the young woman named named Nika Volnisleb. She had a knack for tending the trees and was remarkably attentive to detail. One evening he was going over a batch of saplings that were nearly ready for planting checking for leaves that needed to be pruned when he made his move.
"Nika?"
"Yes Jholin?" She replied.
"I thinking it be nice if going to Voyage's End after work and get ale and pirozhki when done. Would you like come? I pay." The sentence was mangled but it came out with a combination of friendliness and embarrassment.
"Alright. Might be nice." She replied.
"Good." He said relieved. There was still a lot to be done and hard work, but with some companionship would make the load easier to bare.
There was a decent amount of political turmoil two months after the defeat of Daagsgrad, but despite that Admiral ti'Kalvonin clout and influence had managed to bolster it. Even if the battle had been lost she'd managed to not only get most of her ships and the warriors on board to safety but had taken out one of their Ironclads in the process. Those in search of a scapegoat as to who was responsible for the debacle had mostly gone for other more promising targets, among them being those who had previously leveled blame against her after the defeat in the Straights of Nalmros. Her criticisms of the plans had also been circulating and the response to them on the whole had been positive from what her more politically minded brother could tell her. This was a boon to her household and herself. It came as a surprise as she spent her share of the political currency on a new initiate for the navy.
It was generally accepted that the weak link in all Drow naval forces were slave sections of the crews. Mostly they were viewed as a necessary evil to get sufficient manpower to mobilize a fleet which could fend off the never sufficiently damned High Elves. In centuries past they had mostly been rowers before evolving bit by bit into sailors and gunners. Either way the standards were low. There was some preference for broken slaves who'd previously worked on (in descending order) cargo ships, fishing boats or river barges as well as those with useful trades such as carpentry but those were expensive and at most might make up a quarter of a warship's crew. Former field hands, miners, stevedores, general laborers and boys as young as seven were much more common and were often supplemented by various dregs (either maimed or problematic) and fresh captures from raids or prizes. Their (for what of a better word) "training" was done in a sink or swim fashion, new slave sailors were simply thrown into the crews of warships among more experienced slaves and were expected to pull their weight or be brutally punished with grog and the prospects of extra grog to keep them in line. Those that survived the system usually became capable seamen that could be auctioned off during long lulls. They could perform shipboard functions satisfactorily, run out the guns reasonably quickly and reload them in drills, though even they also had a greater tendency to panic and break down under fire that other crews lacked even when bloody examples were made. They tended to drink more than their counterparts elsewhere. But what concerned her more than that was the fact that the process that made said sailors was inefficient and wasteful best and only got worse when a large section of that experienced crew base was gutted.
These methods might have been adequate a couple centuries ago but times had clearly changed. The Infrastructural Navy simply showed an acceleration in trends while the losses at Daagsgrad and the needs of a steam powered fleet made the need for change more pressing. As such she'd managed to push for the creation of a new breed of sailors starting with an experimental batch of four hundred. They were be trained on land at first where they would be introduced to the new steam machinery before getting their sea legs on rowboats and then a old cargo galleon before finally being integrated into crews. Punishments were still brutal but it would be applied to get them into shape. They were held to more strict codes of conduct reinforced by a reinvigorated sailor's sect of the slave faith. Where other slave sailors would wear whatever rags and scraps of clothing came their way or they could cobble together with maybe a crude insignia added on she'd managed to procure some proper uniforms for this new breed of sailors, even if she was not fully satisfied with the hats. All in all she'd hoped to create a new breed of slave sailors more akin to Janissaries, loyal fanatics driven to excel rather than a cowed rabble kept in line only by the lash and a haze of alcohol.
So far things had been going well even if the process was only half done. They could do things just fine on the test courses and had managed to get the hand of manning guns at the test ranges. One troublemaker had been removed and two more recovering after a serious injuries inured during in a gunnery training accident, but so far things had been working well. Engine training had some complications as it meant showing them about the shipyards and a couple manufactories, but they had been getting the hang of things by all reports. As she inspected them she was mostly satisfied with how things were going. She did not fear the project would not raise standards as it was self evidently was doing just that. She did have some concerns from attack traditionalists who'd argue that the new methods, while productive, were not worth the increased expense or that while they were useful when the navy needed to be quickly rebuilt they would not be worth the cost for general operations. Regardless she had high hopes that investing in training would give Hansoliath the edge it would need for eventually overcoming both the Infrastructuals and The Eternal Foe.
