The Mysuran Engine: A Mech Design Quest
- Thread starter Havocfett
- Start date
- Original
- Pronouns
- He/Him
By and large I'm going to be covering this in quest, but I'll do an overview here:
So the primary point of divergence between the world of Mysuran Engine and Incident Eliph is the proximity and mechanics of the world of the unseen, home to Djinn and all sorts of impossible things, accessible only through the semi-mythical Mount Qaf.
Djinn, and everything else on and across the mountain, aren't made of traditional matter. They're made (at least partially) of Nar, which is perhaps best understood as a fifth state of matter reminiscent of a less energetic form of plasma. Nar is psychoreactive and kinematic, and has notably been used in curiosities like moving statues and hovering objects.
In this setting tales like the murderous brass statues talked of by old Arabian tales and the Vrimana of Hindu legend may have been exaggerated and distorted by history, but not necessarily falsified. However, for whatever reason, Qaf has become less accessible until relatively recently, resulting in the near disappearance of Nar and Djinn from our world. This has begun to reverse, Djinn like your fat Raksha friend are beginning to show up and people are beginning to figure out how to tap and exploit Nar. Nar is, however, not very well understood in character, especially as it acts differently in our world than it does in the world of the Djinn.
Talib is one of the more knowledgeable people in its use and, let's face it, he's improvising a lot.
Access to it is difficult and rare, proper Qaf Taps are a recent invention at this point in the timeline and primarily Persian. It's going to be necessary to create your vehicle and none of the options here have a prohibitive Qaf cost, but it is something that will become more of a factor as the quest continued.
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- Location
- Florida
[X] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
- Location
- HELL
- Pronouns
- They/It
[X] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
CHOO CHOO MOTHERFUCKER
CHOO CHOO MOTHERFUCKER
SirLagginton
Shadow Cabal Caerbannog Bun-Bun
- Location
- Arrrghhh
[X] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
NothingNow
Corpse Wrangler
- Location
- Tampa
[x] It will be reminiscent of a large carriage!
- Location
- Somewhere
You're looking at it from the wrong way. It isn't too big to be rocket-propelled, it's going to inspire us to build bigger, better rockets to overcome it's lack of speed.
[X] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
The actual requirement for speed is that it be faster than an elephant or standard baggage train, and Asian elephants aren't particularly speedy by vehicle standards - capping out at ~25 km/h. It if it turns out the base frame won't be fast enough, we can always add rocket boosters.
The actual requirement for speed is that it be faster than an elephant or standard baggage train, and Asian elephants aren't particularly speedy by vehicle standards - capping out at ~25 km/h. It if it turns out the base frame won't be fast enough, we can always add rocket boosters.
The earliest tanks did less than 12 km/h. Seems unlikely to me that the locomotive-alike as a first prototype will do significantly better than that.
Rocket boosters have crap endurance and spares would take up a crapton of valuable cargo space. They're not viable.
- Location
- Fort Worth, TX
[X ] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
Boosters were a joke (but will probably come up anyways given that one dude's fascination with rockets). Also, the speed figure was for an unladen elephant running full tilt, so it's really more of an upper bound for the requirement than a lower one. The lower one would be more like "fast enough to keep up with soldiers marching", which conveniently works pretty well with that 12 km/h figure you gave.
I mean, personally I'd like our vehicle to be an upgrade over a pack elephant, and not merely match it, otherwise we'd just save everyone a whole lot of time and money by saying they should stick to proven methods.
Particularly as there really isn't a big difference between a supply carrier and a troop carrier, which means if we do a good enough job, our vehicle could revolunionize warfare by allowing an army to move considerably faster than a walking pace without being bound to a rail network. The locomotive not only is too slow to enable that, it most likely is also too heavy to be transported by train; So instead of enabling our army to move faster, it'd actually hold it back - little point taking the train if you then have to wait for your supplies to catch up
It's also expensive three times over, to build, to fuel, and to crew - and how many vehicles you need to operate to transport a given amount of cargo depends both on their capacity and their speed; A lighter vehicle can simply make more trips to transport the same cargo over the same time as a heavier, big but slow one. Which means that despite it's huge capacity, we'll likely need to buy and fuel a considerable number of the locomotive design, and pay through the nose for it.
