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A Changing Of The Colors

INTRODUCTORY & EXPANSION WEEK POST

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

Cigallo, The Governor's Office

April 15th, NL 15 (1910)

"We must do something Governor! If this coup succeeds the empire as we know it will be destroyed!" Roared Commander in Chief Siew Fong, head of all armed forces in the Union of the Three Rivers. "The Imperial Diet has chosen to head here for protection and safety and we agreed. That puts a target on us, and while I have no doubt, given the state of the rest of the empire, we could hold off any attacks until our people and the Imperial Diet evacuate. We must strike now, while the iron is hot and while the traitorous 'Grand Admiral' Gong and his militarists are scurrying for any form of legitimacy. Legitimacy we could instead take for the Diet given our connections to the outside world, especially Reichskrieg and Alstin."

Governor Chuen Tan merely sat at his table, staring not at Commander Fong but rather outside, towards Cigallo. The Governor's palace resides in a unique area in Cigallo, sitting atop a hill where an old fort used to reside centuries prior, capable of overlooking the large dockyards to his right, where ships from around the globe stop to either refuel, trade, and restock on supplies. To his left sat the many rivers and streams that made crossed throughout the delta, where master engineers over the course of centuries built canals, bridges, and many a small dock for boat travel through the Delta and towards the 3 major rivers of the empire, the Gold, the Crimson, and the Azul. Many of which were connected to the main dockyard to allow for ease of access of goods further inland. Surrounding the canals was an urban paradise, buildings both modern and traditional, combined together in a way of modernity and traditionalism that to the naked eye, showed a proud culture willingly sharing its beauty to all those welcomed inside its many districts, from the residential, market, and even the industrial district, one would be remiss to not find a group of people enjoying themselves at whatever time it was.

But to Chuen and those who lived in the society long enough? Nothing more than a semi-hollow ploy. Oh sure, a lot of it was indeed what it seemed, some even managing to capitalize off of it. And that was the main issue for some. In many places culture started being used as a marketing scheme, slow at first when the Celestial Empire was forced to open up to the rest of the world, but soon enough a large portion of everywhere in the city made use of traditional customs to charge nigh extortionate prices ever. In some darker alleys, it was extortion, as the recent reports and activities from the Pentarch Syndicate is anything to by. But they were being countered and as of now, were under control.

Outside of Cigallo, Where each of the rivers eventually enter into it, smaller cities existed, each ran by a local government that were historically linked to Cigallo and its dictates due to location and trading rights. It was always a mutually beneficial arrangement, in return for a cut of the toll money for those entering into the Delta and rendering unto Cigallo, each city is given military protection and funding to improve themselves. Such an arrangement with the 3 'River Cities' as they have historically been called, has naturally lead to precedents in similar agreements with many minor settlements near the Celestial Delta and the River Cities, where in return for protection and funding, they render unto Cigallo and act as some form of a toll station into Cigallo. Said tolls typically being cheap to not discourage entry, and as the administrational duties and abilities expanded throughout the region, so too was the ease of bypassing these polls by either being billed at the end of the month or year, paying when you leave instead of enter, or instead paying in a different way through the exchange of goods to a local communal fund.

All in all, while Cigallo ruled over the Delta, one would find it difficult to garner a reason to disagree with the arrangement. However, with Gong's coup, that may very well change, especially if the River Cities and the minor towns believed Cigallo could not protect them or their people and businesses.

Governor Chuen sighed, while not too old, he was getting to the age where back pain is more of a constant rather than an occasion. While local remedies and international medicines did help, he was always conservative with the dosages and usage of such substances. There is a reason that even the so called 'Devils Kush' is illegal and that even many minor criminal organizations in the city prefer to destroy any they find with rye. And those who brought it in if such an 'import' is more of a regular business than an accident that came alongside many of the other 'imports' the Pentarchs oversee. They may not control all crime, but there's a reason why even fully independent criminal groups pay attention to the dictates of the Pentarchy.

"You are correct. And I do share your fears, and the fears of our compatriots in this 'Union' we find ourselves under. Tell me, how is our dynamic duo of foreign advisors doing to help alleviate these fears?" Chuen asked, turning towards Fong. "The Alstinian, Colonel Hume Imson is currently out in the docks with the Engineer Corps, teaching them how to best make use of explosives and the many bridges and canals that dot throughout Cigallo, and to a lesser extent, the connecting River Cities. I believe it is obvious as to what purpose such sabotage operations are for. Though I believe it could go farther, both in terms of purposeful destruction, and in designated kill zones for our river fleet and new artillery regiment. I hear they are eager to test out their new 'howitzers' alongside some imported mortars and some locally made rocket artillery. The latter is not so great at taking out armored areas, nor very accurate, but if the books provided at the Officers Academy is anything to go by, the moral loss of those on the receiving end more than make up for it. Especially with the blades they put on the tips of the rockets, and the whistles on the sides." Commander Feng takes a moment to think and catch his breath before continuing on.

"As for the Reichskrieger, Oberst Wilhelm VonHerschtzel? Currently with the so called 'Stormtrooper' battalion, training for 'urban and close quarters combat'. I hear they're making great use of those trench guns bought from Alstin, and the anti-fortification hand held explosives from Reichskrieg. However, both the Colonel and the Oberst have informed me that they believe this is not enough, and that we're vulnerable from the sea. To that end, I have a request in mind, one that is unprecedented and unorthodox in its method and intended effect. However, I believe with this coup and with the Diet in our walls, so to speak, that we are in unorthodox times. One could also argue this request could help further international trade and give our benefactors across the seas the added security they may be wanting given recent events up northeast."

"And what may that be, Commander Fong?"

"I'd like to request a small force to accompany me as we negotiate for the local garrison on the Selenic Gate to, as many nearby towns have for centuries. Render unto Cigallo and the Union by extension. Given how Gong is trying to sway as many to his side as possible, to have the Gate on our side would bolster our forces and allow us an early warning should any hostile forces come from sea or march towards us near the coastline."

Silence overtook them both as Governor Chuen thought over it. His face somewhat stern as he once again looks out over Cigallo and its dockyards. With a deep breath, the die is cast. "Very well then, take who you'll need. Let us hope we are not too late." Fong hides a smile replying; "Thank you, sir" before walking out and gathering his entourage.

