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The Reflections of Lord Tseun, The Great:
Event post - Question 1: Kolch
(1911)
There was a room in the Elysian Palace built for reflections. It was situated in a remote corner, undisturbed. It had no windows and its walls were thick and made of smooth white stone when most others were made of thin wood and fabric. On these walls, there were tapestries hanging downwards where the sewn depictions of great lords, monsters, and myths gazed inwards. Perhaps the architect wanted the person occupying that room to feel like they were being watched, even in such a place of solitude – watched by the eyes of ancestors.
The floor was tiled and bare. Its colour was jade and it shimmered slightly in the light of an innumerable array of candles set upon the ridge of a pool of water. The pool was not actually a pool – that's just what they called it – it was fed from a spring situated nearby: water running by, a constant flow southwards, babbling, echoing calmly.
Lord Tseun stepped into that room, dressed in the ceremonial robe of the Elysian Lord, a bandage over his forehead, drooping over one eye. He closed the door behind him; it thudded dully. He sighed and then took off his shoes, placed them near the door, and stood back up straight, eyes closed, wishing for weightlessness. The tiles were icy cold. He walked with a limp, yet still softly, inspecting the candles as he went.
"They lit them all. Good, they learnt from last time. This place must be perfect in order to properly serve its purpose," he thought.
Then, he came upon the pool. He knelt before it, upon a white mat, and watched the subtle ripples as the water flowed on by – flowing over the lower tiles beyond the raised rim, undulating them. He steadied his breathing, watched the waters, saw a pattern in the flow, aligned his breaths, and found peace – found weightlessness. He accepted the gaze of his ancestors and closed his eyes.
"Who am I?" he pondered, breathed in, breathed out.
The waters babbled quietly.
"Who am I?" he asked himself again, breathed in, breathed out.
"Lord Tseun."
He was not satisfied. "Who am I?" he asked again, breathed in, breathed out. His heart slowed to a state of calm unknowable to most men.
“Lord Tseun.” Same answer, inescapable.
The rattle of hooves, the growl of men, flutter of clothes, riding at the head of a column beneath the golden sky. Olekov’s guns thundered behind, their shells arcing overhead in a fiery display and planting amongst the enemy. Explosions like from the peak of a volcano. Men flying, dying in the air, pikes topped with clan flags, now unspoken, splintering, the banners shredded by shrapnel.
Riding, riding faster and faster; thunder beneath the charge, horse hooves drumming, time slows down, Tseun looks beside him. One man rides dead in his saddle, blood welling around a bullet hole in his chest, head lolling to-and-fro. He’d dropped his sword. Tseun looks the other way, that man is still alive, riding, screaming a silent war-cry. All sounds are muffled to him, he makes out Basrodec upon the man’s lips and faces forward again. He cries out for the war god’s blessing too.
“Who am I?”
“Conqueror, killer, the end of half the clans of Tangwen.”
Walking amongst the tall grasses, the sky now reddish-orange. The field in the distance, filled with old gun smoke and the dead; and, there, the Dayani exiles wander a-plundering. One evening, a whole night of battle. Aching joints, blood still upon his uniform, his hands, and his face. Tseun passes kneeling men, their names murky in the spiralling memory. Clan banners planted next to them, murky also.
He walks slowly, hiding the pain in his burning muscles. Pronounces the sentence: death. He charges them for their crimes. Who are these men, these dead men kneeling, looking up in defiance yet?
“No. Focus. Who am I?”
His movement is awkward. His shoulders are stiff. His back muscles pull and strain. The sword glints silver above his head. “...death.” He arcs his arms ninety degrees and then drags it across, feels the blade biting flesh, warm blood again. Tseun flinches, breathes deeply, closes his eyes. The kneeling man topples without a head.
Onto the next man, condemned even before his crimes are brought forth: crimes of treason against an emperor yet to be. Same motion, but this time the sword glints red overhead.
Lord Tseun’s heart rate spiked for a moment but he breathed deep, pursing his lips slightly and making a whooshing sound with every exhale; with it, he found his focus again. His heart steadied and then he switched his focus back onto the sounds of the water.
“Who am I?” he pondered again. The eyes of his ancestors bore deep into every facet of his being.
“Lord Tseun, the Great.”
“An addition? Flattery, arrogance.”
“Focus. Breathe. Who am I?”
“Lord Wu Tseun, The Great: liberator of Nhasa, of the empire, scourge of traitors, lord above all.”
“Who am I?”
“Lord Wu Tseun, The Great, The Terrible: Wrath of Basrodec, inheritor of barbarity, feral.”
A battlefield. A distant city, shrouded in smoke, burning. Movement from below, down the hill. Elodians and the riders of Clan Uulat, advancing like ghosts through the grey. A message from the eastern flank. A Temrisian, strange accent, hardly discernible: “Gong is dead. His men are retreating.”
A smile growing on Lord Tseun’s face, looking out at the field once again. Westwards, the traitors make southwards, towards the railway. They run scattered and disorganised, scared. Ginning, gripping his horse’s reins tighter, pulling, preparing to ride up and down the battle line.
His heart thudded loudly. Echoes of the adrenaline he felt that day pricked his skin, emanating from his chest. “Does it– do I always have to be–”
“Stop.” The adrenaline faded. “Listen.” The water babbled. Silence in all other things. He focused again.
“Who am I?” he asked again.
Fragments of a speech: “...evil begets evil…” “...no mercy unto traitors…” “Onwards, do not think, do not fear…” “Basrodec!”
A war-cry from behind. Thousands of men running, riding; the former goes without order, the latter rides close together, behind their lord.
Closer, closer. The enemy turning to witness the charge. Coming out of the fog like the horsemen of the apocalypse, a thousandfold. Screaming like mad. White flags raised in vain.
He can see the whites of their eyes now, fear is in them all. Rifles raised. Fire! A flurry of shot. Tseun looks around. Beside him, a man leans back in his saddle, dead. On his other side, a man screams. His hand is gone and he holds it up before his eyes as if his own voice will make it grow again.
The riders crash like a wave upon the traitors. The war-cry is cut short and replaced with the screams and yelps of struggle. Tseun rides down five men and then sits atop his horse in the midst of the fray. Many dismount, he remains in the saddle. The horse trots to-and-fro, uncertain. He spots an enemy running towards him with his bayonet. He leans and swipes at him with his sword. The man crumples to his knees, a slash in his shoulder.
At the same time, another attacks from behind. Too slow to counter, the bayonet is deflected by his armour, but the second attempt strikes his leg. Pierces the other side. The horse cries and bolts. Tseun is thrown. Clatters the other man to the floor, lying there holding his rifle up between them, across his chest, in the attitude of attention. The bayonet, in front of both their faces. The traitor pulls away, slices him deep.
Tseun cries out. The traitor pushes him off, gets to his feet, ready to plunge the blade down into his back. He is panting heavily, Tseun can hear it. Fear as much as scorn. Then, suddenly it’s cut short. The Tangwenese infantry arrives. A warrior helps Tseun up.
Standing there, leaning upon his sword, blood running down his face, hardening in his moustache, metallic taste in his mouth. The battle draws to a close. Prisoners are taken after all, only a handful though. Train carriages burn and the men stand shrouded in smoke.
“Who am I?”
“Lord Tseun”
“Who am I?”
“Tseun, The Great; Tseun, The Terrible.”
“Who am I?”
“Tseun, Effigy of Basrodec, Servant of War, whose only cause is to fight.”
Anchors, Aweigh
Westfeld, Reichskrieg
January 19th, 1911
Vice Admiral Felix Katzfeld sat in his office in the naval offices in Westfeld. As commander of the First Battle Squadron, he was stuck behind a desk most of the time, especially in times of peace such as this. Relative peace anyway, he thought about that minor skirmish with that Von Schiefer fellow with the Celestial Squadron. But asides a state of general readiness afterwards, it had been quiet. He stroked his beard as he looked over the fleet readiness report which had been gathered the day prior, and was still doing this when the door opened. A man with a letter in one hand stepped in and saluted.
"Vice Admiral." He spoke.
"At ease." He said with a wave of his hand, not looking up. "State your purpose."
"Orders from the Kaiser, Vice Admiral. Your fleet is reassigned to the Celestial theatre. Upon arrival, you'll take over command from Von Schiefer of the Celestial Squadron."
"The Celestial theatre? Why?"
"I was not told, sir."
"Very well. Place that letter, then you are dismissed." He tapped his quill in ink before signing off on new orders, which he had pulled from a giant stack of papers. The messenger placed it down before saluting and leaving. Once he was done with his signings, he opened the letter bearing the Imperial seal. His eyes looked across the paper and his eyebrows raised. Orders from the top. Directly from the Kaiser. "War, eh... and here I was thinking Luhai was the end of this celestial business." He said as he got his things together. "Figures that hot headed fool would get himself into trouble... Aid!" He called out, a man peaking in. "Get the fleet ready to depart post-haste." The aid nodded before leaving, Felix affixing his officer's cap before he left his office behind for a new one in a far off land.
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He stepped onto the deck of his mighty dreadnought battleship, the SMS Westfeld. The fleet around it was equally as mighty, dwarfing even the mightiest ship assigned to the Celestial Squadron, the Saxon. It was the best of the best that the fleet had to offer, his battle squadron. It would be a mighty message, the Vice Admiral thought as he worked his way to his bridge. As he walked, he ran strategy through his head. The Kaiser laid out his aims for this war in the letter, naturally, but the strategy in which he'd achieve victory was still up to him. He ran his hand down his beard as he pondered this, taking up a position on the bridge. Well, he paused I'll have plenty of time to think this over on the journey he thought before turning to his wire operator. "Anchors aweigh. Set course for the Celestial Empire. Full steam ahead!"
As the ships churned along on their journey south, Vice Admiral Katzfeld had gone through a multitude of plans with his command staff. It was a good way to pass the time, and who didn't enjoy a good meeting for an impending conflict? After the latest one, where they went through a variety of ideas ranging from good to bad, he returned to the bridge. Just in time to see the port of Falkenberg come into view. Its position was rather unsecure, but he was to relieve command before heaving northward towards the port which had been lost. As the SMS Westfeld pulled into port, it loomed over the destroyers and cruisers remaining of the Falkenberg garrison. Upon their arrival, Felix stepped off the ship to meet face to face with Von Schiefer, bandages around his left eye.
"Ah, reinforcements! Am I glad to see you..." He trailed off, attempting to remember his name.
"Vice Admiral Katzfeld." He reached into his coat and handed off a letter. "You are being relieved of command."
Schiefer blinked, quickly reading the letter. "But-"
"It is the desicion of the Kaiser himself. You have failed in your duties. Report to Reichskrieg for reassignment."
"After all I've done?" Von Schiefer managed to get out after searching his mind for the words.
"You have done enough. This war is in the hands of the Kaiser now, and he has sought fit for me and my fleet to be assigned here. In that envelope is a ticket for a civilian ship, you will use that to return home."
Concealing his rage at the turn of events, he brought a bandaged hand to salute. "Yes sir." he said through gritted teeth.
"Good man." Felix said with a quick pat on the shoulder before turning around and reboarding his ship.
Blood in the Fields (Event Post)
In response to Temris
April, 1489
Luguang, Kalquen
The little boy sat under the warm glow of the sun, each beam sifted gently through the leaves of the great tree above him. Birdsong and wind filled the air, bringing scents of grass and wildflowers softly into the boy’s nose. Before the boy, a large field of barley sat, green shoots flowing outwards, stopped only by the line of hills framing the horizon’s edge. In the distance, the moving forms of farmers danced among the greenery like ants in a hive.
As the boy’s eyes drifted lazily over the field, a small noise sounded off to his left. A small, quiet noise, yet unmistakable. Moments later, the small, warbling note graced the air once more, a few steps closer this time. Chirping, measured, sweet, and shrill. Spurred on by curiosity, the boy turned his head to look for the source, his eyes locking suddenly with the visitor, a small brown sparrow.
”Cheep!”
The small bird hopped forwards, its head tilting slightly as its beady black eyes stared blankly upwards to the boy. Further brought in by curiosity, the boy reached into his pocket, finding the few flecks of barley he had left for such an occasion. His small, doughy hand gripped the grains, withdrawing them much to the excitement of the sparrow.
”Cheep!”
The sparrow hopped right up to the boy, waiting hesitantly by his clenched fist. As it tilted its head back and forth, the boy smiled, letting go of the flecks for his feathered companion. The sparrow lept happily to the gifted food, pecking softly at the handful of grains strewn about the bare earth. Suddenly, the bird lept upwards into the sky, its wings flapping gently in the air.
“Come back!” shouted the boy, more out of surprise than out of conscious thought.
Acting in the moment, the young boy ran after the bird, moving across the grassy divide between sparse woods and farmland, following the silhouette rimmed by sunlight. After a minute, the boy slowed down, out of breath and tired. Before him, the small path back to his village lay. After catching his breath, the boy began walking down the packed dirt trail, smoothed down by hooves and wagon wheels. The distant structures of his village came into view along the winding road, growing closer as he moved.
With home in sight, the boy began to run once more, his sandals kicking up sediment behind him. As he made it to the town’s edge, his stomach fell. The bustling main road was completely empty and deathly quiet. Something was wrong, deeply wrong.
Before he could plan his next move, a pair of hands had grabbed his hand, wrenching his entire body towards the door of the building at his flank. As his heart pounded in confusion, the boy attempted to grip onto the doorframe he was being dragged through, yet his small fingers moved too slowly to do so. The scene inside the house he had been dragged into was confusing, two children and a woman, all cowering around their small wooden table, with the father of the family still holding tightly onto the boy’s wrist. The man stood at nearly twice the young boy’s height, with arms as thick as branches. The man’s hollow expression dug into the boy, causing his heart to quicken even further.
“Boy, it is not safe outside. There have been sightings of officers, unlike anything from the surrounding towns. We need to stay inside until they leave” whispered the man, his words equally hollow, his voice shaking under a mixture of stress and fear.
“Y-yes, sir” replied the boy, quietly moving his hand out of the man’s grasp.
Just as the boy began to slowly shuffle towards the table, an ear-splitting scream pierced the quiet air, the loud noise seeping through the walls like a shockwave. The sounds of boots scraping against earth followed, dozens of people moving just beyond the door.
The boy held his breath and backed himself up into a shadowy corner of the room, across from the door. He propped his head between his legs, his hands over his head. He worried for his mother and father, that they would be safe and hidden. As the number of boots outside increased, screams could begin to be heard from the neighbouring houses. The boy could only wait, warm tears welling in his eyes as the wailing outside only grew louder.
Suddenly, the door of the house shook, an unseen hand beating at it three times. With each knock on the door, the boy winced and shuddered, fear coursing through his veins like ice.
“COME OUT OF YOUR HOME!” shouted a voice behind the door, followed by three more pounding knocks.
Not a soul inside dared to answer. The air remained silent, filled only with suspense and bated breath. The door shuddered on its hinges as a massive force collided with it, wooden splinters falling from its edges.
“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! COME OUTSIDE!”
The figure on the other side of the door did not wait for a response, slamming into the door with enough force to cause it to blast open, splinters and dust shooting inwards as the foundations of the house shook. Beyond the door, a soldier could be seen, his armour pristine and of a colour the boy had never seen before. The soldier swung a large spear inwards, pointing it at the man and his wife. Bearing his teeth as he hissed a command to them.
“You and you, take your children outside. Don’t make me ask twice”
The woman took her two children by the hands, taking them outside without a word. Hesitantly, the man walked over to the boy, reaching down and grabbing a tear-soaked arm.
“Just follow me, boy. Please.” said the man quietly, desperation clinging to his words.
The boy stood, allowing the man to pull him out, past the soldier, and into the main road. The scene outside was equally as terrifying as the noises heard outside. Every resident of the village lined up outside their homes, dozens of armed soldiers patrolling back and forth, their spears and swords glistening in the light. At the edge of the houses, a man sat on a large horse, decorated with colourful banners.
“Citizens of Luguang. I am happy to announce that you all now have a purpose. Your hands now may work, you will all serve a much more grand purpose!” shouted the commander on his horse, slowly trotting his mount down the main street.
“From this day on, you will serve to feed the Empire, obeying the word of his highness, Emperor Ren Osarrus IV, ordained by the Gods!”
The commander’s words confused the boy, he had never heard of such a person, nor such a place. He did not know what an “Empire” was. The faces of the other villagers mirrored his own, looks of confusion shot between neighbours, children looking hesitantly to their parents.
“Your confusion is of no matter. You peasants need not have the mind to understand. Your unwashed, barbaric souls may now rejoice, for your pitiful lives finally have meaning”
A man stood up from the crowd of villagers, moving into the road and glaring at the soldier.
“You can’t do this to us!” exclaimed the man, his words falling on deaf ears.
The commander chuckled, two of his soldiers quickly moving to restrain the man.
“With time, you will learn this is for the best!” exclaimed the commander.
He could not have been more wrong.
~~~~~~~~
June, 1496
Luguang, Kalquen, Celestial Empire
The boy’s stomach rumbled, his skin hanging loosely over his bones. Years of malnutrition, scraping away at his soul. The village used to have enough for all, now, it struggled to prevent cannibalism.
The small, ramshackle shack he lived in leaked in the night air through its uneven panels, the only source of true warmth remaining for the boy was a smoldering fire. This sorry, pitiful sight was all he had, his parents relocated to Tanjin, his old home torn down for materials. He lived now only to work, earning pennies each week.
His hunger gnawed deeper, his eyes looking down to the hunk of meat he had left to cook among the flames. Hastily plucked, poorly cleaned, yet food. A milky white eye stared back up at him. The plump sparrow would make for a satiating meal.
