//------------------------------// // Antics of a Merchant // Story: The Scramble for Equestria (A Pre-EAW Story) // by Radical Centrist //------------------------------// The Jaffmare's merchants and artisans, like their pseudo-intellectuals of the city, had also become drawn to their counterparts, rubbing flanks with the British traders, revelling in the atmosphere of unscrupulous greed and the universal scent of money. The Antics of Fareed Ample; a Forgettable Merchant, Forced into Historic Notoriety Fareed knew avaricious creatures when he saw one. Wealthier the more noticeable, he could smile at sensing the same atmosphere of business, experienced in Jaffmare's numerous merchant guilds. Other merchants around him weren't so as astute like him, many blind to the divide between what Fareed considered the 'pretentious know-it-alls' and 'the noble and hard-working realist traders' in the foreign delegation. Regardless, it did not matter, as the little parasites the 'lesser' merchants were, they followed Fareed like hyenas, soulless stares accompanying the most successful merchant's every move. Some were determined to copy and follow him, as if that would bring them success and joy. But even more of them spectated silently, wishing for his hideous downfall, dreamily pulling him down with their collective phantom hooves onto their abyssal level, only for the next to rise to be similarly cut down to size. Fareed wouldn't give them that satisfaction. He, unlike any of these lowly hay-peddlers would rise, cheating them all and escaping intrigue to finally end up in Trotgiers! Where only wealth mattered, and one's race, family status or prowess didn't. Fareed gritted his teeth. He would show these nobodies what a half-breed could do. He approached two pompous griffins with a charming grin. "Hm. They're too primitive for a modern banking sector, don't you think, brother?" Alfred de Rothschild, second child of the notable Rothschild family spoke, smartly twirling his moustache with a soft claw. "Nonsense, brother. As Colonel Kitchener said, these natives seem to be in the middle of their renaissance, and history proves banking is about to boom. A capital investment for us, it is, if we were to create a monopoly." (The Lord) Nathaniel Mayer Rothschild, eldest child of the Rothschilds', slyly replied, stroking his beard with a similar soft claw that had never seen menial work. A familiar pegasus rolled his eyes, "Your types always lack foresight! So little narrow view of the future, what great opportunity that may be presented, you always fail to see the greater prize!" Sir Basil Zaharoff reprimanded, yet, due to his natural charisma and reputation, it didn't come off as offensive. Zaharoff continued, "These new lands could expand our understanding about our Werg, granting us avenues for its use in every sector of industry!... Especially in regards to our specialties..." "Just imagine the fantastical devices that can be wrought with magic... So many possibilities... Such beauties will be made..." Thorsten Nordenfelt giddly cooed, a manic grin sprawled across his beak as his wings flapped wildly in reflection. A unicorn beside him nervously leaned away from the mad inventor, a worried expression on his face, "Okay...? But let's not forget why we're doing this, gentlemen. -To save lives." Sir Hiram Stevens Maxim resolved, ignorant of Zaharoff's second eye roll, Nodenfelt's continued mad imaginings and the Rothschild's apathetic stare. (("Pleasure to be of acquaintance! -My name is Fareed. Fareed Ample.")) All eyes and attached heads slowly turned to the newcomer. A native, from the voice, but closer. They'd noted, finally meeting eyes with a familiar-looking smile from a particularly small unicorn horse. That also didn't wear pants... At least this one had a shirt though. It nevertheless made them shiver a bit, disgusted that these nudists would shamelessly uncover their privates like this. Their respite and subsequent little goodwill only came from the knowledge that they were at least not bipedal. Not because it would make them comparable to these savages, but because it would fully reveal their privates, partially hidden when on all-fours. "Interpreter!" Nathaniel called, promptly being answered by one privately contracted by him. "Milord?" "Help us with this, good sir." Alfred waved a palm