HistoryPark: Here There Be Dragons

Valdemar - NO!

Oh, OK. What are friends for. Either Google for images under 'dragon' or pm me for the site. I used PhotoShop to remove a large date-stamp in the lower left.

Stuyvesant - I fear that some confusion is inevitable here at the beginning. Plot points should begin to come together shortly.

Stig!

Click to expand...

As for the music... don't I wish! I have an entire AAR based on 'Carmina Burana' just waiting... and no way to play the music!

That dragon is a NASA color-filtered shot of the sun with dragon-shaped gas clouds. It is included solely because I think the pic is gorgeous.

As to dragons... rats, never a soapbox when I need one. Early European 'dragons' were also called 'wurms' and were typically legless and wingless. Others (notably English and Welsh) were almost identical to griffins. I have seen a pic of Vlad Dracul's medal but couldn't make out much in the way of details.

So different dragon pics will be used. I'll try to stay away from anything too obviously Oriental.

Commandante - Better questions: will Wallachia EXIST 150 years into the game, and will it be such a hell-hole that EVERYONE wants out?

Eochaid - Welcome back, my friend...

Amric - I don't know if my gameplay will do Wallachia justice. Bremen was challenging for the first century or two, but this... well, you'll see.

Alexandru - Wallachia may deserve better than I can give her.

I quite enjoyed what I read of your Moldovian tale and I hope you continue with it. Please help keep me corrected on the facts of the tale. I do try, but I sometimes get things wrong and I'd rather they were brought to my attention than not.

Crimson King - I have several pages of thoughts on 'Carmina Burana' which I'll email you if you want. PM me here and give me your address.

Gjerg Kastrioti - I'll correct you on one small point. Wallachia is not tough... all her neighbors are... especially now that Austria (AKA 'Great White Shark') has inherited Bohemia and Hungary with no revolt risk!

Maps will be forthcoming, but first we must set the stage.

“Robinson Crusoe” – Daniel Defoe



“Just what the hell is going on here?”

The speaker is a short man with thinning red hair and eyes of faded blue. His suit coat is draped carelessly across a chair, his tie is loosened and his bespoke-tailored shirt is desecrated by rolled up sleeves. The office is never permitted to be uncomfortably hot or cold, and no-one in the upper executive level would ever perspire, but he looks tired and worn.

He is Donald Minter, CEO of the Park for the six months since Vince DeLanzo’s retirement. Already, gossip among the Park admin staff has it that he is out of his depth; a good administrator but unable to cope with the Park’s loopy brand of reality.

Sprawled on the sofa to his right is a tall, solid man in his late forties, reasonably fit but going soft. His nondescript brown eyes and nondescript features are shielded by one arm, the other trailing limply on the floor. He is Robert Thompkins, Director of Park Operations. If you could see his face it would be haunted.

Standing before the vast expanse of floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall glass is a translucent image of a man, good-looking in an average sort of way. He appears to be staring out over the mountains and monuments of the Park, but he isn’t – holograms have no eyes. The electronics necessary for the projection are hidden in the room’s expensive décor.

He is a manifestation of the AI that runs the Park, the literal ghost in the machine. Born by accident and split in two by near-disaster, he and his brother have quietly bought up stock until they secretly control the Park. Minter doesn’t suspect this; Thompkins was present while it was happening. The original AI named himself Parker as an experiment in understanding humor. The two now call themselves Frank and Joe (no-one else thinks it’s funny) and delight in being the Parker brothers.

He is apparently dressed in a suit of a style popular in the previous century, baggy pants and double-breasted coat with a narrow tie. His shoes have spats. He turns back from the window and sighs, allowing the image to flicker slightly as a subtle reminder for the humans.

“Did you really lock the yetis out?”

“What does that have to do with anything? They were disturbing the admin staff!”

The Park’s admin building is in the center of the grounds, artfully disguised as a large hill – four hills in one, with different scenery on each slope. The snowy Himalayan side is populated by actors in Yeti suits who sometimes nip inside to warm up and use the restrooms. His first week on the job, Minter had run headlong into a yeti in the corridor and his nerves had never quite recovered.

“Cut the yetis some slack, Donald, or I’ll take it to the Board.” Thompkins twitched; he knew how much money the AI had made during the ‘Who Wants To Be Napoleon’ game, and he knew just about how much stock the AI had bought up. Thompkins had narrowly avoided having to take the CEO job when DeLanzo retired and he didn’t want to go through that fight again.