The boy slurped down the gristle and fat, chewing the meat little as it slid sickeningly down his throat. His mind flashed to images of a young boy, smiling as he chased a silhouette rimmed by sunlight.
That night, he cried himself to sleep.
The Onset Of War
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January 19th, 1911, NL 11
Cigallo, Administrative District
"THEY DID WHAT WHERE?" Oberst Wilhelm VonHerschtzel yelled out in the emergency assembly of Cigallo's government. To his right, trying to calm him down was his fellow foreign advisor and democracy advocate, Colonel Hume Imson of Alstin. To his left, the Commander of the Selenic Gate, Chien Yee jumped backwards slightly, expecting an outburst but not to the level he now sees before him. Around them in a semi-circle layout, about 2 dozen other administrators and local representatives all look towards the Governor, not in his high chair above everyone else in the center of the half circle, but instead on the floor presenting towards his fellow councilors.
"I am sorry, Oberst, but as I have just stated, forces of the empire belonging to the province of Elodia have slaughtered the garrison of your countrymen in Qanteng. Or as they renamed it, Friedrichsburg. Though they suffered devasting losses themselves, the entire city with exception of some portions of its south were destroyed completely. Your countrymen managed to get a message out before they fell. This happened 3 days ago. Yesterday, almost to the hour, both then when the last transmission was sent and now as I speak before you all, a response was given. The Kaiser has declared war against the empire, and it's only been 9 days since we reclaimed Nhasa. The tugboats and reclamation ship we sent to reclaim the Avenger and bring her back for restoration and advancement has only now just arrived in the Harbour."
"Well what the f**k does that mean for me? I was sent here by the Kaiser himself to secure business interests while 'playing along' with the international limitations set by the Opera of Valmere. And now look at how things have devolved in but a months time!"
Commander in Chief Siew Fong, on the opposite end of the room, responded. "More importantly, what does it mean for us given how we border the colonial capital of Falkenberg?" Soon enough, the room erupted in conversation as most representatives began discussing amongst themselves what to do and every potential. Every now and then one would speak up, only to be rebutted soon after by at least 3 questions that no one truly had an answer for outside of expectations, assumptions, and speculation. At some point, even some of the guards and servants began speaking their mind, which only added to the dozens of conversations erupting around the topic, until...
"Gentlemen and woman, please, please, settle down! Now's not the time to rough each other up on a topic best discussed in an orderly fashion." The room once again fell silent, with everyone looking towards the Alstinian Colonel, who was the one to speak up. "Now, I know that in the less time I've been here since my counterpart, I don't know as much as him, but what I do know is Alstin. And our belief in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And as it just so happens, we have in interest in that here. Since my arrival, some token reforms were made to court my fellow countrymen, in this effort, you succeeded. This combined with Great Tarst's Red Star Line shipbuilding conglomerate having a harbor here in partnership with you all. I'd say if we make a couple more reforms, such as an elected position on this council, we could use the influence from Alstin to be able to declare the province's neutrality in this war. Saving my Reichskrieger friend here from the complications of wartime imprisonment, and our city from battle and blockade by Reichskrieg."
Silence filled the hall, many of those within looking at each other and contemplating their own and their peer's thoughts on the idea. Eventually, hushed whispers began and quickly ballooned into discussion as the plan was discussed. Few objected to even attempting it, most simply having doubts if it were to work. Eventually, a challenge came from Commander Chien Yee. "And what about us who don't want to sit as these foreigners come into our country, seeking blood?" He steps forward onto the floor, facing Governor Chuen Tan first before turning to face everyone else. "What about those of us who would give their lives for the empire, who would prefer to go into the maelstrom in the hope of glory, honor, country, whatever. What about us?"
"You could form a volunteer corps and temporarily resign from your post." A new voice rings from the entrance. Representative Iroh, next to him his burnt, injured son on a wheelchair, a cast over both of his legs since they got torn when the old coastal cannons struck the CNS Avenger in the final hours of the Battle of Nhasa, the ship's very own Captain Lu Ten. "It wouldn't be too hard. Your position is one set for life and it is an accepted tradition in the event of needing to act outside the box for previous Commanders to temporarily resign to go and fight. You could gather some of the mercenaries in the lower parts of the city, maybe even some volunteers and petty criminals to act as a force, arm them with some of the less reliable and modern weapons we have and go and fight."
"Well we certainly can't approve of such a motion else it would ruin the entire idea of declaring neutrality!" A representative shouted. "Which is why this historic action has always been done independent of any provincial governorate. The fact the Selenic Gate is flying the Union's flag is already historically unusual at best." No rebuttals were given, and soon enough, the Colonel spoke again; "So, I suppose we're all bully for this course of action?"
"The representative of Luvenai votes Aye." And soon enough, the votes came in for what was quickly coined by the papers as the Imson Plan the day after.
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7 Hours Later, Mid-Afternoon
Cigallo, Governor's Palace Balcony
"... as such, it is within unanimous decision of the government of the Union of the Three Rivers that we hereby declare full provincial neutrality in this conflict and will not fire upon anyone unless they fire on us first. Furthermore, it is within the government to increase democratic institutions within the province, and as such protests, approved and planned beforehand, will be legalized alongside the formation of a provincial labor union run in part by the local government and with a democratic board to run the rest to allow grievances to be aired without penalty. Alongside these, a city council will be opened and every residential district of the city and its outskirts will be allowed to send a fixed amount of representatives, that being 3, to run the city independent of the provincial government. Though it will still be ultimately subservient to the provincial government." Governor Chuen Tan bellowed to the assembled press and people below. To his left a chronicler was writing down everything said, and to his right a translator was transcribing it into Reichskrieger and other languages to be sent to Falkenberg and other such relevant powers via telegraph cable in but a few hours. Including the rest of the empire.
Meanwhile for the crowd, a mix of worry, excitement, and indifference rang out among a sea of clapping and some cheering as among many of those in assembly were workers who would directly benefit from this or those wanting more control of their local town. And in a nearby fenced residence, both the Colonel and Oberst sat on a balcony, overlooking the crowd and announcement. "So, it begins. Honestly, I congratulate you on such a bold maneuver Colonel. Pushing for such contentious reforms during a time of crisis, marketing it as a solution, and managed to do so in such a way they didn't realize the full implications, and as it looks, still don't. Impressive, most impressive." The Colonel puts his mug of coffee down and looks towards his compatriot from another continent. "Wha...? Oh no, nothing of the sorts, I just legitimately believed it would be a good solution for the current crisis. Frankly, I'm surprised it was so quickly agreed upon. A bit hasty, like how we were soon after independence." Both men soon chuckle at the situation they were in. Though both knew the other knew that they feared what was to come.
The Opera of Valmere has moved one act closer to the Finale. And the world was, to those who cared to look, the price of admission. And the bill was coming, soon.
"The Fine Masts of Nhasa"
January 14th, NL 16
Nhasa
The city was ruinous, but the Mast Estate had already been that way long before the days of James Gong. The redwood walls bled, the reinforced thatch roof drooped at points. Once, this was a symbol of the family's power. Now, of its wreckage.
Laurent strolled through the ballroom. It was vacant, now. No belles to dance with, no impressive buffet tables to pick clean, no fun to be had. He cast a weary gaze up at one of the mighty walls, toward where a tattered flag of the house banner laid driftless. In the library, he lingered over the Admiral's chair, and almost In the kitchens, he remembered his favorite cook, whose name was Louis. He wondered if Louis was still alive. In his own quarters, he saw the frame of his old be, the mattress long gone. Stacks of loose papers and scattered books filled the room. He thought as little of them as he could, before moving on.
He hesitated as he approached the Admiral and mother's room. He knocked, out of habit, before pushing the door open.
Inside, he was surprised to find that he was not alone in the house: "Morat. What are you doing here?"
Morat rose from mother's side of the bed to his full height. He was the shortest of the grown Masts. He wore that same ridiculous black suit and top hat he had since his appointment earlier that week. "I could be saying the same to you. Nostalgic, Laurent, or just happy to be out of Kolch?" Before Laurent could respond, Morat added, "I certainly am."
After a moment of hesitation, Laurent gathered a full picture of the room. Old portraits hung crooked on the wall of familiar faces. Mother's wardrobe had an awful smell that punched Laurent in the nose, rather than a mild effection. Laurent opened the drawer on the Admiral's side of the bed. He reached within, and pulled out a pair of round spectacles.
"It feels wrong," said Laurent, "to be here. We only missed Mother by a few years."
Morat turned his eyes to the floor, "she died a long time ago, brother. It only took her body a few suffering years to catch up to her mind."
Turning toward a nearby window Laurent, pulled up the broken blinds. The gardens, a jungle of overgrown wreckage, were sprawled out below. It's my fault, Laurent reminded himself, if only I had been here. He turned back to Morat, "you really mourned that fast? You know she was always your favorite."
"True enough," boasted Morat, before hi s expression soured once more. "But... she loved all four of us. You know that as well as I."
Laurent looked Morat in the eyes, his eyes glazed over with regret. "Yeah," he muttered, "I guess."
Eager to move on, Laurent grabbed a portrait from a nearby, small frame. Morat spied inside the picture of a familiar face masked by supreme whiskers. "You know, I am the highest-ranking Mast in our whole family. I bet the Admiral never imagined that of his thirdborn. Ha!"
The laugh echoed in the hollowed-room. Laurent stayed focus on the portrait, as his mind rushed at the sight of the Admiral: Traitor, Barbarian-Sympathizer, Disgrace to the Empire, Corrupt,
Father.
"is that jealousy I sense, beloved brother?"
Laurent turned to face Morat, carefully putting down the framed portrait as he did. "Oh yes, brother. I do envy your position. To have the power to lead our Empire's armed forces in the most important war in a decade." He began toward Morat, a smirk growing on his face with each word, "in fact, it is true that O'Rourke's has only given you that position I so envy to placate me and my armies," he scoffed, "and because you are a member of his beloved Diet." Before Morat could respond with a forceful protest, Laurent frightfully continued: "What I don't envy, however, is your personality. You, unfortunately, are a coward. You are the wrong man."
"What poppycock!" said Morat, and then he looked over the empty room, as if the act of shouting had disturbed an uneasy peace. In a slightly quieter voice, he pressed on with his defense: "You know full well of my bravery. I-I-I was under fire in Nhasa during the coup. I was in the front lines with O'Rourke at the Battle of Nhasa! If you wanted something different, you should've let me run that pitiful waste of Kolch, and gone to be a lord yourself."
Laurent narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. "When the Admiral ended the scourge of piracy in the Empire, Ren made a sacred vow to give he and his descendants a province of their own to govern—To make their own! It just so happened to be Kolch." The older Mast swallowed, "Kolch is all we have left."
"All we had," said Morat, "now, we are back in Nhasa, brother!" He smiled wide, "we're in government! In charge of the Army! And you get to battle the barbarians you so rigorously despise. And yet you still mope. Sometimes you're just as bad as—" Laurent cast Morat an insulted glare, already anticipating the next word. Morat spared him it.
Laurent turned, and left the great bedroom. Morat followed, and they both trekked the halls, slowly. They both agreed with the change of scenery. "Where are the boys, by the way?"
Laurent made his way to the estate's balcony, where in the distance the walls of Nhasa loomed amidst the fog. "Nathaniel is with a tutor in Nhasa," ("poor tutor," added Morat). Pascale is still in Kolch. He wanted to study."
"Study? We have the best libraries in the Empire here in Nhasa."
"Yes," sighed Laurent, "he is a strange boy. He's trying to learn the Kolchite language."
Morat laughed, and they continued on like that, for a fair while. Then, Laurent turned to his brother again, very seriously.
"Morat, I want you to promise me one thing. You are to go to Tarst, and negotiate with these barbarians. Please, promise me you maintain the integrity of our Empire. No more unequal treaties."
After a moment of consideration, Morat nodded.
"Another thing," said Laurent, "you are the Master of the Sword, and have access to all military records and reports, yes."
"Of course!" boasted Morat.
"Then there is one issue that we must attend with the utmost care."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
North Harbor
"Sir," said the voice of the newly-promoted Vice Admiral Lance Reyal, "you have a communication from the mainland."
He handed off the message on a small silver platter. Hugo Mast, who had just recently declared himself Grand Admiral, eyed the scene. After a moment, he carefully removed the message and pulled up the plate, analyzing its intricate carvings further. "Reyal," said Hugo, "I am not Gong. I don't need or want my communications handed to me as though I were about to eat roast swan." He narrowed his eyes, "if you hadn't noticed, the men on our ships eat from wood or rusted tin." He tossed the intricate platter to the side, and it crashed and shattered against the floor. "Just the paper will do, next time."
Reyal swallowed, "my apologies, Admiral."
"Grand Admiral," corrected Hugo, unfolding the message. After reading through its contents once over, he put down the paper and flashed a straight grin. He would've laughed, if he remembered how. "They have put my most unimpressive brother in charge of their army." He handed the message to Reyal. "Suddenly, I don't feel so bad. Open two cases of Gong's brandy, and hand it out to the men. Show them how seriously I take this threat."
"Yes, sir."
Hugo stood, walking to a nearby porthole. Just above the surface of the drifting waves, he thought he could see the shore. Without another word, he turned, examined the mess of shattered silver, drifting with the swaying of the vessel, and began toward a nearby broom.
Homeward Bound - Part I
Zimford, Kushmire
October 3, 1910 - NL 15
Spencer gripped the railing of the vessel gifted to the survivors of the Aftalia, his knuckles going white as freshly fallen snow. As his nails dug into the wood his eyes strained against the lifting fog of a Celestial morning. In the distance land emerged first as an indecipherable shape but soon grew into a collection of tall brick buildings lining a bay molded by countless piers and wharves. His heart leaping into his throat, Spencer nearly leapt with it. Throwing his hand into the air he shouted his discovery to the other survivors.
For the briefest of moments Spencer thought they’d drifted far enough south to have arrived in Chasewater. Indeed, the brick factories, marbled office buildings, towering clocks, and bustling portside gave Spencer the impression that he was back home. Disembarking from the strange vessel, Spencer expected to hear the almost indiscernible grumblings of Temrisian fisherman, but what met his ears was another language altogether. Pausing mid-step, Spencer’s eyes drifted upwards to a fluttering flag that waved proudly over the city. A black cross upon a white field glared down upon him, mocking his sinking heart.
“Kushmire,” he said, nearly losing his footing as the realization washed over him. Chasewater, Temris, and his son were still an empire away. About him, the other survivors disembarked to begin their own journeys home. Gods knew how any of them were going to get there. Curious eyes drifted to the ship they’d arrived on, though few asked where it had come from. After all, the empire was a diverse place with ships and faces of all shapes and sizes.
Spencer gave his compatriots a hearty farewell before fading into the growing crowds around them. Lifting his collar so that his neck was hidden, Spencer tucked his hands in his pockets. Drifting from the pier he ventured out into a city he’d only ever read about.
He wandered down several streets alone, his thumb rubbing the etched casing of the pocket watch he’d taken with him on his journey. Though the seawater had rusted its gears, he was comforted by the knowledge that through it all dear Marcy had remained with him in this little trinket. His heart sank at the memory of his son playing with the chain. That’s right. One day this will be yours. He’d promised Kayden the day he departed.
His heart ached as he turned another corner. He’d been down this street before. Cursing under his breath he paused midstep.
“Oi!” The person behind him slammed head-first into his back. Spencer tumbled forward, his hands luckily finding the pavement before his head did. “Watch where you’re goin’!”
Rising to his feet quickly Spencer brushed his pants off. The other individual had yet to stand, their narrowed eyes examining the bewildered Spencer. “MacDarcy?”
Green eyes below hair so red you’d think it were a nest of strawberries crowned the long, pale face of a man donning the gear of a dockworker under the employ of Madame S.P. Ward. A flicker of recognition flashed across Spencer’s face. “Gavin? Gavin Murphy?”
The man on the ground shrugged, his arms going wide. “The one an’ only!” Spencer helped Gavin to his feet, a smile replacing the sinister frown he’d been wearing only seconds before. “What are you doin’ out here, man? Kushmire is no place for a respectable gentleman such as yourself. Though,” Gavin motioned toward the dirtied, slightly tattered clothing Spencer was wearing, “you don’ look the part so much anymore.”
Spencer’s smile wavered. Images of the sinking, those beastly crabs, and the empress flashed before him. “I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t believe half of what I say.”
Gavin leaned forward. Winking like a weasel he gave Spencer a hearty pat on the back. “How ‘bout I buy you a drink and you tell me ‘bout it.” He put his arm around Spencer, his face souring at the ripe ocean smell. “Perhaps a new shirt too.”
Spencer set his second pint down, its golden liquid a shadow of the drinks he’d get back home. He’d spent nearly an hour retelling his tale. From his father’s insistence on this trip to the sinking, to the man-eating crabs, and down to the empress. Gavin sat quietly though it all, nursing his own pint in between globs of tobacco. “Gee,” Gavin said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’ know Marcy died. I’m so sorry, Spence.”
Spencer’s eyes lulled to his pint, his thumb tracing the simple pattern on the glass’ side. “She was a good wife. Gave me a good boy.” He turned back to Gavin. “I have to get back home to him. Gods know what’s going on in this bloody empire. All I know is that I have to get back.”
Gavin spat into a nearby spittoon. Rotating his glass in his hand he took a long swig of his drink before daring to meet Spencer’s gaze again. “How do you intend to do that, Spence? By the looks of it you don’ have any of that money your father wan’ed you to bring back.”
“I don’t.” Spencer shrugged. “I’ve no name here. No way of contacting home.” His shoulders slumped. He might as well have been trapped on the island with the empress. “I don’t have anything save a hunger in my heart for home.”
