EMPIRE OF STEAM
OOC
May 27th, 1882 of the Common Era
Rainswept cobblestones pitter pattered with the sound of iron shod hooves pulling their passengers in dark cabs. While above several thoroughfares raised tracks sported steam powered engine multi-cabs pulling dozens of passengers along district to district. The Sednan Capital city of Tyrne was alight with oil lamps and a hundred thousand household fires producing gray clouds. Overshadowed in the distance by the black coal stacks spewing their pea-soup fog into poorer tenement housing. A city of several millions and the beating heart of an Empire who's far flung dominions led to the claim that the 'Sun Never Sets on the Sednan Flag.' But of course, the true beating heart, or rather the pulse which forced its millions to conduct their labors, was of course money. Some two million Pound Sterling were involved in transactions every day from petty purchases on the street to industrialists arranging payment for financing to build ever more factorums; or perhaps the Government from the Royal Bank of Sedna and the premiums paid to the private shareholders that own such an institution.
One such shareholder, one of the established pillars of Sednan if not Borean finance, rode in a black cab pulled by a pair of fine white horses. Pulling along the cobblestone streets with its soft-top raised to form a fabric cabin. Only marginally warmer than the misting evening air outside. Truly, warmth for the occupant came from the layers of clothing he wore. Soft silks under heavy wool and a fine brown suede overcoat. Top hat with wide enough brim to keep the rain off his neck resting on his lap.
He was a middle-aged man, getting onto the later years for sure as evidence by the growing white underneath his reddish-blonde hair, but his eyes held a still twinkling vigor. Fifty-two years of age but scarcely a wrinkle save for those on the edges of his eyes. Indeed, he made a point of keeping fit and not overindulging in the finer accoutrements common among the Sednan Peerage. As such he never became corpulent after his youth and boasted, in the words of his private physician, 'a strong vitality of the liver.'
The cab moved further West and North, passing through the older Westmount which occupied a low spur of the Caldwell Hills neighborhood. The driver, true to his skill, and his higher-than-average pay for such a profession, moved along the still busy streets with expertise. The cab never once slowed save when mandated by traffic marshals. Luckily, the driver had the sense to avoid the constant congestion of Royal Square on their route.
The passenger cast his eyes out, twin icy gray pearls tinged with blue specks at the gradually diminishing pedestrian presence. Checking his pocket watch he inhaled the clearer air as they left the urban sprawl behind. Passing over the smaller Knight's Bridge the cab was now in the suburbs and still moving outward from the city centre. Pressing onward with quickening pace as the traffic lessened with every minute. Until finally it crossed into an outer area of pleasant woodlands and low hills. Rounding itself North-West by West till it pulled through the iron gates of Northgate Abbey. The longtime home of one of the most important families on the Home Island of Sedna.
Tugging on the reins the cab pulled up to the front were several servants waited, a pair of footmen bearing parasols to shield the occupant of the cab as he stepped out.
"Welcome home, Lord Barclays," said the Butler of the residence, Archibald Waverly.
+++
The Lord Barclays was a peculiar man in his private life. Every bit the aristocratic socialite in public, the banker of half the population one could joke, The Queen's Purse one could snigger, but in private he was a studious man of geography and literature. Indeed, the private library of Northgate Abbey had been expanded twice in his tenure as Lord Barclays after the death of his father and with the most enraptured attention to the Elves. Rather, the Eldeirnari, in the tongue of the Elves proper. An obsession since his youth when he received the journal of his grandfather's much older brother, found in the Scarlet Ports of the Elven Kingdom of Valataine, in 1839. The grand-uncle's journey kept meticulously the fate of the lost expedition of Johann van der Spauld in the 1760s.
Detailing how the Expedition, deemed a financial loss by many investors due to the long history of failure such expeditions garnered when trying to penetrate into the lands of the Elves and Kobolds, had been laughed out of every counting house and court in Boreana. But had managed to get some interest from a new money family in the Novoboreanan city-state of New Aquitan. A city-state that had grown wealthy for wines and limestone deposits but was boxed in by the emerging Novoboreanan geo-political world and thus sought to gain a foothold in Polairya.
