«12. . .5678
A King and his subjects: part 1
Grand City of Wenchestier March 19th, 1911
The troops gather in formation infront of the palace. Their Burgundy coats freshly clean, sun Reflecting off the shine of their boots, and their faces clean shaved. They stand with their issued Manchester lever action rifles tucked into their shoulders awaiting to be inspected by the king. These men stand holding strong military bearing as they patiently await. The palace doors open and the echoing of boots make it's way down the stone steps. King walks down In his burgundy uniform clicking his heels on the cobblestone road with every step. Next to the him is a young boy also in a burgundy uniform following his father as he learns how to inspect the troops. They Make there way to the front where they meet the general who renders a salute. “Your Highness, the troops are assembled and ready for inspection.” The general states as King Astror salutes in return. The men walk the line as they look upon the line infantry and calvary.
“General Albon, the troops are magnificent. Is There and discrepancies to report at this time?” The king states as he looks at each soldier.
“Your highness with all respect. I do believe it's time for us to adapt to the new doctrine of warfare in order to keep up with the world. Also your highness we should move on from the colorful uniforms to offer us a better advantage tactically.” The general states as he follows next to the king and the prince.
“General Albon, I understand your concern but our troops must maintain a professional soldierly look. Also changing our tactics and fighting like savages. War yet gruesome must still preserve honor and order the King explains as romances of the old ways of fighting when he led troops as a young officer. They continue to march down to review the troops but young Astror looks more towards the gate Out of boredom. He then lays his eyes upon a green eyed girl about his age her face covered in coal dust her braided hair has small frays.
“Mikeal… Mikeal!!! Boy how do I expect you to lead a regiment if you are gazing off into the heavens!” The King Scoffs. “Now when you inspect your troops….” his higness mutters on. Mikeal cant stop thinking about the young girl. Her beautiful green eyes. Even tho she was covered in coal dust she was the most angelic woman he's ever seen. “... check the cleanliness of the rifle… The boots if they are shined… Mikeal this is all leads to discipline. if you lack discipline You will never Win a skirmish.” The three men carry on with the inspection.
The young woman at the gate slowly leaves and walks behind a building to an alleyway as she marks down a note about the troops in formation. She places it in her wool cap then proceeds down the street. The dim oil street lights light the way down the main road and the uneven cobbleroad snakes down the industrial district. Homeless men in tattered clothes and wool blankets panhandle for food, money or clothes. She makes her way into a bar walking towards the back of the building she passes drunkards, men brawling over a bet, and countless women of the night trying to make a living off sin. “Klarizza! Good to see you.. you.. beaut!” The drunk man in charge of the women yells. “When… are you gonna …. Work for me!”
“In your dreams George. Imma make a name for myself and bring change to this world.” Klarizza states after rolling her eyes at the drunk.
“Fairy Tales!! Just accept it you need money I can get you a job. You give me cut then you don't have to deal with the tax colletor… What you say?” George says with a grin and puts his dirty hand our to attempt to shake on a deal.
“Or how about this you stay away from me from now on. Or it would be a shame if your wife knows what you do to new hires… Your choice George.” Klarizza says with a stark smile as she remembers she has her revolver tucked In her waistline in case something happens. George scoffs then pouts over his mug. “Smart man George.” Klarizza says as she walks to the back of the bar. She looks around to make sure no one is around then she lifts a trap door and climbs below the bar. In her dark tunnel that she calls home she makes her way down the dim lit hallway. She enters the main cavern where she has crates of stolen Astroran military rifles, ammo, and basic military equipment. “Only enough rifles from not even a company…” she mutters. On the table In the middle of the room there's a map of Astror she places her notes on the table. She pulls up her chair and kicks up her feet. Leaning back she grab A bottle of wine and sips. “The others should not be late… Hopefullythey aren't compromised….” She mutters waiting for her subordinates to arrive. “Vieve La Revolution” she chuckles as she sips her wine in silence.
A New Era
Nhasa, Capital of the Celestial Empire
January 16, 1912 (AH 1)
The emperor slumped in his great throne. Drowning in a sea of blue silks Ren Osarrus XXV sat quietly, if uncomfortably, as his court arranged itself under the watchful eyes of the Supreme Regent. Jesse stood near the throne, though never next to it. During important audiences the emperor was often seated behind him, a quiet yet oppressive presence. Jesse stood, as he always did, in a tailored grey suit that let him blend into the tiled courtyards outside the Hall of Earthly Unity. So advantageous was this simple disguise that he was able to catch many a courtier and eunuch off guard upon the palace grounds.
Jesse never once turned to face the emperor. When he entered he would bow low, though never kowtow as everyone else was expected to do. His Excellency would then stand upon the first step to the heavenly emperor’s throne and remain with his back turned until the day’s work was done. Ren Osarrus, for all his youth, would fidget as most toddlers would, and sometimes shout, though never whine. Jesse never was a believer in the gods, his mind made up when he was a child that it was chance that formed his universe. Chance again guided him and his province to a position of prominence is a flailing empire. A chaotic chance only accentuated by the mythical probability seated behind him.
Sean approached the throne now, his spindly appendages creaking as he performed the customary kowtow before the emperor. He rose effortlessly, as if he’d become grace itself. Jesse suppressed a grimace at his pale complexion. Even the emperor looked away as Sean swept his beady eyes over the Temrisians. His yellowed teeth, narrow and almost twice in number as the average man, danced in a greasy grin as Sean prepared to speak. “Your Excellency,” he said, bowing to Jesse, “and Your Exalted Majesty, the court has arrived, as have as many lords as can attend this most wondrous of occasions.”
A chill shot down Jesse’s spine. Sean clung to the final syllable of his announcement for far too long. Even some of the nearby lords shied away. Jesse nodded, as he adjusted his glasses, using his hand to blot Sean from his vision. As his hand returned to his side Sean vanished. Suppressing the alarm that jolted his heart, Jesse cleared his throat. His hand then moved toward the scroll his other had been holding, its crimson bow a sharp contrast to his drab outfit.
“Honorable representatives of the Empire,” Jesse began, untying the bow, “I appear before you as a loyal servant of the crown, His Exalted Majesty, and of the Empire. For two years I have served as Chief Lord, and for a single year as Supreme Regent. During these two years we have gone a single year without an emperor, and two under the era name of the twenty-fourth incarnation of the god Ren.”
“Praise to the Exalted God of Men,” the crowd proclaimed. Jesse remained silent.
“Throughout these last sixteen, almost seventeen, years we have dwelt in the era of New Life. And while no one could have imagined at its dawning the bloodshed that would end it, I appear before you now, on the day of our emperor’s second birthday, to announce the beginning of a new era.” Jesse unraveled the scroll. As one the crowd leaned forward, their expectant breath caught in their throats. “To honor the coalition that united in the face of adversity, to recognize that we are one Empire and many peoples, to remind all that we stand united or fall divided, His Exalted Majesty has chosen the era name Auspicious Harmony.”
The subdued jubilation of the crowd came as a welcome surprise to Jesse. His narrowed eyes swept the room. Many clapped, others whispered to each other. Everyone knew the irony of the name. The era of New Life was over. In its place rose Auspicious Harmony, and the Empire’s greatest trials.
The Hunted – Part I
At Sea
August 2, 1911 – Event post for 
Kalquen
Iarlaith Dunn scratched at the growing stubble on his face. He’d long worn a well-groomed mustache, his red hair greased and well-cared for. From the corner of his cell he could feel the hair grow beyond what most in Rath’Malin would consider proper for a man. His pale hands covered his green eyes. The shame of it all.
He’d ridden into Nhasa on horseback the day the Temrisian Chief Lord led them to victory. The Temrisian ranks had more reason than most to celebrate, for it was one of their own who stood down the Empire’s chief menace. He was a proud, handsome man clad in his emerald green uniform. Atop his horse he waved to the survivors of that bloody siege. Parties innumerable followed the victorious army. In true Temrisian fashion Iarlaith drank each night away until the very scent of drink turned his stomach.
The parties faded all too quickly into memory as the Empire and its capital moved beyond the tumultuous episode with Gong. Yet it did not take long for chaos to grip the Empire again. Before he knew it, Iarlaith and some of his company were ordered to Elodia in preparation for an invasion. An invasion! He couldn’t believe his ears. First a usurper and now an invader. What did the mighty Basrodec have in store for the Empire? War without end?
Iarlaith guessed he’d never find out. On a scouting mission near the newly established international zone he was clubbed over the head with something hard. He remembered seeing his hat near the boots of his assailant before his world faded to black. When he finally came to he was in the hull of a ship surrounded by others like him. Each was bloodied, covered in rats and gods knew what else.
He brought his hand down over his face, trying once more to wipe away the waking nightmare. He’d been a hero once; a son of the mighty Jesse O’Rourke. He looked about. Many of these men were dressed in military uniforms from across the Empire. Iarlaith wagered they’d been captured one at a time by whatever monster controlled the ship. These men were heroes. Now they were slaves to a foreign master.
Regret flooded his heart. Oh to be back in Rath’Malin among the green hills and flowing pastures. To feel the warm sun on his skin as the breeze drifted through the aspen trees, carrying with it the scent of honey. To touch the clear waters of Loch Roscommon, its ripples like a winter’s dying kiss. He could hear his mother’s soft voice. Like honeydew her gentle words sent her boy bravely to the front lines. “Vae victis,” she declared as her final parting.
Vae victis. Iarlaith smirked for pity, his gaze shifting upwards toward the deck. He was a hero defeated. Woe to the vanquished indeed. Woe to Iarlaith Dunn.
The Revolutionary (IV)
"The Herald of Absolutism and the Flame of Change"
December, NL 16
With the close of the sixteenth and second posthumous year of New Life came a new Imperial Era, and as the Swarzian nobility would find out, a change in the way Swarzia would be run.
After the debacle with Elodia at the beginning of the year, Prince Helmut von Rothgard had assumed that what goodwill the Swarzians still held with the Imperial regency in Nhasa had been squandered.
However, what he hadn't taken into account was the measures that the regency had taken to push Swarzia back in line.
"Prince Helmut," the man standing at the front of the room said, "and Prince Constantin. Do you know the reason why I have summoned the two of you?"
The mysterious emissary spoke in near-perfect Swarzian, yet his appearance wouldn't make one assume that he was a Swarzian.
For he was draped in a fine robe as was the custom in Nhasa, made of green cloth with golden dragons; a high-set collar obscured his liver-spotted neck, and a small black hat sat precariously atop his hairless head.
"No," Prince Helmut said. "That is none of my concern."
"My name," said the man, speaking over Helmut's insubordination, "Is Zang Hundan, appointed emissary of his majesty the Supreme Regent." He leered at the two princes, but before he could continue the door swung open.
"What is the meaning of this?" came Grand Duke Wolfgang's voice, as he entered the room. "Explain to me why the position of 'Imperial Plenipotentiary of Provincial Oversight'," he said, squinting at Hundan, "Has been appointed to my cabinet without my knowledge or approval."
"Pleased you came in time," Hundan said in an oily voice. "You see," a smug grin flashed across his face- "The Regency in Nhasa has given me complete freedom to supervise the operations of this province."
"Now," Prince Constantin said, slowly, "When was this decided?"
Hundan ignored him. "Grand Duke, from now on, the policies you draft will have to be reviewed by the Imperial Plenipotentiary- yours truly- before they can be put into effort." He smiled. "Unfortunately, your actions in the Elodian Crisis have proved to the Supreme Regent that your judgement cannot be trusted."
"This is an outrage," Prince Constantin repeated, standing, but Hundan seemed unfazed.
"From tomorrow," the Celestial said, "I will enforce the will of the Imperial government in this... ill-tempered province."
"On whose authority?" Wolfgang's gaze narrowed at the smirking man. "As the Grand Duke of Sw-"
"On the authority of the Supreme Regent, and by extension the Emperors Ren Osarrus the Twenty-Fourth and Twenty-Fifth." Hundan held aloft a scroll. "You may, of course, ignore the directive of the capital, if the Swarzian race is truly as insubordinate and backstabbing as I've been told."
Princes Helmut and Constantin shouted in rage, shooting up from their seats and drawing their rapiers simultaneously. Hundan smiled calmly.
After a dozen tense seconds, Grand Duke Wolfgang's grip loosened on the pistol he had gripped under his coat.
"Put your blades away," he said, to the princes. Reluctantly, the two sheathed their swords and retook their seats.
"He means to insult us," Constantin said bitterly, under his breath, as the newly-appointed Plenipotentiary Hundan smirked.