After the repulsion of the Drow assault and the purge of the remaining rebels there was a lot to do in in Daagsgrad, from clearing out rubble to replacing destroyed buildings to bringing in food and supplies and salvage operations to get what could be recovered from the sunken warships. Priority was understandably allocated to getting the shipyards back to full capacity. Damage in that sector was comparitively light but the loss of skilled workers and the destruction of supplies had disrupted schedules immensity. Even with replacement equipment and workers being brought in from Daagsgrad. There was also the issue of morale, much of the workforce had lost friends, family and loved ones as well. Yuna Igorova knew this all too well, but she found a way to cope. Family offered some comfort and she was definitely grateful to Fedor and the boys for offering it, even so she needed an outlet for her frustrations and sense of loss. That she found at work, especially after she was promoted to Bureaucrat Level 5 and put in charge of the administration of the component department.
After she'd received and signed the appropriate papers the first thing she did was march out through the factory floor to the Foreman's Office. After a few quick questions she found that the foreman was in his office she quickly converged on it as implacable as a glacier. She burst open the door and in his chair sat Kir Molenov staring into a bottle of cheap spirit on top of a bunch of paperwork. She had a similar bottle in her desk until the aftermath of the battle, though it had been their for a year and was still only half done. By everything she'd heard Kir went through several workplace bottles a month since the Drow were first sighted.
"What! Who let you...What the!" he said more confused than anything as she advanced on him. Before he could react she lashed out an arm, grabbed up the bottle and tossed it behind her to shatter against the wall leaving a cascade of light amber drops as it went as he watched in horror. When his gaze focused back on Yuna he was subjected to a glare that liquefy hydrogen.
"Foreman." She spoke in a quiet, calm tone which drove home the fact that Kir was on thin ice. "As of eighteen minutes ago I have been tasked with the administration of this facility to ensure it's productivity. It's my job to make sure that this operation works smoothly and efficiently. Being inebriated on the job violates a dozen workplace regulations and sets a horrible precedent to those you've been elected to manage. Dalanovya turned a blind eye to this given everything she had to put up with and your previous performance. I wont. Now listen to me very carefully, if so much as a drop of anything stronger than kvas touches your lips in this shipyard I'll have you dismissed and arrested for gross negligence, public intoxication and disruption of industry vital to the war effort. Am I understood?"
"You can't do this!" Kir said slightly slurred in confusion "I've been Foreman here for seven years and have thirteen years supervisory experience! You'd replace me with some floor managing kid who's only ever handled a dozen people!?"
"I know that. Your previous service and the disruptions that your replacement would cause is the reason why I'm giving you this chance to straighten out your act instead of coming in with security. Productivity has dropped by forty percent from before the attack and I am to get it back to proper levels. I have had to put up with far too much of your sloppy unacceptable paperwork that you've submitted and resubmitted for you to tell me it hasn't compromised your ability."
"But drink lets me get through each day." He said sobbing. "It hasn't been easy to get through the day since that mob of slaving vermin took my Myla from me."
"And you think your the only one who've lost someone they loved to those bastards?!" She snapped, letting fury melt the ice for a few seconds "There is hardly a family in this entire dreary city who hasn't and does not know that grief. Grieve when you have the opportunity and time to yourself. While you are here you have a job to do and it's an important one. Infrastructure's shields and walls is it's fleet. They may have hundreds of warships but of our ironclads can lay waste to a dozen of theirs. The quicker we can build, repair and service them the safer our friends and family will be. I will do everything in my power to get productivity back to where it was and exceed it so we never have to deal with that loss again. Am I understood Foreman!?"
"Ugh uh yes...learne...um, Enlightened Bureaucrat!" He stuttered shocked as he got the right mode of address.
"Very good." She said as she cracked a wicked little smirk and her voice lost some of its edge but none of it's granite. "I want a general report on staff performance filed by lunchtime tomorrow neat and proper. There are still some managerial and technical positions that need filling and I have some bonuses to give out, possibly even one for Foreman who've shown that they've gotten over a previous slump in performance. But don't test the limits of my better nature. Good day to you, i'll have a janitor come to sort out the mess shortly." She strode out of the Foreman's office and got back to work. There was a lot to do, but that was no excuse to give up. Defeatism would do nobody any good.
For thousands of years the Drow had captured the ships of their foes both to bolster their navies and merchant fleets, a tradition which commodore Eyvalsiin ti'Xalmis had continued as her squadron returned to Valnothron's Harbor. It was a bit unusual for a flag officer, even a junior one, to ride a prize in but given that they were a pair of Infrastructural Freighters she felt that it was fitting.