at the petite unicorn. "Very well, sir." Fareed will no longer be bracketed, except for words without an English equivalent and vice versa. "Could we get a photographer here?" Nordenfelt yelled, "Pleasur-... It is equitable to have met. My name is Nathaniel, eldest of the prestigious Rothschilds'." The banker barely dipped his head in greeting. Fareed became bemused as a claw didn't shake his hanging hoof, causing him to stiffly drop it back in place. He decided to repay this treatment with an amiable smile. "Fareed Ample. Richest merchant of Jaffnare." He sneaked a self-commendation. A similar looking griffon stuck close to his familiar dipped deeper, "-And I am his brother, Alfred. That there is Nordenfelt, Maxim and-, hey, where's Zaharoff?" "Mind holding that native still?" Zaharoff revealed himself suddenly a fair distance away from the group, next to a griffon whose head was concealed in the black hood of a dry plate camera. The Rothschilds thought it was beneath them, however, Maxim, out of decency and Nordenfelt, out of sating curiosity quickly moved to usher Fareed to their sides, much to the latter's confusion, to the middle of their group. Fareed quickly galloped to the edge of the group, nestling next to Alfred and Nathaniel to turn the group even again. "The tabloids will read, 'Savages meet the best of the west!'" The photographer raised a thumb in completion, "Now, now. You know how those people think about we wealth-men calling natives 'savages'." Nathaniel clicked his tongue, "Uncivilised is a far more suitable term." Fareed, by now quite flustered at being ignored, tossed around, and ignored again, finally decided to provoke a clearing of his throat. "'Hem... Could somehorse please explain what just happened?" Expectedly, the banker family ignored him, alongside the eccentric salesman, leaving the engineers to pick up the tab once more. "We just took a ((photo)), good horsie! Want to see an example?" The interpreter took to liberty to omit 'horsie'. Nordenfelt dug a claw into his inner pocket, extracting a messy grasp of post-developed photos. Some slipped out of his gaped digits and hit Fareed's face, causing him to cringe as some narrowly missed his eyes. Said eyes would immediately widen at witnessing the various contents of the rectangular 'fabrics' in the energetic griffon's claws. "They're still pictures, captured by the prior instrument that was pointed at us." Maxim helpfully elaborated, Ignoring etiquette, Fareed's horn glowed to snatch the goods off of Norden felt's claws, "ARGH! Papercut!" -And levitating them close to his face to better observe the colourless yet surreal piece of 'art'. The four without pain curiously noted the magical display. "-How..." Fareed rapidly cycled through the various 'photos', depicting various scenes from what he could vaguely determine ranging from scenes of battle to fair ladies. "How is this possible?! There was no magic in that previous contraption!" An awkward silence followed the merchant's outburst. The interpreters were hard at work, neatly whispering to the ears of their benefactors. Zaharoff shrugged, "Technology." Fareed sputtered indignantly at the half-flanked, yet obvious response. "Apologies, mister Fareed, but explaining its operation and engineering is simply impossible with our precarious limit in time." Maxim remedied, "Not to mention, it's not exactly of our expertise..." Nordenfelt spat, nursing his sore undulating palm that was sure to become worse later. "Speaking of technology's antithesis, are your kind or wider friends perhaps familiar with it?" Albert chanced, Fareed abruptly blinked out of his thoughts, "Familiar with what?" "He means 'Werg'." Zaharoff scrutinised the merchant, "But I guess from your reaction, it goes hand-in-glove with technology." Fareed sputterd again in disbelief, "Of course! -Even a foal knows magic is expected for any tool! -I can't-! What?! -That is the most obvious fact known by everycreature! How in Asura's name can you not know this? -OR EXERCISE THIS SIMPLE RULE?!" He manically stammered, Before any could counter with an excuse, Zaharoff dumbfoundedly blurted, "-There's a rule?" "-YES!!! It's Clover's rule of the four classical elements, 'earth, water, air and magic!' -The last element, with qualities of power is the force for all goods!" Fareed rashly yelled, blushing