Search

Search

[+] Advanced...

Author:

Region:

Sort:

«12345678. . .1112»

”A Vision of Apocalypse"
November 22, NL 15
Rockhold, Kolch

A perfect path through the desert wastes awaited each turn, as if the sands had themselves made way for Laurent Mast and his host of family and guards. The Governor-General was joined by his youngest brothers, Pascale and Nathaniel. He was flanked by two of Is-Taash’s city guard, and he held his chin high as his horse swaggered ever forward, toward five mighty spires that loomed over the dunes. “Keep up on your ponies, brothers,” said Laurent, “today you get to witness history!” Pascale and Nathaniel exchanged glances. A smile was shining on Nathaniel’s face, and on Pascale a weary grimace.

“How can you enjoy this?” whispered Pascale, maneuvering his little steed closer to his younger brother.

“We get to see the knights!” exclaimed the youngest Mast, “I can’t wait to see the knights!”

Laurent laughed from the front, hearing Nathaniel’s excitement. “Attaboy, Nate! With that kind of attitude, you might be a knight yourself one day! Or even a member of the Emperor’s own guard!”

Nathaniel grinned from ear to ear as Pascale found his distance once more. “I will be a knight,” declared Nathaniel, waving around an imaginary sword, “and Pascale can be the court eunuch!” he then moved his war horse in Pascale’s direction, and pushed the side into his brother’s pony, “eu-nuch! Eu-nuch! Eu-nuch!

“Don’t call your brother a eunuch,” said Laurent, “your brother will likely be a tactician, or a scholar, or even a Magi.”

Before Pascale could say anything, Nathaniel rammed his horse at him again, saying, “but big brother, I heard they need some new eunuchs! He would be great! And the next Emperor could ride him around like a horse! Ha ha ha!”

“Enough of that, boys,” said Laurent, “we’ve arrived.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Temrisian had much to say, but could not speak, for a gag rest between his lips. He had places to go, but could not move, for his ankles were bound together in chains. He had arms to punch, to break free, yet could not do so, for they too were in irons.

“This,” proclaimed the governor Mast, directing the room’s attention to the prisoner, “is the bastardization of our forefathers—The scourge of our gods!”

The eleven grandmasters and their cohorts of knights watched the scene with suspicion: Some knights eyed the creature with immediate disgust, for they trusted their governor’s words.

“Your sufficiency,” said the High Arbiter of Is-Taash and the March’s most prominent Magi, a man by the name of Priapos Chrysostomos, “surely you have better uses of your time than humiliating one of your prisoners in our company.” Pascale thought the Magi bold for interrupting his older brother. “Or have you grown complacent in your mandate?”

Laurent looked around the room, and saw the gaze of the knights’ orders bearing down on him. The oldest Grandmaster, Pilus Wight of the Order of Koriach, grunted, the old skin of his face creasing into a grimace.

“Quiet, old fool!” yelled the boy Nathaniel, “you’re speaking to the mighty governor-general!” Chrysostomos paid the boy no mind.

“Dear knights,” said his sufficiency, “our wall has long prevented the sale of the devil drug D’yavod into our country. But today, the invaders to the east take to our shores to spread their evil. In Temris, I found this barbarian with crates of the demon powder.” Some knights of the rowdy Order of the Marsh threw a shoe the prisoner’s way. Their own grandmaster hollered at them in correction. “Indeed!” declared Laurent, smirking at the Magi Chrysostomos, “we have no choice but to turn our eyes west. Under this deposer Gong, our country is not secured from the evils of the World. So on we must ride, to free Nhasa!” Some knights roared in response. “Who is with me!?”

After a moment of hesitation, nearly the whole body was in celebration for this new, exciting directive.

Yet the Magi Chrsostomos was not impressed. “Mast,” said he, leaving out the governor-general’s honorific, “if you pry the knights from the Wall, then we will leave ourselves defenseless in the case of a Dayani invasion.” He raised an eyebrow, “how do we know this is not some plot from the Overtsar to weaken our defenses?”

“Shut your gab, old man!” said Nathaniel. The knights seemed to be of similar mind.

That was, excepting one group, the Order of Soax, led by the youngest Grandmaster, Grygor Blane. “Governor,” said he, “no doubt this is a worthy cause, but the Knights of Soax will stay here.” When the other knights (including some of Grygor’s own) began to deride this choice, the young grandmaster continued: “While we share the Magis’ concern for the wall, the true threat is within. There are tales, your sufficiency, of a foreigner who calls himself the Tzigon.” Some skeptics bemoaned the mention, “they say, sir, that where ever he goes, he brings rain. The locals celebrate him as a prophet.”

Laurent burst into a fit of laughter: “Don’t be ridiculous, Grygor! Truly, you would avoid my crusade for this excuse?”

“I would,” said Grygor, and Pascale couldn’t help but admire the man’s stubbornness. “The true threat is within, and the Order of Soax stands ready to face it.”

“Coward!” said the boy Nathaniel, and Laurent pat the boy on the back.

“Come, you true men!” declared Laurent, ride with me!”

The room cheered, and followed him out. Those city guard waited their opportunity to escort the prisoner once more, and watched as the others spat in the Temrisian’s face as they passed them. Grygor remained seated, pensive.

Outside, the knights took to their horses, and with a great noise that rocked the desert, Laurent began to lead his army westward. And all along the way, they sang songs and traded jokes. So enamored were they that few noticed the stormclouds gathering with the eastern breeze.

Post by Yevdoria suppressed by Kolch.

Yevdoria

Hello

Swarzia-

”Wolfgang Frederich”
Hirsche, Meringia Province
February 3, 1910

It had been sixteen days since Grand Duke Wolfgang had received the news of his cousin’s death.
And perhaps it was just paranoia, but Duchess Marianne felt, on that morning, as if she just had to talk to him about it.

Wolfgang was seated across the table, reading a large newspaper that obscured his face. Marianne poked halfheartedly at the pastries on the stand.
Finally, von Swarzkrahe set the newspaper down with a sigh.
“Where’s Caspar?” he asked, glancing around the room.

“With the nurse,” she said, awkwardly. Then, forcing herself to continue, she looked him in the eyes. “Wolfgang,” she pressed, “Is there anything I can do to help? I know that your cousin-”

Von Swarzkrahe raised his gaze to meet hers.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But I have settled on a course of action,” he stirred his cup of coffee, looking out the window to the city below.

“Course of action?” Marianne echoed, mystified.

“Yes,” he said, rising from his seat. “I’m afraid I shall have to leave you here for the time being. I will raise an army and go to Nhasa to exact vengeance on the traitor Gong.”

“...” Marianne looked at her husband, who had been wearing a sabre at his waist all this time.

“Don’t you want to reconsider?” She asked, in the tone that she knew would placate him the most. “By all means, Gong-”

“Is a traitor,” von Swarzkrahe concluded. “And also the murderer of my cousin.”

She sighed, plaintively. “Wolfgang,” she said, firmer this time, “Would you really throw your life away for this? Think of Caspar,” she said, taking him by the hand. “You have not lost everything just yet.”

Von Swarzkrahe sighed, turning to look his wife in the eyes. “...I must admit you are somewhat right,” he said, rather ruefully. “But I still intend on removing Gong from power, whether that entails me killing him or not.”

“You don’t have to be the person to kill Gong,” Marianne said, running her fingers along his sleeve. “I’d rather you not put your life at risk at all, but I suppose I cannot stop you from taking the army to Nhasa if you really intend on doing that.”

“I understand that,” Wolfgang said. “I intend on doing so, at the end of this year at the latest, when the harvest season is over.”

“Come,” Marianne grabbed his arm. “You need a break. I’m sure Helmut can handle the politics. Just… just take a day off,” she sighed.

-

The Journey West VI: The Unseen Woman

In collaboration with Temris, Pavla, Kushmire, Hoydland, Kidai, Falkenberg
The journey was dark and confiscated, fitting of the grim reality that awaited these captured few Celestials. During the time, the prisoners were kept under close watch of the widest masked man, brandishing his sword. When moments of peace were allowed, they discussed the improper nature of Stephen Riesch's addition to the group, and otherwise plotted escape. Yet always the wide man returned.

When sunlight no longer crept through the open parts of the shack, the vessel's fierce rocking came to a close, and the captured were pried from their places, and led atop. In the night, they could see scarcely anything of the place in which they found themselves, only big shadows outlining strange structures. Their time ashore was shortlived, and soon they were transported to another ship, a prison ship, each with their own solitary cells.

In the morn, their surroundings became emboldened by the sun: A city of faceless men and women (excepting the children), a city of riverways and tall steeples, a city lost in time.

This they all saw from the deck of the smaller prison ship. Here, they were locked in chains and held in place, as a crier atop the mast shouted in that strange tongue.

Rosalyn looked on through sleepless eyes at the cityscape before her. The landscape seemed too surreal to exist, a still from a children's book brought to life. Each second, the chains affixed to her wrists and ankles seemed to grow heavier.

She looked sideways at her fellow prisoners, hoping for a way of escape; unfortunately for them, it seemed to be the end of the line.

Stephen wiped his face, looking down at his hands and back at the scenery. It would almost be scenic if not for the circumstances. He looked down at his chains. What circumstances they were... He scanned them for a most likely non-existent weakness, allowing his thoughts to be on escape rather than dwelling on the situation.

As William and Olivia exited their captivity, their eyes met immediately. They called out to one another, screaming each other's name as a rush of relief and apology washed over them. However, the chains prevented their embrace. As they went on, now drawing attention to themselves, their captors soon silenced them. The two continued calling out to one another, but they were too far away to hear one another with their muffled voices.

The Temrisian emerged from below deck reluctantly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the growing sun. He wished nothing more than to wake aboard the Aftalia, that the storm, crabs, and strange people all be nothing more than a bad dream. Yet the chaffing chains, marching orders, and timeless city before him spoke to a harsh reality he had to face. Nearby stood a howling pair that screamed each other’s names. Mercifully they were silenced by the guards, even if temporarily. Ahead, a woman whom he recognized purely from her description from the man the crabs killed stood solemnly. A sickening feeling gripped his heart. If only he’d been able to do more for the man. Gritting his teeth, Spencer prepared to meet whatever fate awaited him.

The ship continued, until the masked masses were out of sight, and it disappeared into the gaping mouth of a mighty palace crowned by three mighty domes. Inside, they were docked, and observed by a man wearing a shining golden mask, and shimmering clothes to match. They were blinded by cloth, and began another, long march, through narrow caverns, until all were standing at one wobbly landing.

It wobbled further, and then they felt it parry upwards—As though they were levitating. When it came to a stop, they continued their march, suffering a brief disorientation.

Finally, they were brought to a stop, and ordered to stand in a line, and then they were struck at the legs, so that they knelt.
A voice spoke, but it was in Morsainian, and thus scarcely understood, before being repeated: "May the boldest among you speak first," it started, firm, but feminine, and better yet, this time in the Imperial tongue! "Inform me of your purpose here."

Sishijiu lifted his head slightly, "We were aboard a ship sailing to a distant land, a storm came a sunk our vessel, we washed ashore and were promptly assailed."

The room was still, not a sound was heard save for the distant cooing of a dove. "What was the purpose of your vessel, before it sunk?"

Jenn, who had previously remained silent and withdrawn throughout the journey on the cold, cramped and haunting prison vessel. "We set sail towards newly discovered lands, in hopes to start a settlement." She said faintly.

The voice went silent, for only a moment. "Newly discovered lands? You are Celestial, are you not? Surely you know of Valmere, and the league who we call the Traitor Princes. What lands have you that way?"

Spencer rolled his eyes beneath the cloth that blinded him. “The lady is mistaken,” he said, half wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “Gods know what half of us were doing. Personally I was on a business errand for my father. I was sent to secure funding for the expansion of his railroad in Temris from his friends abroad. That is why I was sailing about the ill-fated Aftalia. I cannot answer for the others.”

The stranger's voice pressed on, directed toward this new speaker: "Why did your vessel sail into the Forbidden Waters?"

“I’m unsure, ma’am,” Spencer said. “There was a violent storm. It tossed our ship about before dragging it to the bottom. Those of us before you are likely all that’s left.” He shifted his blinded gaze about, as if trying to see who else was near him. “If the captain is here,” he said to no one in particular, “he can tell you our course.”

A long silence resulted, for the captain was long dead. After that time, the woman's voice returned: It was a quieter word, sharper, and one unknown to them.

The darkness before Spencer and the others abated, replaced by the image of a chamber with gold-trimmed, ornate walls. The ceiling was etched with images of lions, fish, and dragons., all framing a mighty portrait of a city, floating in the sky above the waters. Statues of bronze littered the edges of the room. Guards were all around, with their masks of various colors, all united by the red cross on their nose.

Yet, the centerpiece of the room must have been the woman sitting upon a throne so bedazzled with diamonds and rubies that it shone nearly as bright as the sun. She wore robes of red trimmed with gold, and her golden mask was etched with rubies in her cheeks, and her eyes narrowed by design.

One of the guards spoke again in his strange language. The woman in red, in her sophisticated manner, translated, all without breaking her statuesque position: "You now stand before I, the Serene Empress Giustina of Mira Cal."

Spencer's stomach dropped the moment the words left the empress' lips. He'd heard little about the mythical empire from across the sea, and none of it good. Rumors circulated in Temris of a people cloaked in shadow, of islands bathed in blood. From the sight of the woman's robes, it appeared that the islanders wore it too. Perhaps each diamond represented a sacrifice to whatever dark god they worshipped here. Biting his lip, he immediately regretted having spoken at all.

Yet, as Spencer's stomach settled in the bowels of his abdomen, he couldn't help but to notice something distinctly un-foreign about this woman: Her name. Giustina sounded Morsainian, a language he only had a loose grasp of. Had she not also spoken it earlier? "Begging you pardon, Your Serene Majesty," Spencer guessed, daring to speak once more, "but your name. It sounds almost Valmerian. Morsainian perhaps?" He swallowed, an audible sticky sound. "You had spoken to us earlier in Morsainian... Are you A Valmerian?"

The silence that ensued was quickly cut down by the empress' voice: "It is a good thing they don't understand you," said she, referring to the guards and ministers around the hall, "or they would be scandalized. Such words are naturally betraying in a land such as this."

"Forgive me, My Lady," he said, bowing his head slightly. An odd rush of relief and utter horror flushed through him. "I am but a stranger in a strange land and meant no real harm." Looking to the other passengers he almost felt bad. In a single moment he'd nearly doomed them all. Or worse... just himself. "If such words are betraying, then are you saying that there are no definitions for the land one comes from? That all who are here are Mira Calan?"

The Empress remained still, "the people of Mira Cal were Valmere, but Valmere betrayed us." A small twitch of her head led her gaze leftward. "When we failed to defeat the invaders, our lord Jesus cursed us. Now, we are alone.

"There was a man, to your original concern, who came here fifty-seven years ago, in the hopes of writing of our advanced culture and customs. He was of Morsain, and taught me the languages he knew. If not for him, we would not converse."

She freed her hand and made a wide gesture, "he is buried where you stand, for he was killed for breaking our sacred laws." Quickly her hand rejoined her other at her lap, "yet I valued him."

Spencer bit his tongue, his hand floating to encapsulate his mouth as his eyes drifted downward. Fifty-seven years, he thought, his heart beginning to race. No, he couldn't dwell among these freaks for fifty-seven years, let alone fifty-seven days. But if the Morsainian had dwelt here almost sixty years and was eventually killed because he broke some silly law, then what hope did he have of ever escaping?

A weight, comforting and warm, squeamish even, settled into the nooks of his arms. His gaze drifted from the floor to his chest where his son yawned his last goodbye weeks, maybe even months ago. Gods, his heart ached at the thought. All he ever wanted was to be there for his boy. "What," he said, clearing his throat as he forced the memories from his mind, "laws did he break?"

The Empress' answer was simple: "He attempted to leave."

Panic rose sharply in his chest. The old Morsainian was killed because he attempted to leave? No, no this couldn't be true. Spencer had to leave. He had to get back home. "My Lady," he barely managed to say as grief fell in a crashing wave upon his soul. "My Serene Lady... I have a boy, a son. His mother died the day he was born, you see. My father, a cruel man, sent me on this cursed voyage and kept my baby boy with him." His hands balled into tight fists, though no anger or malicious intent crossed his saddened, weary face. Tears threatened to escape his soft brown eyes as they searched her desperately for any trace of mercy. "You say it is against the law to leave, but my boy needs me. Please, My Lady. As Empress you are mother to your people. I implore you, one devoted parent to another... Let me go home and I promise I will never speak a word of your great empire to another living soul."

The Empress remained still, as the silence in the room became overpowering following Spencer's emotional outburst. "Don't be ridiculous," said she, "you are not Mira Cal, so this law has yet to apply to you. Only those who have been in our country for five days are to become citizens." She cast her gaze rightward, where a painting of a ship being rocked by waves was obscured by two pillars, "that is why my advisors are telling me to kill you swiftly."

She recentered her gaze, "is that all you want? To leave Mira Cal? Where would you go?"

"We are from the Celestial Empire, My Lady. It is back home that we would go," he said.

"You speak for your shipmates," noticed the Empress, "are you their leader?"

Spencer's heart skipped a beat, his face swiftly draining of color. "No," he stammered. "I am assuming, My Lady. Many of us were traumatized from the sinking and trials we have endured since. I have no doubt we all would go back home if given the chance."

She turned away, before rising to her feet. She moved to her right, past her throne, and stepped down, before turning again and to a nearby door. She spoke softly to a posted guard, before the door was pulled open from the other side, and she disappeared inside.

"Basrodec preserve us," Spencer said, his voice barely audible.

The guards behind them barked something, raising their spears once more. Again the prisoners were blinded, and led away. Not to the place of their execution, but to cells of the lower levels. There they would remain.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Spencer was awoke by a banging of the irons of his cell. They had not fed them, or offered them water to drink, nor were they ever unbounded, or unblinded. He heard the door of his cell open, and he was being delivered orders once more in their strange language.

When the darkness escaped his vision, he found himself again in ornate surroundings, a palatial sitting room, in which the Empress sat. He was forced by the guard to kneel, but at the Empress' apparent command, the binds were removed from his wrists, and he was invited to sit in a chair two down from her own, where a platter of cakes and a goblet of some red liquid were waiting.

Spencer massaged his wrists, thankful to have at least a fraction of relief in this gods forsaken place. Slowly he made his way to the chair where he cautiously dared to sit at the empress' invitation. Eyeing the food and drink greedily he reached out to take a single cake from the tray. "Thank you, My Lady," he said, meeting the woman's gaze. "What about the others?"

The Empress had little regard for his question: "Eat, enjoy," said she, gesturing to the treats, "it is quite a bizarre thing."

Cautiously taking a bite of the cake Spencer took a moment to digest its foreign flavor. Once he'd had a second bite and chased it down with a careful swig from the cup of red liquid he turned again to the empress. "What is a bizarre thing, My Lady?"

She stifled a hidden noise, almost like laughter, but killed in the cradle. "Eating. I have never seen another person eat. Your foreign ways are peculiar to me."

From the dungeons below came a noise that could be best described as the sound of a person starving to death.

The Empress paid no attention to the barely-audible scream.

Spencer's face paled at the sound. Glancing at his cake he felt almost guilty for having food while the others endured another night without anything to eat. Taking another bite of his cake he relaxed a bit in his chair. "You have never seen another person eat?"

Only the Empress' eyes were visible through the mask: Brown and pale. "No. Eating is a private, sacred matter. Once we have fashioned our mask, it is never to leave us in the presence of another."

Spencer finished his cake. Grabbing another he took a healthy swig of his drink. "Do you make the masks yourselves?"

The Empress looked away for a moment, pondering the question, before turning back. "What is your country like? The Celestial Empire? Is it as grand as Mira Cal?"

Spencer clenched his jaw for a second. He wasn't a man that was accustomed to being ignored. Well, except by his father. "It would be unfair to compare, My Lady. I have seen precious little of Mira Cal, but," he shoved the rest of his second cake into his mouth, "I can tell you that the Celestial Empire is a land of paradoxes. Temris, the province I am from, is industrialized in the south but is lawless in the north. Our neighboring provinces speak a thousand languages with ten-thousand traditions. Nhasa, the Imperial capital, was recently occupied by a madman and usurper, and some have begun to speak of open rebellion against him." Fear shot through his heart. If things were going the way he thought they were then it was likely that a civil war was on the horizon. "I just hope things resolve themselves quickly."

The Empress adjusted her position in her chair, mesmerized by Spencer's description. "You said you were a merchant, did you not? What is your trade?"

"Not a merchant per se," Spencer scrunched his face for a moment, searching for the appropriate term. "More like a businessman. I work for my father. He owns the first and most prominent railroad in Temris. I function much like an ambassador, securing funds and allies for his business."

The Empress sighed, audibly annoyed. "What is a railroad?"

"A fascinating modern invention, My Lady," he said, leaning forward in his seat. His heart jumped at the empress' sigh, and for a split second he eyed the cakes. It was possible that this would be the last time he sees food. Biting his lip he thought carefully. "Two rails made of iron form a sort of road for a steam engine - the engine being like a wagon but larger and capable of moving without external aid. Through the use of steam it can propel itself forward or backward, carrying people and goods throughout the land."

The Empress stood once more, "my own ignorance is my..." she struggled to find the right word, but she eventually spoke a word in the Mira Cal language. "I am a prisoner here. Follow," and she began toward a tall, etched door. A servant rushed to open it.

Spencer clenched his jaw, his heart racing in his chest as he stood to follow the empress as a distance both he and the guards would be comfortable with.

She glided onto an exterior walkway of the pyramid-like palace, which overlooked the city beneath. A patchwork of canals linked the whole settlement, beautiful buildings colored in blue or erected in marble upon which the sun glistened. "Now you have seen Mira Cal," said the Empress, "tell me, you said your father was cruel. Are you not happy with your life in your own country? Why do you want to leave?"

Spencer retained some distance even as his gaze spilled out over the city. He had to admit that it was beautiful. Far more so that the smokestacks, fisheries, and warehouses that made up Temris' largest cities. "Your city exceeds itself in beauty, My Lady," he said, still captivated. Only after another moment did he register the rest of her statement. "I didn't leave because I wanted to, My Lady. My father sent me aboard the damned Aftalia to secure money from his friends abroad. That much is the honest truth. But you are right in assuming that I do want to leave my father, My Lady. My country," he tore away from the city, daring to meet the empress' pale brown eyes, "I don't know. If I had my boy with me, and if it meant he was safe from my father, then yes."

The Empress stopped in place, and listened very closely to Spencer's words. "I wonder how little the others in your group would think of you for saying such a thing. What is your name?"