Her five ship light squadron had been on a routine North Sea patrol when they happened upon a small Infrastructural convoy of three pure steamships flying the Hexagonal Banner coming in on them. Seeing the opportunity it presented she had her ships move into encircle them. Doing so was more difficult than normal, the coldlander ships were faster and more maneuverable than most and one of them managed to give her forces the slip in it's entirety. The two that she had trapped did not go down lightly either as they were armed and carried explosive rounds. They only had a single breechloading cannon a piece and thankfully their gunnery was far below what their navy could do, but they still managed to sink one of her brigs, severely damage another and blast holes in the rest of her command. They also each had one of their blasted fast firing guns as well as a spring loaded catapult that fired glass jars full of some flammable liquid, but despite that her marines were able to get aboard and quickly managed to overrun her new prizes. She fished out the survivors from the sunk frigate, managed to get the surviving boiler tenders to get their prizes under way and made for home. That was three days ago.
She stood on the "bridge" of the freighter
Vertebograd and took in the surroundings. As she saw the bustling port with it's bustling warfs, the never-ending activity of the shipyards and the myriad ships and boats either at anchor, coming in or going out she felt on top of the world. She hadn't felt this good since she'd been given her first command. The 43 Infrastructural sailors they'd captured would fetch a good price at auction, the cargoes of trade goods that would fetch a good price but the vessels themselves were the real prize. After discussing it with the admiralty, the Navy had decided to buy both ships for 160,000 scimitars each, of which 60,000 would go to her with the rest being distributed among her Drow sailors and their households. That windfall was be enough to move House Xalmis up a rung or two on the social ladder as well as earning it that more rare and precious coin of prestige for the middling merchant house. She'd spend a bit of it on herself in celebration and leave the rest for when she needed it latter on. An Admiral's banner, something she'd dreamed of since childhood was significantly closer at least and hopefully what house Valcas could glean from the prizes she'd provided them will make her fleet that much more powerful when it was finally under her command. Finally there was the satisfaction she gained that she'd scored a victory over a foe of terrible power, even if it was only capturing a pair of their cargo shps.
As a child Vlan Forth of Anya had heard in secret stories from her mother about the land her father lived before he was taken as a slave. Such talk was done in secret, for it was a sin to desire the chaotic unbound lands not yet claimed by the pinnacles of creation. What he heard of it gave him no inclinations of doing so, but there were those who would have taken it the wrong way. In the last few years he had heard some rumors circulate about the Coldlands, most of them far fetched. He did not think about it much however, mostly he focused on his job as not doing so was a good way to get maimed.
Like many unskilled slaves Vlan had exchanged owners a couple of times, two years ago he was bought by House Galxrath where he was put to work building and then manning an expansion on their foundries helping lay brick, setting up scaffolding, mixing mortar and other such jobs. They were the largest in Cendoliath and remained that way even though their rivals in House Celizoth had and were expanding theirs. The new furnaces were a bit different than the old ones according to those who'd been here such as iron engines that pumped the furnaces. There had also been argument among the masters about such devices, some wanted to add more of them while others did not, but considering such decisions was not his place.
In any case after their completion he was tasked with bringing in loads of Coal, Iron and rubble from the warehouses to the new great furnaces where it would be carried up by a treadmill powered affair that lifted up buckets and fed into the huge volcano like tower (a comparison praticularly common on the Obsidian Isles) to begin it's transformation into iron. Some involved huge cauldrons which spat sparks and others involved secondary furnaces, forges and a few odd contraptions, but all of them involved being close to burning sparks, red hot metal and a nasty combination of ringing noise, sooty darkness and blinding lights. If nothing else he was glad to be away from that with his wheelbarrow, though a few of his fellow wheelbarrow pushers had been reassigned to the foundry floor to replace those that accidents had claimed. What all that Iron was to be used for he did not know, though he did know that some of it became cannons and that a lot of it was going to the shipyards.
However for the past few weeks he noticed something strange, the huge warehouses that contained the materials he was to feed the furnaces with were slowly emptying out. He never saw the huge rooms filled to capacity, but they always had a huge pile of iron rich rocks or black coals in them which he could see being replenished as carts emptied more in. However day by day the once daunting heaps became smaller and smaller as it was topped up less and less. Now the iron stores were almost entirely empty with an old man sweeping up what scraps he could to a few pitiful piles that he doubted would last the day. Coal was not as bad, but the stores were dwindling. Even so he did his job, filled his barrow and made his way hoping that he would not be blamed for this or be caught in the rage of a frustrated ironmaster.