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

Port Luna, the Selenic Gate

April 21st, NL 15 (1910)

"So, what brings you to my island, Cigallan? Have you come to bribe me to let foreign smugglers go free, or have you come here for more dire matters?" Commander Chien Yee of the Selenic Gate asks, looking at Commander Fong from across the large table both sit at. "I can assure you, Commander Yee, I am not some corrupt kleptocrat looking to use the underworld for his own gain-" "Oh sure you aren't. I could tell from the lack of any obvious hints and a distinct lack of any actual money from your cargo, but, that does not mean you can't be here for your own reasons."

"I am here with an offer, one I humbly request you listen to all the reasons for it before making up your mind." Yee ponders in the silence for a moment before nodding for Fong to continue. "I am here to ask that due to recent events up in Nhasa, that the Selenic Gate renders unto Cigallo-" Yee bursts into a hearty laughter the moment the final Syllable left Fong's mouth, quickly being stifled into a chuckle as he begins to recompose himself. "I- I am sorry for that," he coughs into his mouth, stifling a chuckle "It's just that of all requests possible, while part of me expected it, the idea of something related to Nhasa necessitating such an action, it is, and no offense to you if this is the truth, ridiculous."

"BUT IT IS TRUE!" Fong cries out. "The Emperor is dead, and the traitorous Grand Admiral Gong has killed hi-" a blade is quickly pressed to his neck, deep enough to be felt but not to pierce flesh. Fong quickly looks towards Yee and is met in return with a gaze of controlled fury the likes of which could only be matched in ancient legend, specifically that of Yee's well known ancestor of legend, the so called 'Dragon of Fire', a general of such prowess that he personally carved out much of the current southern border of the empire with the fire and brimstone of an avatar of the god of war itself. "Not that, that is NOT funny." "But it's true-" the blade pushes in a little deeper, a slight drip of blood appearing near the edge of Fong's neck. "The Diet... They're in Cigallo, they fled here under the recommendation of our representative. Gong tried to kill them all, please, believe me."

Fong stared into the eyes of his fellow Commander, with a mix of fear of his life and silent resignation towards his probable beheading. Yee merely stared back, stern, yet if one could pierce his gaze and look inside his mind, they would find it contemplating what has been said. Finally, after what felt like an eternity in there, Yee lowered his family's ceremonial ancestral blade. "You speak the truth..." Yee closes his eyes and looks down for a moment, before raising his head and looking towards a shrine near his seat, incense burning on it since an hour ago, but still burning brightly. He stares at the shrine in contemplation for a few minutes. Enough for Fong to take a cloth and clean the minor cut on his neck and clot the blood.

"The emperor is dead, and by the hands of a traitor who was supposed to be among our most loyal... Very well then, Cigallo shall have the Gate, but know this, and make sure to tell it to your Union as a whole." Yee states, turning to look at Fong. "I do this not out of a similar belief of profit and cooperation with the outsider, but out of love and loyalty for my country and my emperor. I will aid you and the Diet as best as I can, but should you turn your backs on the empire without a VERY good reason. I will personally BURN your city to the ground for its abandonment of our faith in recent times and for its treason in betraying and turning your backs on the throne. And on a more personal note, tell Representative Iroh I send my condolences, and knight to C6, checkmate. Am I understood?"

"You are understood clearly, Commander Yee. May we work well with each other in these dark times, and hopefully in brighter ones too. And that your threat may need not to come to fruition. Thank you for your time." Fong salutes Yee, who returns the salute in kind.

3 Days later, across the entire island, a flag rose alongside where the others were, on outposts and towers, on ships and harbors, on encampments and forts, and even on inland places too. A flag of Gold, Crimson, and Azul to replace the colors of old and signify who is in control now. And with it, a statement to the world, and to Gong. Cigallo, knows the truth, for Cigallo stands defiant against the tyrant who sits upon a throne covered in the blood of the man he killed. And with it, a crushing blow to his legitimacy. Whispers in the wind speak that with it, that the war for the throne in Nhasa, and the very empire itself, has well and truly begun.

Expansion post

Southern Tangwen

(1910)

Sword Saint Ang heard the call of the sea, that soft rush of water against the shore, rumbling as it crept up the sand. He never considered himself a sailor. Who could even consider the sea upon the plains of Tangwen? He breathed deeply and the seaside air flooded into his lungs. It was different, somehow, to the air on the plains, but it was a difference he could only infer, and not explain. He felt the urge to taste more, to stand upon the sand and watch the waves and the tides shift and slowdance before him; that foreign land.

Ang was standing on a hillside, overlooking the coastal province of Syanfan. It was a lowly realm within the great Celestial Empire, whose governor mostly kept to himself. It was this privacy that brought Ang and his army to his border. Lord Tseun had begun to raise an army to fight against the usurper. Afterwards, he brought Ang into the war room and asked him to secure a port for the dominion.

He told him that Syanfan was an ideal choice. It was politically isolated, had a small military presence, and it's lack of explicit support for the imperial restoration effort lended itself to Lord Tseun's goal of also avoiding potential repercussions from his allies. Perhaps Tseun needed Ang, not to orchestrate the invasion, but rather to act as a middleman, a point in the chain of responsibility he could break if needed. Perhaps... But Ang obeyed and would do so again and again.

Ang turned to the sound of hooves galloping his way. Over the crest of the hill, his lieutenant emerged. The man saluted and regarded the regional capital of Syanfan that was nestled upon the shore.

"Scarcely a town, sword saint," he said.

"That it is."

The lieutenant turned back to Ang and bowed his head. "Forgive me, but I have doubts about the necessity of this invasion."

"What worries you?"

"We've been commanded to take it so we can use Syanfan's infrastructure to build up a naval power. But what infrastructure is there?"

Ang smiled. "What do you see down there? A run down fishing village?"

"Yes, sword saint."

"And what lies beyond it?"

"The ocean, sword saint."

"Our potential is not always realised from the works of others. Sometimes, lieutenant, we have to build off the very foundations of the world. The ocean, that is what we're after. Ports can be built, ships can be manufactured, and sailors can be trained, but without the ocean, what good is any of that? To covet another's goods is greed, to make use of nature is initiative, progress. That's what seperates us from the barbarians."

The lieutenant nodded. After a few moments, Ang brought his horse around to face him head on. "It is time. Are the men ready?"

"Yes, sword saint, ready for your command."