"People come and go from the Celestial Empire all the time, My Lady. I have a cousin who lives in Great Tarst and no one minds," he said, almost regretting his words the moment they left his mouth. "My apologies, My Lady. You asked my name. I am Spencer MacDarcy."

The Empress again was silent, for a minute or two. In an instant, her movements became looser, more comfortable. "MacDarcy, your face is the first man's I have ever seen." She looked back toward the door, "If I let you and your people leave, would you pledge to return with your son to this place? I would make you a lord, and you could bring to us your machines that have made your family rich."

A relieving gasp rushed through Spencer's lips as he ran a hand through his hair. Home, he thought, picturing his son tucked safely in his arms. The empress' offer took only a moment to process. "Yes," he said, nodding his head, "if all of us can leave together I vow to return with my son and a barge or two of the most modern technology money can buy."

The Empress' eyes glazed over as she imagined such a ship. "You honor me," said she. "I will make you a greater man than your father ever was." Turning away, she continued in a less joyous voice; "The people respect me, but to release outsiders could make them hate me as much as they hated my father." She pondered this for a moment, "your shipmates will have to prove to me in a public ceremony that they may offer me as much as you. Only then will my people trust my word when I say 'let them go.'"

Spencer was offered a chance to deliver food and water to his compatriots, before being ushered to a guest room in the palace, filled with strange furnishings and decorations alien to his eyes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the Empress had all the prisoners lined up in their same place in the throne room and unblinded. This time, there were ministers and men of high stature all around, watching with suspicion.

Excepted in their lot was Spencer, who stood a few paces from the throne. "MacDarcy," said the once more statuesque Empress in a quiet voice, beckoning him, "tell them what I told you, that they must offer their tributes as you have to earn their escape."

Spencer nodded once, his eyes sheepishly drifting to his comrades. Clearing his throat he clasped his hands behind his back. "Her Most Serene Majesty has permitted us the chance to leave her empire if," he held up a single finger, "we can offer tributes to her worthy enough to earn it."

The Empress remained still, and awaited their offers.

Jenn's voice quivered. She thought of her children back home. Have they accepted that their parents are gone, do they know their mother is possibly halfway across the world? Tears rolled down her eyes as she thought about holding them in her arms again, walking through the lush fields and rolling hills of the Harrison estate. To be away from the nightmarish, undiscovered and mythical empire of Mira Cal. For the whole ordeal to be over.

"My husband owns a shipping company, we can bring you the finest seamanship and quality. You can leave sails far behind you. Steam engines and .... new navigational and communication abilities." Jenn hoped what she said was true. She had no idea about the vessels her husband and his company planned to make.

William and Olivia, now beside one other after embracing each other, glanced between them. While their father was certainly powerful within both Hoyd politics and military alike, how would they convince him to supply such tribute? He was unmistakably arrogant in his ways. Simply explaining the situation was not enough. Eventually, William spoke. "We would be willing to supply her empire with a great monetary investment, as well as only the finest in Hoyd fashion. A tribute from the both of us."

Shisijiu pondered as he listened to his fellow captives, he would have to play this carefully, if he was truthful he had nothing to offer this Empress. But if he was to make it back home, he would have to pretend, and if he was to keep his head on his return he would have to come up with something that would benefit the Association; "I ... have contacts with businesses across a wealthy province of the Empire, if I return I can arrange for these businesses to trade their goods across the sea to your ... fine lands. "

Stephen had a thousand thoughts go across his mind as he tried to muster up something of value. He was but a military man, and his wage was definitely not enough. The Admiral surely wouldn't mind... "Reichskrieg has the finest weapons in the world, im sure I could arrange a few shipments... one good rifle makes one man count for five, and machine guns moreso... It would be a great boon to your armies, im sure." Well, almost sure he tacked on as he finished his pitch.

The Empress' dismissed their offers with the wave of her hand. "Your proposals do not interest me. They would bring too much attention to Mira Cal." She cast her eyes toward the Kushmirian, and raised her finger in her direction. "You, I need to speak with you in private." She waved her hand again, and the guards escorted William, Olivia, Shisiju, Stephen, and the Erhani woman to another room. Spencer was also briefly dismissed.

"Woman," said the Empress, "your skills could be of use to me. Pledge your service to me and become my Chief Engineer, and show my nation's men how to build your engines, and your ships. Do this, and I will let the others leave. And as soon as I am fully satisfied with your work, I will let you sail a ship of your own design back to the Celestial Empire."

Jenn stood silent for a few seconds. Shock washed over her body. She wished for her husband to be here, he'd know what to do. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and turned to find no one standing there, yet the hand was familiar. "Uhm.." She took a deep breath.

"Uhm, madame, my husband was the one who ran the company, I myself, am a mere schoolteacher, I... I do know about ships but what I can do is limited, I would need plans, engineers and machines. Things only available in my home country, if I go back I can organise the company to start building for you."

"The ships we build are no longer powered by sail, instead run on steam engines, some bigger than buildings. It won't be a one-woman job madame, we'd probably have to begin by teaching your existing engineers about steel, steam power and electricity out at sea."

Jenn's breath became panicked fearing she had said too much. She looked at the woman. She was unable to decipher her emotions thanks to the accursed mask.

The Empress was silent. "Even if you do not perform your role perfectly, it is something you must do, to return home. You know well enough the things you speak. And sometimes, it requires only a spark to ignite a great fire."

She signaled for a servant to come close, and he approached with a weighted bag. She reached her gloved hand inside, and soon scattered fifteen gold pieces on the floor before Jenn. "And when you have satisfied me, you will return to your country on a treasure barge, and surely you will be the second richest woman in our world."

She stiffened her posture even further, returning her hand to her lap, "otherwise, I will have no choice but to accept the pleas of my people, and bury the worries that are you and your friends. There will be no bargain."

Jenn once again thought off the rolling fields of the Harrison estate, the towering spires of Zimford Church, the paved roads and unmasked people. She thought of her children, she cared not for the money, she had plenty ready, and all she wanted was to hold her dear children in her arms again. She held back tears as she spoke, nearly choking on her words. "Very well, I will try my hardest. What do I need to do?"

The gold of the Empress' mask shined in Jenn's eyes. "You have my thanks," said the Empress, "and today we shall show you to your workshop, and your quarters. No expense to be spared." She then exclaimed something in her native tongue. The observers cheered the name of Giustina, and 'Jenn.' Jenn was led away by the guards, through a different door.

Not long after, the remaining survivors were summoned once more. "I am pleased to say," said the Empress, "that your friend, Jenn, has chosen to make the sincere sacrifice and serve me. I release you all of any obligations you may have offered, and will summon a ship within the hour that you may man." She raised her hand, and the guards released their irons.

The Empress' gaze fell on Spencer, and she stood, "until that point, I name you, MacDarcy, Provved of Sabbion, with full rights over its castle. I await your return." She dismissed the rest of the group with the wave of her hand: "Fair well."

Stephen let out a sigh of relief, rubbing his wrists. This was not how he had exactly imagined his trip home going, but he was glad it all worked out in the end. Well, except for that one lady, but that's a sacrifice im willing to make the Reichskriegan thought to himself as he briefly stretched.

Spencer's heart leapt inside his chest. For the first time since his father had informed him of this accursed venture he breathed deeply of hope. Looking to the door the Kushmirian woman had exited through, Spencer couldn't help but to feel guilty in a way. He was going home to his son while she would be deprived of her children. Perhaps, thought he, he could arrange for her to go back home, or tell someone of her kidnapping. Surely the Empire would do something to help.

Biting his lip, he then considered the new title bestowed upon him by the empress. While he had no idea what a "provved" was, he was simultaneously honored and horrified by the title and castle that were now his. Would he come back to this place? He ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps...

That day, the survivors boarded a vessel, and began back east. Perhaps because of the Empress' mercy, or perhaps because there was no longer a drunken Kolchite at the helm, they would return to the Celestial Empire, with a tale to tell.

When The Eyes Aren't Watching
January 8th, 1911
Port Friedrich

"Move, faster, faster, you bums!" Shouted the officer, his rank glistening in the day's light. He threw his hand out and barked at another of the sailors moving supplies onto ships in the port bearing the Kaiser's name. "Double time it! Command wants this operation over and done with within the day and its already noon!" He continued his words, urging his men to move faster as they loaded up the ships to depart port. The mighty flagship was with them, having been signed over, its guns pointed ahead. Infact, that was were the officer was stood, atop a box labeled 'SHELLS - FRAGILE', evidently not heeding its warning. Sailors and the marines moved onto the ships as the tans and blues mingled into a mass of moving men and supplies. He looked at his watch. He was supposed to have launched an hour ago, but the battleship took longer than anticipated to arrive. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before raising his voice once again. "We're taking what we have and leaving! Last call to board your ships!" He said as he stepped down and forced his way towards the bridge. The horn on SMS Saxon blared moments later as the anchor was heaved up, and the battle line left port once again on a mission of war.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luhai's Coastline

As farmers went about their days, and decripet forts looked out to the Gulf of Luhai, aging signal towers were set alight. Fires roared up as gas was poured on the fires, bright flashes of light on the fort closest to the new possession of the Reichskriegers sending its message of warning to those that could see it, each signal slowly being lit as the line of smoke rising from each ship approached the first line of defense. Rusted over cannons, the likes of which phased out elsewhere centuries prior, were rushed into position as deathly thin soldiers in worn green uniforms rammed down their ammunition and lit the fuzes. The aging cannons roared and sent smoke billowing into the air, splashing water atleast a mile short of the hulking forms of ships. There was a flash and then a thunderous roar as the Reichskriegers responded in kind, and their shots did not miss. The mossy stone works were sent scattering every which direction as the main batteries pummeled the fort. And respite was short lived, as the efficency of the crew made itself known as another salvo was sent the Luhaians way. They scattered from the fort, to fight them on land with their matchlock firearms or to melt into the countryside.

The ships slowly inched along the coast, fort to fort, rendering each one inoperable in a swift strike. It was like clockwork, for the Reichskriegan sailors. It turns out loading the guns is easier when they don't shoot back, in any effective manner anyways. As they left a path of destruction, they set anchor, having sufficently battered the garrisons. As the forces of Luhai mustered up out of range of the guns, the sorry display was augmented by local milita groups, using little more than sharp sticks and equipment to bolster their numbers. They formed into two companies, of some thousand men, the ones with rifles behind the peasant militas, using them as mobile cover. As they manuevered about, they heard the sound of rowboats from those devil ships off the coast, followed by visually seeing them, bringing the marines ashore slowly but surely. The militamen tightened their grip on the weapons as a brief breeze flowed through the ranks as Reichskriegan boots step foot on the sandy coast, bayonets catching the day's light as they made a firm advance. The flag of their homeland to their backs, on the ships they had come on, they marched to advance its grip ever deeper into the Celestial Empire. After some moments of silence, the men split up into squad groups as Luhaians began firing, musketry, rifles from Elodia, any such weapon they could get their hands on sending lead hurtling towards the marines.

Undeterred, they took what cover could be found and began returning fire, rifles cracking with precision and training, something which these glorified levies lacked. They lacked their machine guns, sure, but drilling and many rifles can get roughly the same effect as the Luhaians surged forward, the militamen anyway, taking a withering barrage. Many broke off before making contact, fire slacking on their own end due to the charging mass making aiming difficult for the Luhaians, and those who did make contact quickly realized their own inadequcies in the realm of melee combat, pitchforks and stakes jabbing at cohesive lines of bayonets that stabbed back. And stab back they did, as they drove the mass back for the first time, allowing Luhaian guns to resume their fire to be responded in kind by the marines, having suffered only a few wounded up to this point. The stained red uniforms disappearing from the line as the gaps were filled by reserves just in time for the second peasant wave to crash against their line.

This time, with some encourging from behind, they pressed against the marines longer. Forked steel jabbed at one man, before the assailant was cut down. This resumed for hardly a minute, before this wave too was sent back, the wounded and living melting away, deeming it suddenly not worth it to die against Reichskrieg steel. Now alone, the Luhaian remnants of their 'professional' army melted away as well, and the marines stamped ahead past the site of the fighting and towards the capital, where they'd raise up their flag.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a scene not too disimilar to that which was seen at the ports Reichskrieg had siezed, marines marched through the streets, flags of the colonial government and the homeland in hand. The citizens watched from their ramshackle homes, the slums around the actually nice buildings making up about 70% of the city itself. As they stormed right up to the office of government, where the Celestial and Luhaian flag flew, they cut them down with bayonets, tossing them aside with little regard or respect and raising their own in their place.

The Battle of Nhasa: "Tales of War and Defeat"
January 7 - 10, NL 16
The lands in and around Nhasa

The First Day

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch

I. Those Magi who had not been in the Spire at the time of the siege were the unluckiest. Three arbiters, noble and kind and strong, stood upon the balcony of the Imperial Commandery. The first was name Darnold, the second Aberac, and third Baldwin. They stood in place, with their backs to pillars. From below, one could not have seen their hands bind behind their backs.

They watched in silence as a voice cried, "now presenting, the new emperor, Ren Osarrus XXV!"

Trumpets blared, but the trumpeters were hardly proficient. Out onto the balcony walked Grand Admiral Gong, wearing a wild robe of red and white, hardly like the gold of a true Osarrus, and a circlet of golden color on his head that might have reminded one of the Valmerian monarchs.

"Today," began the Grand Admiral, "with the blessing of the Magi, we win in blood our great future! A future of peace and greatness! Today begins the Era of Victory!"

Gong adjusted his circlet, as the peasants below were in most part awed by the despot's show.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Democratic Republic of Temris, The March of Kolch, Swarzia-

II. Jesse gripped the leather reins of his magnificent black steed. His jaw set, he finally crested a small hill that overlooked the south-western countryside outside Nhasa's magnificent walls. If not for the tainted memories of the blood that had been shed here a year ago, Jesse would have said that the sight was breathtaking. Around him rode the other members of the Diet. Closest were those whose pledged armies comprised the rag-tag legion that marched out of sync behind them. Waving his arm, he urged the army forward around the base of the hill.

"This is where freedom will make its last stand against injustice," he said, though only loud enough for the nearest Diet members. "Here march the vanguard of our great Empire, of a people who will not be slaves again."

Morat cowered beside O'Rourke, his eyes cast at the towering walls of the capital city. "My lord, it is really not too late to end this... business." He swallowed, "so many lives will be lost, and for what? There is still time to negotiate."

"For what?" Jesse bit, turning his full attention to the lord. "For freedom against tyranny and injustice. Gong will not give us quarter. Many of us remember what he did when he killed the emperor. He attempted to kill us too. To negotiate now would be a death sentence."

Ewald von Rothgard laughed at the Kolchite's suggestion. He, like the rest of the Swarzian contingent, was on foot.
"And tell me, good sir," he said sarcastically, "Would our oh-so-great Emperor Ren Osarrus XXV be reasonable enough to negotiate with us?" The Swarzian scoffed "No."

Morat sighed, turning his horse around at Jesse's steel gaze. "Hrmph! You're all so stubborn! Well don't come crying back to Morat when you're all dead, and I'm dead too." His voice careened into a softer, defeated noise. "Oh, dead, dead, dead, dead..." He eyed the back of the column. Perhaps there he would be safe...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Imperial Province of The Union of the Three Rivers

III. Meanwhile, off the shores of Celaguun, a semi-modern armored cruiser by the name of the CNS Avenger, the first and only of its kind, the Avenger Class. While not particularly as powerful as those of other cruiser types, and in fact the armor was light enough in some areas the ship was more like a protected cruiser more than anything, still, he was the Empire's response to foreign barbarians attempting to utterly dominate Celestial waters. A message that said resistance was a guarantee rather than expected in some of the more fundamentalist parts of the empire.

On it's bridge, a Captain Lu Ten stood and watched. As his ship, escorting 2 junks filled with marines armed with ironically enough, foreign designed shotguns and rifles began beaching on shore, their troops quickly filing out and into formation to meet the flanks of the traitor Gong's western forces soon. He had the ship hold position incredibly close to the shore, not too much, but definitely dangerous if it were to even move a few dozen meters to the right.

As he saw the forward 152mm gun turn towards the shoreline, likely with the aft one alongside it, he thought back to the day the ship was christened, nearly a decade ago by the very emperor his ship is helping to avenge. He chuckles at the thought. Ironic the ship also had foreign aid in its creation, but it was to serve the empire, and so it would, regardless of origins. For it is the glory of loyalty and valor in battle that decides the legacy, not the creator.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Republic of Kalquen

IV. As their allies moved in the North, on the eastern border of Nhasa, the Hoyd and Kalquenan brigades sat, hunkered down on the top of the green hills overlooking the marvelous capital city, now slowly being turned to rubble by the self-proclaimed emperor.

Colonel Weng Jisui stood before his men, soldiers scruffy and grizzled, far different from their Hoyd counterpart, despite wearing the same uniforms. Across the allied regiment to his south, Jisui knew that his superior, Lieutenant Colonel Jan Hao, was leading the second group of Kalquenans.

Jisui smiled to himself, thinking of the coming battle. The Coalition forces would storm in, taking out Gong and liberating Nhasa from his grip. It was a simple plan, sure to succeed. Jisui cleared his throat, prepared to speak to his soldiers.

Just as he began to speak, a sound burst from the base of the hill, under the fog of early morning, a volley of sparking white-hot lead hail shot past the Colonel's position. Before he could do so much as to issue a command to retreat down from the hill's crest, the voices of a thousand soldiers sounded, uniformed men tearing up the hillside with murder in their glazed eyes.

Bullets continued to hurdle back into the Colonel's men, few of his soldiers even able to pick up their guns in time to return fire. As the enemy drew closer and closer, a round tore through the Colonel's side.

He could only think of one thing before falling onto the muddy earth.

"These are no men. These are demons.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch

V. On the eastern flank of the mighty outer wall of Nhasa, Laurent Mast led his knights toward the towering beast that was his beloved nation's capital. Behind him rode the Knights of Rox and Dormaj.

Yet, as they crossed over Dorsid Hill, where there was an old foreign chapel, a whistling sound emanated above. Then, the world went white for the governor of Kolch. Fire consumed four knights and their steeds in an instant, their whinnies like the worst nightmare's.

Deep inside the city, Grand Admiral Gong observed the sympthany of his howitzers, and bellowed a deep, terrible laugh.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Swarzia-

VI. Further north, the Swarzian column approached the walls of Nhasa without much issue. Ewald von Rothgard peered about, trying to spot Gong's men, to no avail.

As they entered into the shadow of the city walls, however, a row of soldiers revealed themselves from atop the parapets, rifles angled downward towards the Swarzians. They opened fire. Von Rothgard's standard-bearer, two rows behind him, flew backwards onto the ground, and one of the officers beside him twitched as a bullet pierced his chest, before slumping forwards.

The rest of the officers barked orders, as the Swarzians scattered off the road into the tall grass and shrubbery on both sides of the path.

To the rear, Grand Duke Wolfgang was ushered to cover by his guards as bullets flew overhead, and the Grand Duchy's banner dipped and vanished into the tall grass.

The attempts of the Swarzians to return fire proved to be worse for them than the Imperials. Their muskets thundered and spat out long tongues of smoke, yet the musket-balls simply lodged into the wall's battlements, while Gong's men focused their fire on the points where the musket-smoke had originated, striking many a soldier down as they hurriedly loaded another shot.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Imperial Prefecture of Kidai, The March of Kolch

VII. Colonel Hailang Shen led his company of men, a detachment from the 2nd Kidai Garrison Army, towards the walls of Nhasa, their sky blue uniforms providing a strange camouflage as they advanced at a steady trot through the haze of smoke. Reaching the cities walls, them men quickly threw grappling gear over the tops of the walls, and drawing knives, fixing bayonets or using the butts of their rifles, they scaled the walls and routed the defenders as men from allied provinces detachments secured their flanks.

Dropping down into the cluttered streets of Nhasa, Shen led his men onwards, towards the loudest noise they could hear, small skirmishes broke out between his men and the defenders as they advanced towards the thundering booms of Gong's artillery, however the company eventually reached the guns, and scattering their crews with a swift charge and began the process of spiking the guns, contempt in their hearts for Gong's duplicity as they saw the marks of foreign construction on the heavy artillery.

A young rebel, bloodied and battered, was still moving his shaking hand. The Grand Admiral Gong hovered his boot over the boy's head, and laughed. Such joy for him to snuff out the dim light of a wasted youth!

Pound! Pound!

And even more joyous, the music of his artillery guns, firing off, one group after the other.

Pound!

Gong jerked his vision in the direction from whence he came. Only one group had fired. Only once had he felt the tremors of the earth he now commanded. What had happened?

Bringing his guard to his side, he began back east, and soon passed into the square, where he saw the twisted wreckage of his Reichskrieger beauties. Shaking with fury, he grabbed his own pistol, and began firing on the Kidaians.

A bullet cracked past Shen's head, looking around to see where it came for, he locked found himself staring straight at the hated usurper, Gong, and his elite guard. Looking around, he saw his men were fatigued, far from friendly support and their enemies rapidly approaching, firing his pistol in return at Gong, satisfaction filling him as he saw the man take a shot, though sadly non-critical. As the battle was once again joined he raised his sword above him, rallying his men into the cover around him, they would die this day, but he was determined they would exact a bloody toll on the usurper.

The Senate Decides
January NL16, 1911

~
The whole ministerial body of Celaguun had been shaken by the recent developments in Luhai. The province was an important link in the Western trade routes of the Celestial Empire, and had been one of its earliest members. This had made it into a small, but well-respected province. However, its strategic position near the coast of Elodia had made it quite attractive for internal and external threats. Celaguun in particular had had its greedy eyes on it for a long while, so the invasion of a weakened Luhai was an obvious next play. Skeptics, however, ruled the Senate. Would they be persuaded by the alluring promises of the expansionists, or would they stand their ground?

A lady dressed in fine scarlet garments, a sign of significant wealth in Celagia, stumbled to the center of the hall, tripping over her overly-long dress at least four times, but making an elegant recovery every time. Talagia Centraalia, where the nation’s highest-ranking men and women gathered once every week, had been specifically designed to project the speaker’s voice all throughout the hall, reaching even the most distant of ears. This had been accomplished using a set of meticulously crafted domes and bows, a fine example of Celagian architecture.

When she reached what the Celagians called the “Pirium”; a platform, slightly raised, bearing a tall wooden stand; she nonchalantly organised her papers and laid them out atop the pedestal. She scanned through them for a few minutes, at last finding the one she sought.

She held the envelope high above her head, a faint grimace forming on her face; a rare sight for the lady; and exclaimed. “News has arrived from the Luhai front.”

Her most esteemed Qlililliagul raised her hand, a sign that the person at the Pirium was permitted to speak.