“Well,” Gavin pat Spencer on his back, “I’ll tell you what else you do have.” With a toothy grin he pointed his thumbs toward his chest. “Me.”
The following morning the pair emerged from the shack of a hotel that Gavin had rented a room in. Spencer donned new clothing: a white shirt, slacks, and black flat cap. His shoes were the same pair, but polished up to a shadow of their prime. Both had bathed, thank the gods, and set out with boyish glee toward the TMS Hyde.
As they made their way down the morning roads of Kushmire’s port, Spencer’s eye caught the latest headline in a nearby newsstand. AFTALIA SINKS: Survivors Arrive in Foreign Vessel… As Gavin marched ahead, Spencer drifted to the paper. An image of the ship given to the survivors graced the front page beneath the headline. Arnold and Jenn Harrison among the lost, read the following headline.
“Hey!” Gavin waved his arms from down the road. “C’mon MacDarcy! We don’ have long before the ship sets sail.”
Spencer grit his teeth as his eyes set upon an image of the famous Kushmiran couple. Jenn wasn’t dead. She was trapped. Bringing the paper to his forehead Spencer remembered her in those dark cells beneath the empress’ palace. She had children. A family that needed her. Though he doubted that there was anything they could do, he knew they deserved to know where she was and that she was alive.
“Spence,” Gavin said, out of breath as he ran to Spencer’s side. “Spence, we're going to miss the boat. We have to go now.”
Spencer’s grip tightened around the paper. As its edges crinkled he let his gaze sink to the stoney pavement. “I can’t go, Gav.”
“What? Just yesterday you was ramblin’ ‘bout how you need to get back to your boy. What’s stopping you now?”
“This woman isn’t dead. She’s a prisoner of Mira Cal.”
Gavin’s exasperated impatience deepened. The TMS Hyde’s horn sounded down the alleyway. “We can’t help her. You’re not going back and I ain’t goin’ with you if you try.”
“No.” Spencer’s attention moved to Gavin. He was out of breath, desperate. His piercing green eyes were like emerald drills into Spencer’s faltering conscience. The ship’s horn resounded once more. He was so close to a one way ticket home, to Kayden. “I-I have to tell her family that she’s alive. Her children have to know that she’s alive.”
Gavin frowned as his arms came to rest akimbo on his hips. “I don’ understand you, Spence.”
“If I was a prisoner of Mira Cal I’d want someone to tell my family.” The horn blew through the dockyard for a third time. Gavin’s arms fell to his sides, his head lowering.
“There goes my job.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed deeply, frustratedly. “Alright. The ship’s gone. You win.” He took the paper, squinting at the picture. “Where do we find the ‘Harrison’ estate?”
Spencer shrugged, his gaze going beyond the alleyway to the sea. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to ask the locals.” Gritting his teeth as the Temrisian vessel floated by between the buildings, Spencer began to regret staying. Who knew when or if he’d ever get home now.
A Fish Eye - Event Response for Kolch | July, NL 15 (1910) | Location: Office of the Governor, City of Pontour, Rozmor.
There she sat, her face bruised and clothes dirty and rough. Her eyes looked at him intensely, and she gritted her teeth. The bulky law enforcement officer rested his hand on his chair.
Behind the two of them, tucked away by the back wall was an oily man who shone under the light. He looked meek and cowardly
Le Kof scoffed as he peeled some tender meat from the fish before him, he savoured every bite. “Ms Abgrall. You put me in a very difficult situation here, my officers tell me you allied with those hooligans from academia blathering on about the failures of the Empire. But you are not enlisted there and by the mercy of the law you do not constitute the part of ‘any man’. So, I have pardoned your actions, but do so again and I will make sure punishment can be dealt.”. He waved her off and began to talk back into his delicate fish.
Yet there was a ruckus, the officer tried to pull her out of the chair but still she persisted holding onto it.
“The Empire can rot! Is that enough!” the young woman screamed at the top of her lungs. As he looked up her face was red and an odd smirk was growing.
“Unhand her Pichan.”. He waved to the officer who frustratingly let go. “Ms Abgrall, no it is not. Again no matter how scruffy or ill dressed you are, you are no man. This is also not a public place. I don’t quite understand, a young woman like you still unwed and roaming around like some harlot. You bring shame to your family’s name and legacy.”.
Her face twisted and turned red, once again her eyes beamed right to him.
“My family’s name? That doesn’t matter to me, nor does that legacy. But the ideals I follow, the ideals that will tear down this wretched archaic system. Equality and Liberty shall be the only legacy I desire.”. Her voice was roused with pride almost, stating her beliefs so forwardly and truly. “A legacy where men like you who deserve no power never see the smallest scraps of it, and our fate is not tied to a man who is above us.”.
Le Kof looked to the back of the room, the oily man looked ashamed and the officer looked angry, he grabbed his baton.
Le Kof peeled some more fish and chewed away at it. “Ah, those same old deluded ideals. You are one of those women who wish to lose all the privileges you have in our society. Lose so much respect and duty, a shame Ms Abgrall. But I do take issue with you saying I don’t deserve power, I have proven myself. The Celestial Empire itself bestows much onto me to act in the best interest of it, and even you. An ungrateful citizen is someone I must act in the best interest with.”. He went for another piece of fish.
“Last year, when those drug runners came through the ports of Reterkae. I was only some city chief, clocking the hours. But my actions, revealing those criminals, caught the eye of the Empire. That eye looks down on me today as the Governor for these Isles. Tell me Ms Abgrall don’t I deserve power for making Rozmor clean of drugs, exposing those wretched forgiveness. Those same foreigners' ideals you seem to have so proudly!.”. He smacked his lips and began to peel more and more fish.
The young woman’s eyes frantically darted around, her gaze broken, but still she had plenty to say. “But the way you punish people is-”.
“Perfectly fine and acceptable.”. A small piece of fish launched from his mouth. “Those drug runners were punished under the law in place, i’d rather just shoot them and burn their bodies. But the Empire and its law demand the tarring of those who dare break the greatest of decrees. After all, the decrees are what truly hold the Empire together, they can last forever. It provides continuity, the decree provides stability, the Empire provides safety.”.
He watched carefully as he cleaned his teeth with his fingers, the young woman struggled to respond. But she still mustered the occasional look of rejection.
“As long as the Empire provides safety, I provide that safety. If the Empire wishes you to be tarred, I shall make you tarred. But these silly beliefs from abroad do not provide anything for you or for me. You think some gold counting banker from Alstin, military commandant from Reichskrieg wish to impart better ways of life? Better morals to live by? They are foreigners, how would they know the way to live…”.
Le Kof placed the fork to one side, observing the skeleton of the fish. He pushed the empty plate to Ms Abgrall.
“If the foreigners have their way, that is what we shall be left with. Me, you and every other soul of the Empire. Because when they look at you and me, all they see is foreigners.”.
Ms Abgrall looked defeated, her eyes fixated on the skeleton before her.
“But, as long as the Empire remains, I remain. Here at my post, dealing with those who seek to subvert our pure Empire and those who have the privilege to sip jasmine tea and talk about ‘better values’.”. He stood up and snapped his fingers, the officer escorted the young woman out with no argument.
As they left the oily man moved forward a weak smile.
“Thank you Governor Le Kof, please excuse her. She,-”.
Le Kof threw up a finger. “I have already done that Solen. She won't get another, so get back on a leash or find a man that will.”.
The sweaty fumbled his words. “Ah- I- I”.
Le Kof had his finger raised and wagged from side to side. “Hush Solen, I didn't say you could talk. Don't make excuses, make results. Maybe that young lady's issues are hereditary. Perhaps it is not the youth the Empire should place its eye on.”. He put his finger down.
Solen stayed quiet and looked to the floor in shame. He turned around and left the room, the door was closed by the officer.
Le Kof opened up a drawer, his green book made a loud thud, the peculiar silver eye caught the light.
“Hmm, a fresh page for a day's end? What a shame.”.
Solen Abgrall - Suspected foreign influence - Immediate Removal
Ms Ozana Abgrall - Confirmed foreign influence- Immediate Interrogation.
“Pichan, I'll leave the daughter to you. Get that brother of yours as well, I don't want her beaten to such a state she can't confess or write.”. Le Kof ordered.
“What about the father sir?” He was puzzled.
Le Kof waved his finger. “I'll worry about that, a personal touch might be needed. After all, the enemies of the Empire are my own. The Eye must witness disloyalty and deceit.”.
Matters of State
Nhasa, Capital of the Celestial Empire
January 23, 1911 - In Collaboration with the Effortlessly Talented The Union of the Three Rivers
Jesse O’Rourke, now Supreme Regent of the Celestial Empire, flipped through the morning reports as the sun crept wearily up the eastern horizon. As golden light replaced the candlelight he’d been reading by, his squinting eyes caught glimpse of a declaration from one of the imperial provinces. Union of the Three Rivers Declares Itself Neutral, read the headline. Jesse paused, his face scrunching in acute confusion. How could a province, subservient in every way to his government, declare itself neutral in the face of war?
“Sean,” Jesse called out to his secretary. The scrawny Temrisian man soon filled the doorway.
“Yessir?” Sean twisted his hands together anxiously, eagerly. He had a spider-like gloom about him that always made Jesse’s skin crawl.
Jesse clenched his jaw, refusing to look the man in his dark, beady eyes. “Summon the lord from The Union of the Three Rivers. I’ll await him in the Hall of Earthly Unity.” Sean scurried off as Jesse stood, the declaration in hand.
Moments later he stood again, this time in the great hall. Behind him was a golden screen that hid the throne of the emperor, vacant for a year now. Straightening his grey dress jacket, Jesse prepared for the arrival of the rebellious lord.
Who came in was not the lord, but instead his aide. Who had a worried expression plastered over his face. The aide stood before Jesse and humbly bowed in greeting.
Jesse frowned. He'd made a point during his time as Chief Lord to learn the names and faces of the men who served on the esteemed body. He did not recognize this man at all. "I do not remember you from the last meeting of the Diet, Lord...?"
"I am sorry sir, but I am what can best be described as 'Acting Lord' for the Diet, as Lord Iroh has decided to return home once he learned his son, Captain Lu Ten, was the one to captain the Avenger during the recent siege and also suffered a debilitating leg injury in the process, making him wheelchair bound. However, I am, as Iroh's trusted aide and chosen 'Acting Lord' for matters of the Diet, I have access to the information he himself has access to. As such, I am happy to answer any questions you have. Though, I get the feeling I know exactly what you have called Iroh here for." The aide responded.
Jesse softened his gaze, though his compassion for the lord's son remained behind steeled eyes. "I am sorry to hear of the injuries Captain Lu Ten sustained. Extend my condolences and warmest wishes for good health to the lord and his son." After a brief moment, Jesse held up the declaration for the 'acting lord' to see. "I suppose this is what you mean?"
"Ah, indeed. Truth be told, I'm wondering what the governing council was even on or if there was a gas leak given the absurdity of it. Especially since it was suggested not by any actual member, but instead the Colonel from Alstin currently inhabiting the city and helping train the local guard. Apparently, there are aspects to which have been hidden from the public, though I have yet to see any of them as of now. A briefcase has however been delivered to me from Iroh, though I was unable to actually view its contents before you called."
Narrowing his gaze, he dared a glance toward Sean. "Fetch the briefcase. I want a full explanation as soon as possible." Sean nodded before merging into the darkness that still clung to the palace walls.
"I can only go off from what the detailed page of the paper has so far told me alongside the transcript of the speech and the meeting." The aide cleared his throat. "They have apparently decided to declare neutrality under the pretense that if the conference fails, the empire would need a way to still make money and if desperate, buy foreign equipment without the threat of Falkenberg sinking any such ships, or at the very least blocking them. They also claim that by doing this, it protects the interests of businesses, such as the Tarstian Red Star Line ship building conglomerate, and by extension the nations said businesses come from.
In short, they're sucking up to the other powers in a dual attempt to create a shield for themselves given how the city is currently one of the economic hubs with the outside world and a big economic investment for the Valmerean powers. As well as provide for the empire a way to circumvent any potential Reichskrieger blockade. Frankly, I have little hope for it, however Iroh seems to have faith in it, should you accept it that is."
Pacing the floor, Jesse considered the man's words. He failed to see the point in protecting the business of other nations, especially when said nations were openly influencing the politics of the Celestial Empire. That the declaration of neutrality originated with an Alstinian during an open way instigated by one of the provinces was insulting enough. Who ruled the empire? The provinces, or Jesse O'Rourke? He cupped his chin in his hand, his pacing slowing. Securing the finances of the empire was a wise move on the part of the UOTTR, that much he had to concede.
"I have little choice but to accept," Jesse finally said. "Governor Chuen Tan said it himself: We will not fire upon anyone unless they fire on us first. I will have to trust that those first shots will come from the Reichskrieg and not another province." He sighed a quick, frustrated sigh. "Maintaining the neutrality of your province guarantees the good will of the other nations from Valmere. For now. That is a valuable asset we cannot afford to lose."
"Indeed. I have also been notified that apparently, what is inside the briefcase is to help 'make up' for this brazen act."
Jesse narrowed his eyes. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
The aide stopped for a moment before shrugging slightly. "I have absolutely no idea, that's just what the telegram said."
Sean reemerged, his pale skin translucent in the daylight that crept in from a nearby window. With spindly limbs he presented the briefcase to the 'acting lord.'
Jesse cocked an eyebrow. The man was respectful, but foolish. Gods knew what Sean was. Clearing his throat, he brought his full attention to bear on the aide. "Well? What is your province offering up in exchange for my permission to act so brazenly?"
The aide merely opens the briefcase, and inside, strapped to the top is a detailed war plan map with the title of "The Imson Gambit". The plan shows a potential naval maneuver using the ships in Cigallo and the many coastal guns of The Selenic Gate to effectively blockade Falkenberg alongside planned naval landings throughout the peninsula it is located on.
On the lower part of the briefcase to the left is a document detailing the aspects of "The Imson Gambit." Namely for what the strategists in the Union believe would be the best time for Jesse to call upon its usage, namely in the form of a decisive war ending strike or to open a second front in the Reichskrieger backlines should they push too far inland and potentially even take Nhasa. Part of it also demonstrates how one of the opening acts is for an unmarked fishing trawler to 'accidentally' cut the telegram wires connecting Falkenberg to the outside world.
The other document, to the right of the explanation document, is titled "Translated Documents." Below it, is a treasure trove of information in regards to Reichskrieger doctrine, equipment, resources, commanders, etc. Alongside an order to a one 'Oberst VonHerschtzel', stating he is to escape to Falkenberg and participate in the war effort. Below that is a note from the Oberst himself, directed towards Jesse.
The note simply reads; "While I do not support the actions of Elodia in any measure or form. The actions of the Kaiser, especially so hastily declaring this war so soon after an international intervention against my fatherland has left me disillusioned with the empire. War is coming on a global scale, that I know to be true, and I refuse to let this be the spark that sets everything ablaze. In return for full citizenship should I be found out, I hereby offer my services to the empire as an informant. Let the records of my stay in Cigallo since 1907 be all the proof necessary for why I am trustworthy."
This had to be one of the boldest military maneuvers Jesse had laid eyes on. While he still wanted to believe that war was avoidable, he knew that VonHerschtzel was correct. Elodia's foolishness had set off a chain of events that will be impossible to reverse course from. Jesse took a long moment to examine the plan's bold moves. When he'd finally had enough, he motioned for the aide to close the case. "The Union of the Three Rivers and its resident Reichskrieger are driving a hard bargain. If I allow your province to remain neutral, even in name, then other provinces may be emboldened to act independently of my government. While this plan is bold, how can I trust Mr. VonHerschtzel? How am I to trust the effectiveness of this plan? What if the kaiser reinforces Falkenberg beyond comprehension? What then?"
"That is the part that I am worried about. Though I believe questions 2 and 3 are answered inside the case." Upon saying so, he reopens the case and moves the "Translated Documents" piece, and below is a stack of papers detailing recounts, such as transcripts, wiretaps, monitors, etc. All surrounding the Oberst as the target, and with the seal of approval from Cigallo's own intelligence services itself. In it, it shows the Oberst's true thoughts on the empire.
Disgust at the current monarchy, a distain for most of the world showing inequality towards the empire. But it also includes frustrations, such as the Oberst being ignored when arguing for the celestial empire to be treated as a co-equal ally to be built up. Arguments ignored and even a reprimand on arguing for the officers of the empire to be chosen not by blood, but by skill. And apparently, a leaked document detailing the Oberst was sent to Cigallo by the Kaiser not for the reasons he was given, but instead as a punishment for these 'acts of rebellion'. Included is a reason given by the Kaiser for the Oberst's deployment to Cigallo.
"If he wants to go mingle with the barbarians and claim them equal to any Valmerean, then go he shall. A couple months with them and he'll coming crawling back, begging for forgiveness in his transgressions against the natural order and hierarchy of things and men."
Other papers in the stack also detail how due to the hastiness of the declaration, and the major violation of the so called 'Opera of Valmere' this act occurs, it limits what Reichskrieg can do against the empire, both militarily and diplomatically. And how by over reinforcing the campaign would leave the fatherland vulnerable to rival powers
"I will brief the Imperial Council on your plan as soon as I am able. With their endorsement, and mine, the Union will be free to act autonomously in the name of the Empire. I will make clear that your goals are purely economic." Jesse cupped his chin with his hand, his elbow resting on the forearm of his other arm. He stood quietly, contemplatively. The fate of the Celestial Empire hung in the balance, and one wrong move could set off a string of events that could unravel the whole thing. "I will cite your province's vital economic status to the Empire, but," he met the aide's gaze head on, "if the time comes, I will call upon the Union to act. If it fails to execute this plan, I will view it as a province in rebellion of the Empire."
