Lantan’s Works of Wonder

In pre-Spellplague times, two factors govern what fantastic gadgets from Lantan get into circulation in mainland Faerun: price and self-control.
Price is based on demand and the nature of buyers. How many folk will pay serious coin for, say, a clockwork toy, or even a clock, when the sun and local religious observances govern daily events and when no one makes or keeps appoint¬ments “by the minute” or “on the hour”? Palaces and temples have their own timekeeping, and no one else lives in accordance to a clock.
Self-control is the usual merchant’s internal battle between greed and the wider implications of selling an item. Really powerful weapons, beyond individual battlefield firearms and the printing press, which have already found their ways onto the mainland, are likely kept on Lan¬tan. Such items are sent out of Lantan only under strict conditions, such as having a Lan- tanese “minder” with them at all times, under the fiction that the gadget in question is so complex that it will keep working only under the supervi¬sion and maintenance of a trained Lantanese. In other words, young maverick inventors of Lantan are restricted in what they can export by their forward-looking seniors, who thanks to the reli¬gion of Gond have the moral authority to do so.
Lantan-made clockworks of great complexity are known mainly through rumors on the main¬land. Many nobles have complex toys, clocks, and even water clocks. However, full-sized clock¬work tin soldiers are another matter, thanks to the severe weather and the tasks a garrison must perform. If a client wants “dummy soldiers” that can march along the battlements, or move in very simple formations to block an entry arch, lower pikes, and fire (not aim) loaded crossbows, fine. If someone wants to rig a means of replac¬ing the windlass that each crossbow requires with a “mass-cranking” mechanism, also fine. If one desires a very slow way to power simple wagons or handcarts without steering them, or a means of helping to load cart-mounted cranes and winches, fine again. However, anything more complex is beyond the machining competence or mainte¬nance time (all that oiling!) of a lone Lantanese expert. Mechanicals can’t run on uneven ground or stairs, or use the judgment of living warriors that is required for even simple tasks such as aim¬ing at a visible foe, reacting with speed to enemy tactics, or doing anything else of the sort.
If the intent is to create metal men that ape the movements of a human controller (telefac¬toring), years of spell research are necessary. Additionally, such a pursuit requires a lot of space—courtyards and large chambers, not con¬fined passages or small rooms—for a cluster of rod-and-link-driven mechanicals to surround the human operator. Mechanicals that sprout from the faces of doors, and those that carry out repeated movements—threshing blades, for in¬stance, or devices that “fire arrows in a repeating high-medium-low pattern down a passage”—are both practical and deadly.
Not many rulers or law keepers seem to have yet realized that all manner of drugs, poisons, weapons, and contraband goods—if suffi¬ciently disguised—can be readily hidden “in plain sight” inside elaborate clockworks, and thereafter brought into close proximity to rul¬ers, important officials, or wealthy individuals.
It does seem that mind flayers, doppelgangers, kenkus, and others who regard civilized folk as prey, dupes, cattle, or potential victims have grasped this ruse all too well.