The Celestial EmpireBoard

Cliff of the Eagles
Qanteng, Elodia
August 21st, 1911

The waves of the morning's weather crashed against the steel hulled Westfeld, as it chugged through the water. Its mighty decks lurched and rolled, the weather being suboptimal at best. Around the dreadnought and its contingent fleet, dozens of civilian ships flying the flag of Reichskrieg sat awaiting, boats ready to take men ashore. On the bridge, Katzfeld gazed at the mighty cliffs that made up the Elodian coastline. When they had gotten control of Qanteng, they had done surveying of it incase of this very contingency, which would be coming in hand. He turned and inspected a map, where a few members of his staff were already standing around.

"Gentlemen. The landing begins in three hours. Our forces will be concentrated here," He took a stick and pointed to a valley between the towering landscape. "and will advance inland here, towards the Levalle Railway. Once that is secured, we will use it to advance south to Qanteng and then the capital of Elodia. It will be a swift strike, to decapitate the enemy with minimal losses. The war fleet shall commence bombardment in ten minutes, at seven twenty-five. Relay the message to the fleet."

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

Around that same time
"They'll be attacking us in a few hours sir."
"I know."
Two lone men stood at the cliffs of the valley, looking down upon the fleet.
"We should get out of here before they start the bombardment. You know we don't have-"
"Not before we have confirmation of where they're coming."
"This is suicide. Are we seriously going to just...sit here and rain down upon the enemy?"
"Lieutenant, follow orders."
"Yes sir." The two men quickly took down a series of notes. The senior officer nodded to his junior.
"It's time to leave. Unless you want to get pulverized." He chuckled.
"Yes sir."

Several miles behind them, a train was travelling full speed to deliver the latest Morsanian howitzers. The modern guns were a massive leap from the older field guns that had been used in the previous battle. It just needed to get there in time.

The watch in the Admiral's hand ticked over and the guns slowly turned to face the shore. Long batteries of naval artillery, dwarfing that which is on land. There was a brief silence as the guns finished their rotations until they thundered. Mighty plooms of smoke and fire erupted from Reichskriegan steel, sending streaks of fire towards the awaiting coastline. The troops onboard the ships, in their field grays, watch with awe as the High Seas Fleet unleashes its fury upon the Elodian aggressors.

Trees along the coastline went up in smoke as the cannons missed their targets. By and large, the Elodian army had withdrawn, leaving only naval mines in the vicinity as a proper defense. However. the reverse sloping hill acted as a visual barrier, and Elodian units, save a few unfortunate souls, largely escaped unscathed. The entire Elodian army had gathered, prepared to give their lives for the defense. An old shore artillery emplacement was destroyed.
"They got one of the coastal batteries!"
"Calm down, the new cannons are on their way! Hold here, they can't hit all of us!"

The bombardment continued as the hours pressed on, mighty guns pounding what they could of the Elodian coast to secure the beach head for landing. It was a dangerous manuever, and the Admiral would be taking no chances with it. Had he had access to the famed Zeppelin, he might have deployed it in preliminary strikes too. Alas, no such luck. As the clock struck three hours past when the guns had began, they fell eerily silent. Their muzzles caked in soot from repeated firing. It was this signal that had the mighty transports, cargo ships, and any other ship available for the operation set steam for the designated landing point, approaching slowly at first before picking up speed.

"The guns. They've stopped." The handful of Elodian units up front peered through their scopes to see the Reichskrieger transport ships begin to approach the shore.
"Marco, run back and contact the rest of the army."
"Yes sir."
"Everyone, we just have to hold the line. But hold your fire until I say to - they'll run into the mines!"

As the ships inched closer, slowly picking up speed, the ship leading ahead struck one of the undersea mines. Its side was showered in water as the steel plating was torn asunder with ease, not rated for anything close to this level of damage. Rapidly it took on a list, with the rest of the fleet proceeding ahead or altering course to the alternative landing zone. From his bridge, Katzfeld watched as his first transport foundered under no enemy fire and silently cursed. A slight underestimation, but there was no way they had enough mines to block his way through. The attack would succeed as planned.

"We got them!"
The Elodian troops cheered as the mines destroyed a transport ship. Even without spyglasses they could see the plumes of water. Behind them, a large contingent of Elodian soldiers were arriving via train, bringing with them the new howitzers. It was like fish in a barrel. The cannons parked just outside of the battleship's range. Any closer and the battleships would have to brave the mines themselves. It was perfect. The cannons began to load up as the Reichskrieger transport ships attempted to navigate the minefield.

The ships gradually advanced, another taking a mine directly on its side, sending it capsizing within minutes as ships moved around to press the advantage. Katzfeld, for his part, rubbed his beard. A minefield wasn't anything to concern himself over, in all likely hood it was unlikely they could lay any more than a trivial amount in the straits. He motioned over his wire operator.

"Move the gunboats in closer and tell them to resume bombardment of thirty minutes with five minute intervals."

As he ordered, the first ship finally moved close enough to start lowing its landing craft-little more than rowboats, loaded with the army.

The Elodian machine guns nests up on the cliff opened fire, the new Maxim Guns spraying lead down onto the advancing Reichskriegers down below.

As the machine guns made themselves known, the first gunboat named for one of the many nobles in Reichskrieg began firing with its guns. Its white hull dodged through the minefield and cut a clean wake as it covered the advance, followed on other points by some older models that were not nearly as skilled in their operation.

"Incoming artiller-"
The Elodian machine guns nests exploded in a giant fireball as the HE rounds impacted their positions.
"Oh god, someone took out the forward defenses!" Several soldiers in the rearline began to panic. An officer stepped up, looking unfazed.
"Not to worry, we still have our mines!" The officer turned to a runner, wiping away a bead of sweat he had carefully hidden from his soldiers. "Report the positions of those gunships and relay them to command, I want artillery fire now!"

As artillery fire started splashing around the fleet, the wheel of the gunboats worked overtime, weaving and dodging mines and shells. The guns had little time to target, but they continued putting shells on targets as the first soldiers lept from their rowboats and trudged ashore with rifles in hand. Behind them, more waves approached from a now sinking transport.

The Elodian officer cursed as the gunboats inexplicably refused to get hit. Still, it let forth an opening for riflemen to rain down fire upon the exposed enemy soldiers. The men stood their ground as more and more Reichskriegers began to emerge from their boats.

The soldiers moved quick up the beach, to attempt to get out of the open, but the enemy fire was withering for the army. The Seebatalions were still recovering from Qanteng, and so the normal had to do the task they weren't quite trained for. None the less, they pressed onwards as more soldiers fell into the sands of the beach.

As for the gunboats, one would finally get struck, a stray shell slamming into its deck and causing smoke to consume the bridge. It would be forced to pull back, leaving the others to continue close bombardment.

"They're getting closer! When is that blasted artillery going to arrive?" An Elodian soldier yelled out.
"They're pounding the ships you moron! Now fire!" The Elodians fired from defensive positions, attempting to retain their positions, but one by one, units gradually began to recede from the section of the beach. The next battalion over noticed this, and began offering supporting fire. The guns would not hit them, they were busy firing at the transports. Rifle fire filled the line between the beach and the land as bodies began to stack on both sides.

More rowboats hit the beach to aid in their push. If they could just push inland, as was intended in operational planning, the battle would effectively be won with superior equipment and training. However, as the Elodians mounted a stiff and determined resistance, this seemed ever more unlikely to the men on the ground. They had practically nothing in the way of heavy equipment, those would have to be unloaded after a beachhead was secured, just rifles and their orders which were proving not enough. Katzfeld observed as more ships strayed into the minefield, and more were struck with killing blows as his men struggled to advance. Wasn't necessarily going to plan, but when did it ever? The Elodians would break after the next wave, certainly.

"Fire upon the shore! They have nowhere else to run!"
A second battery of Elodian guns were rapidly unloaded off the train. The moment they were unloaded, the guns began to fire onto the shore.
"Not here you dumbf*cks!" The train conductor shouted, covering their ears. The shells impacted onto the shore.

The distant thunder of explosions sailed across the sea and rising smoke on the beach could only mean one thing. Katzfeld swore. Any guns they had were supposed to be decimated beforehand... unless they had hidden them somewhere. He couldn't risk getting closer with his capital ships, and his gunboats evidently weren't doing enough. It was a rock in a hard place for any commander, but he was sure a victory was right around the corner. All his advisors had confirmed this to him before the bombardment. And yet they struggled still. He motioned to his radio operator to signal the next wave.

The operator transcribed a message before speaking. "The Schnitzer reports international forces are engaging its troops. Situation is unknown but reportedly detoriating. What shall I send in response?"

"International troops? That means... order an immediate withdrawal of those forces. Redirect them to the actual frontlines." How they managed to get to Luhai, only god will know, the Admiral thought to himself as he spoke his orders.

The second Elodian gun battery continued to pound into the troops on the shore. As the bodies began to pile, an Elodian officer yelled out.
"Fix bayonets! With me, with me!" A green flare fired up into the air, signalling the end of the shore bombardment, as both guns now began to fire at the ships out in the open. And as they did, the Elodian troops on the shore began a charge towards the Reichskriger soldiers on the shore.

The Reichskriegers dug their heels into the sand, a veritable wall of lead and steel being hurled back at the enemy in response as they held out for relief. Relief that would not come in time, as the numbers crashing against their lines made clear. But they'd give their lives dearly.

The Elodian troops crashed into the Reichskriegers, bayonet on bayonet, as the artillery guns focused their fire elsewhere. The Reichskrigers had been softened up by the artillery and rifle fire for sure - now the Elodians just had to take them out.

The grey uniforms clashed against blue, bayonets striking true on both sides and stocks being driven into their foes. Howver, even if casualities were one for one, the Elodians' numbers caused the lines to bend back towards the coast, where maybe once beautiful terrain was stained red with the blood of battle.

"Push! Push!"
The men stabbed at the Reichskriegers. Despite slowly winning, the Elodian troops were also taking heavy casualties. Overhead, the Elodian howitzers continued to fire their barrage at the gunboats as they attempted to avoid the labyrinth of naval mines.

Katzfeld watches the battle from his bridge, observing as his gunboats continue to weave and dodge through increasing artillery fire. His gaze was cast towards the sea of wrecked ships and burning hulks. He could almost feel the price tag with each ship slipping beneath the surf into their relatively shallow resting place.

"Admiral, message just in from the capital."

"The capital? What could they want?" Katzfeld said as he was handed a transmission from his communications officer. As he read across the lines, his face seemingly drained of color. Withdraw from battle. It was an impossibility, he had the Elodians on the ropes, but the imperial seal marked it as from the Kaiser himself. Disobeying would be political suicide. And so he gave the order.

"Get what troops we can off the beach and began withdrawal from combat."

Meanwhile, the Elodians guns continued to pound into the gunboats that roamed the waters. They were beginning to rain down upon the transports too. Excited, the Elodian guns fired into the Reichskrieger vessels, blissfullly unaware of the situation within the Reichskrieg high command.

