Boom. Omake.
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Innovation
Sayble hurried through the huge, stone-walled foundry, cloak flaring behind her, still stained with dirt and grime from the road. The ash and smoke from a hundred forges filled their air with the burnt scent of ironworks, and the clang of huge hammers filled the air. All around her sparks flew and smiths swung and over a hundred master dwarven smiths worked.
Making her way carefully through the crowded foundry, Sayble wove her way towards a large pair of doors set into one wall of the huge foundry, with a pair of dwarven sentries in heavy plate armor standing at attention outside it, their long halberds held across the door. She spared a moment to pity the poor bastards, forced to wear full armor in the sweltering heat of the foundry. Her own woolen travelling clothes were hot enough as it was, without adding a few dozen pounds of steel on top of it.
When they noticed her approach, the two guards stiffened, crossing their halberds in front of the door, and glaring at her. Sayble reached under her cloak, fumbled with the leather straps for a moment, and withdrew a medallion on a leather cord from around her neck, displaying it for the guards. They did not relax. She pulled the strap over her head, and placed the medallion in the palm of one hand. Then, she drew a small knife from her belt, and carefully pricked her index finger, letting a small drop of blood well up from the wound. Then she pressed the bloody finger to the center of the rune-carved medallion. The blood from her finger stained the center of the amulet. There was a moment of perfect stillness, as all three stared intently at the medallion. Then it flashed once, and the guards nodded as one. They pulled their halberds up to vertical, and then, as one, turned and began pushing the large doors open for her.
Sayble strode through, scanning the inner room. This was much smaller than the great foundry outside, and filled with a variety of drafting tables, workbenches, and wall covered almost entirely with different forms of carving tools. At one of the tables, a dwarf was seated, drawing furiously on a huge sheet of paper. From behind, Sayble could see his beard extending almost to the ground. The dwarf, oblivious to her entry, was maintaining a constant stream of muttering and he wrote, scratched out, and wrote again, covering the paper with scribble after scribble. Sayble tossed her cloak over one of the tables, then sat on another, her legs still touching the ground. She sat for a moment, silent, the scrubbed at her face and said.
"You said you needed to speak to me, urgently, Grimald. I nearly killed a Sleipnir riding here, so show me what it is you have. If you're just going to pester me about dragonfire again, I can tell you that-"
A loud grunt from the dwarf cut her off
"You're lucky you're so good at what you do, lass" Grimald said, in a low, gravely voice. "If one of my apprentices tried talking to me like that, I'd have them working the bellows and shoveling charcoal for the next century." He gave her a stern look. "Come with me". The dwarf rose, a gestured towards a long table pushed against one wall of the huge workshop. Without a backward glance, he strode to the table, grabbed something that had been placed on it, and tossed it to Sayble without looking behind him. The surprised human scholar, only halfway across the room, barely caught the long, heavy object.
Without turning, Grimald grunted.
"Tell me what you see".
Sayble examined the object in her hands.
"It's a handgun" she said, examining the barrel, "wrought iron barrel, deepoak stock…." She paused, eying the weapon oddly. "It's got the weirdest firing mechanism I've ever seen. No primer, nowhere for slowmatch….." She changed her grip on the handgun, bringing the firing mechanism closer to her face.
"There's a rune carved into the hammer, and onto the barrel below it……. Kinetic-amberic transmission?"
"Ay" The dwarf said, his moustache twitching as his lips curled into an almost invisible smile. "The runes use the force of the hammer falling to create a spark inside the barrel." He tapped the rune carved into the barrel. "The spark ignites the powder in the musket, hence the elimination of the primer."
Sayble was grinning, now, already working through the implications.
"That would eliminate an entire step in the reloading process, and eliminate the need to issue powder horns…. How fast can a trained man fire one of those? 4, maybe 5 times a minute? That's a pretty significant increase in firepower."
"Six" Grimald replied
"What"
"We trained a couple dozen of the handgunners on these. They averaged six shots a minute. But that's not the real advantage. Without the need for primer, this handgun'll fire in the pouring rain. Can't soak powder that ain't there. Makes it arguably more durable than a crossbow. No sinew to get stretched in the rain, either. You could roll this beautiful piece of engineerin' through the mud, club a ratman t'death with it, and it'll still fire."
Sayble whistled through her teeth
"By the Allfather, Ashi'd kill for a thousand of those. I'd love to see what that rate of fire would do a massed charge of Chaos Warriors. Are you going to sell these? How limited is production".
Grimald's small smile widened into a grin.
"Oh, we're selling them alright. I can right you up an order for a thousand, and have the first two hundred headed to yer armories in 2 weeks."
Saybles jaw dropped open. Grimald noted he expression, and chuckled.
"We've got a saying, these days. Better ten weapons that kill two enemies than one weapon that kills ten." He paused. "It sounds catchier in Dwarvish."
"If what you're claiming is true, we'll probably end up buying as many as you can spare." Saybel said ruefully, "And probably set up a few production lines of our own. But a thousand should do nicely, for now." She paused for a moment, considering something. She hefted the gun in her hands. "This thing have a name?"
Grimald grinned wolfishly.
"We're calling it the runelock".
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1047 words!