“I’ll issue a memo on the yetis if you’ll just tell me what’s going on. I’ve got grieving family members to talk to and I don’t know what to tell them.” The AI gave him points for mentioning the family and not the news teams.

“Kevin – Doctor Kevin Lee – has been working on ways to improve the virtual reality experience without increasing computer resources or bandwidth. He’s had some very promising results and the early test runs have been… well, this is to VR what color was to television.”

“He and four friends set up a standard scenario, one that had been run twenty times with that rig without an accident. Kevin is fascinated with Dracula, so he loves to use Romania as a setting. Some failures have happened, but the built-in safeguards always lifted everyone out of the game. This time… Kevin experienced what his brain and body were fooled into thinking was a massive blow to the head. He has all the symptoms of such a blow. We think that’s what is causing the memory loss and personality fragmentation. We can handle the internal bleeding and fluid buildup, and his memories will probably return with time. What we haven’t been able to do is disconnect him from the VR rig and data feeds.”

“The head scans are showing some loss of function in the tissues that connect the left and right hemispheres of the brain. No physical damage, we think, just… the brain is convinced that there is damage. Every time we shut off the VR feed, his brainwaves go haywire. He has flat-lined twice.”

Thompkins spoke up. “So who have you called?”

“Sumitomo. Larza. Volkowski. All tops in their fields. They’re hopeful, but they agree that sensory deprivation and madness might result from loss of the VR feed. The easiest way to generate that feed is to continue with the game, using the files and programs we already have. We’re kludging up some situation files to allow us to move him in and out of the game. In, so we can hide the fact that we’re operating on him and so he doesn’t suffer sensory deprivation. Out so we can measure any progress and let him rest.”

“But what do we do?” Frustration and dread lined Minter’s face, unusual for a man not given to revealing emotions.

“What we can. I’ll work with him in the game. The doctors will work with him in the real world. You gentlemen will get us the resources we need and handle the press. And, of course, the Park has to function.”

Thompkins flung his arm aside and sat up. “And we’ll all pray.”

“Prayers would be appreciated, yes.”

Minter’s expression set. “Spend what you must and call for whomever you need. I’ll defend it to the Board later, if I must. He is one of ours, and he’s lost and hurt, and I want him found. I want my people safe.” He rose and began rolling down his sleeves. “I have a meeting with his mother and father. They’re arriving in a private train car in half an hour, and I intend to meet them in person. We owe them at least that.” He lifted up his suit coat and headed for the door.

“I’m needed inside the game. Kevin’s waking up.” The hologram winked out.

Thompkins waited for Minter to make his exit. “I know you can still hear me, Parker. Looks like Minter may have more spine than we thought.” Silence greeted this statement. “And that leaves the news sharks for me,” Thompkins muttered. “Damn, sometimes I hate this job.”

Part Two

When he awoke this time he didn’t recognize his surroundings at all. The room was cut from dark gray rock. The windowless walls were draped with tapestries, the floor covered with a carpet of rich color and intricate design. What furnishings there were – the bed, an armoire, a table, some stools – were plainly formed of dark wood. The lamp and candles burned clearly and steadily in air that was cool and damp and smelled faintly of rock dust.

The air was still. There was no sound.

The door was set into the wall opposite the bed, solid slabs of thick wood strapped with iron and a large iron latch. He sat quietly on the side of the bed for several minutes, moving his arms and legs and cautiously turning his head from side to side. The pain seemed to be gone, along with the dizziness and nausea, but his joints were stiff and his muscles trembled. He stood carefully and tottered across the room like an old man.

The door was locked.

He had barely made his slow progress back to the bed before the door latch clicked and the door eased open. Framed in the doorway was the man he remembered from the hillside. Now that he was standing, Kevin could see that he was no giant – a little above my height, Kevin thought, and I’m not tall. Broad shoulders, though, and he moves like he has muscles.

“I hope you are well. Food is being prepared for you.” The voice was the same, as was the trace of accent.

“Food would be nice, thank you. But more than that I need some explanations…”

“Those you will have. May I ask if you remember your name?”

“Khef… Kevin. You’re speaking English!”

“Yes. Do you remember how you came to be injured?”

“I… um, I… I fell off a horse?”

“Yes. And I am trying to help you recover. Do not let yourself be agitated if there are things you cannot remember. Your memories should return, in time. But while you are here, Kevin, I may need your help.”