“Our local tradesmen have reported that Luhai has been liberated by the Morsainians. Admiral von Schiefer has been defeated.”

The Agul smiled. “Let us thank the Morsainians for their worthy sacrifice.”

Everybody in the Talagia stood up and took a deep bow. Then all 127 Ministers simultaneously raised their hands, waved, and slowly went to sit back down.

“That is not the only matter you would like to discuss, is it, Ministress Sosologu?”

The lady shook her head. “Your most esteemed Agul is indeed correct. I wish to discuss another, although not unrelated matter.” She ripped open the envelope, carefully removing the delicate paper inside. She folded it open, and started reading the contents.

~
“Dear Ministerial Body, Senate and our esteemed Qlililliagul,

“I and my crew of 200 sailors have experienced first-hand the most terrible battle in our time at sea. We were on our way to the province of Luhai to stock up on grain. However, while we were approaching the shores of Luhai, we saw something unusual: a sea of red light shone at the horizon, while sunrise was still hours away. The wind stank of saltpeter, and water was tainted with Celestial blood. When we got closer to investigate this terrible scene, we saw no Luhai. Instead we saw a sea of flames, and the Reichskrieg navy patrolling the shores. Me and my navigator decided it was best to leave the province behind, and set off for Elodia.

While we were making our return to Celagia, we entered the area of commotion just in time to see the ships of von Schiefer retreating with their tails between their legs. We then moved through the Strait of…

~
“From this message of the captain’s, I believe we can deduce that Luhai governance, if it even still exist, is greatly weakened; the perfect time for a full-scale invasion of the province.”

This statement of the Ministress’ caused a large uproar in the Talagia. Her most esteemed Qlililliagul had to raise her hand multiple times in an effort to keep the volume down. When this didn’t work, she stood up, and cleared her throat. All voices in the hall immediately died down.

The Agul took a deep breath. “Ministress Sosologu, what would bring you to suggest such a thing?”

The Ministress grumbled. “Hrmph… how conservative. We all know our great province needs to expand, and this is the perfect opportunity to do so. Think of the prestige, think of the trade.”

The Minister of the Army raised his hand. The Agul nodded, which told him he was allowed to speak. “It is undeniable that our trade would be positively impacted by this acquisition. However, how do we know the Morsainians would not like to keep the province as their own?”

“The Morsainians are an honourable race. They would never stoop so low as to engage the Admiral in a naval battle for meddling in Celestial affairs, then do the exact same themselves.”

“What about the other provinces? Would they not feel threatened, even betrayed, if we invaded one of our fellow counties?”

“I highly doubt it. The Celestial Empire is unstable as it is, and I don’t think any other province wants to start a new war while they’re still recovering from the last. And if that fails, most of their governments are quite corrupt. I’m sure they’ll forgive us if we pay them an acceptable sum. I’m sure it’ll be nothing compared to the riches we could potentially obtain.”

Her esteemed Qlililliagul rose. “We will put it to a vote. The majority will decide.”

The Pardliase, a group of retired acrobats and magicians employed by the Agul specifically for this purpose, started handing out the ballots. For a few minutes, the Talagia was filled with the awful scribbling of lead on paper. After every Senator had put down their pencil, they formed an orderly line to the Agul, who collected their ballots one-by-one, forming them into a tidy stack of paper. She then called for a 10-minute recess.

The aforementioned recess consisted of the Pardliase performing all sorts of wild and dangerous acts in the Tiratros, a sort of theatre located right next to the Talagia. The Pardliase also always did their best at impersonating members of the audience for comedic relief, although usually only her esteemed Qlililliagul laughed.

After the recess had concluded, everybody took their respective places in the Talagia. The shows in the Tiratros were supposed to keep their minds from overstressing about the situation, but it was clear that nobody had thought of anything else. The expansionists thought of conquest, riches, fame, while the skeptics could only think of war and destruction. After a few minutes, which felt like hours, of waiting, the Minister of the High Command entered the Talagia with a long scroll, which he handed to her esteemed Qlililliagul. She took one look at the scroll, sighed, looked away, and announced the results.

“…the Senate and the Ministerial body have decided… …with a decision to which I will hereby give my full consent… …on invading the province of Luhai.”

Giving Back (Part 4)

Plotting Wolf

November, 1895

Lengmen, Kalquen, Celestial Empire

The snow drifted slowly down outside the windows of the academy, each flake lazily falling to the earth and becoming a part of the greater landscape. Behind a window pane in the third floor, coated in frost, the eyes of a young man stared out. Like a shark glancing at its next meal, the green eyes flashed with a sort of hunger.

The young man was in a well lit dormitory, the stacked bunks around him all neatly cleaned, prim and proper as all things should be. The hungry eyes squinted out through the frost, watching the smallest slivers of sunlight breaking across the horizon, penetrating the light snowfall with radiant glory.

The silence in the organized dormitory was broken suddenly as another young man entered, wearing the same school uniform as his compatriot. The student meekly spoke up, fear hanging behind his words, quiet, yet present.

“Han, Professor Boken wants to speak with you. About your… assignment…”

Han turned, his hungry and cold eyes now glaring into the man who dared disturb his peace. His reply was cold as the frost outside, words cutting like knives.

“Next time, knock. I don't need your pointless drivel disturbing my peace without warning”

As his classmate bowed his head, Han quickly moved towards the door from which the messenger had entered. His well oiled shoes clipped against the polished tiles as he walked outwards, leaving his dimly lit observatory and entering the Labyrinthine halls of the wider academy.

Han passed the antique doors and well-constructed stone arches, through the carpeted halls and warm common rooms. After a good few minutes, he arrived at the arched mahogany doors of his Professor’s quarters. Without a moment of hesitation, the young man pushed both hands inwards, sliding the massive doors in their hinges, backwards into the large foyer of his Professor.

His teacher sat in a large leather armchair, dragons stitched into either side of the seat. It was clear that such a piece of furniture could pull several Kalquenan families out of starvation, yet it sat here, collecting dust and cigarette ashes. While Han pondered this thought, Professor Boken spoke, not even raising his eyes to look at his pupil.

“Mr. Tzue, do you know why you are here?” drawled Boken, his tone full of monotone disdain.

“I assume it was my paper, was it not?” retorted Han, each word loaded with a calloused wit.

Han could think of that paper, a research document about how the Emperor has changed Kalquen for the better, something many of his peers had filled with the same tales of employment and harvesting. Han, ever rebellious, decided to instead talk of every slight pulled against the greater populace, pressing every connection he could to extract painfully blatant details of the empire-born injustices plaguing his province. He knew his question was correct when Mr. Boken let out an exasperated sigh.

“Mr. Tzue, you are the son of a Lord. If you were not, I would have expelled you already and reported you for treason. This is unbecoming of a scholar. You know this much, as do I. Your paper is unfounded, defamatory, and severely hotheaded”

Han’s petty smile broke at the criticism, the tones of his teacher digging into him like ants burrowing through soil. The left side of the young scholar’s mouth twitched, something deep inside of him almost snapping.

“Watch your tone, old man. You have no idea how capable I am. I thought you were a man of science, not some lapdog. I provided more than enough to prove my point, you should know that. I find you pathetic” shot Han, his voice filled with petty anger, the words in the open air not sounding quite so collected as they had inside his head.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Tzue? This is no way to talk to a superior. Even in all your years, you still don’t understand you will be disciplined” returned Mr. Boken, standing from his armchair and glaring his eyes deep into Han’s veneer of clever intelligence.

Han watched the old man walk to a cabinet at the edge of the foyer, a cabinet incredibly familiar to him. As his teacher withdrew the cherry switch from its depths, the switch that fell upon his knuckles countless times. Han collected himself, slowing his breaths, calmly staring at Boken.

As the teacher paced back towards him, Han thought of his paper. How clever he had been, and how little the aging man in front of him knew. The familiar smile returned to the corner of his mouth, a sneer oozing with egotism and cunning wit.

“Your hand. Place it on the mantle” said Boken, directing Han to the fireplace resting neatly on the wall closest to him.

Han obeyed in an instant, tracing a path he knew all too well. Ever footfall echoing across seven years of insubordination. He placed his hand in the same spot as every other time, right above the caving of a sparrow, cut into the charred stone.

“You may hit now, sir” mused Han, his steely green eyes staring daggers at the old man.

“You truly are a wretch” replied Boken, bringing the switch down hard on Han’s hand, pain rippling through him.

“What a SHAME it was, that you published that paper” said Han, through gritted teeth.

The old man's gnarled hand fell down again, the cherry wood stinging against the already irritated scarred red skin.

“Who would publish such a thing… so far against Kalquen’s beliefs… against out government”

Boken slowed the strikes, a few cuts already forming in his pupil’s hand. His eyes filled with confusion.

“You’ve gone mad, I published no such thing!”

Han smiled at Boken’s reply. His sneer growing wider.

“Oh, well, I sent a copy of it to the head of staff. I informed my father as well, he should be pulling some strings as we speak. I hear you’ll be hanged”

Boken’s face whitened as the boy spoke. Confusion and anger crossing his face in equal parts. The sudden realization crossing his mind.

“You can't pass off your own damn paper as mine, no one in their right mind would believe that”

Han chuckled a foolishly self-indulgent laugh at his teacher. He knew how stupid his plan may seem, however, he knew above all else reason was not a strong suit of the Provincial Institutions.

“Our state is far from its right mind. Using your professional seal on a printed copy could lead no trace to me. For what reason would a student have to lie? A son of Kalquen’s Lord? Please, under what grounds would such a noble boy do such a thing. Besides, I have already blackmailed several of the head officials”

Han's lie built up fully, his self-confidence itself almost nonsensical. However, he saw it in the old man's eyes. The fear of a man, already past his own tenure, a man never before challenged with such a ridiculous statement.

“You bastard, you liar. This is impossible! You… I…” Boken stammered to find his words, suddenly rather unsure of his own reality.

“I think you should pack your things. They are coming tomorrow, sir. I would have forgiven it all, had you not resorted to your old ways” replied Han, holding up his bloody knuckles in his victim's face.

Han stepped forward, causing Boken to topple down onto his rear end. The gaunt face of the man filled Han with a sadistic joy, in all of this, his silver tongue had pushed his teacher to the brink of an edge unthought of mere moments ago.

Han turned to leave, still smirking slightly, drops of blood falling to the floor slowly, like sap from a tree.

“Good luck, Mr. Boken. It's been a pleasure”

Han left without a further word, he knew not what became of the poor man, he only knew that when the sun rose again the next day, piercing that same drifting blanket of snowflakes, his quarters lay empty. And thus, Han's ego grew, that day, his grandest manipulation had been pulled.