The aide puts the documents back and closes the briefcase. "Very well, I will forward this to my contemporaries in Cigallo at once. And you have my oath that should this all be an incredible farce, I will personally bring the traitors before you for judgment and sentencing. May the empire prosper, and may we win this terrible war."
"Long live the Empire," Jesse said, extending his hand toward the aide under a warm, albeit false, smile. "I will hold you to it, Mr...?"
"Robin, sir. John Robin the Fourth."
"Now that I know your name I shall not forget your face. Well met, Mr. John Robin. Godspeed." Spencer watched the aide depart, his eye twitching as he considered the hazy future he'd let the Empire to war for. Gong was gone, and in his place rose foreign powers hovering like vultures, and a legion of provinces each attempting to determine their own path. Gods... it now all came down to Morat and the conference.
Kolch, Kalquen, and Falkenberg
Homeward Bound - Part II
Zimford, Kushmire
October 6, 1910 - NL 15 - In Collaboration with Kushmire
“I thought you said you worked here?” Spencer thrust an accusing finger toward Gavin, his face reddening with each word.
Gavin threw his hands up. “I worked on the Hyde, Spence,” he said. “I didn’ go ashore much ‘cept on the last day when I ran into you. I swear!”
Spencer lowered his hand, his fist balling as it dropped. “We’ve been all over the docks. The papers made it seem like Jenn’s husband was a famous man, yet I ain’t seen hide nor hair of his business.” Spencer sighed, the color in his face returning to normal. “I’m sorry, Gav. I just… I just want to go home.”
“I know, Spence.” Gavin put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, his lips pursing. He looked about the dockyards once again. They’d asked perhaps a hundred of the dockworkers in the last three days and no one could tell them anything about Jenn and Arnold Harrison’s house. Most just rambled at length about their grief for the kids or about the mysteries surrounding the Aftalia’s sinking. Others spoke about the possible changes coming to the Harrison business.
Gavin’s gaze drifted beyond his friend to well-dressed man emerging from a brick building not far off. “Stay here,” Gavin said, patting his friend on the back as he stepped forward. “‘Scuse me,” he called out to the man. “Sir, could you spare a moment of your time for a simple fellow like me?”
Bruce Morgan exited the offices of Clifford and Voss. He heard a voice calling his name from the crowd. He rolled his eyes and checked his pocket watch, its age measured in gentle, but prominent rust. "Not much time." Bruce turned back towards the office but realised the voice was coming from the crowd. He rechecked his watch as the second hand passed the twelve. "I don't have long dammit."
"My apologies, sir," Gavin said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You see, my friend and I are looking for the relatives of a fren' o' his. Per'aps you know her? Or her family? Her name's been in the papers quite a bit lately. Mrs. Arnold Harrison."
The annoyance vacated Bruce's face. Replaced instead by benevolent amusement. "Oh really, well if you have bothered to read the papers you would know Mr Arnold Harrison and his wife, Mrs Jenn Harrison went down with the CMS Aftalia.
Gavin rocked back on his heels. "Well, that's the thing, sir. My friend was on the Aftalia. He saw her alive after the ship sank."
"Your friend? Where might find this individual, one who survived a disaster in a storm, miles out at sea, and returned to shore, what a tale he must have to tell." Bruce checked his watch again, "Listen here, young man, I am a busy gentleman and have places to be. If you have any further questions please consult my office." Bruce turned to leave.
"Wait, sir!" Gavin stepped into the man's way. Waving over Spencer he was quickly joined by his unlucky ally. "This is him. Spencer MacDarcy. Spence."
Spencer examined Bruce for a moment, his resemblance to the men his father kept at arm's reach almost unsettling. "What my friend says is true. I saw Jenn alive, and I'm trying to find her family so I can tell them. Please, sir. If you know anything that could help me it would be appreciated."
"You are a survivor of the CMS Aftalia?" Bruce cursed to himself as he checked his watch for the umpteenth time. "Lord have mercy. Spencer MacDarcy is it? If what you say is true, and Jenn is alive, the question remains, where the hell is she? Shouldn't she be accompanying you back?"
"This is a tale you won' believe, sir," Gavin said with grin.
Spencer rubbed the back of his head. "We washed ashore in Mira Cal. The empress there took a keen interest in her because of the business her husband was in. Ships, engines, the like. The empress is holding her captive to teach her people how to make steamships. Jenn protested, saying she knew nothing, but the empress wouldn't listen."
Bruce suppressed a laugh out of respect for his friend. "Well, Jenn is no regular woman I can tell you that much." Bruce scratched his chin as he watched a steamship pull in. On the horizon, he could make out the shape of a sailing vessel, steaming, or rather, ploughing through the water back to its homeland. "You'll be looking for Al Harrison, the elder of Arnold. Their estate lies a few kilometres out from Zimford, you'll have to take an automobile there."
Bruce checked his watch once again. He sighed and silently cursed to himself. "Ach, they can wait." He looked Spencer up and down. Though dressed like a regular sailor on shore leave, Bruce could see a more distinguished, and perhaps troubled man behind him. "I'll take you there myself, my car is this way."
Spencer nodded in thanks. Gavin clapped his friend on the back, their faces alight with smiles. Trailing Bruce closely, they followed him to his car.
Spencer stood upon the doorstep of the Harrison estate, Gavin behind him with his hands in his pockets. Their journey was mercifully quick, and Mr. Morgan more than a saint for having driven them so far. While Spencer had ridden in many a train, he'd never once sat in the seat of an automobile. Raising his hand, Spencer took hold of the knocker.
"What are you waiting for?" Gavin leaned forward expectantly as Spencer stood frozen. "Knock!"
Spencer took a deep breath. With three resounding backs, he struck the knocker against the great door.
Al breathed in the view from the balcony. Rolling green hills are enveloped in either farmland or forest that stretches on for miles. The sun was high casting its warm glow upon the Harrison estate. Though it did very little to lift Al's mood. He'd struggled to smile since his brother and his wife were lost aboard the Aftalia. Pain momentarily lifted when KMS Imperial Glory was launched.
He watched as the servants opened the gate and let Bruce's automobile in. He smiled, thankful for a friend who knew when to drop in. Al put on his coat and walked downstairs as he heard the knocker rap on the door. Al stopped, "Rose, get the door." He called out to one of his maids. He approached the door with hands in his pockets. Normally, Bruce never knocked when he came to visit.
Rose opened the door and Al found himself with two men he had never seen before. Bruce was standing behind them struggling to light a pipe. "Rose, make these two men feel welcome please."
Al frowned as the two men were let inside. Bruce, his face refusing to betray any emotion, followed suit. "What's all this about? Don't you have a meeting with High Command?"
Bruce shook his head, "I can get chewed out for this later, you are going to want to hear this one."
Gavin whistled, examining the estate's interior with eyes wider than the sea. He'd seen the MacDarcy estates countless times, but even they paled to this one. "You got a lovely home, Mr. Harrison," he said, removing a hand from his pocket and extending it in greeting. "Gavin Murphy, son o' Isaac Murphy. And this," he motioned with his elbow toward his friend, "is Spencer MacDarcy, son o' Colin MacDarcy."
Al reached his hand out. "Colin MacDarcy? The Temrisian? I've heard stories." He turned to Gavin, "As for the house, built over generational wealth." Al sat down on the sofa, "Rose, get these gentlemen some refreshments please." Rose nodded and headed away to the kitchen. "So what brings you two here, if its business, you should have headed over to our main offices. I'm a bit..." Al paused, "Caught up, right now."
"Not business, sir," Spencer said, following his host's lead and sitting on a nearby chair. "I've come because I was on the Aftalia's doomed voyage. I saw Jenn alive, Mr. Harrison, after the ship sank. We washed ashore in Mira Cal and were held captive there. When we had finally managed to negotiate our release Jenn was chosen by the empress to remain behind. She saw something in her that she plans to use to her advantage." He sunk slightly into the chair, half expecting to be declared a mad man.
Rose arrived with refreshments, a tray containing an assortment of alcohol, glasses and a teapot with freshly brewed tea. Bruce, now disengaged from the conversation, leant forward and poured himself a drink.
Al sighed and leant back. "Are you sure, it was her, not another passenger?" He looked up at a photo on the wall. It depicted him and Arnold, as schoolboys riding horses on the same estate.
"Yessir." Spencer was given a cup by Gavin who'd poured two glasses of tea. "The empress gave me some freedom not afforded to the others in the days leading up to our release. I was able to speak with her, however briefly. She told me about her family here and how she wished to see them again. As a father I was touched by that."
Gavin emerged from a hefty, steaming gulp of tea. "He gave up a one way ticket home to come here, sir. To tell you this."
"This is no trick or gimmick," Spencer said. "You could ask any of the other survivors. We all saw Jenn."
Al paused. He looked Spencer in the eye. "Any reason, the empress chose Jenn, of all people to stay behind?"
"The empress believes that Jenn has knowledge of the same steamships and engines that your brother had. She wants Jenn to teach her people how to build these machines to modernize her primitive society." Jesse set his tea on the table between them having never taken a sip. "They have no modern amenities, sir. But the empress sees Jenn as a way of fixing that."
Al turned to Bruce who was taking his third glass of brandy. Bruce looked back at Al and shook his head. "So Jenn was never given a choice to leave?"
Spencer shook his head. "I had the privilege of speaking to the empress more than once. With here there was seldom a choice." He exhaled a deep breath. "I was let go with the understanding that I would return with the resources needed to build the infrastructure of her nation. I intend to do no such thing, and I am truly sorry that Jenn is trapped there without the choice I had."
"So she was held against her will," Al said to himself. He looked at Bruce who had now given up drinking his brandy. Bruce immediately understood what Al wanted to do. "Hold on sir, think about what you are going to do. If-"
"It's a rescue mission, Bruce, we won't be breaking any international law."
Bruce raised his closed fist then shook it, "Other than, well, landing on a foreign empire, most likely going in guns blazing, damaging infrastructure and leaving again, oh, and not to say, what happens if things don't go to plan, what happens if they are stronger than we think."
Al sighed, "Well, if what Spencer says is true, then the fabled empire of Mira Cal is truly far behind in development, our navy could send theirs to the bottom of the ocean."
Bruce silently cursed to himself again. "Al, are you aware of the consequences of acting this out? The Empire is already in a precarious situation. If we are too reckless we could end up in a global conflict!"
Al stood up and pointed a finger at Bruce. "Jenn Harrison is my brother's wife and a citizen of the empire, we are fully within our rights to carry this out. I can get the Navy on our side, so don't worry about that. We have to do it, Bruce, for her children, for Arnold."
"If you go ashore and they catch you, you won't be permitted to leave. Chances are they'll kill you slowly." Spencer's eyes wandered, his vision going through wood, metal, and flesh. "There are terrible creatures there. Crabs that swarm in the hundreds and are large enough to eat birds. The people each wear a mask they've fashioned themselves. You will never see the malice in their eyes until they've put their butchering sword through your belly." He stood to his feet, his distant vision returning. "If rescuing her is what you intend to do, I ask that you do it quietly, quickly, and without any evidence. If your attempt is found out..."
Gavin stood, his hand coming to rest on Spencer's shoulder. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Harrison, and for the ride, Mr. Morgan." He bowed slightly to both. "I wish you luck."
"But they are primitive no? Do they still use muskets? If we gain the Celestial Government's approval..." Al mused.
Spencer nodded as Gavin stepped around him toward the door. "Yes. They appear frozen in a time long forgotten by the rest of the world. Whatever technology they now possess, it is nothing compared to ours."
"Well, then that settles it," Al said, standing up and shaking Spencer's and Gavin's hand. "Thank you, gentlemen," Al said. "I'll arrange transport back to Temris for you."
Gavin's face alighted with glee. "A boat would do us well, sir." Spencer's countenance paled at the thought, but he knew it was the fastest way. "We could wire payment back from Chasewater as soon as we arrive."
Al waved them away. "No need, your payment in information is more than enough." Al grabbed Bruce on the shoulder. "Make sure these two get first-class seats on our next ship to Chasewater." Bruce nodded, his face a conflict of emotions. Al called out to Spencer one last time. "And Spencer, don't worry, we Kushmirans build our ships properly."
"Thank you, sirs," Gavin said, opening the door.
"I hope you find her," Spencer said as he crossed the threshold. "The palace is difficult to miss, and will be well-guarded, but I hope to the gods you find her."
Al picked up the telephone in his office and dialled a number. The line was picked up on the other end. "Hello, Fleet Admiral Albert Hall is out of office right now, can I pass on a message?"
Al lay silent for a few seconds. "Yes, tell him Al Harrison needs a favour."
______________________________________________________________________________
October 8, 1910 (NL 15)
Gavin and Spencer crossed the gangway from the dock to board the Kushmiran ship meant to take them home. That they were going home at all filled Spencer’s heart with an immeasurable gladness he hadn’t felt since the day he departed Temris. Crossing his arms as he gazed upon the glassy blue sea he could almost feel Kayden’s tiny body cradled in them. His lip trembling, he lowered his head to hide the silent stream of tears that began to fall.
“Hey,” Gavin said when they reached their cabin, “I don’ think you need to cry now. This ship won’ sink.”
Shaking his head, Spencer plopped himself down into a lounge chair. “I’m just glad to be going home, Gav.”
Gavin meandered to the porthole. Flinging his suitcase upon the bed he stuck his hands in his pockets. “Aye. Me too. If we’re lucky, this will be the last time eit’er of us sail. Gods know I always hated it.”
The Wall - Kalquen's question
1878 - Border Between Maplewood and Millstone
The dark, grey and black uniform of the Imperial Guard officer walking towards him. George Manners, the Minister of the Interior was looking up at the towering, foreboding structure that sprawled out before them. In the distance, cannons could be heard.
“Sir, we are ready to cross, are you sure what you are doing is worth it?” The officer asked.
George picked up his pocket watch and looked at the time. Twenty minutes till midnight. “Yes.”
For the past few years the district of Kushmire has been embroiled in a civil war. Started over the disagreement with the mysterious Line. A project that cost the district nearly 12 million Miras, and took thousands of workers ten years to build.
George looked up at one of the several gates that were situated at points where roads and railways would cross. Its towering structure was silhouetted against the red-orange glow of gunfire. Members of the Department of Border Control, men dressed in grey uniforms with flashes of red, patrolled around with rifles and sabres.
In front of the gate were several horses on which George and his escort of Imperial Guardsmen had rode all the way from Barricus. The gate itself, similar to those found on mediaeval castles, was controlled by a complex system of hydraulics. With two of each on either side, and hundreds of men patrolling around the gate. Bypassing the wall without permission is next to impossible.
A loud, drawn out clunking noise turned George’s attention to the gate as the border patrol men formed lines in front of the now open gates. The Imperial Guardsman grabbed George’s arm, “Let’s get moving sir.”
George and his escort, consisting of five imperial Guardsmen put their horses into a gentle trot and crossed The Line. As they crossed over, and stepped over the boundary the landscape changed. The Full Moon hid behind clouds as if it too, were too scared to lay its sacred gaze upon the broken lands. The green, rolling hills and forests were replaced by parched, burnt out farmland and forestry made up of blacked out wood and burnt shrubs.
George noted the lack of a single blade of grass as far as the eyes can see. The sound of guns and cannons firing could be heard, ahead the dull glow of fires had increased in intensity. As the group drew nearer to the site of the battlefield, burnt out wrecks of broken artillery, and the distinct smell of rotting corpses, of both animals and humans grew stronger.
George stopped by a group of bodies of assorted uniforms. One, the blue and grey uniform of government-backed soldiers, and the other, the red and blue combination of the separatists. “When all is said and done, we all go to the same grave.” George muttered to himself.
The sound of cannon fire became almost unbearable as the group crested over the top of a large hill. Below them, the battle raged on, as rebel separatists lay siege to the city of Halford. George, on instruction from the increasingly anxious Guardsmen lay low on his horse. “Now, how do we enter the city?” George asked.
The Guardsmen Captain surveyed the scene. “Luckily for us, the officers in charge of Halford had the state of mind to prevent an encirclement. We should be able to enter from one of the side roads, maybe even the railways.”
The captain clicked at one of his men, “You, dismount and find us an entrance, we’ll fall back to that tree line, come back to us when you have a way of getting in.” The guardsman nodded and dismounted before drawing out his rifle and running towards the city.
George and the remaining guardsmen drew back to the burnt out and blackened forest as said before. They found an abandoned dugout and took shelter in it. The sky turned blood red as the sun began to rise. “When should he be back?” George asked, getting concerned.
The captain, who has spent most of the night awake, turned to face George, “Anytime now, a scout mission carried out by one man often does get dragged out for this long.” At that moment, the guardsman came over the same hill they were on a few hours ago. “He’s calling us over.”
The group rode towards an abandoned railway station. The emblem of the Kushmire Rail Service still hung from the rafters above. “The station leads to the ramshackled part of the city.” Said the guardsman, “I bumped into one of our patrols, the main gates of the city still hold but a few parts of the city, especially around this sector, and near the council building have fallen to the rebels. The defences are only a few blocks down from here.”
The captain turned to George, “Can you shoot while riding a horse?” George sighed;
“In a general direction? Yes, I can.” He said.
“Good.”
Pulling out a revolver, laden with diamonds and other precious gems. George and the group spurred their horses into a gentle trot. The group arrived at a checkpoint. The soldiers raised their rifles, but lowered them when they recognized the minister riding towards them. The soldiers fired off a salute, though more at the guardsman captain more than at George.