slightly for shouting something so obvious out loud. He wished desperately that any listeners wouldn't think he wasn't one of those pretentious morons that espoused the truth of one plus one equals two. "Clover?" "-Who the devil is Clover?" "Clover the Clever..." Fareed impatiently groaned, rubbing his tired eyes with both hooves. His patience would further dry out when he looked up, facing the still-confused foreigners. "...The apprentice of the legendary Starswirl the Great? -The real hooves behind the Princess Platinum's reign?" Fareed balked at their continued incomprehension. "...Dear Asura... You're all serious..." Fareed snapped his gaped jaw shut, "Just... How dettached have you creatures been?" Alfred's brow rose, "Well, it's hardly our faul-," "-Let's just say the seas around our lands are treacherous. But it isn't all bad, our first contact with the wider world has been you, kind people." Nathaniel flashed an uncommon smile, cracking his charisma open. Zaharoff noiselessly trotted to his patron's side, a similar smile on his muzzle, "Yes, how fortunate of us to be here, welcomed without threats or a scratch on our side. But what else could be expected with friends?" Fareed began sensing a wormly deja vu, his coat instinctively shivering. "Tell you what... Your kind's warm reception requires a fitting reward... And who else to deliver it, then the richest merchant of the quaint, polite city?" Zaharoff waved absently in the air. Unbeknownst to all, several strategically positioned porters heeded their signal to approach. Fareed immediately realised the foreigner's intentions, and internally scowled at the implications. He would resolve to be intentionally obtuse, for the slight of thinking he was some lightweight negotiator, vulnerable to some honied wor- "-After all, if you have so much already, what will be the point of stealing some measly gift? -Not saying you would, but other unscrupulous men." Zaharoff was soon joined by four pony porters, each carrying a 'dense' crate on a wagon once intended for a less conscious being. Zaharoff nodded. The crates became cracked open. And... Fareed became disappointed. Underclimatic, really. He didn't even know what he was seeing. Zaharoff awkwardly coughed, "These are... Graphophones!" Nathaniel gasped intensely, "No, Zaharoff! These were for our esteemed commanders of the expedition!" He covertly nudged Alfred's side, "Maxim and Nordenfelt, could you please step aside with me for a brief 'mo to discuss your prototypes?" Alfred swiftly stepped forward, supplemented by his wings to wrap his arms around their employed engineer's shoulders. Nordenfelt cheerfully began chatting, but Maxim briefly sent a glance at the scene about to unfold. "They can wait, Lord Nathaniel, but we may be parting ways with these hosts anyday. This might be the only time we could repay our gratitude, and-," Zaharoff determinedly stared at the merchant with deep conviction, "We traders never forgive our debts." Around the same time, a porter slid a graphophone atop a convenient wheeled table just before Zaharoff. Fareed gazed expectantly at the strange machine, nodding and glancing at the last Rothschild sporadically, who still looked greatly worried. "Indulge your ears, of the ride of the valkryies." Fareed twitched as he heard the displeasing noise of what he could only compare to a blacksmith sharpening his sword on a particularly jagged grinding wheel. But it soon became overshadowed by a hasty stroke of the violin. Fareed's eyes widened once more as he observed the impossible sight of a contraption, still without any traces of magic, emitting sound. While such functions were not explored by the Great Starswirl or his clever apprentice, many other magicians had long ago and still tried, following the overwhelming path that the former titan carved, futilely trying to expand his knowledge, only to drown in his still-much alive shadow. What was occurring in his very-eyes and ears was thought to be fantasy. Little demand and subsequently too little funding for such functionality had made sure of that. Starswirl had already invented a spell to transport written messages, and that had been breakthrough enough. Nocreature wanted, or expected more. But the foreigner's machine showed what they had been missing. By now, everycreature in an earshot distance had