"Give them the order to attack, their timing must be on point, actions carried out to the letter, my strategy requires every man to fulfil his role. Remind them, any who fail will be demoted and punished."

"Yes, sword saint." The lieutenant saluted and rode off, back down the hill.

The Tangwenese came to do battle, but it was more like a rout. The Tangwenese riders swarmed upon the city, riding through it and along the beach, cutting down any defenders who fled that way. Then came their foot soldiers, who marched on through the streets and onwards to the fort. It was there that the fighting grew fiercer.

The Ang clan banners were held aloft and swayed as the men, whose armour held them, swung their sabres and fired their rifles. The defenders would peak over the crenellations and fire their guns and duck back again. The attackers below circled the high walls of the fort, like crazed ants, and returned fire whenever a clear shot presented itself. This went on for a few hours; and, both the peak and base of the fort, became so ringed with smoke that both attacker and defender gave up on precision and fired a continuous barrage of lead and grenades upon the other, only knowing that they'd hit their mark when an unfortunate soul would topple from the great height or else crawl injured from out of the smoke upon the ground.

The cavalry returned halfway through the siege, but were ordered away again. They were told to secure the roads in and out of the city, for they would contribute naught to the attack and would serve, instead, as keen targets for the Syanfan defenders.

Ang descended from the hill, with his honour guard, as the sun turned a brilliant orange and noon began to pass. He'd been watching as the city streets were engulfed in the smoke streaming, downwind, from the fort, which now seemed like some volcano about to erupt. He had some horse-drawn artillery with him and now commanded it forth, up to the fortress walls. The defenders must've seen these weapons through the fog - perhaps it was their barrels glistening in the afternoon sun like the waters in the bay - for they surrendered without a single cannon being fired. Syanfan was now at the mercy of the Dominion of Tangwen.

North of Tanjin (EXPANSION POST)

Tongmay Pass, Kalquen-Koshen Border, Kalquen, Celestial Empire

May, 1910

~~~

The hilly border region blanketed the small Koshenian precession as they wound their way ever further south. Ten men, carried down the steep incline on the backs of their steeds, forded onwards into the mist of early morning. The group travelled, minutes passing ever quicker as the fog began to clear. In the distance, a bridge rose above the small ravine between the hills, upon the other edge, a group stood, horses behind them. A large banner rose to meet the morning sun, yellow, a white circle in the centre displaying the character for “farmer”.

The leader of the Koshenian precession dismounted a few metres away from the bridge, withdrawing a small horn from his saddlebag. Attached was a note, “three quick breaths and your meeting is sealed”. It was an odd message, handed to him mere days ago as word of Kalquen’s rebellion was spread to the population of Koshen. By no means were they as populated or powerful as their Southernly neighbour, but many rich politicians exploited Koshenian and Kalquenan alike, in mines and fields. Mere days ago, Koshen’s Governor and Provincial Commander had been assassinated with the aid of Kalquenan spies.

It would be a new day, for all.

The man blew thrice into the horn, the secret code ringing out across the divide. Almost immediately, the group at the southern edge of the ravine began to move. The man beckoned his group to follow.

~~~

General Wei Lanceson walked across the small wooden bridge, his fellow Kalquenans fanning out beside him as far as the guardrails would allow. He smiled as his eyes locked onto the Koshenian men before him. As Wei reached the centre of the bridge, he stopped. Smiling at the man in front of him as he too stopped. Wei reached out a hand, slightly bowing with the gesture. The Koshenian man accepted the hand, firmly shaking it. Wei stood, smiling as the sun began to grace the bridge itself.

“It is a good morning, my friend. Is it not?” spoke Wei, slowly letting go of the man’s hand.

“It is, sir. I am glad I could finally see you in person” said the man, nodding towards Wei.

Wei scoffed, smiling towards the man and patting his shoulder.

“There’s no need to call me sir, my friend. We are brothers of the same cause, I am no superior. Call me Wei”

The Koshenian man smiled, letting out a sigh both awestruck and relieved in nature. He nodded at Wei, responding with a newly found energy.

“My name is Xi Long. I am here to represent the rebel sect of Koshen. With your aid, we have assassinated the former leadership, and require only now your support and governance”

Xi held himself in a more upright posture, looking first to Wei, then back to his men. He smiled as his brothers returned his optimistic gaze.

“Well, Xi, we have come with our new initiative. We will provide our full support and protections given that your people are willing to be brought under the flag of the Kalquen Rebellion. I understand if this is not to your liking, we will be able to find a compromise elsewhere”

Wei made sure the weight of his words was carefully placed. He thought of every hardship his people had faced, death, famine and authoritarian tyranny. He was sure that Xi and his men had faced the same fate, their families exploited in mines, foundries and quarries across the hilly province. They should not feel that pain again, those aching souls fighting unwillingly for a cause they do not agree with.

Xi paused for several moments, concentrating deeply in thought. Wei continued to watch the young man ponder. Several of the Koshenian men behind Xi began to nod, muttering hushed words to one another. After clearing his throat, Xi replied.

“I see no issue uniting under your flag. I ask only that we are able to maintain our own Provincial Government, for matters regarding our local policy. For all other matters, we shall give our fullest support to Kalquen, given that we are in return offered the same protection as your own citizens”

Wei smiled, his white teeth catching a glint of the rising sun. Most of the others, Koshenian and Kalquenan alike, smiled.