As years passed, his quick wit and silver tongue allowed Han to leave behind him a wake of loyal supporters, rising through the paths of scholarly knowledge to become a Professor in his own right. His passionate speeches, his fiery debates, all feeding back into his own selfish drive. His heart churned greater each day, full of pride and ego.

~~~

July 24th, 1910

Tanjin, Kalquen

The garden of the Provincial Governor's Palace was filled with the deep pinks, blues and yellows of Kalquenan wildflowers, the small patches of abstract colour blooming beautifully under the afternoon sun.

A pair of green eyes stared at the tamed nature, a pale face, topped by slicked back inky black hair. Han watched, the flowers swaying to and fro under the gusts of wind. The ancient walls surrounding the small courtyard in which the garden was situated made it almost look as if the sky was the ceiling to this room of beauty.

Han turned to look down at his feet, his ironed suit and oiled black shoes familiarly clinging to his frame as always. Underneath one of his feet, the slightest edge of a green object poked. Curious, Han brought his foot off to the side, looking at what lay beneath.

A blue wildflower met his eyes, petals crushed, yet still intact. It was a beautiful thing, bringing back memories of when Han and his father would view the parades in Zhouchen, great big paper dragons being flown in the sky, dancers tossing blue and yellow flower petals at every attendee. It was a different time now, Han knew. His face like stone, Han brought his food back down on the bulb, twisting his foot back and forth to ensure only pulp remained below the sole of his shoe. Han looked up, staring into the clear sky with the hints of a grin at the corners of his mouth.

He thought of his peers, how insignificant they all seemed then and how even more so it is now.

“I am here. I am on top of the world. Soon, officially so” thought Han, turning to face the small gate on the large stone wall opposite from him.

Han slowly began making his way over, his feet stamping across the wooden walkway erected overtop of the garden’s centre. Today would be his last test, one he knew he would not fail. He had come too far, gone too long without challenge. The smirk only hinted at on his face grew greater, the prospect of a marvelous celebration in his honour tantalizing his spirit.

As he reached the garden’s gate, he was met with a poster, his own face staring back at him. “Son, Statesman, Scholar. Vote Tzue”, plastered atop his own printed visage. Something churned in his heart, a hunger he had felt ever since he had been enrolled in the academy. A familiar feeling almost overwhelming his every sense.

Power. Han could smell it on the wind. He knew it would not be hard to attain, one way or another.

His scarred hands opened the gate, wood and metal swinging inwards on its hinges once more, now so much more different.

He would campaign, and he would succeed.

Get the f*ck off my lawn
Sometime around midnight

"We really doing this?" An Elodian soldier looked over at one of his fellow troopers, who nodded.
"Screw the bureaucracy, they're taking forever. We take initiative NOW." The two troopers looked over at their commanding officer, who in turn, was peering through a spyglass. Lord-Captain Gabriel Borda looked at the small Falkerberg port. Luhai was located right next to it. That was their next target. But they weren't quite ready to kick that hornet's nest yet.
"Guns up." Several 75mm cannons took careful aim at the largest military depots - whatever seemed like important targets, anyways. The Navy hadn't really been warned about this, but the Elodian Navy was out on patrol, and they knew well enough what to do once Falkenberg's regiments started to get shelled.

"Fuze time?" An artillery trooper grabbed a shrapnel shell and pressed it into the fuse setter.
"12 seconds." Another artillery trooper pondered over a map to set the correct fuse distance.
"You sure this is a good idea?"
"Oh shut it, not you too. We're doing this for Elodia. No barbarian scum is going to steal our territory. Once the anti-Gong expedition men return, we'll have even more men to fight with. We'll be fine."
"Shell." A third trooper opened his arms, as the second trooper tossed him the shell, which he proceeded to insert into the breech chamber. A fourth trooper shut the chamber.

The nighttime port looked peaceful, as the gentle moonlight reflected off of the dark black water. The hills below were green, with some dew dripping off of it. For a moment, the soldiers rested, knowing they would have to begin firing rapidly in a few moments, but for now, they had a moment of respite under the cool night air as stars above twinkled in the sky. As what they assumed to be the Elodian Navy began to come into view, they steeled their resolve and aimed. An officer looked at his pocketwatch. The moment was ticking closer.

"You know this could very well spill over into Luhai. And from there, into the city." Captain Hugo Duval said to Borda. "It's not too late to turn around now."
"It isn't indeed." Borda said, as he looked out towards the serene port. "But what reason do I have to stop here?" The clock was ticking closer to the moment of the operation. Hopefully, no one had caught notice of their little impromptu patrol. "Luhai's next anyways. If it spills over, let it." Borda drew his sword out and pointed it at the city, as did Duval and several other artillery commanders.

"Ready, aim, fire!"

Luhai Bay Beatdown
January 14, 1911
Luhai Bay

Von Schiefer looked out from the bridge of his beloved flagship, the Saxon. The situation in the home country had detoriated, and he knew his mission. Hold the new holdings in Luhai from all invaders, so that they may hold what they have rightfully stolen with its valuable rail lines. He put a pair of binoculars to his eyes and squinted, the visages of the Morsainian navy appearing over the horizon, making steam for his fleet. He said a quick, silent prayer as he moved the binoculars down. "Send word to the Falkenberg garrison to make full haste for Luhai, and order the other ships to move forward and to prepare to form a battle line." He said to nobody in particular, retreating to his quarters as the man typed away on his device to relay the messages. The bell on the ship tolled as its engine picked up speed, sallying forth to meet the enemy. As the good admiral drafted his plans in his office, reading over in flowing reports of the enemy's strength, the door opened to one of his lower officers.

He hit a salute. "Admiral."

"Liutenant." He said, nodding in acknowledgement.

"The enemy orders us to leave Luhai immediately. Morsainian."

Von Schiefer scoffed. "Morsainians? They wouldn't know a ship from a baguette. Tell the fleet to maintain its course and formation, and tell them to go to hell."

"Right away, sir." He clacked his heels before leaving, Schiefer following him to the bridge as he assumes his position to command. "Range?"

"About a mile, sir."

"Not great, not terrible, assume the battle line and tell all ships to prepare to engage." The man nodded and tapped away his message as the ships formed up in their line, meeting the enemy. All except the SMS Prumen, they sailed forward, guns afixing on the Royale. The guns roared and shells impacted the Royale, scraping off harmlessly or totally missing as the stern of the ship was swung around to bear more guns upon the Royale, unfortunately presenting a wider target. Morsainian shells peppered her side, embers sparking up from high explosive doused by the sea. Schiefer shook his head as the Prumen was battered by enemy fire. "Damn them. Order the whole line to move up, we must not break up the formation." He spoke, his ship shifting to his orders as it went into the awaiting steel jaws of the enemy fleet. The guns of all ships began firing now, from the largest to the smallest as they got into a knife fight, Schiefer stumbling as shells bracketed his beloved flag ship from the enemy big guns as his cruisers made a valiant fight.

Their valiancy would not translate to success, however, as the first, the Prumen, would recieve a devastating barrage from the Imperiale. Below its decks, a fire raged as ammunition caught fire from the enemy bombardment. Men scattered every which way as the ship was torn asunder in two halves, its funnels bending unnaturally as its bow reared into the air, sailing onwards without its stern for a moment before slowly being swallowed by the unforgiving ocean beneath. Schiefer watched as he lost one of ships to the abyss, a single bead of sweat rolling down his face. His own ship's guns would ease their rotation and thunder their barrage once more, one of the Morsainian taking on a list before it tilted below the surface. A small victory, considering his detoriating fleet. He tapped his foot as he considered his next move, before the man on the communications spoke once again. "Reinforcements are here, sir."

He turned his gaze to the wide ocean, where one of his cruisers and a gunboat made full steam for his positions, bracketing the enemy from the rear. A slight smile appearing on the Admiral's face. "We have them on the ropes, now! Press the attack!" He barked as the ships closed in the distance, before something caught the corner of his eye. There was then a mighty crash as a shell came right through his bridge and detonated, an explosion billowing out the forward glass and flame consuming the admiral's quarters as he was sent sprawling across the ground. His ears rung and he put a hand to his face, bringing down a bloodied hand. He stumbled to his feet, heaving labored breaths as he adjusted his cap. Even in such a scenario, an officer must look there best. Ignoring the blood running down his dirtied face, he barked an order he did not even hear himself as his eyes adjusted once again, allowing him to see his fleet through the broken glass. He couldn't seem to open one of his eyes, but that was no matter. What did matter was his fleet, ships on fire engaging in a futile last stand as one of his reinforcements made to limp away. He swore. "R-retreat-" He got out as he left the bridge, the Saxon limping away much like its Admiral as it set course for safety.

Swarzia-

Swarzia's Last Day
Event Question 4 by Temris
Mittelswarzia, 1641

It was a blustery winter morning in the Realm of Mittelswarzia; and Grandmaster of the Knights of Arastraheim Johannes von Hess was supervising the knights' morning sparring. Outside the walls of Graustein Castle, the capital city of Hirsche went about its business as usual.

Though today, the Knights of Arastraheim were watched with a keener eye; it was the anniversary of the Mittelswarzians' expulsion from Valmere and the date of their arrival in this strange, foreign land.

There was nothing to suggest that the Realm of Mittelswarzia would be of any interest to invaders; the humble knights' order-turned-state sat nestled between the hills of the Swarzians to their south and the Zwinilinge to the north. And the Mittelswarzians were a proud people, with their white-and-black banners and regal suits of armour, their famed Arastramic Cavalry, the residents of the Realm were otherwise known as the Tall Men by their immediate neighbours.

But today, Von Hess felt uneasy. Perhaps it was the stale bread he had eaten that morning.
"Herr Grossmeister," his second-in-command, a younger Knight by the name of Roland, said, bowing beside him. "A report from Herr Morgenthau."

"Morgenthau?" Von Hess said, taking the scroll Roland offered. The war-hardened Grandmaster frowned as he unrolled the parchment. "Morgenthau's on duty in Felburg, is he not?"

"Um...' Roland stepped away. Von Hess' eyebrows rose as he skimmed through the contents of the message.

"The Celestial Empire?" Von Hess said, in confusion. "What is this? And why are they heading here?"

"Morgenthau says it seems to be an empire to our north," Roland said. "Perhaps they want to trade with us?"

"I can't be sure... I must inform Prince Heinrich," Von Hess made to enter the castle. "If what Morgenthau says is true, these.. Celestials will be arriving any day now-"

Just then, the gates of the castle burst open and a courier on horseback charged through. The knights leapt out of the way as the courier leapt off his pony, and ran, bowing in front of Von Hess.

"Grandmaster," he panted, "There's a foreign delegation that's heading here!"

"What?" Von Hess snapped, turning around to Roland. "How many? Where are they?"

"About five hundred," the courier said. "A hundred... nobles, or diplomats, I'd say, and four hundred soldiers. They're heading down the main avenue and were at Sommermarkt last I saw!"

"Four hundred soldiers?" Came Roland's voice, with an air of disbelief. "What do we do, Herr Grossmeister?"

"Take the guards, and all the Knights here," Von Hess commanded, donning his helmet. "We must intercept them before they reach the castle."

Within minutes, the courtyard was abuzz with activity. White-robed Arastramic Knights with great plumes of white-and-sable horsehair leapt onto their mounts, bearing tall banners with the white banners of Mittelswarzia, and lances one and a half times long as a man was tall with fluttering pennants. Led by Von Hess, they charged out of Graustein Castle's gates and through the crowded streets of Hirsche.

It was not long until they encountered the so-called Celestials; in the middle of the street marched a delegation; five wide and a hundred deep. The soldiers were dressed head-to-toe in grey scale-mail studded with jade, with great plumes of red, gold and green horsehair flapping from their helmets; the greatest among them rode atop armour-clad chargers encased in suits of golden, bronze and silver plate mail. All of them wielded spears and great curved swords, and some were equipped with greatbows as large as a man was tall. A hundred banners rippled in the wind behind them, bearing the sigils of animals and suns and moons and stars, and the names of what were presumably the Empire's subject peoples.

The two most prominent names featured were "Elodia", written on a navy-blue standard carried by a hulking man in a suit of midnight black plate armour, bearing a colossal axe on his back, and "Teicher", a golden banner held aloft by a thin man with two long and slender swords at his waist, whose parties made up the head of the procession.

Their leader was dressed in a robe of teal threaded with patterns of silver thorns and roses, and held a gilded scroll with four more hanging from his waist. The man held out a palm as the Knights approached them.
When Von Hesse and the rest of the Swarzians were in earshot, he began speaking in a thundering, baritone voice, each word carrying immense authority.

"People of Middle-Swarzia," he proclaimed, to a fanfare of trumpets, "I am Zhang Yushe, emissary of His Exalted Majesty Ren Osarrus, Fourteenth of His Name. I come bearing a declaration from the Celestial Empire and its capital of Nhasa."

The trumpets blared again. All one hundred standard-bearers planted their banners in the ground in unison.

Yushe cleared his throat, unfurling another segment of his scroll.
"By decree of Ren Osarrus," he shouted to the spectators, "The land of Middle-Swarzia is to be integrated into the glorious Empire of Ten Thousand Names as another province. Should the leader of this realm not submit to our demands within one month exactly, we will integrate Middle-Swarzia by force."

At that, the Knights drew their swords, and the Imperials did the same.
"Halt," Von Hess barked. "You will not be annexing us, and you will tell your Emperor so."

Yushe stared down his Swarzian counterpart.
"A pity," the Celestial said slowly, before tossing a second scroll at the Grandmaster. "Perhaps these terms will convince you otherwise." He looked at the Knights blocking his way and the civilians on each side.

"I would advise all those present," he announced, "To surrender peacefully. You will share in the riches of the Celestial Empire if you do. If you do not- you shall perish. I, and the rest of my entourage, will wait outside the city walls along with two thousand soldiers of the Celestial Empire for a response from the ruler of Middle-Swarzia."

An uneasy silence fell over the marketplace, as some of the Imperials, gathered under a standard labelled "Celaguun", readied their long matchlock muskets.

"You have one month," Yushe concluded, before turning and riding back the way he came. His entourage followed.

-

Later that Night

"Capitulate? Never!" hollered Caius von Swarzkrahe, the brother of Prince Heinrich, as the nobles of Swarzia and the Knights of Arastraheim filled the hall with shouted objections and jeers. "Our people have endured enough hardship over the past few centuries!" He continued, waving the treaty the Celestial delegation had given them some hours prior. "And I say we take a stand!"

"Bold words coming from a Swarzkrahe," Lord Sigismund von Rothgard sneered from across the hall. "If only your ancestors had the same courage to defy the Church, we would still be in Valmere!"

"Swine!" roared another noble, one of von Swarzkrahe's cousins. "You of all people-"

The hall erupted once again, this time in venomous insults and names.

"Order! Order!" Grandmaster Von Hess shouted, slamming an armoured fist on the table. The room fell quiet.

"I repeat once more, gentlemen," Caius said loudly. "We will not give our nation over to these northern savages!"

"Silence," Prince Heinrich said, firmer. "Caius- enough."

"If I may," Von Hess interjected. "I invite my second-in-command, Herr Roland, to present relevant information from the borderlands which may convince the lot of you to see things in a different light."

"Motion sustained," said Heinrich. "Speak."

Roland stepped into the centre of the room to sneers and mutters from Von Rothgard's supporters.
"We received reports from the knights after the arrival of the Imperial delegation," he said, with a shaking hand. "Our men stationed at the borders suggest that we may lack the strength to fend off an assault by the Celestial Empire," he said. "Our forces at the northern border say that there are three armies, each thirty thousand strong, rallying just beyond the bank of the Zwinilinge. And our forces in the west say that there is another army twenty thousand strong massing in the settlements along our border."

"Lies from cowards," Lord Rothgard heckled. "Arastraheim wills it, we will smash the Celestial dogs at our border and send them running back whence they came!"

Prince Heinrich scratched at his temple, sighing. "How many men can we rally? And how many of the Knights of Arastraheim are available?"

"Five thousand men-at-arms, my lord," Count Barin offered.
"Two thousand Knights," Von Hess added.

Heinrich frowned. "I thought you had two and a half thousand in reserve."

"Yes, my lord," Von Hess said, "But five hundred are conducting raids in Temris and will not return in time."

"Seven thousand," Von Barin concluded, "Seventeen thousand if we use our militias and peasant levies."

"We are outnumbered," Prince Heinrich said to no one in particular, "Over ten to one at worst and five to one at best."

Von Hess stiffened.
"My lord," he said, "I am sure that we can repel the Imperial assault. If we are able to do that we may be able to negotiate a favourable settlement with the Celestial Empire-"

"-Spare us the warmongering," Von Barin interrupted. "What about the human cost? What about the dama-"

"-And if we can negotiate with the Celestial Empire that will buy us time to expand the Realm, and strengthen the Knights of Arastraheim," said Von Hess, talking over Count Barin. "My lord-"

"Enough," Prince Heinrich said, seeing Von Hess' men begin to nod in agreement with what their Grandmaster was saying. "I'm afraid I cannot let the people of Mittelswarzia suffer. I will submit to the Empire's terms," he sighed, rolling up the scroll which bore the terms of the treaty. "And attempt to secure as beneficial of an outcome as I can for this land."

Von Hess looked like he was going to object. Seeing all the other nobles in the room seemingly in agreement with Prince Heinrich's words, he shook his head.
"As you wish, my lord," he said, forcing a smile. Without further talk, Von Hess gathered his things and left the room, with a few whispers to his men.

-

The Next Day

Zhang Yushe found himself in Hirsche, the capital of the so-called Realm of Mittelswarzia, once again. The day was still young and the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon to the west, a light sprinkling of dew on the dirt road. His procession followed, sleep-deprived and lethargic. With him were a pair of Imperial scribes, and three members of the Magi, wearing intricate masks and robes that billowed as they moved.

At the same time, Johannes von Hess was awake with a terrible purpose. The rest of Hirsche had not stirred, but the men of the City Watch were standing vigil in the streets. And thus the men of the Knights of Arastraheim in Hirsche, two hundred-fifty in all, had all gathered in the courtyard of their complex, armed to the teeth. Some carried matchlock muskets, others crossbows. Most had swords and bucklers with them, and some held spears.

"Sir," Roland rushed up to von Hess' side. "We can't get our horses from the stables. The Imperials are already heading into the city. There's no time."

Von Hess swore and leapt up from the grindstone, where he was sharpening his spear. "Already?" He hissed. "Damn them all!" He motioned to the Knights present, who gathered in close.

"Men," he began, somewhat-uncertain. "I understand that what we are about to do constitutes treason. I believe you know that too."

Some of his men muttered uneasily.
"If you have doubts about this plan, please step forward," he said. Two knights did so, and all the heads present turned to stare at them.

"Thank you for your service," Von Hesse said. "But unfortunately, we cannot let you go, nor can we allow you to come with us. Therefore..."

The other knights produced their weapons, and all of a sudden a half dozen crossbow bolts each pierced the bodies of the two knights, who fell to the floor.

"Your service is no longer needed," Von Hesse concluded. He exhaled again.

"What I have done is unforgivable," the Grandmaster declared to the remainder of his men. "But this is for the greater good. We cannot allow our heritage, our way of life... to be overtaken by foreigners. It happened once already, when we were forced out of our homes in Valmere..." Von Hess' voice choked up with suppressed emotion, as his men's expressions darkened. "But I ask of you to join me in preventing that calamity from happening a second time. For the Swarzian people, if not for your Prince, and for your families, if not the nation. Today, the Knights of Arastraheim will either ensure Swarzia's survival, or end their three-hundred year long history in a most ignoble manner."

Von Hess raised his spear aloft.
"For Arastraheim," he said quietly.

"For Arastraheim," his knights echoed. They then silently offered their final prayers, before proceeding into the street outside.

The first few guards of the City Watch didn't have the time to process what was happening before a handful of arrows from the knights struck them down. The Knights walked briskly through the streets, towards Graustein Castle where the Prince was waiting.

But at the same time, a junior member of the Knights burst into the audience room where Prince Heinrich was awaiting the delegation from the Celestial Empire. The young man was still in his sleepwear, one bracer dangling loosely off his arm.

"What is the meaning of this?" Count von Barin demanded as the nobles turned. "You. Why are you in such a state?"

"Von Hess-" gasped the Knight, winded from the run up to the castle. "Von Hess plans on seizing the castle by force and killing the Imperial delegates. He's on his way here now!"

The nobles muttered uneasily. Prince Heinrich was whispering to von Barin and a guard.

"If that is so," Heinrich said, "Barin, send your men to the Sanctum to check if Von Hess is still there."
Von Barin nodded, and waved to some of his guards at the end of the room, who hurried off.

"Von Rothgard," Heinrich said, to Lord Sigismund von Rothgard, the other of the two princes. "Gather the Royal Guard immediately, and make sure the castle is secure, just in case."

"And summon the City Watch," Heinrich said. "Ring the bells to sound the alarm."

Within the hour, a third of the men Prince Heinrich had summoned were present in the courtyard of Graustein Castle, three hundred out of the nine hundred left. Among them were a hundred members of the Royal Guard, still putting on their armour, and two hundred members of the City Watch.

Concurrently, the last watchman on patrol near the centre of Hirsche slumped to the ground as Von Hess extracted his spear from the man's chest. Graustein Castle was just ahead.

"Move," he hissed, and his men rushed up the hill, now abandoning all sense of stealth as they charged at and through the gates of the castle, into the courtyard where they were face-to-face with the Royal Guard and City Watch.

"Stop right there," a voice said. Prince Heinrich emerged from the castle's innards, shielded by another dozen guards. "Johannes von Hess," the prince boomed, "What are you doing?"

The Knights nocked arrows in their bows as Von Hess stepped forward.
"Prince Heinrich," he said slowly, calmly and deliberately, meeting the Prince's gaze, "I cannot allow you to hand over our nation to the Celestial Empire."

"What you are doing is treason," Heinrich replied. "Johannes, you are a loyal and capable fighter, and I am pleased to have had you in my employ for all these years. Please- reconsider what you are doing."

Von Hess grimaced.

"I cannot," he said. The Royal Guard, the City Watch and the Knights all tightened their grips on their weapons.

Then someone fired their musket. It was unknown who shot first, but within seconds the courtyard was a violent storm of fighting, as Knights turned on Royal Guardsmen and arrows and musket-balls flew through the air from all angles.

Prince Heinrich's guards closed rank around him and ushered him deeper into the castle, as screams and the sound of clashing steel emanated from the courtyard.

-

Zhang Yushe entered Graustein Castle some minutes later to find a scene of utter carnage in the courtyard. Bodies, all Swarzian, were sprawled out on the ground and slumped on the steps leading into the castle. The sounds of fighting came from inside.

"What is going on?" He demanded, and one of the Magi shrugged. "Companies one and two, inside. Now."

At Yushe's comand, a group of soldiers moved inside the castle, and he himself followed them. The carpeted floors were damp with blood and the marks of blades were visible on the wooden walls. They stumbled across what seemed to be one of the castle's servants, who was lying facedown with a spear lodged in his back.

There was also another body some feet away, slumped against the wall unmoving. When Yushe moved in to investigate, he realized that the man was one of the Knights of Arastraheim.

-

The mad melee was at an end. Von Hess staggered forward, an arrow protruding from his shoulder, to face Prince Heinrich. He was still shielded by two of his guards, but apart from that all the members of the City Watch and Royal Guard at the castle had fallen.

The same could be said for the Knights. Of the two hundred and fifty that had set off from the Sanctum earlier, only twenty were still standing.

Heinrich's gaze drifted around the great hall of Graustein Castle in which they now stood. Lord Rudolfus von Barin was lying facedown at the doorway, skewered by a dozen arrows, and a mix of knights and guards were scattered around the room, all dead.

"Drop your weapons," Von Hess ordered, but Heinrich's guards did not budge. The prince met the grandmaster's gaze.

Von Hess furrowed his brows, looking around at the carnage. "My lord," he said, in a final attempt to reason with the Prince, "You cannot do this. You cannot negotiate with the Imperials."

"What would be the alternative?" Prince Heinrich demanded. "Bear witness to the carnage you've caused today repeated across all Swarzia a thousandfold?"

The Grandmaster sighed. "If you will not budge, then I am truly sorry." Hess walked forward, his spear at the ready.

But before he could, the doors on the other end of the Great Hall burst open, and the Knights turned in confusion. Lord Rothgard, and the rest of the Royal Guard spilled through the entrance, followed by a handful of the Knights who had not accompanied Von Hess on his coup attempt. Arrows flew through the air, and before the traitor Knights could react, half of them were falling to the floor, pierced by arrows, as the rest of them shouted their surprise.

Von Hess turned to swat away a guardsman who charged him with a sword. Beside him, Roland was floored by Lord Rothgard, who caved his cuirass in with a swing of his warhammer; his officers, the fiercest and truest, were overcome all around him and collapsed. Von Hess, too, was caught by three arrows in the chest and stumbled to his knees.

Within seconds, the fight had subsided once again. All but one of the renegade Knights lay dead, the last among them being Von Hess.

As the guards stepped back, the doors to the hall burst open once more as the Imperial delegation forced their way inside, staring in shock at the scene.

"You-" Von Hess gasped, and coughed out a spray of blood. "Why?"

"Can't you see, you fool?" Lord Rothgard shrieked in fury. "You would have allowed this much bloodshed for what? To defy the Celestial Empire and have this country destroyed?"

"I did what I thought was best for Swarzia," Von Hess said through gritted teeth, his hands feeling for the arrows sticking out of his chest. "We suffered enough hardship already... I will not permit it to happen again. No matter what happens," the traitor Grandmaster staggered to his feet, lurching towards Prince Heinrich, "I- will- not-"

His words were silenced by the roar of a gun, and Von Hesse stumbled, before toppling face-first onto the floor with a crash. Prince Heinrich looked up, to see an Imperial lower a smoking musket.

