Setting: Village Farm
Bismarck had rolled the tractor through the entire field, ploughing the ground thoroughly to allow crops to grow. Luckily the farmers had broken out of their admiration halfway and began spreading seeds into the prepared grounds. The griffs who were meant to plough the field with their claws alone looked at the completed field shocked by the speed of the tractor. Bismarck was also surprised by how small the field was, but he also began regretting not using these back in his estate.
The food problem would be solved, however, the short-term problems remained, as the crops would take time to grow to feed the hungry griffons of the village. Bismarck had realised this and began thinking of improving the scavengers of the village. First, they will have to stop using their bare claws to hunt. Also, their tactics are in desperate need of change, after all, how can they expect to find any prey by just wandering around aimlessly? Bismarck thought, as he began to be locked in thought once more, ignoring the griffons who were touching and observing the tractor up-close. They also shouldn't be untrained peasants, instead they should be a professional force, skilled at their trade. Bismarck began to formulate an idea, which was quickly snowballing into a bigger project he was planning on doing later. If they can hunt animals, they can also hunt men. Bismarck concluded, as he planned to kill a whole bunch of birds with one stone. After all, if he was going to have to create a scavenging team, why not make them soldiers as well? The only thing he lacked was a name.
"With this new tool, we will be able to free up more griffs for other jobs!" Hett proclaimed, who had just finally digested the information into his thick skull. His stupidity, however, gave Bismarck a eureka moment, which made him jump into the air cartoonishly briefly.
"That's it! I will call it the freikorp! (Free corp)" Bismarck exclaimed, whilst still being stuck mid-air. He only fell when he realised the scientific impossibility of his action, which made him look downwards resulting in a quick acceleration downwards.
"You alright there friend?" Hett asked the dazed griffon, who had visibly gotten a halo atop his head with stars orbiting it. Hett poked Bismarck a bit when he didn't answer.
"Yes, yes I'm fine Hett. Thanks for asking." Bismarck replied, still quite dazed by the fall, his claws rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyways," Bismarck started dubiously, "Hett, are you currently employed anywhere?"
Setting: Pauls' forge
Paul had created several makeshifts, yet reliable workbenches which he planned on using for mass-production. He has all the materials, and resources to begin the production, but he lacked several key ingredients. The mood of the surrounding wasn't the usual grim, industrial feel as there were no factories to shelter the workbenches, but most importantly, he had no workers. He was currently counting on Bismarck to bring him workers to hopefully quickly build a compound to house his equipment and operate his machines, and thankfully any illiterate could operate a workbench no less assemble something, which meant that they would only need limited training and any secrets or blueprints of the weapons or tools wouldn't be lost or stolen by the enemy, as the workers wouldn't know anything either. Just as Paul began to finish his thoughts, Bismarck appeared at the entrance, being flanked with several new faces, and one familiar one. Hett. Paul remembered.
"I see you've been busy," Bismarck said whilst scanning across the forge, and spotting several workbenches in the corner. "How the hell did you make so many so quickly?!" Bismarck shouted, surprised by the number of workbenches made.
Paul simply shrugged, "Don't know, maybe because this new body of mine is quicker. Or it might just be that this world doesn't follow any conventional laws of reality." Paul evaluated with a squinted eye, as his wings began juggling several bolts sub-consciously. "See?" Paul pointed at his sentient wings, "I'm sure you experienced this too on your way here."
Bismarck tried to reason, but then immediately retracted, as he remembered how he seemed to be motionless mid-air just before at the farm. Upon seeing this, Paul wore a cheeky grin.
Bismarck recovered, and began talking, "Anyways, the griffs behind me are previous farmers who are now jobless thanks to your contraption."
"Are they mad at me?" Paul asked, slightly worried.
"No, in fact, quite the opposite! They are impressed with your work, and are willing to work for us for free!" Bismarck reassured Paul but began to lean in to tell a secret. "They are quite communal, and prefer work than boredom, so we won't need to pay them." Bismarck leaned back and gave Paul a wise nod.
