"It got so bad that Fellolli issued a formal diplomatic complaint, Mercurial Binz declared a flat refusal to consider any bespoke work from Dalluha, and Bucazzo sent, as a gag of sardonic protest, a V24-powered triple-cowl phaeton with a live string quartet in the rearmost cabin, the girthy bodywork shaped to astonishing anatomical detail - down to exposed exhaust runners depicting throbbing veins - that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "
Company background
Dalluha Coach & Motor Works was formed in the 1930s as the government’s regulatory response to a distinctly Dalluhan trend. Starting in the early 20th century with the Sultan himself, it became fashionable to order bespoke automobiles from world-renowned automakers elsewhere, much in the manner of the Sultan of Brunei in more recent history. Early customers were car enthusiasts and reasonably knowledgeable, but as the fashion spread to mere trend followers, more and more orders were attempted for what was poor taste at best, if not outright automotive nonsense.
It got so bad that Fellolli issued a formal diplomatic complaint, Mercurial Binz declared a flat refusal to consider any bespoke work from Dalluha, and Bucazzo sent, as a gag of sardonic protest, a V24-powered triple-cowl phaeton with a live string quartet in the rearmost cabin, the girthy bodywork shaped to astonishing anatomical detail - down to exposed exhaust runners depicting throbbing veins - that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
This spawned a job opportunity to translate clueless customers’ fanciful whims into realistic specifications, suiting all parties involved: the customer got a usable result, the automaker was spared from hearing one Homer after another request the impossible or absurd, and the “translator” got a healthy commission.
Eventually, a logical enough question was asked: we’re designing them here and buying them here, so why not build them here too?
Per a royal decree, a disused oil rig factory/drydock in Al Qihas, an agricultral engine factory south of Daatmer, some miscellaneous facilities elsewhere, and a final assembly plant in Kheesad came together such that in January 1936, DCMW was formally founded. Just over a year later, in a lavish and well-publicized ceremony on a declared national holiday, the very first non-prototype Dalluhan-made car - a 1937 Marqaba finished in jet black over crimson bison leather - was driven from the exit ramp at the Kheesad plant to the front door of the Onyx Palace in Basara, piloted by none other than its chief resident, His Cromulent Excellency, the Sultan of Dalluha.
Aside from tires, all major components were designed, manufactured, and assembled in Dalluha - a huge point of national pride. Rumors of the Sultan’s heavy foot kicking the corpulent Marqaba to 150-250kph - depending on who you asked - did nothing to dampen enthusiasm both in Dalluha and abroad, nor did breathless reports of the song out of its triple tailpipes, which one journalist called “a sublime symphony simultaneously of heaven and hell”. The mood in the country was elated, orders ballooned into a three-year waitlist, job applications for everything from janitors to senior executives overwhelmed HR staff for months, and a long-procrastinated engineering school got a shot in the arm and matriculated its first students later that year.
The off-with-a-bang success was in no small part due to the patronage of the Onyx Palace - the Dalluhan royal family supported DCMW financially, morally, and in some cases professionally, with many of its numerous members becoming designers and engineers. A reorganization in 1949 saw Prince Abdalla al Mordeni, sixth in line for the Dalluhan throne and the valedictorian of the engineering school’s first year of graduates, become CEO. Despite skepticism of this young and socially inept math nerd’s corporate leadership, by 1952 DCMW had weaned itself off its initial funding source - vast reserves of oil money - and was turning a profit despite most analysts’ predictions that its business model was impossible: the company made only large, expensive cars powered by thirsty and expensive V12, and made no attempt to sell outside the tiny domestic market. Yet year after year, somehow more Luxury and Luxury Premium buyers lined up for a Marqaba, Al-Sayaadim, or Sharriallat than were supposed to exist at all, opening their wallets from 30k to deep into six figures.
Perhaps the party would have burned out indeed, if not for a series of sobering events in 1955. In early June, Prince Abdalla and his Sharriallat Supremacy happened upon the aftermath of an overturned oil tanker on a steep mountain pass west of Basara, and ended up a flaming wreck at the bottom of a canyon. Not a week later, the infamous accident at the 1955 24 Hours of LeMans put further dents into the automotive mood of the time. In August, a refinery fire resulted in an unprecedented fuel shortage in Dalluha, and suddenly the unprintably bad economy numbers of DCMW’s models were called into question. On a brighter note, a trade delegation to the West returned with reports of a very positive reception of DCMW’s models at various auto shows, adding much momentum to the calls to export.