The hall was silent. Yushe and Prince Heinrich exchanged a long look, but neither of them spoke. Lord Rothgard prodded at Von Hess, but the man did not stir. Inexplicably, he seemed to have shrunk, the weight of fifty years having come to crush him in death.

They did not know it that day. And Prince Heinrich's descendants did not know it, but a part of Swarzia was buried with Johannes von Hess that day in 1641.

Marshal Olekov's Great Escape (pt.2)

(1910)

Tangwen wrote:Marshal Olekov's Great Escape (pt.1):
(1910)

The Elysian palace was quiet; most of its staff had gone with Lord Tseun to Nhasa to stand against the treacherous Grand Admiral Gong. All that was left, in that seat of power, was a skeleton crew of servants and palace guards. But deep within its winding halls, there was also a prisoner of great import: Marshal Olekov. The devil tongued rider, the exiled Dayani, was under house arrest by order of Lord Tseun himself. His mercenaries had not been levied against Gong and so they wandered aimlessly around the dominion, occasionally raiding D'yavod smuggler dens and isolated villages when they needed to. But, for the most part, they were left paralysed without their marshal.

He sat on his bed staring at the corner of the room, hearing voices from within the powder pouch on the cabinet beside him. He did not blink. Suddenly, he snapped his head around to face it -- blue eyes, wide and oddly luminescent in that dark room. He snatched up the pouch and cupped both hands around it as one might hold a delicate butterfly or moth. He brought it up to his face. He turned his head and listened close; the pouch murmured and hummed, muffled by his ever gloved fingers. Then the voices raised themselves and startled the marshal. He jerked his head away.

After a moment -- after he'd calmed his breathing and stayed his fluttering heart -- Olekov brought his cupped hands up again; he brought them right up before his face and licked his lips. He could hear it; he could hear it -- voices within the powder. He licked his lips and squinted, and then parted his hands with an audible: "aha!"

Hunchbacked and wild eyed -- the marshal hadn't eaten for two days -- he stared blankly at the empty pouch where not even a trace of D'yavod was to be found. There was no powder, there were no voices; and Marshal Olekov sat shivering in the dark and the silence, surrounded by silken pillows, rosewood cabinets, and that 15pdr gun he'd left aimed at the door, and wondered whether he was losing his mind.

Then it was night. Time was proving slippery for the marshal; sometimes an hour felt like ten, and sometimes it felt like a mere micro-second. He was seated as he had been during the day and was only roused from that position by the echo of footsteps passing down the hall. He got up and crept over to the door. He bent around the gun barrel and unlocked it as quietly as he could. Then, he peered out.

Walking towards him, was an attendant to Lord Tseun: Shen, the Master of The Wardrobe.

"Ahh!" said Olekov, withdrawing from the door. "Shen!"

The footsteps grew louder and then receded as Shen went on by. Suddenly, Olekov burst out of his room -- the door clattered behind him and Shen spun around, startled. Olekov jumped into the corridor, landing hard upon the wooden floor.

"There you are!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, half intelligible.

"Marshal Olekov?" Shen was incredulous at the Dayani's sudden appearance. He placed his arms across his body, within their opposite sleeves, and stood there, uncannily still, as if cornered by some wild beast.

"Where do they keep the powder, comrade?" Olekov licked his lips.

"The gunpowder? In the munition's store, just outside the-"

"Not the gunpowder, you blaggard: the powder."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Aren't you under house arrest?"

"Yes you do. Yes you do. You and I, we know, friend."

"Aren't you supposed to be under house arrest, Marshal?" Shen asked again, this time more authoritatively.

"Oh, I see... So, do all those times we spent smoking in the courtyard mean nothing to you? Do they truly not? Ack! My heart is broken, Shen. My heart is broken!"

"I do not know what you are talking about, fool. It's not your heart that's broken, but surely your mind!"

"You've killed me! You're killing me, man! Oh, my poor heart! Can’t you hear it fluttering? Fit to burst." Olekov staggered forward and went to embrace this Master of The Wardrobe, as if they were brothers-in-arms and had marched and bled together. But, just as the marshal reached with his arms spread out wide, Shen drew a stiletto dagger out of his sleeve and plunged it right into Olekov's left arm, severing the bicep.

Olekov froze. He looked at Shen who was breathing heavily: adrenaline had seized him. Then, he looked at his arm, suddenly limp. He went back and forth between them twice, and then he cursed and shrieked, and let go of his 'friend' and then Shen bolted down the corridor, calling for guards and anyone who might finally exorcise the demon out of the marshal.

Kolch wrote:

The First Day

The Battle of Nhasa: "Tales of Heroism and Turnabout"
January 7 - 10, NL 16
The lands in and around Nhasa

The Second Day

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Democratic Republic of Temris, The March of Kolch

I. Jesse gripped his own pistol, its clean barrel glistening in the sun, as he looked on toward the barraged capital. Around him stood members of the Diet and generals whose advice he heeded with enthusiasm and tact. From where he stood upon the hill he'd advanced up hours before it appeared as though the battle was swinging in their favor. Though it was still too early to tell.

If they were going to win, the Coalition would need a miracle.

Leaning forward toward the walls of the city, Jesse O'Rourke, Chief Lord of the Imperial Diet, was interrupted from his plotting not by a general, but by an unassuming soldier. "My Lord," he said, trudging up the hill. Jesse squinted at the man. From the state of his uniform he must have come from the front lines, though to which battalion he belonged was anyone's guess. "My Lord," the soldier said again. "We have done the impossible. We've destroyed Gong's artillery!"

Jesse breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Exchanging polite smiles with the celebrating lords and generals nearby, Jesse knew better than the cheer so early. "Very good, man," Jesse said, thanking the gods. "Go back and tell the others to press on. This madness ends today."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Principality of Elodia, The Dominion of Tangwen

II. Jean Dubois, commander of the Elodian regiment surveyed the battlefield and shook his head. Clearly his little plot hadn't done much. A sheepish looking Charce stood behind him, scratching his head.

"I tried." Charce protested.

"No no, you...you didn't do anything wrong. That's not what you did wrong. Technically." Alice probably wasn't in too much danger in the city if she just stayed put. Besides, the Elodian regiments would come pick her up. "You disobeyed my orders. That's my problem." He glared at the soldier. "Get back in formation trooper. We're pushing ourselves against the wall soon." He looked back at the rear command post, where Alexandre probably was. Well, so much for support. The Elodian First Regiment was detached from the rest of the Elodian battle group, and some 2500 men stood separated from the other 7500. "Get me my sword." Jean said as he loaded a revolver.

"Yes sir." Charce fetched an impressive looking saber, and handed it to the officer. Charce picked up his own Chauchat machine gun and ran out onto the field.

Gong's cannons had missed the Elodian regiments. Blast those Falkenbergers, Charce thought as he surveyed the blast marks that had nearly hit the tent.

"Forwards, forwards!" And thus, the Elodian First Regiment began their steady advance against a lightly defended section of the wall. This was it.

The news had reached Lord Tseun on the southern flank: Gong’s artillery had been destroyed. The sword saints, who were with him, cheered and hollered at the announcement; and then the clan levies did so too, in quick succession, following their betters’ example.

Then, Tseun turned to the city again and, through the gun-smoke blanketing the fields, he spotted the vague movements of troops, banners held high: the Elodian 1st regiment was advancing. He turned to a man seated upon a warhorse, like him.

“Jargal, take your riders, and your levies, and move along the left side of the Elodian assault. Take the wall,” Lord Tseun commanded.

“Yes, my lord.” Jargal bowed, drew his two swords, and turned to ride with his men.

They were the riders of Clan Uulat and they rode up towards the southern wall, along the left flank of their allies. Sword Saint Jargal’s cavalry surged into the breach in the enemy’s lines and they went charging through the streets of the outer city, swinging their curved blades and yelping, and galloping, and charging – ever charging – like a band of banshees clad in fur and steel armour.

Many fell against the rifles of the enemy, but still they went on, harassing the counter assaults against the Elodian advance and routing many of them in their operational infancy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Principality of Elodia

III. "To the wall, to the wall!" Thousands of Elodian troops braved the hail of bullets and quickly ran up to the gate of the wall that stood in their way.

Great, Charce thought. Should be any moment now. Charce smiled as he saw the gates open up for the Elodian charge. He wasn't sure if this was Alice's doing or if it was just the angry citizens - honestly, now that he thought of it, the latter was more likely given how much everyone hated Gong. Men were falling, wounded or dead onto the ground as they approached the wall. Charce fired his rifle at the enemy to attempt to somewhat suppress them. The Elodian rifles fired up towards the walls where Gong's forces began to fall, one by one.

"We're reaching the cannons up ahead! Press forward!" Charce kneeled down and closed the eyes of a fallen Elodian soldier who had been shot right in the arch gate below the wall. Elodian soldiers poured through the open gate, virtually unopposed.

"We're in, we're in!" As Gong's forces rapidly attempted to reorganize, now on equal footing, the Elodian soldiers fired another volley of gunfire at them.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Failed Order of Teicher

IV. The Teicherian Knights despite being the ones who sent out the notice for the coalition had been noticeably absent from the battle. Only one, small skirmish in which some Knights lost there lives, but nothing major.

Lord Commander Thomas Becker stood in a command tent, trying to keep up with the flow of information from all of the various factions. Lieutenant Klein by his side, “Sir, I know you planned to wait for now and see how the battle goes but we cannot sit around forever.”

Becker nodded, clearly looking stressed, “Fine, do you have any bright ideas then?”

Klein looked at a map in front of them, “Perhaps it would be in out best interest to merge the western front, meet with the forces of Hoydland to our south then push west to choke them.”

Becker looked at the map for a bit, anxiety clearly written on his face. This was the first time in years the Knights we’re actually being used for combat, and Becker was nervous, nervous of screwing up, “Fine, yes, yes go ahead.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sergeant Jacob Brigs sat around a small campfire with his troops, waiting for orders. Back at Ahlen he was famous for his kind acts of generosity.

However it was clear to him no concept of 'karma' existed, despite the good he'd done his daughter, Alice Brigs had been kidnapped and he could not even look for her as he was called to war. His face was pale and parched from a lack of eating, however his eyes blared with life, he knew he had to survive to find his daughter.

Finally someone rode up on horse, "We've received orders from the Lord Commander, we are to advance west."

Brigs stood up and nodded to the messenger as him and his comrade's put out the fire and prepared to move, second sergeant Liam walked over to him, "You sure you're alright sir? Your face..."

Brigs nodded, "Resolute? Yes it does, once this is over and we put Gong into his grave I must return home and deal with the scum who took my daughter, and if I find out they put so much as a finger on her they'd wish they were only put in the grave."

Liam sighed but fell behind the Sergeant as he and the squad began moving westward with the rest of the Knights.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch

V. With the Knights of Teicher on one side and the Elodian forces on the other, Grand Admiral Gong was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Captain Jonathan Oro of the city garrison would receive a message from Gong to that affect, reading "the situation at present is not progressing as I have believed."

On the night of the second day, Gong would take into the upper floor of a bakery named Ler Breadic in the center of the city. There, he and his closest generals would point out a small island in Celaguun, called Iris Island. There, Gong said, pointing firmly at the small dot on the map, was where he would make his new stand.

With no time to waste, Gong and his guard took to their horses, and began north through the crumbling city.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch, The Imperial Province of The Union of the Three Rivers

VI. Captain Dawid Rosenshaw stood on the bridge of the Grand Admiral's own ship, the Undefeated. This ship had been famous in the Home Fleet for its prowess, paint job, and the wild parties Gong would throw here for his officers. And Rosenshaw had, for the first time since the shots been fired in Nhasa, received orders. The Coalition's navy was pitiful, safe for one ship, that was reeking havoc on their forces.

The Undefeated strayed forward until Rosenshaw could see the steel of the Avenger in his scope. They fired off a flare, lighting the waters red with the night sky. Then, their cannons swiveled around, to fire their full volley off in the enemy ship's direction.

On the Avenger, things were different. Most crew weren't in battle stations, the anchor was down, and both guns facing towards the coast where every now and then, once a flare was popped by a marine, would fire. However, all of that would change the moment a red flare went over them. The spotter, merely a 19 year old boy who had signed up a few months prior, turned and noticed the faint outline of another ship in the distance. And its guns, highlighted slightly by the flare, aiming towards the Avenger.

He rushed to alert the bridge, screaming into a paper megaphone and ringing a warning bell set up on the spotter platform in case of this event. At first, only the crew on the deck and bridge began moving into action, the turn of the turrets and the preparations to cut the anchor just beginning when...

The Undefeated's volley crashed into the waves, and most frightfully, into the anchor point, trapping half of the rope within the hull, and with the other locked outside by means of the twisted steel.

Event Question 1
To Cleanse a Nation
January 21st, NL16
Qaimong City, Qaimong

A crowd of people appeared on the main street heading to the governor’s office, their curiosity captured by a new novelty appearing before them: that of a carriage with no horses, the popping sound of the steam engine attracting more to watch it. Driving it was Erton Strutt, the Secretary of the Economy, as he headed towards the office to discuss matters with Governor Duan. While he had various official dealings with him, it was almost certainly to discuss the increasingly unstable supply lines of their smuggling operation, which the army had been cracking down on, and secretly, for as well as he did to make himself anonymous to those under him, Strutt feared that eventually it would all be traced back to him.

As he pulled in front of the building, Strutt noticed that something was off: an army presence outside the building accompanying the existing security guards. While he had heard from the paper about the happenings in the capitol and the occupation of Luhai, he sensed that there was more to them than just this. Nonetheless, he brushed aside his worries as his own paranoia and continued to the office. As he walked up the flight of stairs, he couldn’t help but notice the army presence in the building as well, and not so just centered around a specific room, but across the entire building. Strutt realized that something was wrong, that this was more than paranoia. He began to leave, but as he began to, a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Strutt?”

Strutt turned around to see General Lewis standing behind him, his last eye staring daggers into him. “Why, I had left something important in my carriage, I must go out and retrieve it,” Strutt sputtered.

“Why,” Lewis stressed, “I’m afraid I must insist that you come along with me. The governor insists that he needs to see you now.

Strutt panicked. As he stepped back, preparing to make a break for the door, Lewis pulled out his revolver and held it to his forehead. “Shh… Slow down there. We don’t wanna make a scene now,” Lewis growled as he pulled the hammer of the revolver back. “Now then, you’re coming with me.” Strutt, at gunpoint, quietly agreed, and headed towards the governor’s office with Lewis and a small group of guards.

Strutt held his breath as he saw the doors to the governor’s office. He knew that Governor Duan was behind this, that he knew that he had betrayed him. As the doors opened, a silently furious Duan sat at his desk, glaring at Strutt. Lewis put away his revolver and forced Strutt into the seat before the desk.

“Strutt, my old friend,” Duan began, “You know, today I thought we would have a chance to be chummy again, to be friends once more. Now, thanks to your own stupidity, I see that won’t be the case.” Strutt glared back as he continued. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. May you rot in a cell until the end times.” He turned to General Lewis. “Take him away!”

As the guards lifted Strutt out of his chair, Strutt shouted back. “You motherf***er! You talk of betrayal, you betrayed me Duan, you snake! Don't act like any of this happened without your hand! You’re just as guilty as I am!”

“...I haven’t a clue what you mean,” Duan replied as the guards dragged Strutt out of the door, leaving Duan with General Lewis and some of his men. Duan sighed and put his head down. “General. Please, leave me be for a while. I need some time for myself. Lewis walked beside the desk with his men. “No can do.” He once again pulled out his revolver, and pointed it to the back of Duan’s head. “Duan, you’re under arrest as well.”

Duan looked over at Lewis. “...Are you threatening me, General?”

“I am doing what I must, to preserve the honor and purity of our empire,” Lewis replied. “Now get up.”

Duan, thinking fast, began to reach under his desk for his handgun. Lewis then grabbed him and threw him and his chair back, making Duan fall over, but not before grabbing the gun. As he raised it towards Lewis, Lewis fired first, striking Duan in the right shoulder, causing him to drop his gun and double over in pain. As Lewis stepped over, he could hear screaming outside as the people there heard the gunshot. He crouched down towards Duan. “You really are scum, a traitor to the empire.” He picked up Duan’s handgun. “You could have sent me to arrest him and have that be the end of it, yet here you were wanting to see him here in your office, to break his spirit and to gloat in its destruction. You disgust me.”

Duan, clutching his wound, turned to face him. “Y-you… You traitor… What makes you think you are any different than Gong? The coalition… Will have your head… They will free me…”

“Not happening,” replied Lewis, “Your ambassador never made it to Cigallo. I had him arrested, and in his place sent one of my finest. It was he and my men who helped to bring down Gong, not you and your sellswords. They will recognize me, and they will recognize my allegiance to the Empire and to the Emperor, not to a ‘snake’ like yourself, you have stolen from the Empire and its people.” Lewis looked to his men. “Get him to a hospital. Treat him and have him tried. Make an example out of him.”

The guards carried the wounded Duan out of the building. As Lewis stepped out himself, an army courier ran up to him. “General Lewis, sir! I have heard positively from the barracks and the government buildings; they have surrendered.”

“Very well,” Lewis began.

“...However, the situation at the docks has been tenuous. A shootoff began down there, and now Jean Marc-Jones, the dockmaster, has vanished. Upon interrogation with his workers we know that he had been working closely with Strutt.”

“Then find him. He will be brought to justice as all the others have. This province shall be cleaned, and from it we shall create a model province for our Empire, void of thieves and traitors. A new dawn begins here today, and the Empire will be forever grateful.”

Swarzia-

The Little Black Book
Minau, Veldmat Province- Swarzia
March, NL 15

"What is this?" Herr Koller demanded. The brewery-owner stood outside his bar, staring at a poster that had been stuck on the wall. Beside him, a pair of constables scratched their chins in confusion.

The poster itself was the sort of thing local politicians would put up to promote their own campaigns, with bold red text printed on its top and bottom.

OPPOSE THE ARISTOCRACY
BRING ABOUT THE WORKER'S PARADISE

Those words were accompanied by an emblem: A crossed hammer and sickle, in gold against the black of the poster.

"You think..." one of the constables said, squinting at the poster.
"Yes," the other replied slowly. "It's one of those Collectivist posters."

"And what in Sor's name is a Collectivist?" Herr Koller snapped. "I want them, whoever they are, to stop smearing their rubbish on my wall! It's bad for my business!"

The elder of the two constables sighed, and looked at the irate bar owner.
"Sir," he said, "Unless there has been damage to your property, we cannot take this as a case of vandalism. The only thing we could do is take the poster down."

Across the street, a youth of seventeen years watched the scene and smiled. He dashed back into the coffee-house where the rest of his compatriots were.
"Good news," he breathed excitedly. "I was listening to the constables. They confirmed it. We won't get in any trouble with the law, putting up our posters."

"Good," another said. "So we can keep growing our movement."
Of the coffee house's hundred or so occupants, perhaps three-quarters of them were sitting close to the group, all young Collectivists, their allegiance denoted by the red armbands and ties they wore.
"There is the issue of the Young Swarzians, though," the youth continued. "Every street fight we get into with them, it only tarnishes our reputation. Our movement needs to grow, and it would be a shame if the city council disbanded us at this stage."

"Don't be ridiculous," a voice said. It belonged to a bespectacled older man, seated at the other end of the table. Paulus von Barin glanced up from the black book he was writing in. "Street brawls happen every day, whether it be between Swarzians and Temrisians, or drunks." He chuckled to himself, continuing to scribble notes into his book. "That's just how the north is. Past the Zwinilinge, no rules of civility apply to anyone."

"I would caution against engaging with the Young Swarzians," said Paris Kessler, a rough-looking man of thirty. He tapped his cane on the ground as he spoke. "For appearances. I have thirty applicants waiting to join the Collectivist Society and I'd not put any of them off with such public displays of disorder."

"Once we finish gaining influence in Minau," Paulus said, "We can start actually growing our other branches in Altenburg, Hirsche and Grafeld."

"Collectivism is inevitable." Kessler set down his newspaper. "Swarzia is rich, but its people remain poor. We have one of the largest provincial economies in the empire, but where does all that wealth go?"

"Into the Duke's coffers," said someone else.

"Exactly."

Paulus closed the book he was writing in.
"I've finished the last section," he announced. "Our friend Gutenberg will edit it. It should be printed by the end of this month."

"What?" said one of the junior members of the Collectivists. "That book?"

"The very same. A supplement to the Manifesto," Kessler nodded. "Once it is published-"

The doors to the coffee house burst open as a small mob rushed in. The Collectivists shot up with a shout, upon seeing what the newcomers were wearing.

"If it isn't the Collectivists," one of them sneered. In contrast to the Collectivists' red armbands, all of the intruders wore white ribbons on their hats and white armbands with the sigil of an eagle on them. "What now? Gathering together to sulk over not getting enough pay? Another one of your lads got arrested?"

The rest of the Young Swarzians leered at their rivals, the memory of a recent brawl still fresh in their minds.
"A Collectivist dog moves me," one of them hissed.

Von Barin stood quietly, tucking the book into the folds of his coat. Kessler stood, staring down their leader, before putting his thumb to his teeth, and biting.
At that gesture, the coffee house erupted into shouts. The other patrons, unassociated with either of the two groups, stood and filed out the back door, knowing what was about to happen.

The leader of the Young Swarzians stomped forward, and stopped mere inches away from Kessler, staring at him with a look of hatred.
"Do that again," he snarled. "Do that again, and I'll put you in the grave myself."

Kessler raised an eyebrow, before raising his cane and smashing the man across the face with it, who fell sideways onto the floor.

Paulus sighed, as both groups surged forward, fists bared, and the previous quiet of the coffee house was replaced with the sound of crashes and curses and falling furniture.

-

Kreisen Weapon Works, Minau

The young man stumbled into the office, his hands twitching in his pockets. One gripped a revolver, the other a flintlock pistol. His supervisor didn't even look up from his book. The factory continued on behind him as usual, the man's workers carefully assembling rows of muskets and bullets.

Finally, the supervisor looked up.
"Neumann," he said. "Why aren't you at your station? I shall have to give you a citation."

"I'm here to discuss that proposal I lodged last month," Neumann said. "About a potential reduction of working for the workers." His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. One would be forgiven in thinking he had escaped an asylum instead of a weapons plant.

The supervisor frowned.
"You know that that is unacceptable," the man said, closing his book and reaching for the folder where employee citations were recorded. "Article number five, clause thirteen: Employees of the Works are... not... to... discuss... or... inquire... about... shift... assignments... in... any... way," he began scribbling down a citation for the insubordinate Neumann, stretching each word out as he placed down punctuation marks.

"Sir," Neumann's hands began quivering harder in his coat. "With all due respect, we workers-"

"-Are to take the hours that are granted to you and shall not complain," the supervisor interrupted. "Get back to work. I don't want to hear from you again."

Neumann, upon hearing this, turned, as if to leave the office, but closed the door with his foot, and turned back to the supervisor.

"What are you doing?" the supervisor said, slowly, reaching for the citation book again. "Get back to work-"

Neumann whipped out his flintlock, and shot at the supervisor; the bullet missed and blasted a picture frame off the wall behind him. Seeing this, he snarled in frustration, before pulling out his revolver and firing six times into the supervisor's chest.

Just as the gun fired its last round, Neumann's colleagues barged into the room; seeing the scene before them, hurriedly restrained their coworker and dragged him out of the room.

-

Swarzia-

The Young Soldier (I)
NL 15, December 2

The result of Grand Duke Wolfgang's communications with the Imperial Diet had been achieved. On the south bank of the Zwinilinge River was a war camp easily the size of a small town, and certainly one that needed a small town's worth of supplies. In it, ten thousand soldiers of the Royal Swarzian Army went about undertaking the final preparations for their march to Nhasa. All the generals and officers had assembled days ago, and now the only heads missing were that of the Grand Duke's and his entourage.

Konrad Hesse, having turned seventeen a week ago, was one of the ten thousand. The "ten thousand heroes", the nation had hailed them as they marched out from their barracks and camps to force the tyrant Gong from his throne.

"Konrad?" His bunkmate Leon asked. Leon was a youth of eighteen years, something that was all too common in their regiment. Pickings were slim, as most men out of school opted to go into prestigious trades, and those who joined the army usually didn't have much money to spare at home.

"Yes?" Konrad turned to face him. "What is it?"

Leon's eyes were fixated on his musket, the bayonet of which he was scrubbing with a rag.
"I was wondering," he said, "Since your last name is Hess. Are you related to Johannes von Hess?"

"Who?" Konrad said blankly, then remembered. He scoffed. "The last grandmaster of the Knights? Don't be ridiculous. The Knights had vows of chastity. And besides, my surname is H-E-S-S-E, not 'Von H-E-S-S'."

"Ah," Leon said, abashed. "Sorry. Just curious. Anyway," he said, brightly, "Did you hear? Gong has tens of thousands of soldiers. What a glorious fight it'll be!"

"I know," Konrad replied, his mood improving. "We'll arrive at Nhasa in the morning and we'll be eating like kings in the city's finest restaurants by noon! We'll be back before the Seastar Festival!"