Lastly, it's slow speed has the added disadvantage that any supply chain using it is not going to be responsive at all. In order to ensure that it can provide any need it has to, we'll need to purchase large amounts of spare supplies of any kind that may be needed, and then pre-store them near every location where they may be needed, which is wasteful and puts those supplies at risk of being raided. Whereas with a lighter transport, you could use more central and secure supply dumps, and shuttle stuff out as needed.
The locomotive does have a place in a supply chain, to an extent - it could act as a mobile warehouse, as one of those central and secure supply dumps except you can relocate capacity as needed. But we simply don't have the transport infrastructure to make that worthwhile yet, so a locomotive design now would be far too far ahead of it's time.
My personal favourite's the tower. It's the most economical option in all aspects. It represents a middle ground of both speed and capacity (assuming it most likely tows wagons at least, which I am), allowing it both to transport a useful amount of supplies and troops and at least sort of let's it keep pace with rail transport while accelerating the speed of an army. It also acts as a mobile watchtower and weapons platform, which defends both the army it travels with against attack, and the supplies it carries against being raided.
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[X] It will be reminiscent of a large carriage!
I mean...
(i'm basically fine with the land battleship option tho)
I mean...
...if we're going to be crushing the English, tripods are the proven way to go
(i'm basically fine with the land battleship option tho)
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Technically, he's right: the boats will arrive down the river very, very quickly. And possibly in several bits. While still moving at speed. Getting them to stop was also rather problematic. The Admiral is confident these difficulties will be overcome soon, if the Sultan will only consent to give him a bit more funding...
[X] It will be reminiscent of a large carriage!
Whiskey Golf
Being of Editing & Technical Assistance
- Location
- Chained to my desk
[X ] It will be reminiscent of a locomotive engine!
Pradhana Ali May Be Slightly Unwell
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You begin to speak, halting at first, but as you outline your idea it becomes more defined, more grandiose, and you begin to imagine the potential of your project. The basic concept already exists, locomotives are proven technology, and divorcing the locomotive from its tracks is a much easier proposition than creating a brand new engine.
It will have to be smaller, or at least slimmer, that it might be moved by rail, and the loss of the tracks will do unpleasant things to its speed, but it's an already proven, high capacity, logistical system that meets the Sultan's standards. You blow off a question about locomotion because, in truth, you aren't entirely sure how to make that work, and largely roll over General Wadiyar asking about the cost of such a thing, and then the Shahzadi, deeply impressed, opens her mouth to speak.
That is roughly when everything goes wrong.
"Could it function as an armored train?" she asks enthusiastically.
"In...theory?" you respond.
"Well, it's merely a logistical vehicle, oh Shahzadi," says General Wadiyar, "Surely it is better to promote a less ambitious project. This...design seems an expensive proposition already."
"But think of the possibilities!" says Yasin Shahzadi, and you feel yourself freeze in terror. Not once, in your entire life, has that phrase heralded anything but horror for you. Professors sure you could manage another, more ambitious project. Bosses convinced their madness would bring untold of prosperity instead of mad ruin. Impossible standards, unfeasible designs, requests that defy the laws of reality itself.
You realize, all at once, that the past day has been a long, extended mistake. That from reanimating Pradhana Ali to accepting this commission to explaining yourself to Yasin Shahzadi, you have not made a single correct decision.
"I am not sure if-" you start, but you are too late. The Shahzadi interrupts you, for you have caught her imagination. She speaks of her vision. Steel leviathans traversing the battlefields of the Deccan plateau. Gun batteries mobile in a way they never had been before, unmatched in scale or weight in human history. Of this thing resurrecting the old styles of elephant warfare, bringing soldiers into the thick of the charge in relative safety, laying waste to all about it.