"That concludes the purpose of my visit," he said, bowing. "I bid you all a good evening." The Celestial left the room.
-
The royal court of December thirtieth was subdued. Perhaps it was because of the newly-appointed Imperial Plenipotentiary, as he was called by Princes Helmut and Constantin. The Celestial lingered at the fringes of the room, occasionally locking stares with the nobles, but did not say anything for most of the day as advisors came and went. Constantly watching, dressed in a fine robe of violet and silver, bejewelled with valuable rings and enveloped in the odious stench of perfume.
They whispered. Rumours had begun to circulate that the Grand Duke had lost his control over the province to a eunuch.
And in the evening, their suspicions were all but confirmed. There were the usual announcements; reminders to not carry firearms in the palace, mentions of upcoming masquerade balls and charity dinners, and holidays.
Grand Duke Wolfgang made another announcement at the end.
"By order of the regency," he said, "A new office will be created in the Swarzian government. The Imperial Plenipotentiary of Provincial Oversight," he gestured to Hundan, who smirked, "Will represent the Empire's opinion when it comes to Swarzia's policymaking. That is all."
Plenipotentiary Hundan crossed the floor, as the nobles watched, and whispered something in the Grand Duke's ear. Unlike the Swarzians, the eunuch-minister had no sword by his waist, for his mere rank alone shielded him from would-be assailants.
The duke grimaced.
"And in recognition of the volatile political environment in Swarzia, the Duchy will be enforcing stricter laws on political material and literature. It is the regency's wish that the book known as the Collectivist Manifesto is to be banned from ownership and retail within the next month!"
“Past Grudges” — Jahar’s terror
November 28th 1911,
Phunan police station, Haphan.
The night sky over city of Haphan was a dark shade of grey, clouds accumulating like the herd of sheep. Jahar Chen, government name, also known more infamously as Meng Jahar Roun, stood by the window of the newly-captured police station, his expression as cold as the thin smoke released from his herbal cigarette. He pulled a photograph from his pocket, looking at his son Piao’s face in it with a dark smile.
“Life is beautiful when everything is easy,” he murmured. “You finally proved your worth, Piao… Thanks to you, Gi’an is no more.”
His eyes grew distant as he held the photo for a moment longer before lighting a flame under it, watching it burn slowly, the ashes swift through the open window. In Jahar’s mind, Piao was merely a tool, one he had already used and discarded. Just then, one of his men entered, speaking in a low, respectful tone. “Apologies sir, I have something to tell you. It’s done, sir. The prisoner is downstairs. Jahar nodded and descended to the lower level, walking with quiet but heavy steps toward the prisoner tied to a chair. On either side of the man stood two Meng officers, their faces stoic.
“Release me, you traitorous curs!” the prisoner spat.
Jahar’s mouth twitched in a slight grin. “Now, why would we do that?” he replied with a calm, mocking tone. “I never thought the grand police station of Haphan, one of the 5 fortified cities meant to defend Sima Shang, could fall so easily. How disappointing.”
The prisoner glared, struggling against his bonds. “You attacked us unprepared, you rat! You’re no great tactician. You used trickery and even sent children and elders to weaken our guard. You’re the lowest of the bastard.”
Jahar chuckled softly. “Tactics, not tricks, you fool” he said coolly. “Why would we strike at the wrong time? In the art of war, there’s no shame in doing what is necessary to win. Or are you too old-fashioned to understand that?”
The prisoner sneered, his voice shaking with anger. “The army of Sima Shang will sure come, and they’ll wipe you out. You won’t get away with this, you mindless traitor.”
“Ah, Sima Shang,” Jahar said, almost bored. “There’s no need to wait for them. We already have our people positioned there, ready to strike at Lesiheng Palace. In Huanpua, where the council of elders resides, we have our agents as well. The elders’ days are numbered. This plan has been in motion long before tonight.”
Fury burned in the prisoner’s eyes as he cursed Jahar, but his words were cut short by three gunshots to his forehead. Jahar calmly reholstered his pistol and turned to his men. “He was getting very annoying. If he had stop talking, I’m thinkingbof sparing him. What a shame, what a shame. We’ll show them the might of the Meng Dynasty.”
Without hesitation, Jahar ordered, “Finish off all the prisoners and dispose of their bodies. This station will serve as our fortress. Secure Haphan, Xuen, Dursan, Onbak, and Gersik by the day after tomorrow. I want no delay.”
His officers responded instantly, carrying out the brutal orders without question. Jahar sank back onto an old sofa, his gaze unfocused, a sudden flashback pulling him back to the past. The name Gi’an Stitos lingered bitterly in his mind, the man who had once crushed Meng’s ambitions and publicly executed his father in Sima Shang, a warning to all. Many had managed to escape that day, and the dynasty had waited, plotting, ever since.
Now, with Gi’an gone, Jahar felt the heavy weight of his inherited mission. In a low, unwavering voice, he renewed his promise to his late father and to the Meng cause, he would surely erase all traces of Gi’an’s legacy. Karakez would return to the Meng.
Turning to one of his lieutenants, he instructed him to gather a unit or two and lay waste to Chunso, a town that had once acted against the Meng. With that settled, Jahar walked over to a large map of Karakez hanging on the wall. He drew his pistol again, aiming at the star marking Sima Shang, the capital, and fired a single shot into it.
“No one can stop the Meng,” he said, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
In Verbourg,Waidkreis held the first presentation of the Eisenwacht regiment at the base of the tall iron statue of their leader, King Albert II. The soldiers marched in rows of two, each line in the row showing off their different armor, from shiny plate mail to colored leather tunics. As they marched, the crowd cheered. The Eisenwacht made one full trip around the town before stopping at the large statue, a strong symbol of their prosperity and strength, honoring their king.
Rock Bottom
The Hunt of Black Island - Event Post
Middle Ossaran Sea, August 2nd, 1911
Jetei Tseren lay awake, his bloodshot eyes redder than they have ever been before. His hands shook with nervous pain shooting up and down his body, his arms twitched from the trickling blood down his body. His feet barely had any movement left in them, his back aching from the hardwood flooring beneath him. Bullet wounds in his left pectoral, right leg, left hip, and right arm screamed in pain from the battle before, preventing an ounce of sleep since his capture. He regretted every previous decision he had made to come to Elodia.
A mercenary by trade, he was originally born in the jagged mountain of northern Hoydland. His father, a Hoyd soldier himself, had taught him the rules of warfare, and simply groomed him into a soldier since he was four. At the age of sixteen, Jetei had immediately been appointed a Hoyd uniform and given a rifle to be apart of the Hoyd infantry. Trained in the rural hills of the centrality of the province, he breezed past the preliminary training to be assigned to a low-level battalion protecting the province from the military bases in his homeland, the north. However, a tragic accident regarding a nearby power plant killed half of his battalion, causing Jetei to leave the Hoyd military and go north to the Hexlans. He could still remember the smell of burning charcoal and blood combining into one…
And that is where he found his current ‘occupation’ of a traveling mercenary. Through this career, he had traveled the far reaches of the Empire, seeing the many different cultures of the land. However, something had always drawn him back to Hoydland. After being hired for a battle within the Zuunzugt Territory, where a bloody war between the Zuunzugt natives and Hoyd government has persisted for years now, he stayed in the outskirts of Khottar, specifically Treinor City. Although he was technically a wanted man within his home province, he couldn’t help but enjoy the nighttime activities the downtown had to offer. That’s when he met her. The love of his life, the one that had changed everything. Suvdan.
When he first met her in the local bar, she was the most lively person he had ever met. And one of the most beautiful, too. She was a local nurse at the only hospital in the city. He had never expected himself to fall for a working woman, but it had happened regardless. That night, his hotel room was left vacant as he spent the night in Suvdan’s apartment. It was the best night of his life.
Although he had to leave, he couldn’t get her face out of his head. She may have been the most ambitious woman in the Empire. Her big dreams of change within the province were some of the most fascinating things he had ever heard. And from a woman, nonetheless? After a job in Kolch, he took the fastest train to the capital and made his way south to Treinor City once again. There, he professed his love to Suvdan and asked her to marry him. She immediately said yes. The pair stayed in Suvdan’s apartment together as she continued to work her nursing job before becoming the first female doctor at the clinic with the sudden passing of the lone doctor there. Jetei looked for a job himself, but options were limited due to his lack of experience in civilian industries. That’s when he got a call from the Elodian government.
The money presented to him was sizable, and would only help Suvdan. However, as he told her about the offer, she immediately rejected the idea. Something about leaving his past behind him. A frustrated Jetei stormed out of the apartment, and in a flurry of decisions, found himself on a train to the north. Assigned to the front lines, a line of gear was given to him before sending him onto the battlefield. But they were outmatched. For the first time in his career, he could do nothing. They were overwhelmed. As bullets entered his body as his fellow soldiers, many mercenaries, fled to safety, he fell to the floor. He was captured.
And now, he’s here. He couldn’t even cry, for he had shed all of his tears. His heart was still with Suvdan, but would he ever see her again? As his restless eyes darted around the room, his mind spun rapidly. He could feel himself bleeding out, the infection entering his wounds even. But he had to return. He had to see her beautiful face once again. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. He had to see Suvdan.
Homeward Bound - Part IV
Yahawara, Somewhere in the Imperial Heartlands
October 22, 1910 - NL 15
Spencer held to Gavin’s one good arm. His other hung in a white sling tucked close to his chest. Spencer’s black eye loomed over the rest of his face like a foreboding spectre. Neither man could have anticipated the trouble they’d landed themselves in at Cigallo. Well, Spencer might have been able to guess. Gavin retained his grin through it all. Even now, as the two received sideways stares and suspicious glances, he grinned. Spencer was far less pleased. Gavin’s stupidity had caused them to miss the boat that had taken them from Zimford to Cigallo. When all was said and done they were forced to use the last of Gavin’s money to secure passage to Yahawara, a city some distance south of Nhasa.
Spencer’s grip on Gavin’s arm tightened. “Relax,” Gavin said, his attempts to pull his arm away failing. “We’ve been through worse. A wee money problem won’t stop us from gettin’ home.”
“How? How do you remain so encouraged that we’ll get home at all at this point?” By now Spencer was trembling. His cheeks flushed red. “We have no money. You’re injured. We’re stuck in a city a thousand miles from home.”
“I have fait’ t’at Basrodec and the ot’er divine bein’s will grant passage.” Gavin gave up trying to get his arm back. His eyes fell to his hand. Spencer’s grip was slowly cutting off circulation. His silly grin grew an inch. Tipping his hat to a passerby he eyed the room. The morning rush was just starting, and there were perhaps four-hundred or more people crammed into the station trying to secure passage from one place to another. Signs above the ticket-masters read Nhasa, Danggye, and [i]Kharluut[i]. Crowds gathered at each, though to Gavin’s surprise the lines for Nhasa were much shorter than the others.
Suddenly Spencer released his grip on Gavin’s arm and stood. “Oi!” Gavin eyed his friend. “Where do you t’ink you’re goin’?” Spencer bit his lip, searching for anything, or anyone, who might offer some help.
“Stay here,” Spencer said as he began off. Peering back over his shoulder he was relieved to find Gavin still seated with his perpetual grin. “Excuse me,” he said to a well dressed pair near the line for Danggye. “My name is-”
“We don’t care,” the man snapped. The woman sneered, her hand instinctively moving to protect her purse. Spencer sat bewildered for a moment. He’d never been dismissed so brazenly before.
Moving on, Spencer attempted to speak to another pair, then another, each less willing to help than the last. Slumping his shoulders in defeat, he breathed a heavy sigh. How could he have forgotten so quickly? The closer one was to the capital the less hospitable the people were. Gritting his teeth against their damnable pride he began to make his way back to Gavin. The man’s voice was heard long before Spencer could catch glimpse of him. Twisting his face, Spencer quickened his pace. Gavin was speaking quickly, excitedly.
To Spencer’s dismay Gavin had not only stood up, but had moved too. Not far from where they’d been seated in dismal defeat, but enough to cause Spencer to search frantically for a moment or two before Gavin’s hearty laugh filled the foyer. A few passersby stopped to stare, but soon moved on. As Spencer approached he caught a glimpse of the man Gavin was speaking to. He was a younger fellow, perhaps their age or a bit older. Bushy eyebrows rested like caterpillars over brown eyes. He clung to the lapels of his faded green suit, the edges frayed and worn.