Financed with then a tidy sum enough to bring a few hundred colonists and a company of soldiers. Equipped on three ships of three-mast size. The Spauld Expedition as it was known set out in 1766 and crossed a foggy sea, for the coasts of Polairya were treacherous with 'shifting isles' and 'sudden fog' that seemed to materialize from the wild polar vortexes of the Far North and the more languid southerly gales blowing up from the Gulf of Atalantys.
Arriving in late Spring the Spauld Expedition had landed in a heavily forested area with some sparse fields relatively good from flooding or marsh for homesteads. There, the colonists began to set to work building cabins as the ships stayed at anchor for two weeks. Until one, the Santa Padre, left to fill its holds with supplies for the colonists, namely winter supplies to be stowed in the settlement.
Barclays flipped to where he left off, the beginning of Summer for the Spauld Expedition,
June 2nd, 1766
Things are going well and much celebration with the first birth of a human child in these lands. The Mason's, a family of trappers, giving birth to a healthy baby girl. The area itself is pleasant, lovely, with a soil fertility that astounds us all nomatter where we look. Black and hearty were even the most delicate of our seeds have taken route. Surely, fabled Elf magic runs in even the dirt of this place. Yet, that brings me to a sobering point. The threat of death by the Elves in their over half-century ban has seemingly spared us thus far. For we have not encountered any person, Elf or Kobold, in our time here. Just forests and the beauty of the mountains in the distance. Several of the men every day leave on patrol, our soldiers, and they come back with the same report. The region seems uninhabited. Perhaps even abandoned?
June 17th, 1766
Height of Summer approaches and the young lieutenant of the guard company protecting us spotted a Gryphon of such size that we scarcely believed it. A spry lad and the makings of a good officer, no doubt he will ascend to lead his own regiment one day, was out gazing with his spyglass towards the mountains when he saw it.
July 13th,
The Santa Padre has returned with more than enough supplies and even six donkeys and four horse. The two other ships, Maryweather and Sturnberg, will be departing to restock and bring a smaller second wave of colonists that have signed up back in New Aquitan. Even grapes grow here!
August 1st,
Both ships have left and we now know the surrounding countryside quite well. If you can call it a countryside for it is a seemingly wild place devoid of habitation. Yet, the game is plentiful and the local flora safe.
August 26th,
Both ships have returned and now we boast over eight hundred heads in our colony. Both the Freegeld and Cotling families have had pregnancies with their married daughters. The optimism in the air for a new city in these lands is astounding.
September 7th,
Sergeant Frankois swears he saw a figure on a large hawk like creature soaring near the mountains while on patrol in the eastern forests. But this could not be confirmed. Captain Palmerston, of Sednan stock, wishes to mount an expedition to the Eastern mountains and bring valuable gifts that could perhaps lead to a warming of relations and understanding with the Elves. Our newly appointed Aldermen however believe this premature and that the colony lacks the numbers to support a defense should the Elves become hostile. Rather, they should build a fort near the coast that could house the colonists in the event of an Elf raid and put a palisade around the settlement.
September 18th,
A brig, the Cantabran, out of Mercia by plying the Novoborean trade lanes, came close to our ships and dropped off several Achysian and Mercian families. Apparently, word of our success has gotten to some ears back in Boreana. One could only think the fee these colonists paid to get here! But they seem pleasant enough, but despite our Aldermen advising they settle adjacent our own homes they moved further inland.
October 22nd,
Strange things reported in the woods to the West. Several parties went out to investigate for danger and nothing was found. The Santa Padre's look out confirmed dark figures moving along the beach but could not discern their number or purpose. People are worried now, and arms have been distributed to every man and boy over fourteen winters. Groundbreaking of the fort has begun with the assistance of the sailors on a small bluff but I fear it will not be ready come winter.
November 6th
Palmerston is worried and mumbling about things in dark.
November 8th
Palmerston leaves with twenty soldiers and ten colonists to the East to seek out the Elves and parlay with them. The trapper, George Mason, out in the Eastern woods with his oldest son Archer, reports their passing four miles to the East crossing a small forest stream.