Rowboats returned to the shore, laying down machine gun fire at their fronts to cover the men. They jolted as they hit the shore, soldiers slowly pulling back, the elite Seebatalions, what was left of them anyway, holding the line for the army to board the first boats out. They dug their heels in deep as they began the withdrawal. The ships meanwhile pull back, out of artillery range but close enough for the rowboats to reach.

The Elodians cheered as the Reichskriegers began to pull back. Though they had taken many casualties, they had done it. They had done the impossible. The Elodian batteries continued to fire at the withdrawing rowboats as Elodian infantry continued to lay down rifle fire back at the Reichskriegers. Many Elodians fell victim to the machine guns, but they hailed the withering fire to lay down their own bullets, Elodian lead pouring towards the Reichskriger positions.

Elodian lead was met with Reichskrieger steel as the gunboats pounded the shore, daring to go where no other ship would go to cover the retreat. The crews hands stained with soot and powder from the constant use of the main batteries, barrels blackened. Their pristine white hulls having flakes of the smoke and fire stain its sides. It was truly a remarkable sight, even as the sluggish transports continued impromptu mineclearing with their hulls.

Seeing the gunboats clear out large swathes of Elodian soldiers, the guns once more turned their sights onto said gunboats. The commanding officers knew very well that this was their very intent, to draw fire away from the fleeing boats laden with Reichskriger soldiers, but they had no other choice. The pressure upon the filled Reichskriger transports was lifted as the Elodian cannons bore down upon the gunboats. If the gunboats would draw fire away from the boats filled with Reichkrieger troops, then the Elodian cannons would have to draw fire away from the Elodian infantry.

With the gunboats dashing about, spouts of water coming over their decks from missed enemy shells, the rowboats inched further and further from shore, first out of rifle range and then back onto the transports. All things considered, it was an effective withdrawal. Quick-as quick as it could've been-and clean. It was all the Reichskriegers could've asked for given the situation. As the ships inched out of artillery range, the gunboats turned away from the battlefield, stern guns leaving a parting gift before they withdrew from the field of battle as well.

"Hmmph. They ran with their tail between their legs!" An Elodian soldier said, as they watched the Reichskriegers leave. A few artillery rounds impacted the surface of the water as the transports chugged just outside of their maximum range. "We got them!" A loud cheer rose up from the Elodians. To be fair, a few were unnerved at how quickly they had withdrawn, but by and large, the battle appeared to be over. For now.

Far Away From Home - November 10th 1910 - Written in Collaboration with Kolch

Fleet Admiral Albert Hall rested his head in his hand rubbing his forehead. “Are you crazy? Who sends Navy ships on a diplomatic mission?” He turned to look back at the Home Fleet behind him. “And also, what will happen, if I don’t know, they get sunk?”

“Mira Cal kept behind Jenn to teach them about steamships, I don’t think they have the capability of our steel battleships. Bruce told me he saw the ship that brought back the survivors from the CMS Aftalia dock, indeed it was a sail ship.”

Albert sighed and paced around the room. “Each of these battleships behind me, requires at least 400 to 600 men to operate. You are asking for two battleships, and some destroyers, each destroyer takes around 100 men to operate, that would require removing 2000 men from active duty, all to rescue one citizen from an empire halfway across the ocean.”

“Mira Cal is land unknown, fabled in stories across the world. If we can get them on our side, we can learn their secrets, how they manage to stay hidden from the rest of the world for so long.”

Albert rubbed his face. “How are we going to rescue Jenn?”

“Diplomacy, they want our knowledge in ships and modern industry, we can give them that, on the condition that they return Jenn.” Al said. Watching Albert through eyes which only slightly betrayed the screaming battle within.

Albert sighed and stood up to take a closer look at the battleships. “And the purpose of bringing our strongest naval vessels?”

“To let them know we mean business.” Al said sternly.

Eastbound - Ockseti Sea

Commodore Peter Phillips surveyed the calm seas ahead of him. Ahead, the IKN Bear, her guns pointed up at the sky. Resting, for now. Behind her, two cruisers, and two destroyers followed in tow keeping an arrowhead formation. Belowdecks, crew milled around in mess halls and bunks, or carried out tasks and orders delegated to them to keep the vessel moving.

Tom entered the bridge where the bridge crew saluted him. “Commodore on deck!” Shouted a Marine Guard.

“At ease gentlemen. Captain, I want the heading.” The captain turned from his post.

“Heading, 295° true Commodore, we are on course.” The captain said. The rest of the bridge crew assumed their normal duties as the fleet ploughed through the frigid oceans.

Below decks, Al Harrison sat at the table in his quarters kindly provided to him by the navy. It wasn’t as extravagant as the first-class rooms he had on the grandest ships in his fleet, but it would do. Unlike the extensive fitting out done by Clifford & Voss to Kushmire Star Line vessels, the navy wanted a functional warship, extra fitting out and luxuries would simply weigh it down. As such Harrison shifted the light wooden table at the corner of his room to reveal the bolts and welds where the metals were joined. Below one of the rivets was the logo of Clifford & Voss. Al smiled, knowing the ship wouldn’t break apart so easily in a storm.

There was a knock on his door. “Come in!” Said Al. The door opened and Peter Phillips, the commander of the operation entered. “Al, the diplomatic team wants a meeting with you and myself, it's to do with Jenn.” Al nodded, grabbed his coat and stood.

The Commodore followed suit, grabbing his hat which he had set down on the table. He sighed nervously as he led Al out. Al noticed the odd energy as the pair walked past the crew. “What’s with everyone, seems a bit like they are nervous, scared almost, to be on this ship.”

Tom nodded, “Yes, their is a superstition amongst navy sailors and officers about new ships, that their first sailing will be fraught with difficulty and bad luck, it's why we never sail new ships into combat, it stems from the Wellerman incident, you know, the ship that was too top heavy and sank in the early 1700s.”

“Yes Commodore, I am aware.” Al chuckled as he lifted a nearby fuse box, revealing once again, the logo of Clifford & Voss. “But this ship is built well, Commodore, I can assure you.”

The two men entered a dim room in the bowels of the ship where the diplomatic team would meet. Inside already were several men, dressed in white shirts and top hats, the elite refusing to abandon their ways even when inconvenient.

“Al, Commodore, I suppose you have had a pleasant journey so far?” Said Marlon Samuels, the leader of the team.

“Yes, Marlon, I have, seeing as it is my ship. You are therefore my guest.”

“Of course, Commodore, Al, welcome aboard.” Marlon stood from his seat and lit a cigar. “Gentlemen, I have called you all here today to present to you an unpleasant, but very real possibility. In the event that discussions do not proceed as planned, or indeed, the Mira Calese gets hostile, you must remember this is an uncharted, unexplored and misunderstood group we are dealing with, we need an extraction plan, of course, one that minimises the damage to diplomatic relations.” Marlon said.

“Al, you are sure that the empire can understand our language?” Marlon asked.

“The Temrisian that delivered the news to me assured me that their leader, an empress, can understand Morsain.”

“Very well, but that still leaves the issue of talks not going the way we want it to. The question of what to do when they get hostile remains unanswered.”

“Marlon, if I may.” The Commodore spoke up, “You are standing in the most powerful ship the Kushmiran navy has ever built, if they try anything, our fleet will send their wooden sailing vessels to the bottom of the ocean.”

“That is assuming what the Temrisian told Al, is indeed true.”

“It is, I checked the port records at Zimford, indeed, a ship did pull in, it apparently baffled the Port Authority, who put down the vessel as Unidentified Foreign-Flagged Sailing Ship.”

Marlon scratched his chin and let out a sigh. “Well, Commodore, out of all due respect, I would appreciate it if you were to hold back your more explosive fire until the situation has genuinely gone out of control. Otherwise, I suggest the use of our Marine Guard, go on shore with us, it appears we are wholeheartedly trusting the words of a Temrisian, if so they will be enthralled by our technology, tell me Commodore, does this ship have any of these machine guns I’ve been hearing about.”

“No to my awareness, though I can ask the Captain and his senior officers.” Said Peter. “A shore operation may be difficult, and our marines aren’t exactly diplomatic experts, they may start fights.”

“I assure you Commodore my charm spreads to more than just foreign diplomats, if their discipline truly does concern you however, then you may send ashore one of your officers onshore with us.” Marlon said. “Al, are you staying on the ship?”

Al shook his head. “No Marlon, I’m coming ashore, and you are not going to convince me to do otherwise, no matter what happens, I will bring Jenn home with me, I owe it to her children, to my brother.”

Marlon opened his mouth to suggest otherwise, but closed it when he realised it would have been futile. “Very well then, unless anyone has anything to say, you may return to your cabins.”

Peter raised his hand, “Gentlemen, before we set off I’d like to add something, when we land we’ll be landing on our destroyer, I won’t send in the Bear nor any of the cruisers, I don’t want to risk getting stuck in an un-manoeuvrable position. Before we dock we’ll transfer the shore party to a destroyer. Are we clear?”

The group nodded. “And get me the Guard Captain please, commodore.” Marlon said as the group dispersed.

Mira Cal

Commodore Peter Phillips watched through an ancient spyglass as the destroyer containing the shore team pulled into the port. He lowered the spyglass and then looked around at the assortment of sailing vessels near the harbour. Some of them had distinct square cutouts where cannons would be pointed through.

“Captain, tell all secondary firing teams to load their rounds, across all ships, let’s leave the main batteries empty for now, don’t want to arouse suspicion by turning them, also check that all men are armed and ready for a fight, we may be boarded if things go south.”

“Yes sir.” The captain said, he paused before turning away, “Sir, are we expecting a fight?”

“We are the Imperial Kushmiran Navy, captain, Exspecta pessimum, para optimum.” Peter said, reciting the ancient proverb.

“Very well sir.” The captain said, he walked away loading a revolver.

Jenn watched as the grey beasts drew closer on the horizon. She almost didn’t believe it, she had to be seeing things. Tears, welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face, and out of the heavy, copper mask mounted on her face. The Kushmiran flag flew high upon the largest of them, her sleek steel frame dwarfing the sailing ships around her.

She smiled as she imagined the guns firing upon the people that have kept her prisoner. Their shells ripping through weak wooden hulls like a knife through paper. She cried sobs of joy, finally, they have come to rescue from her eternal prison.

As the Kushmirian Navy sailed into the great central canal of the Mira Cal capital, all sailors on board noticed one universal truth—A reality that itched their very bones, the silence. It was as if the world itself had been paused, or as though all who lived in this place had been miraculously vanished from the earth. A metropolis spontaneously lost.

Yet, it was not empty. Standing before the dark mouth of the palace was a figure with the silhouette of a man, a mask of bronze decorated with a few rubies upon his face. He silently awaited the ship's crews to dock.

"What an intriguing manner to dress in," Marlon said. He watched as the officers of the destroyer directed the docking. Ropes were thrown over the side, and, despite being centuries behind. The Mira Calese understood to drag in the ropes and tie them to bollards. Though, it took a few more than usual to pull the 240-ton vessel to the pier.

Further out, Peter watched the destroyer successfully dock. The captain returned to the bridge deck. "The cannons are loaded sir, the men are ready."