"Well... Perfect! Do any of you griffons know how to lay bricks?" Paul asked enthusiastically, however, it only garnered confused stares and tilted heads. "Y'know, burnt clay and concrete?" Paul asked specifically, hoping to be understood, but the griffons only seemed to brighten up when hearing "burnt clay" but contort back into confusion on concrete. Paul face-clawed himself, he was going to have the longest day of his life.
An eternity later... (I'm too lazy to explain how bricks or concrete is made, or its procedures, or go Paul and Bismarck suffers in having to coordinate hundreds of griffons to construct a factory and a barrack.)
The elder was shocked by the progress of the two mysterious griffons who had arrived. According to Hett, their names were Bismarck and Paul, and they had been going up and down the village rallying up griffons to come and work on their projects. They were quick on their works, as the barracks and the large compound which they referred to as a "factory" seemed to materialise before his eyes, as the griffons constructing them held shiny tools which the elder devised could only be iron tools (They are actually steel). Just as they seemed to be done, as they continued working throughout the night, noise continually came out of the two buildings, shouts from the barracks and sounds of metal clashing in the "factory".
As the smoke began escaping the chimneys of the "factory," the elder went in to investigate the source of sooty smoke, as he suspected a fire had started inside it. But instead, he would be shocked by other reasons, as inside, the noise was even more deafening, and he was suddenly hit with a burst of heat coming from the furnaces inside. Inside, the elder saw griffons hammering away at molten chunks of iron, twisting levers of benches to press steel and copper alike, several carrying clouds from above to stuff into furnaces, as the fires inside it raged on with the continual shovelling of coal. The elder began backing away from the scene, as he had seen nothing like it before, and it felt like being in an entirely new world due to the change of atmosphere and mood of the interior compared to the outside. His disbelief was quickly disrupted by the snapping of a claw in front of his beak, which made him flinch in surprise.
"Anybody in there?" A lightgrey griffon cheekily asked,
"U-um yes! I'm here!" The elder hastily replied, quickly breaking his daydreams.
"Oh really? Because just then you seemed out of this world," the lightgrey laughed internally in his clever wordplay.
"Uh... Yes. I'm fine, but I must ask, were you responsible for this?" The elder asked sceptically.
The lightgrey simply grinned as a response, as he turned around to observe his work.
"Well, I would like to thank you for finding work for my griffons, but could I get your name?" The elder asked sceptically once more, as he didn't believe that this lightgrey griffon could have done this.
"The name's Paul Mauser sir, and could I gain the honour of knowing the elders' name?" Paul asked nobly, but even a blind mule could tell he was faking it.
The elder froze when he heard his name, as his doubts of this lightgrey griffon owning the factory dissipated upon hearing his name. But he quickly recovered, "Franz Tercio, might I also know the name of your friend?"
"The rockhead or the darkgrey one?" Paul asked, brow raised.
"Bismarck..." Franz concluded, which made Paul frown slightly.
"It's actually Otto Von Bismarck, but yes. Bismarck is fine too I guess." Paul said. "But enough of pleasantries, I have to deliver some uniforms to the barracks." He then began gesturing towards the griffons near several crates, who promptly began hauling it on top of wagons and wheeled them out the factory towards the barracks.
"Uniforms? For what?" The elder asked dumbly, as he didn't even stop to think of the answer.
"Uniforms for the stone head and 119 other griffons. Bismarck's planning on building two platoons for 'hunting' purposes." Paul said, emphasising the word 'hunting' as if to help Franz understand that it wasn't his actual motive. But he doubted he would pick up on that.
As if on queue, Franz brightened up, saying "Brilliant! That would provide us food long enough for the yields out of our farm!"
Paul simply face-clawed himself due to the elders' naivety. How come they are all idiots? Paul cursed himself, as he and Bismarck had to babysit these brainless idiots. At least they won't revolt...