“I think that is a fine agreement. This shall be an alliance of Brotherhood. We shall support your matters and lie in wait. It is only a matter of time before word reaches the other provinces of our rebellion. In the future, I know we will taste victory for our efforts. Come now, let us ratify our agreement” said Wei, ushering the group over with him, Kalquenan soldiers welcoming the Koshenians as they crossed, both sides smiling as one.

~~~

It was a few minutes later, within a small tent nestled between two large hills merely a stone’s throw from the pass, that the two leaders sat down, at a small wooden table, set on a mat of woven grain.

A scribe sat vigilantly, an elegant pen in his hand. A small pile of blank papers sat before him, save for one.

Wei turned to the scribe, clearing his throat and speaking.

“This document shall be known as the Tongmay Pass Agreement. It shall be voted on by the members of the Kalquenan Provisional Council and Leaders of the Koshenian Rebel Sect. It will remain in place until the matters of the Kalquen and Koshen Rebellions have settled, at which point, dignitaries of both provinces shall meet at Tongmay Pass once more for a revision of the terms listed below” monologued Wei, the scribe vigorously writing down each word.

Wei turned to Xi, tapping twice on the table to tell the scribe to cease writing. He then spoke to Xi, not sure how much experience the young man may have.

“We will simply now write basic terms for your membership as a part of Kalquen. Firstly, borders. I assume we are fine with the current state of things?”

Xi nodded as Wei spoke, his face stoic, yet his eyes shining in almost awe. Wei tapped the table twice once more.

“The division between the provinces will remain as they are set in previous outlines, with the border set to follow the Yunishen River. This boundary will set apart the jurisdictions of the Kalquenan and Koshenian Provisional Provincial Governments”

Wei tapped the table twice more, returning his gaze to Xi.

“Now, I will just briefly talk about governance. We can’t write much right now, but this will be amended later when both of our provinces have created declarations of independence” said Wei, gesturing in a friendly manner as he spoke.

“That seems fine by me, Wei. Thank you for these explanations. Most of our political scholars are occupied with the Rebellion, my knowledge may be alright, but I appreciate your kindness” said Xi, lightly tipping his head forwards to Wei respectfully.

Wei smiled, tapping the table yet again.

“Let it be stated here that Koshen and Kalquen’s Provincial Governments will be of equal authority, yet will both serve under the elected President of the country, and his cabinet and council. Both provinces will vote on the president and council, using the Prefectatory system stated in prior documents. Provincial elections will only be voted on by citizens of their respective provinces. This measure will be taken into effect once both provinces have stabilized, and in the meantime, the elected General of Kalquen and the Kalquenan Provisional Council will be granted temporary jurisdiction over both provinces. During the next election, both provinces will vote” stated Wei, continuing on as the scribe began to write on another paper.

Two firm taps sounded for the scribe to cease, as Wei turned back to Xi, for the penultimate time.

“Finally, we will simply talk about the matter of our responsibilities” mused Wei, taking deep breaths.

“I doubt we’d need to write a thing, but I don’t object” stated Xi, nodding curtly as Wei regained his breath.

Wei tapped the table for the final time.

“As a final matter, the Tongmay Pass Agreement will be enforced by both provinces to a full degree. Until further governance is established, Kalquen and Koshen will remain inseparable and fully held to the standards of democracy. Any issues with this Agreement may be brought forward to the Provisional Court of Kalquen for review” finished Wei, the scribe placing his pen to the side of the document.

Wei stood, beckoning Xi to follow his lead. The General walked to the document, the two sheets of fine paper laid out before him. Wei took the scribe’s pen in his hand, placing the pen to the small space beneath the final lines of the second page. With a flourish, a mixture of swirls in two different scripts was written a pattern. Wei offered the pen to Xi, the young man now standing awkwardly at Wei’s side.

“It’s a signature. My father taught me how to perfect mine, I don’t know if you’ve been granted such an opportunity” said Wei, placing the pen in Xi’s hand.

Xi moved towards the document, shakily moving his hand to a spot beside Wei’s signature. The young man held the pen above the paper, perhaps in confusion. Wei smiled, patting Xi on his shoulder.

“Just sign something that makes you yourself. The empire would not have us be so individual, but times have changed. Our world has opened up before us, my brother” encouraged Wei, his voice seeming to stop Xi’s nerves.

Xi smiled, as with a flourish of the pen, now on the page was a small symbol, large looping swirls in the rough shape of a bird. Wei looked upon it proudly, imagining the sparrow.

A sparrow, high above the earth, free from shackles and tyranny. Hiding in homes, trees and barns. Unable to be removed, simply a being who wishes to live a proper and free life.

With Koshen and Kalquen now united, two sparrows fly as one.

Powerful, Strong, Free.

Resources
EXPANSION WEEK POST
6:36 AM February 25, NL 15
Lord Commanders Office, Ahlen

Lord Commander Thomas Becker stared at the report, almost unblinking, in deep thought. Funds, manpower, and most importantly food was all lacking. The expansion of the Teicherian Knights for the purpose of retaking Nhasa was going well, however was constantly hindered by supply issues. The Knights have always been a small but elite force, a sudden need for their expansion would unsurprisingly cause massive supply issues.

What they needed most critically was food however, food to feed the new troops. He looked over to one of the rooms Knights tasked with his protection before speaking, “Get me Anderson.”

The Knight nodded before walking out, and returning several minutes later with Chief Lieutenant Charles Anderson, who bowed slightly, “Sir, you called?’

Becker nodded, “I need your opinion on something.”

Charles walked over, “Of course, sir.”

“I’m sure you're aware of our supply issues.”

“Yes, sir I’m reminded of it every day as I stare at the hungry looks of my soldiers.”

Becker pushed the report to Anderson before speaking, “The way I see it we have three options, one we cut back the size of our plans and hope others will be willing to cooperate. Two, we just push through it, and hope most don’t die on the way. Or three, we seize the farmlands to the south. Offer the people their protection, in return we’ll get a portion of their crop yearly. I’m also aware they have some stored from the last crop, which will solve our short and long term food problems, in exchange for upsetting our longstanding tradition. Our troops haven’t left the glorious city of Ahlen in centuries, much less controlled more territory.”

Anderson nodded before speaking, “I understand where you’re coming from, however to me the answer seems obvious.”

Becker raised an eyebrow, “Pray tell.”

Anderson continued, “The third option. Perhaps I’m not as traditional as some, but these are untraditional times. We are for all intents and purposes Emperorless, the Capital is under enemy control, hell, for all we know the foreign devils have been waiting for this moment.”