"Very well, stand by." Peter spun a pair of compasses in his hand.

Back on the destroyer. Marlon, the Marines and the rest of the shore team disembarked. The crew of the destroyer, like everyone else, were on edge. The silence of what should be a bustling port city shook them to the core.

Al disembarked last and watched as the gangplank was withdrawn. The few marines that came with them lined up in a neat line. Their blue uniforms and white waistbands pressed immaculate. A lieutenant walked up and down the line inspecting them. Al scanned the man in the bronze mask. How heavy it must be on his face, how hot it must be in there. Al couldn't imagine wearing that all day.

Marlon approached the man in the bronze mask. The man bowed deeply. Then, a noise began to drain from his face: Do not mistake it for speaking, yet more like the sound of one animal mirroring the sound of another: Barely understandable, slow, and without thought; "Her Serene... Majesty has been expecting... you. Please... ac-company... me to her."

Marlon smiled, as he slightly lowered his head. "Thank you, kind sir." The group made their way along the streets towards the palace. Three domes, adorned with gemstones and exquisitely carved stone. Al admired the glamour of the place but feared its size. At the same time, a terrifying thought struck his mind, what if Jenn isn't even in this city, what if she's on the other side of the country? His breaths became rapid, he pushed the thought of his mind as he struggled to control his breathing.

Beside him, a Marine clutched his rifle as he spotted a mask through one of many windows. "Young man, keep your hands off that. We don't want to look threatening." The marine turned to face Al, and looked away again with his hand at the hilt of a sword.

Several marines had stayed behind at the pier, and they watched as what looked like people moved from one place to another. Their masks cover their facial features. Still, the city remained empty.

Deep within the palace, a knock emanated on Jenn's door. In their language, the one ordered she come with her, on the Empress' command. An escort of guards aided her to that destination

Not long after, the stranger in the mask had led Marlon and his group to the throne room, a gold-trimmed chamber with a masked woman at the far end, sat upon her great seat that shone as bright as the sun for its gems and gold. Not far beside her stood another woman, in a heavy copper mask. Beside the pillars that lined the room stood her guard, holding their spears.

Statuesque, the Empress introduced herself: "I am the Serene Empress of Mira Cal, and you are the second group of outsiders to enter Mira Cal. I believe I know your purpose, yet please explain it to me. It has been too long since I have heard your language from a native tongue."

Al's eyes widened at the throne room. He resisted the urge to turn his head around and admire the gemstones emblazoned on just about everything 'The land of the rising sun' He thought to himself. Marlon on the other hand, was as diplomatic as usual. "Empress, you can speak the Imperial tongue? I must say I am pleasantly surprised, this does indeed make our job easier." Marlon leaned into one of his aides, a young man in his 20s. "Tell the Marines to ease up, we don't want to get into a fight, even with spears, who knows what tricks these people may be hiding."

Marlon turned his attention again to the Empress, and bowed, one hand behind his back. "Serene Empress, I would like to begin by extending our gratitude for accepting our request. On behalf of Frederick Baldwin's government of the Province of Kushmire, thank you for warmly accepting us." Marlon returned to a straight posture and ran a hand through his dark hair.

The rest of the delegation remained quiet. "As for why we are here, as you already said, you appear to already know that, however, I would like to extend to you another, perhaps more lucrative deal." Marlon continued.

"But first, I am afraid I have a question myself." Marlon took a deep breath and composed himself, trying not to betray his growing weariness of the guards. "Why have you kept Jenn Harrison here against her will?"

The Empress betrayed none of her thoughts, this being aided by the mask that obscured her face. "Believe me, man of the continent, my country does not warmly welcome you. In fact, all of the men who surround you presently imagine themselves striking their spearheads through your selves. They fear you, because they do not know you. You are lucky, then, that they fear and love me more than they fear and hate you."

She gestured with one hand, and a trembling servant trotted forward toward the interlopers with a tray of tea. "So we may have a rational and fortuitous conversation. As to your question, I know not of it. The one you call Harrison is right here," she gestured to the copper-faced woman. "She agreed by her own will to stay here, in a bargain we struck when the... last group was here."

Al turned to face the copper-faced woman. Nothing about her but the elegance of her figure hinted towards her being his sister-in-law.

Jenn scanned the crowd of men, he recognized the diplomat Marlon Samuels, as well as some of his aides. Then her eyes landed on a familiar face. Nearly choking on her tears. Al Harrison's head poked through the shoulders of two Marines. She nearly smiled, the first time in months.

Meanwhile, the smile disappeared from Marlon's face. "Oh, very well then." Marlon took a glass of tea from the tray but didn't drink it. "It may be best that me and my friends here leave as soon as possible, but that won't be happening until we get what we want."

Marlon handed off the glass to one of his assistants who sniffed it.

"In exchange for Jenn Harrison, the Province of Kushmire is willing to provide the form of assistance you seek from her." Marlon began to pace around the room, "You see your Empress, Jenn Harrison, while clever in her own right, is no engineer, merely the wife of one. Her work may not be the best and will take time to perfect, as you learn, so will she."

Marlon stopped and raised his finger, "However, on the condition that you release Jenn Harrison, back into Kushmiran custody, the Province is willing to provide you with the finest shipbuilding expertise, and much more. I heard you wanted steam locomotives from a Temrisian, one you foolishly let return to his own country on a promise no sane man will ever keep."

Marlon slid one hand in his pocket and then waved his other hand at the Marines. "And warn your guards, they dare lay hands on one of us, our finest sailors will not hesitate to... put them down."

Marlon's aides stepped up beside him and whispered in his ear. "Careful Marlon, don't antagonize them!"

The Empress was silent after the mention of the Temrisian Spencer MacDarcy. This silence persisted an uncomfortably long while, her remaining still all the while. "As you say, it was foolish of me to let the Temrisian go without a tangible reward. You are also correct that this woman, while providing an effort to the best of her ability, has not sufficiently served me. Yet for that very reason, I cannot accept your offer.

"None who has become Mira Cal may break her mask and leave. But because of the potential, I may be willing to offer a pardon for such a crime, and give you this woman. Yet I require something from you. Your great ship of steel. Give it to Mira Cal, and I will reward you with two things sweeter." She gestured toward one of the doors, where a great sack of leather was pulled in by a number of servants. Its mouth was tugged open on two sides, and the interlopers saw ingots of shining gold, numbering over two hundred. "This treasure of gold, and this treasure of your woman," and then she gestured toward the copperfaced woman.

Marlon stopped. His eyes scanned over the gold, then thought of the Commodore. He turned to his aides. One of whom had eyes as wide as dinner plates as he stared at the precious jewls. "That is one sweet deal." He said.

Marlon shook his head. "Young man, do you want to explain to Commodore Phillips why he's handing over one of his ships?" Marlon turned to look at The Empress once again. She sat on the throne, calm and composed. He imagined she was stunningly beautiful underneath the mask. "Empress." He started. "I believe you are seeing only into the near future. What do you plan to do with, our ship of steel, what may you learn from it? It is built upon years and years of research, blood, and money. Many a lesson was learnt to build a vessel of its might and scale."

Marlon paused, "Empress, in a mere exchange of that woman, my people can give you centuries of research, and launch you into the modern-day, steam engines, telephones, automatic rifles," He stopped and looked at the spears the guards were holding, "Normal rifles, railways, large-scale industrial production. But these aren't technologies that one can simply learn in a day, over 200 years separate the finest steamships from their sail counterparts. 200 years of knowledge that cannot be gained in a day, 200 years of knowledge that cannot be gained by inspecting an example of it."

Marlon stopped and cracked his neck. "And, you also have to consider your isolationism, your finest diplomats, if you have any, will be bewildered and dumbfounded at the idea of modern politics and sociology, wouldn't it be best to have a guiding hand through the process of opening up to the world?"

The statuesque Empress of Mira Cal straightened her posture. "This... counter-offer I must refuse," she hummed a noise, almost like frustration, "for the same reason that I have asked her to be here. We are cut off from the world because we have been cursed by God. We dare not pray, we dare not sing hymns. We dare not recite scripture in the open."

She caught her breath. Her finger twitched. "Yet because of these... How do you say... conditions, I care not for what the world might think of our inner-workings. I must work with what I have. You may offer me such things as you have said, but the future is unknown to me. What I do know is what is before me now. You may accept my, very generous offer now, or you may not."

Marlon sighed. He leant over to one of his aides and whispered quietly into his ear, "Go back to the destroyer, and have the wire a telegram over to the Commodore, ask him how willing he is to give up, let's say a destroyer, make sure to mention the enormous sack of gold they are giving us."

Peter read the telegram in his hand, "They want to what? Hand over my ship? What on earth is Marlon doing in there?" Peter asked angrily. He looked around at his crew, "Someone get me a boat, I'm going ashore!" Peter shrugged on his coat and boarded a row boat to shore.

He arrived at the Destroyer moored beside the pier. The ship's commander pointed him towards the diplomat that had sent him the telegram. "Are you out of your damn mind?" He said, grabbing the man by his collar. "What the hell would make you think that it is okay to give away one of our ships, in exchange of one civilian?"

The man clawed away at the Commodore's iron grip. "That's not the only thing they are offering us!" He squeaked. Peter arrived at the negotiation hall. Stepping inside he admired the fine architecture. He noted the guards still carrying spears. He spotted Marlon at the front of the hall in front of a group of Mira-Calese, one of whom was sitting on an extravagant throne. He had ignored the masks.

"Marlon, please explain to me for Christ's sake what makes you think its okay to give away one of our ships to these... nutcases." He said quietly into his ear.

"They are offering us more than 200 gold bars, she told me she required our 'great ship of steel.' Now shut up and watch as I pull off the greatest heist in history." Marlon hushed Peter as he turned to face the Empress, once again smiling he said;

"Your Serene highness, I will gladly accept your offer, however, it may take time to transfer crew from the ship and redistribute them to our other vessels." Marlon bowed as Peter clenched his fist at him. Peter grabbed him as we walked past, "You explain to Admiral Hull why we gave up our ship in exchange for a woman."

Marlon brushed his hand off his shoulder, "Yes, then I shall show him the gold and tell him to make 100 more!"

The Kushmirians reappeared once the transfer had concluded, and the masked men were aboard their own new iron vessel.

The masked man who had signalled the foreigners inside whispered in the Empress' ear, and she raised her hand, jerking it slightly twice.

The palace guards moved away from her, and one gestured her toward her friends.

The path for Jenn to freedom was open. The red carpet lay laid out as a Marine held out his hand as she tentatively walked towards them. "Welcome home, madam." The officer said in the native Kushmiran language. The tears that she had been holding back now flowed freely as the Marine escorted her back to an awaiting boat.

At the pier, Peter and Marlon were waiting as the rest of the delegation returned with the masked woman. "I swear to god, if they dare try to place an imposter, I will blow their port out of the water." He said.

Marlon nervously looked around. Like Peter, the rest of the navy sailors and officers who had given up their ship were waiting for another destroyer to come pick them up. They watched the masked-copper men walking around the destroyer clutching their rifles. "Easy now Peter, we don't want a gunfight."