Oh she hedges her proclamations. Outwardly bows, to the fact that you do not know the nature, the implementation, of the project. But she hedges less with every new idea, and every new possibility you have evoked. It is a mercy when Lady Nayak arrives, a stumbling Pradhana Ali limping along, supported by two servants. The distraction is immediate, and Yasin Shahzadi is not yet enthusiastic enough to add to your list of requirements.
You glance around for Haroun, but do not see him, and so you retreat under the cover of Nayak's platitudes and panic.
You wait until you are out of the Palace to turn to Nayak. "What's wrong? Has the Nar stopped working? Is he bleeding?" you ask.
She laughs kindly and waves you off. "Nothing so dire, Alhamdulillah," she says, "I had heard that you had been caught by the Shahzadi, and imagined it best if you received a prompt rescue."
"Barak allahu Feekh," you say, "I didn't know she was so...passionate."
"Oh, she rather loves her pet projects," says Lady Nayak, "But she's decidedly fond of expanding them. Be careful not to become one of them, hmm?"
You cough loudly. "I'm sorry?" you ask.
"Oh come now," goads Nayak, "You're both unmarried and young. You're an engineer for one of the projects she loves so much, who has caught her father's eye. She is a dashing, adventurous, and very rich princess." Her eyebrows raise straight into her hijab and you feel yourself blushing deeply.
"Walahi, I would never presume-"
"And I would never presume to judge, Mir Talib," says Lady Nayak, "Nor to insinuate untoward motivations on your part. I am simply-" and she smiles a deeply predatory smile, "-observing."
She stops tormenting you with this, and you manage to get home without further embarrassment. The next two days are mercifully quiet, allowing you to pass off your work in the department to others, as well as seriously begin to examine your new task. It is daunting, to say the least.
"Faster and better armored than an elephant, and not bound to the tracks of a train" was a pithy quote and a reasonable summation, but was not the extent of your constraints. Your vehicle had to cover fifty kilometers in a day of marching, be transportable by Mysuran rail, and carry at least as many supplies as its weight in oxen or elephants. It needed to be able to maneuver off-road, albeit without any particular speed requirement, resist british rifle fire, and be reasonable to repair in the field.
You were never a military man, but you know how much a train weighs and how much an elephant pulls and the sort of damage that could be done to a road by a heavy load in pretty short order. Even at five kilometers an hour, far slower than any train, getting a fifteen ton pseudo-locomotive to pull twenty three tons of cargo was going to be difficult. Getting it to do this off-road would be near impossible on anything but the most forgiving terrain.
A nagging feeling at the back of your head tells you that wheels aren't going to work. You try to figure out an alternate plan, some sort of self-propelled sled, perhaps, but end up futzing with an old invention out of frustration. It's an iteration of the mechanical Turk, no less a fraud, but a more honest one. It is a brass chess-set with elaborate clockwork beneath the surface and a crank to provide motive power. You'd cast the pieces yourself, and each had a prong that would allow the turning of the gears to move the pieces. If you diluted Nar in oil and flooded the gear-pan with it, then turning the crank would cause the chess board to reset itself and play chess.
The trick was that it was actually making the operator play themselves. The Nar, after all, simply transmitted what you thought would happen. This was also its fatal flaw. Many people didn't quite get the idea, others had bizarre expectations, and still more simply didn't know how to play chess. The result was a thing prone to malfunction and subject to the whims and egos of its operators. As likely to spit pieces into the air at high speed or doggedly suicide itself into a foe's defense as it was to play a decent game of chess.
You've just re-assembled the thing when someone knocks on your door. You stand up, realize that you're covered in grease and oil, and beg your visitor to wait a minute while you change. You practically throw off your stained shalwar kameez, root through piles of tools and paper as you look for something clean to wear.