“Ah!” Gavin clapped his good hand on Spencer’s back. “Here he is! T’is is the friend I was talkin’ to you ‘bout.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “My oh my,” he said, extending his hand. “Mr. MacDarcy it is truly a pleasure to be meetin’ ya. The name’s O’Mannin. Elias O’Mannin.”
A Temrisian? Here? Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, though one tinged with hot skepticism. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he shook Elias’ hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Mannin.” He motioned to Gavin. “Do you two know each other?”
“For sure!” Elias proclaimed as Gavin nodded along enthusiastically. “Gavin and I became fast friends not two years ago. His ship were docked in the harbour there in Port More. That’s where I live with me wife Suzanna. Fine woman she is. He came ashore and we met at the Dapper Mann Inn. Shared a few pints and a few stories. If I remember rightly, he spoke at length about you too.”
“Spence and I go way back. Don’ we, Spence?” Spencer nodded, his fears temporarily relieved by the jubilant nature of this stranger. “I also think I’ve found us a way home.”
“Aye, that your pal has,” Elias said, a smile growing from ear to ear. “You see,” he motioned toward the train headed to Donggye, “I came here on business and am headed back to Temré. I already have transport clear out to Shephard in County Urdnough. I figure from there you lot could travel through the Great Fhasach and County Trannsa on your names alone. Murphys and MacDarcys carry much weight in those regions.”
“MacDarcy more so,” Gavin cut in. “Well?” He elbowed his friend. “What do you say, Spence?”
Spencer’s heart filled with hope. “Thank you. Thank you so much Mr. O’Mannin! When we get back to Temré I’ll be sure you’re fairly compensated for your trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Elias said, waving the offer off. “Your father does enough for me already.”
A half hour later the train from Yahawara to Donggye lurched forward. Spencer bit his lip, his eyes glued to the window. Slowly but surely the drab buildings, many constructed of wood fashioned in the old ways of the core, gave way to the green countryside. It wasn’t the countryside he knew, but it was one step closer.
As the train drifted through a nearby town Spencer turned his attention toward Elias. “So you were in Yahawara on business? What kind of business?”
Elias shifted his weight as a sly smile drifted across his face. “A bit of this and a bit of that. When I’m in Port More I’m a humble fisherman like my pa and his pa before. But fish are growin’ scarcer now that the trolleys and nets have gotten bigger. Gavin’s lot, the Ward shippers, are to blame.”
“We are not,” Gavin interrupted indignantly.
Elias laughed heartily. “No mind. In any case, the fish have drifted further out to sea so business is bad for us fishermen. So I’ve taken to engagin’ in a bit of trade for the O’Malley Brothers.”
Gavin spat the water he’d been sipping on clear across the room. “You what?”
“The O’Malley Brothers are a dangerous lot,” Spencer said, leaning back. “Does your wife know what you’re doing?”
Shaking his head Elias casually withdrew a cigarette from his pocket. “Do you mind?” When neither protested he lit the cigarette and after a long drag said; “What Suzanna, gods bless that woman, doesn’t know won’t hurt her. As far as she knows I’m in County Urdnough visitin’ my brother. In a manner I wasn’t lyin’ to her. I am going to see him.” He took another drag. “And so are you.”
Homeward Bound - Part V
Donggye, Somewhere in Zhengshen
October 26, 1910 - NL 15
“Alright,” Elias said, his hands upon his lapels. Next to him was a pallet stacked with six large crates, each a tad moldier than the next. The logo of the O’Malley Brother’s trading company, an angry bee in flight, was branded upon the side of each. Spencer shivered to think at what had once been in each crate. “The lads aren’t aware that you’re comin’ alon’ for the ride. Now, you two stay put while I fetch them. They’ve got a couple of trucks we’re goin’ to take back seein’ as the Empire has yet to build a rail line back east.” Elias turned on his heel. He made it a few paces before turning around again.
“Oh, and you will want to change your names. The O’Malleys don’t like high profile passengers.”
Spencer clenched his jaw. This was a right nasty mess he’d landed himself in. Well, he reconsidered as his mind drifted to his father on that fateful day. It was a mess his father had thrown him into.
“So,” Gavin said, massaging his shoulder, “who do we wanna to be?”
“I’ll be Liam Tully,” Spencer said without hesitation. “You’re Kevin O’Toole.”
“Do I have to be an O’Toole?”
“You’re a tool already so I don’t see what the problem is.”
Gavin started toward Spencer, the latter of whom had donned a faint smile. Gavin’s own grin returned just as the trucks pulled into the lot. Both men froze.
Elias was the first to emerge. There were three trucks total. Two with covered trunks and a third without. Behind Elias came a wicked lot of brutes. Most bore scars, others clubs in place of scars. Elias had a pistol at his side now, his typical cheer gone. “Alright lads,” he said, motioning the brutes toward the crates. “Load ‘em up.”
“What ‘bout those two?” One of the brutes asked. Spencer winced at the sound of his voice, something akin to gargled gravel. “Who are they?”
Elias lifted an expectant eyebrow. “I am Liam Tully,” Spencer said. “And this is Kevin O’Toole.”
Elias nodded once, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “These here be friends o’ mine. They arn’t trouble. Now go on and get loadin’.” The brutes started to move, and one by one the crates were loaded into the back of the trucks. Elias approached Spencer and Gavin, his smile slowly reemerging. “You twos will ride with me.” He pointed toward the truck with the uncovered back. “It’ll be awkward and a bit nippy, but it beats walkin’.”
“Wait,” Spencer said as Elias started toward the truck. “What’s in the crates?”
Elias shook his head. Withdrawing a cigarette he waited before it was lit before motioning toward the trucks again. Climbing in the back he said; “It’s now or never.”
Spencer and Gavin reluctantly climbed into the back of the truck. Elias remained standing, pistol at his side and cigarette in his mouth as he slapped the top. At once the three trucks began forward, unhindered in their path out of the city. Spencer breathed deep of the Celestial air as it passed slowly over his face. This was only his second time in such a vehicle, and he was beginning to understand its appeal among the Temrisian elite. His father still preferred the horse and buggy, and as such their estate boasted no less than twenty fine steads.
After a mile or two Spencer began to picture himself in the driver’s seat of perhaps a much better car. Kayden, when he’d grown a bit larger, would be seated in the passenger seat next to him. They’d sing, laugh, perhaps count the horses as they passed. The thought brought a smile to the wayward MacDarcy.
“You’re doin’ it again,” Gavin said, his voice piercing through the picture Spencer had conjured.
Spencer snapped back to the present moment just as the truck went over a particularly nasty bump in the road. “Doing what?” Gavin laughed, withdrawing his own cigarette from his mouth. Though when he’d received it was anyone’s guess. Without saying a word he moved his arms toward his chest, forming a cradling shape as if he were holding a baby. “Oh.” Spencer looked down at his arms. His were locked in the same position. Empty as they had been for far too long.
“I know you miss him,” Gavin said.
Elias raised an eyebrow. Huffing a particularly thick cloud he said; “Expectin’ a child are we?”
“Not expecting. I’m going home to my son,” Spencer said. “And when I get back I’m not letting him go.”
“You’ll have to let the boy grow up eventually,” Elias said. “Otherwise he may resent you. My pa always gave me a healthy bit of breathin’ room. O’ course I found me a wife who doesn’t let me breathe at all. T’was a miracle that she let me go on me own to see me brother in Shephard.” He leaned back against the cab, folding his hands behind his head as he did so. “Suzanna is a great woman. I’d never trade her for anythin’ less than godhood, and even then I’d have to think ‘bout it. What’s a life without a woman?” Gavin huffed his cigarette until it was nothing but a lifeless stump. Spencer looked away, his arms finally dropping to his lap. “You two ain’t…?”
“No,” Spencer said quickly, snapping his attention to Elias. Gavin shifted, his attention dropping to the lifeless cigarette. “My wife died the day my son was born.”
“Ah,” Elias said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d heard that one o’ your clan had passed but I wasn’t sure if it was the young missus or the old lady.”
Silence fell between the trio once more. Spencer sat alone in his grief while Elias entertained Gavin with another cigarette. Night had fallen, but with the bumpy road and dim lights from the trucks behind them Spencer wagered he’d get little sleep. He bundled himself in his thin jacket, his collar upturned. His mind wandered as his gaze drifted sleepily between his compatriots and the dark world outside the bed of the truck. How far was he now? Would they cross the border into Temris by morning? How long would it be before they reach Chasewater?
Gavin sat snoring across from Spencer. At least one of them could sleep. Elias sat between them, his watchful eyes examining every little detail they could observe in the darkness. Slowly Elias leaned forward. For an uncomfortable moment he said nothing at all.
“These crates are for your father,” he said quietly. Spencer’s face twisted in confusion. “Do you remember what I said about your father providin’ me with enough work in Yahawara? The crates are part of it.”
“Why tell me that? When I asked you earlier what was in them you refused to tell me.” Spencer leaned a bit closer. “What’s in the crates?” Balling his fist between his legs he leaned further in. “Tell me.”
“You are your father’s heir. I assume that you would want to know what he’s up to should the wrong people come knockin’ for payment.” Elias shifted slightly. “But if I tell you, you will never look at him the same.”
Spencer loosened his fist. His eyes drifted to the bed of the truck, then to Gavin’s sleeping face. He’d stirred slightly when they went over another bump but remained out cold. Looking back to Elias he hardened his gaze. “I want to know.”
Elias sighed. “I warned you. As you know, the O’Malley brothers deal in, shall we say, exclusive trade. Thin’s people wouldn’t want to appear on registers are placed in our care. These crates were full of the Banshee’s Mist. It fetches a higher price further from the border. People addicted to it will give us anythin’ we ask. Heirlooms, relics, solid gold bars, you name it. The crates are a treasure trove that your father will receive after we’ve deducted our 15%.”
Spencer’s stomach twisted violently. He’d known his father to be many things, but this… “And… and you’re just okay with ruining people’s lives?”
Elias shrugged. “It ain’t my life they’re ruinin’. I’m an honest man. They know what they’re buyin’ and what they’re buyin’ it with.”
Spencer clenched his fist again. His body shook as fury replaced the sickening feeling that had welled in the pit of his stomach. He let his rage pass. No. It wouldn’t do to unleash it on his only way home. “I’m going to make no promises about reporting you when we reach Temré.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elias’ hand drifted to his gun. “No one would believe a word you say.”
My God I Love Fish
Somewhere out at sea
Giovanni Esposito raised the netting around his ships, as he always had done. There was a special abundance of fish today. Must be an auspicious day. The fishing vessel he lay upon gently rocked the calm waters of the sea. Upon the mast of his ship, the flag of the Celestial Empire, and of his home province, Elodia, hung above the mast. Today was a good day. Many fish to be caught, and much profit to be made. A shame the others couldn't come, something about a war. Bunch of fools. Regardless, running the ship by himself wasn't really an easy task, but he sure as hell was happy not to be caught up in whatever bullsh*t the others wanted to involve themselves in. He sung a small tune to himself, watching as some kind of warship in the background gradually grew closer and closer. As far as Giovanni was concerned, this was a ship of the Celestial Navy, and he wanted to pay it his respects.
Then, he turned his ship towards the warship. Sailors were hungry, and exchanging fish aboard a vessel wasn't exactly an uncommon practice in these regions. Maybe he could sell some to the captain at an upscaled price. In any case, he would definitely redirect the ship to the shop his fishing guild owned, and he might earn a commission for it beyond what he already got. The possibilities were endless. As the ladder lowered, and the Reichskriegers lowered down into a small boat, he slowly began to realize that these men were not Celestials. Still, he did not quite care, for he didn't quite see the Reichskrieg ensign as he waved to the men.
Giovanni did not find out what hit him, when the men he so casually conversed with about buying fish knocked him out with a blow to the head. One moment, he was laughing and talking about fish. The next moment, he was stuck in a cell, very much without his fish. Giovanni cursed himself for mixing with these fools. Of course, they were clearly pirates trying to steal his fish. He clenched his fist. He would get his wares back, one way or another. He didn't spend an entire day on that fishing boat for nothing.
Hey Wait, Why Am I Here?
August 2nd, 1911
Middle Ossaran Sea
Oliver Lehmann squinted as he regained consciousness in the bowels of the Eisenhaut. His senses were assailed with the stench of the cells, and he groaned as he began to gain his bearings. All around him, bloodied prisoners of a war he had thought himself above. He smacked a rat away as it nibbled at his hand as he was collecting himself, it squeaking and scurring out between the bars of the cells as the ship rocked to and for. He rubbed his head after his successful attack upon the rat menace. He didn't quite remember how he got here, but it was coming back to him...