“Right. That’s why the door is locked. I might as well be in jail, or on a desert island.”

“No, you are not a prisoner. The door was locked for your safety. I will leave it unlocked when I depart if you will promise me not to wander out of the areas I will show you. My residence is… unusual, and parts of it are dangerous. I do not wish you to come to further harm.”

“And what may I do for you… Count Dracula?”

The other frowned. “I was never a count. I was Voivode – Prince – of Wallachia. And I am not vampire – at least not as Stoker wrote in that dreadful book. I have a disease of the blood, an unusual type of porphyria. I cannot endure strong sunlight, but I have lived a very long time; perhaps that is compensation. You may address me as Prince, but I would prefer that you use my proper name, which is Vlad.”

“How long is ‘a very long time’? And for what could you possibly need my help? And why me?”

“In the world outside it is centuries since I held the throne of Wallachia. And as for the rest… you should eat, and then we will talk.”


The meal was simple but excellent – a thick, spicy stew, hot fresh bread dripping with butter, superb dark beer. The Prince wheeled it all in on a cart and set the table himself, then took a stool and helped himself to a portion. Kevin ate hungrily but kept one eye on his host for any sign of fangs, and was relieved to see that the other had excellent but perfectly human teeth.

“I’m relieved to see that you eat real food, that you don’t drink blood,” Kevin ventured.

“Oh, but I do, sometimes. My disease depletes the iron in my body, and other substances. Blood is a ready source of the substances I need and the craving for it can be intense… but I promise you that you are in no danger. Animals can supply my necessities.” An awkward silence fell.

“If you are finished, then let me tell you of Wallachia.”

Amric - thanks, and congrats on your new position in the bAAR!

Alexandru H. - You have no idea how much I respect you authors for whom English is not their native tongue. You certainly do better than I would in another language... and frequently you do better than some English-speakers!

Anibal - Thank you! You are mistakely assuming, however, that I have grown up...



Here's Part Two, Part Three to follow shortly. Then 'On To The Real Story!'

Part Three

“Once it was a rich province of the Roman Empire, and it was the birthplace of Emperors. When the Western Empire fell, the Eastern Empire slowly lost control of the Danube lands. Raiders from the steppes devastated it; Huns and Mongols made it a wasteland.”

“As Saxons settled in Transylvania, so people from Transylvania moved east. Transylvania, Wallachia, the Dobruja, Moldovia and Rumelia are all bound by common ancestry and religion. The princely House of Wallachia was the House of Basarab, named for the man who founded our line.”

“Then the Turks exploded across Asia Minor, sweeping everything before them but the little bit of Thrace around Constantinople itself. They came overland and by sea and they rolled into the Balkans like a wave up a beach. They took over some of these lands and bound the rulers of others – like Wallachia – as vassals.”

“The boyars of that age were not aristocracy as you would find in western Europe. They were village headmen or important landowners, some elected and some appointed by the Prince. They taxed their people – serfs – but were themselves immune from taxes. And whenever a Voivode would be overthrown or die, the boyars would meet and elect his successor from the males of the House of Basarab.”

“In my lifetime, the Turks hit upon a scheme of simple, brutal effectiveness. They would crush any Prince who stood against them and then accept lavish presents and tribute from his successor. The new Prince would have had to lay out bribes to the boyars to be elected, which would leave him poor and weak. Only by grinding down the peasants could he find the means to pay the Turks and to defend the land from the other Princes. Then, whenever the Turks needed more tribute, a trumped-up charge would bring down that Prince and the cycle would begin again.”

“Because of this, the rich Roman lands – the Romania – remained free of direct Turkish rule, but they were ground down and impoverished by the insatiable demands of the Turks. As long as the Turks could pit the Princes against the boyars and against each other, it cost them little to retain control.”

“When my father was Voivode – he who was called Dragon, and deserved the name – he offended the Sultan and was forced to give hostages to the Turks. My brother Radu and I were sent to Constantinople and delivered to the mercy of the Sultan, who had none. We were given our letters and taught to do sums, and we were schooled in the arts of war. But we were Christians – infidels – and barbarians from the woods, and we were despised and tortured.”

Here he paused to pour more beer from the pitcher into their mugs, and he stared for a long moment into the steady flame of the lamp.