Eventually you manage to find a basically matching churidar and kurta, and run to the door as you wriggle into them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you shout as you reach the door, "You caught me at a poor time."
You find yourself face to face with Lady Nayak and a trio of servants, none of whom look particularly amused. "Salaam, Mir Talib," she says, "I need you to speak with my husband."
"What's happened?" You ask.
"The Pradhana is rather more lively than expected," says Nayak ominously, "I imagined it might behoove you to have a conversation."
You blink in abject confusion, and follow our of curiosity more than anything else. For her part, Lady Nayak offers no explanation.
The Pradhana Estate is massive. Three stories of Persian and Asuran architecture. The sweeping curves of Djinn architecture blending seamlessly with the great arches, floral decorations and geometric patterns of Persian. The body of Chikka Dervish Ali lounges upon a great red divan, perched upon an enormous second floor balcony that itself juts away from a sprawling, open gallery.
There are servants here, some half a dozen with them and a nervous chai Wala handing out cups of chai. One sits, untouched, next to the corpse, but none of the servants seem to dare approach closer than ten paces.
You look towards Lady Nayak, confusion in your eyes. "Take the Chai," she says, "and talk to my husband." You begin to vocalize a question, but she silences you with a stare and motions you forwards.
So you obey. You take a cup of chai, take a long, wonderfully sweet sip, and step to Pradhana Ali's side. You mull over what to ask the corpse, what Nayak wants to prove.
Then Pradhana Ali turns his head towards you.
It is a deliberate motion, and there is no-one there to manipulate his body. No-one to provide the kinetic, the mental impulses for the Nar to puppet him. Your chai spills across the floor, your mouth hangs open in shock, as you stare in abject horror at the Pradhana.
A shot rings out. Ali's body jerks, blood spraying from his chest. Birds take flight across the estate's gardens, and terror seizes you in its grip for a long, lethal second. Everyone scatters, and you realize that if the sniper wants you dead, he has you. The balcony and the gallery must be in plain view to the sniper, you're twenty feet from the nearest pillar large enough to hide behind.
You run anyways.
More shots ring out behind you. Terrifying echoes shocking you to ever greater bursts of speed, each spurring a twinge of paranoia. Have you been hit without realizing it? Will the next shot be between your shoulder blades? Two, three, four, shots thunder and you feel no pain. You practically dive behind the pillar. You hunch over behind it, pawing at your chest, your back, as you look for a wound.
Nothing. You're fine. Indeed, everyone is fine. Even your chai wala, standing in the open, paralyzed with terror, is unharmed. And as the fifth shot rings out he does not fall, does not jerk with the impact and blood-spray of a bullet.
For the only target was Pradhana Ali. Blood and Nar run down his shirt, his temples, his neck. He has been shot five times by a marksman, misfiring Nar causing him to flail and jump not as a man who has been shot, but as a man in the midst of a seizure. You slowly rise to your feet, eyes fixed on Ali, waiting.
A sixth shot rings out, a spray of blood, brain, and nar erupting from the back of Ali's skull. The spasms don't stop, but begin to slow as he bleeds away ever-more Nar onto the floor. But that isn't what is important.
What is important is that there is not a rifle on the subcontinent with a magazine of more than six rounds.
"Run!" you yell. And as one everyone in the room flees for the door, yelling for help, for the guards, or for a doctor.
And just like that, you are exonerated in Pradhana Ali's death.
What aftershock of Pradhana Ali's assassination has proven inconvenient for you
[ ] The case's investigator is curious as to why his bloodstream is so full of Nar, and suspect that you had been helping him acquire it as some sort of drug. Now you're dealing with a bizarre investigation into your use of Nar and its role in previous projects.
[ ] Admiral Khan is convinced that this is a british plot to stop the Sultan's project by murdering those involved with it. He has you under 24 hour armed guard wherever you go, and has curtailed your movement significantly.