staggered towards the noise. Those familiar softly hummed the tune, helping drown out the annoying scratchy ambience, while those who didn't, either not familiar with Wagner or a native, listened with awed expressions. Fareed, somehorse who had enjoyed the pleasures of music before and have bragged of having listened to the greatest bards and performers of the Kingdom could not form words to describe this particular piec-, no, masterpiece. He could especially not fathom how these foreigners could gather the number of professionals in the appropriate concentration to create such a harmonious, fantastical symphony. Sure, Fareed had witnessed famed concertmasters who had gathered musicians in impressive numbers to play in such symphonies, but they had been amateurish, poorly paid and absolutely horrendous, when compared to the song played by this 'graphophone'. He thirsted desperately to hear it without distortion. Zaharoff ended the track early, flipping a black tab haphazardly with his flat, stiff hoof. He cursed under his breath, "Well? Will you be delivering these gifts?" Fareed hesitantly looked up to Zaharoff, taking note of his hopeful expression. He gnawed his lip. "This is out-rageous! These are top-of-the-line products! -And will not be squandered as a gift to those that don't understand its value!" Nathaniel moved to wrestle the graphophone towards the crate, only to be easily thwarted by Zaharoff who slapped his claws limply off the table. "Value?" Fareed picked up from his whispering interpreter, immediately entering into a racing thought of its possible market value. "...Trotgiers would go crazy for this! Frivolous luxuries like these are exactly their type! -Imagine the amount of ducats!" "Maybe you're right, Lord Nathaniel... Perhaps just some gold would suffice?" Zarahoff anxiously tapped his hoof together. "-Right it would! How could you even entertain the idea that any one of these unelightened peoples could smartly find worth in a product like this?!" Nathaniel slowly wrapped his claws around the graphophone once more, delicately coiling his digits around its miscellaneous nobs and features. Fareed waved wildly, "Wait! -Just... Asura, damn it... Stop." Nathaniel had already stopped even before his interpreter's input. "I'll, uh... I graciously accept your gift, Zarahoff." Fareed managed, Zarahoff smiled, but Nathaniel stepped in front of him, "That offer is off the table... Literally." He ardently declared, unconsciously nudging the desk from behind. Noticing this, Fareed began to tense, "Oh, come on, Lord Nathaniel. Are we not friends as Zaharoff said? -This would go a long way to improve our relationship, and especially strengthen ties in the long run as well." He said with surprising confidence. "It is still a no. I will not risk severing ties with the Colonel for some strangers west." Nathaniel flatly huffed. "Please, Nathaniel, these natives deserve enough." Zarahoff peered his head from Nathaniel's shoulder, flashing a reassuring smile at Fareed. "What? -For a warm welcome they get a million pounds worth of goods?!" "Don't be ridiculous! Like what Fareed said, they would surely reciprocate! -He should know even better as the richest merchant!" Zarahoff desperately defended, looking nervously at Fareed to be vouched. "-That's right! I will compensate you with some of Jaffmare's most talented sorcerers!" Fareed hastily nodded at Zarahoff, who immediately relaxed once interpreting the counteroffer. "What use are temporary employs-?" "They're indentured servants! Paying off their contracts from their academies, -I'll give you them!" Fareed elaborated on the offer, "-I'm still not-," "I'll give you the literatures of Starswirl and Clover! -Alongisde our own scholars, on my expense!" Fareed declared. They're all inexpensive anyways! "Lord Nathaniel, I swear by the gods that I, alone, will be solely responsible if our Colonel and commanders take offence to goffing these good people." Zarahoff crossed a hoof across his barrel. Fareed thanked Asura for the generous Zaharoff. "Fine... But these goods better go to the right people, Zaharoff." Nathaniel glared at Fareed, even as he stepped to the side. "I swear, by Asura, that these gifts will go the city council," Fareed said through his smiling teeth. The graphophone slid towards Fareed's reach. "Sucker," the sucker thought.