Becker put his head in his hands, almost as if he was trying to just hide from the truth. Finally after several minutes he raised his head, “Give the order to the Knights to march south… and take the providence. Have Lieutenant Bastion head the operation, I know he’s close with Governor Bo. Preferably there won’t be any fighting and they’ll willingly submit for the time being, have him inform Bo this situation is temporary, and he will remain in control of all civil authorities and decisions in the area. We simply require food, and their meager defense forces couldn’t hope to stand against anybody. Make it seem like a win-win.”

Anderson nodded, “I’ll forward the orders, sir.”
__________________________________________________

1:33 PM February 28 NL 15
New Siegan, Capital of the Providence of Recril

Lieutenant Bastion marched in front of his thousands of troops as light rain hit against them. The defense forces of Recril not daring to stop them, Bastion imagined that was Bo’s doing.

Finally he arrived at the Governor’s House, which was by no means grand and looked just a bit bigger than most houses in what is essentially the sole actual city in a sea of farmland. Before he could even walk to the door, the two Recrilian Guards opened the door for him, and ushered him inside. Bastion followed them, until they were in front of the Governor's office, he grabbed the door and pushed it open, where he saw Bo sitting there, when he saw Bastion he sat back slightly before speaking, “I imagine I know what this is about, so what do you offer.”

Bastion laughed slightly, “Right to the point, direct as ever. We offer one thing, protection.”

Bo looked at him suspiciously, “Thats what the Guardsmen and Police Forces are for.”

Bastion nodded, “Sure they could stop some criminals or something, but traitorous armies or even worse foreign devils? Certainly not.”

Bo stared at him, “And I imagine I have no real say in this, either I say yes and submit, or I die as do all my troops who dare to oppose the Lord Commander.”

Bastion’s friendly demeanor shifted to that of an apologetic one, “I’m sorry Bo. We promise that should you handle this peacefully we’ll make the deal as easy on you as possible, you’ll keep your power for all intents and purposes over the province, still managing the civil authorities. However we will take control of the Guardsmen and a portion of your yearly crop.”

Bo rubbed his hand over his scalp before relenting, “Fine, but I want assurances that as soon as this crisis is over, you Knights return to your city.”

Bastion smiled, “Of course, you have mine and the Lord Commander's word.”

Bo sighed, “Good then, I’ll go inform my people of this development”

Bastion nodded, “And I’ll inform the Lord Commander of this. You’ve made a great decision today Bo, and saved the lives of likely thousands in the process.”

Bo nodded, “Sure.”
______________________________________________

7:48 AM February 29 NL 15
Near the border between Teicher and Recril

A loud scream was heard from the Lieutenants tent. Teicherian Knights quickly rushed in, where there they saw, in a pool of his own blood, Lieutenant Bastion. Killed by something in his sleep. Chief Sergeant Rick took over command effective immediately, the scene was particularly grizzly. With most thinking an animal somehow managed to sneak in and kill the Lieutenant.

To the Future
Chasewater, Democratic Republic of Temris
June 19, New Life 15

(Expansion Week Post)

It had been two months since Ambassador Jean-Noël Féret of the Morsainian Empire stepped foot in the small democratic republic. Temris was, by his estimation, nothing more than a backwater of fishermen in the south and outlaws in the north. Somewhere in between lay the so-called ‘civilized’ individuals who formed the top of its social hierarchy. That is to say even the politicians and businessmen, often one in the same, were either crooks, fishermen, or some fraction of each. Many claimed descent from exiles who once lived in lands now administered by Great Tarst. Migrants forced north centuries earlier.

And for some reason they were proud of this heritage. Chief among them, their own Lord-Lieutenant Dean Higgins.

The man sat across from Mr. Féret, his blue eyes dimmed beneath hair white as Celestial Porcelain. His knobby hands, worn through years of toil as, Mr. Féret sighed, a fisherman, were folded neatly upon the desk. Underneath them sat the newly inaugurated “Coal and Steel Concordat.” Each man now possessed a copy of this simple, yet meticulously negotiated trade agreement.

Mr. Féret leaned forward, his eyes narrowed beneath his black top hat. “What is the matter, monsieur? There is no life, no excitement now that you have signed the document.”

Lord-Lieutenant Higgins shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes falling to the concordat. Clearing his throat, he said: “Negotiating with a foreign government has always been the privilege of His Exalted Majesty’s government. Yet with no such government in play, it has fallen to the individual provinces to… oversee their own protection, prosperity.” Higgins shifted his gaze again, something between a smile and a worried frown plucked at the corners of his mouth. “Dare I say future.”

Mr. Féret nodded his head. “These are troubling times for the Celestial Empire. My government looks on in earnest to see stability restored.” Digging his fat fingers into a nearby bowl of nuts, Mr. Féret withdrew a couple of peanuts. “We do not wish to see endless war overtake this unique empire.” The peanuts’ shells caved under Mr. Féret’s thumbs. “It would be bad for business,” he said as a satisfied smile crept its way across his lips.

Shoveling the peanuts into his mouth, Mr. Féret stood to offer the Lord-Lieutenant his hand. “A congratulations are in order, Lord-Lieutenant. You are the first province to negotiate a mutually beneficial deal with a foreign government.” Mr. Féret licked his lips, the salt tantalizing on his moist tongue. Smiling through crooked teeth, he inclined his head toward the Temrisian as the man stood to shake his hand. “If you weren’t a traitor before, you are now.”

“I prefer to be called a ‘diplomat’ or ‘pioneer.’” Lord-Lieutenant Higgins added hastily as he withdrew his hand. Shoving it in his pocket, he glanced over Mr. Féret’s shoulder toward the door. “Will you be remaining in Temris long?”

Mr. Féret shook his head. “I’m departing for Martillon within the hour.” Mr. Féret tapped the top of Higgins’ desk. “I must go ahead of your small republic’s ambitions to prepare.”

“Of course,” Higgins said, ignoring the slight at Temris’ size. “I look forward to working with you.”

Mr. Féret’s crooked smile grew. “And I you.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Loch Stone, Democratic Republic of Temris
June 19 New Life 15

Isaac Murphy crinkled his nose in amused delight as the first hammer strike drove the golden railroad spike through the ties that would one day link Loch Stone to the Morsainian city of Martillon. While Colin MacDarcy’s Chasewater and Turges Railway drove Temris’ industries into the heart of the Celestial Empire, Isaac Murphy pioneered his Western Highlands Railroad into the border regions and, one day, beyond.

It was no secret that the Morsainians possessed immense wealth brought to them by their overseas territories. Regions and riches that the industrious Temrisians sought to tap into. Who better, Isaac thought as the final hammer blow echoed over the anticipating crowd, to lead the charge than Mr. Murphy himself? Who better to bring these riches and glories over land by steam and rail?