[ ] The Shahzadi has free-associated from 'the Pradhana was shot from afar' to 'The Engine should let me, in specific, shoot other people from afar' to 'everyone should know about the incredible thing Mir Talib is building' and now you have way more media attention than you're comfortable with.
[ ] General Wadiyar heard about that time Pradhana Ali hurled you through a wall and has decided that this constitutes motive. He has convinced Haroun of Mangalore to monitor you at all times for proof. Which in practice means that Haroun is constantly trying to rope you into bizarre or salacious schemes and social activities.
It will have to be smaller, or at least slimmer, that it might be moved by rail, and the loss of the tracks will do unpleasant things to its speed, but it's an already proven, high capacity, logistical system that meets the Sultan's standards. You blow off a question about locomotion because, in truth, you aren't entirely sure how to make that work, and largely roll over General Wadiyar asking about the cost of such a thing, and then the Shahzadi, deeply impressed, opens her mouth to speak.
That is roughly when everything goes wrong.
"Could it function as an armored train?" she asks enthusiastically.
"In...theory?" you respond.
"Well, it's merely a logistical vehicle, oh Shahzadi," says General Wadiyar, "Surely it is better to promote a less ambitious project. This...design seems an expensive proposition already."
"But think of the possibilities!" says Yasin Shahzadi, and you feel yourself freeze in terror. Not once, in your entire life, has that phrase heralded anything but horror for you. Professors sure you could manage another, more ambitious project. Bosses convinced their madness would bring untold of prosperity instead of mad ruin. Impossible standards, unfeasible designs, requests that defy the laws of reality itself.
You realize, all at once, that the past day has been a long, extended mistake. That from reanimating Pradhana Ali to accepting this commission to explaining yourself to Yasin Shahzadi, you have not made a single correct decision.
"I am not sure if-" you start, but you are too late. The Shahzadi interrupts you, for you have caught her imagination. She speaks of her vision. Steel leviathans traversing the battlefields of the Deccan plateau. Gun batteries mobile in a way they never had been before, unmatched in scale or weight in human history. Of this thing resurrecting the old styles of elephant warfare, bringing soldiers into the thick of the charge in relative safety, laying waste to all about it.
Oh she hedges her proclamations. Outwardly bows, to the fact that you do not know the nature, the implementation, of the project. But she hedges less with every new idea, and every new possibility you have evoked. It is a mercy when Lady Nayak arrives, a stumbling Pradhana Ali limping along, supported by two servants. The distraction is immediate, and Yasin Shahzadi is not yet enthusiastic enough to add to your list of requirements.
You glance around for Haroun, but do not see him, and so you retreat under the cover of Nayak's platitudes and panic.
You wait until you are out of the Palace to turn to Nayak. "What's wrong? Has the Nar stopped working? Is he bleeding?" you ask.
She laughs kindly and waves you off. "Nothing so dire, Alhamdulillah," she says, "I had heard that you had been caught by the Shahzadi, and imagined it best if you received a prompt rescue."
"Barak allahu Feekh," you say, "I didn't know she was so...passionate."
"Oh, she rather loves her pet projects," says Lady Nayak, "But she's decidedly fond of expanding them. Be careful not to become one of them, hmm?"
You cough loudly. "I'm sorry?" you ask.
"Oh come now," goads Nayak, "You're both unmarried and young. You're an engineer for one of the projects she loves so much, who has caught her father's eye. She is a dashing, adventurous, and very rich princess." Her eyebrows raise straight into her hijab and you feel yourself blushing deeply.
"Walahi, I would never presume-"
"And I would never presume to judge, Mir Talib," says Lady Nayak, "Nor to insinuate untoward motivations on your part. I am simply-" and she smiles a deeply predatory smile, "-observing."
She stops tormenting you with this, and you manage to get home without further embarrassment. The next two days are mercifully quiet, allowing you to pass off your work in the department to others, as well as seriously begin to examine your new task. It is daunting, to say the least.