"A gunfight?" Peter scoffed, "it won't be a gunfight," he said, eyeing a copper-masked man walking past holding a spear. "It would be a massacre."

As the Kushmirians left, the Empress rose to a standing position. Her court all kneeled in unison as she made her exit.

Homeward Stretch

Peter, from the forecastle of the flagship IKN Bear. Through his spyglass he could see the little copper-masked men scuttling about on the aging destroyer. Marlon materialised behind him, hands in his pockets. His longer overcoat blowing in the gentle breeze. “Well done Marlon, it may not have gone about the way we planned, but we got our money’s worth.”

Marlon smirked. “I’ll have the National Mint Company value and weigh the gold before we send it over to Navy Headquarters.” The smirk disappeared from his face, “It makes you wonder, if they are willing to give up what seems like a fortune to us, it must be mere pocket change to them.”

Peter lowered the spyglass. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’ll have a conversation with Charles Mackay, our representative to the Emperor’s Diet, see if he can get an audience with the Supreme Reagent. I want to discuss The Empire’s, or potentially, our own district’s colonization of Mira Cal.” Marlon said.

Peter turned to look at Marlon to see if he was being serious. He grabbed the man by his shoulders and lifted him from his feet. “If I hear you even suggest anything stupid like that again, I will throw you overboard and leave you to the sharks.” Peter dropped Marlon in a heap on the forecastle deck. “You have seen what Imperialism has done to Kushmire, to the Empire, don’t start thinking we can fight fire with fire!”

Below decks, Jenn, now maskless, lay across Al’s legs. Her hand cradling his left cheek. The pair said nothing as the remaining fleet sailed across The Forbidden Sea towards Kushmire. She was going home at last.

Chapter II of the Books of the Underworld:

The Three Kingdoms
Nhasa, Capital of the Celestial Empire
November 28, 1912 (AH 1)

Jesse shoved his hands deep in his pockets as his head shrunk further into his shoulders. Breathing deep he grimaced at the chill that nipped at his nose. Ice slid down the back of his neck as yet another foul wind blew in from the north. From behind him came the familiar, and altogether unsettling, cooing of his emperor. Hushed whispers ensued as snowflakes began to descend from above. Jesse reluctantly withdrew his hand from his warm pocket. The tips of his fingers quickly began to change color as his palm caught one flake after another with ease.

“Send His Exalted Majesty inside,” he said, his eyes set on the looming Datong Gate some fifty yards off. Its doors were still blackened from the battle that had consumed the city just two short years before; its western tower nothing but charred framework. Shuffling denoted the departure of his unfortunate ward, and soon the gilded doors of the Hall of Virtuous Gratitude creaked open. Heat fluttered against his ears for but a moment before the doors slammed shut.

On either side of the Supreme Regent stood three Imperial Guards, their simple black uniforms and rifles like inky stains against the deepening snow drifts. Two of the guards retreated to stand by the doors of the great hall, their duties unceasing despite the absence of their emperor. Jesse sighed, his knees beginning to quake as the Datong Gate finally began to swing open. The battle-hardened hinges groaned like a dying behemoth in the dimming light, sending a shiver down Jesse’s weary spine.

Straightening his back as he withdrew his other hand from his pocket, Jesse prepared to receive the newcomer. Four black stallions thundered down the paved courtyard, polished cherry coach in toe. Jesse narrowed his eyes slightly at the needlessness of it all. A simple car would have done just as well. The whip lashed twice through the winter storm as hoofs clattered and reins jingled until coming to an eerie standstill in front of Jesse. Two footmen disembarked as the driver remained unmoving upon his shifting throne. The first footman withdrew a stepstool from the baggage hold of the carriage while the other unfurled an umbrella painted in the style of the Silver Soldiers Era some eighty years ago.

Jesse hid an eyeroll, shifting in place as the chill ate away at his core. After what seemed like ages, the two footmen, now stationed on either side of the coach, opened its double doors. From the dark interior emerged a woman in the prime of her life. Her silk chang’ao moved effortlessly about her round body, its cloudy gleam like that of snow that continued to fall between herself and the Supreme Regent. Jesse noted her unnaturally tiny black shoes and the subtle reliance on the footman to stand properly upon reaching the ground. Her hands folded neatly underneath the long sleeves of her chang’ao. Her face, flat and narrow, bore no hint of her grief. With eyes the shade of a blossoming wisteria she regarded the Supreme Regent.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Jesse said, simply bowing with his head as the guards and footmen bowed low at the waist.

“Jesse O’Rourke,” the woman said, her voice like a raspy dove. “The last time I was here I fled under the cover of darkness in a commoner’s clothing to hide from my would-be assassins. I return to find the city, the palace, the home of my husband, my son, and my emperor, a blackened ruin.” Jesse’s gaze faltered briefly. The woman’s words were harsh, yet no emotion showed on her face or in her voice. “I am wholly disappointed in this administration which has been a complete failure from the moment of its inception. Rebellions are rampant throughout the Empire, and foreigners rest their greedy heads upon our doorstep. You have had two years to bring our enemies to heel and yet you have not.”

Jesse bit his lip. His weary eyes met the woman’s, her steel harder than his own. “The situation has been complicated, My Lady.”

The woman waved a spotless hand. “I will hear none of it.” Stepping forward, Jesse had little time to fall in line next to her as she made for the door. “No,” she said, coming to a sudden halt. “You will walk two paces behind.”

“I am the Supreme Regent,” Jesse protested. “I al-“

“Cleary you have not been in the capital long. Officials always walk behind the empress.” Without so much as looking at Jesse she marched forward. The door to the hall opened, and as she entered Jesse finally began to move again. “You were a mere lord, appointed by your father-in-law, when we were last in the capital together. Fate, it seems, has brought you to the forefront of power in Nhasa and indeed the Empire itself.” She paused mid-step, a purposeful movement that nearly tripped the far younger Jesse. She regarded him for a moment, her gaze indecipherable. “Your Temrisian upbringing shows in everything you do: Reactive, impulsive, impatient, and dare I say skittish.”

Jesse opened his mouth to protest again, but the woman continued on. Despite her tiny stature, the woman walked briskly, silently, across the polished floors of the hall toward a small throne in the rear. On either side of it were palace eunuchs, each with heads down and hands folded in front of them. Between them, seated awkwardly in the throne, was Emperor Ren Osarrus XXV. The throne was elevated upon a small dais, yet the woman took all three steps in stride to meet her emperor.

Coming to a stop in front of the child, she stood silently over the throne for a quiet moment. Jesse took up his post on the first step, bowing his head slightly to the emperor. The woman muttered something in a language Jesse did not know that caused the two eunuchs to swiftly depart. Then, as if on cue, she bowed low to the emperor.

Jesse shifted, his ears and nose prickling as heat returned to them. “By now you must understand why I asked you here, Your Majesty,” he said. “Why I had the Ruckersons search for you.”

The woman turned effortlessly, her skirt twisting in place as if she were spinning slowly upon a top. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him, that steely gaze unceasing in their examination of his character and psyche. “I understand that your list of allies has grown dangerously thin. That the Empire of our fathers hangs on the precipice of a knife and that if action is not taken, we will face utter ruin. So, Supreme Regent, are you prepared to die? Because that will be the cost if we lose.” She pointed a dagger-like finger at the child-emperor. “He will die and his corpse will be paraded about like a trophy by our enemies if we lose. Will you then learn to fight? Learn to be proactive, cautious, patient, and calm?” Jesse’s silence was followed by a slow nod of assent. “Good,” the woman said, “then there is hope for our future yet.”

Greater Atris wrote:

The Death Throes of the Old Order
Chapter 5
"Lord Protector"
March 28, 1910 (Monday)

The Death Throes of the Old Order
Chapter 6
"The End of All Things"
March 29th, 1910 (Tuesday)

Oscar Pierce dreamt a vivid dream, the sixteenth day of his flight from Westernoste. They had travelled by foot south along the main roads, and had stopped over at Agis, a military city near the ports of Kingsport and Camber.

The dangers of such a location were not lost on him. While Remus slept in a room upstairs, he stayed on the ground floor of the tavern they had booked for the night, revolver in one hand, knife in the other. All the other patrons had left, and the barkeep was sitting with his feet up on the counter, reading a book.

All night, Pierce expected the military, or the royal guard- to come charging through the door, but they never came.

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep. His eyes opened again- he was seated in the middle of a conference room. On one end was a collection of figures he knew to be Atrian; Lord Protector Stirling, with his lion-like mane of ginger hair, flanked by two Royal Guardsmen and a small band of assistants. Beside the Lord Protector sat General Charles Blackshaw, his hawkish face almost instantly recognizable.

On the other end of the chamber, however, was a group visibly-different in appearance. They, too, were surrounded by assistants and scribes. The woman leading the congregation had dark brown hair, streaked with silver, and had a brooch on her dress, bearing the sigil of Great Tarst. To her side was a rotund, balding man, a khaki colonel's dress uniform fitted around his portly frame. Medals too numerous to count dangled loosely off his jacket, and a sabre was fixed to the man's side.

He knew what this was. A meeting between Tarst and Atris. It could only be that.

"So," Stirling was saying, "We will continue with the deal, I take it?"

The Tarstian ambassador nodded sagely.
"Great Tarst sees no reason to end our aid to Atris," she replied. "Colonel Galbraith will continue to import weapons into the country, and train your soldiers. In addition, we will proceed with the next round of investments. We shall recognise your regency."

The corners of the room began to blur. The scene faded entirely.

"ᴀᴛʀɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛꜱ ᴅᴏᴏᴍ," a voice said. It was powerful, commanding, regal. Pierce's very being shook with each word it spoke. "ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰᴀʟʟ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʀɪᴀɴ ꜱᴛɪʀʟɪɴɢ."

"Who are you?" Pierce muttered to himself. There was a pause.

"ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ?" The voice rumbled, thoughtfully. "ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴄᴀᴛʜᴏꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪᴛꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɴ'ꜱ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴜꜱᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴄᴏɴǫᴜᴇʀᴏʀꜱ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴᴀᴄᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡɪʟʟ."

Pierce rolled his eyes.

Cathos. As if the gods existed.

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ᴍᴇ", the voice interjected. "ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜰɪɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ. ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ᴠɪꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ꜰᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪɴ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʀɢᴜɴᴅʏ ᴘᴀʟᴀᴄᴇ. ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ."

"I'll entertain your notion," Pierce scowled, still in doubt. "Why have you come? To tell me what to do?"

"ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ," Cathos thundered. "ɪ ᴘᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴍᴜꜱ ᴠᴇꜱᴛᴀ. ɪ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʀᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀꜱᴘꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʀɪᴀɴ ꜱᴛɪʀʟɪɴɢ. ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ," the God of Earth added, as Pierce began to rise, "ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ. ꜱᴛɪʀʟɪɴɢ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴜꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ, ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ʀɪꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ."