Smirking, Isaac Murphy withdrew into the temporary pavilion set up on the edge of town where the first rails of the new line were being laid. The construction was premature. Afterall, he’d begun to lay the foundations a week prior even though he knew the concordat had not yet been signed. To his delight, word had reached him of a firm agreement only hours before the ceremony. It was as perfect as it was auspicious.

Concealed within the pavilion were members of his board of trustees and the elite of Loch Stone. “Mr. Murphy,” said Mayor O’Hara, his bald head like its own miniature sun even in the shade of the tent, “your company’s presence caused quite a stir at first. We are a quiet town that once belonged to an unassuming province. Now,” the mayor brushed his nose with his thumb, sniffing instinctively as he pulled on his lapels, “we are proud citizens of Temris.”

Isaac nodded. “Quite so, Mr. O’Hara.” Grabbing two glasses from a passing waiter, Isaac handed one to the mayor as he raised the other. “To prosperity and, dare I say, independence.”

The mayor’s eyebrows twitched, but he raised his glass nonetheless. “Yes. To prosperity.” While O’Hara downed his drink, Isaac scanned the room for anyone else to speak to.

“Excuse me,” he said, circumventing the mayor after he’d spotted someone more agreeable. Crossing the room, Isaac could feel the elated yet tentative stares of his trustees and subordinates. This venture was a risky gamble on the part of himself and the Lord-Lieutenant, but one he’d promised them would pay off. Big.

“Mr. Mainey,” Isaac said once he’d reached the man he’d spotted. Mr. Mainey turned, his charmed features glowing with delight as he met Isaac’s square face. “I am truly delighted you could make it.”

Mr. Mainey took a sip from his own glass. His was a red concoction that smelled of roses while Isaac had simple rice wine shipped from the western provinces. Lowering his glass, Mr. Mainey grinned broadly. “I wouldn’t miss this show for the world. What we are witnessing, my good man, is the beginning of a new era not only for Temris, but for the Celestial Empire.”

“A new era indeed.” Isaac’s attention snapped to a third man who had suddenly appeared from behind Mr. Mainey.

“Captain Moynihan,” Isaac said, extending his hand toward the old soldier. “I heard you led the charge down here.”

The captain pursed his lips as he shook Isaac’s hand. “Charge is hardly the right word for it. My men and I walked leisurely through the fields of this backwater province. Heard a fleet of fishing vessels had blocked the port while we took a walk.”

“Those rumors would be true. Mostly. Mr. Mainey’s own RMS Lucrezia also took part.” Isaac gestured to the taller man, his drink once more withdrawing from his lips.

Mr. Mainey grinned from ear to ear. His rosy cheeks matched the color of his drink, and as he put his arm around Isaac he called for yet another glass of Morsainian Gennellac Wine. “Get this lads,” he said, “we placed a number of guns upon her deck and aimed them at Tippedare. While we waited for word that Captain Moynihan’s troops had surrounded the city we offered free drinks to the poor saps in the fishing rigs nearby. By the time our flag was waving over the city, we were all piss drunk!”

Mr. Mainey took a large gulp from his new glass. Isaac shifted uncomfortably as the increasingly inebriated owner of the South Temrisian Company leaned into him. “And get this,” Mr. Mainey continued, “because that isn’t even the best part, lads.” He peered over his shoulder at a group of Loch Stonians who were conversing quietly to themselves. “We didn’t even have any ammo aboard. All of us lads were sitting ducks out on the water.”

Captain Moynihan’s expression darkened. “You mean to tell me,” he said, balling his rising fist, “that my men were counting on back up from unarmed drunks?”

Poking Captain Moynihan’s nose, Mr. Mainey’s wine-ridden grin only broadened. “Yes, sir.”

The captain raised his hand to strike. Isaac, thinking quickly, grabbed his fist and forced it beneath his waist. “It has been a pleasure, Captain. Be sure to thank the boys for their service to the republic and its future. Temris owes them a great deal for providing us a border with Morsainia.” As the captain sneered, Isaac hastily ushered Mr. Mainey to another table.

“A thank you would be proper,” Mr. Mainey said once he’d been seated. “Momma didn’t raise a street rat.”

Cocking an eyebrow in vain expectation, Isaac waited for a moment while Mr. Mainey narrowed his eyes. After a severe hiccup and a small burp, Mr. Mainey faceplanted without ceremony upon the white tablecloth. Glancing embarrassingly over his shoulder, Isaac nudged Mr. Mainey’s drink closer to his mouth before hastening away to meet with members of his board of trustees.

As he rode to the hotel where he’d boarded for this historic trip, Isaac couldn’t help but to imagine the future he’d helped create. Eventually the small town of Loch Stone, with its unpaved roads and unpleasant characters, would be transformed into the central hub of trade between Morsainia and Temris. The Lord-Lieutenant, with some persuasion, had made a choice that would benefit the republic and safeguard her for generations.

Expansion Post
"Land of the Sapphire"

Governor Kustaf swallowed as the locomotive pulled into the station. Pillars of smoke rose in the distance, the result of weeks of incessant fighting between the Empire's garrison and rebels- the farms and towns and the vast forests of Kaishan burned even now, the stench of charred wood hanging heavy over the train station. Though it wasn't called Kaishan- it was called Caduth, and populated mostly by foreigners with a different culture altogether.

The situation was dire, worse than the unrest he had heard of in Erhani. Public works had ground to a halt and the pagoda of the train station had been torn off and replaced with an ill-fitting Morsainian mansard roof that seemed to have been glued on.

The train door opened, and two Erhani Rephiks in their black, navy and gold robes stepped out, holding on to their hats in the snapping wind of the Caduthi countryside. They stepped into the cover of the train station, and snapped to attention.
"Governor Kavel Yuei of Erhani," a herald marched out of the passenger car next, with a scroll in hand. "And his excellent entourage."

Kustaf had not seen Yuei for some time. The last time they spoke, it was at a conference in Nhasa, some ten years ago, and both men had looked much different then.
Yuei was not the man he remembered. In the decade since their last meeting, the man had shrunk by some inches, and his eyes seemed to have receded into his skull, though they retained their unusual violet brightness; he now walked with a cane, and the distinct arthritic motions of the elderly despite him just being over forty years of age. They had been the same height during that meeting in Nhasa, but now Kustaf loomed over his counterpart by several inches and Yuei seemed four decades older.

"Kustaf," the Erhani governor nodded. "A pleasure to see you again." His entourage bowed as Yuei drew closer.

"Kavel." Kustaf shook the man's hand, as the two continued through the train station, whose interior was covered in tarps and dotted with construction tools. Sandbags were piled up against the windows in conspicuous defensive positions. They did not speak until they stepped into a waiting car and slid the privacy screen shut, separating them from the driver in the front.