"Faster and better armored than an elephant, and not bound to the tracks of a train" was a pithy quote and a reasonable summation, but was not the extent of your constraints. Your vehicle had to cover fifty kilometers in a day of marching, be transportable by Mysuran rail, and carry at least as many supplies as its weight in oxen or elephants. It needed to be able to maneuver off-road, albeit without any particular speed requirement, resist british rifle fire, and be reasonable to repair in the field.
You were never a military man, but you know how much a train weighs and how much an elephant pulls and the sort of damage that could be done to a road by a heavy load in pretty short order. Even at five kilometers an hour, far slower than any train, getting a fifteen ton pseudo-locomotive to pull twenty three tons of cargo was going to be difficult. Getting it to do this off-road would be near impossible on anything but the most forgiving terrain.
A nagging feeling at the back of your head tells you that wheels aren't going to work. You try to figure out an alternate plan, some sort of self-propelled sled, perhaps, but end up futzing with an old invention out of frustration. It's an iteration of the mechanical Turk, no less a fraud, but a more honest one. It is a brass chess-set with elaborate clockwork beneath the surface and a crank to provide motive power. You'd cast the pieces yourself, and each had a prong that would allow the turning of the gears to move the pieces. If you diluted Nar in oil and flooded the gear-pan with it, then turning the crank would cause the chess board to reset itself and play chess.
The trick was that it was actually making the operator play themselves. The Nar, after all, simply transmitted what you thought would happen. This was also its fatal flaw. Many people didn't quite get the idea, others had bizarre expectations, and still more simply didn't know how to play chess. The result was a thing prone to malfunction and subject to the whims and egos of its operators. As likely to spit pieces into the air at high speed or doggedly suicide itself into a foe's defense as it was to play a decent game of chess.
You've just re-assembled the thing when someone knocks on your door. You stand up, realize that you're covered in grease and oil, and beg your visitor to wait a minute while you change. You practically throw off your stained shalwar kameez, root through piles of tools and paper as you look for something clean to wear.
Eventually you manage to find a basically matching churidar and kurta, and run to the door as you wriggle into them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you shout as you reach the door, "You caught me at a poor time."
You find yourself face to face with Lady Nayak and a trio of servants, none of whom look particularly amused. "Salaam, Mir Talib," she says, "I need you to speak with my husband."
"What's happened?" You ask.
"The Pradhana is rather more lively than expected," says Nayak ominously, "I imagined it might behoove you to have a conversation."
You blink in abject confusion, and follow our of curiosity more than anything else. For her part, Lady Nayak offers no explanation.
The Pradhana Estate is massive. Three stories of Persian and Asuran architecture. The sweeping curves of Djinn architecture blending seamlessly with the great arches, floral decorations and geometric patterns of Persian. The body of Chikka Dervish Ali lounges upon a great red divan, perched upon an enormous second floor balcony that itself juts away from a sprawling, open gallery.
There are servants here, some half a dozen with them and a nervous chai Wala handing out cups of chai. One sits, untouched, next to the corpse, but none of the servants seem to dare approach closer than ten paces.
You look towards Lady Nayak, confusion in your eyes. "Take the Chai," she says, "and talk to my husband." You begin to vocalize a question, but she silences you with a stare and motions you forwards.
So you obey. You take a cup of chai, take a long, wonderfully sweet sip, and step to Pradhana Ali's side. You mull over what to ask the corpse, what Nayak wants to prove.
Then Pradhana Ali turns his head towards you.
It is a deliberate motion, and there is no-one there to manipulate his body. No-one to provide the kinetic, the mental impulses for the Nar to puppet him. Your chai spills across the floor, your mouth hangs open in shock, as you stare in abject horror at the Pradhana.