"What do you want me to do, then? Why have you come?!" Pierce pressed, growing irritated. His vision cleared, and he was high in the clouds. The lands of the Celestial Empire were far beneath him, and to their north a vast agglomeration of twinkling lights; the cities and empires of Valmere, from the radiant isles of Great Tarst to the continental sprawls of Morsain and Reichskrieg. To their east, the rolling, dark plains of the Dayani steppe, and to their northwest, Mira Cal, a small island of glimmering light in the unforgiving expanse of the ocean.

"ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ," Cathos said, cryptically. "ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴛᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴠᴇꜱᴛᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ..."

"Restore? How the hells am I going to do that, when I don't even have any support to work with?" Pierce raged, at the unseen god. "You come in my dreams, and you give me a set of vague orders- that's not going to help me achieve anything!"

The clouds rolled, and rose upwards, spiralling around Pierce. Their innards rumbled with thunder, until finally they took the form of a massive, terrible figure, with two eyes of flickering violet lightning. A crown of mist sat atop its horned head, and it reached one almighty arm out towards Pierce.

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴛᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏʏᴀʟ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ... ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ..."

Cathos' voice dimmed. It seemed that manifesting his avatar had drained the god's strength- at least, that was what Pierce thought. The God of Earth's avatar began to collapse, the lightning in its eyes now terrible, but impotent. Within seconds, the body made of clouds had dissipated entirely, and the thunder within it fell silent.

Pierce blinked, and he was in the tavern in Agis again.
"Oi," the barkeep repeated. "You've got to go upstairs. It's three in the morning. I've got to close down the bar."

Sighing, the rogue agent rose from his seat, stretching his aching limbs, and lumbered upstairs, where he flung open the door, and collapsed onto his bed. No more dreams came to him that night, and the voice which had claimed to be Cathos did not appear again.

The Saffron Family I
The Citadel - High Command Offices

Field Marshal Jacob King-Manners rubbed his face with his hands as he sighed. He looked at the casualty list beside him. Many, high ranking officers, ranging from divisional commanders to branch chiefs had been killed at the governor’s party. Nearly half of High Command is either dead, or injured, with Albert himself out of action for the foreseeable future.

What was left behind was an immobilised, nearly collapsed chain of command and a wide hole of experience. He heard the guards outside saluting and watched as General Tamsan Hayden entered. He was dressed in his field uniform, a military green coat, olive shirt and brown leather belt reaching from his shoulder to his lower waist. The dust that coated his hat and pants indicated a long journey from Halford.

“Marshal, I received the news.” He said, as he walked up to the desk then chose to remain standing.

Jacob nodded. “Thank you General, I understand you weren’t present at the event?”

“That is correct Sir, recently I have taken up residence at the 7th Army Headquarters with my wife and children.”

Jacob nodded. “Well, I assume you have seen the casualty lists?” He asked.

“Yes sir, it appears High Command has been incapacitated.” Tamsan said.

Jacob stood up to join Tamsan. “Yes, it appears that way. It would mean that, until their successors can be filled, I am asking you to minimize the movements of the 7th Army regiments.”

Tamsan raised an eyebrow, “You are pausing Operation Rolling Skies?” Tamsan asked.

Jacob shook his head, “No General, it is apparent that the attack was carried out by Rebellion elements. It’s just that, I don’t want confusion amongst our new officers, they are absorbing a large role, the operation is beginning to reach its peak.”

Tamsan nodded. “Most of our regiments aren’t doing much to begin with, the KFP element and our intelligence wing are struggling to get informants on our side of the wall.”

Jacob nodded as he lit a cigarette. “From what I understand, Mansfield has told me that they are having similar issues, Rebellion communications and now, entire safehouses and operations are being unravelled here, meanwhile on the other side, from what I hear your men are acting as crowd control.”

Tamsan nodded. “That is correct, I never really understood the apathy those people had for the government until I went there, our support there is an ebbing flow at best. When I left, groups of people were celebrating in the streets, there were protests, both in support and against of the attack, many were simply going about their lives as if nothing had happened. In stark contrast to the mood here in Barricus.”

Jacob nodded, “It's a shame our politicians don’t understand, that those people on the other side of The Line, are simply caught between a rock and a hard place. I believe the influence of The Rebellion increases exponentially by the time we cross The Line, to the point where I believe they may be running the local offices there.”

Tamsan sighed, “Well sir, I do have some interesting intel, from my side.”

Jacob looked up and raised his eyebrows.

“Our army intelligence received a tip, from outside of Kushmire that The Rebellion has received large shipments of dynamite.” Tamsan unclasped his hands to reveal he had been holding a binder the entire time, “The full report is here, but the gist is that intelligence tracked it all the way to Qaidong before losing its location. Most likely due to insiders within our government.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, “Lord strewth, at this point we might as well be fighting our own government.”

Tamsan stayed silent. “Well sir, I need to go back to Halford now.” Tamsan saluted. Jacob returned the salute before Tamsan turned to leave.

Rebellion Headquarters

Harry smashed the telephone against the wall. Everyone in the room except Lewis and Richard took a step back. “You disobeyed me?” He said. Richard sighed, kicked away the remnants of the telephone and went closer to Harry.

He spoke as he adjusted Harry’s clothes, “It wasn’t something that you would have agreed with. So I went ahead and did it myself.”

“Of course I wouldn’t agree with it, you just sacrificed a large portion of our men in Zimford, for what gain?” Harry said, pushing Richard’s hands away from him.

“Well, the KFP have been slowly unravelling our operations in the West either way, and thanks to your decision to hold out, those men would have eventually been found and sent to Mt Kushmire either way.” Richard said.

“Well that’s why we are planting bombs beneath national monuments across the Western cities.” Harry said, adjusting his coat himself. “So we can distract the KFP and the army, as well as scare the government into closing down their operations.”

Lewis stepped forward. “Well sir, we have had an issue with that, if the authorities reached Zimford they would have found our plans in our safehouse. As a precaution I asked Richard to throw them off. I didn’t expect him to do something like this.”

Richard gave him the side eye as he continued, “Yes Harry, exactly, on the bonus I also managed to take out half of high command and render the chain of command immobile for now, it would take them days to sort out the mess. Even longer before the newcomers are comfortable with making bold decisions against us. I have just bought us more time to secure our foothold in the east. Are you aware of the 7th Army being formed?”

Harry balled his fist. “Yes, Richard I am aware, but that does not mean you have to murder half their high command? What does that achieve, what if they send the entirety of the seventh army after us as revenge?”

“That will be next to impossible. One!” Richard said, raising his finger, “They would have to get clearance, which with half of High Command dead, is next to impossible, two.” Richard raised his next finger, “The seventh army is located in Halford, a three hour march away from where we are.” Richard raised his third finger, “Three, citizens in the east have a tense relationship with the authorities at best, the seventh army would have to march through the lawless hell that we call Sparticus, the military will surely be held up there, and then last of all they would actually have to find us in The Badlands.”

Harry let out his breath he had been holding. He leaned across the phoneless desk. “How close are we to breaching Zimford Lewis?”

“We should reach our target underneath the Zimford Church within the next few weeks, the other sites already have their dynamite and charge laid.” Lewis replied.

Harry sighed, “Okay, Richard, no more of these antics, we don’t want to anger the military.” He looked Richard in the eye, turning to Lewis before turning back to Richard. “Dismissed, someone get me a new phone so I can call Frederick to discuss this mess.”

Richard and Lewis left the room. The two continued walking down the dimly lit tunnel. They reached the end of bulbs joined together by electrical wires. From here they picked up a lamp, lit it and continued walking.

“I told you he won’t be impressed.” Lewis said.

Richard said nothing as they continued walking.

“But at least the military has been halted for now. You might even be able to consider re-expanding our operations into the west.” Lewis continued.

Richard shook his head, “They may be halted, but not weakened, I didn’t manage to get Albert nor his deputy, Jacob, the Halford Army leadership also wasn’t present, they may be inoperable but not weak, they can still mount a decisive defensive.” Richard said, “we also shouldn’t underestimate the KFP. They are strong, as we speak I bet they are discussing ways to accelerate their operation against us.”

KFP Headquarters

Ian sat in the chair, with a sling around his arm. A result of the scuffles of the governor’s party. The rest of KFP leadership and Carlton, as well as his old boss Ewen were also present. “So we are for certain that The Rebellion is responsible for this?” Mansfield said, his hands clasped together.

“We can be the most certain sir, the homes of those in question were searched, Rebellion propaganda and materials were discovered, some of them still had 1905 election banners.” Ian said.

The room stayed silent. “Well, do we have anything, how did this attack play out without reaching through any of our channels?” Mansfield asked, spreading his hands on the table. “Gentlemen, we have been spending the last few months unravelling Rebellion operations in western cities. How have they organised such an effort?”

“A total of twelve people crossed The Line yesterday, one of them may have been Richard Mcilroy.” He said, “he’s a man we have been keeping tabs on for the past few weeks, he may be of interest, particular sources say he’s a well-respected man within The Rebellion. Potentially dangerous as well.” One of the officers said.

“If he’s so dangerous why have we heard so little about him, do we even have a file on him?” Ewen asked.

The officer raised a binder from his desk. “Yes, his parents were of Tarstian origin, emigrating here to join family members already living in Kushmire. His father was a police officer, his mother a clerk, they moved to Halford when his father purchased a worn-down meat processing plant as part of the industrial boom. The family did quite well off it seems, until the civil war came around, The Line was built and artillery shelling from the resultant war destroyed most of the old industrial park, we can assume this is where he first started getting anti-government sentiment.”

Ewen spoke up, “And as mentioned earlier he was logged crossing The Line yesterday, I have been informed that any major uptick in Rebellion operations coincide with him moving across the line anywhere between a week to a day prior to the conspiring events.”

Mansfield crossed his hands. “Very well then, let us assume that this Richard is indeed an influential member within The Rebellion, if he is then it does explain their recent change in direction.”

“It may also explain why we are seeing a steady uptick in Rebellion support in the Eastern districts. Especially in Sparticus.” The voice came from Commander Edward Herring of Task Group Alpha. The element charged with working with the military. “It’s a city that we are slowly losing control of, the police and other security elements within the city are believed to be led by Rebellion sympathizers, if not, they are in the process of being replaced, General Hayden withdrawn the 7th army because it's getting too dangerous for them, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for a massacre.”

“Wise call.” Mansfield mused. “It is clear that The Rebellion executed this planned attack to draw our attention away from their activities in Sparticus. It's only a matter of time before the Central Government loses control of Sparticus.”

The Keystone Chamber

Frederick scrunched up the paper containing the casualties from the night and threw it into the rubbish bin beside him. As he turned to his desk his telephone rang. He eyed the phone as it rattled in its holder. Frederick sighed and picked it up.

“Before you start shouting at me, I would like to inform you, Richard and Lewis acted of their own accord.” The gruff voice of Harry Montgomery came through the line.

Frederick stayed silent as he checked his watch. “Not too much of a problem, I would just wish you told me, so I could arrange something that wouldn’t affect our national security. Our military currently lies immobilised which may be great for you but isn’t so good when Riechskrieg comes knocking on our door.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad for us wouldn’t it?” Harry said.

