By S.M. Stirling
THINK approximately historical past. NOW MAKE IT WORSE...
The Domination of the Draka starts as a British ownership in Africa, yet quickly turns into way more. soaking up refugees after the yank Revolution, and later the Civil conflict, the Draka develop into a humans bred to rule with an iron fist. They completely enslave the peoples of Africa, after they don't easily kill them.
yet this doesn't slake the Draka thirst for strength. Sweeping the world over, the Draka empire engulfs country after country, shackling into servitude all who're no longer Draka. Europe, Asia, and eventually all of the Earth and its colonies through the sun approach fall sooner than the could of the Draka.
yet empires usually are not faceless monoliths; they're made from participants, complicated people with their very own hopes and desires. And so one may ask: Who are the Draka? what kind of humans does the Domination rule? The Draka could have many alternative answers...
...and this can be their tale.
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Extra resources for Drakas!
His eyes were black, his teeth white with a prominent gap between the front uppers. There was a certain air about him, an aura of strength and confidence. His smile energized the crowd as they all reached out to touch his simple white linen jibbeh. His robe was the only one that was pure white. All the other Mahdists who wore robes had variously colored patches sewn onto them, signifying the impure state of their wearers. Only the Mahdi could wear immaculate white, for he was the only man among them without sin.
A dirt road, more of a track really, ran west and south, into the interior to El Obeid. Half a dozen men lounged around the front porch of the headquarters' building, under the half-fallen ramada that almost sheltered them from the already sweltering sun. "Sabah il-kheer," Rimbaud said, greeting one or perhaps all with a graceful good morning and a sketchy salaam. They returned the greeting with various interest and grace. Rimbaud, it seemed, was a familiar figure accorded a certain, but not excessive, respect.
He felt the blade bite flesh and the Arab sprang back with a curse, his hand flying to his cheek where Gordon's dagger had slashed him from the corner of his mouth to the corner of his eye. There were others on and around the pier, but the knife work was so fast, so quiet, that they had no time to react even if they realized what was happening. Cursing, the Arab crouched low and came in again. Gordon stood his ground, surprising him. While it had been some time since Gordon had had blood on his own hands, his physical courage had never dimmed.