"The pay is decent for such a short trip," Leon said. "I never would've guessed they'd offer me a thousand sols a month. Beats a job anywhere in Grafeld."

The two's eager babbling was interrupted by the sound of a bugle call.
"To attention!" Someone else shouted, as the soldiers scrambled out of their tents and stood by the entrance. Three horses cantered past, bearing Prince Helmut von Rothgard, Prince Constantin von Barin, and a third man neither Konrad or Leon recognized. The third seemed to be a high-ranking official of the Circle of Sor, as he wore a set of billowing orange, red and gold robes that seemed to imitate the flickering of a fire as they waved, and his hair, which was tied in a neat bun, was held by a detailed golden hairpin fashioned in the form of a falling meteor.

They saluted as the two princes and the clergyman rode past, and returned to standing about idly when they had rode past.

"Gods," Leon complained. "It's getting worse, the heat. I'm glad we didn't set off one month later. Spring comes fast nowadays."

"What do you think?" Konrad said again. "Never been this far north before? It's worse in Rath Dotean, by the Temrisian border. There, there are scorpions hiding in little holes in the sand waiting to stick their tails through your foot if you aren't careful. They also have spiders the size of dinner plates, too..."

-

The stagecoach crested the hill, flanked by a dozen riders clad in fluttering white and black cloaks. Grand Duke Wolfgang von Swarzkrahe was deep in thought inside as they began their final approach to the war camp. General Meyer sat opposite from him.

"The logistics of our trip are monumental," Meyer said. "Your lordship, I'd estimate that the amount of salted meat, hardtack, water, firewood and grain we have on hand will be enough to get us to Nhasa, but not back here."

Wolfgang scratched his chin. "You've said that before," he remarked. "This is if we give the men three meals a day, no?"

"Yes," Meyer nodded. "Three meals a day, with standard portion sizes."

"We might be able to pick up supplies in Nhasa after the city is secured," Wolfgang replied. "I'd like you to cut the portion sizes by a quarter and save on supplies for our return trip. We'll also have to send out foraging parties to collect extra food."

"If I may suggest," Meyer raised his finger and traced the road leading north out of Swarzia, "There are plenty of animals we can catch and cook along the way to minimize the usage of our supplies. The desert wolf, for example. Birds. All the rodents that live around these parts."

"Of course," Wolfgang said. "Use as little supplies as possible. We'll also have to slow our march so the wagons can keep up. We've brought additional pack animals in case some of them die, no? They'll need to travel in the middle of the column."

Von Swarzkrahe sighed as the carriage slowed to a halt, and he stepped out of the door, along with General Meyer, to be greeted by the nobles of Swarzia.

"Gentlemen," he said as they saluted him. "I trust we are prepared to set off?"

"Indeed," Prince Helmut nodded. "Just give the order."

Von Swarzkrahe gestured to General Meyer, who nodded. Within minutes, the entire camp was abuzz with activity, and the first elements of the army began their crossing of the Zwinilinge, marching in ordered groups across the pontoon bridge that had been set up.

-

Konrad found that despite the hardship of the march, he was enjoying himself. As the hours flew by, his battalion exchanged insulting chants with the ones in front of and behind them. It was all part of the fun, he reasoned.
"The Meringian Landwehr," they chanted once, "Have more money than balls!" Their insult was answered by the Meringian Landwehr behind them, who made crude jokes about their mothers in retaliation.

Other times they would sing some of the marching songs they had been forced to learn, or drinking songs that the majority of them knew.
"Ich bin verheirat," they sang, "Bin lange schon verheirat.. und habe alles... was man so braucht."

Konrad, while not familiar with the song, recognized it as a rather offensive drinking song about a maiden from Vaeol, and smiled when he listened along to the lyrics. In good time, he had mastered the obscene lyrics and was singing it along with the rest of his company, stamping his boots in time with the beat. Not to be outdone, the regiment in front of them launched into a loud rendition of the national anthem, which in turn was countered by the Meringian Landwehr performing a profanity-laden parody of a nursery rhyme. Finally, their officers responded to the singing by shouting for them to shut up.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when they stopped, and were ordered to set up camp in a sheltered basin, protected from the wind by a ring of sand dunes. With military precision, the Swarzians unfolded their tents and had all of them propped up by the time night had fallen, and the camp was lit by a hundred cooking fires.

Konrad and Leon arrived somewhat late, having fumbled with their tent for longer than expected, and were greeted by the sight of a large snake, slowly turning over the fire on a spit.

"What in the-" Leon gasped, as his comrades laughed at his reaction. "A snake?"

"Perfectly edible," his commanding officer said. "Our orders are to save on supplies so we don't run out." Another soldier was busy scraping slices of meat off the snake and distributing them among the company.

Konrad, not being too bothered with what he had, munched on a slice of the meat he was given. Oddly, it tasted like chicken, and he finished it with the rest of his hardtack.

The night slipped away and gave way to morning. The following days were much like the first; marching, sleeping, marching, sleeping. Finally, on the sixth of January, his company arrived at the outskirts of Nhasa, the rear guard having lagged behind the vanguard by a few hours.

The siege was in full progress when they managed to summit a hill for a survey of the battlefield. Artillery ravaged the Coalition forces attempting to storm Nhasa and smoke rose from a thousand different places on the field of battle. A fire had started in the city, and elsewhere Gong's forces clashed with the Coalition's.

Konrad glanced sideways at Leon, who was breathing heavily, but not from exhaustion. The boy was paler than ever, and trembled slightly at the cacophony of the battlefield, the screams of the dying and the symphony of explosions.

But before he could turn to comfort him, their officer blew a whistle.
"Onwards!" The officer barked, and they were forced to slowly march into the carnage.
After a half-hour, they approached the walls of Nhasa and took shelter behind a bulwark of earth that had been made from the fields around the city as Gong's forces fired on them from above.

Perhaps another two hours passed before Gong's forces inexplicably ran out of ammunition, and the Swarzians sensed it. Two groups that had been pinned down at the feet of the city walls gave a signal, and suddenly whistles and bugles were blowing all around them.

"Charge!" Their officer howled, as their fellow soldiers seized their muskets, and ran in a mad dash towards the gate which had been blasted open by a cannon. Konrad and Leon felt compelled to to the same, and they sprinted in after them.

Gong's soldiers fled before them, retreating to regroup some streets away, and for a moment Konrad felt a surge of elation tear through his veins, as their enemies scattered.

"God save Swarzia!" Someone shouted, even as they continued their charge, and the cry was taken up by everyone else.
"God save Swarzia! God save Swarzia!"

The mood, however, was dampened considerably when a large group of Gong's soldiers, clad in blue uniforms, took up positions at the intersection in front of them, rifles levelled. Konrad's jubilation turned to dread as the rifles thundered.

One of the rankers beside Konrad fell backwards, pierced by a bullet. Those at the very front of the charge tripped and fell and twisted, riddled with holes, and those behind them found themselves stumbling over their bodies, only to meet the same end mere seconds later.

Leon stopped where he was, levelled his musket, and returned a shot, as did several others. Konrad looked back at this, and didn't realize where he was headed until it was too late. His foot slipped on the outstretched arm of a corpse, and he went flying face forward onto the cobblestones below.

Abruptly, his world went black.

Post by Germanys 4th reich suppressed by a moderator.

Response to Question 2 by Kalquen

Fairytales and fantasy stories are immensely popular all throughout Celaguun, especially in Celagia City. The province is locally called “the Land of Falling Stars” or “the Country of Stardust”, which references the prevalence of stars in most prominent Celagian tales. This fondness of the celestial has its roots closely intertwined with the origin of the territory itself, or at least the most popular story describing it.

The Kings of the North were a peaceful race. They lived mostly off trade with the neighbouring kingdoms. The ocean did not interest them in the slightest; quite the opposite actually. Many folks spoke of the “Demons of the Sea”, a race of water-dwellers from across the ocean, silently watching the shores. A few farmers reported to have spoken to the savages, not understanding their barbaric tongue. For a long time, the population of the kingdom enjoyed economic prosperity. Herbs like basil and rosemary, which grew all throughout the vast forests of the kingdom, were worth their weight in gold on the continental market. This abundance of wealth, however, would prove to be their downfall. An aggressive tribe, known to the Northeners as simply the “beasts”, were becoming increasingly interested in controlling the vast treasury of the state. This resulted in a full-on war between the two kingdoms, which the Northeners were not at all prepared for. They had hardly any defences in place; they were banking on their neighbours’ reliance on the flow of herbs for protection. When aid didn’t come, they had little choice but to gather what they could, buy as many ships as the continental market could part with, and set off for new land.

The farmers were not very good sailors. They did their best to navigate West, but the wind blew them South. The fleet would’ve likely sunk had it not been for the aid of one of the “Demons of the Sea”, who had decided to settle in the former kingdom. He taught the escapees how to tie knots, how to raise the sails, how to steer, and even a secret technique he learned from the savages that made the ships go even faster. After multiple days at sea, land was in sight. Everybody rejoiced. This excitement was quickly replaced with that of a more negative nature, when their greetings were met with the raising of black flags. Some sort of skirmish was going on in these lands, and it seemed that they were not welcome here. Demotivated and tired of the sea, they trekked on through the waves.

A few days later, they reached solid land again. Here they were able to stock back up on clean water and fresh fruits, but there was no wildlife in sight. They stayed on the island for a few days, but felt like this wouldn’t be sustainable. The island was simply too small to hold the significant population under the Kings’ command. They therefore decided to hit the waves once more, hopefully for the last time.

A day passed, then another, then another, until almost all of their meat had either spoiled or been consumed. No land in sight. The population of the ships started to dwindle. The first people to go were the elderly. They weren’t long for the world anyway, a simple cold did them in. The children were next. They suffered from malnutrition, the poor souls! Then came the sick and weak, who had contracted a nasty case of scurvy. Even one of the three kings perished; his daughter had to take his place. This lady, however, proved to be an excellent captain. She was able to grow new food on the boats using the soil and sprouts they brought from their homeland. It was a miracle that they had not deteriorated yet. She was also the first to notice land on the horizon. After many weeks at sea, they had finally reached land again. Almost half of the fleet’s population had perished, including the foreign sailor. However, they could not stay here for long. They set up tents using the wood they found in the area. The curious thing was that this wood had already been chopped into pieces, like somebody had got here before them. Something was off about this place. They decided to pack up all of their belongings once more, hunt for as much meat as possible, and raise the sails. Just as they’d left the shores, they perceived a group of armed men raiding their camp. The ships then closely followed the coastline North, hoping to find lands not yet settled, but to no avail.

A couple of nights had passed, and the skies were turning black once more. While the third king’s daughter was looking at the stars, she suddenly saw a will-o’-the-wisp rapidly descending down from the heavens. She immediately ordered all ships to steer East. When they reached where they expected to be the shore, the land made way for a river of some sorts. When the sun rose again the next day, they could see both shores of the strait, and at the end of the day, they were back on the open ocean.

Some nights later, the princess saw the same scene once more, but this time to the South. She once again ordered all ships to change direction, but this time nothing interesting seemed to come their way. They traveled, and traveled, and traveled, until one night, falling stars rained down on an island in the distance. Everybody on the ship watched the spectacle in complete awe. Without hesitation, they made for the shore. When they got close, the locals were hesitant to let them land, but after seeing how badly affected the mariners were by the long journey, they obliged. The two cultures traded skills, wares, knowledge, religion, and even had children together, until the cultures had merged into one..

Humble Beginnings of an Admiral
The Great North Sea
July 2nd, 1883
Event Question 1 Kolch

It was a dark and stormy night for the relatively young captain, Roland Schiefer. This was his first real commanding experience outside of the academy, and it was a relatively simple mission. He was to lead ship in conjuction with other ironclad warships and provide naval bombardment for the land forces fighting against Morsain. It was a relatively inglorious task, the captain knew, but this was the fate for the navy during the War of the Knaves. No great showdown of the flotilla, no, he was simply a supporting branch to the Army as they made the gains on land. Schiefer sighed as he adjusted his uniform, far less orante than what he would come to wear. He glanced down at a pocket watch before pointing ahead, looking to the helm in the very small bridge of the ironclad warship.

"Full steam ahead. Set course for the Morsain coastline." he spoke simply, feeling his mustache. "Inform me ten minutes before we arrive." he finished as he flipped close the pocket watch. The helm simply nodded and pushed forward on the engine order telegraph, to full ahead. Moments later, black smoke began pouring from the twin funnels at the center of the ship as it slowly gained speed.

Somewhere around five minutes before Schiefer was supposed to call battle stations, the spotter's communication line came to life. The captain looked down at it as one of the young officers manuevered to recieve. He nodded a few times before setting it down. "Smoke spotted, dead ahead."

Schiefer blinked. "There isn't supposed to be any other ships in the area... unless... battle stations! Send orders to the rest of the fleet to follow our lead." He spoke decisively, the few men on the bridge bustling about to do the designated commands as an alarm dinged off. Sailors were seen rushing back and forth on the decks as they moved to their stations, ammunition being brought to guns. This was almost certainly against protocol, to engage the enemy, but this was their chance to deal a devastating blow to the Morsainian navy, handing them a loss they won't forget. So Captain Schiefer acted with haste.

As the rigging of the black hulled ships of Morsain came into view, the captain peered out with a spyglass. "Hmmm... three battleships to our two... set heading, port two-fifty," The helmsman echoed the order as the ship slowly heaved to show the bare minimum of its broadside. The black and white flag caught the sea's breeze behind the Reichskriegan ships as they prepared to make their stand. They slowly inched closer, and closer, neither side backing down in their heading. "Enemy in range, sir!" Spoke one of the ensigns. Schiefer threw his hand forward. "Fire at will!"

Plooms of smoke and embers emerged from the guns on the Ruhmland, followed by her sister the Heilgenberg. Shells soared through the air and splashed water where they landed, short of the enemy fleet. Schiefer barked orders to adjust aim as the guns were reloaded, the Morsain ships that were coming head on turning to face their own broadside, guns firing in a disorderly volley as they came into view of the two upstart Reichskriegers that dare challenge them to a battle on the high seas. The shells whizzed and slammed themselves into the water around the Ruhmland. They paid their response, and this time their aim was true as a handful of shells slammed through the sides of the lead ship, leaving metal torn and twisted in their wake. Water splashed through the openings as a result of the waves as the sailors onboard the enemy ships continued their duties until the shells detonated, sending damage control into a panic as they moved to stem the damage.

Schiefer looked as fires rose from below the deck of the lead ship, its sails catching the wind yet with but a hole through them. The black smoke of the blaze mixing with the engine exhaust to obscure the ship in a cloud of smog, trailing behind itself to the other ships rendering them blind. The Morsainians attended to return fire once again, but due to their limited visibility their shells didn't even scratch the paint on the Reichskriegan ironclads before they gave their response again, pummeling the lead ship as it slowly veered onto its side.

"Change targets, Ruhmland will take the rear, tell Heilgenberg to take the rear ship. We have them on the ropes now!" He barked once again as the guns slowly trained on their new targets attempting to manuever around the listing and slowing lead ship. They continued their return fire, and pierced the side of the Heilgenberg above the water line.

"Heilgenberg reports minor damage. They will continue the fight." Spoke the man keeping track of cross-ship communications. As he did, the guns roared once again at their targets, shells shearing off the side of the remaining ships due to their angle and one striking a gun battery, sending it up in flames and rendering it inoperable. As the situation deteriorated for Morsain, the ships turned to limp away, deeming it suddenly not worth it to contest these 'upstarts' any longer. Schiefer allowed imself a smile as the enemy withdrew, a final volley tearing the flag at the rear. The Reichskriegers for their part would continue to their original objective and complete it, returning to port reporting their victory over the enemy sortie. It was one of the few times it had been done, and it would pave the wave for the now Von Schiefer's appointment to Admiral in the coming years.

When Tangwen Swore Allegiance to The Heavens:
Event post - Question 4: Temris
(1678)

“Better to reign in hell than to serve in heav’n, twas the path he chose.”
- Excerpt from The Official Histories of The Celestial Marches and The Outer Dominions.

******

In the tent, a man, a mere featureless silhouette, tossed a log onto the fire. Smoke plumed outwards and caught his eyes. He turned away. Sparks erupted from beneath the new log and went up with the smoke only to die and disappear, as if they were the flashes of spirits, of otherworldly effigies summoned out of that holy place.

He went over to the door flap and drew it to one side, stooped out beyond it, and breathed in the fresh evening air. The sun was setting on that limbo land, the endless plains of Tangwen, and the man’s features melted into clarity by the reddish glow o’er the horizon. He was old and had a beard, greased down to a point; his face was tattooed with old runic symbols of some kind, their artistry warped and twisted by his wrinkles; he wore fur and fashioned a stave topped with the skull of a wolf, upon which he now leant.

There was a cloud of dust trembling a good distance out, seemingly fleeing from the sunset. The man squinted and then, being struck with realisation, lifted himself from leaning and made his way towards it. He waited on the outskirts of the camp – in which there was but one tent – and soon same face to face with a lone rider, dismounting his steed, breathless: the true source of that dust cloud he’d seen.

“I am an emissary of Lord Wen. Praise be!” the rider said between exacerbated breaths. He bowed.

“Praise be!” the old man replied. He stayed upright.

“The Elysian Lord seeks audience with the Denden Priestess.”*

“I am aware. She saw your coming in her waking dreams.”

“He has gathered the sword saints and they shall all arrive when the moon is at its highest and when the night is silent.” The emissary was unmoved by the priestess knowing they’d come.

“To receive her blessing and fortune for the war to come,” said the old man with explicit certainty.

“You are correct, Attendant. Is the priestess ready to receive them?”

“Yes, she is meditating on their fortune right as we speak…”

*****

The lord and his sword saints were gathered around the fire, ghosts in the smoke. The priestess’ attendant stood in the centre of the circle they formed. The emissary waited outside, unpermitted in that holy place; and the priestess, herself, was shrouded behind a curtain made of animal fur, unseen, anticipated.

Lord Wen sat crossed legged on a cushion which elevated himself above his peers, a first amongst equals; he sat stone faced and serious, stoic, staring intently at the silhouette of the attendant.

The attendant closed his eyes. He inhaled and his shoulders tensed. He exhaled and made this proclamation in a bellowing voice: “Behold, the priestess.”

The sword saints and Lord Wen stirred in their seats, armour rattling, breaths abated. The curtain drew back and there, backed by candlelight, stood a vague horned figure, draped in tasselled cloth from which the bones of beasts hung. She stood with her arms outstretched, appearing like some terrible winged harpy from the myths of a land far away – a land none of those seated had ever seen: exotic, terrifying.

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate. The attendant seemed to have evaporated in the smoke, for he was no longer present. The sword saints and their lord became her faithful audience and affixed their eyes upon her, never looking away.

“Men of honour, men of power – ye who art the will of the universe made manifest – you come before me? Speak thine reasons for coming so?” the priestess said.

There was silence. Lord Wen swallowed and then he spoke: “Priestess, I come before you again to seek providence and blessings for–”

“–for the war to come. A war for a place in the heavens. I have seen it. I have seen the plains of Tangwen aflame and all things swept away.”

With those words, the priestess sowed the seeds of doubt and unease in the audience.

“Are we to lose this war, holy priestess? We have maintained our independence for nine centuries – for as long as Tangwen has existed – since the same clans who are gathered here today, united under the first Elysian Lord. Surely you are mistaken,” Lord Wen protested.

She turned sharply to Lord Wen. The flames leapt with her, seeming to reflect the anger she was too stoic to show. “Doubt me not, Lord, for my mind is not clouded by the same corporeal misgivings as is thine. Here me now, Lord! Some of you shall stand victorious, bathed in the light of the heavens, and some of you will lie in that very fire that will sweep across our lands; your pride and prestige, made no more. Gone. Dead and gone. Your folly, everlasting.”

The audience looked at one another; some swallowed suspiciously, but no one noticed, for the priestess’ omen struck them deep in their hearts which promptly capsized and sank low in their chests, like once proud vessels, unsinkable, cascading unto despair. Lord Wen did not stir this time, he stared down the priestess, locking his eyes with her own, leering behind the tasselled veil she wore, caught by the fire, glowing like coals in their sockets, ever staring. He looked away.

“For two centuries and half a lifetime, no lord shall lay in union with a priestess and, for that time, the line of Denden will be tarnished with unfit blood, and the men of honour and of power shall cease in seeking her council: the will of the universe shall manifest in the heavens and her angels shall cull our traditions and our faith; and foreign gods shall inhabit our lands; and your children, and their children’s children, shall fight and die in such names thou cannot even pronounce.” The Denden Priestess collapsed to her knees then, and she shrieked. The audience drew back; some scrambled to their feet and lamented for the future she predicted, others doubted her and called her a defeatist, and others still drew back but remained silent and stoic. Lord Wen simply shook his head, incredulous.

******

On that crisp morning, on that fateful day, there was a mist hanging low over the plains of Tangwen. The sun shimmered red as it arose and Lord Wen’s army stood against it, black and menacing. They were an army on the march. Heading south to face the rising power of an empire mad with expansionistic fervour; an empire whose hungry eye now turned towards Tangwen.

They’d known weeks before that a great army was marching north, into what these Celestials called The Marches, and they had prepared; Lord Wen had rallied the clans and he’d sought the blessings of the Denden Priestess. In total, his force was ten-thousand strong, a good match against the Celestials’ twelve.

Lord Wen was riding at the head of his clan’s column. His banner flew high next to him, held proud by his eldest son. Behind him, the columns of Clan Ran, Uulat, Dayisan, and Yan marched in loyal pursuit of their Elysian Lord, banners held high and flying as proudly as his own: three-thousand in total. At the same time, the other clans, the majority of the Tangenese force, were marching northwestwards, to link up with Wen upon the field of battle.

Wen’s force arrived at the rendezvous point at around midday. Over the field of battle, there stood a force greater than anything the Tangwenese had ever seen. Twelve-thousand? There was surely more. The southward horizon line was entirely hidden by the Celestial forces.

“Where are the other clans, father?” Wen’s son asked.

The lord did not answer. He shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare and looked to-and-fro. His horse whinnied.

“Father?”

“I do not know. There’s still time. Do not raise the banners. Do not raise them until–”

But, just then, a great chorus, a war cry of deafening proportions, came from the Celestials and they raised their own banners; a flutter of golden fabric, of stars and a crescent moon, reflecting the sun like shards of glass; and there, flying amongst them, were the banners of the Tangwenese force that was supposed to be marching northwestwards: Tseun, Ang, Stolishan, Gi, Kadan, amongst others, fluttered in sheer defiance of their rightful lord.

For a good while, Wen stood silent and still. His mouth was agape and he didn’t blink. His son cocked his head at him.

“Father?” he said.

Wen didn’t hear him. His heart was pounding. His breath did not come back. There was a ringing in his ears.

“Father!” his son said again.

The lord suddenly turned, he breathed in sharply, and the roar of the enemy struck him like a terrible wave again.

“T– they– We’ve been betrayed.”

His son looked at him. Fear was in his eyes.

Lord Wen swallowed and turned back towards the field of battle. “There is nothing we can do,” he said and then turned back. “Raise the banners. Raise the banners!”

A warhorn sounded and the loyalist army raised its banners all at once. Lord Wen rode up and down his column, sword raised, renewed vitality in his lungs. He cried deafeningly, his voice overpowering the foreign war cries: “We die today! We die today! Onward warriors, to death and eternity! Our deeds will be told again, by poets and musicians for generations to come! We die today! Onward! Onward!”

And with that, Lord Wen charged one final time. An army of three-thousand at his back, some fled, but most went with him to die against nineteen-thousand Celestials and traitors.

******

After the battle, a Celestial general walked amongst the dead. A Tangwenese sword saint went with him. They wandered, stepping over bodies in attitudes of pleading and struggle, all frozen there in death; skirting around war banners broken and crooked, some impaling their bearers.

“There flies the banner of Clan Wen,” the sword saint said.

The Celestial quickened his pace and went ahead without another word. All around them, the cries of the dying still permeated the air as they were finished off by the prowling robbers of the victorious army. The sword saint looked around.

“Tseun, is this him?” the celestial said, in broken Tangwenese.

Tseun went over and looked down at the young boy and the elderly warrior lying side-by-side. The latter had no arm and had been punctured by many spears, still holding his blade in his remaining hand.

“Yes, both of them,” Tseun said.

“Good.” The celestial then proceeded to cut off the older ones’ head. He picked it up and looked it over. “To be sent to Ren Osarus. You come too. Kneel. Get reward, yes?”

And beside them both, the banner of Clan Wen stood, impaled into that bloodsoaked ground, crooked and limp in the windless air.