------------------------------------------------------------------
Qanteng
Oliver, a pencil in his hand and an cap on his head, moved through ruined buildings in the city of Qanteng. He had neglected to take a firearm, which he was quite regretting right now, as the din of battle was heard nearby. He worked his way to it, where Elodians were pinned down by machine gun fire, tan uniformed soldiers corralling them towards it on either side with rifle fire. It was an impressive display of tactics at this scale, and he ferociously wrote in his little notepad. He pushed up his spectacles as he moved slightly closer, an Elodian hitting the ground as a bullet hit him when he went to peak the enemy. After further scribbling, he decided to approach the commanding officer, who was marked out by his officer's cap and saber at his side like a Valmerian general of old. He was relaying some orders to a subordinate when Lehmann, obviously ignoring the fact it was a bad time, approached, keeping low and behind cover.
"Hallo, sir! Would you like to give a- oh, heavens-" A bullet whizzed over head and he ducked a little further. "Statement? Im with the news!"
The officer turned and looked at the obvious Reichskrieger with the most confused expression. "Pardon??? What on this planet are you doing here-"
"The best place to get a feel for what's happening is from the man on the ground, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm preoccupi-" He started before a bullet struck him from a rifleman's gun. The officer fell to the ground and the journalist awkwardly backed away from him. He then began slipping through the battlefield, towards the backline where reservists would be to hopefully get their opinions. Opinions that wouldn't be cut off by this whole battling business, anyway. As he moved he flipped through his notes and nodded to himself before running square into a soldier who was marching up to the frontlines. After recovering quickly, he found himself on the business end of a barrel. He raised his hands.
"Wait, im a uh- journalist! Writing story about battle!" He got out, seemingly in time to stop the soldier from gunning down this foreigner. "Would you like to give a-" he began before the sound of gun fire drew closer. Both men turned to what it was, and that was the counter charge of the Seebatallion. Wait, the Seebatallion? Damn! the journalist thought, having specifically come here to avoid the battle but seemingly back in the thick of it. Quickly and tactically sliding away from the open, he attempted to get out of there as the reservists he was just about to interview got slammed into with bayonets. As they did, he found himself facing the barrel of a gun again. He really had to stop seeing them like this.
"Not soldier, journalist! Reichskrieger!"
"You betray your country by spying for the enemy!" The soldier barked. Before Oliver could say 'wait' he felt his face get smacked by the stock of a rifle.
--------------------------------------------------
Upon remembering the blow, he took off his glasses whom are in barely usable condition. These were going to be the longest days of his life.
Post self-deleted by Falkenberg.
~~~
The Hunt of Black Island II
August 3rd, 1911
The Shores of Black Island
The sky was the colour of trickling amber, falling upwards from the horizon and into the clouded heavens above. The smell of poached eggs and meat filled the air of Krallemann’s quarters, the scent wafting into the Duke’s nose and dragging him from his perverse dreams. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, a yawn setting his face from exhaustion to glee. The joy of a child poised to open a neatly wrapped gift filled his eyes.
”Today! Today! Today! Finally! FINALLY!!!” thought the Duke as he threw off his own soft, silken sheets. The boat rocked indifferently as he moved, his pale feet shuffling quietly over his tiger skin rug. He wandered over to his wardrobe, a brisk skip in his step as he went, reaching out to the large wooden doors and opening them to reveal his carefully prepared outfit.
Before him lay a beige pith helmet, and a set of khaki clothes, adorned with badges and patches depicting the Duke’s escapades across the world. Each outstretched desert, every lush jungle. His eyes twinkled as he brought the clothes towards himself, knowing he would soon add one more pin to the garment. A few peaceful moments passed as he slipped into the pristine fabric, tightening every brass buckle and strap. He was ready.
The Duke exited his room, traipsing down the hallway outside until he reached his common room, a plate of food waiting for him patiently on a large mahogany desk bolted to the ship’s wall. He would need energy, for such a valiant day…
And so he sat, chewing his food with gusto, washing each bite down with a sip of imported coffee, the whole time spent with half of his mind locked onto the prospects of the morning.
A sound of scuffling feet broke the silence of the room, a muffled sound of boots gracing the carpeted floor. The Duke’s eyes turned quickly, like a bird of prey locking onto a squeaking mouse. Across the room, just past the door, Deckhand screamed as the Duke’s gaze reached his eyes, the young boy promptly falling down onto the ground.
“I’M SORRY, SIR, I’M SORRY!” pleaded the boy as Krallemann stood, thundering over to where he lay prone.
“BOY, WRETCH! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! WHY MUST YOU DISTURB ME ONCE AGAIN?!” spat the Duke, reaching a hand into the air as if to strike the Deckhand down with the wrath of Reichskrieg itself.
“I-I am so sorry, sir, the Captain, he… he said we are r-ready” stammed the boy, tears welling in his averted eyes.
Krallemann seethed, sucking air in past gritted teeth, his eyes blazed with anger. His fist clenched, then unclenched, over and over. The anger at the interruptive worm wriggling before him slowly subsided as the situation began to set in. When he spoke, his words fell like bricks.
“Get up. Up, boy. You’re going to help me”
The Duke grabbed the boy’s collar, pulling him upwards with a surprising strength. Trusting open the door, he dragged the Deckhand into the stairwell beyond the frame. The men descended down the wrought iron spiral, traveling deeper and deeper into the bowels of the SMS Eisenhaut. The smell of excrement and putrid rot filled the air as they went, down into the disgusting purgatory below. As Krallemann and the Deckhand reached the bottom landing, the holding cells came into view. Cages, cells, coffins, lining either side of the short hall running down the centre of the ship. Behind each cage, the eyes of wild beasts shone, figures caked in blood and filth, their own bodies lying in sorrow, fed on by vermin.
Krallemann’s gleeful smile glinted in the dim lantern light of the hallway, one of the guards looking to him and the Deckhand with a curt nod. Krallemann could feel it, the joyous smell of fear and anguish. Here lay his deer, his captives, his prey.
The Duke turned his wild eyes to the guard, words spilling out of his mouth in a psychotic rush.
“YOU! GUARD! See to it that these fools are taken outside at once! We are ready!”
The guard looked to him hesitantly, yet, after a second, nodded in agreement. He did not speak a word as he turned to the cells, motioning for the other guards to begin opening them.
Krallemann turned back to the stairs, still gripping the Deckhand’s collar with white knuckles. He rushed up the spiral once more, feet pounding out like the drums of hell, the light of the deck above shining upwards in a bright pillar. The Deckhand slipped behind him, struggling to match the mad Duke’s pace.
As the two made it out of the open door of the deck, the sight of green trees met their eyes. Before them, only a few dozen metres away, lay the treeline of a luscious jungle, the sounds of birds and monkeys echoing out through the tepid air. It was beautiful, a garden of Eden awash with holy light, a marvel of nature's fertile gift.
A voice piped up the Duke, as he stared off into his playground.
“Your Grace, we’ve lowered the gangplank. We’ll have anything you could possibly need on board… I…” said Captain Sturnheld, trailing off for a moment as he looked to the doors behind Krallemann, scrawny figures being thrust out of it at gunpoint.
“Captain, my good friend. Might I comendeer this Deckhand here? I could use a caddie of sorts” replied Krallemann, his eyes and mind both still fixated on the jungle. The young man he still gripped began to squirm as he spoke.
“Jakob? Your Grace… Thi-” started Sturnheld, his words being interrupted by Krallemann once more.
“Perfect. Caddie, go fetch my tools. They should be in the bridge”
After speaking, Krallemann let go of the Deckhand, watching him scurry off toward the opposite end of the ship. Yet, his eyes soon drifted to the group of prisoners, all now lined up by the stairs into the Eisenhaut’s lower levels. Under the sparse sunlight, the group looked perfect. Eight men, each of varied background and stature, each an individual challenge, each a unique experience.
Krallemann slowly and subtly licked his teeth, his heart beginning to skip beats as he pictured the euphoria soon to come. He smiled at the men, then spoke, his Reichskrieger accent smooth as honey on each word.
“Gentlemen. Prisoners, fools. You have been led down many wrong turns, fruitless paths, brutal falls. Your pitiful lives have brought the world no meaning, no joy, not until today. For your crimes against Reichskrieg, you will pay the ultimate price”
He walked a few paces closer to the prisoners, sizing each up like a farm animal as he walked from left to right.
“In just a few moments, you will each be freed onto the shores of Black Island. You will run, you will hide, you will flee. I will soon follow, and I will exact judgement upon you. If you run, if you survive, you may be spared” he continued, coming even closer to the men, close enough to smell the putrid air they exhaled.
“Oh! I almost forgot. I’ve scattered toys around the island, I hope they will make everything more interesting!”
Krallemann smiled as he spoke. Let them have hope. They’ll go down with more of a fight, he thought, as he began to walk backwards from the group. He then turned to the guards, then back to the prisoners. It was time.
“Go now, dogs! Shoo! Shoo!” Krallemann cackled, as the guards began thrusting each prisoner off to the front of the ship, where the gangplank waited.
The mad Duke watched them run. Now, the game may begin. It will be glorious.
~~~~
Alrighty, you sorry souls. Duke Krallemann has let you loose on the island!
Please refer to the discord for rules on how to play the event, and when you are making your event post, reply to this one to let me know you have. You will each be given one turn to move about the island and search/do something after each event post, however, sometimes you will be granted more actions.
This turn, Krallemann will be waiting on the boat to give you a head start. Good luck, the odds are very much not in your favour.
Bitter Summer - Part II
Sima Shang, Karakez, November 5th, NL 15
Collab with the generous 
Karakez and loyal Kalquen
As the sun rose slowly over the horizon of the central port of the Karakez province, hundreds of men transported heavy wooden boxes of cargo onto the outstretching KSS Kepiting. As hundreds more surrounded the large ship, waving the flags Hoydland, Karakez, and Kalquen alike, a collection of black and white dogs with long fur coats were carried through the crowd. They would be stored in a spacious corridor initially meant for cargo. After all, they were pivotal to this mission. At the helm of the preparations sat Madra Soelon, esteemed leader of the Hoyd Research Division. He was an unlikely leader, with his scrawny frame and thin, easily breakable glasses allowing him to direct clearly. His excitement was immeasurable, but he refused to show it on the outside. He eagerly awaited those that he intended to meet with before departing, although it pained him to do so. After all, these were mere politics that wouldn't matter when he was finally out at sea…
Through the crowd of workers and spectators, a group of men walked, brown eyes and hair, the emblems of the Kalquenan flag emblazoned on their lapels. At the group's front walked the leader of the Kalquenan Expedition Team, Bai Guo, a stocky man with arms as thick as branches, his deep brown eyes focused almost entirely fixated onto the ship. He turned to his men, ushering them each to hurridly bring their supplies of cured meats and other provisions onto the ship. There was no time like the present. As his men worked, Guo began walking up the gangplank towards the deck, ready to meet his new compatriot. This was to be a voyage to bring brothers together, and he could not have been more excited.
A smooth, obsidian automobile glided into view, its polished surface shining like a dark jewel beneath the sunlight. This magnificent vehicle was guarded by a procession of stately horsecars, each one serving as the elite guards to the highest authority of the state, Gi'an Stitos, Master-Principal of Karakez. The moment the automobile came to a halt, the guards dismounted from their carriages in line, forming an unwavering line, their swords raised in a salute that cut through the air. As Gi'an emerged from the vehicle, he strode through the "arch" of his loyal men with a dignity, a living embodiment of the formidable power he wielded within the very heart of Karakez. Accompanying him were two of his most trusted aides. One was the Chief of the Ships' caretaker, a man whose knowledge of the ships exceeded most of the people in nation, the other, his right-hand confidant in the realms of science and technology, whose brilliant mind had contributed many of Karakez's greatest advancements. Their names were Huran Skrawz and Laiman Ruspa respectively. Together, they moved with purpose, each step carried the weight of authority and the promise of innovation.
As Gi'an approached the gathered gentlemen, a flicker of warmth ignited in his steely gaze. "Greetings, gentlemen," he began, his voice smooth, imbued with a charm that could sway even the most hardened of hearts. "I must apologize for keeping you in wait. It seems I have unwittingly neglected my duties as a host, and for that, I am truly sorry. You see, I found myself halted by pressing matters that demanded my immediate attention before I could grace this gathering with my presence." He extended his hand, a gesture both formal and inviting, "For those who may not yet know me, I am Gi'an Stitos, the Master-Principal of Karakez. And now, if you would be so kind, I would be honored to learn the esteemed identities of my respected guests."
