[Open] Finding a Spark

Gale is continuing their work on their latest project - an attempt to motorise a bicycle.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Gale
Posts: 254
Joined: Thu Jul 19, 2018 6:07 am
Topics: 42
Race: Human
Occupation: Metalsmith | Resistance Gunsmith
: Artful Gunner
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Crosspatch
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Wed Oct 09, 2019 6:36 am

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Saunders Forge | Early Afternoon
60 Roalis 2719
The forge was in a state of being relatively subdue this summer’s day. Least, for a state of subdue. It was still open, the doors where hooked back letting the lingering breeze and noise of the outside world creep in. But there was no mighty roar of bellows or clunk of heated metal as it was positioned over the anvil. Not even the hiss as molten scraps were shaped and left to cool as ingots within the sand pit. Instead there was the quiet scratch and scraping, the low grind of a file against a metal edge and the gentle squeak of pieces being fitted together into a semblance of shape.

The smith, as always, was at work. A thin layer of grease and dust covered them, the hair firmly pulled back, sleeves rolled up. They were at work beneath the canopy of their courtyard space – the gates opened with the occasional member of the public giving a good morning in greeting. An easing thought and sign that they were beginning to be recognised in the community – and a sign trade may yet again improve for them. Not that they were in a rush, the low and quiet period meant they could study and experiment with their own goals.

Within the courtyard a bicycle had been hitched onto a frame, the wheels a couple inches off the ground as to prevent it from rolling away. Gale had earned that knowledge the hard way when the bicycle rolled out the courtyard and into the canal opposite.

Strapped to the underside of the frame however was the current contraption. Shaped steel, pulled and formed into a collection of shapes mimicking the much larger industrial engines hugging the centre of the frame. Starting at the top was a currently empty container, with a screw on cap. Beneath it was another smaller hole, allowing them to peer into the bottom if desired. From the front a tube rose up then downwards, a butterfly valve blocking the way yet being able to be twisted open by twisting the handlebar. A quick test felt the give of it going forward, before it sprung back closed when released. As long as they were not too aggressive with it, the spring inside should last.

Following the tube down lead to a moving pair of pistons within a cylinder box. Another inlet valve was here, snugger fitting and reliant on the driver to manually open it – otherwise the pistons would simply never move. This in turn was attached to the crankshaft – a long rectangle of unshaped metal – which in turn had been bolted onto a collection of gears.

Gale blew the dust from the piece they were filing, turned the cog, before shuffling forward to attach it. Going up from there was a stiff wire, a straight line that lead back up to a lever in the left side of the handle bars. With a grunt the last of that was bolted into place. A small squeeze of the lever, it clicked, the cog engaging with the adjacent gear – which in turn was welded to a bar going through the rear wheel. Releasing it, it held itself there until Gale pressed it again.

It reminded them of the firing mechanism of their guns, an engage and a trigger. With a click it sprung back out and away, awaiting to be primed once more. Without the engagement, the crankshaft would be turning alone leaving the bicycle stationary and the rear wheel unmoving. At least, in theory. Practice would prove if it would actually work today. The final piece was something sensibly salvaged from the original bicycle – the brakes.

Having ridden a bicycle a few times in their life, the smith was well aware of the importance of such. A motorised piece of equipment would be no different. Beyond removing them, checking they were not going to break any time soon and reattaching them Gale made little changes to them. The original lever for them was located above the right handle bar, where it should be.

The smith studied their work, stepping around it in study as they pondered their next dilemma.

Engine ignition. Turning it off would be easy – block the flow of the fumes and the

Their finger twitched, curled, and paused.

Gale’s eyes moved down to the curl, eyes narrowing.

Gunpowder?

It was feasible, a quick spark and ignition – they could scrape the match heads off and line it. A similar idea to the percussion caps they had created, only in a different way and format. It would need a single hard strike however, and ensuring that was troublesome at best.

Or a friction based mechanism. Twist a specially made pin within the cap itself. Like when lighting a match but the striker is on the inside. The bullet would have to be a blank however, which leads to containment of the powder itself. Additionally the fuel would have to have a relatively low flash point. Lamp oil? Or perhaps strong alcoholic spirits?

They could try both regardless. It was as if they were in a rush.

Sighing, Gale fished out a cigarette and popped the end into their mouth. A pat of a hand to their pockets, the fumbling as they tried to find their lighter. With a frown they pivoted on the spot, eyes scanning as to where they had left it. Inside? Under the counter?

They did not see it on the immediate work space.

Gale grumbled, “Well. Shit.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance

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Aodh Elzo
Posts: 84
Joined: Thu Aug 08, 2019 12:56 pm
Topics: 14
Race: Wick
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Fri Oct 18, 2019 7:35 pm


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60 Roalis 2719. Early afternoon.

Aodh was walking back to his workshop and home on Hollow Street, he took a shortcut through the Soot district.
It was hot. He had his cap pulled down against the glare of the sun, though the clouds of smoke helped.
Aodh had been busking in the Kingsway Market and had done well, but as the day got hotter he decided to call it a day early and head for the side of the Dives and home. Today he was dressed in faded bottle green trousers, tan double breasted waistcoat and a russet linen shirt sleeves rolled high and the collar open, his worn brown work boots kicked up dust from the hot cobbles. He carried his old battarded fiddle case in his right hand, he hummed the tune for a new song he was working on as he walked.

Aodh stopped took a cigarette from behind his ear, and struck a match on a nearby wall. As he took a drag he noticed the open gate. Cigarette hanging from his lips he scratched his jaw with a thumb, he was pretty sure it was Saunders forge. Aodh glanced inside and saw the bicycle, least he thought it was a bicycle though it seemed to have been, added to?

Aodh tilted his head trying to figure out what the contraption was exactly, he didn’t know but it was fair interesting. When the person he recognised as, Saunders the owner.

Aodh also recognised the motions of someone looking for a lit, a dance he knew well, he knocked on the open gate and said.

“Ya in need of a light?"

Aodh help the match box out smiling, he glanced at the bike again and nodded towards it.

“Your Saunders right, mind I ask what yer workin’ on?"


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