The main camp was almost deserted. The cannons were now deafening and firing more sporadically as the government soldiers repelled the rebels. An officer, whose red cuffs identified him as part of a Republican Guard unit. “Sir, may I help you?”
The captain leant forward on his horse to say something but George stopped him. “Where is your commander?” George said. The Republican Guard, who ranked in at Colonel, looked around. “If you are looking for my Commanding officer, that would be Major-General Caledon Moody. I’ll take you to him.”
The Colonel took them to one of the few buildings that remained intact. What would have formerly been a house was now occupied, on all levels by the headquarters of the 1st Halford Home Regiment. The Guardsman stayed outside as George was led into the basement. “Is there any reason an esteemed government official such as yourself has bothered to come out here?” The Colonel asked.
“I came looking for answers.” George replied. The Colonel smirked as he opened the door into a planning room. The Colonel saluted at the General inside. “At ease Colonel.” The Colonel clicked his heels together and left. The planning room contained Major General Archibald Macy III and an assortment of officers and enlisted scattered around a cold, stone room.
“Minister, to what do I owe the pleasure.” Archibald said. The general kept his hands clasped behind his back as the rest of the officers refused to acknowledge George’s presence. “General, do you have a moment?” George asked. Archibald leant over a table which had the map of Halford on it. Defences and known positions of enemy artillery were dotted around the place. “No, but I suppose I can make a moment.” Archibald said, grabbing his coat, “Afterall, that is what we have been doing for the past few years.”
The two men stepped out onto the rooftops as a horn blew. Indicating the end of an attempted siege. Medics and doctors went out to collect the dead and wounded. But they dared not cross the furthest defence lines. George sighed and turned to face the west of the city. On the horizon, the large black mass compromising The Line could be seen. Its presence but a shadow in the fog.
“General, you are old enough to remember a time before The Line.” George said. Archibald, who was still looking over the battlefield, replied, “Yes, I was born 50 years before its construction. An interesting time.”
“A different time.” George said. He nodded towards the line. “Do you know what it was built for?” Archibald turned. “Of course, I was one of the men involved in that project.” George grunted.
“Well, the chief engineer was killed when his home was raided by rebels, the Right Honourable Oliver Highstead was shot when rebels occupied the parliament, and then there is you. You are the last of the three, in charge of labour and security, you organised the defences and raised the Department of Border Control.”
Archibald reached for his revolver. “What are you getting at?”
George turned to face him, “The President put a bullet in his mouth, the rest of the cabinet has fled, most are dead and the rest missing, that would make you and me, the last man on this planet who knows the true reason The Line was built.”
“And how is that a problem?” Archibald asked, removing the cover of his holster. George glanced down then back at Archibald. He then calmly removed a knife from inside his coast and thrust it into Archibald’s neck. The general coughed and gagged as his breathing was cut off.
“I know you, you, High Command and the rest of the army, views the new cabinet as inept fools.” He pulled the knife out as Archibald went down on his knees clawing at his own neck. “The rest of them, maybe,” George continued, “but not me, I know what our people stand for, and will see to it that all of this will come to an end. It’s just a shame that none of my old friends will be there to see it.”
The Citadel - January 1911
Albert coughed feeling as if something was constricting his neck. He removed his choker from his dress uniform and threw it onto his desk. He sighed, putting his face into his hands and looked out of the window. The door opened, and his deputy, Field Marshal Jacob King-Manners entered. As the Deputy High Commander, Jacob had taken on some of the running of the armed forces after Operation Rolling Skies began.
“Jacob, my old friend, what calls?”
Jacob closed the wooden door and locked it shut. “Albert, I’m sure you have heard of the Reichksrieg situation.” Albert nodded and offered Jacob a cigar. “Well, we are looking at a global conflict. Just about every empire around us has gone into an uproar over the Luhai situation, no thanks to Elodia and Falkenberg for that one.” Jacob said.
“Damn fools.” Albert muttered to himself and started laughing. “This is a real s**tshow Jacob, Kushmire is in a precarious situation in itself, now we have a world conflict to worry about.” Albert inhaled the fumes of the cigar and let out a long exasperated sigh. “Operation Rolling Skies still ticks along, I might have to become less involved in it as the global situation develops. Tamsan’s a full general now, has his own escort and everything, he’ll do well to represent us militarily, and I trust Mansfield more than I trust my own wife.”
Jacob chuckled and drew away from the desk, lighting the cigar given to him he too, inhaled its fine aroma. “Our armies must be prepared.” Jacob sighed as he pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. It was a message from his grandfather. “The Line may be our last hope.”
Albert turned, frowning. “What? The Line?”
Jacob nodded. “Yes, well, it cuts right through the middle of our province, any army that chooses to land in Kushmire will have to punch through The Line before they can get to Nhasa and the rest of the empire.”
Albert shook his head, “Well, The Line is a mysterious…” He shook his hands in the air, “object. Truth be told, no one exactly knows why it was built, the running story is that it was built to keep marauding bandits from destroying Barricus. Though The Rebellion spins it into the lie that it was built to keep the peasantry away.”
“Perhaps there is a truth to that, maybe all of it.” Jacob mused.
“Don’t make me shoot you.” Albert said through clouds of smoke. He coughed once more, “Are you saying the builders, whoever they are, had ulterior motives.”
Jacob pulled out the paper and looked at it again. “Who knows, one of Kushnmire's true great mysteries.”
The Blue Rose - Event Response for Falkenberg | June, US 24 (1893) | Location: Le Draen Manor, Estate of Rozennglas, Rozmor.
Seo watched as his granddaughter placed one cube of sugar then another, then another and then finally one more into her teacup. He took a gentle sip of his own, scanning around the garden, looking out for anything that could be wrong.
A withered leaf of a redbud caught his eye, that slight brown of colouring that all plans meet. He grabbed his small shears and gently moved to cut it off. It fell gracefully into the compost below.
His granddaughter seemingly skipped over to the small selection of blue roses, enamoured by them.
“Be mindful Trephina, those roses will soon be gifts to the Emperor.”. Seo made sure to emphasise his concern. The roses were fragile and of grand importance, while his granddaughter was oddly clumsy for a girl of her age.
“Grandfa, does the Emperor want roses? Does he like roses? “. she pelted questions at him like rain against the greenhouse.
“The Emperor does not want the roses, but he does expect them.”. He paused thinking about how to respond, he had managed his family greenhouse for almost 30 years and Ren Osarrus XXIII had never once sent a message of thanks, or of denial. “I think the Emperor liked the roses, I know his father did, I know many people like them. The bees certainly do.”. He leant down by her shoulder and pointed as a bee examined the rose bud, looking for pollen.
She giggled emphatically at the sight of it, further cementing Seo’s thoughts of the strange girl. “Grandma said there were many more blue roses, did the Emperor expect them as well?”. She craned her head onto his hand.
“No, no not all. But yes, there were once many more, my Grandmother said the same to me when I was your age. Sadly the wild roses are shrinking in population.”. Seo could feel something tug at his heart, saying out loud the roses were dwindling made him sigh. “People like the roses for their colour. When those who came from the sea, far far away from the Celestial Empire they all wanted the blue rose. So hundreds were all plucked and taken away. Then some invasive plants arrived, it made the roses lose their colour, or took the best places for the roses to be and some plants choked and strangled the roses to death.”.
His daughter turned around and looked at, she seemed confused.
“That’s why we grow them here, this greenhouse is a refuge, a space isolated from the world out there. Here they can grow and thrive, tender by those that truly care for them. Here they are safe.”. He smiled at her yet her confused look went on.
“But why should they go to the Emperor if they are safe here?”. she asked bluntly.
“Well the Emperor deserves a blue rose, he is the Emperor after all. Many others would pick and rose and then leave to die, but i'm sure the Emperor prunes and cares for the roses just like I do, and you might do it someday.Then the Emperor can look after the blue roses yuo give him”.
She shrugged without care and returned to the table for her tea.
Seo watched as some more bees came to the blue roses. The bees themselves were safe from the world at large. He heard some places apply ‘pesticide’,a means of controlling. Better yet killing insects that might be a nuisance, a means of increasing the yield of harvest. Yet the poor bees would suffer from it no doubt. The bees had a tendency to be in all the wrong places, he had some in his pocket, some on his arms and even one rummaging through his hair. He chuckled to himself.
“Grandfa! Grandfa! A bee is in your tea!”. Trephina called to him.
He walked over, a bee was struggling in the tea, doing its best to take off, yet failing. He fished it out with his teaspoon and placed it on the tray. Another bee was to land and witness the event. Yet after a few seconds the other bee left, leaving its fallen brethren lifeless on the silver tray.
He looked as Trephina placed four more cubes of sugar into her tea. She quickly slurped it down with no grace and wandered to the door, he watched as she carefully made sure it was closed as she disappeared.
Seo sat there staring at the tea,thinking to himself his worries and fears. The outside brought so much danger to his delicate greenhouse that he cared for. Everyone including him was a risk. He thought about Rozmor and the Empire, it was majestic and delicate. Tendered by those who knew what was not right nor best, but what was natural. Yet those from outside disrupted the flow and order, tainted it with what they thought was right or best. Carelessly picking a flower without a thought, endangering a being without a thought and ignorantly caressing delicate things with a thought. They pick and pull without any signs of stopping
He took a sip of his tea.
It was sickly sweet
He tossed the tea into the composite beneath the redbud.
This glasshouse protected the blue rose from outside harm, it cultivated so the Emperor could have something.
The rose, the bee, the Empire and the Emperor. All victims of those that demand more than they need. But still the rose lives, with thorns to bear against those that grab it. As long as the blue rose makes its way to Lhasa and is met by the Emperor with grace, then Rozmor has proven its value and worth.
A Time for War, and a Time for Peace
Nhasa, Capital of the Celestial Empire
January 24, 1911 - In Collaboration with the Marvelous Swarzia-
Jesse stood with his hands behind his back, his nose buried in a perfect hellebore. Inhaling its sweet scent, he wondered what this palace plant had seen and heard in its many luxurious years. Straightening to his full height, his mind then wandered home. An empire away were his wife and children, four perfect souls as gentle as this very flower. His heart ached at the thought. If only he could go home to see them.
He prayed that perhaps the Magi would find the new emperor soon. With Ren Osarrus XXV crowned, he would step aside and return to Chasewater. Unless, of course, he were requested to stay on. Jesse grimaced. No. That would mean bringing his family here, to the most dangerous place in the Empire.
“Sir,” Sean’s raspy, dying voice called out to Jesse’s wayward mind. Pivoting in place, Jesse regarded the spindly, pale man. “Late news from the Sunderlands.” He held out a single rolled up scroll.
Jesse sighed, his shoulders slumping, as he read the scroll’s contents. “So the provinces believe they are free to engage in battle with each other.” He rolled the scroll back up, tighter than before. “Inform the representative from Swarzia that I wish to speak to him. Now.”
Sean bowed, nearly folding himself in half as he did so. “Where shall I request he be summoned?”
Motioning across the gardens, Jesse nodded toward a large hall that rested at the foot of a great hill. “The Hall of Good Governance will do for today’s troublemaker.”
Some minutes later, the doors to the Hall of Good Governance swung open, but Jesse O'Rourke found that it was not the Swarzian Lord who had come to meet him. It was the ruler of Swarzia himself, Grand Duke Wolfgang von Swarzkrahe.
His overcoat waved in the morning breeze as he approached Jesse.
"Supreme Regent," Duke Wolfgang nodded. "I presume this is about our declaration of war on Elodia?"
Jesse clenched his jaw. Twice he'd summoned the representatives to the Diet. Twice he'd been given different men. Twice they'd waltzed in guessing exactly why he'd summoned them. He glowered at the duke, as insulted as he was honored. "Yes," he said tersely. "I want to know why you thought it so wise to do so after the coalition successfully took down Gong."
"Hmm," Duke Wolfgang said, rummaging in his pockets. "I must first apologise for not sending my representative, but considering the gravity of this situation I found it more appropriate to personally explain Swarzia's course of action to you."
He produced a copy of the declaration of war he had sent to Elodia some days ago, and handed it to Jesse. The slip of paper was dated January sixteenth, before the Empire had found itself on the brink of war with Reichskrieg.
"We declared war on Elodia after we found out they were attempting to take a Reichskrieger port by military force," von Swarzkrahe explained. "We reasoned that the Elodians would provoke a war with Reichskrieg if they succeeded in doing so, and chose to stop them before they could."
"Of course," the Duke continued, exhaling forcefully, "Before we could stop the Elodians, we found that they had provoked a war with Reichskrieg, as you know, Supreme Regent."
"If I am understanding you correctly," Jesse said as his scowl deepened, "you declared war on a fellow province to keep them from declaring war on a foreign invader?"
"...Yes," the duke said, after a moment of deliberation. "Since Elodia was not attacking a neighbouring province, but rather a colony under the direct rule of Reichskrieg. And since we just recently overthrew the usurper Gong, I believed that a war with Reichskrieg at this time would not be in our favour."
As the Grand Duke spoke, Jesse face contorted with a modicum of confusion. "You are correct in assuming that war with a foreign power now would be devastating, but I fail to see where the logic lie in going from unity to all out war with your fellow provinces. If stopping them from going to war was your goal, then perhaps petition them not to."
Von Swarzkrahe scratched his chin, feigning realization.
Of course, telling the Supreme Regent that he had declared war on Elodia to make Reichskrieg indebted to them was out of the question- that was practically political suicide.
Then again, he would seem a fool if he feigned ignorance.
Better a fool than a traitor, he reasoned.
"I see..." the duke said slowly. "Forgive me for that grave oversight, then, as we received the news quite late and acted without planning our course of action."
"Still," von Swarzkrahe sighed, "It is an unfortunate thing. Please relay to the Elodian lord my sincerest apologies. This was a severe error on our part... still, the Swarzian army stands ready to defend the Empire from Reichskrieg, should the negotiations fail."
Jesse lifted a defiant finger. "Now, now, Grand Duke, I will do no such thing." Stepping forward, the Supreme Regent narrowed his eyes at the Swarzian. He'd heard many a tale in Temris about the deceptions these exiles brought with them, though how many of those tales he believed now was another thing entirely. "You will be the one to seek their forgiveness personally. I will, of course, denounce your war and demand a public display of friendship between Swarzia and Elodia. We all stand together now that Gong is gone, Grand Duke. I will not suffer another lamentable lapse in judgement." He inclined his head forward, his demeanor like that of a parent scolding a wayward child. "Do I make myself clear?"
Von Swarzkrahe nodded and sighed, running a hand through his rapidly-greying hair. "Yes, Supreme Regent. To make amends for the misplaced declaration of war," he said, "The Swarzian army shall stand ready to defend Elodia from Reichskrieger retaliation if need be."
His chest broiled with frustration at the thought of how Swarzians were seen outside of their home province.
Liars, gluttons, backstabbers and political connivers. Even in the circle of nobles that were lucky enough to hold estates in Nhasa, he'd heard whispers of his house having cheated and lied their way to prominence.
"I will send a telegram by the end of the day to Elodia," he said stiffly, "To rescind the declaration and issue a formal apology. That is all, I presume?"
"Quite so," the Supreme Regent said, turning his back on the Grand Duke. "Though unless called for, I do not want your men anywhere near Elodia for the time being, lest we stir up another incident. You and your armies are dismissed from Nhasa." Turning back around, Jesse cocked a grin. "Have a safe trip back to the Sunderlands, Your Grace."
"Thank you, Supreme Regent," the Grand Duke said. "I shall be staying at my estate here for the next few days, if you need me, but the Swarzian Army will head home for the time being."
He tipped his hat. "Until we meet again.. though I fear given the state of the Empire, it will not be long until I have to invariably return to the capital."
Von Swarzkrahe bowed slightly, and stepped out of the hall, shutting the doors behind him.
Jesse returned to his study, his mind wrapped in curious thought about the extent of the Empire’s fragility. If the provinces were beginning to feel emboldened by the lack of an emperor to act without the consent of the central government then finding an emperor was now his administration’s highest priority. Gong united the Empire against a common foe. With him gone there was nothing stopping these ambitious warlords from doing whatsoever they desired. Jesse sighed, his thoughts again on home. Temris was one of the few provinces he could count on to remain loyal.
Whoever the reincarnation was, Jesse hoped that they would be strong yet wise enough to unite these disparate peoples and provinces into the Empire he’d long thought to exist.
Unprecedented Precinct - 1905 - Kolch’s Question
Field Marshal Leonard Wood watched over the water fountain. His eyes flicking back on forth between a duck and the spouts of water that erupted from the central statue. The duck picked up its wings and flew away before it got smothered. Around Leonard, flags of the province, and its individual states gathered in the wind.
His bodyguards had spread themselves around the fountain clutched their rifles, scanning the ancient buildings for threats. Another officer approached Leonard. Dressed in his red and blue cavalry dress uniform, with his sabre at his side, “The Election Counsel wants to see you now.” Leonard looked up from the fountain.
He sighed and stood, resting a weary hand on his own sabre.
The Election Counsel's office was an extravagant solution of an ornate wooden desk, engraved with carvings relating to Kushmire, rows of books containing census data and population statistics as well as an electoral map of Kushmire cut knifed up into little slices. Leonard was surprised to see that the man chosen to lead the counts for the election was a military officer, and one he recognized. Colonel Jacob King-Manners, a senior army officer in charge of artillery in the 1st Army Corps.
“Marshal, welcome to my office.” Jacob said. He went for a salute, but stopped halfway and instead extended his hand out for a handshake. Leonard chuckled to himself, holding his hat under his arm with one hand, he shook Jacob’s hand with the other. “Colonel, you called for me?”