“They did vile things to us. They said it was because we were infidel, but that was not the reason. We were beardless boys, far from home and under no protection, and these were men who preyed upon the defenseless because they could. I swore then that I would never submit, that I would see my country free and strong! I swore terrible oaths. I pledged my soul.”

“Radu broke. He converted to Islam and became a favorite companion of the Sultan. I refused, and I suffered. At last they tired of abusing me and they threw me into a cell with lepers, and they left me to die.”

“I was only there a day or so. Radu pleaded with the Sultan – the only good turn he ever did for me – and I was released. But one of the men in that awful place was not a leper, but rather suffered from this porphyria that I now share. He apologized, while he drank from me. I will give him that – he apologized.”

“My father was killed by a Danist. They were the members of the other branch of the Basarabs, the descendants of Prince Dan. His killer became Voivode as Vladymir Second. But Vladymir had paid so much for his election that the annual tribute to the Turks began to slacken, and so the Turks decided to send me back to Wallachia to depose him. We fought for control of the country, and each of us spent years in exile plotting in turn against the other. Finally I avenged my father and took my rightful place as Voivode.”

“I killed the treacherous boyars and I killed the Saxons. I killed the thieves and the harlots, I killed the dishonest and the liars and the unfaithful. I killed the Turks and I killed others to frighten the Turks. I hated everyone – my people for sending me to the Turks, the Turks for what they had done… everyone. And I took my revenge on everyone; I killed thousands. They came to call me ‘The Impaler’. I grew madder and more blood-thirsty by the day, until my people and the other Princes decided that even the Turks would be better than I. They thought they killed me, but I dressed another’s headless body in my clothes and I fled. At some point, I grew sickened by the killing, and I rediscovered my faith. I saw that if I had succeeded in killing every man who had a bit of wickedness in him, more would have died than from the Black Death. And as the years rolled on, I began to marvel that I did not age or die.”

“The story of Romania after that is grim. She was bled by the Turks, torn apart in World War One, bled again in World War Two and devastated by the Communists.”

“I do not know if history can be changed, Kevin. But I swore an oath – on my eternal soul, when I still had one – and I will have no rest unless I try. My people deserve better than this. They deserve better than I gave them. But they will only have peace and security if we can make them strong enough to defend themselves.”

“I have studied the problem for many years, and I have encouraged the work of others. I have the means, now, to return to that place and time. I have already been there; that is how I came to rescue you. And I am asking for your assistance because you have already made a difference in that history.”

“I do not know how you and your friends came to be there, and I know you are truly no Mongol. But the presence of your group let Prince Dan convince the boyars that he had powerful allies – fearsome Mongol allies. When the Sultan warred on the Byzantines, Dan decided that the time was right to war on the Turks. He forged an alliance with the Prince of Moldavia and struck hard. While the Turks besieged the Great City, the Princes of Wallachia and Moldavia swept the Turks out of the Dobruja, Rumelia and Bulgaria. The Moldavians tired of the war and returned home, for they had fought a great battle with the Turks north of Varna and lost heavily in the victory. Dan fought on, for he knew that the Turks would not let him live unless he conquered.”

“And Thrace came under the Turks, and the Great City was sorely beset. But even as the Byzantines were facing destruction, the Sultan began moving his armies east. And in the end, the Sultan sent an embassy to the Prince of Wallachia. The Dobruja, Rumelia and Bulgaria were offered to him, and for once the Sultan paid tribute to the Prince! And Dan wisely accepted the embassy, and concluded a treaty of defense with Byzantium.”

“So you see, Kevin, your mere presence has already changed the history that I knew. Wallachia is greatly enlarged, and supported by powerful allies. But Dan proved to be corrupt and wasteful, and I fear the land will be divided once more unless you and I can intervene.”

There followed a long, thoughtful silence. “I have so many questions,” Kevin began. “But I don’t know how to ask them. I will tell you that I don’t give a damn about Wallachia, or what went on there centuries ago.”

“But for the sake of you and your brother… yes, I’ll help you for the sake of those two boys.”

Vlad sighed and stretched. “Very well. You must sleep. The sanitary arrangements and the bath are down the hall to your left. Please don’t venture past the hallway until the morning, when I can show you what parts of my home should be avoided.”

“And tomorrow… Dan Second got himself killed in 1436. He was brave, but venal and corrupt, and wasteful. The boyars are meeting to choose a successor, and I think you and I should be there.”

Kevin nodded, slowly. “I still don’t understand what is going on. But my questions will wait until tomorrow.”