Soelon extended his hand to the Master-Principal, beaming with excitment. "No need to apologize, Mr. Stitos. It's a pleasure just to be here. Thank you again for allowing our small expedition to rent your ship. I assure you, it will be worth it. I'm glad that you see the vision of our quest to the south." He adjusted his glasses before meeting eyes with Guo. "And I couldn't be more thrilled to see you, Mr. Guo! I hope your men are ready, this will be a journey to remember..."
"Ha! Ready as always, my friend! The road ahead of us is a long one, but we'll tackle it as brothers, Mr. Soelon!" boomed Guo, his voice deeply reverberating through his massive chest. "And you as well, brother! Ha!" continued Guo, sticking out a massive hand towards Stitos. His deep brown eyes twinkled his bush beard pickling upwards to follow his wide grin.
"Thank you for your understanding," Gi'an began, his voice filled with the weight of unspoken gratitude. "It is no small honor for us to host this extraordinary journey you are about to embark upon. We hold our breath in agreement, hoping for discoveries that will shock the world." As he spoke, Gi'an turned toward Guo, the mountain of a man whose massive hand engulfed his own in a hearty shake. At fifty, Gi'an's body bore the marks of age more prominently than the younger gentlemen surrounding him, yet there was a spark in his eyes that belied his weary frame. "And it is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Guo." His gaze drifted to the crowd of men bustling around them, their movements full with purpose and determination. "I trust that preparations have reached their final stages? With so many dedicated souls gathered here, I can hardly imagine otherwise. The KSS Kepiting awaits, our noble ship is a steadfast vessel ready to carry you into the vast unknown." Gi'an’s voice swelled with a sense of pride as he continued, "I shall ensure you are accompanied by a protective vassal ship that will guard your passage till the end of sea of Tanil."
Soelon grinned at Gi'an's explanation, before adjusting his suit once again. His outward appearance had always been of the utmost importance, especially considering all those influential figures he's met recently. His rise to power was an unprecedented one among Hoyd society. A timid scientist couped up in his lab all day turned spearheaded leader of the neo-scientific revolution beginning in Hoydland and beyond. Frankly, it was an underdog story. Nonetheless, the newfound fame and pressure of these recent developments had changed him as a man. He had to keep a professional look to him. Not only was it an effect of the Hoyd political culture, but as an effort to fit in with them all as well. Was it unfortunate? Of course. But it's what must be done now that he's in this position. Everything he's fighting for rests on his shoulders, after all. Soon after adjusting himself, he continued. "If I may, Mr. Stitos, Karakez is a beautiful province. It took my breath away as I first entered Sima Shang, honestly. Between the natural landscape and the bustling port culture your people have established, it reminded me of my home. I'm so glad that our expedition is able to begin here. And I'm sure Mr. Guo feels the same. Hoydland expresses it's gratitude to Karakez, and although it's not my place, I can only hope that it's the beginning of a flourishing partnership between our homes."
"Damn right! Our states are brothers, through and through, resting giants of the south!" boomed Guo, his raspy rumbling voice reverberating across the deck. "This ship, this crew, this cause, I could have no nobler a voyage! I hope the Kalquenan contributions of provisions, fuel, and tools are enough to hold up our own end!" Guo turned to one of his Kalquenan sailors, reaching into the crate he held and pulling out a packaged can of rice and pork. He tossed it, up and down, watching as the sailor continued down into the ship to load the provisions.
“Indeed, the contributions from the Kalquenans' provisions, fuel, and tools are undeniably substantial,” Gi'an voice echoed through the gathering. He took a moment, gathering his thoughts, before his voice filled the air around him. “I believe I have alluded to this in written correspondence before,” he began, his tone imbued with passionate. “Yet I feel like to state it again, to seek clarity from the leaders of the expedition.” He paused, a fleeting cough escaping him. “What, I would like to know, is what can we hope to gain from this audacious venture?”
Soelon blinked for a moment, pondering the question. He knew the answer, so why couldn't he just respond? Maybe it was because it was a more complicated topic than he had originally thought. Readjusting his glasses, he nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, Mr. Stitos! Well, for starters, raising the flags of Hoydland, Kalquen, and Karakez on the South Pole would no doubt prove ourselves on the international stage! Now I'm no geography expert, but to my knowledge, no other power has achieved such an accomplishment!" He paused to meet his eyes, before continuing.
"Now, I understand that this isn't enough. After all, this voyage is in the name of science, not politics! And to this I say that the powers of the world simply don't see us, the provinces of the Celestial Empire, as 'advanced societies'." Pausing once again, Soelon swung around, his eyes darting in all directions as he chuckled confusedly. "Well, look around! If this isn't an advanced society, I don't really know what is! Mr. Stitos, it is time for us to show that we are pioneers in the world of science. By raising our flags at the South Pole, we will be able to study an unimaginable amount of anomalies and wonders that we can't even comprehend here in the Celestial Empire! By documenting our studies, moreover, our findings will be taught in schools across the Empire for generations to come. If that isn't a noble gain for this venture, I don't know what is..." He looked over at Guo, flashing him a hopeful smirk before turning his back to them momentarily to check on the preparations. The men were nearly done loading the ship. It wouldn't be too long now that they'd be waiting on the three of them.
"A noble gain indeed, my friend! Ha! We'll truly put our nations on the world stage!" boomed Guo, placing a massive hand on Madra's shoulder. He couldn't wait to be in that long expanse of water, happy and free, marching southbound for fame and glory. He was ready. Bai Guo, he thought. A name for the history books!
“Indeed,” Gi'an mused, his brow furrowing slightly as he stroked his chin, “I cannot recall ever hearing of nations achieving such heights... though perhaps this knowledge has simply eluded us.” His expression shifted, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he added, “Yet, this matter lies far from the topic of politics. We are the Sunderlands, bound together as a brotherhood in the southern lands.” He chuckled softly as he listened to Soelon’s words. “Truly, Karakez stands out as a remarkable state,” he acknowledged, his smile broadening with a sense of pride. A thoughtful look crossed his face as he read the implications of their discussion. Ah, these insights will surely find their way into the records of education, benefiting the children of our empire, He looked back towards the guests, “Indeed, every new discovery paves the way for a brighter future,” he declared. Gi'an straightened his back. He inhaled deeply, centering himself before continuing, “Is there anything else you require for the expedition that I might have overlooked?”
Almost immediately, Soelon shook his head in confidence. "No, I believe we have everything rightfully prepared for the expedition. Thank you for your offer, though, Mr. Stitos..." He looked behind him once again, focusing on his ship with the morning seas gently crashing against the wooden structure they stand on in the backdrop. He held back a yawn using his fist, before turning back to his compatriots, itching to get sailing.
Guo chuckled, looking up to the sun above, then back towards his men, not retreating into the quarters below. "Well, friends, we're burning daylight! I'll make my final preparations and return to my quarters! Doesn't seem like we should wait any longer!" boomed Guo, patting both men on the shoulder with his massive hands. He then lumbered off, towards the stairs into the galley, chuckling as he went.
"Then, it is settled." Gi'an clasped his hands together in a formal fist-and-palm gesture, his eyes glinting. "I bid you all farewell and pray that safety accompanies each of you on this remarkable journey you now embark upon. So long, scientists," he declared with a steady voice. With a final nod, he turned on his heel, his robe swirling as he moved with purpose toward his waiting automobile. His men followed in disciplined silence, the hum of the automobile soon to fill the air as they prepared to leave, marking the end of their brief farewell and the beginning of a new, uncertain path for those he had sent forth.
A Deal with the Devil
Nhasa, Capital of the Celestial Empire
August 19, 1911 - In Collaboration with the Military Genius 
Falkenberg
Jesse had been pouring over battle plans for weeks now. Meetings with top generals from across the Empire revealed one thing: Crush the rebels now, or face a much larger, more difficult to control revolt. Though Jesse wished he could just snap his fingers and solve the Empire’s issues, he knew that it would take an act of the gods to pull the Empire from its current predicament.
Civil war wasn’t on anyone’s mind when the coalition formed to oust Gong. Gong was a usurper; his forces centralized in Nhasa. The provinces had united and in one fell swoop knocked him from the throne he’d stolen. It was an uprising done in brotherhood to save the Empire from a tyrant. Now Jesse worked to save the Empire from something else: Total ruin.
The clock on the wall chimed. Was it so early already? He stood, stretching his back after hours of stationary sitting. His notes were strewn about the table, the nearby floor filled with piles of scrap paper crumpled into tight balls. Rubbing the sleeplessness from his eyes, Jesse strode from his office in the Palace of Admirable Tranquility to the Hall of Virtue across the inner courtyard.
The hall was small, but at least there was a table where he could sit. Freshly brewed tea had already been poured, and he downed his first steaming cup with enthusiasm. Pouring a second, he waved over the beady-eyed Sean.
“Is our guest here?” Jesse caught the faintest hint of a nod from the corner of his eye. “Good. Send him in.”
Admiral Von Katzfield, second commander of the Celestial Squadron and governor of Reichskrieg's holdings, stepped through the doors flanked on either side by men wearing a drab gray and helmets shining with gold and black. His own uniform was rather simple, with only his rank stripes on his sleeves and gold buttons catching anyone's immediate attention, alongside the suitcase in his hand opposite his sheathed sabre. He stroked his beard as he looked about the Hall of Virtue, before turning his attention towards O'Rourke and beginning over.
"Good day, Supreme Regent." He spoke, extending a gloved hand. "Admiral Von Katzfeld. It's a pleasure."
The Supreme Regent stood, his drab grey suit a mockery of the office he held. "Admiral Von Katzfeld," he said, taking the man's hand in a firm grip, "it is good to finally meet you." He withdrew his hand, taking his seat again as he motioned toward the chair opposite his. "Feel free to help yourself to some tea. Alternatively I can arrange for other refreshments."
"Tea will do fine." He said as he took a seat, allowing himself some tea as he sipped. He placed his briefcase beside himself with his free hand. He silently took note of the tired features of the Regent as he pushed in slightly. His guard took up posts by the door and silently regarded the meeting.
"I do hope," Jesse said, eyeing the guards, "that your men aren't armed. Bringing weapons into the presence of the Regent or the Emperor is strictly prohibited."
"So I've heard. Do not worry, we stowed them away before arriving." He waved a hand to dismiss the worry. "It's simply protocol, and all of that."
Shifting in his seat, Jesse steeled himself before the foreign invader. That he was here to negotiate with the Supreme Regent at all should have been an honor for the man. Jesse half smirked to himself. Perhaps it was time he went back to the Temrisian countryside. Humility was beginning to escape him. "I am glad that you have come to understand and appreciate our customs. Perhaps you will one day do the same for the integrity of the Empire I represent."
"And perhaps the Imperial Government will be strong enough to keep its provinces to heel in due time. On the topic," He grabbed his case and flicked it open. "The matters we are here for, yes?"
The Supreme Regent brushed the slight aside. He'd had enough of the provinces’ rebellious activity. Now it was time to bring the most troublesome to heel. "Yes. The Celestial Empire finds itself in a peculiar situation. The province of Kalquen has risen up, and without help I am afraid that it will undo the hard work of this administration. Work that has resulted in a hard fought peace."
"So I have heard." The Reichskrieger spoke, stroking his beard. "So you seek Reichskrieg's help in quashing this rebellion, then?"
"No." Jesse shook his head, his fist balling briefly by his cup of tea as he leaned forward. "I am not asking for your kaiser to help us." Realizing his mistake, Jesse took a deep breath. As he exhaled his fist loosened and he leaned back. "I am asking for Admiral Von Katzfeld to help us."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Elaborate." He said, taking a sip from his own tea.
"The relationship between the Celestial Empire and Reichskrieger is... tense. While things are, perhaps, still on icy terms with your own territory here in the Empire, I think it would be easier and better if our negotiations remained within the confines of the Empire," Jesse said, tracing the edge of his cup with his finger. "I see no need to involve the Kaiser."
The Admiral was silent for a moment before nodding his head. He was no stranger to the Kaiser's hotheadedness, and he was to first and foremost secure Reichskrieg's celestial holdings. War was typically bad for that. "Very well then. The Celestial Squadron can lend its assistance to the Celestial Empire on its own accord..." He tapped on the table. "Given the offer is sufficient, naturally."