Jacob nodded as he turned and stood. He went to the curtains which had been drawn behind him and opened them. Rays of light were let in temporarily blinding Leonard. When his eyes adjusted, Leonard saw the destruction of the city beyond. A burning wreck of what was once a grand theatre lay in a pile of blackened wood and smoke. A cordon had been set by local authorities and onlookers and mourners past by.
“A few days ago our nation watched the most heinous attack unfold. A play was being recited, with more than 500 people in attendance. Sticks of dynamite brought down the upper galleries, even more then brought down the main stage, while a peculiar fire blocked off all the exits. There were no survivors.” Jacob closed the curtains again and took his seat.
“This attack was carried out by what we called The Rebellion. Remnants of the Regal Army that formed during the civil war.” Jacob said, “they are ruthless, cold and want nothing but to dispose of our way of life, destroy Kushmire and start all over.”
“All of this isn’t news to me, and all of this doesn’t fall on my shoulders. As far as I’m concerned, the KFP has absorbed the search for the culprits, and I have ensured extra security by several government personnel.” Leonard said.
“That is not what I want to talk to you about.” Jacob mused as he clasped his hands together and leant forward. “Marshal, I want you to carry out an order, an order that can only be described as a war crime.” Jacob stood and lit a cigar. “We cannot risk Lord Harry Montgomery winning the election, he is a candidate that appeared from nowhere and a candidate that the KFP can’t put a finger on, this makes him dangerous, and a potential connection to The Rebellion.”
“You want me to eliminate him?” Leonard said, incredulous.
“No,” Jacob took a long puff of his cigar. “I need you to attack the convoys taking in votes from Halford and Sparticus. Those are his main centres and those are where he will get votes from.”
Leonard let out a long breath. “You want me to breach the constitution, on a hunch that Harry might be connected to The Rebellion.”
“Not a hunch, a process of elimination, a candidate, whom we have never heard off, doesn’t own any known businesses nor is a governor, backed by mysterious funding and promising things that are almost too good to be true.” Jacob spread his hands out.
Leonard stood and placed his cap over his head, so that its peak covered his eyes. “So you would rather an incompetent fat oaf.”
“Frederick Baldwin may be useless and rubbish, but we can use him, you… Can use him. Harry, if he is truly rebellion scum, is scheming, intelligent and resourceful. He could plant The Rebellion deep within our government, so deep that when they reveal their ugly heads we’d all be too tangled up to do anything about it.” Jacob through the remainder of his cigar.
“Leonard, we have the chance to change the country for good. If Frederick is elected we can push him to end The Rebellion, we can see a true end to the civil war.”
Jacob returned to his desk, and removed a leaflet. “The ballot counts you are looking for will pass through the Qaidong, and Flurithia gates of The Line. The votes are being tallied in Zimford, the Qaidong ballots will go by train, the Flurithia by ship. You should know what to do from there.”
The two men stared at each other, each had their own thoughts whirling around in their heads. Each knew the other was right, to do so was a breach of the constitution and undermines the very cornerstone of democracy. To not could lead to their nation being torn from inside out.
Leonard didn’t say another word to Jacob. He opened the door and left and entered the gardens of The Keystone Chamber. Jacob watched from an above balcony, beside him an Imperial Guardsman stood with a rifle in hand. “Can you trust the men in the car?”
“Yes sir, they serve me more than they serve him.”
Flurithia - SS Cardonay
Captain Henry Murdoch of the SS Cardonay watched as the ballot boxes were loaded onto his ship by soldiers. The wagon that had dragged them here, under heavy guard, was slowly emptied as the ballot boxes were taken deep into the bowels of the cargo ship. A Lieutenant came up to him. “Captain, the boxes are loaded, we are ready to go now.”
Henry nodded at his First Officer who ordered the helmsman and another officer on deck to take the ship to sea. The lines were cast and the boilers were fed their coal. Steam was fed upwards into the engines as fumes escaped from the single funnel behind the main superstructure. Tugboats took the vessel out of Flurithia harbour and into the deep ocean.
The cargo ship cruised along at a steady 13 knots. The sea was calm and, around this time of year the lookouts were wary of icebergs. The sun was setting behind them as the crew, and the soldiers aboard the Cardonay, sailed on, into the night.
Qaidong Railway Station
The Great Eastern model locomotive pulled out of the station. Immediately behind her coal carriage were several cars that housed soldiers. One large, covered one was a regular passenger box which housed the contingent of soldiers assisting with transporting the ballots. The rest were an assortment of carriages that housed mortars and early types of rapid fire machine guns. Sandwiched between two large armoured boxes that contained ammunition and extra weaponry, was the carriage that contained the ballots.
Ahead, the tracks were empty as the Great Eastern thundered on into the night. Her driver and his assistant shivered in the cold, but were thankful for the enclosed space that was their cabin. The driver checked his watch and increased the steam pressure to drive the wheels faster. He pulled down on the string that controlled the engine’s horn. The train tooted, as it ploughed on into the night.
SS Cardonay
Henry looked out over the calm ocean. The Kushmiran coast had been left far behind him as they made the move around Sentinal island. His First Officer stepped up beside him. “Sir, why are we going around Sentinal? Isn’t it faster to go through the strait?” Henry looked out ahead over the bow as it cut through the waves. “Yes, it would be faster, but the government has its orders.” In the distance, he noticed ships lights in the distance. “Peculiar.” He thought to himself.
Commodore Ian Harris of the vessel IKN Vicious peered through his binoculars. He could see the slave ship, ploughing through the water. “Exactly where the tip said it would be.” He said to himself. “Commander.” He called out.
“Yes sir.” Replied a short and stocky man.
“Prepare all guns for firing, all men to battle stations and on high alert.” The Vicious was part of the latest class of battleships at the time. What would later become known as pre-dreadnoughts the Vicious was just one of twelve the Kushmiran navy would operate. A siren sounded across the ship as a frantic sound of boots on steel filled the ship.
The running mostly ceased and the bridge crew entered the bridge. “Sir,” The commander said, “we are ready to fire.” Ian lowered his binoculars.
“Very well, hail the ship, give them warnings and ask for a reason why we shouldn’t blast them out of the water.” An officer operating the telegraph system hailed the ship.
Henry leant over the wireless operator. “Sir! Sir! I don’t know, I went for a wash, came back and found that someone had messed up the wires!” The lieutenant from earlier slinked around the corner, putting his knife away in his pocket. He went up on deck and scanned the horizon. In the distance, he saw the lights of a ship.
“No reply.” Said the telegraph operator. Ian turned and looked through the binoculars once again. He looked at the bridge, seeing if he could decipher any figures. The worsening weather made it difficult. “Alright commander, turn all cannons starboard, aim at the vessel on the horizon. Rangefinder, give me distance.”
“Fifteen kilometres!” Came the reply.
The lieutenant went below decks and inspected the ballots. All sealed, all good. The door opened and the captain of the ship entered. “Lads, we have a spy on board this ship. Our telegraph lines have been cut.”
The soldiers began looking back and forth at each other. The lieutenant stepped forward and accompanied the captain to the site of the crime. The crime he committed. Above decks, the First Officer breathed in the sea breeze. He admired the moon and their stars, how they gazed upon the empire.
He then heard the distant bangs of cannons being fired. He looked ahead at the bow as a spray of water landed on decks. The officer was then knocked off his feet as the rest of the salvo smashed into the side of the unarmoured ship. Throwing up bits of metal and a large fireball. The ship lurched to its side.
“Direct hit!” Called out the Commander. Ian watched through his binoculars as the liner lurched and bobbed in the waves. “Fire again!” He called, “Broadside!” The cannons fired again, their deafening bangs accompanied by a force so great, the decks had to be cleared of men who would otherwise risk injury and hearing damage.
The salvo arced up into the air and smashed down on top of the ship. Smashing through decking and tearing apart steel structures. Onboard the doomed liner, Henry and the lieutenant stumbled through the foundering vessel. They came to a large opening that would have been the mess hall, now an unrecognisable mess with a hole in the ceiling.
“I’ll go check on my men! The ballots, the ballots!” The lieutenant shouted as Henry jumped across the smouldering remains of the mess hall. The Lieutenant ran down into the bowels of the ship. His warrant officer ran up to him “Sir, what the hell is happening?”
“We are being double crossed is what is happening!” The two men entered the room where the ballots were kept. None of the shells have managed to punch through. Yet. He shouted at some men cowering behind a table. “You lot, get these onto a lifeboat!”
The lieutenant then ran above decks where the crew were desperately trying to launch the lifeboats. He spotted the First Officer and grabbed his shoulder. “The ballot boxes, good sir!” The officer looked at the lifeboat as men and equipment were dumped in. The officer cursed to himself, “Very well soldier, get them up here, as many as you can and I’ll load them on.”
The Lieutenant nodded and ran back down to the ballots. He cursed to himself. When he was pulled into the room with none other than Field Marshal Leonard Wood himself, he was told that cutting the wires would mean that when the ship was attacked, he and his men would have time to escape.
Ian looked through his binoculars as he watched the ship’s crew desperately trying to launch lifeboats. The navy had taken a hardline policy to illegal immigrant trade. Any ship that has been earmarked may be fired on if they have not provided an adequate response. Ian watched as the burning husk of the ship collapsed in on itself. “Send her to the bottom, Commander.” He said.
The final salvo was fired, this time aiming for the waterline. All rounds hit causing the ship to lurch to its port side and hold in its precarious position for a few moments. The ship then capsized and sank below the waves. Taking all hands down with it.
Ian felt the ship below him rock, as a storm began to build. “No need to finish them off Commander. It seems Cathos will do our work for us!”
Henry clung onto a piece of driftwood as he watched the navy ship turn away and go home. He cursed to the gods, knowing that he had been sabotaged. The navy had mistaken his ship for a slave trader and sunk it. He wondered to himself why, and how the saboteur organised it. A ballot box bumped into his shoulder. In a rage, Henry ripped it open, and emptied its contents into the sea as the waves began to roll.
Zimford
As Vicious had pulled in for supplies. Ian, and most of the crew disembarked. Ian went about his usual shore routine of catching up on missed events. He grabbed the paper and nodded in satisfaction. “FREDERICK BALDWIN WINS ELECTION.”
Ian placed the paper down and walked away. Had he flipped to the second page. The next story would have told him about a military train that derailed overnight with a suspicious fire on board, destroying all its cargo.
Sor's Flame
Event Question 3, by the Most Deplorable and Odious Barbarian, Falkenberg
December, NL 15
Arbiter Olgran Wilzflamme sat perfectly still and cross-legged, ringed by a circle of red-robed Soric priests. Unlike the others, his robe was a different colour: Pure white. The old man's chest rose and fell, and the sunburst necklace hanging from his shoulders moved with it, jingling gently. For an eternity, the Arbiter was stock-still, lost in meditation. The Sanctum, heart of Soricism, hung heavy with the perfumed smell of incense and echoed with softly-sung hymns.
It was time, he thought. Fifty years. Fifty years since he had ascended, and taken the mantle of Arbiter.
And the time had come again. Sor's followers in Swarzia had their gaze firmly on the Sanctum of Hess, waiting... waiting to see their next leader.
Three high-ranking Soric priests stood at the doorway, awaiting their master's command.
Finally, Wilzflamme stirred from his trance, and opened his eyes, exhaling.
"Arbiter-ascendants," he said, in a voice reduced to a mere whisper from decades of age. "I trust you are all ready for the final selection?"
The three of them nodded silently, but the ancient Arbiter did not wait for a response. "You have all done well to reach this point. Hundreds step forward to become Arbiter every Ascension Rite. But only a handful find their wills strong enough to endure until the end."
As one, the Soric priests gathered around Wilzflamme turned and stepped towards the three remaining candidates for the role of Arbiter, and helped them out of their robes, and wrapped snow-white robes around them, bidding them take seats behind the Arbiter.
"Your names," Wilzflamme said quietly. "Tell me, to whom do I have the pleasure to pick amongst today?"
"Talman Solis, of Minau," one said, a tall dark-haired man.
"Morgyn Connell, of Rath Dotean," another said, a shorter, scarlet-haired man of Temrisian stock, hailing from the borderlands.
"Argeste Brunne, of Grafeld," said the third, yet another Swarzian from the south.
Arbiter Wilzflamme remained in deep thought for a while.
"Promising names, the three of you," he murmured quietly. "I am impressed. Yes, the Soric Circle did not make a mistake in granting you Hearthnames, yes..."
The old man stayed silent for another minute, before continuing.
"I will probe your worthiness," he said, "and aptitude for the position of Arbiter, by asking a simple question of you. You must answer as truthfully as you can. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your Radiance," the three intoned.
It was then that Wilzflamme turned around, to face the three candidates. His face was covered by a porcelain-white face mask, but the skin that they could see was dreadfully wrinkled and old with age. The Arbiter's mane of stark-white hair spilled down his back and hung over his shoulders, and his amber eyes peered out at the three of them from the mask's eyeholes.
"Ascendant Brunne," Wilzflamme said first, shifting his gaze to the nervous Argeste. "A simple question," he said, staring into the man's eyes, which were filled with apprehension and doubt. "What is the worth of one mortal life, in your own opinion?"
Ascendant Argeste hesitated for a moment, before replying. "It would depend on the deeds they have done throughout their life," he said, uncertainly. "A villain's life is worth nothing, a virtuous man's life worth everything."
Wilzflamme nodded sagely, and turned his attention to Ascendant Morgyn. The Temrisian sweated nervously.
"Ascendant Connell," he leaned forward. "What say you? What is the worth of one mortal life?"
"All mortal lives," Connell said nervously, "Are worth equally as much, and should be cherished."
Once again the wizened old Arbiter nodded, and then directed his piercing gaze at Ascendant Talman.
"And you, Ascendant Solis?" Wilzflamme peered at the man curiously. He was the youngest of all of them, but in that moment was the only one to hold the Arbiter's gaze. "What do you suppose is the worth of one mortal life?"
"They are all worth the same," Solis said calmly, deliberately. "But if they have lived a sinful life, then at the moment of their death their life is worth nothing. If they have lived a sinful life," he said, gazing around the room at the flickering braziers and marble bas-reliefs, "And show remorse for their actions at the moment of their death, their life is worth just as much as that of a virtuous person. Remorse... remorse is perhaps the noblest thing one can feel other than love."
Wilzflamme did not nod, nor did he speak. He held Solis' gaze for a while longer, then sat back and sighed slowly, beckoning to one of the Soric clerics waiting nearby, who passed him a burning torch. He stood, with much effort, and turned around to the altar of the Sanctum, which lay before a fifty foot-high marble statue of Sor, the Father of Flames.
"I invite the three of you to join me in a prayer to the Lord, and a prayer for our next Arbiter," he said. The three stood behind him.
"Father of flames, warden of youth," Wilzflamme intoned, as Solis, Brunne and Connell joined in prayer, their hands clasped close to their chests.
"Drive away the dark that hunts us,
Give us certainty when we would doubt.
Guide and bless this Circle as we guide your followers,
And dispel the night that brings the frost.
Blessed be your chosen Champion, your voice in the Material,
And light the way so we may follow,
Guide us not to desire but to prudence,
Grant this empire another thousand years of prosperity.
May we hold fast your virtues, your holiest of decrees,
May we serve your Arbiter, your voice in the Material,
And may you rule in the Immaterial, now and evermore.
Their last words echoed in the cavernous hall. Wilzflamme bent over the altar, which held three ancient braziers, worked in the likeness of gaping dragon-mouths, their fangs bared, and remained like that for at least five minutes.
Then he stood, and brandished the burning torch which he still held. With an unlikely strength and power to his voice, he looked to the visage of Sor above.
"The Arbiter that shall take my place," he declared sonorously, his voice a thunderclap, "Is Talman Solis, of Minau!" Then he threw the torch into one of the three braziers.
Orange flames erupted from the brazier, and like clockwork, the other two came to life with a roar; from unseen grilles in the pedestal above, tongues of snarling and crackling flame wrapped around the statue of Sor and wreathed it in brilliant radiance, washing the Sanctum in its orange glow. The golden circlet which Sor's statue wore on his forehead seemed to glow gold with the light.
The three Ascendants looked on in astonishment for a moment, before Brunne and Connell stepped back, and bowed before the newly-declared Arbiter Solis.
Wilzflamme, no longer an Arbiter, ambled forward, seeming like an old and frail man again.
"Sor bless you," he said, placing his hand on Solis' shoulder. "Live long and justly."
"Follow me," he said to Arbiter Solis. "Brunne, Connell," he turned to the two failed Ascendants. "I thank you for your ceaseless dedication. But it is time you returned to your home cities."
Wilzflamme headed towards the doors of the Sanctum, two massive doors wrought from iron with the image of flame upon them, and paused at the entrance, where his attendants, for an inexplicable reason, doused him in holy oils.
Though Solis had never known what was involved in the selection of a new Arbiter, he felt a growing sense of dread in the pits of his stomach. Still, he was helpless, and could only do as Arbiter-Emeritus Wilzflamme said.
Arbiter-Emeritus Wilzflamme pushed open the doors; they swung open without a squeak. Solis shielded his eyes as sunlight flooded the room.
They stood on a balcony in Heiligesflam Square. On three sides, the blessed white walls of the Sanctum shielded them from the outside world. Outside, the city of Hess loomed. But in the courtyard beneath them were packed tens of thousands of devotees, dressed in Soric garb. There were even followers of Cathos and Basrodec in the audience.
"My most beloved children," Wilzflamme thundered in that same sonorous voice he had used moments ago. "Our lord Sor has spoken. It is my utmost pleasure to inform you that the Ascension Rite has been carried out, and- benedicite flammas Domini- we have a new Arbiter!"