“Apart from the fact I’d be shot, our largest cities razed and our people, including you, will be subjugated by the Kaiser.” Frederick replied. “Either way, the military will protect themselves, it may actually turn out working in your favour, Albert’s been put out of action for the foreseeable future, his successor has already ordered the Halford army to slow down its operations, I suggest you act fast, do whatever you need to do in Sparticus, I’ll take care of the rest. The executive order to focus investigative efforts on whodunnit is on my desk.”

The line lay silent apart from the steady breathing of Harry on the other end. “You said Albert is out of action for the foreseeable future. Who is the man that replaced him?” Harry asked.

“His deputy, Field Marshal Jacob King-Manners is taking on the role of High Commander for now until Albert makes a full recovery.” Frederick said. “Don’t think about trying to convert him, he’s a nationalist through and through, a career officer, his family was heavily involved in politics over the last century.”

The line was cut from the other end. Frederick looked at the speaker offended. “What a peculiar creature.”

Operation Rammbock
December 15th, 1912
Somewhere in Falkenberg

The Kaiser stepped into a room with a cabinet of captains and admirals, his boots clacking against the hardwood floor of his temporary office in Falkenberg. His hands were behind his back, and a scowl across his face. Notable faces missing were the likes of Schiefer and Katzfeld, the former governors of the overseas colony, having been disgraced and reassigned from the operation that was about to unfold. He stopped at a table, casting a glance over his staff. They all wore full dress uniforms, given the presence of his majesty, their faces neutral or set in thought. They snapped to salute when he stopped, and he motioned them to lower their hands.

"Herr Kaiser," began one of the admirals, the officer who was below Katzfeld on the Westfeld who has since moved up, "I am sure you're aware of the situation."

"That I am, Admiral... these Celestial dogs continue to rebuff our efforts into the Empire. I should be practicing for the Olympics, not cleaning up the messes of my incompetent officer corps!" The Kaiser spoke, placing both hands onto the table which had the latest map of the Celestial Empire sprawled across it.

"We have come up with a renewed strategy to deal with the Elodians, if you'd-"

"No, no! We are at war, gentlemen. There will be no peace, no 'just Elodia' like that fool Von Sow agreed to! The Celestial Government mocks me. They parade the Elodians as their model province. They declare their victory over US a national holiday! I will raze their country to the ground if it is the last thing I do." The Kaiser drew a knife and jammed it into the map, at the mouth of the internal bay that protected the Celestial capital. "We will strike here, a decisive blow with all the naval units available. Seebatalions will land and we will sweep over their defenses in a concentrated attack. We will crush them with our superiority of arms. Our victory will be absolute!" he declared, slamming down on the table before spinning on his heels. "We begin next month, this time! Prepare!"

The officers looked to each other and sighed, slowly filing out of the room.

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

January 15th, 1913
The Seagate of Teicher

A monumental battle line, with multiple dreadnoughts and their accompanying cruisers, sailed closer and closer to the gates, a monumental structure stretching over the entrance to the harbor. The knight's banners could be seen fluttering in the wind over it, light occasionally getting caught on their well-polished armor as they prepare to face off against the Kaiser himself. The clock rolls over into the next hour, and the massive batteries on the battleships slowly turn to face the shoreline. Within an instant, it seems as if oblivion itself has come as the ships light up with their thunderous barrage, hurling shells into prepared-and exposed-positions. The Kaiser observed from his flagship through a spyglass, his scowl remaining as the shoreline lit up in explosions.

"Begin phase two of the operation." He spoke to nobody in particular, sending transports chugging forward through the seas. The knights fired back with their limited but modern enough rifles, but the token resistance to the landing wasn't enough to deal significant damage before the large numbers of marines had hit the beach. They move with haste forward, storming into defenses and getting locked in a melee with the knights, in the very outer layers of the defense. Quickly more men were moving up to shore up the flanks, but the Reichskriegers were upon them with most efficiency and brutality. Even the greatest armor can't stand up to getting bashed in the face with a stock, or a spade, or what have you.

As they clawed through the defenses, slowly gaining ground, more and more knights joined the fight, roaring cries of the Emperor and glory as they got stuck in with sword and bayonet. Behind them the structure of the gate stood tall, walls of brick and stone having weathered bombardment many times before. The seasoned, and perhaps even greatest force seen in the Empire, were slowly losing ground to the marines of Reichskrieg, explosions shaking the ground around them as the bombardment continues from offshore. Each knight sold their life dearly, naturally, they were the guardians of the entryway to the harbor, the route to Nhasa, but shocks went through their line as more men shored up the Reichskrieger spearhead towards the gate itself.

As the lines of battle bent closer and closer to the gate, more Knights made themselves known and the rattle of machine gun fire from the gate's entrances cut into the Reichskriegers as they charged directly for the gate itself. A grenade sent to the feat of the machine gun nest sent the knight operating it flying into the wall behind him before he fell to the ground, and a well-placed shot from another soldier got them their way in as the battle raged outside. However, these first men to step foot inside were cut down by waiting knights, who quickly redoubled the defense, more reinforcements being drawn from the other side of the gate as they rebuffed the first attack. But they were spending valuable manpower and energy they couldn't afford to be losing, and when the second attack came from the tan uniforms of the Seebatalions, they managed to break into the hallways themselves, taking the fighting inside the gate. Gunshots echoed through corridors as men fought for every inch of ground inside.

The men disappeared from sight, as the remaining soldiers held up behind them to hold the rear from the fading knightly resistance. Minutes ticked by, before from atop the gate, the flag of the Knights and the Celestial Empire was cut down. In its stead, the black and white flag of Reichskrieg was raised, and a rousing cheer was had by the Reichsrkiegers on the ground. The day was theirs. And the Knights could only look on in dread, their dead littering the ground and turning the waterways red. They had failed in their only duty. Foreign boots held the seagate.

And the Kaiser, as he watched from his bridge, allowed himself a smirk as his forces triumphed. He had just toppled the most defended place in this 'empire' in one fell swoop, and as the gates were swung open, he could see the route to his true prize. Nhasa. The capital.

The Book of Morsain
Part I
Westernoste
December 18, 1912, AH 1

"About face! To attention!"

The Norbury Military Academy's grounds were coated with a glimmering layer of moisture that morning, as the latest batch of Tarstian-trained soldiers spun on their heels, bringing their rifles to rest against their shoulders. Their heels clicked together.

Those present that day were a far cry from what the Atrian Army had been, two years ago. Their khaki uniforms were clean and neatly-pressed, drawing influence from the equipment of their Tarstian importers, and their rifles modern and efficient.

But that was a microcosm of the Atrian army as a whole. Those present were members of the Ninth Army, a new military structure made up of troops trained by the Tarstians, and were made of the best soldiers in the provincial military as a whole.

They were few, but experienced. Five thousand regular infantrymen, and five thousand marines, split evenly between the Army and Navy. Those in the marines wore green uniforms with olive webbing, and wide-brimmed turtle-like helmets- those in the army had khaki fatigues, and narrower khaki helmets stamped with an Atrian eagle.

Trumpets blared. Lord Protector Stirling emerged from the building at the front of the Military Academy's grounds, flanked by a pair of guards as was routine. Compared with the lord of two years ago, he was better-rested, a bit more padded around the edges, and another half-dozen medals had joined the ones he previously wore on his chest.

"All hail the Lord Protector!" the troops chanted as one. Beside Stirling walked the mastermind of Atris' modernization; Colonel Reginald Galbraith, cousin to the Tarstic ambassador, ambling along with a cane in one hand, and a pith helmet in the other. The man was in his element. He had lost some of his weight, and walked with a longer stride, moving confidently down the line, the sunlight gleaming off his mutton-chop beard and now-almost-entirely bald head.

The delegation moved through the grounds and took up positions on a stage opposite the building where they had emerged.
"About face!" The troops' officers barked, once the officials were seated. The soldiers pivoted around once again, facing the stage. "Attention!"

Lord Stirling was the first to take the stage. He held a pre-prepared speech in one hand.
"Loyal soldiers of the Norbury Military Academy," he began, voice echoing across the massive parade grounds to all of the two thousand who had gathered there, "You are the fifth graduating class of the Academy, following in the footsteps of your compatriots who similarly passed training over the past few months. You have been molded into efficient soldiers worthy of Valmerian battlegrounds," he acknowledged, as Colonel Galbraith smirked, "And will be a shining example to our imperial counterparts.

This graduation is perhaps being conducted under displeasing circumstances. Reichskrieg is at our door, and while Elodian forces have managed to hold off their assaults, I do not doubt that war will eventually find Atris one way or another. That is why I have chosen to mobilize all members of the Ninth Army today, to prepare for a potential conflict with Reichskrieg. You will taste true battle soon.

Though, before we move to that matter, I would like to present the top graduates of each of this graduating class's ten companies with high honours for exemplary performance during their training-"

Stirling scowled as the guards ushered a courier onto the stage. The man was clad in a blue uniform, indicating his status as a telegraph operator.
"What is it?" he snarled, as the messenger bowed.

"Lord Protector," the messenger said, leaning in close, "News has just arrived from Nhasa. The Sea Gate of Teicher has fallen to Reichskrieg. The Knights of Teicher are routed, and more of the enemy's forces are moving into the harbour area as we speak. The Supreme Regent has made efforts to fortify the capital, and has ordered all provinces to do what they can to combat the Reichskriegers."

There was a long, stunned silence as Stirling turned back to look at Colonel Galbraith.
"What did you say?" the colonel demanded, standing. "I didn't hear you!"

The courier turned, and repeated the message to the Tarstite. Galbraith stood still in disbelief.

"I will address this matter later." Stirling turned back to the soldiers, who awaited awards for their performance. "Consult me in the Burgundy Palace once this event has concluded."

-

The orders came swiftly from Westernoste, through the new telegraph system that Great Tarst had set up in the south of the country to expedite business.
Mobilize the marines. Gather the Open Sea Fleet.

It had scarcely been three hours since news had arrived from Nhasa, but the naval base in Camber was already bustling with activity. Three large battleships sat at anchor in the harbour, engines idling, prepared to make headway. They were the Hypaspist, Rampart, and Stalwart, the three warships bought from Great Tarst for a million pounds each. Around them hovered a dozen protected cruisers and destroyers. More ships; coal ships, support ships, tenders- streamed out from the harbour, ferrying crew and marines and supplies onboard.

These ships and men were also part of Atris' new military. The Open Sea Fleet, the closest thing to a proper combat fleet the navy had, modelled after Tarst's naval doctrines. Each ship in the group had either once belonged to Tarst, or had the hallmarks of Tarstic engineering about them, but they flew the naval ensigns of the Celestial Empire and Atris.

Those marines which Lord Stirling had commended hours earlier were now filing aboard their vessels, expressions grim. Admiral Goshawk looked on from the bridge of the Rampart, the flagship of the fleet, as marines scaled rope ladders and took berths aboard. He muttered something in disbelief.
"Is it true?" He asked a subordinate, under his breath, as the bridge bustled with activity; officers moving to stations, commands barked over bullhorns, navigators consulting their maps. "Is the Lord Protector bringing the Crown Prince aboard?"