For eight centuries the Serene Republic of Venoa had rejected the feudalism so common in many of it's neighbors. In it's place was a plutocratic oligarchic system. Power was in the hands of those who had wealth, be they the prominent guilds or the patrician class. While seen as lords by many a layman beyond their borders all a household needed to do to obtain patrician status was to have the appropriate yearly income to gain the ability to achieve the right to run for office and be elected by those citizens who had the right to vote (mostly those whom had met some lesser income requirement, but also including veterans, master tradesmen and those who served the republic well). This system had driven the Serene Republic's rise from one City State among others on the Anvosi Peninsula to one of the most powerful human nations. The lowliest mudlark picking over the coastline for nails and other such refuse which had its buyers aspired to climb the social ranks (in the last few years with a greater margin of success) either for himself or his children while a Patrician who wanted to keep his exalted status had to constantly be on his toes. It's trade fleets were the foundations of this, but also through manufacturing, shipbuilding, building up a navy that could force favorable trade terms, deal with pirates and claim colonies and through finance.
Generally the patrician families competed fiercely with each other for prestige, wealth and influence. However there were exceptions, as happened on a wet winter night when two dozen heads of patrician families and guildmasters congregated at the manor of House Di'Villigino. Among them (including the host) were five members of The Council of Fifteen, the ruling council of the Serene Republic though the matter of discussion was officially off the books. There was some conversation about matters between the figures but this ended by Ritzio Di'Villiginio as he tapped his spoon against his glass.
"Ladies and Gentlemen." He said politely as a couple of servants began distributing small stacks of papers. "Tonight we have gathered to discuss a matter which is both of a concern to both ourselves and the well being of the Republic. While I you are all aware of your portion of the situation the report you have been given summarizes the situation for other the issue in regards to all of us." The gathered leaders poured over the list of notes and were shocked at what they saw. Many of them had speculated about the exact figures but seeing the reality of the matter was shocking. There was an odd murmuring of shock and bewilderment. "The first point is the most straightforward, in short Infrastructure has borrowed from us some eleven million three hundred and seventy two thousand one hundred and fifty Lyra at an average annual interest rate of 16.5% per year. Certain other parties in the city who have elected not to attend this meeting have also loaned them considerable sums as have other financial institutions abroad, though we can not at this time be specific."
"You could build, outfit and provision four hundred trade ships for that much!" Giachamo Di'Giovelli, owner of the largest shipyard in the city after the arsenal, blurted out. "With steam engines!"
"Even so this can't be bad as it looks." Vintenzio Di'Hanseti said, nervously "Sure the Coldlanders borrowed a lot of Real Money, but between they also buy metal off us in the mountains, housing it in our warehouses, shipping it back in venoan tradeships and insuring the shipments they've just been keeping it warm for us for a few hours."
"For a fraction of the loaned coin that is true." Ritzio responded. "However from what we can gather at least half of it is shipped out to cover similar spending elsewhere."
"By the gods, how much metal do those golems need even if they are building ships out of it?!" Someone blurted out.
"They just can't keep this up for much longer! Sooner or latter they'll run out of money and options." Someone else let out.
"I'm not worried about that." Someone responded quickly "I'm worried about Drow will finish them off before then, they took one of their convoys a few weeks back. The tide could be turning and that means Infrastructure's days are numbered."
"One of their cargo ships managed to fight free of it's assailants, one of their Ironclads would have obliterated the entire squadron in short order. Have you forgotten what they did at Daagsgrad?"
"Oh don't be so naive." The tone of the exchange was getting more heated. "Daagsgrad was a fluke, the figures that they published were obviously exaggerated. The Dark Elves will return to strike the killing blow soon enough."
"Just like the other battles then?"
"Yes! I say this as someone who's actually seen naval guns in battle, their guns can't be half good as they claim even with rifling. Besides the Drow are now building their own steamships."
"Regardless any future move by the Drow will have to be a big one. Here and now I'm concerned about our ships going headed North to Infrastructure." This was but the loudest of the exchanges which continued on for a few minutes.