_______________________________________________

*The Denden priestess is the religious leader of the Tangwenese traditional religion, Dendenism. For more information, see Sir Edward Attebury’s article in the Tarstic Scientific Review entitled, Dendenism: The Wild Faith of The Wild East.

The Return

May 10th 1911, Celagia City

After the Grand Celagia, together with its fellow warships, was denied access to the strait of Ahlen, the rest of the Luhai invasion quickly fell apart. The Captain of the Grand Celagia had tried, in vain, to explain their presence, but it had only made the knights stationed there more suspicious. The fleet returned to the Capitaline Bay having achieved nothing, except for the damaging of every other province’s trust. In the days after, the leading figures of the invasion, Ministress Sosologu and the Captain, were temporarily removed from their positions. The situation in Celaguun, however, had not changed. The small nation was still incredibly crowded, especially in Celagia City, and even though Celagia was an economic powerhouse, it relied heavily on trade through chokepoints which could be oh so easily blockaded. The populace called for another invasion.

And so it was, that almost the exact moment the Ministress and the Captain were granted their positions back, they were approached by a wealthy Celagian tradeswoman going by the name “Trayo”, who advised them to present the situation to her esteemed Qlililliagul. The politicians refused, believing another failure of the sort to be the demise of their careers. They were, however, quite keen on the idea of a new invasion, so they decided to get the Minister of the Media involved, who would present the bill in their stead.

The Ministerial Body, much like the population they were supposed to represent, had got even more radical after the embarrassing failure of the Luhai invasion. However, it was clear that a majority would support any war-monging bill that was to be passed. It was almost the election-season, and expansionism was the newest “thing”. Any politician publicly against it would surely not get reelected. Despite this strong imperialist trend, there was still a strong anti-war culture in the Talagia, which had got even louder after the Luhai-incident.

The Minister of the Media was a small, brainy man with short, curly hair, wearing beige garments accented with royal-purple clips and straps. This day, however, he also wore his lucky hat, which was just a bowl-hat he had picked up on his journey to the Great Tarst. He was not a well-respected man, mainly due to his short stature and his tendency to lisp. He crept up to the Pirium, which he was only just able to peak over.

The Agul raised her hand, and the Minister spoke. ‘Dear Ministerial Body, the Senate, and her most esteemed Qlililliagul,’ he said in a high-pitched voice. ‘, a certain incident had certainly shook our dearest Celaguun only a little while back. A new opportunity has opened up, which I believe I must surely bring to your Agul’s attention.’ He stopped for a second to take a drink of his water. ‘…Not only Luhai has been in a rather weak position as of late…’ The crowd started to rumble, which made the Minister raise his voice. ‘…the province of Razna has seen better days as well. I and my fellow Ministers believe that we should invade.’ The Minister of the Media was known for his punctuality, but this was straight-to-the-point even for him. He was evidently very nervous.

The crow started to roar, just as it had when the fate of Luhai was being decided. This time, however, the Agul struggled even harder to keep the volume down to a whisper. She raised her hand multiple times, but this didn’t work. She cleared her throat, but this didn’t work. She cleared her throat incredibly audibly and loud, but the crowd still wouldn’t quiet down. Accepting defeat, she slumped back in her throne and waited for the muttering to cease. What was even the point of an Agul, if she couldn’t restore order to the Talagia?

When the arguing had finally stopped, the Ministers, still rather agitated, sat back down in their chairs. The Agul rolled her eyes. ‘Would anybody like to argue with the fair Minister about his proposition?’ Almost a third of the politicians simultaneously raised their hands, but most of them lowered them again after figuring they’d never get to speak anyways.

‘Minister of the Land’

A rather tall and lanky lady in black attire rose from her seat. She had a typical Celagian face; a mix of both Northern and Celestial features; with remarkably golden hair. She looked quite young, even though she was well into her 40s. ‘What does Razna have that we do not? This last expedition of your Captain’s has brought us more problems than it has solved. It would be a waste of our resources and our standing within the Empire to spend it all on a mission we know will not succeed.’

This was evidently the less-popular statement, as more than half of the Talagia fiercely shook their heads, or made a different disapproving gesture. The Agul passed the word to the Ministress of the Harbour next.

She was rather plump with eyes that stuck out an uncomfortable distance from the sockets, but was well-respected within the Talagia. ‘This is utter nonsense, and you know it. How would this be a waste of resources, when the prize is so great? Celaguun could have a monopoly on both ends of the Eastern-line. Think about the finances this could bring us! And I don’t believe the Empire would mind one of its territories going to itself, no? It’s just plain reorganisation. And it’s not like we have no justification for it either, it’s clearly what the people want. We have conducted polls all around the harbour that show that more than 80% of the population would support a Celagian invasion.’ The reaction of the crowd showed that some ministers had feared these polls would come to light.

‘Hmph… fine then. Well spoken. Celaguun will invade Razna.’ The Agul sat on her throne with her arms crossed, evidently still upset by the earlier uproar, and how it was handled. The crowd sat in silence and the Agul stormed out of the Talagia. One by one, the politicians left the complex, still in shock from this sudden and uncalled for decision of the Agul’s.

The following weeks, the Celagian navy would prepare for their invasion of the small Province of Razna. It was not large, but a major trade-hub nonetheless. They packed the ships with cannonballs, grain, meat, sauerkraut, and equipped their soldiers with pistols, until it was time for departure.

Swarzia-

The Warmaker (I)
Outskirts of Nhasa, January 16, NL 16

"My lord," a messenger bowed to Grand Duke Wolfgang. "Our traders in Elodia report that there's been war with Falkenberg. They've launched all sorts of offensives into Qanteng." The man placeed a wad of papers explaining the situation in greater detail on the table.

"Is that so?" Von Swarzkrahe did not look up from his newspaper. It was raining outside, turning the fields and craters outside Nhasa to thick brown mud, but it wasn't raining hard enough to quench the titan's pyre that was Nhasa. Plumes of smoke rose from its streets and blast-marks defiled its great walls. The verdant shrubbery that the capital was known for had been reduced to a lifeless brown.

"Yes," the messenger said.

"I see." Wolfgang said bluntly. "Is that all? You may leave if that is all."

With nothing more to say, the courier bowed and exited the room.

-

It had been another hour, and rain dripped off the eaves of the manor which the Grand Duke had commandeered. The high-ranking nobles of Swarzia strode across the palatial grounds, and were ushered into his temporary lodgings.

"Some fine vases," Prince Helmut von Rothgard remarked, as he, along with von Barin and the four Viscounts- Clausewitz, Spaltenberg, Grunthal, and Graureiter, passed through the foyer into the dining room, which had been hastily repurposed for the impromptu meetings. Fine china and silverware had been thrown into cardboard boxes piled up high against the walls, replaced by a large operational map of the Empire's northwest.

"Gentlemen," the Grand Duke said, pointing to the map. "I have gotten word that the Elodians have launched an offensive into the Falkenberger settlement of Qanteng, which was ceded to them by the usurper Gong. Their forces have advanced into the territory from here, here and here," he moved his pencil down the border. "Our army is battle-hardened. It would be good if we could intervene in this conflict to build up more experience."

"Our expeditionary force has a casualty rate of thirteen percent," von Rothgard interjected. "From the Nhasa operation alone. And not to mention the majority of our force is already well on their way back to Swarzia. Besides, who are we going to intervene in favour of?"

"If possible," the Grand Duke said, "Have the rest of the army march north to meet us in Nhasa under the pretence of aiding in 'reconstruction efforts'. Let the expeditionary force go back home. And summon every soldier that's stayed behind here and have them join the expeditionary force."

"My lord," Von Rothgard pressed. "Who are we going to assist in the war?"

"Falkenberg," said the Grand Duke, as nonchalantly as one would declare a visit to the shops. "We will march in from the south and catch them by surprise-"

His declaration was met with a shout of protest.
"The Reichskrieger pigs!" von Barin ejaculated angrily. "Have we just allowed the indignity of our expulsion from Valmere to sit unaddressed?"

"That was six hundred years ago!" von Rothgard replied, shouting over him. "Are you so petty as to hold on a grudge inherited from your ancestors?"

"-They are foreign barbarians, and cannot be trusted!" shrieked Viscount Clausewitz.

"You've always been an imperial lapdog, you opportunist!" Viscount Spaltenberg retorted. The nobles began shouting incoherently amongst each other.

"Enough!" Von Rothgard slammed his fist down on the table, an action which caused the wood to crack slightly. "Enough of this insubordination. My lord," he said, looking to Grand Duke Wolfgang, "If it isn't too bothersome, could you please explain why you wish for us to help Falkenberg in their war?"

"Indeed," Wolfgang said, drawing out a chair and motioning for them to sit. "My primary concern, which none of you have picked up on, is that a successful Elodian takeover of Qanteng would risk war with Reichskrieg. Kaiser Friedrich would not take kindly to us retaking what he views as his colony. We have just emerged from a civil war in which we overthrew Gong and his lackeys, and as such, none of us are in a position to resist a Reichskrieger invasion."

"Furthermore," von Swarzkrahe said, "If we helped Falkenberg defend their holdings it would put them greatly in debt to us. Think of the things a favour from Reichskrieg could do to Swarzia. We could modernize, make our nation into a powerhouse of art, culture and industry. We could modernize our army, build vital infrastructure better linking us to other nations and transform our cities into bastions of civilization and prestige."

"What you are suggesting would be nothing short of treason," Viscount Clausewitz protested. "Aiding a foreign power against the empire?"

"I understand your reasoning," Duke Wolfgang replied calmly. "The Empire will not view us in a favourable light because of this. Yet it would be worse for all of us," he said, his gaze drifting across the world map on the wall to the far-flung land of Reichskrieg, "If the Kaiser took offence to this and chose to invade us in retaliation. The Elodians do not know what they could unleash upon this country, and so it falls to us to stop them before they can bring the wrath of a great power upon us."

"But we're armed only with muskets," Von Rothgard pointed out. "It will be a difficult fight against the Elodians if that's the case."

"Our most seasoned units have been equipped with hardware we seized off of Gong's men," Wolfgang said. "I have taken that into account. We'll also be putting out a breech-loading needle gun for our regular soldiers to use soon. I have no doubts that we will prevent a crisis by repelling the Elodians from Qanteng."

"Gods save us all," Von Barin said. "My lord, I can only hope that you are correct. I will send an order to Altenburg to rally the bulk of the Swarzian army to march north immediately."

"What about our divisons on the Temrisian border?" Von Rothgard asked.

"Recall one and move them north here," von Swarzkrahe ordered. "Keep the other stationed there. Summon our cavalry regiments too."

"If I may suggest," Viscount Spaltenberg interrupted, "We have an overflowing treasury, do we not? We should recall the Meringian mercenaries to bolster our numbers."

"I will take that into consideration," von Swarzkrahe said. "Thank you, gentlemen. We shall remain here until the Elodian crisis abates, and our men will proceed onwards. After that, we shall return home."

-

TO: Elodia
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: Your unlawful invasion of Qanteng and Reichskrieger territory puts the Celestial Empire as a whole at the risk of retribution from Reichskrieg. You should very well know that your actions could bring ruin to us all if you anger the Kaiser.

As such, your fellow citizens in the province of Swarzia see no other option but to intervene in favour of the colony of Falkenberg, in order to avoid a war with a Great Power started by your own desire for more territory. This is a notice that our army will shortly engage in open conflict with the Elodian army.

With all due respect,

Wolfgang Frederich von Swarzkrahe, Grand Duke of Swarzia
Helmut Schwerin von Rothgard, Prince of Swarzia
Constantin Hecker von Barin, Prince of Swarzia
Talman Solis, Head of the Circle of Sor in Swarzia

Kolch wrote:The Battle of Nhasa: Tales of Heroism and Turnabout

The Battle of Nhasa: "Tales of Vengeance and Victory"
The lands in and around Nhasa

The Third Day

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch, The Imperial Province of The Union of the Three Rivers

I. Immediately chaos reigns across the ship as those asleep were jolted awake, some with injuries, the unlucky few off duty and lounging near the anchor point being shredded or injured as the thin internal armor belt bends and melts inwards from the heat of the blast, locking the anchor in place in an unholy mixture of seared flesh, gunpowder residue, and metal.

While a fire wasn't started, much of the crew was racing as if there was one, as when in battle, there is ALWAYS a chance. Up on the bridge, Captain Lu Ten began barking orders. "Get us out of here as fast as possible, disconnect the anchor, get range on that ship and fire! By the gods that shell hit one of the weaker sections of the belt, lets pray it doesn't cause too much damage."

By now, the opposing vessel, as it had not stopped, was in targeting range of both guns, and with shouts ordered throughout the internal voice pipes. A flare was shot out of a small gun in front of the bridge. And soon after a bell was rung twice from the bridge.

BAM BAM

2 large blasts echoed throughout the waves, as both the bow and rear 152mm guns opened fire. One shot misses the Undefeated, the other striking a glancing blow on the back of the ship, doing mostly superficial damage. It is at this point a runner reached the bridge, and before anyone can react bellows out; "Captain, we can't loose the anchor! The shot melted and stabbed the armor belt and even some crew parts into a lock we can't break free!"

"Well then, prepare to scuttle and abandon ship! Spotter, what ship is that."

The young man turns around and says; "Sir, it's the Undefeated, Gong's flagship."

After a moment of stunned silence, Lu Ten responds. "Scratch that order, we stay and die for the late emperor, if we can't kill Gong, we can at least destroy his abominable party boat. Fire at will everything we have! For the emperor!"

"For the emperor!" The bridge crew shouts.

The Undefeated found itself rocked by cannonfire: Captain Rosenshaw struggled to steady himself, as he cast his gaze toward the enemy ship, just as the red of the flare faded into the night clouds.

"Sir," said one of his subbordinates, "we've sustained some damage to the hull, on the right flank." Damn, thought Rosenshaw, Gong would hate to have his paint job ruined. And he wondered just what his new emperor might've thought about such a fate.

Yet Gong knew exactly what had gone wrong , for he saw from the coastline the exact places where the Avenger had dared to dent his vessel.

A prideful Gong bellowed a laugh, "these fools dare disturb the Undefeated!? Bring the cannon! I will destroy it myself!" And his guard brought forward the last of their artillery. "Fire, in the name of your emperor!" And a volley was sent off, right at the Avenger's side.

On the Undefeated, that same subbordinate of Rosenshaw pointed at the firing, and the captain soon looked to find their emperor, standing tall. The bridge cheered.

As the explosion rocked the Avenger, a sizeable dent appeared as the weak internal armor belt gave in, crushing a couple men running through that hallway, and crippling another. The sparks from the explosion also start a small fire as it hits the grease trap of the kitchen.

On the bridge, Captain Lu Ten turns around and looks towards the coastline where the shot came from. Soon after, a marine flare flew over the location of the artillery gun, with a couple flashes going off in the distance. Pulling out his personal binoculars, he looks at the last artillery and sees Gong right beside it. The faint cheers from the Undefeated only furthering his confirmation.

"It's Gong, the bastard himself has come out to fight! Turn the dorsel gun, it missed and unlike the Undefeated, Gong's a much slower target. Fire when you get the chance, blow him back to bloody stone age and silence that final artillery piece!" Soon after a shot from the front gun fires off, skipping off the deck of the Undefeated before landing behind it and detonating. Water erupting like a geyser into the air.

As the crew turns the gun, the gun's spotter crew frantically begin calculating the math for the shot. Going over every variable they know so far and hoping to the gods they hit.

Gong watched as the dorsel cannon turned to meet his gaze. He stared it down harshly. "Fire again!"

His lieutenant announced frightfully, "sir, we dropped the rest of the shells four miles ago."

Gong snapped back at his subordinate, "who told you to do that?"

Another answered, "y-you did, sir." Another, calmer voice added, "if we hadn't taken the artillery piece, you would've been to the island by now."

Turning back to face the cannon once more, a bead of sweat rolled down his face. Wiping it from his forehead, he looked down to his gloved hand, and examined the perspiration. Gods don't fear.

Widening his pose, he planted his feet once more and raised a defiant arm in the Undefeated's direction, and ordered its surrender, commanding his divine force over the water.

"Target has made himself clear, aim right for the fat bastard!" The gun swivels around. And right after Gong yelled his order for the ship to surrender. "Light him up."

BOOM

A 152mm shell, forged in Cigallo, mined from resources produced through back breaking labor from all corners of the empire, rockets forth. The fiery streak behind it illuminating as soon as it fires, and to all watching, its trajectory is clear. As time slows down for all watching, from both ships and the forces on land, all who were close enough or had binoculars trained could see as the shell penetrates through Gong's chest before detonating in a massive explosion engulfing the artillery gun, the crew, and Gong himself. A great light of red, orange, and yellow erupt outwards before a massive plume of smoke, initially covered red by the flare soon after winks out. Leaving only a small flame in its place.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Republic of Hoydland, The Republic of Kalquen

II. Commander Togh Khadan took in the battle around him. To his left, the large body of water gave a brilliant blue color to the otherwise barren surroundings. The city itself seemed... different. He had been to the capitol of the empire many times throughout his military and political career alike. But ever since Gong had taken control of the city, it was never the same. And now, so many otherwise innocent civilians were going to be caught in the cross-fire to catch this traitor. Togh could care less about them, however. Today was a unique moment for the empire. The provinces here today were to work together as one. Now, whether Togh hoped to associate with these other, many inferior, provinces was another question entirely.

At this point, his soldiers had stayed in position, away from much of the battle. However, he believed now was time to act. He had just met with his fellow Hoyd commanders. They agreed that they would begin to move forward as a unit towards the city. As he was heading back to his unit, which was farthest away from the opposing army, he heard shouts from the north. The north where the undercover soldiers of Kalquen, dressed in the Hoyds' own uniform, lay connected to his own army. "Damn it!" He shouted, quickening his pace as he soon found out the cause of the chaos. Their enemies had attacked.

Togh shouted among the commotion as his soldiers scrambled to their weapons. How they hadn't seen the attack beforehand was beyond him. Nonetheless, that didn't matter now. What mattered now was to act. Gathering his soldiers around him, he shouted to prepare themselves. The Hoyd organization quickly shined through, and the army as a whole turned to their northern enemies. With the fall of their allies, the defenders quickly began to rush into the area left by the fallen Kalquen unit. However, the Hoyds knew they had an advantage. Before the men had time to react, they were met with a barrage of bullets from the organized Hoyd formation. As one unit collapsed into the earth below, more Hoyds flowed into the spaces left by their fallen comrades. Soon, the army was able to fend off a further offensive.

However, they couldn't end it there. Now that they had them scrambling back, the soldiers readied their weapons once again. In the short time that they had, Togh called the commanders to a short meeting within the army's lines once again. They agreed to push forward, and Togh went to the west once more. With their guns reloaded and their energy up once more, the Hoyds shuffled down the rolling green hills towards the city ahead, their weapons held high in preparation.

South of the Hoyds, the Second Kalquenan Brigade sat, deeply entrenched, having held out against several enemy charges, taking out almost triple their own numbers in the first day alone. At the forefront of his troops, Lieutenant Colonel Jan Hao stood, the men around him with their eyes locked forward, each a veteran of the rebellion only just now quelling in their home state.

As the Lieutenant Colonel watched over the misty field beyond the hastily dug trenches him and his men had created, a thundering sound distracted him. Hao turned, seeing a hollow-eyed messenger approaching him on horseback. The man, bearing the garments of the Koshenan Volunteer Brigade, held out a letter to Hao as his steed trotted to a halt beside the commander.

"T-this is... F-for you, sir..." The hollow-eyed man said, his hand shaking as he held the letter.

"My god man. Here, give me that" snapped back Hao, his mind already preoccupied with other matters.

The Lieutenant Colonel withdrew a knife from his belt, ripping open the small latter handed to him. All colour drained from his face as he saw the hastily scrawled message.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hao,

Gong's Troops have attacked us. The Hoyds come to reinforce but it is futile. Our lines will crumble, please send reinforcements. The fate of Nhasa depends on it.

Signed,
Auxillary Sargent Qui Hiuwe
"

Hao turned to his men, each of their faces looking back to him with confusion.

"Men... I..." announced Hao, his words drawn out and filled with shock.

"Our new mission is something which we will not be coming back from. I am sorry. Those of you who wish not to fight, go back, to Tanjin, tell them how we fought. The rest, we are moving north" boomed Hao, finding a sense of steely focus within himself, he knew what he must do, there was no sense in stopping.
Only a few men stepped away from the group, the newer recruits, too squeemish to fight as tooth-and-nail as the veterans. Hao nodded to them, bidding them leave. After the last men had formed a presession back to the Western border, Hao turned to his remaining men.

"This is the right thing to do. For Nhasa, for all the people Gong's reign threatens. Come now, our last movements will be lively ones. We march north"

...

In no more than an hour, Hao's Brigade stood near the edge of the enemy lines, the sounds of gunfire booming in their direction, as clumps of dirt exploded at the ridge around them. Hao looked to his men, each with some flicker of steely resolve in their eyes.

"For Freedom, for Democracy! Fix Bayonets! Charge!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch

III. "Gong is dead," reported Captain Rosenshaw, having just walked on board the Vice Admiral Mast's vessel, the Albatross.

At first, Hugo Mast looked toward the Undefeated's newest captain with befuddlement, then suppressed laughter. Yet, after a pregnant moment, the captain Rosenshaw's pale face never wavered. "Are you serious?"

"I watched him die with my own eyes." He brought his hand to his head, "there is nothing left of him."

"Nothing left? How did he die?"

"It was a rebel ship, Hugo. The Grand Admiral got its attention with an artillery shot, and the ship fired back." Hugo ran his fingers through his thinning hair as the other officer continued explaining: "He did it so we could get away. He saved the lives of everyone on the Undefeated."

Hugo knew Gong better. Gong was prideful enough to think he could sink the rebel ship on his own. Yet the others did not. They lowered their hats and mourned a hero.

When Hugo lost his father, he weeped like the weary son he was. He had always thought of Gong as fatherlike. Yes, without Gong, where would he be? Trapped in the desert with Brothers Laurent and Morat? Yet, at this moment, with the whole weight of Gong's demise on his heart, he felt nothing. He only stifled a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"The battle is lost," concluded Hugo.

Rosenshaw's eyes rose in surprise. "Lost? We still have tens of thousands of men in Nhasa. You were waiting for Gong's signal. Well, I think he's just given you one." Some of Hugo's group murmured agreement.

"Perhaps. But I am in command now. And I am ordering my ships out."

"Where will we go!?" demanded Rosenshaw, "everything we had was in Nhasa!"

Hugo ndoded, "indeed. Everything we had was just oblitered by cannonfire. There's nothing left in the rubble of Nhasa. We can take the Home Fleet to Tangwen. Pillage the coastline for supplies. Then, perhaps Elodia. Perhaps somewhere else."

"What will we do!?"

"A question for another day." Hugo narrowed his eyes, "if there is another day, which there won't be if we go back to face their ships."

"Ships!? It was one vessel!"

"You are facing down half the empire, and you say one ship. Even if we managed to sink it, then what? Wait for their others?"

Rosenshaw spit at Hugo's feet. "You are a coward, Hugo! Any man who will fight for the Empire, come aboard the Undefeated!" Many streamed toward the gangplank.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch, The Grand Duchy of Celaguun

IV. Meanwhile, the remainder of Gong's army north of Nhasa found themselves cut off from the city's walls, without orders, and lost in Celaguun territory. Their leader, the Baron Morlec of Rore, improvised.

Commander Tremerloti rushed with his men toward the village square. He frantically looked around for the Minister, but he was nowhere to be found. He grabbed a boy wearing a crude leather cap by the shoulder and looked him stern in the eyes. “Young lad, I need to reach the Minister post-haste.”

The boy shrugged. “His not ‘round her. Ha’nt seen ‘im in days, sir.”

The Commander sighed and let loose of the lad’s shoulder. “I would get a ways from the village, young man. The Admiral’s retreating army has gone rogue.” He watched the boy hurriedly sprint into a side-alley, after which he met back up with his men to clear out the village.

The retreating army arrived sooner than expected. There was a small skirmish, but the stragglers left behind put up little resistance to the much larger imperial force. The town-hall was set ablaze, while the Commander could only stand on the hill and watch. Trying to stop them would be useless; it would only result in more destruction.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Democratic Republic of Temris, The March of Kolch

V. Chief Lord of the Imperial Diet, Jesse O'Rourke, stood with his hands behind his back as he quietly watched the battle unfold before him. Nhasa had been damaged by the rowdy coalition, but it was a wholly necessary evil done to save the Empire from a madman. Grief gripped his heart for a long moment as he considered the lost innocents.

"We have done a great thing this day," General Seamus Muckley said, coming to stand by the Chief Lord. "Nhasa has looked better, but she can be rebult." Jesse nodded his head, his attention never once leaving the city's walls as fire and smoke billowed in vengeful torrents into darkening skies. "Shall I arrange to send word to Temris?"

Jesse sighed, his attention finally drifting away from the city. "No. Once the city is secure the Diet will march in to take its place in the palace. Then, and only then, will we declare victory and send word to the provinces."

General Muckley bowed his head before retreating back to the Temrisian lines. Jesse's eyes set themselves upon Nhasa once more, his thoughts turning toward home.