His subordinate shook their head. "Surely not," they said, "We're on the warpath. They wouldn't..."

-

As they spoke, a gangway was lowered from the deck of the Rampart, leading on to a smaller vessel painted in white- the royal yacht. A pair of guards ushered Christen on board, moving the crown prince past the staring marines and crewmen, who, after a moment of hesitation, saluted.

The door swung open behind Admiral Goshawk. Everyone in the room turned.
"Gentlemen," one of the guards declared, as Christen entered, in a plain military uniform tailored for his small frame, "The Crown Prince, Christen Vesta, Heir to the Atrian Throne, Peer to Ren Osarrus."

Goshawk turned slowly to his subordinate.
"It is an honour to have you onboard," he bowed after some moments of deliberation. The admiral turned to the guards inquisitively. "The Lord Protector's orders, I take it?"

One of the guards nodded. "Lord Protector Stirling wants the Crown Prince to travel with the Open Sea Fleet, so that he may become accustomed to warmaking as well as ruling. This fleet will travel north to first seize Port Arnon, where Crown Prince Christen will observe."

Goshawk nodded tentatively. "As he orders."

Hours later, the fleet began to steam out of the harbour and turn to the north, led by the Rampart, its two accompanying battleships in line behind it, surrounded on both sides by their escorts. Christen stood on the bridge, staring out towards the open sea towards Port Arnon.

"You've never been onboard a warship before, your grace?" Goshawk asked, after an extended silence. The bridge had been deserted, the officers retiring to their cabins and rousing the night shift.

"No," Christen admitted.

"You'll get used to it." The Admiral wasn't sure how to address the crown prince, but squeezed a reply that was perhaps too informal for such an important figure. "We have a foreign enemy to fight, lad. Rest well. We'll be seeing combat in some days, I take it."

Click to show...

Temris

The Siege of Falkenberg : Part 1
January 21st, 1913, AH 2

The Selenic Gate, Opposite of Falkenberg

Day One, 0600 Hours

"So, this is it. We can't keep ourselves out of it any longer. Hmph, good, it's about time the rest of you Cigallans got off your arses and fought the enemies of the empire." Commander Chien Yee stated, looking across the straight, to the recently besieged city. Surrounded by ships flying the banner of the union. "Quite frankly, the fact nothing has happened here until now has surprised me, did the Kaiser's forces really not factor into one of the empire's largest trade hubs and naval station into their war plans?" He said looking next to him towards his superior officer, Commander in Chief Siew Fong.

"If I had to guess, it was the fact we have a spy amongst their ranks that allowed us to get away with 'being neutral' during the Elodian crisis in the empire's eyes. And combined with the sheer amount of international assets located in Cigallo, who themselves have previously intervened against Reichskrieg. I can only assume they thought we would remain 'neutral' and just give up when a Reichskrieger Governor arrives. They will soon learn of this mistake however, as now they're focused on the Nhasa. This has trapped them, for once 'Falkenberg' as they have renamed it has fallen, we shall sail outwards and block them in the sea." CIC Fong stated, a notable distain appearing in his voice upon mentioning the name of the years long occupied port city Gong gave away to them.

"Recently promoted Fleet Admiral of the Navy Lu Ten appears to be on his flagship, the recently repaired and refitted CNS Avenger, the pride of our fleet. Yet you are here Grand General, why is that?" The question lingered in the air for a moment. "A moment of peace, sir. Before all of this-" he says pointing his ceremonial saber towards Falkenberg "-burns in the fires of war and gunpowder. The operation we are taking is risky and dangerous, are you certain we should attack now?" "No, we shouldn't. It's why your orders for when the siege begins is to hold and work alongside your recently and admittedly hastily promoted brother in arms, Admiral Lu and ensure the foreigners don't get any reinforcements. I will have the governor send out calls to all willing provinces to send aid, and to do so quickly before we can move our fleets north and trap the Kaiser."

Both men continue staring out towards the lonesome port, neglected in favor of offensive operations elsewhere. And with neither a smile nor word, both begin to move to their respective command posts after a quick salute. And the first shots of a skirmish and the siege begin to ring out across the land border to the west and north of the city as Reichskrieger garrisons hastily wake to find themselves surrounded, and opposed by an army flying a banner they once knew as passive.

=================================================================================================================

Day One, 0900 Hours

A message rings out across what telegraph lines exist throughout Imperial administrative offices and Nhasa, to those who don't have such access, messengers with armed guards head onto boats to sail the Gold, Crimson, and Azul rivers throughout the empire, a second one carrying spare horses if needed and general supplies for all of them. Either through cable or by paper, the message reads the same to all who would listen; "Cigallo beseeches aide, Falkenberg surrounded, reinforcements needed to siege and capture. If done fast, all forces will turn North immediately to face the Kaiser. Long Live The Empire, Long Live Emperor Ren Osarrus XXV"

There Can Be Only One (1911)
Expansion post

***

***

Devil Descending
Yahawara, Celestial Empire
January 17, 1913

Scribbling, hasty and chaotic, echoed down the long vaulted corridor of the McDouglas Estate. Scribbling interrupted only by the sound of palace servants, far from their home, scurrying this way and that with arms full of the court’s belongings. The McDouglas’ observed with their own staff to ensure that nothing of theirs was taken in the organized frenzy, but as trunks were packed, trucks started, and luggage began on its way it soon became a futile effort. They trusted their friends, the O’Rourkes, but they did not trust the men they’d brought with them from Nhasa. If men are what they could be called.

Maggie crept gingerly in the growing silence. As the last of the trucks began down the gravel driveway she could hear again the sweet birdsongs of Yahawara’s tropical basin. Running her hand along her forearm she wiped away the drool left over from the three year old her husband had pledged to protect. Straightening her coral day dress Maggie then put the final few hairs that were poking out of her elaborate bun back into place. Her heart pounded in her ears as she dared to step into the office her husband had requisitioned only two days before.

Torn letters lay strewn about the floor, each sprawling with her husband’s handwriting. Stacks of unopened envelopes, each marked with the seal of the Empire, were piled near the foot of the desk. Two guards stood at either entrance, their faces unmoving despite the murmuring emanating from the center of the room. Maggie paused a few strides short of the source of the muttering, wholly unable to bring herself to go any closer to it.

Brown hair, disheveled and graying, bobbed rhythmically to the tune of governance. Eyes darkened through countless sleepless nights, straining to see the light in the dark, were glued to a gilded pen which rose and fell in effortless waves across imperial cardstock. A sharp hiss, a soft sigh, more muttering. To Maggie this might as well have been a machine doing the work it was designed by some nefarious creator to do. But her own hazel eyes, once so treasured by the man she knew all those summers ago, fell to the simple gold ring he wore on his left hand. A pang of guilt ran through her as she moved her own hands behind her back, her thumb rubbing the skin on her own ring finger.

“I am assuming the court is underway,” Jesse said without looking up. “I did ask that I remain undisturbed until His Exalted Majesty was ready to depart.” Maggie bit her tongue to keep from scolding the man before her. Did he, in all of his self-righteousness, forget how to speak to her? The silence soon drew Jesse’s attention up from the letter he’d been so carefully crafting. With a jolt he shot to his feet. “My dear,” he began again, his voice far softer, “forgive me. I did not know it was you.”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s been a long time, Jesse. I’m not surprised we’ve become strangers.”

“Strangers?” Jesse gingerly put his pen down. Circumventing the desk he took her face in his calloused hand. “My peach,” he said, running his thumb over her cheek. He grinned at the word. Her face felt exactly like a ripened peach from the palace gardens, though far more beautiful. “May Basrodec forbid we ever become strangers, and that if we do that we might be friends again.”

Maggie took his hand in hers, withdrawing it from her face. Jesse’s eyes fell to the shadow on her ring finger, a spot made lighter by the presence of an absent object. “We are strangers,” she said when his eyes twitched. “You’ve become consumed by this Empire. You don’t write anymore, and I’ve run out of excuses for the children who just want to know when their father will be home.” Shaking her head she let her gaze drop to the waxed floorboards. “It isn’t fair to the children, to us, to go on pretending.”

Jesse reeled, his weight shifting to his heels as his wife’s words crashed over him like a violent wave. As a ship lost in the eye of the storm he leaned back, barely catching himself on the edge of the desk as his wife retracted her grip on his hand. As if on cue, the two guards in the room withdrew into the corridor outside. The room spun in sickening circles. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

“I’m taking the children back to Chasewater in the morning.” Her voice broke through the thunderous roiling of the sea Jesse had found himself in. “I’m assuming you will be going with the Emperor to Bao Dai?”

Nodding, or was he shaking?, Jesse tried to meet his wife’s iron gaze. “I have to.”

“No. You have a choice.” She held up her left hand, the ringless finger a mockery of the love they shared. “Come back to Chasewater. Leave this whole mess to greater men and come be a father to your children.”

“I can’t, Maggie.”

The pang of guilt Maggie had felt only moments ago faded entirely. There was no hesitation in Jesse’s voice. Why should she feel so guilty now? He’d made his decision. It was time she made hers for the good of her children. She strode forward, her right hand summoning a tiny object concealed by the thin belt she wore. With little pomp she placed her wedding band upon the desk.

“Maggie,” Jesse said, reaching for her arm as she hastened toward the door. “Maggie!”

The silence echoed in her absence.
______________________________________________________________________________

Nhasa, Two Days Later. . .

Empress Dowager Meng followed the last of the crates out of the Imperial Palace. As she climbed into her ornate carriage she found herself thinking of the countless families needing to make the same sacrifice. What to take? What to leave behind? Her gaze went out to the immense courtyard where the caravan carrying the city’s most sacred and historical objects had assembled. At least she had the help of an army of eunuchs. What did the people have? She disliked Jesse’s order immensely, but knew that it was for the best if the history of the Empire were to survive the coming onslaught.

By decree of His Excellency, Supreme Regent Jesse O’Rourke, Nhasa must empty of all non-military personnel.

Meng shifted in her seat as the decree was announced to the palace eunuchs once more.

All historical and religious artifacts are to be relocated to the temporary capital in Bao Dai.

Bao Dai, Meng scoffed. The city was so remote she doubted most people knew it existed. There was a small palace there, at least, used by ancient kings whose throne has long sat vacant.

All government officials are to evacuate to the same.

Not for the first time she wondered what was wrong with the city Jesse and the Emperor had been in since early December? Was Yahawara so civilized that a virtual backwater now had to serve as temporary capital? Temrisians, she groaned. Then, unexpectedly, the palace gates squealed open. The immense groans echoed across the courtyard, silencing all within. Meng looked on curiously as an unmarked carriage pulled by two brown horses rolled in. The carriage managed the maze of trucks, wagons, crates, and eunuchs with some effort, only to find itself impeded at the last by her own gilded ride. The driver hopped down, quickly opening the door to reveal none other than the Supreme Regent himself.

“Temrisian,” Meng said as he approached her carriage. “I am surprised to see you here.”

Jesse’s jaw set as he observed the scene. “There has been a slight change of plans.”