A shot rings out. Ali's body jerks, blood spraying from his chest. Birds take flight across the estate's gardens, and terror seizes you in its grip for a long, lethal second. Everyone scatters, and you realize that if the sniper wants you dead, he has you. The balcony and the gallery must be in plain view to the sniper, you're twenty feet from the nearest pillar large enough to hide behind.
You run anyways.
More shots ring out behind you. Terrifying echoes shocking you to ever greater bursts of speed, each spurring a twinge of paranoia. Have you been hit without realizing it? Will the next shot be between your shoulder blades? Two, three, four, shots thunder and you feel no pain. You practically dive behind the pillar. You hunch over behind it, pawing at your chest, your back, as you look for a wound.
Nothing. You're fine. Indeed, everyone is fine. Even your chai wala, standing in the open, paralyzed with terror, is unharmed. And as the fifth shot rings out he does not fall, does not jerk with the impact and blood-spray of a bullet.
For the only target was Pradhana Ali. Blood and Nar run down his shirt, his temples, his neck. He has been shot five times by a marksman, misfiring Nar causing him to flail and jump not as a man who has been shot, but as a man in the midst of a seizure. You slowly rise to your feet, eyes fixed on Ali, waiting.
A sixth shot rings out, a spray of blood, brain, and nar erupting from the back of Ali's skull. The spasms don't stop, but begin to slow as he bleeds away ever-more Nar onto the floor. But that isn't what is important.
What is important is that there is not a rifle on the subcontinent with a magazine of more than six rounds.
"Run!" you yell. And as one everyone in the room flees for the door, yelling for help, for the guards, or for a doctor.
And just like that, you are exonerated in Pradhana Ali's death.
What aftershock of Pradhana Ali's assassination has proven inconvenient for you
[ ] The case's investigator is curious as to why his bloodstream is so full of Nar, and suspect that you had been helping him acquire it as some sort of drug. Now you're dealing with a bizarre investigation into your use of Nar and its role in previous projects.
[ ] Admiral Khan is convinced that this is a british plot to stop the Sultan's project by murdering those involved with it. He has you under 24 hour armed guard wherever you go, and has curtailed your movement significantly.
[ ] The Shahzadi has free-associated from 'the Pradhana was shot from afar' to 'The Engine should let me, in specific, shoot other people from afar' to 'everyone should know about the incredible thing Mir Talib is building' and now you have way more media attention than you're comfortable with.
[ ] General Wadiyar heard about that time Pradhana Ali hurled you through a wall and has decided that this constitutes motive. He has convinced Haroun of Mangalore to monitor you at all times for proof. Which in practice means that Haroun is constantly trying to rope you into bizarre or salacious schemes and social activities.
VoidZero
Passing Flan 布丁魔王
- Location
- Anywhere but RL
I consider this a convenient "inconvenience" for us to ask for more budget. Also, we are so fucked when this project goes belly up.
[X] The Shahzadi has free-associated from 'the Pradhana was shot from afar' to 'The Engine should let me, in specific, shoot other people from afar' to 'everyone should know about the incredible thing Mir Talib is building' and now you have way more media attention than you're comfortable with.
- Location
- Canada
[X] Admiral Khan is convinced that this is a british plot to stop the Sultan's project by murdering those involved with it. He has you under 24 hour armed guard wherever you go, and has curtailed your movement significantly.
This seems like a fairly safe choice, though I will probably be proven wrong.
This seems like a fairly safe choice, though I will probably be proven wrong.
Rockeye
Plausible Engineer
- Location
- Midwestern U.S.
[x] The case's investigator is curious as to why his bloodstream is so full of Nar, and suspect that you had been helping him acquire it as some sort of drug. Now you're dealing with a bizarre investigation into your use of Nar and its role in previous projects.
This seems the funniest.
This seems the funniest.
- Location
- Fort Worth, TX
[X ] Admiral Khan is convinced that this is a british plot to stop the Sultan's project by murdering those involved with it. He has you under 24 hour armed guard wherever you go, and has curtailed your movement significantly.