November 20th
No word from Palmerston or his men. A small enclosure by the ships on that bluff I mentioned is finished. Can't write much lately, exhausted by the work and upkeep of the new farms, I fear we may have to abandon this place should the natives become aggressive. George and his son while out East checking traps report hearing what sounded like musket fire in the distance but could not be certain as a small thunderstorm was roiling about at sea.
November 26th
Seargent Frankois and some volunteers left this morning to the East to look for Palmerston. Returned that night without success. I am growing restless and will join them on the next search.
November 29th
It is cold and frost has come. I volunteered to join the next search party and we set off before dawn's light to the East along the short stretch of blazed trail by the trapping and logging families. We crossed the small stream George mentioned and were now closing into the foothills by mid-morning. By noon we were at an elevation that we could scarcely see the smoke of our cabins to the West and the ships in the cove without aid of spyglass. We fear we may have gone too far and will not return till the morrow'. We press on.
November 30th
Sign of a campsite found and with the markings on the tents we conclude it was Palmerston's men that were here. Footprints to the East by North-East and we elected to follow them for two days before turning around.
December 1st
A musket, Black Betty brand out of Sedna, and a Tetrarchy pistol. The latter we knew belonged to a colonist that had gone with Palmerston named Kirill. They had been discharged at some point before cast aside. No sign of struggle. Just laid beside a set of trees rather neatly. Frankois is unsettled, firmly, and the men worry about their wives and children back in the settlement.
December 2nd
We came to a clearing and before us we could only be amazed as in the distance, situated in a barely seen valley if not up close, we could see a city as if carved from the mountain side. Beautiful and glimmering with stonework to match the landscape. We skirted the field out of caution and there on the northern edge of the clearing we found a second campsite and a pyre. Palmerston and the others are dead. Their trinkets tossed into the pyre with them. We beat a hasty retreat back into the woods the way we came.
December 4th
Halfway back we got the feeling of being followed. Corporal Leadwain went missing in the night during his sentry duty. We searched but could not find him and Frankois ordered us to double time it home.
December 5th
Snowfall was coming and slowly blanketing the landscape as we reached home and told the village what had befallen Palmerston's men. Talk of abandoning the settlement is common. I can scarcely write with the shaking of my hand.
December 8th
Three days nothing has happened though unease permeates the village.
January 4th,
Winter in full tilt and George reports a number of his traps have been destroyed or removed. But no footfalls in the snow to tell him how or who took them. The Aldermen suspend activities in the woods till Spring and order the manning of the enclosure.
February 11th
A fierce blizzard has rolled in but no changes in the village though the mood has lightened. Perhaps Palmerston had did something to offend the natives and they had no quarrel with the rest of us?
February 19th
The Sternburg was spotted drifting away from the cove and attempts by the other ships to hail them are not answered. Some activity reported on the deck but no answering lamps or horns. Just drifts out to sea and is not seen again. Our fastest ship, the Maryweather, broke anchor to follow with the Santa Padre close behind but by the time they caught up there was not a living soul aboard. No bodies either but a hole in the hull which was flooding the ship. It would be lost to the depths in a matter of hours and some sailors believe that hole is where the bodies of their maritime fellows were offered to whatever dark sea gods the Elves may worship.
March 4th
A sudden thaw came and gave way to significant fog for a few nights. Curiously, the Herold's who live closest to the inland settlers from Achysia and Mercia reported the latter's candlelight's abruptly snuffing out around midnight. Several of us accompanied by a squad of soldiers trekked over and to our horror no one was seen. It was if they had vanished into the fog. A trio of soldiers and one of the Aldermen elect to remain and see if their whereabouts could be determined.
March 5th
Musket fire in the inland village and a fire broke out in the night. Nothing but smoking ruins and the corpses of all four men nailed to walls. I write to you, whomever may read this, now as the matter becomes urgent. This land is cursed to us. Cursed I say, and abandon all hope ye who settle here not of this soil!
March 6th
Dark figures in the night. We have abandoned the outer homes and formed a blockade around the inner houses. A platoon of soldiers has manned the small enclosure by the bluffs and the ships have their guns trained to support or fire into the forests.
March 7th
Figures in the dead of night reported in the outer buildings. Some weird glowing light sprang into the sky to illuminate the sentries for some hours. What accursed magic is this?
