Tanks, both full-scale and ultracompact.
Guns, from sparklock handguns to artillery pieces.
Ammunition, enough enriched gunpowder to blow up a small mountain.
The machines to equip an army and maintain it, an army whose technology would surpass most of what Ikesia had possessed throughout the majority of the war.
Soon enough, Willowdale would become a beacon of prosperity, of technology, the sole city in all of Ikesia with these gifts and no occupiers to staunch them. There was no doubt in the heiress’s mind that the governor would bring to bear every favor owed, every bit of nepotism, corruption, and implicit power that his family name held in Grekuria to ensure that his city would be under Grekurian occupation on paper and on paper alone.
It was a sad truth, then, that Willowdale would need walls of steel and the guns to top them if it were to truly thrive. Old stone would no longer do, not as short and thin as Willowdale’s walls were.
“If I may be so bold, what are you thinking of?” questioned the cute guard curiously.
Ezaryl smiled and took another toke of her pipe.
“That we’re paying back our debt to the Sage by undoing what he couldn’t prevent,” she said.
“Ah, I see…” he replied, going silent. A minute later he asked, “...I don’t see. Could you explain?”
“Most of Ikesia’s major cities are under active occupation, all of them if you qualify a major city by its population size. What is the consistent pattern between all of these occupied cities, do you know?”
“Uh… Resistance in the war? Maybe manufacturing output?”
“You’re getting close, what do both of those depend on?”
“...Industrial infrastructure?”
“And why is Ikesian industry better than anyone else’s?”
“...B-because of the Great Industrialization?”
“Exactly. All of the occupied cities are fully industrialized, public transport, railways, all of that. Willowdale isn’t. Why do you think we have so many guards onboard? Why so much of our cargo is concealed?”
“We’re bringing industry to Willowdale. But why tell me this? What if I decided to use that information to betray you?”
“Because it’s about as hidden as my thighs in this getup. Sure, technically it’s secret, but if you look even a little bit it’s right there to see.”
The boy went quiet, and though she deigned not to look at him, she could feel the blood rushing into his ears, the inner resistance between the desire to act on what she had said and to remain professional. Once again, Ezaryl took a drag from her pipe with a smile before capping off the conversation.
“The continent deserves better than feudalism in new vestments, where the factory replaces the field and the state police replaces a lord’s hired dogs in stifling rebellion. Besides, neither serfs nor wageslaves have the money to buy our imports.”
Three deserters and a homunculus sat around a table, listening to the monstrous artificial woman detail her plans to fill the power vacuum left by the War of Fog in Willowdale.
A home worth a fortune, a prestigious position at the head of the city’s reborn Slayer’s Guild, sanctioned under the city-state’s highest branch of governance. They listened intently, taking in each word and posing questions, the alchemist among them pondering whether it would be a good idea to move operations to that place and leave the apothecary named Riverside Remedies as a secondary storefront.
That line of question only raised further considerations.
Employees. Supply lines. A macro-scale business model beyond just “sell alchemic basics in the absence of other suppliers”. Truly deplorable ideas like paperwork, taxes, employee insurance, labor contracts, qualifications, hiring and firing practices. Things that raised a primal disgust in the homunculus, even though she herself knew them to be necessary.
“We can discuss all that once we actually see the place and figure out if it even has the space for it, though I’m pretty sure I’d have to go out of my way to not find space in that absolute monstrosity of a building. Bet there’s a sprawling underground section too…” Zel wondered aloud, looking over one of the photographs from just beyond the gate. The entryway was blatantly intended to hearken back to an ancient temple, with six pillars at either side to two large doors and a seventh between them.
There were three statues further in front of the doors - two black horses to either side of the door and a large brass humanoid with a horse’s head and hooves in the middle. In front of the horse-man’s pedestal was a step, laden with burned-out candles and a presumably empty incense burner.
The third photo was a closeup of the humanoid, but the image was too blurry to show any real detail beyond the fact that it had some sections of higher detail and different colour to the rest of its form.
“What’s that on the statue?” asked Zel to Zef, pointing at the off-colour sections.
The markswoman squinted, remarking, “Don’t quite recall, the town guards shooed me away right after I took that closeup, saying that the old owners didn’t want anyone taking pict-captures of the place, and that extended to photographs. Told me I’d be able to just step right in if I had the deed, and if I couldn’t, to fuck off. Angry little man, looked at least a hundred but acted like he was barely forty.”
“Guess we might as well go take a look ourselves, deed in hand,” Zel suggested, looking to Sig and Makhus. “You can close the store down for a bit, no?”
They both glanced at the clock, its brass hands signaling a little after nine in the morning.
“Sure,” said Makhus, looking back at her. Sig added, “Two of us will just have to be back in time for the rush right before noon.”
And so, they left, Zelsys finally strapping her arm-cannon back on and loading it with a Type-1. The consideration of whether the weight of the gun might strain the reconnection point, but the harness actually made the persistent ache even less noticeable.
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FindingClock4· Jun 20, 2022