Morat cowered nearby as a lone horseman rode up the hill. As soon as he dismounted, his horse collapsed. The courier offered a message to Chief Lord O'Rourke, "sir, sir, news from the Rivermen! News most urgent!"

Jesse took the message, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities. Had the Coalition been routed as they beset the city's innermost sanctuaries? Had Gong surrendered? Pushing those questions aside, he unraveled the message and quickly read.

GONG IS DEAD

EXPLODED WHILST RETREATING NORTH

THE BATTLE IS WON

Jesse's hand started to tremble as he read the message a third, fourth, fifth time over. "Thank you," he said, putting his hand behind his back to hide the trembling. "Spread the word throughout the camp. The war is over." Jesse's gaze lifted skyward. Surely Basrodec had granted them this great victory, though what came next was beyond him. Gong's dismissal from this plane of existence was not an outcome he had counted on, and with Gong dead it meant that he, Jesse, was now in supreme command of the Empire Gods help me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The March of Kolch, The Imperial Province of The Union of the Three Rivers

VI. Captain Rosenshaw, now joined by hundreds of Mast's own men on Gong's vessel the Undefeated, strayed back southwest, until it was once again in sight of the Avenger. Lit only by the Moonlight, they began to fire off into the dark.

The hours between the Avenger killing Gong and the Undefeated returning were not easy for the crew. On top of trying to quickly repair the damage keeping the anchor in place and putting out the grease fire which had quickly grown to consume most of the kitchen, left the troops with little for breakfast other than cold rations and lukewarm water with supplements of whatever could be salvaged and prepared. The inventory of the ship also had to be retaken in accordance with doctrine as the officer corps had to file out an after action report with details once everything from their sector of the ship had been written. There was little time or material to celebrate the death of Gong without either sacrificing on doctrine/repairs or rest.

When the Undefeated fired again, its shots missed, some were close to the Avenger, however the moonlight is pitiful in comparison to the light a flare could give off. This time however, the Avenger wasn't caught with its pants down, having kept a gun trained towards where the Undefeated initially came from and left towards during their earlier duel. Quickly, battle stations were ordered and the ships crew, tired from their engagement a couple hours ago, made their way to their stations a bit lazily.

"I want a flare over that ship and the rear gun turned when is passes. And someone get me a cup of ration coffee!" Captain Lu Ten barked before his vice-captain responded. "Burnt to ash in the grease fire sir, we're running purely off of adrenaline. I can offer you a cigar to chew on to at least keep your mind active."

Lu Ten merely looked at his VC, sighed, and then quickly nodded. Soon after a lit Marib cigar was in his mouth, alongside a couple others looking for something to keep them up. A flare shot into the air soon after. And once again the ship rattled with a loud explosion as the forward 152mm gun fired onto the Undefeated, missing its first shot.

After an exchange of fire, the Undefeated would be defeated, sinking into the foamy brine of the Harbor. Yet this would be avenged, as the Baron Morlec who prowled the coastline had the remainder of Gong's artillery in his train. Their shots arced over the water and crashed in the Avenger, dooming the vessel to the bottom of the sea.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

VII. When the sun rose in Nhasa, the parts of the wall smoldered. The air stunk of ash. Yet, above this gruesome sight, the flags of the Coalition rose over the Hidden Palace, standing tall yet beneath that of the Empire.

Das Tote Heer
Port Fredrich/Qanteng
January 16th, 1911
In Collaboration With Elodia

The day had been a quiet one for the port, aside from the Luhai business. It had not actually touched the port, aside form when the remains of the fleet limped into port. So they had been certain in their safety, the shield of Reichskrieg protecting them. They were wrong, and they knew this when fire rained from above. Homes were left craters, civilian and soldier alike ran for cover in the streets as the bombardment hit them without distinction. Explosions rocked the wall which surrounded the port, sending it in on itself. The quiet afternoon had become a scene of anarchy. But despite their best efforts, the soldiers moved with haste to prepare to defend the port. Barricades in the streets, and desperate telegrams out of the city as soldiers moved to positions and civilians fled south en masse to Luhai, or simply stayed in their homes and prayed. The telegrams out read simply.

QANTENG UNDER BOMBARDMENT STOP

CELESTIAL FORCES MAKE READY FOR ASSAULT STOP

REQUESTING AID ASAP STOP

---------------------------------------------

In the morning's light, clouded by storm, the men looked out. Tan uniforms were stained with dirt and water as eyes peered out beyond the street barricades, rifles in hands and machine guns awaiting like jaws of death. Silent prayers are whispered as grips are tightened.

"In position men! In position!" The Elodian commander said as he looked upwards. The skies were beginning to cloud. But wet or not, they would fight. The Elodian commander glared at the artillery unit a mile down, the renegades who had dragged everyone into this. They didn't choose to be here. Elodia didn't choose to be here. But due to their actions, they were. One of the commanders of the artillery unit was tied up in a tent that had been converted to a makeshift brig in between where the cavalry camp was. But no amount of court marshalling would change the fact that they were indeed there. And frankly, if they won...they would no longer be renegades, but heroes. The commander sighed as he blew a whistle. The men stepped up and charged.

"EINGEHEN!" roared up from the throat of a young soldier as the enemy surged forward towards them. Their aim was steady, waiting... if the men were afraid, they did not show it. They steeled themselves against the increasing mass of Elodians as the first machine guns began rattling their telltale sound, casings hitting the ground and tracers ripping through the front rows like the reaper made manfiest. Shortly after, rifles began firing from windows, behind barricades, wherever the soldiers could grab an ounce of cover.

The men began to fall one by one as machine gun fire ripped through them. They ducked behind what cover they could, but the guns were tearing them up. Those blasted artillerymen. The commander didn't want to rely on the ones that had gotten them into this trouble, but it had to be done. As he fired a flare into the air, that signaled to them the position of the round. The 75mm cannons roared to life once more. HE shells rained down on the machine gun nests.

The men held onto their pith helmets and caps as shells began falling once more from above. Shouts of artillery rang up and down the lines, but it did little to silence the fury of Reichskriegan lead on the enemy lines. Even as men fell aside from newly formed craters, going unmoving in the rubble of the once proud city. The downpour picked up and yet they still held firm. But with the infantrymen slowly closing in, officers began calling to fix bayonets, giving them the enemy their only respite outside of reloading. Men moved from the armories bringing ammo up as hot brass started to pile at the feets of soldiers, especially around the machine guns as the men did their most grim duty.

"For Elodia! Reclaim our sovereign territory!" The first team of Elodians charged forward under the cover of the artillery advance. A few shells even killed or wounded the Elodians, but it didn't matter. Rifle fire flew back and forth as the Elodians in cover attempted to offer covering fire for their charging comrades. Soon, they were upon the Reichskriegers, bayonet on bayonet.

The first ones to get stuck into the melee were those who had fled from Nhasa, having sought refuge now rearmed and dressed in the clothes of the army of Reichskrieg. They fired and swung their bayonets, allowing them into their line before pouncing apon them. Even those who hadn't had the moment to fix bayonets fought, using spades and knives in a bitter struggle. But the quality difference between them and the vaunted Seebatalions was astounding, as more of them hit the ground the longer the fighting went on.

"Die, oppertunists!" Unlike the men of Reichskrieg, the Elodians showed the former Celestials no mercy. The Elodians melted through the former Gong units like hot butter. On the other flanks, the Elodians were having more trouble with the actual Reichskriegers. But the southern flank, mostly made up of fomer pro-Gong Celestials were no match for the Elodian soldiers. For every Elodian soldier killed, multiple former pro-Gong soldiers fell. Artillery rained on them.

The three-fold line, within the city itself, was proving its worth. Even as the exiles were butchered in the melee, gunfire rained on them from behind at the second line, reinforcements seemignly endless as the frontmost line bent but did not break. Not yet, anyway. The dirt streets of the outskirt regions where the fighting was occuring slowly became muddy, slowing down both sides in their fighting as they struggled against their foe. Officers coordinated the moving of troops, and the flanks where the proper fighting men were starting pushing outwards themselves, allowing themselves to hit the enemy from their side with steel and fury. But even with their morale holding, the losses were mounting and a line could only bend so far. It would take a fool not to notice. Deep in the headquarters of the port, another telegram is sent out.

SITUATION DETORIATES STOP

ENEMY FORCES MAKE STEADY GAINS STOP

REQUESTING AID ASAP STOP

A loudspeaker that the Elodians had set up near the northern division camp crackled to life.

To all those within the port. Cease fighting, and hand over your weapons. Reichskriegers will be spared and allowed to go home. Those who sided with Gong, remove your uniforms and surrender, and you might be spared. Those who do not surrender will be killed.

Yeah, no duh, The commander of the northern infantry division thought as he listened to his own broadcast. Those who do not surrender fight and those who fight are targets. Who came up with this message anyways? Another volley of artillery fire roared from the south.

The Celestial forces in the defense finally shattered. It was a slowly trickle into the second line, then an outright route. As their flank broke, the Seebatalions found themselves very isolated in the first line, with streets to go before they'd reach the new fighting positions. Some made the retreat, but most simply continued the fighting, machine guns steaming from the over use against Elodian infantry as they attempted to rush them down in the streets. The shelling took its toll on the men as those not actively engaged ducked behind barricades and the remains of walls to shield themselves before a whistle rang out from the second line. The retreat in the south turned into a charge, the two lines smashing into eachother like the waves against shore over the fallen, defender and attacker alike.

"Open fire!" The guns roared to life once more. HE and Mine shells fell into the narrow confines of the city, their explosive shockwaves bouncing off walls and into the hapless soldiers. Shrapnel and secondary fragments filled the space, shredding man and machine alike.

"Oh yeah!" In their rout, the pro-Gong Celestial exiles had left behind several machine guns. An Elodian soldier grabbed the gun and racked the hammer as he turned it around back at the fleeing soldiers. They would need this. As the professional Reichskriegers began their counterattack, they would need anything they could get. Unlike the exiles, these soldiers were hardened warriors. Several more Elodian men fell as Reichskrieg bullets pierced their bodies. The Elodian rifles, supplemented by their new war booty, returned fire.

As the men moved in and out of ruined buildings and through the streets, many found themselves cut down before the fateful moment of contact came. But when it did, it was like angels of death had fallen upon Elodia, bayonets flashing with trained precision and officers cutting men down with a saber in one hand and a pistol in the other, showing no fear in the face of the enemy as a hurrah rose over the charge, still peppered with shells who cared not about how well trained the man is.

The Elodian soldiers at the front were skewered by Reichskrieg rifles, and the men desperately fired back, trying to kill the fearsome professionals before they got in too close, but their marksman ship was apparently inferior too. Despite this, the continued to fire back. The artillery gave some respite as it levelled the playing field, but the bodies were stacking. And in the brutal conditions of the ruined urban landscape, it was hard to rain down shells without killing their own men, and thus, many men were left to fend for themselves. Eventually, from the distance, they heard hooves. The cavalry was here.

Even as they inflicted devestating losses on the enemy, the lines withered away slowly yet surely, reserves drying up as the rear lines were committed, just in time to recieve the charge of cavalry in an urban enviroment. They would find their horses hard to manuever, the mud and thin streets meaning easy angles, but even with a brief respite the lines slinked back from their heroic surge, reconsolidating for a defensive ring around the port itself and their headquarters building. Wounded were being treated here, the cries of the dying and the silence of the dead filling the air around the final few. Nobody knew how many were left, that was just the nature of this style of warfare, but fewer and fewer faces made themselves known as ammunition began running to its limit. Nobody said a word, but many knew this was it even as they made them bleed for every inch.

Borda, one of the original artillery commanders and a few of his men were tied up in a small tent as he heard the news. He laughed and laughed.
"You kidding me? We basically won." A smug smirk grew on his face. "We won. I suppose you'll hgave to let me out of these ropes now commander." The other cavalry commander who had stayed back huffed.
"Perhaps so." The two men looked into the smoking fort. "Perhaps so." There was silence. And then Borda laughed again. "Oh please, shut up..." the cavalry officer said as he listened to the man's laughter. A second loudspeaker broadcast was heard. This time, it was live, as a man spoke directly into the speaker. Though it was far away, it could be heard for miles.

To the men of this port! Surrender immediately! The battle is lost, this port is now Elodian property. Throw down your weapons. Reichskriegers shall be treated in accordance to the international laws of warfare. Surrender now! You have lost.

The flag of Reichskrieg, which had fallen off during the bombardment, was raised from the top of the port's bell tower in response. There would be no quarter for the enemy as the battered seebatalions dug their heels into the dirt at their new positions. The local missionary went up and down the lines, reciting a brief prayer before he returned to the safety of the not front lines. This portion of the city had it even worse, as it had been especially targeted for its military importance, hardly any buildings aside the headquarters yet stood, turning every building into a machine gun nest or a strong point.

Surrender NOW. Spare your lives, there is no meaning to be found in dying for no reason.

"We've got them on the ropes!" An Elodian soldier yelled out. The men charged once more under the cover of their artillery fire. They had this. They were going to win. This was going to be easy. As an artillery shell flew into what appeared like a machine gun nest, the men happily charged right in. They were going to have this in the bag.

As the Elodians rushed forward full of confidence, the dust cleared, revealing very angry Reichskriegers who poured everything they had into the advancing enemy. Machine guns rattled off as, at this point, at these distances, the artillery was just innacurate and weak enough to allow them to resume consistent operation. The bullets ripped apart confidence like the men they met on their war path.

"Oh shi-" The Elodians fell in droves as the machine gun fire here was apparently unaffected be shellfire. The lightly armored positions were apparently too much for the field guns to handle. But with the absence of siege artillery, there was only one way to go - forward. And thus, the Elodian men began the costly charge against the machine guns. Men screamed as blood ran down the streets, filled with corpses and dying men from both sides. Artillery shells rained down on these positions once more, but it was ineffective against the basic concrete structures.

With the onrushing hoard maimed, an officer gathered up his men for one last offensive action. And with a blow of the whistle, they manuevered through the streets aiming for one target: the damnable guns which had started this mess to begin with, and had left the city a burning husk of what it had been but a day prior. Moving past rear guards and the flanks, bayonets descended swiftly upon the crews.

"Gah-" The artillery crew fell as the bayonets pierced them. They fired grapeshot shrapnel shells to attempt to soften up the charge, but it ultimately failed to prevent their deaths.
"Don't lose hope, we can still-" Duval said as he fired a revolver at the charging Reichskriegers, but a rifle round pierced his skull. He fell over, instantly dead. The guns went silent.

The men holding the line noticed the silence in the air, outside of their own gunfire, and cheered as one less problem was delt with more permnanently. It was a good distraction from their detoriating situation, with countless dead at the other lines.

The Elodians began to look around. There were definitely less men than before. And the situation began to turn against them. Things were truly looking grim.
"Retreat, retreat!" By now, the Elodians were beginning to fall back. But the units that held on, held on, trying to desperately hold off the Reichskriegers to let their fellow Elodians escape.

The Reichskriegers looked on. They had actually held the line, something which not even the most delusional of the men had not anticipated. Now they would sweep them out. This was their moment, now, as whistles blared in the streets and the melee resumed once more.

An Elodian Unit thatw as surrounded by Reichskriegers fired round after round towards the charging Reichskriegers. They were alone, an island in the sea, but they wouldn't die. Not here. Not now. They sprayed bullets into the onslaught.

As the bullets whizzed through the air, the Reichskriegers pushed in on the buildings they were using as cover. Well, the remains of it anyway. Each time they pushed in, each time they were pushed back, it took a drain on what little men remained, down to the last hundreds of the garrison from the thousands who they had had before. In the headquarters, the more senior officers poured over reports. Most of the garrison, dead or missing. What units they had left were depleting in a counter offensive. They sent out what would be their last telegram.

SITUATION CRITICAL STOP

CASUALITIES IN THOUSANDS STOP

STATUS OF GARRISON UNKNOWN STOP

IF LOST WILL BE LAST TRANSMISSION STOP

IF HELD WILL TRANSMIT IN AN HOUR STOP

LONG LIVE THE KAISER STOP

"We have them! We have them! Charge, full speed!" The Elodians surrounded the Reichskriegers with what little reserves they had. This too was the last of their men. They were hanging on by a thread, as much as the Reichskriegers were. Still, they pushed. The retreat was halted. And now, they came pouring back in. Hundreds upon hundreds of Elodians ran for the headquarters. It was right in front of them. Victory was almost there. Now, how many men would die before victory was achieved?

The men, whats left of them, limp back into the building as men run up on it. Pistols aim out windows and fire alongside rifles, while the door is barricaded with furniture from the inside. There was no doubt about it to the senior command, if they were here, this was it. But they would give it up dearly, as the tan dressed soldiers gunned down who they could with their minimal ammunition stockpiles remaining. A final stronghold in the ruins of a once bustling city, standing tall above the ruins left around it.

The Elodians finally stormed the building, putting an end to this once and for all. Thousands of men lay dying or wounded. The civilian workers now began to enter, helping out the wounded and clearing up bodies. As far as everyone was concerned, this was it. The battle was over. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Right?

What Makes a Man - Shattered and Broken 1/? | March, NL 15 (1910) | Location: City of Pontour , Rozmor.

Davin could feel the vibrations throughout the table, the rapid pace of Polig hitting the table with his finger, it was like the rumbling of a mill. Davin looked at his meal, his Pegankod dish wobbled in rhythm. He looked up at Polig’s face, it was sweating, his veins protruding from his head, he was looking just past Davin to the table behind. Davin scanned the table, his mother in law looked down at the table in shame, while Vana squeezed at her father’s shoulder, while whispering in his ear. His father in law winced and spoke under his breath, until.

“That’s not the point Vana, I can see it. Look. Look! That moron of a waiter is pouring whiskey, I said rum!” Polig’s finger quickly turned to a fist, a single thud made the cutlery jump from its spot. Davin could see other restaurant goers from nearby tables look towards them, smirking and giggling. He could do little but push the feelings of embarrassment away, as while he could get up and leave such an act would not only be shameful but give Polig a reason to try and annul the marriage he had grown to attest. Maybe this was some ruse to make Davin want to walk, or maybe Polig had grown truly unstable and delirious.

Then it started, the frothing of the mouth, like a rabies ridden dog the white foam grew and flowed down Polig’s face and suit, then onto the table. The rabid man gripped the tablecloth and he could hear the strain against the man’s palms.

“NO NO NO.”.

“NO NO NO.”.

“NO NO NO.”.

Like a temple chant Polig kept going, some other guests began to leave and Davin could see the other staff members whispering talking to one another, the shame and the guilt became overbearing. He launched himself out of his chair and looked behind him. There were clearly some sailors trying to eat their meal, yet their glances snapped between Davin and Polig. Immediately Davin knew what was happening, his father in law had wanted to buy drinks for the sailors, he wanted rum yet he never stated it.

He pointed to the waiter and he had the tray of drinks in his hands. “Put them on my table.”. He then marched to the bar, quickly searching for a crisp paper note to give to the bar, all he found was a five solaris bill. “A round of rum for the sailors.”. He leaned in closer to the bar manager, “The rest for any trouble caused tonight.”. A small token of apology seemed in order given his father in law’s behaviour, though the look on the bar manager's face was that of scorn and disdain he nodded.

With that he walked away from the bar and back to his seat. Polig and Vana eyes glared at him, his father in law’s burned with fire, his wife’s irradiated thanks, he sat back down and reached over to hold his wife's hand, she was shaking.

He felt her pull away and he let go a soft smile grew on her face, even his mother in law gave him a quick, thankful look. His stress quickly left, and he took a deep breath of relief. He picked up the glass of whiskey and pulled it to his lips, awaiting the oddly refreshing burn it would-

“I didn’t pay for YOU to drink it.”.

Devin’s eyes snapped to Polig, his arms folded, like a toddler and his face crooked. Devin let out a laugh as he put the drink down, and pushed himself out of his chair and stood. He laughed again, the gull of Polig. Perhaps this was all just a ruse, a means and a ploy to make him lash out, he was poorer for this all and was a part of the disrespectful act. Yet he looked to Vana, the look of fear in her eyes. Again he extended his hand to her, she almost reached for it right away.

“You are my daughter, girl. I forbid you from leaving this table.”. Polig snapped with venom in his voice.

Yet Davin just smiled at her, “You are my wife. I am forbidden to leave without at my side.”. It did not take long but she grabbed his hand, yet Polig did not usher a single word or make the slightest sound. They walked out the restaurant and around the corner, Vana still squeezed his hand tightly.

She stopped and let go, before doing anything else she carefully extracted a cigarette from her coat, Davin grabbed his lighter and the quick bright flame gave some comfort. She puffed away before speaking, her shakes still going on.

“Thank you Dav, thank you for everything.”. Vana spoke as her voice struggled and strained, she let out a soft whimper, he pulled her close.

Davin thought about what he could say, his first idea was scolding her father for costing him money, then making a scene, and then not letting him drink. Yet all that could have happened before, Vana seemed terrified almost.

“He’s not getting any better Dav, he had to sign a contract over today, he forgot how to spell his last name.”. Vana's eyes grew more tearful. “He wakes up in the morning not knowing who we are, he demanded that the waiter bring whiskey… But worst of all it is that look he gives, that blank stare into nothing. His body is there but his mind is not.”. The dull light from her cigarette went out, Davin was quick to relight it.

Yet in the brief moment as the flames flickered he had just now noticed how tired she looked beneath the many layers of foundation and cosmetics. She had been spending more and more time with her parents, at first he assumed it was her father’s wants. Yet perhaps it was his illness. He struggled to think of anything to say, his mind racing around as he looked up to the cloudy night sky.

“Let's get out of the city for a while, have a real break from it all. My brother still owns that small chateau outside of Begglas.”. Davin said with some unease. The idea of a prolonged break from work, the ramifications of his absence flew about his mind. But he put it all aside, he was allowed to put his family first, he needed to.

Vana nodded as she drew one last long inhale of her cigarette as she threw away the stub. “Begglas sounds nice.”. Her tone was more relieved and her voice sounded far more bright and uplifted, it was almost as if someone had lessened their grasp around her neck. “Now, do you remember the way back to the tram station.”.

“Of course, I have only had three drinks.”. Davin quickly responded, as he led the way towards the tram spot.

The night was surprisingly still and quiet, some businesses were open yet many had closed to adhere to the practice of Skeudeur, Pontour still tethered to its history. They moved through the streets, before finally reaching the crossing of a long road. The ringing of the tram grabbed their attention, the tram just pulling to the stop, but at an empty station it would not linger. The two quickly walked out into the road hoping to catch it.

The sound of the bell, the lack of light on the stress and their haste. It all help obscure so much. Then the sound of an engine grew louder, small flickers of light reflected off shiny material and the rapidly approaching silhouette of an automobile.

Davin felt something erupted in his body, he felt the need to do anything. Vana was still slightly in front of him and the car was quickly approaching with no signs of stopping, it felt as time was slowing as he mind rushed what to do. He pushed Vana forward hoping the he could at least spare her from any harm as the car came closer and closer.

The shape grew and grew until, nothing

Davin felt as if he just woke up, his bed was cold and hard, yet his pillow was damp and warm. His head felt heavy as he struggled to lift it up and his legs throbbed in pain, he looked around, unsure where he was.

It was dark and he seemed crowded as people surrounded him, through brief gaps he could see a large black automobile, metal from a railing had almost wrapped around it. He could see something else on the ground below, lying there motionless.

Vana

WHERE WAS VANA

With great panic he looked around, she must be nearby! His heart thumped and heaved as he struggled to control his breathing, he tried to stand yet the effort it took as he tried to move his left leg caused a flood of pain came from it. He fell back down to the ground sending more pain shooting up his body, the pushed himself up with his arms, looking at the automobile, looking at the ground below it he could see her.

Motionless…Lifeless

With all the strength he had left he pushed himself up, ignoring all the pain that came from it. He had to get to her, yet the moment he put pressure on his left leg he lost all balance and the ground came at him again.

THUD

His shoulder ached, yet his leg was burning with pain. The soft carpet of the bedroom did little to soften the blow as he rolled onto his back, sweating as his heart raced. He could see through the gap at the button of the door, a pair of small night socks.

“Go back to bed Gwen.”. He said in a strict tone, the feet quickly slipped away and the light coming from the hall snapped to darkness. Davin carefully pulled himself up using a bedside table and laid back onto the bed. His leg was still roaring with pain and mind was racing. What sort of man had he become, plagued by nightmares as his children worry for him while he limps like a cripple.

He knew this would be another sleepless night.

«12345678. . .1112»

Advertisement