Barclays read on but his mind swam with the imagination of what followed. His ancestor awoke to the crackling of musketry and cries all around. Stepping out his door, musket in hand, pistols at his sides, to a scene of chaos. Arrows flurried into the settlement from various sides. Bodies of men and women in the dirt. A crackling boom of some arcing light from outside burst asunder one of the barricades and in rode horsemen in polished plate and feathered plumes. Not men, Elves, and above also armed glided Kobolds on their leathery wings. Some of the flying draconids even bore rather intricately ornate carbines of their own which they fired at close range for lethal affect.
Sergeant Frankois firing his musket at an elven knight but the round shattered against the glowing armor. Its force of impact slowing before his eyes by some unseen force. Like some magnet was slowing the ball. The knight throwing a spear in turn to impale the sergeant through the abdomen. More of the elves poured through the breach swinging axes, swords, halberds, or firing gilded bows. They spared no one and so the great-uncle ran. His still young age, scarcely twenty-two winters of age, swinging back and forth. Running the short distance as the men in the enclosure formed ranks to volley fire. The great-uncle did not stop to watch and merely went on. The sailors already in boats picking up villagers of clearly the same mindset as he. He dashed onto the nearest boat and turned back to watch as from above an armored griffon assaulted the men in the enclosure. Tearing them to meaty ribbons while the armored elf on its back pulled its reins.
The ships unleashed a volley over the heads of the now refugees into the former village. Clearly, it was just a matter of slowing down pursuit. Flame erupted from the heavens to dowse the Santa Padre in blue flames. Soaring past, a dragon with an elf on its back, dove and rose like a great avian plunging towards surface waters for fish. The Santa Padre's magazine blew, and the shockwave capsized a pair of boats that in turn were dowsed in flames. The elves were giving no quarter. It was not a battle or a raid. It was an extermination. The great-uncle drew his pistols and tried in vain to fire but to no avail. At the beach the Elves were now in force and the fates of all those in the village certainly being dead. The enclosure too was silent and off to Sea the Maryweather was lowering sail. The great-uncles boat reached its side, and he scrambled up the rope lines to the deck as sailors hauled people aboard. The ship was turning away, its crew firing volleys to keep the dragon away, while those still in boats screamed as they were being left behind.
The Maryweather broke out of the cove with all cannon and guns blazing and they were free. Moving out to open waters as even the dragonrider pulled back to the coast causing a cheer from the sailors to erupt. A cheer which died in their throats as the cry of 'Sails!' came from the crow's nest. The young man above pointing East to see a pair of ornate ships the size of the Maryweather coming into view. Their stark white sails pulling the nimble vessels which even for a ship as crafted as the Maryweather could not beat in speed. Indeed, the elven ships were closing in alarmingly fast. The Maryweather opened fire and the sailors cheered as several hits were registered on the elven lead ship.
The lead elf ship pulled into line behind the Maryweather now, perhaps there was hope for escape, for it made no attempt to swing to port or starboard and rake the human ship. Nor did it seem to have decks of guns at all. The front of the elven ship parted as part of the receded like curtains to reveal an odd orb device behind a set of glass like mirrors. A low hum could be heard, and the great-uncle felt like he could taste something metallic in his mouth. Then a great jagged light leapt from the elven device to smack into the back of the Maryweather and the wood crackled and crumbled. Metal fixings burst and warped, and four barrels of powder erupted with violent combustion. The explosion blew out the keel and the ship began to tilt as water rushed in from the back. The Maryweather had been crippled and was dying. The great-uncle of Lord Barclays jumped into the water gripping a sealed barrel of cork and was pushed away by the motions of the ships. His last sight of the Maryweather being it slowly begining to sink and people leaping into the water as both elven ships pulled up to finish off those who tried to appeal for mercy.
+++
Lord Barclays lowered the journal back onto the desk. His great-uncle had survived, barely, four days later after being pulled by the Pandomeic current South towards Novoboreana. Picked up by an Ummharan Dhow transporting goods North to the coastal Boreanic colonies. One day, Barclays thought, Humanity would be on all continents...