In response, the interim CEO issued a series of directives: improve fuel consumption; saw the V12 in half and market all models with an available L6; begin development of smaller and more affordable models; and begin exports to the West.
Model background
In ancient Dalluhan mythology, the Sharriallat are a reclusive, solitary race of beings that wander the desert on one or another quest, and allow nothing to stop them - sandstorms, bandits, or any other misfortune. To credit was in part their character and personality - driven, determined, resilient - and in part their preparedness, carrying a large rucksack packed with mundane and magical items for seemingly any occasion. The expression “may you travel like the Sharriallat” remains in modern Dalluhan as an emphatic form of “godspeed”, while “to impede the Sharriallat” is the equivalent of “a fool’s errand”, and “pack like the Sharriallat” is “bring everything but the kitchen sink.”
As one of the two initial models developed by DCMW, the Sharriallat was intended for one or two people and a sizable load of cargo. It quickly found its strongest appeal among young singles and couples, especially more solitary types (more social types would choose the Marqaba sedan or one of the later models) and became part of a national caricature: a spoiled rich young adult lone wolf behind the wheel of a Sharriallat, the back filled variously with life’s possessions, camping equipment for a weekend, or just a bunch of booze, on their way from one adventure to the next. While later generations, including the better-known rebadge Norðwagen Fenrir, were shooting brakes, the bodystyle of the first generation was a development of 1930s and 40s business coupes, similarly intended for long-range comfort for one or two people and a lot of stuff, but with the cargo area integrated with the cabin.
The Mk.1 established several design features that would persist across all generations:
- Three doors, front engine, medium-large (2.6-3.0m) wheelbase.
- Primarily a two-seater, though some models have optional folding rear seats.
- Frameless doors, B pillar retracts with opening rear window.
- Four-wheel independent suspension - front double-wishbone, rear varied depending on generation.
- Aside from some special editions, hydropneumatics, initially licensed from Citronne, were standard.
- Canonically V12, manual, and RWD, but L6, 4WD, and automatic became available c.1956. Flat-six and V10 versions were made as well.
- Roughly 60/40 comfort/sportiness, though special editions varied.
It also embodied features standard across all DCMW:
- At least four headlights.
- Central exhaust with triple pipes, tuned to play a perfectly-tempered triad at redline.
- Front vent windows for more comfortable open-window driving.
- Split windshield, though some export versions were made one-piece for stylistic reasons.
- Three trim levels, typically designated by the number of vents behind the front wheel. Some variation over the years, and lots of random special editions, but mostly what translates as:
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- Standard. One vent, Premium market demographic, $20-35k approximate price range depending on era.
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- Superiority. Two vents, Luxury and to some extent GT and Muscle Premium markets, typically shares chassis with Standard, $40-70k.
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- Supremacy. Three vents, Luxury Premium, GT Premium, some Supercar. Typically its own chassis with the latest and greatest technology, or extreme quality, or both. Pricing on request.
Dalluha Coach & Motor Works presents…
The ultimate Bachelor’s Express: the 1959 DCMW Sharriallat
(Superiority Twelve trim, Western export edition)
There are more comfortable cars, but not by much, and they handle like galleons. DCMW’s carefully tuned footwork provides the highest sum of ride and handling, to encourage driving it long and often. The first-rate handmade interior, featuring pillarless electric windows and large dual moonroofs, further invites lengthy occupancy for those with the highest of standards.
There are more spacious cars, but for transporting yourself and one special someone, rear seats are a waste. Instead, seats that fold flat with the rear floor are perfect for a hot date. Also useful for avoiding post-festivity DUI.
There are better-looking… well, no, not really. Striking a balance between tasteless American excess and underwhelming European subtlety, DCMW offers a third choice that will turn heads, not stomachs.
There are cheaper cars. That’s not why you’re here, is it?
There are greater cars, priced accordingly. This example is of our midrange Superiority trim. Those with the interest and the means may inquire about the Supremacy line.
Yes, Virginia, the windows all close.