Meng cocked an eyebrow. “How slight?”

“I will be leading the defense of Nhasa should the worst happen in Celaguun. The province has questionable loyalty to the Emperor, and with the kaiser’s army closing in I want to ensure that he knows I am not scared of him.”

“Foolish boy. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Jesse smirked, a pitiful, altogether uncaring motion. “So be it. And if I do, I have already arranged that you should succeed me as Supreme Regent. If I don’t, then, I guess I will see you back in Nhasa in no time.”

Meng opened her mouth to protest, but Jesse slammed the door shut on her carriage. His voice echoed across the courtyard, announcing the beginning of what would be a weeklong journey for Meng, the eunuchs, and centuries of Celestial history.

The Battle of Arnon
December 28, 1912

From the far east, over the rolling steppes of Dayan and far beyond, the sun rose. The Atrian war fleet had been steaming in near-total radio silence for the past ten days, their modern battleships leading the column, screened by a swarm of protected cruisers and destroyers.

Christen was woken early in the morning. He rolled over in his bed, turning to look at the visitor. It was a senior officer, one of the Admiral's staffers aboard the bridge.
"Your highness," the officer bowed reverently, trying to avoid hitting his head on the wall. "Admiral Goshawk has requested that I wake you for the battle."

Christen grumbled, turning on the light. His quarters were spartan, but some of the more opulent aboard. It had been the Admiral's room, until the prince had stepped on board. The boy donned a sailor's uniform, provided to him by the crew, and followed the officer to the bridge.

One of the sailors was operating a massive signal-light, beaming a message to another ship across the water.
Fall into battle line. Arrival at Arnon imminent.

"Good morning, your highness." Admiral Goshawk made his presence known, stepping out of his office behind the wheelhouse. "We will engage the enemy soon." He turned to his staffer, who had taken Christen to the bridge in the first place. "I was promised at least another two marine companies," he said. "What happened?"

"Lord Stirling has sent orders from Westernoste." The officer bowed slightly. "The remaining marines will join with the Ninth Army to aid in the capture of Falkenberg in the north."

"A shame." Goshawk moved back into the bridge, taking a spyglass off his desk. "Arnon is close. We will commence the operation by clearing out the Reichskrieger defence fleet in the harbour. We'll then deploy the marines outside the city limits while our vessels begin coastal bombardment. Man the guns."

More lights flashed among the fleet. They slowly shifted into a single-file line with two segments. The protected cruisers drifted in front of the flagships, still signalling to each other.

A cook brought Christen a mug of lukewarm cocoa from the galley, as a cluster of distant lights came into view. The city of Arnon, a Reichskrieger colony, lay beyond.
"Movement from the harbour," a call came in, from the crow's nest mounted in the middle of the bow. "Eight to ten vessels in battle formation moving out towards our line."

"Understood." Goshawk lowered his spyglass. "Begin fire before they move into position."

The battleships' turrets began to turn, adjusting their angles of elevation. Then, with a simultaneous roar, they fired. Streaks of light shot across the bay, thought in the dark it was unclear if any had landed. The Reichskriegers replied with a volley of their own, as shells rained from the sky and plunged into the waters around the column.
"Hold your pattern," Goshawk ordered. The two fleets exchanged bursts of fire, when a pillar of light burst to life across the bay.

"Enemy cruiser sunk," the lookout called. The opposing vessel began to slip beneath the waves, yet the Atrians' jubilation was short-lived as a hailstorm of cannon rounds peppered the side of the RSS Hypaspist, the battleship just ahead of them. The metal colossus slowed, and began to drift erratically, fire spewing from its portholes. The battle line maneuvered around the functionless hulk, as the crippled battleship's crew leapt off its burning decks.

Christen winced as an explosive round flew over the Rampart's bridge, splashing down into the water to their left.
"Are we in danger?" he shouted, as another Atrian cruiser broke in two amidships, its magazines detonating.

"Not at all!" Godshawk replied, though the admiral's words carried a hint of uncertainty. The old man turned to his aides. "They have more firepower than was accounted for. Do they have a reserve ship somewhere?"

One of the officers shook their head. "No, sir. It may be coastal batteries." True to their predictions, several lights on the shoreline flashed, and seconds later there was the sound of rolling thunder as howitzer shells rained down on the Atrian formation.

The artillery crews were not very good shots, as many of the shells simply landed in the water around their vessels, but the continued bombardment was taking its toll. A third ship was sunk, and a fourth was losing speed from a half-dozen holes in its hull.

"Sir," a messenger from the Rampart's communications room stepped onto the bridge wing where Christen and the admiral were standing. "There is a third party sailing into the harbour. They claim to be the Imperial Morsainian Navy."

"The Morsainians?" Goshawk said blankly. "Why?"

"They're hailing both parties," the messenger said. "It seems we'll find out soon enough."

A second messenger ran into the bridge, carrying a message, freshly-printed. It was stamped with Morsain's emblem.

CELESTIAL NAVAL FORCE,

ARE YOU ATTACKING ARNON OVER

ADMIRAL JACQUE RICHARD

"Send a reply." Godshawk turned back to the battle, but all guns had fallen silent as both sides paused to contemplate the implications of the Morsainians' arrival.

HON. ADMIRAL,

AFFIRMATIVE CONDUCTING RETALIATORY OPERATION FOLLOWING REICHSKRIEG ATTACK ON IMPERIAL SEA GATE IN NORTH OVER

ADMIRAL FLORIM GOSHAWK

The message was received some seconds later. The distant Morsainian warships flashed their signal-lights at each other.

ADM GOSHAWK,

WITHDRAW IMMEDIATELY. ARNON IS INT. RECOGNIZED REICHSKRIEG TERRITORY

The admiral stared, stunned.
"We're at war, damn them!" He bellowed, breaking the silence. "What does it matter if we attack the enemy's port?"

"Sir," his officer pressed, "We're in no position to engage both fleets. I recommend we withdraw, as Admiral Richard demands."

Goshawk bit down on his lower lip. His eye twitched, and he hissed something unintelligible at the Morsainian fleet in the distance.

"Withdraw," he said finally. "Order the cruiser squadron to pull back. I will relay this news to the Lord Protector."

AFFIRMATIVE

Apparently satisfied, the Morsainian fleet began to turn and sail to the bay's edge. However, to ensure that both sides peacefully disengaged, they lingered there for some hours, waiting until the last of the battered Atrian warships had disappeared over the horizon. Not a single marine had set foot on Arnon, and four Atrian warships lay on the seabed, compared to just two of Reichskrieg's.

In Collab with Greater Atris, Karakez, and one singular line/mysterious figure from Kolch

The Siege of Falkenberg : Part 2

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January 28th, 1913, AH 2

Outside Falkenberg

Day Eight, 1300 Hours

Corporal Xu Hanshoung sat in the trench, hastily dug with barely any wood or sandbags. "Honestly it would just be better to call this a glorified ditch at this point. The start of week 2 of this sh*t and already the city's walls have become a shooting gallery whenever things get boring. Gods I wish they would try breaking out more often. At the very least then I could whittle them down a bit numbers wise before the attack and force them to waste ammunition..." Just then his superior officer came walking by, motioning for everyone to listen.

"Men of the Union and the Empire. I bring great news!" The captain explained. "Oh great, we're about to be disappointed or do something incredibly suicidal." "We have confirmation that forces of the provinces of Karakez and Atris will be arriving within a weeks and 3 weeks time to help us siege and retake the great city before us! Let us hold our ground and whittle them down with night skirmishes to keep them on their toes until our friends arrive and prepare!" A series of some minor cheers and shouts rang out, smothering the few grumbles at the prospect of having to work the military night shift. "Welp, I did ask for something to happen..."

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February 3rd, 1913, AH2

The Northern Selenic Straight

Day 14, 1100 Hours

A thick mist enveloped the outskirts of Falkenberg as the Karakez navy emerged from the gray skyline. Their ironclad vessels moving in flawless formation like steel and smoke altogether. Each ship proudly displayed the emblem of Karakez, the red phoenix of Núra. The steady crashing of waves against their hulls synchronised with the rhythmic hum of steam engines and the creaking of wood and iron. The flagship Kesatria spearheaded the fleet, its formidable outline cutting through the fog like a blade, as sailors clad in dark blue navy uniforms stood steadily at their posts, their eyes keenly alert. The Karakezan has arrived.

Master-Admiral Chouyo Nanan positioned himself at the front, his uniform striking against the gloomy horizon of the ocean. His lengthy coat fluttered gently in the breeze while his hands gripped the railing. “Send the signal,” he instructed, his tone steady and authoritative.

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February 18th, 1913, AH2

The Northern Selenic Straight

Day 28, 1600 Hours

A sizable column of troops arrived on the frontlines at first light, marching seven abreast and perhaps a thousand deep. They were the Atrian Marines, clad in uniforms of drab green, rifles slung over their shoulders, their bayonets polished. The officers leading the column held aloft Atris' banner. Their rearguard brought in a collection of hulking machines that, on closer inspection, were revealed to be massive artillery pieces, heavy cannons inherited from Tawrst's arsenal.

Seeking out the commander of the Cigallan forces, their commanding officer stepped forward; a tall, powerfully built man, broad-shouldered, brown-haired and square-jawed, with an imposingly thick moustache that twitched each time he spoke.

"I am Major Martin Swann," he saluted, bringing a gloved hand to his chest, his palm facing down, "of the Atrian Marine Corps. We will join the siege efforts shortly. There are cannons in our rearguard, and some seven thousand of us. Let us finish this quickly so that we may move to join the defense of the capital."

Across from him, stood Grand General Chien Yee, Commander of the Selenic Gate. Who saluted back before responding; "It is good to have you here, have your forces prepare, we attack on the 21st, come, we shall discuss plans of attack." The Atrian officer nodded, and followed the Grand General further into the war camp.

A lone figure watched from the fences of the warcamp, his face obscured by a dark hood. He watched the Atrian officer arrive from his far position.

===========================================================================================================

The Siege of Falkenberg : Part 2
February 21st, 1913, AH 2

Outside Falkenberg

Day Thirty One, 0600 Hours

In the trenches, tens of thousands of loyal men of the Empire stood, forced to bed early and woken up early. A slight fog covers the battlefield as the morning sun dawns upon the city. As the final preparations are held, the howitzers loaded and pre-sighted. The ladders are strung up onto the trench walls. The guns loaded and checked and blasting charges prepared as dedicated siege engineers breathe in the cold mist. Across the straight, 20 ships, many loaded with marines, veterans of previous battles ready themselves.

For the past few weeks, the city garrison has been told to surrender and citizens allowed to evacuate should they make it either to a boat or outside the walls. Very few ships have docked with the city as most either turned away or had their cargo seized for holding weapons destined for the defenders. As the men line up, the air is filled with tension as all across the line, officers looking towards a specific position, drilled for the past few days relentlessly on a strategy to take the city.

As the clock struck 6 exact, a flare went up. And then 2 more, then 4, 8, 16, and then the entire line was brightened with flares. And then the trench whistles sounded, thousands screamed a battle cry, and propelled up the trenches.