Topic: Fiddler's Green - Mechanist Shop, Boardinghouse, and Stables

Troshen

Date: 2018-02-05 03:09 EST
Troshen has been a cavalryman for many years. A veteran officer, he has led many a cavalry charge right from the front. The exhileration of combat! The thrill of the chase! And the cameraderie of being with your friends on campaign.

He also has a tinker's mindset. The world is changing, and these new machines, these "engines" if you will, need a new breed of man to create them and keep them running.

Enter, the Mechanists! Call them steampunk if you will. Call them gearheads if you must. But remember! They will create mechanical wonders unkown to the ancient world.

Troshen recently mustered out of The President's Own 16th Cavalry, where he served long and well. He also was astute in conserving his pay over the years. What with his payout, not to mention the plunder he'd gained over the years, he found himself in with considerable sums and in need of a new profession. Since he has a tinkerer's mindset and grand dreams of airships and motors he has chosen the Mechanists trade!

But, being unable to simply leave the cavalry life behind, he needed a place to stable his own horse. Better to be paid than to do the paying: He bought up a boarding house instead of a mansion. To be paid, better than to pay: He bought the livery stable next door and scoffed at stabling fees. And right around the corner is the Mechanists Shop.

Come in! Come in! Wonders of the new age abound!

Troshen

Date: 2018-02-05 03:47 EST
Troshen stood in the street. He spread his arms wide taking in the wide front of his new workshop. He was out in front of the new Fiddler's Green Mechanists. It's great bay doors were swung wide, showing the interior.

Moving men went in and out, bringing all the equipment needed for a thoroughly modern machine shop. It's empty concrete floor was rapidly filling up with lathes, drill presses, band saws, and those were only the recognizable ones. Others with purposes more mysterious also were being rolled in.

"There it is! a place to work! A place to create great things! Wouldn't you agree?"

Baker nodded.

"Aye, that it is, sir. We'll be able to turn out literally anything we need.

With him were his three main employees. Baker was huge, beatle-browed man with arms like tree trunks from swinging a blacksmith's hammer. He would run the shop.

Dillon was tall and thin man, with hawkish features, a shock of long black hair, and a wide grin. His love of horses was about to be fullfilled, since he'd be running the livery stable.

Mrs. Eaves was a matronly woman with grey streaks in her black hair. She would be running the Fiddler's Green Boarding House.

Troshen clapped them all on the shoulders, and got smiles back it was an exciting day.

"Open for business!" He said, voicing the enthuiasm they all felt.

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/machinist-the-millwright-mike-savad.html

Troshen

Date: 2018-02-05 04:09 EST
Fiddler's Green Livery Stables isn't much to look at. A large, squarish building made of wooden planks that you'd see in any town in the Old West.

The sign out front reads: Hacks on call, day or night. Buggies, coupes, roadsters for hire. Horses kept at reasonable rates.

Troshen

Date: 2018-02-05 04:12 EST
The Boardinghouse is a cosy place. Comfortable. You'd feel good bringing your friends there. On the walls are various cavalry memorabilia collected by Troshen in his travels. And on the main wall is this, the namesake poem.

Fiddler's Green

Halfway down the trail to Hell in a shady meadow green, are the Souls of all dead troopers camped near a good old-fashion canteen, and this eternal resting place is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past, straight through to Hell, the Infantry are seen, accompanied by the Engineers, Artillery and Marine, for none but the shades of Cavalrymen dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail to seek a warmer scene, no trooper ever gets to Hell ere he's emptied his canteen and so rides back to drink again with friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down beneath a saber keen, or in a roaring charge fierce melee you stop a bullet clean, and the hostiles come to get your scalp, just empty your canteen and put your pistol to your head and go to Fiddlers' Green.

Troshen

Date: 2018-04-03 02:55 EST
A new day dawned at The Fiddler's Green. Mrs. Eaves had the boarders up and out for the day so she and her staff could do a deep cleaning.

At the livery stable, Dillon was sending off a buggy and a driver with a fare.

Most mornings, the mechanists shop would also be busy. The sounds of machinery and electrical sparking would be almost constant, what with the experiements and projects going on. But this morning it was silent. The huge main door was closed, and the inset access door in it slammed open. Out came Baker, his broad shoulders scraping the sides of the door. He quickly went to the other two buildings, rounding up Dillon with a word and a grimace.

In the Boardinghouse, he gathered up Mrs. Eaves with another quiet word, and the three met in a small office, shutting the door and the clients behind them outside.

A scratching at the door was Jagen, the husky. They let him in, and then shut the door again.

Mrs. Eaves had a worried look on her face. She knew what Baker was going to say.

"Gone again, is he?" She said.

"Aye" replied Baker. "Wasn't in the shop this morning. Wasn't crashed on the upstairs couch by the drafting table. He's not here. I'm not sure when he left, or how long he's been gone now."

Dillon hesitated, then asked, "And the basement?"

Baker shook his head. "No, and I checked. The cage isn't broken or damaged. I'm not sure how, but Troshen's gone. And we all know what that means..." The big blacksmith let the implications hang there, unspoken.

Jagen, the husky sat up attentively, taking all this in. He was sure he could track down the problem, and was about to say so.....

The doorbell rang.

In that silent moment, they could all faintly hear one of the young woman cleaners open the door, answer it by talking to someone, then close the door again. Her footsteps came towards the office, and she knocked.

Mrs. Eaves opened the door, a short conversation later, and she turned back in with a letter. It was addressed to "Troshen, at the Fiddler's Green Mechanists" She looked at the others, including Jagen, and then turned over the letter and opened it. She read.

-My Dear Friend, Troshen,

I will be passing through RhyDin next week after all. Thank you for your offer to stay at the Fiddler's Green. I would be most happy to accept. Until then I remain,

Your friend,

Colonel Reginald Tavistock-

Dillon looked at the others.

"We have got to find Troshen, right away."