Jesse's lips pursed as the admiral finished. He knew this was coming, but had hoped that Von Katzfeld was a man of greater honor. "And what," he began after a moment, drawing out his words, "is it that would suffice?"
"I have come prepared for such a question," He said as he produced a document from his briefcase and slid it to the table's center. "This should answer all your questions, I believe." On the paper, below the seal of the Reichskrieg colonial office, was a list of demands entailing concessions across the coast of the Empire, among less drastic requests such as permanent recognition and guarantee of Reichskrieg's celestial holdings.
"You are asking for quite a lot here," Jesse said, taking a sip of his tea before putting the cup down upon the proposal. "You've recently been awarded territory near Luhai, the site of a recent conquest. Shouldn't that suffice?"
"Perhaps in different scenarios, but a full commitment of the Celestial Squadron and its resources is quite the expensive undertaking." He said, allowing himself to lean slightly forward. "And to do so with no further gains would simply be unthinkable, to anyone in a position such as this."
"These are more than simple 'further gains.' This is an assault on the sovereignty of the Empire I steward. This is blackmail at its finest."
"But was it not you who came to me requesting assistance? If you do not want it, you are more than welcome to see what the wolves in Morsain and Dayan would take in exchange for what I offer."
Spencer bit his lip. As blood pooled near his teeth he thought long about the admiral's words. He was right. Morsain, Dayan, even Great Tarst and Alstin would take full advantage. "Territorial exchanges can be arranged in the rebellious provinces," Jesse finally said, licking his lips to clear the blood. "But I will only promise them when we win. Not before."
The Admiral allowed himself a slight smile. "Very well, Supreme Regent." He extended his hand once again, across the table. "It is good to do business."
"Business? This isn't business. This is diplomacy. I am depending on you and your men to do their jobs, Admiral. Do them well and I may not reconsider our arrangement." Jesse stood, his tea in one hand and the proposal in the other. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have an Empire to keep together."
The Hunt of Black Island III
Black Island, Middle Ossaran Sea
Collab with 
Kushmire, 
Tangwen, 
Elodia, Falkenberg, 
Temris, 
Celaguun, 
Hoydland, and 
Swarzia-
~~~~
Ralph immediately started moving as the mad heir watched from the ship smiling in glee. A mere week ago he was standing in the middle of the empire gluing soldier's feet back together, now he was in what he believed was hell.
Ralph wondered if perhaps he was dead, that the Reichskriegan patrol he came across shot him, and the white knight that came to pick him up was Death himself. Perhaps this is God's idea of a test for heaven, maybe this is atonement for his sins. After all, he was no saint either.
Ralph ran north, figuring that he could find something along the coast that he could us, washed up from shipwrecks or storms. He ran north, with the shadow of the Reichskrieg ship slowly fading behind him.
He continued heading north until he stumbled on the opening of a cave. He looked inside of its large gaping mouth and turned to look back in the direction where he came from.
~~~~
Augustus Thalgaard stumbled through the undergrowth, away from the ship and those horrid Reichskriegers, his Swarzian uniform nothing more than a dirt-stained rag. The aftereffects of his beating had come to bite him. The plants seemed just a bit too bright, the sunlight a bit too harsh.
His tongue passed over his parched lips, probing for the slightest hint of moisture, but found none. He could hear other prisoners lumbering through the trees some distances away from him.
"Must..." he said incoherently, as he lurched towards something propped up against a tree. "Must... get... out..."
To his confusion, what he found was not water or food, but a full skeleton, yellowed by the elements, with specks of blood still on it.
-
He was fifteen again, in the classroom, listening to Herr Schwaber speak.
"What happens, when we are separated from what we call modern society?" The old teacher asked, his snow-white eyebrow arched higher than usual.
A few of them raised their hands.
"We forget our table manners," one said.
"Wrong," Schwaber shook his head, frowning. "This is what happens. A man, separated from modern society and its creature comforts... cannot be called a man, but an animal."
-
Without realising, Augustus had wrenched the skull from the skeleton, turning it over and over in his blistered palms.
"Aargh," he gargled, as he unthinkingly gripped the skull and licked away at a patch of blood on its cranium, desperately hoping to glean a single drop of mixture.
To his horror, the bone yielded no cure to his thirst, and with a string of curses, he held onto the skull, in the hope that it could be of use to him.
The Swarzian muttered something incomprehensible, before moving onwards.
~~~~
"Hmm." Giovanni walked off of the gangplank. It had been what, a few hours for him?
Not that it mattered. Right now, he needed to do what he could do best with his own surroundings. He walked down the beach, trying to find a way off the island. Failing to find a way he could sneak off, he settled for crafting a rudimentary fishing rod using some plants he found and a log. He removed his case of tackles and hooked them onto his fishing rod. Well, he didn't really know what to do here, but there was one thing he was good at - fishing. He supposed that that was all he could do for now.
~~~~
With him set loose, Oliver did the bravest thing he could in that moment and waited for zero ques to start booking it into the interior of the island. He was a Reichskrieger for gods sakes he was definetly not supposed to be here. Maybe if he found some cover and hid it out, he'd be able to figure out... something. What the something was he didn't know. Maybe he'd write a story on this when he got back to civilization- He shook the thoughts out of his head. This was not the time nor place for any of that. As the lack of eating anything actually substantial hit him like a ton of bricks, he observed his surroundings to see a monkey climbing away from him in the trees. As he pondered about if those things were even native here, a lightbulb went off in his head.
~~~~
The only thing the cripple could think of was the infected wound in his shoulder. As soon as he was set loose he limped to the coast, tightly pinching his arm to somewhat distract from the pain. Having arrived he sprang into the ocean, thoroughly cleaning his wound with the salty seawater. It felt like a horde of hornets had decided to nestle in his shoulder, but at least now his odds of dying were significantly reduced.
He appeared not to have ran as far as he thought he had, for looking to his right he could still see the Reichskrieger warship off in the distance. He waded back to the shore, hoping dearly to find any kind of shelter he could use to escape the enemies’ grasp. The forest was incredibly thick, which significantly hindered his traverse. Slowly but steadily, he made his way through the eerie woods, eventually spying out a nice and secluded grove, far off the beaten path. Trelo was glad he could finally rest his crippled shoulder. While he was stumbling to the grove, he heard an ear-piercing scream coming from above him. Looking up, he found what looked to be some sort of monstrous monkey. Fearing both the Reichskriegers having heard the scream and the wrath if the roaring beast, he thought it best to abandon this strategic spot and get out of the way post-haste.
~~~~
As soon as Jetei took his first weakened step off of the ship, he made a mad dash towards the south. His mission was clear: survive. He had to see Suvdan once again. Shoving past the men around him, he certainly wasn't the fastest, mostly due to the stuffed bullet wound in his leg, but he even surprised himself when compared to the other, many worse off, prisoners like him.
He ran, and ran, and ran, until his legs turned numb. As his stride slowed to a walk, he tripped over a hump in the dirt below. As he regained his breath in heavy increments, his eyes scanned the jungle around him. Not a soul in sight. He could hear other prisoners that had traveled in the same direction as him, but none were in his immediate vicinity. At least, he hoped they were fellow prisoners. Soon, his eyes trained towards the hump he had tripped on. Without another thought, he began digging at the hump with his bare hands.
After a few minutes of digging, he saw a wooden surface. Eventually, he was able to lift it out of the ground. It certainly had some weight to it. Brushing off more earth from the large, widened oval, he realized that he had discovered a barrel. Almost with desperation, he kicked the barrel open under his boot. Tearing away at the shell, his jaw dropped as he realized the contents of the storage: a stack of various alcoholic beverages. A strange sight in an environment like this, especially given the circumstances, but he wasn't complaining. After all, he was no stranger to alcohol.
Stuffing a variety of bottles into his pockets, he took out an expensive-looking case of whiskey. Taking a quick swig, he let out a sigh of relief and victory alike. Soon after, realization washed over him. His hunters would be coming for him soon, if not already here. He stuffed the remainder of the barrel into the hole he had created. Using a small, nearby sharp rock, he carved his name into the tree adjacent to the barrel. And with that, he was on his way once again.
~~~~
The man who now called himself Shen departed the ship. He stood for a moment upon the shore, watching the other prisoners scatter into the trees. Then, he went south.
He went in such a peculiar manner, loping, bandy-legged, over root and stone, seeming to clatter into the various trees as he went: it was as if the act of walking was, itself, unnatural to him. He went without a word and came upon some movement in the brush ahead.
He crouched low and spied some prisoners, like him, searching. They were separated by the trees and went about independently. It was at that moment that he pondered: “we’re all desperate and the foreign man has a gun. After the panic I think alliances are gonna form. It ain’t going to be wise to try alone… or maybe it will be… groups are a larger target… No, what if he finds us in a group? He’ll shoot at us—three or four targets instead of one—less chance to get hit. But it ain’t time yet—ain’t time to approach—they’s gonna panic. Gotta explore. Gotta find stuff to barter with. There must be something of worth on this island.”
He then turned to walk off and kicked something. He looked down. It was a bucket, covered in sludge. It stunk to high hell and the smell grew only more potent when he lifted it up to inspect it closer. He cocked his head and frowned, scrunching up his nose in a vain attempt to keep out the smell; he then shrugged and walked away. He was going to wash the bucket in a stream or the ocean, whichever he found first.
~~~~
Iarlaith did not wander far from the ship that had brought him to this mysterious place. The others scurried off like rats into the trees, each eager to go gods knew where. But Iarlaith stumbled his way onto the beach and stood there for a moment or two. He surveyed the people who’d brought him, their ship and the backs of the other prisoners as they ran. He was too tired to follow.
Moving further down the beach, though not very far, he came across a smell most rancid. Twitching his nose he followed the scent for a short moment only to find the rotting carcass of a large fish tossed ashore by the endless waves. A silvery sheen glossed the putrid meat, and a dead seagull lay not far off. Iarlaith shrugged. He’d see worse pop upon the blackened shores of Temris’ tainted coastline.
Finding a tree upwind, the muscular Temrisian eased himself under its bountiful shade, the ship still in sight. Counting his fingers and toes he gave Basrodec his thanks for each. Twenty tiny digits total. A miracle for any grown Temrisian. Taking a deep breath he grimaced at the salty air. How his heart longed, as every Temrisian did, for the green hills and golden fields of his homeland. Running a hand through his hair he nearly resigned himself to whatever Basrodec had ordained for him. The great god of Temris was benevolent to his children, but even a father has his favorites.
Closing his eyes he figured that here, under this tree, he might die. Iarlaith Dunn, a son of the mighty Jesse O’Rourke, ordained to die unnamed upon a foreign shore. He smirked. How befitting of a warrior.
~~~~
The Mad Duke
The sounds of panicked flight filled the air, feet pounding on the shore as Krallemann stood vigil, a smile stretching from ear to ear as he waited intently for his deckhand Caddie to return.
The day was young, and it would age like fine wine. The sailors aboard the Eisenhaut shot worried glances at eachother as the Duke stood, facing off into the treeline like a foolish dog staring off into a bare wall. It was unnerving to all, the quiet air, save for the sounds of prisoners receding into the jungle. It would soon be time, soon. But a rabbit hunt would not nearly be so interesting if they are not given time to scamper free of their cages, despite Krallemann taking pleasure in a hunt of either ilk.
As the last of the men disappeared from the immediate shore, a meek, fearful voice piped up behind the Duke.
"S-sir, y-you bag..." said the Deckhand, his white and blue uniform shining crisply in early light. He carried with him a large, long bag, it's end sprouting a half-dozen wooden stocks, each polished to an ethereal gleam.
"Good, good, Caddie. Hurry, come, we will-"
The Duke's words were interrupted by a loud shriek piercing through the canopy. A howler monkey. A sinister light began to burn behind Krallemann's irises. His polished boots pounded over the deck and onto the top step of the gangplank, his head still locked onto the shriek's position in the woods.
His mouth cracked open wide, and his lungs bellowed childish words in heavily accented Common.
"Olly olly oxen free!"
His steps down the gangplank sounded off the drums of hell.
~~~
To be continued...
The Queen of the Water - Dreams of Those Gone Past III
June 1911 - Clifford & Voss™ Drydock
The funnel was lifted into place by the towering crane. Men, without any safety harnesses or other equipment then guided it into its brackets covering the extraction vents. Getting to this stage was tedious. Fitting out began with the engine room being fitted out with boilers larger than rooms, steam engines as large as buildings and propeller shafts as long as blimps had to be carefully assembled and manoeuvred into place.