The crowd cheered, a deafening, drawn-out roar that shook the heavens.
"All hail," Wilzflamme boomed, "Arbiter Talman Solis!"
"Hail!" The crowd roared, clapping and stamping in unison. "Hail Solis! Hail Solis! Hail Solis! Hail Solis!"
The very ground trembled with the force of their stomps. Solis stepped back, utterly overwhelmed by the outpour of support directed his way, and it was then that he looked sideways and saw Wilzflamme's attendant creep up behind the old man, and put a torch to the hem of his robes.
Solis' eyes widened as the old Arbiter Emeritus was, at last, consumed in a pillar of golden flame. He shouted, cried out in horror, but his voice was lost in the roar of the flames. The crowd's cheers for him turned swiftly to shouts of amazement- amazement! At the sight before them. As if Sor himself had come to take Wilzflamme to his realm at last.
Olgran Wilzflamme did not cry out in pain. His expression was one of bliss, as he threw out his arms, and looked to the heavens. That moment, all his memories came back to him. Quiet days in the Sanctum, watching the Arbiter before him carry about his duties. The prayers, his own Ascension ceremony, where the man he had called a father was taken by Sor too.
The ground lifted away beneath him, and he was carried higher and higher, wrapped in an aura of radiance. Hess, Swarzia, the Empire, and the World were soon beneath him, in Sor's blessed light. Then Wilzflamme saw the man he had called father, and his brothers, and the beaming face of Sor himself.
-
Solis wore a look of utter horror as Arbiter-Emeritus Wilzflamme toppled backwards, vanishing from the view of the crowd- yet the flames still continued to burn with a deafening roar.
"Do something!" he screamed at Wilzflamme's attendant, who shook his head. "One of you! Don't just stand there! What are you doing?"
To his ever-growing abhorrence, the Soric priests that watched from inside the Sanctum did nothing to intervene.
Finally, when the flames had died down, a group of priests rushed out, out of sight of the crowd, and doused the embers with buckets of water.
There was no body, strangely. Only a pile of ashes and the warped sunburst necklace which Wilzflamme had wore.
The crowd was silent. They looked at the smoke now billowing into the heavens, then at Arbiter Solis, who had an appalled look on his face.
An old woman, just as old as the late Wilzflamme, standing at the front of the crowd, knelt, bowing her head in respect. The effect rippled through the crowd, and all ten-thousand devotees of Sor in the square below did the same, murmuring.
Solis gasped and huffed for air, in utter horror at what he had just witnessed, and the utter ignorance of the crowd. They were kneeling. Kneeling, in reverence! Kneeling in reverence at the sight of a man's death!
"Sor be with you," Wilzflamme's attendant said, placing a sunburst-circlet upon his head, and wrapping Solis in a majestic robe of sable and gold. "Arbiter Solis."
The crowd broke the silence, cheering.
Cheering.
"Arbiter Solis!" they cried out.
"Long live Arbiter Solis!"
"Long live Arbiter Solis!"
"Long live Arbiter Solis!"
(b) January, 1910
Eeo Livermento (The Ruler of Hexlans) wakes up in his luxury sized bed and looks around.
-he'd immediately opens the map of this reigon in suprise, and shock-
Eeo: "We need more supplies into our capital Halo and we have to give Kolch stuff since they're good friends."
-Eeo goes to the office where a cup of tea is waiting-"Hello Ross.."
-Ross Salutes- "Aiden Ross General SIR!, Good Morning"
Eeo- "Contact Kazio to get suppliues from the harbor we can't let the others get it."
Ross: "YES SIR!"
-he leaves the room and goes to contact Kazio -
-he looks around the office with bright lighting,a statue of him and a painting he planned to give to his Neighbors Kolch and The Grand Duchy of Celaguun as a gift for good things to come
"The Hexlans Era has Begun" -he spoke in a low deep tone
Land of the Worked (Event Post)
In response to Falkenberg
March, 1910
Zhouchen, Kalquen, Celestial Empire
Sun streamed through the attic window, falling across Dong’s face, shining across him with warmth and fulfillment. The sounds of the city outside filled his humble bedroom with a bustling feeling, an air of radiant commotion and community. The smell of spiced bread and salted meats wafted through the floorboards, his mother already hard at work preparing the household’s first meal.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dong groggily stood up from his bed, his back aching from a night of mediocre sleep worsened by his own lumpy mattress. He moved over to his dresser, a ramshackle old wooden thing, warping at its edges. Drawing open a drawer, the boy found inside his work clothes, quickly shedding off his sleeping attire and shifting into the abrasive grey fabric pants and shirt. After waiting for a few moments, fully clothed and eyes fixed to the floor, deep in thought, Dong found the energy to bring himself down the handmade ladder bridging the space between his attic room and the kitchen below.
The kitchen air was filled with steam and spice, a blend of cheap ingredients sourced from the local market boiling in a large pot overtop the cast iron stove. Dong’s mother, a plump woman in her late middle-age, bustled about, her hands flying across the countertops, dicing green spring vegetables and small chunks of lean meat. She barely looked up from her work to greet Dong as he hopped off from the ladder and walked through the beaded curtain leading into the dining room. Seated around the cramped round dinner table was his father, sisters, and baby brother.
“Good morning, Dong!” piped up Yin, the eldest of his three sisters.
“Good morning!” replied Dong, his mind elsewhere, focused on the hunger beginning to gnaw at his stomach.
Dong found a seat at the table quickly, watching as Yin stood up and moved into the kitchen, returning with his mother, carrying each several bowls of eggs, bread, and noodle soup. His stomach growled as the scent of the food filled his mind with hunger. As a bowl was placed before him, Dong lost his control, ravenously feasting on the spiced bread, boiled eggs, and the spiced meat and vegetable soup. He could hear his sisters laughing at him as he ate ravenously, the flavours filling his body with a feeling of warmth as the traditional Kalquenan herbs and spices filled his nose and mouth.
He polished off his bowl in a matter of a minute, his stomach now satiated, his mind now at ease. He smiled, thanking his mother for the meal. Dong then stood, turning towards the door and plucking his brown wool cap from its hook by the door.
“Remember, son, the Spring Festival is tonight!” said Dong’s father, a well toned man with tanned and scarred skin, his words echoing to Dong, who had already opened the door and rushed out, eager to get to work.
Dong jogged, moving at a brisk pace down the crowded streets of Zhouchen, the cobblestone roads constricted by the litany of shops and vendors collected on either side of the road. Thousands of people moved, each dressed in varying uniforms, all moving to their workplaces. Dong flitted between them, a wildcat bolting from tree to tree. His feet carried him down the roads on their own, a right, a left, then another left. He slowed himself as the horde of workers dispersed, as Dong reached the large building on the outskirts of town, a large mill. Dong lined up at the door, a few dozen other boys lined up, waiting to clock in.
He waited, time passing for a few minutes until the line moved to him. He quickly moved his timecard into the slot, pulling it out and placing it back in its place. Without another moment, he jogged into the mill, the air inside filled with a thick mixture of dust and flour. Dong found his place at the end of a long conveyor belt, moving the crushed flour into a mound in order to be bagged by Dong and his coworkers.
His mind, now focused on his work, turned off, and before he knew it, Dong was already done, all the flour had been bagged and his shoulders and arms ached from the repetition of motion spanning many hours. He jogged, his legs aching similarly, crying out in protest to have simply stood without a break for hours on end. Before he knew it, Dong was moving once more outside, his timecard punched out and his feet tracing the same path, the thousands of workers once again filling the space around him like a herd of cattle moving in unison.
The path back to Dong’s home was still easier than the way to the mill, the vendors and shopkeepers having already packed up in preparation for the Festival. The familiar sight of his home brought Dong’s speed up further, his hand falling forward with all his weight inwards to the door, his body collapsing on the soft wooden flooring, covered in the late afternoon light.
The house was still busy, the smell of wildflowers wafted inwards from the kitchen, Dong’s sisters likely already knitting their flower garlands for the parade. He brought himself to move towards the table, sitting down and massaging his legs with a flour-caked hand.
“Dong! Dong! The parade will start soon! Clean your hands and come get a flour necklace!” piped up Yin.
Dong sighed, smiling slightly as he stood, his legs still aching, yet his arms and spirit less so. Walking into the kitchen, he was met with the sight of his sisters on the kitchen floor, tying together great necklaces from blue, yellow and pink wildflowers, while his mother prepared a set of small dry cakes in the oven. Dong smiled, moving to the sink and turning the faucet on, running water was still new in Zhouchen, and the feeling of cold water rushing over his hands in his own home felt odd in some way. He wiped his hands on his flour coated pants, the water drawing a wet smear across the white powder. Jio, Dong’s youngest sister, waddled over, tugging at her brother’s leg and holding up a necklace in her chubby hand.
Dong smirked, plucking the blue and yellow necklace from his sister and placing it around his collar, the petals smelling strongly of sweet nectar and fields. Outside, people flocked past the windows, moving all towards the direction of the main street. Soon, he would follow them too. Dong’s mother began packing up the small dry cakes, placing them all in a satchel to bring out once they reached the parade.
She then turned to her children, pushing out her hands.
“Go, kids. The parade starts soon!”
Dong was already moving before she finished her sentence, moving quickly on aching legs to the door. He opened it, waiting for his sisters and mother to exit before shutting it himself. He then walked, moving with his family and the thousands of others towards the main street. In a matter of minutes, the flood of figures reached the main street, forming an orderly wall, thousands strong. Dong and his family found a spot, before a large glassblower’s shop. They then watched intently at the empty road, thousands of flower-laden figures shuffling about around them.
As the sky grew darker and darker, Dong could feel himself growing tired, impatient at the absent celebration. The festival of the people, fashionably late. Just as he opened his mouth to voice his concern, the dark sky exploded, a splash of a dozen sparkling colours twinkled above the crowd, reverberating with a wave of exclaimed gasps. Along the road, a procession began to march, flooding outwards from a corner far down the street. The sky danced now, with more coloured fire, and now as well with kites, dozens of paper animals, loosed by the throng of people skirting the parade. Dragons, Lions and Sparrows, dancing under the magic of the night sky. Dong’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the show above him. On the road, dancers moved in fluid spirals, throwing handfuls of petals out to the masses, musicians played, launching sound over the cheering of the people, soldiers, marching with farming tools held in their hands.
Dong smiled, the dance of paper animals, sparks, and petals above him. This was beautiful. This was his homeland, drawn in the sky.
This was home.
Response to Question 1 by Kolch
The hereditary laws of Celaguun call for the youngest child of the late monarch to ascend to the throne. It is unclear where this custom originated from, but the current consensus is that one of the earlier Aguls wanted to make his successor rule for as long as possible, leading to this queer method of succession. The law makes no exception for gender, as is apparent from the royal family’s long line of female rulers, the latest being the current Agul of the state, her most esteemed Qlililliagul. However, the events leading up to her ascension were rather out of the ordinary, and would end up being the primary motive for the Republican coup in 1898, which led to her most esteemed founding the Ministerial body first, then the Senate two years later.
This story starts with the death of Grand Duke Qlidabidagul of Celaguun. He brought great economic prosperity to the nation, and treated his people with relative respect, at least compared to his predecessors. In his time as Agul, the nation experienced what is now referred to as the “Celegian Surge”; a revitalisation of the 16th century Celagian trade-based economic powerhouse. Not only did he manage to procure numerous ludicrous trade-deals all around the Empire, but he also managed to turn Celagia City into the primary port for the bustling capital of Nhasa. The construction of the North-Eastern line also helped the nation tremendously, basically allowing the Agul to tax all goods coming into the capital via the sea. Celaguun experienced a second golden-period under the rule of his most esteemed, and Celagia City grew into one of the more populous cities in the whole Empire. This period of growth came to an abrupt end, however, when the late Qlidabidagul died at the rather young age of 41. Some historians accuse his wife the Diagul of foul-play, but this is impossible to prove.
The Agul and his Diagul had produced three children before his death. The eldest, Qliaburatia, was a handsome young man; 15 years of age at the time of his father’s passing. The boy, who had no chance of ascending to the throne, invested his vast inheritance into his education, which ended up getting him a respectable position as the owner of a decently-sized factory-complex in the North.
The second in line was a young girl by the name of Tibi, who, although only 6 at the end of her father’s reign, proved to be quite the patriotic lass. She was a quick learner and an avid student, an ideal ruler according to the words of the Diagul. She would have become the Agul for sure, had it not been for the birth of her younger sister, miss Lilli of Qli, a few months after her father’s demise.
The Diagul immediately claimed this infant not to be the result of her and the late Agul’s love, but instead a bastard she picked up while traveling in Temris nine months back. The Liberiatia however, who were responsible for a peaceful and lawful progression of the hereditary process, denounced these claims. It was not in her less esteemed’s rights to decide on her husband’s recognition of the legitimacy of the infant, therefore Lilli of Qli should be granted the title of Agul instead of her sister.
This did not go over well with the Diagul, who promptly ordered her personal guard to execute every last member of the council of the Liberi. She then personally raised her precious Tibi onto the Celagian throne, while the young Lilli was unceremoniously exiled to the neighbouring country of Hexlans in a wheelbarrow, where she was left to be raised by a rich tycoon unknowing of his daughter’s royal heritage.
Over the coming years, the young Tibiagul started enacting policies completely against both the written and unwritten laws of Celaguun. First, she passed a law allowing both the Agul and Diagul to decide the heir to the throne, which basically allowed the Diagul full control over the state were the Agul to pass away first. Next, she re-elected her mother as Diagul, effectively granting her absolute power over the province. The third law was the most controversial. All current advisors, dukes and owners of large corporations would be axed, and replaced by persons of the Diagul’s choosing. This initiated a wave of revolutions all around the country, but especially in the Industrial Heartland and the Capital, where support for the monarchy was already low, and which were populated by many large businesses who were not too keen on these unlawful outbursts of the Agul’s. These would be spearheaded by mister Talaga, who owned a large weapons-manufacturing plant in the South-West of the country. Firearms, knives, swords, all were secretly distributed to Republicans across the country, until in May 1898 all hell broke loose on the royal family.
Revolts started popping up all over the place, from the Northern fisheries to the Eastern railways. The dukes and duchess’ put in place by the Diagul were brutally massacred, their injuries ranging from blunt-force trauma to a complete mangling of the body. The Republicans in Celagia City had a more ambitious plan; completely removing the Agul and Diagul from power. They stormed through the gates of the Aguuna, and into the Agul’s chambers. There they found the Diagul dead on the ground, with her daughter in her arms. There young Tibiagul would meet her demise at the hands of an angry mob, strangled to death with a linnen rope.
Not everybody was happy with this sudden overthrowing of the monarchy, however. The Northern divisions, who had been greatly enriched by the policies enacted in the time of the late Qlidabidagul, demanded the return of the state to an absolute monarchy. Fearing a civil war, the Republican rebels gave in to the Northern demands, under the condition that they would get greater power within the Celagian government.
The youngest child of the Diagul, miss Lilli of Qli, was then traced back to her foster-parents in Hexlans. Without her guardians’ consent, the 6-year-old Agul was brought back to Celaguun, where she would sign the first Celagian constitution in the brand-new Talagia hall, named after the owner of the weapon-manufacturing complex that made the revolution possible in the first place. This new constitution would leave the absolute power to the Agul, but grant the populace with 48 elected ministers, who would represent their voters’ ideals to her most esteemed.
The Gathering - Llyn Caldwin Part III
Tarlin Yn Lochden, proud Rael of Ken Yn Lochden cleared his throat as he finally made his way to the center of the gathered Raels. It took an eternity, blasted be the one who decided that The Gathering required all Raels to speak until content, but his time was now. His plan able to be put in action. He made a show of commanding the room, stopping to look at the assembled body, giving an occasional nod to those he approved and stern glare to those he did not. When his gaze finally made full circle, he spoke.
"My fellow Raels. Long has this day been. Yet it warms my heart to see us all together, bound by our ways and kinship." Tarlin internally berated himself with the words that emerged yet he pressed on. "However I have news that would darken any day. News that would shake the core of the Highlands and our people of these days. News that would decide the fate of not just Ken Yn Lochden, Stalwart, Affalon, or any other." He paused, let the words stew in the ears of the Raels. This was the moment, the time of truth, a truth that would spark vigor in the Kens long gone since the Lowlanders made their way into the homeland. "The Goodman is dead. Been dead for months."
The crowds broke into separated groups, loudly whispering. Some even dared to call Tarlin a liar. He restrained himself from yelling back. He can not let his temper get the better of him. He lifted his right hand to silence the crowd. Slowly but surely, the voices simmered down. Resolute, Tarlin thumped his chest so his closed fist was above his heart.
"Nay be a lie I spoke. Those of my Ken in that great city of theirs gave the news when they learned of it. The Goodman is dead yet the Governor still demands the Empire's due. Clear disregard for The Pact!"
"So we been paying for nothing then." Rael Stalwart stated to which Tarlin nodded.
"Aye. We been paying for nothing." Tarlin said as his voice began to get louder. "The Governor lied to our faces but do not fear my friends. Ken Yn Lochden have spent the last few months intercepting the Oathbreaker's taxmen."
As if on cue, the doors of the hall opened and members of Yn Lochden moved in, carrying the bounties of the Ken given to the Empire. The silk by the artisans of Doriad, quality wool from the sheep of Gywnned. A small collection from each Ken but enough to prove the sincerity of Tarlin's words.
"All of it shall be returned to every one of your Kens." Tarlin boomed as he climbed on top of a table, elevating himself above the rest. The true place for the Rael of Yn Lochden, his heart swelling until he heard the voice of Gwen.