"Gentleman." Di'Ritzo said. He did not yell but he did give his voice a firm carrying quality. "Your points and discussion are valid, however this was but the first part of the report. First of all the Central Committee is bending over backwards to procure the resources that it deems critical to it's war effort. Secondly they have proven themselves capable against what forces the Drow have so far mustered. That said the Drow states involved have only committed a fraction of their reserves and have been working towards narrowing the technological gap, though it is still unknown how far they have come. Thirdly is the fact that Infrastructure is stuck on the defensive. Leaving aside the matter of Watchtowers, the lands are sparsely peopled and it can only mobilize so many soldiers and man so many ships. The fact that their territory is so large counts against them as it spreads their forces thin. Their ironclads are definitely powerful, but they can only be in one place at a time and they are not invincible."
"As it stands the outcome of this war is still in the air, but as far as our interests are concerned two possible outcomes. The first will see the preservation of a valuable trading who shall provide the republic and it's people with opportunities and riches for decades to come. The alternative is that the Drow succeed in it's destruction, either in full or in part, laying waste farms, villages, towns, cities and their capacity to pay back the debts they've incurred. This brings us to the reason for this meeting. As such tomorrow I shall propose to the Doge and the Council that the Serene Republic give an ultimatum to the Drow States currently at war with Infrastructure: cease hostilities or we will be forced to intervene to restore peace. I have already gotten the support from the fellow council members seated here, though your pledges will help sway what. Ladies and gentlemen, are you willing to do what must be done?"
There was a murmur of agreement among most of the gathered higher ups. The threat to their coffers from the loss of trade (which Infrastructure had given Venoa them a local monopoly on for the Anvosi Peninsula in exchange for reduced tariffs) and the debts was too great to be casually dismissed. Even so their was some dissent.
"You plan on threatening war against the Drow? You'll have them"
"The states involved in the war, yes. We have faced down the Dark Elves before and emerged triumphant, even when were alone. If worse came to worse and war happened we would be opening up a second front on these northern states from the south. Moreover you should be reminded that we now have advantage in steam powered warships. We currently have forty eight steam galleys and six steam galleasses in service with more under construction, including our first Ironclads. Just as importantly we have experienced crews who can handle them without burning their ships to the waterline. This is leaving aside the matter of High Elvish intervention and the resolve of the Drow in this war which has already been costly. Finally the point needs to be made that there are consequences for threatening the Serene Republic."
"This situation has gotten out of hand" Giachamo Di'Giovelli said "and from what I can see the time for decisive action has come. You have my signature and my full support."
There was a couple of seconds of consideration among the gathered elites but then one by one they similarly gave their support.
Master Seaman Georgi Galezowski's naval career began with three months of duty on Shchuka Boat SB-58, known to it's crew as the
War Log for the fact that it was long, low to the water and it's accommodations were hardly better than the flotsom. Afterwards he'd impressed the lieutenant and had been transferred to the Thunderer, the second Hunter class ship which was ultimately a much better craft to serve on. He'd done his job well enough so that he was picked up for the Avatar on her maiden voyage and trial by fire at Daagsgrad. The glory of the victory that he'd had a hand in had yet to fade, even though the Great Ship had been committed to the yards for inspection and maintenance after returning to Borogskov and he knew that there were a lot of kinks which still needed to be worked out. There were plenty of odd sounds on the maiden voyage. The Engineering department had done little but complain about this fact for the last four months as they'd worked round the clock with dock hands. From what he'd gathered the Avatar had been put together too fast and had never gotten a proper shakedown cruise to make sure everything was ship shape. As far as Georgi was concerned it was better she was somewhat ready to fight at Daagsgrad than lying half finished in a yard while Drow Slavers overran the city.
In particular one day he Georgi felt that their complaints about having to fix this or that were being silly. He had several duties aboard his ship, but on that day he was given the task of loading the ship's aft magazine with several other of his fellow sailors. Each of the massive hollow steel projectiles was carefully carried by winch before being secured and locked into place. For safety reasons each projectile was not stored with a fuse. Even so handling the big explosives made him nervous. The fact that if something went horribly wrong he'd never know it was scarce comfort. Even so, with exaggerated care he put the shells into place and secured them firmly.
Most of his faculties were dedicated on the job at hand. Even so somewhere deep in his brain part of his brain realized the consequences of what was going on. The Avatar would soon be returning to the sea. It might be to finish her aborted shakedown, but given the number of shells that were being brought along he had the suspicion that they would be going out on a military operation and in praticular one where they either expected a fight to come to them, or one where they brought the fight to the enemy.