"So Caduth is in a state of revolt, from what I gather," Yuei began on a long speech. "Two of five major cities are under rebel control, the countryside has become a hazard for all government convoys and I see your exports of crude iron and gold have dropped sixty-eight percent in the last month."

"Yes." Kustaf nodded sagely as the car bumped and rolled over the unpaved road towards the nearby city of Kajin. "I had these details transmitted to Punakhsa, yes. All of that is true. And have you any idea of how much this affair's cost us? One and a half million sols a week."

"No doubt." Yuei winced as the car went over a rut in the road, sending sharp jolts of pain up through his spine. "I assume that is why you telegrammed me your... proposal. You believe our two provinces would be better off under one administration?"

"Hm, somewhat," Kustaf replied. "My main interest is seeing that the Empire, in the wake of Admiral Gong's coup, stays able to defend itself from that... blustering, bloated old man and his soldiers. If we merged our two provinces..."

"Then our shared resources would be enough to accelerate military modernization by upwards of two hundred percent."

They passed under the gates of Kajin, a structure that once stood as the pinnacle of old Erhani engineering. Now, however, the stone wall was speckled with lichen, worn with time, and the wooden gatehouse mounted atop rotted away into a sad, slouching mess- weeds had begun to grow from the crevices in the wall-stones and the gates were splashed with rust and layers of shoddily-applied paint. The city which it guarded was no better- new telephone lines hung over squat, dilapidated houses. The feeble attempt the governor had made at paving the roads lay in ruins, massive piles of flagstones piled up along the side of the street in beds of weeds.

Yuei glanced at the ramshackle buildings. So this was the Caduthi capital- a slum, something that made Punakhsa look as modern as the gleaming cities of Alstin across the sea. The buildings lining the main avenue to the governor's palace had been painted in bright colours to give off an air of gaiety, but most of them, he noted, stood empty with windows completely caked in filth. Beyond that- the furtive scurrying of the city's denizens beyond the sights of red-capped constables, just as red-faced as their hats in the winter cold.

They drove past a body lying on the sidewalk. It was covered in a blanket of snow and only its shoes were visible, scuffed old things that peeled away to reveal shrunken grey feet. It was as if nobody had even bothered to remove the corpse- not even the constable who stood in the doorway of a shop a few paces away, reading a book.

Then they passed a guillotine, which presently stood empty, but had evidently been in use recently, with the smears of blood splashed across its front and the execution platform.

Contrasted to the bustling scene of Punakhsa- the only activity Yuei ever saw on the drive to the governor's mansion was a trio of Caduthis, hunched over a battered pot cooking something with the sickly flames offered by the newspaper fragments they stuffed into the stove beneath.

The Caduthis called it the White Fortress, because it was painted white and was in practice a fortress. The governor's palace loomed over the dilapidated buildings outside, walled off by a tall iron fence and a pair of thick-set steel gates, manned by two watchtowers and a long driveway up to the house on the hill- prime estate for defensive positions. A pair of soldiers wearing faded grey uniforms hastily pulled the gates open as the convoy approached, then slammed them shut the second the last car passed through.

As Yuei stepped out, he noticed that most of the soldiers carried antique rifles. Models taken from Reichskrieger soldiers in the last great invasion, lever-actions and muzzle-loaders. Some did not bear firearms, instead carrying swords and cudgels.

"Governor on deck!" Kustaf's household staff bowed and curtsied as the two men made their way inside.
Gods, what a miserable bunch.

Though getting on in age, the manor still held a certain shine to it, Yuei thought as they proceeded through the hallways. The building was styled after Morsainian chateaus, a trend which had been all the rage several decades ago. The paint on the walls was flaking, yes, but the building's situation was not as dire as those in Kajin's streets. The two guards walking in front of them stepped aside, and stopped at a double-door flanked by two vases of tacky flowers.

"Governors Kustaf Lethe... and Kavel Yuei!" They swung open the doors to a conference hall, overlooking the manor grounds. A half dozen officials stood hunched over the table, muttering, then snapped to attention when the two governors stepped inside.

"We have all agreed to this proposal," Kustaf motioned to the table. "Your signature."

Yuei was handed a pen and ink pot, and he took a seat.
"Before I sign," he said. "You consent to the stationing of Erhani troops in Caduth to quell the pending unrest, yes?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Yuei put his name to paper with a flick of the wrist, and passed the form over. Henceforth, Erhani would add the northern province of Caduth- or as the rebels called it, Kaishan- to its territory.

"Land of the Sapphire" [2]
1. Providence

All was quiet in the Caduthi countryside. The road leading out of Zanadu was barely a road, as Lieutenant Rudiek Kelz would call it. It was a beaten dirt path just wide enough for a single-file procession of trucks to fit, and whenever they encountered traffic coming in the other direction one party would have to park in the weeds and brambles off the road to let them pass. There wouldn't be another place with a gas station for quite some time.

They suddenly slowed and stopped entirely, and the Erhani Army major seated beside the driver in the cabin swore, before opening the door and barking at the soldiers seated in the rear to disembark.

In front of them was a burnt truck bearing the sigil of the Caduthi army. Judging by the settled remains the attack on it had taken place some weeks ago, nothing recent.
"Roadblock." The major drew his sword and his pistol, pointing it around. "Take up positions around the truck! Try to clear the blockage with explosives. The trucks behind them slowed to a stop and their crews hopped off, moving to guard the convoy.

All was quiet as the sapper came forward and put a breaching charge on the burnt-out truck. They backed the convoy up some paces. At this point, Rudiek had retreated to the rear of the convoy to relay the information to the drivers of the supply vans, that there was a blockage.

The sapper pressed the trigger on the charge.

The next thing Rudiek knew there was a deafening howl and a shockwave that blew his cap off his head. The sapper had inadvertently detonated a large bundle of explosives hidden in the burnt-out truck, and the resulting explosion seemed to have engulfed the entire vanguard. Limbs and debris began to shower the convoy, when the soldier beside him fell with a gasp.

The woods came alive with the sound of gunshots.
"Ambush!" a captain barked, sprinting for a rifle, before being felled halfway by the crack of a bullet passing through his skull. The survivors of the initial attack reformed and returned a salvo of rifle fire, taking cover behind their vehicles. There were no shots returned. But the moment the soldiers began to disperse and assess their losses another group were felled by well-placed shots.