"And what do you want in return for this. Yn Lochden wouldn't do this out of the goodness of their hearts." Rael Gwen said, her hands resting on her hips. A challenge.
Tarlin grinned but his eyes did not smile with his mouth. "Nothing. Nothing but to hear my words." The pause was potent. Every eye was now focused upon him. "Divided, the Lowlanders would continue to pave over us. United, we can form a strong wall. Perhaps even head out in the wider Empire and fight for the rightful Goodm-"
"With Yn Lochden in charge I suppose." Rael Affalon interrupted, fury appearing on his face. "This is nothing but an attempt for you to claim yourself Da'Rael, Tarlin!" The low statement brought about waves of conversation.
"Perhaps. But perhaps Rael Tarlin speaks with sincerity." Rael Doriad mused, his hands touching his beard in pensive thought. "What's your plan?"
This time, the smile on Tarlin's face matched his eyes. Excitement making his heart beat faster. "First, we form a coalition between the Kens. Then we decide who shall speak with our collective voice to the Governor. Demand our rights afforded to us through the Pact. If Harwick refuses, then we no longer bring our goods and crops to that city of his. See how fast he crumbles without us. Then we help the Empire, what news that we hear is not good."
"And what about the Settlers?"
"They be subjects of the Goodman. We leave them alone." Tarlin answered. It was not a response that some in the crowd liked. Discontent was building. Building fast as the Southern Ken openly disagreed, the Yelwins chief among them. If they are not on board with his plan, things will get more difficult. He opened his mouth to speak but someone beat him to it.
"Really?! We are subjects of the Goodman too. Yet they treat us like we don't even exist." Rael Phrionsas said with disbelief. "Only but a week ago, they starting building more homes in my lands."
"Aye. Mine too." Rael Kernyn agreed. "I know you mean well Tarlin but your idea would only....let them build their strength. By the time we agree to anything, the Lowlanders would have taken everything. More and more of them are entering our glens and valleys."
"You want an armed response then?" Tarlin asked, fear chilled his heart for the first time. Armed conflict was not good, a fight that would be like pushing a boulder uphill. He looked at Ydwin whose expression seem to say that was what the short Rael preferred. He intended to keep the Yelwins on a short leash, a pitbull to deploy when the Governor was not willing to deal in good faith. A stick never meant to be used except as an plausible alternative.
"A fight we'll lose maybe. Or a fight we win especially when we take the Governor's weapons." Doriad said. "Fate is a tricky thing. Many variables to account for. A leader however is something we should agree on. A Da'Real is something not seen in generations and I doubt any of us would tolerate one these days. Perhaps an alliance leader."
Tarlin stood tall, a vain attempt to put himself as the only candidate. "I am the only one fit for the duty. My plan is the way to go and if you know what's good for Deheudir, then you will choose me.
"You forget, Rael Yn Lochden." Phrionsas sneered. "The Third Law of Man, nobody can force you to do anything."
The night was not going well for Tarlin.
EVENT POST
EVENT QUESTION 4
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The Day Of The Magi
October 4th, 1583
Lesano, Capitol of the Fedryaean Confederation
"Father, FATHER!" A small child ran through the streets of of Lesano, a small antiquated settlement on the coast, surrounded by mosquito filled marshes, yet not inside of it, acting as a natural defensive barrier. The child running was given openings by the crowds on the street due to the small green and gold sash around his neck, signifying him as a member of the ruling dynasty with command over all 3 of the ruling tribes in the confederation. Behind him, 2 guards with pikes follow behind, ensuring his safety, but at the same time also coming to the boy's father the same news and to confirm what they saw. After all, 1 is but hearsay, 2 is a plot, and 3 is a sign of truth.
In the town's outskirts, multiple guards on towers and walls begin preparing themselves as a column of dust rises into the air, heading straight for the town. The raider and bandit horsemen in the region typically avoided the town specifically due to its location. However recent rumors of battle and some force annihilating them was cause for worry. It didn't help some settlements stopped giving taxes in the most recent time, not by avoiding it, but the simple fact nobody came to turn it in, not even a messenger or scout to announce if they were ambushed.
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"Oh this is exciting, isn't it my Emperor Ren Osarrus IX?" A man in a carriage wearing a red robe said to a man in an opulent set of armor and decorative cloth, with a crown on top his head. "Indeed it is. This land has proven itself strange yet acceptable to my rule ever since we dispatched with ease those bandits and raiders. Truly, we have come as liberators for these people from the tyranny and threat of an apparent lack of security. It was kind for the locals to tell us where the rulers of this land our, surely once they see the power of our great lands and our new blackpowder skirmishers and the wealth to come from joining us, they will, well, join us."
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An aged man sitting in a leather and cotton chair behind a wooden desk looks ahead, to where his son and his 2 personal guards stood in front, having just reported what they saw. He stands up, slight struggle in his muscles due to his advanced age. "Come, I will see this myself, and if need be, either negotiate or personally command the battle."
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One Hour Later
The aged man and his son stand on top of the gatehouse, guards on either side, starring down at the small army standing before them, and the opulent, crowned, and slightly overweight man with multiple red robed men surrounding him. Ren Osarrus IX stopped a good 30 feet from the gate and looked up. "Greeting noble natives, I am Emperor Ren Osarrus IX, chosen by the gods to rule these humbled lands and others. Where is it I greet you all from?"
To the people on top, they merely looked towards each other. "What did he say?" "Was that a demand for surrender or a request to talk?" "Why does he look like my aunt?"
To Ren Osarrus IX and his entourage, it merely sounded like gibberish before the aged man bellowed out; "Ci gal lo?" To the people on the gatehouse and walls, they knew he was asking "What are you saying?"
"Cigallo! What a pleasant name for a town, write that down please Magi." Ren said heartily. "Very well, my lord."
"My lord, if I may ask a question?" A different Magi asked. "Please, speak up if its important to the current situation." "It is my lord, should we get a translator like we did for the other villages, we may not be able to effectively communicate with them without one." Ren Osarrus paused, considering the proposal. On the gatehouse the men stood slightly confused. "Dad, I don't think they understand us. Nor was that the answer he was looking for. Maybe we should send someone down?" A loud shout from below greeted them as the strange man with a crown turned around and heartily chuckled. Soon after, someone came up next to him, this time in a blue robe. Soon after, the blue man looked up and asked; "Do you is speak these words, yes?"
The old man sighed, his son confused about everything going on, and the soldiers slightly less on edge given the opposing force's lack of actual battle formation. They instead looked like a fancy guard for a parade or announcement, with strange looking crossbows with an enclosed barrel and spear tip. Many decided that if diplomacy was possible, it should be taken to avoid whatever it was those things did. Except for Steven, who 17 days later while viewing one would be the first person in Imperial history to make the mistake of looking down the barrel without knowing if it was loaded, and promptly suffered the obvious result when he accidently pushed the trigger. His hat would never be repaired and his left ear forever having a hole not meant for jewelry. Other than a couple stab wounds earned earlier in his career and later when fighting a drunkard with a knife, he was fine.
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14 Days Later, Lesano Cigallo
October 18th, 1583
Unification Day
Ren Osarrus the IX sat across from Jarl Denius of the town now known as 'Cigallo'. Both were laughing over a good drink, chuckling at how both ended up where they were. Before them on the desk sat an agreement between the 2 rulers. In return for the soon-to-be-former confederation being a province all on its own and for reduced taxes while the currency, administrative, and other changes occurred until the province naturalized fully to the empire, as well as full citizenship for all citizens of the confederation. Cigallo and the confederation would fully submit to the rule of the Eternal Emperor and the Magi, once and forevermore being citizens of The Empire of the Heavens. Celebrations would break out and Ren Osarrus IX would have a statue erected to him outside the former Jarl, now Governor's Palace for all to see and be able to visit for time immemorial.
EVENT POST
EVENT QUESTION 2
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The Tale of the Bane
Throughout the history of the Celestial Delta, there have been whispers of a.... thing. It was once man, of course. However, many claim that it still is, I personally do, though it's all up to.... public dispute as it has theoretically existed for thousands of years. Every few years someone will wander into a part of the Delta no one really ventures into without at least a candle and claim that hidden inside the swampy, mosquito infested, disease riddled grounds that some strange creature lurks inside. Hunched back, cloaked in ragged green and brown cloths, and always wearing a mask. Christian preachers upon hearing of it, and to some who have even seen it claim that the mask is of the devil himself or one of god's 'fallen angels'. Muslims claim it a beast of Jahannam, come to excise the faithful wherever they spread. Many consider it a dark omen, more of a spirit than an actual being.
The doubtful and the fearful, often overlapping, claim the creature doesn't even exist. That it's just a wild animal with a piece of muddy moss on it. Absolutely NOTHING to worry about. Until it kills someone that is. Then all of a sudden it's a murder as, how do they explain the obsidian daggers with intricate carvings stabbed into their backs? it's always a copycat killer, or a deranged geologist going on about 'people trying to kill him with wooden clubs as they believe he can only see rocks.' Blah blah blah, you get the gist of these things, after all, that's why your here. But the truth is much simpler than that, hence the name, the stealth, and more.
He is truly but a man. And a hateful one at that. Hateful at the gods. Hateful to the daemons. Hateful to the spirits. Hateful to the idols, and the corrupt, and the bootlickers, and most certainly HATEFUL to ALL that played a part in creating HIM every single generation. A lineage of men, women, and those who say they're something else entirely or none at all who are SPITEFUL to the world and its rules, orders, and, eugh.... restrictions. One who has nothing but the Bane before them to train, and to eventually lose so that the mantle be claimed. Forever alone save for an apprentice or two throughout decades of assassinations, robberies, stalkings, and more.
Many hunt the Bane purely out of good in their heart. Good for them, they have something to care about and live for. Why they waste it coming after us? I know not. They never succeed. They will at most gain a glimpse, and forever be haunted by their own inability to fight back against what even the things that go bump in the night fear. About what the animals here have learned through thousands of years of memories ingrained into their very being and offspring's being, you simply can't fight back, no matter how much technology you put into it. And how do we prepare against it?
Simple, whoever said we're always this is a fool. Is it wrong to take a day off every now and then and live among civilized society. They have medicine after all, and food that most of the time won't kill you or give you dysentery. But, out of ALL the things a Bane has seen, it is very rare for one to actually meet them, much more actually find one of their 'homes'. But, I know who you are, so I must ask you, kid. Do you fully comprehend what you're getting into? Do YOU fully understand your goal in this path of which there shall only ever be one?
And I ask this not because of repetition, but out of legitimate sincerity. Are you prepared to become a Bane of All Things?
"An Ordered Rebellion"
January 19, NL 16
The North Harbor
In collaboration with the Most Honorable Elodia.
The Albatross' northward trajectory continued, followed by their other light cruiser, the Raven.
"Sir," said Vice Admiral Lance Reyal in the captain's quarters, standing at the opened door in salute, "Tangwen's shores will be in sight within the hour."
Hugo Mast stood alone, staring at the shifting waves through an adjacent porthole. "Within the hour?" Hugo looked back, flashing at the Vice Admiral a crooked, mocking smile. "Within the hour?" he repeated again, his voice flat.
"Yes, sir" Reyal swallowed, "within the hour."
Hugo turned looked out again to the waves, before taking a step toward Reyal. "Do you think you could be a tad more precise? We are nominally rebels, but not idiots. Understand?"
"Y-yes sir."
After a moment, Hugo took another step forward. "So, would you like to revise your message to me?"
"Twenty-five minutes, sir."
Hugo maintained a disgusted glare at Reyal. "Next time you fail to communicate with me, I will have you court-martialed. Don't be a fool." He moved forward, brushing past Reyal, who followed close behind, and through the narrow innards of the Albatross. "I want all of our vessels prepared for the worst. If I have to sink every stinking barge that bloated brute has at his disposal, I will." A sight caught his eye, moving through the halls. "You!" A strange woman he had not yet seen caught his eye. He closed the distance. "Who are you? What is a woman doing on my ship?"
The young blonde woman known as Alice gave Hugo a curtesy. She had on a maid's uniform, and her face betrayed no emotion or panic. She had plaited blonde hair, a beautiful porcelain face, and lithe figure that almost made her look like a doll. A small but warm smile appeared on her face as she finished her curtesy and faced Mast straight on.
"Greetings, Admiral Mast. I was one of Gong's maidservants during his tenure as Emperor. Due to his untimely death, I believe my role as maid falls to you instead?"
Her face was innocent. If there were any private thoughts otherwise, she was definitely good at hiding them.
"You served Gong during his time as emperor? That must have been a very short time." Reyal laughed, yet Hugo shot his lieutenant a dark glare. Reyal corrected his outburst in a second. Hugo looked back to the woman, "I am very good with faces, yet I don't know you. How did you get on board?"
"I simply assumed that the civilian government was to move with the Emperor, was I not? A few soldiers escorted me aboard the ship. I don't fully understand why." Alice asked. "Apologies - I have been impolite. I am Alice, and I am from Elodia. Pleasured to make your acquaintance." She gave him another warm smile and curtesy. Her deep blue eyes seemed to stare right into Hugo's soul.
Hugo was undisturbed by her gaze. "What are the names of these soldiers who brought you aboard?"
"Uh..." Alice looked around. "Hmm, they never really told me. Am...am I not meant to be here? Apologies sir, I was unsure of what I was meant to do in such a predicament." She kept a cool face.
Hugo narrowed his eyes further. "I will have no women aboard my ship. I suspect you are a stowaway. I doubt I will have use for maids, either." He turned to Reyal, "have her thrown overboard with a buoy. Maybe a fisher will pick her up."
"Huh?" Alice looked genuinely shocked, and her eyes quickly darted to Reyal, a hint of a genuine plea for help in her eyes. "Sir, sir, I'm only here to serve you...that's what Emperor Gong last set for me..."
Hugo looked on at the woman with disgust. "You want to serve me? How can you serve me?" Reyal cast a sympathetic glare toward the woman, yet remained silent.
"I can...make tea? Or do laundry? Or..." Alice looked around the room, unsure. "I'm sure you wouldn't have much use for a garden aboard a ship, but I can do that too." Alice swallowed, and looked back at Reyal. "I can make meals and clean, I'm sure that's useful, right?"
Do...do I actually know how to cook or make laundry? Alice thought to herself. She'd seen some of her own actual maidservants do it, and it probably wasn't that hard...probably. But anything to get out of this genuinely dangerous situation.
Hugo's disgust subsided partially at the mention of medial tasks. "These things you mention that you are capable of are things men in a functioning military are taught to do for themselves." He counted down the items with his fingers, "laundry, cooking, cleaning, they are the tasks that build a man's character, and provides him the discipline he needs under pressure."
He scoffed, "having a ditzy woman prance around and spoil men like princes may be the fashion in the Heartlands, but it is not how we do things here." He brushed past the woman, and continued down the hall, concluding, "overboard."
Alice slowly got into a defensive stance as she watched several sailors approach her.
Reyal maintained his sympathetic expression. His eyes darted between Alice and the slowly departing Hugo, as if saying there's got to be something.
"Well...are you really sure?" Alice said, genine panic in her voice. "I can...maintain weapons? I can fish? I can operate the telegrams? I can sew? I can-"
Hugo stopped in place. "You can do many things. You are a telegram operator? How do you have experience with it?"
Alice's eyes lit up.
"My father learned how to use it in the army, and he taught me as well. I'm familiar with Morse code as well, and I can't say I'm an amateur." It's true, Alice thought. Who knew those days of screwing around with the newfangled communication devices as a child to send secret messages to her father would come to save her life someday?
Observing the woman with skepticism, Hugo called off his sailors with the mere wave of his hand. "Come," said he, "let's see how good you are." Eventually, he made his way to the communications room. "Out," he said to the men already inside. He gestured to the telegraph machine, pulling out his pocket watch as he did. "Show me how you would send a message to Lord Tseun of Tangwen. The message is as follows: The Grand Admiral of the Celestial Navy, the Honorable Hugo Mast, demands to dock in your harbor. You have one hour to respond with compliance, or we shall forcibly land."
Alice sat down and began tapping the transmitter, exactly as she heard it. A not so maid-like, almost somewhat smug smile crept up on her face as she began to type.
She turned around and looked at Mast, like a child looking at a parent after getting an A on their test.
"Was that good, sir?"
Hugo remained staring at his pocket watch. "One minute and two seconds. You're slow."
Alice's heart sank. That was slow? "I can try again..."
"You're only lucky that you're far superior to all the men I've had down here. You are now my private secretary. You will handle outgoing communications and my personal matters when necessary." He scoffed, "you will also dispose of that ridiculous outfit and sew for yourself something more appropriate this night. You will not be allowed a bunk until that is finished." He stowed his pocket watch, "you will work harder for me than for any other you have worked. Do you understand?"
"Understood sir." There was hope then. "I'll do my best." Alice smiled, but now she had several new concerns. But for now, she was in. What's more, being a secretary offered her a lot of possible intel. But traditional methods of seduction and betrayal didn't seem to work on Hugo. She'd have to try a bit harder then. "So what exactly do you want me to wear?"
"What?" said Hugo. He then steeled himself once more, "don't ask stupid questions. Wear dark colors, like the others. This isn't a fashion show, and I'm not your designer." Without skipping a beat, he continued, "now, do you remember the message I told you to practice with? Send it this time." And then he told her the correct frequency, "and as soon as you have a reply, you will rush to the bridge to tell me. Understood?"
"Yes sir." Alice sat down on the telegraph transmitter and began to transmit the message. It's a good thing simply not wearing the white parts of her maid uniform to have it be a full black dress didn't involve much sewing, because to be frank, she didn't really know how to sew. She awaited the reply.
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