The scale of the vessel meant Clifford & Voss™ had to scale everything with it. Namely the McAllister Gantry, whose towering form could still be seen from the other side of the lochs where the dry dock sat. Bruce turned as a large flatbed, pulled by a large, meaty steam engine, was backed into the lift zone.
Workers swarmed around the final funnell as they prepared it to be lifted by the crane. In the water, several tugboats towing large platforms containing an assortment of the final machinery to go into the mighty steel hull. However, very soon it would begin the most difficult and even more tedious.
Bruce turned and returned to the main planning room of Clifford & Voss. A few hours ago it was teaming with draughtsmen and engineers figuring out how to install the myriad of amenities, such as plumbing, electricity and wireless communique as well as the endless amount of befitting luxuries endowed upon first and even second class rooms, and whatever leftovers shoved into third.
The carpenter had delivered the 1000 different styles and elegant carvings that would be slowly handcrafted into each slab of wood before they went in. He traced his finger over the various fittings for each of the decks. Everything had to be considered, special storage for food in the kitchens, casings for machinery such as exhaust fans, direction of staircases, toilets, even the placings of individual door hinges were listed on the plans.
The doors swung open and Al Harrison entered. “Bruce, how are the fittings coming along?” Bruce smiled as his friend entered and beckoned him over. “We plan to do sea trials by the end of the year, and have it delivered the next month. We fell behind on schedule, Al, as you can understand Clifford has never taken on such a mammoth project.”
Al nodded in agreement. “Delays are to be expected, you can’t rush fine craftsmanship.” He said as he too, leaned over the endless blueprints.
Bruce placed two fingers, one from each hand onto the grand staircases, one towards the bow, and one towards the stern. “We’ve changed the staircases, to make room for the boiler casings and the pantries. On the plus side it does cut costs. Only one of the staircases will be as grand as they were in your drawings, the aft staircase will be slightly smaller.”
Al nodded, “The staircases aren’t the only factor contributing to luxury.”
Bruce rubbed his face. “Al, you know this… Idea of making passengers believe they are in the finest hotels, rather than an ocean liner in the middle of the Ossarian sea, is causing us quite the headache.”
“But that hasn’t stopped you, has it? I’ve seen your plans, creative solutions, even more crafty ideas. This ship will sail Bruce, one day. May it take years.” Al said.
Bruce turned around and looked out of the window at the towering mass that was the KMS Imperial Glory. Her final funnel had been placed in. A different procedure was used, as the funnell wasn’t directly connected to the boilers and engines, but rather a dummy funnel, which contributed to symmetry and reduced the need for vents and fans that cluttered the decks of other ocean liners.
“How is hull number 401 coming along?” Al asked as he turned to face the other side of the loch, where the towering gantry was filled with the hulking mass of Imperial Glory’s sister ship. “We plan to launch and tow her tomorrow, she’ll be drydocked and completed, based on lessons learnt from the Imperial Glory, she should be ready for sea trials by May next year, and her maiden voyage to be made in April.
15th January 1912
The large, four-funnelled liner pulled into Port Zimford. Thousands had arrived to sail on the vessel’s maiden voyage, even more had arrived to watch the ship set sail. Father’s hoisted children on their shoulders, as the vessel pulled in and docked. Lines were cast and several tug boats had to be used to push her into position. Her crew, perhaps more giddy than the passengers, made preparations for passengers to begin boarding. Stewards prepared rooms with blankets, crew readied the decks and cleared them of clutter, her senior officers watching over.
The captain and his first officer watched the scene as the gangplanks were thrown out. Police were brought in to control the crowd and formed a line to prevent passengers from swarming the gangplanks. Other vessels in the harbour that day stopped, their crew and passengers admiring the towering liner that loomed over them, blocking the sun, yet slicing through the water with grace.
The first class reception room on D deck was filled with stewards and crewmen, ready to receive the Empire’s finest. Below, 3rd class stewards made preparations to receive their bunch. “Watch her over Murdoch.” The captain said, as he Treadied himself to greet passengers.
Al Harrison, with his wife and kids already on board, waited in their first class room. He considered booking one of the suites with a private promenade deck but resented the open windows that brought the cold sea breeze in. His wife was packing away her multiple dresses and other ornaments for the voyage. Their children, Mary and Richard lay on the beds in the suite, shaking their legs, also dressed in formal attire. “I’ll go up to meet with the crew, you guys can relax for now.”
Al walked out of their stateroom and into the extravagant hallways. Kaitlyn followed out and closed the door behind her. “Wait, Al.” Al turned to face her. She looked beautiful in her gown.
“When are you relaxing?” She asked.
“When this vessel completes her maiden voyage.”
Kaitlyn softly smiled and hugged him before pecking him lightly on the cheek. Al admired her beauty again, over 30 years of marriage and she looked as elegant as the day he met her. “You know, I can’t have imagined a better woman to have stood beside me, throughout all of this.”
Kaitlyn smiled her soft, brilliant smile again. “It would be very concerning if you did.”
Al too, smiled before she returned to her stateroom. Al arrived at the main Grand Staircase. A big letter behind him indicated he was on B deck. He ascended up the stairs expecting to get to A deck, and later the boat deck. Which he did, but found that he could not access the officer’s promenade and quarters where the bridge lay.
He thought to himself before spying two officers on the forecastle. He descended down the decks and clambered over the railing to get to the forecastle. “Harry, Harry!” Al called out. Henry “Harry” Wilde turned from his position at the forecastle operating the anchoring crane. “Sir, can I help you?”
“Yes good man, how can I get to the officer’s quarters?”
Henry then listed off a series of orders that Al barely understood before returning to his task at the anchor crane. Al then spent the next few minutes bumbling around the forecastle and boat deck before using a Master Key Bruce had given him to work his way through several galleys before emerging in the officer’s quarters.
Al then worked his way to the navigating bridge where First Officer William Murdoch was waiting on the wings. “Harrison, are you not joining the other passengers?” He asked.
“No thank you William, I would rather be here to watch her leave port.”
From the shore, Bruce watched as the ship drew away from the harbour. People waved handkerchiefs from the pier as the decks of the liner were packed with people waving back. The early morning sun rose higher in the sky casting a warm glow on the vessel, her name, imprinted in reflective metal on her bow shone back at the crowd. KMS Imperial Glory
Bruce then made the two hour train ride back to Heartstone. Even before he entered the city, the towering McAllister gantry rose from the skyline like a skyscraper. The train passed the end of the lochs, where in drydock, was the second of the class of four-stackers Al and Arnold had planned.
Bruce would remain in his office for the rest of the day as he planned out the remainder of the fittings for the nearly complete super liner, due to set sail in April. When he emerged he watched the sunset behind the vessel, silhouetting it against a sinister blood-red sky.
IEDs and Hell
March 1912 - The Rebellion Headquarters
Richard watched as the final stick of dynamite was wired with a timer. Behind him, a young but brash rebel stood, fiddling with his rifle. “Careful you idiot, you'll set that off.” Richard barked. The boy returned to attention.
He turned his attention back to the dynamite. The master dynamite, which contained the timer and the fuse, was the largest and beefiest of the lot. It would have to be, as it was the start of a chain reaction. A small block of dynamite sticks would hopefully set off the rest of the TNT that would be stacked behind it.
Four other, similar constructions were present, each of which would be sent to four targets across the four richest cities in Kushmire. Kushmire Star Pier in Zimford, Ockset Church, Department of Border Control headquarters in Qaidong and The Citadel in Barricus. Richard had spared Halford and Sparticus. They wanted to send a message to the upper-class. Those on the other side of The Line, will not be held back by their class.
Harry Montgomery entered the spacious cavern where the bombs were being stored. His eyes widened at the scale of the explosives. “Well done Richard, you have outdone yourself, but please explain to me how we are going to get these bombs into our targets. We can’t roll them down the street in carts, that’s not going to work. I think the police might notice us.”
Richard checked his watch as the final rays of the sun receded from the room. He ordered the careless riflemen to turn on a lamp, “And be bloody careful with it!” Richard and Harry then walked over to a table at the far corner of the room. On it were several maps of the four target cities. Red circles highlighted the target’s location within the city boundaries and a line dissected each one, originating from outside the city boundaries.
“I’ve talked with allies and outposts still standing in the East. They have organised some dig teams. We are going to start on the outskirts of each city and make our way in. Place the bombs underneath the foundations, or deep within the basement. We’ll take them out from under their noses. Dig sites, in the styles of mines have already been set up. The biggest part now is to keep the authorities from finding out.”
Harry analysed the plans. “Tunnels? But won’t that take weeks, hell, even months to complete? It took us almost a year to acquire all the explosives you needed.”
Richard nodded. “Yes, potentially, I know that it may be tight with KFP taking out our operations in the East, but the Army here still cannot do anything, they know that we control the West, any move by them can be spun out of control by us. This will throw them off, perhaps even set them back years of intelligence, they might be back to square one all over again.”
Harry rubbed the stubbled growing on his chin. “Very well Richard, I suppose it is better than nothing.”
“Also send Louis to lead the dig sites, if that makes him feel better.” Richard said as the two men left the cavern and into the vast, expansive network of tunnels and rooms. “This has been awhile in the making Harry, the authorities, well, the military network takes us seriously, now its time for the whole country to take us seriously.”
South Harbourview Countryside
The group of horses pulled up to the small shack in the small field. The soldiers had their rifles slung across their shoulders. Behind them, a contingent of police officers were also waiting with batons and handcuffs. Inside the shack several rebellion conspirators were frantically rushing about, or destroying evidence. They wouldn’t get time.
The guards raised their rifles and opened fire on them. Emptying their clips, then reloading and emptying again. Once the house had been covered in bullet holes the group entered. Rounding up stragglers and finishing off those who resisted.
A lieutenant approached a young man with blonde hair lying on the ground. Both his kneecaps were shot out by the earlier firing. “Do we even get trials in this country anymore?” He asked, specks of blood flying out of his mouth between gasps.
“Not for you, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.” The lieutenant said as he raised his revolver and shot him. The soldiers and policemen dragged out the survivors and cuffed them before taking them away to the prisons across the country.
The blonde man in particular, was thrown into a cramped rail car. Adorned with the symbols of the Department of Prisons. A darkened Blood Eagle holding handcuffs in its talons with its wings spread out behind a small castle-like structure.
The train was manned entirely by staff wearing the blue uniform of the Kushmire Prison Network. Rolling away from a small station in Zimford, located near the city police station, the carriages, pulled by one of the largest locomotives in Kushmire, made its way towards Mt Kushmire.
Mt Kushmire Corrections Facility
The prisoners inside the carriages were kept apart from each other in separate, but small and tight compartments. The more deranged amongst them clawed at thin walls separating them. Guards walked up and down, batons ready. Struggling up the steep incline, the train sounded its horn as it arrived at its intended destination. The prisoners whom had a window view watched, as Kushmire’s most revered and mythic prison loomed over them like a mad dictator over its subjects.
Outside, the guards were waiting, with thick woollen coats and rifles. Outposts with the same guards dotted the side of the mountain. The prisoners were unloaded and forced onto their knees in the freezing cold with nothing but the thin rags they had on their backs. Each guard was on edge, every move by a prisoner out of order was met swiftly with a blow to the back of the head.
One by one, the prisoners were taken, a number inked into their forearms in the processing room and then sent to their cells. Mt Kushmire Prison, or as it was known around the country, The Devil’s Playground. The guards that patrolled the cell areas were not the blue-clad officers on the train.
These guards wore thick, black woollen coats with white fur collars. Each carried a rifle and a sabre alongside their baton. New arrivals were soon beaten into routine, warned to respect guards and stay away from particular individuals. If they complied, freedom was still a distant hope. Though for most, other than a rare clear sky, high up in Mt Kushmire where the gods cried, it would be the last time they would see sunlight.
Solitary confinement was a topic rarely discussed even amongst the toughest of the prisoners in containment. Located deep within the prison, the animals kept down there were the worst of the worst. Even child killers and rapists were above them. They were kept with their hands, neck, feet and torso chained in restricting, heavy metal brackets.
They stayed in complete darkness, alone for 23 hours a day, other than the one meal they are fed. For one hour they are released, and taken, flanked by four guards armed to the teeth for a walk around the boundaries. During this time, every other prisoner is cleared and placed in their cells.
The prisoners kept in the furthest wings were lucky enough to have windows. Unforgiving iron bars that looked out over a sheer cliff face. However, the dark foreboding figure called The Line could be seen in the distance. Lights, dotting where Border Control outposts lay. Even further in the distance, if the sky was clear and the light was good. The city of Halford could be seen, even its dim lights, though reeking of a lack of wealth, seemed like heaven compared to the conditions inside the prison.
Inside, screams of many went unheard as the guards turned their ears away, and tuned out. They were human, after all.
Moles
Abandoned Juneau Mine - May 1912
Lewis removed the hardhat from his head, and rubbed his temple. The old, once thriving mine lay cut into the ground. A literal goldmine from the early 1800s, was closed down when the gold ran out and mining operations moved to Halford and Sparticus. Below, the team of men, with the same hardhats and carrying large lamps with battery packs attached, walked into the gaping mouth that formed one of the many tunnels of the abandoned mine.
Behind Lewis was the old buildings that housed the mine’s command centre. He entered, removing his coat and turning to face the maps and charts that were left behind. The title of one of the maps read “Juneau Company Zimford East Mine.” Lewis shook his head. The Juneau company had a horrific safety record, with many of its workers dying inside its mines.
One of the maps had already been marked. A tunnel that leads nearly 12 kilometres from the central site towards Zimford. Work had already started at the apex where the tunnel turned away from the port city. Wooden supports had been propped up and rail tracks had been removed. Richard had set aside small amounts of dynamite should the teams need it to speed up progress.
Lewis inspected another chart that noted ground and soil quality. He noticed that the apex where they were digging was in an area of soft ground which greatly increased the risk of a cave in, even without dynamite. The mine itself was only 20 kilometres from the city meaning only eight kilometres had to be dug. Assuming that no detours had to be taken. The ground density chart noted the position of Zimford relative to the mine, but didn’t have markings in the area past the soft marshlands.
Lewis grabbed his hardhat again and descended down to the main mine entrance. He took a lift to the base and walked again to the tunnel where the team would be entering. Several horses carrying picks and shovels had been brought down and tied up inside the mouth of the tunnel to prevent them from running off and to protect them from the elements.
Lewis approached the site foreman, a former Juneau employee who worked at the mine. “Foreman, are the lads ready?”
The foreman nodded, “Yes sir, I’ve already sent some boys down with a cart to inspect the supports to check if they are still in place, as well as any other gremlins we might meet on the way.”
Lewis nodded and reached behind his back where he had a pistol. “Now, Foreman, do you remember what we discussed?”
The foreman nodded. “The boys are well aware of who they are working for. I chose them myself.”
Lewis nodded in satisfaction as he returned his hand to his pocket.
KFP Headquarters
Carlton lay in his office. Now an isolated space that he was part of Mansfield’s ‘Little Crack Team’ as it had been dubbed by its members. Leading the intelligence gathering and cooperation with the armed forces, the group acted as a militia, and the command for the KFP side of Operation Rolling Skies.
Now that Rebellion operations were slowly starting to come undone in the west side of the country. Carlton had now been tasked with drawing up plans to infiltrate their operations in the east. Halford and Sparticus had long been cities that seeded anti-government sentiment, meaning getting people to talk would be difficult.
The stack of papers on his desk grew higher by the day. He had shoved casualty reports aside, fortunately, most were minor injuries and very rarely did a deceased show up. There was a knock on the door. Carlton stood and opened the door, and was met face to face with Jessica, the office’s clerk, who also ran the phones for Carlton.
Carlton smiled as Jessica gently handed him a letter. “Minister Leon Allen wants a meeting.”
“With me specifically?”
Jessica nodded. “The Admiral is unavailable, so I went to the next most important person in the KFP.”
Carlton smiled, “That would be our deputy, and your father, Commodore Ian Fairweather.” Carlton went to hand the letter back to Jessica who gently placed her hand on his and pushed it back towards his chest. “I think you will find this is an opportunity you would not want to pass.”
As quickly as their eyes met, Carlton had returned his attention to the letter. Stamped on it was Leon Allen’s seal of the Minister for Internal Security. He sighed, “Very well, when is it?”
“Tomorrow, there will be more details inside the letter.”
Carlton nodded as he pulled away from the door. Jessica also turned to leave but stopped. “Carlton, the governor’s party is this coming saturday. The nation’s most powerful are going to be there. My father has been invited.”
Carlton sighed, his heart racing. He turned to face her once again. Trying not to meet her emerald green eyes. His eyes scanned the figure-hugging blouse she wore. He coughed to clear his throat, though when he spoke he still choked on his words. “And you are telling me this because?”
Jessica smiled at Carlton’s cluelessness. “Well, I would like a partner at the event, to keep me company from the mindless chatter.”
Carlton hid his internal excitement. “Thank you Jess, yes I would love to.”
Jessica smiled. “Thank you, I’ll see you in the weekend, you can take a ride with us.”
Carlton watched as she left. He closed the door, the letter from Leon forgotten in his hand. Behind the door was a Captain, who acted as Carlton’s second in command. “By our Lord, do not scare me like that again!” Carlton raised his fist as the Captain covered his face.
“Sir, I’ve arranged the car to get you to Barricus.” The Captain said.
“Oh you were listening were you?” Carlton said, grabbing his hat and coat.
“No sir,” the captain said, suppressing a smile. “Though she is a fine young lady.”
Carlton rolled his eyes as he left. “Respect to your senior officers please.”
The Keystone Chamber
Carlton waited outside in the extravagant hallways of The Keystone Chamber. Parliament officials and staff walked around, carrying slips of paper and other faff. Carlton slid the peak of his cap over his eyes to cover them. He inspected the guards at the edge of the hallway. No longer did they wear the red and white of the Imperial Guard.
Instead they wore a light green, combined with red stripes on the pants, and a white waistband and buttons with a feather on their cap. Carlton frowned, he doesn’t remember a uniform change going through, let alone to that of the Imperial Guard in the parliament buildings.
The door opened and Leon’s aide welcomed him inside. Inside, Leon Allen was writing on a piece of official parchment. He looked up and stood as Carlton entered. “Commander, I believe we have met but never acquainted.” Leon shook Carlton’s hand.
“Leon Allen.”
Carlton returned the handshake. “Carlton Marshal.”
The two men then sat down again. “Well, thank you for coming Commander. No doubt the KFP must be busying itself with The Rebellion.”
Carlton nodded. “Yes sir, their western operation will soon be burned to the ground. From there, it's only the matter of finding their homebase.”
Leon nodded. “Well, Commander, first of all, when I saw your name come across my desk a few hours ago, I thought to myself, ‘Now where have I seen that name before?’ Were you the young man who infiltrated the Rebellion communication network?”
Carlton nodded. “Yes sir, well, I didn’t do it by myself, but I was the one who located their base at Qaidong, allowing us to quietly slip into their communication network.”
Leon nodded, “Well then Carlton, you are quite the successful young man, a brilliant leader as well I hear. This will make you perfect for a particular job I have coming up.”
Leon stood and walked to the window. “This coming Saturday, Governor Ryan Caldwell will be hosting his farewell party at the Governor’s residence in Zimford. The nation’s most powerful, including businessmen, politicians and military personnel will be present, as such we need a security team to match. I believe, especially with your connections within the KFP that you are the man for the job, I want you to be incharge of security for the night, I already have the Imperial Guard units chosen, you’ll just have to direct them, feel free to bring in KFP personnel as well if you see it fit.”
Carlton also stood from his chair grabbing his hat. “Well, sir, there might be a conflict of interest, one might call it. I have been asked to attend the party, as the partner of Jessica Fairweather, I fear the security job may, I guess, hamper that commitment.”
Leon smiled, “Is that Ian’s daughter, the KFP deputy?”
Carlton nodded. “Yes sir, that would be right.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, the Imperial Guards will do most of the heavy lifting, I also suspect the Rebellion could organise an effort this far from The Line, especially in a city like Zimford, the most anti-Rebellion city in the state. You just direct the patrol efforts, you can ask their captain to come get you should something come up.” Leon said.
Carlton grunted. “Very well, sir, there is just one more thing. Those green guards outside.”
Leon turned to face Carlton. “Yes, what about them?”
“What are they?” Carlton asked.
“They are Frederick’s idea, or, depending on which camp you fall into, his way of making sure the Armed Forces, or the KFP can’t keep an eye on him.” Leon said, “Not many people know of Frederick’s potential involvement with the Rebellion, only you, me, Albert, Mansfield and select people within the KFP are aware.” Leon said.
“Which reminds me, I said the Rebellion would be foolish to try anything, however that doesn't mean Frederick won’t do anything on behalf of them, those guards outside, are formally known as the Presidential Guard, they act as personal bodyguards to Frederick, who will also be present at the gala. He could use them to remove high-ranking opposition to the Rebellion, Albert and myself will be present at the party.” Leon said.
Carlton nodded. “Very well sir, I’ll have them wait outside or something like that. Give me time to organise the efforts, they won’t get within a shooting distance.”
Leon smiled, “Thank you Carlton.”
The two men shook hands as Carlton returned to the KFP headquarters, already mulling over the security problem, and Leon returned to his endless paperwork.
The Testament of Heinrichsburg- Part I of III
May, 1912
The hot and sultry summer weather in northern Swarzia hadn't helped to diffuse the tensions brewing in the cities of Heinrichsburg and Minau. The almost-daily protests, which had been taking place since April of that year, were undeniable proof of the deteriorating situation in the untamed north.
A gazette article had appeared seemingly overnight- "Interview with President Lanceson of Kalquen", it read, simply, and it had spread like wildfire all over Heinrichsburg.
The morning of May twenty-ninth dawned like any other; hot and humid. It was supposed to be a working-day, but the factory owners found that their employees were conspicuously missing.
In the city of Hess, a cool breeze swept puffs of leaves along the concourses of the inner city, and a telephone in one of the Palace's many offices rang. The operator picked it up, his frown only growing as the person on the other end spoke. Finally, he hung up.
The Princes of Swarzia found themselves called into an emergency meeting.
"There are strikes," an aide pointed to Heinrichsburg on a map of Swarzia, "occurring all over the city. We don't know the extent of this demonstration yet, but most of the city hasn't turned in to work, citing the Collectivist ideology."
Grand Duke Wolfgang scratched his beard. "I thought that Imperial had the book banned in Swarzia."
At the mention of his presence, the doors to the meeting-room flew open. Zang Hundan, the Imperial Plenipotentiary, strolled in, followed by a pair of frazzled-looking guards.
"Good morning, gentlemen," the Imperial said jovially, the swishing of his great yellow robe the only sound in the room as the three highest-ranking Swarzians in the nation stared him down, their hands resting on their rapiers.
"What are you doing here?" Prince Helmut said. The young Rothgard had his hand planted firmly on the hilt of his sword.
"The same as you three," said Hundan. "The situation in Heinrichsburg has escalated out of control. It is now up to the Celestial Empire to deal with the situation."
"I can handle this situation," said the Grand Duke, scowling. "Your... assistance is not needed."
"Quite the contrary." Zang Hundan strolled across the room, taking a pen from a confused advisor. "Your lax control of the crisis has lead to too much dissent. I will be taking action, on behalf of the Emperor, as I see fit." He outlined three arrows on the map, leading into Heinrichsburg from three directions. "The army will be deployed to force these strikers to return to work. They will arrest those who do not comply, and execute the instigators."
-
But when the soldiers of the Ducal Army marched into the outskirts of Heinrichsburg, they found their way blocked by barricades made of furniture and pallets. Atop the ramparts fluttered a flag, red and white.
The Rise of the 
Kentu
9.11.12
The Great leader of the Kentu Empire, rests his head to sleep, as his most loyal men secure what remains of the old primitive government. It was just 12 hours ago when it was announced that the PM of the former nation of Feirelinsar was voted out in a no-confidence vote. Cylis had used this as an excuse to completely destroy what was left of the old government in order to establish his great vision for an empire. Soon, his supporters had lined up the streets of the whole nation, dismantling, rioting, and setting ablaze the old institutions that were deemed "useless". Then Cylis and his armed supporters entered the Parliament, holding them prisoner until they met his demands. It was after the Parliament gave up any notion of opposition (a few were killed as examples) that the Great Empire was established. Now it had only been a couple of hours after this struggle that Cylis lay sleeping in his quarters, dreaming of a mighty, and prosperous nation. He would remove the tainted and primitive government that existed before him, and establish a morally responsible government, one which would be for more productive and glorious than the former nation of Feirelinsar.
Glory to the Holy Emperor Cylis!
«12. . .5678
Advertisement