All the shots had come from the right side, and thus under continuous rifle fire this time Rudiek and a group of soldiers took cover behind the loamy berm to the left of the road. There was no chance of mounting a quick escape, he thought. The drivers of the trucks had mostly been killed in the first volley.

Another captain motioned for two of their number to run to the rear-guard and order a withdrawal under the cover of the berm. The sun was beginning to set, and by no account did the Erhani soldiers want to stay out past sundown in a country infinitely more familiar to the insurgents that now harried them at every turn.

The distant thud of an explosion made them turn their heads towards the middle of the convoy, four trucks down. A small plume of smoke rose into the air, the result of a bundle of grenades thrown from a concealed hiding-place.
"Order them to stay where they are!" someone shouted, but further down the line a whistle sounded and an officer led his men in a charge at what they thought were rebel positions. They disappeared into the tall grass, and gunshots rang out from where they had gone followed by the sound of shouts. Abruptly, within ten seconds, everything had gone silent again.

A Rephik fired one shot through his rifle, and in the distance something fell a great distance with a great thump.
"They're in the trees," he hissed. "Keep low and watch where the muzzle-flashes come from." He made a mad dash for the next truck over, chased by a flurry of shots from the boughs of a large maple tree. The soldiers returned fire, and this time they heard shouts in the distance.

Some distant flashes appeared at ground-level, shooters concealed in the foliage, and another man fell unmoving beside Rudiek.

A rustling sound made him look up, and a man fell out of the branches above them.
"Kemulihan baghi Alhrits," he hissed. It was then that Rudiek realized the man was wearing a vest of grenades.

"Down!" He screamed, diving back over the berm, as an explosion violently propelled him forward. He landed face-down on a mat of dry grass, a searing pain in his back. It was unknown how badly he had been cut, but he could still move. He scrambled through the bushes, but the world spun around him and he fell face-up into the grass again.

-

When he next woke it was to the sound of voices, speaking in a foreign language. Flashlights glared through the bush some paces away from him.

"Tidak adasin," one of them said. "Kambhal ka kapten dan beritak dia temukan kida."
"Aku besumpha aku meli-hat sezatu.."

The speakers came into view, three men. One with a flashlight, and the other with what appeared to be a shotgun. The third loitered in the back with some sort of container and a burning torch.

He recognized the language as Erhani. They were talking very quickly and didn't seem to have noticed him.
"Di zana, Di zana!" One of them shouted. The second raised his shotgun and fired to Rudiek's right, the sound echoing through the grassland like a thunderclap.

"...Alame palzu." They turned away, and headed back towards the direction of the road, where there was a dim orange glow. "Kita hazus kembhal sekharan."

They left him alone, and unnoticed; he did not doubt for a moment that he would have been shot had they seen him.
He only moved under the cover of dark then, scurrying through the shoulder-high grass stooped low and flattening himself whenever there was a sound. By the time he had reached the road, taking a route of twists and turns through the dense undergrowth, it was already dawn, and the sun was starting to rise from the horizon. A few odd corpses dotted the path, along with bullet-ridden trucks. However, the vast majority of the vehicles and men in that eight-hundred-strong convoy seemed to have escaped or disappeared entirely.

It was a three-league walk back to the nearest army garrison, a pathetic little telegraph station he had passed on the way to Kajin. It was noon when the telegraph station came into view, a squat ugly building put together from bricks and timber.

His legs screamed with pain, and blood from the wounds on his back had soaked through his khaki shirt, dried and stuck it to his skin- he pressed forward, ignoring the blood squished between his toes in his boots and the buzz of flies around him. The door opened at the sight of him, and a short Caduthi soldier in a ragtag grey uniform stared at him, gaping.

"There's been an ambush!" He tried to explain as well as he could, recounting the attack he had endured. "Help me, please! I need to get back to my garrison at Kajin!"

The soldier nodded, and shuffled off to the medical bay, barking at its occupants to fetch medical supplies and a fresh change of clothes.
Rudiek was told, as a medic wiped clean the wounds on his back with a sterile cloth and alcohol, that he was fifty kilometres from the next military outpost, a weather station called Gadui Hill. They would arrange a man from Gadui Hill to pick him up and take him there where he would then be ferried by barge to some port outside Kajin, where finally then would an officer from his unit receive him and aid him in returning to his company.

-

Mansurovhar, Erhani

The two constables sighed and shared a lit matchstick, lighting their cigarettes. It was sometime in the early morning and the fire was the only thing that offered them warmth in the mountain cold.

They had heard no word from Punakhsa, but had instead been sent to make sure no one broke into the lake and tried anything funny with the shrine to Alhritsa on Bugonh Island at its centre. Oddly enough, several earthquakes had roused them from their sleep in the past few days and one morning they had woken to the sight of smoke billowing from the island. Fearing an arsonist or some Alhritsan lunatic, they had hurriedly taken the motorboat over, only to find several holes in the ground emanating a terrible sulphuric stench. They merely brushed the matter off as a hot spring forming. After all, this area was filled with them.

By now they had become entirely accustomed to the earthquakes. It had become a habit of theirs to bet on when the next one would hit.

Unbeknownst to them, in Lake Mansurovhar, its two largest islands, Bugonh and Kafi, began to tremble under a great force from below.

A deafening rumble shook the shed in which they had set up their post, so violently that the two constables scrambled outside. A terrible plume of ash rose from Bugonh Island, another from Kafi Island. The two constables gaped and stumbled back, as sprays of incandescent magma bloomed from the twin island peaks.

They hadn't prayed to Alhritsa ever, merely heard of the prayer incantations and the prophecy surrounding her return, that Mansurovhar would erupt in fire once again.

And for the first time in their lives, the two constables hurriedly got to their knees and prostrated themselves, stumbling through the prayers in Erhani, trembling violently in fear.

The Lying Soldier Tavern - Luggate Town - Maplewood District

The door opened to the tavern and a figure wearing tattered garments, blue jeans and a sarape entered. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the rain and thunder. He limped over to a dark corner and took a seat. The tavern was mostly empty save for a pair of government soldiers at the bar. The man ordered a singular beer and waited, nervously tapping his foot. A horse clopped along the cobbled walkways. Its rider dismounting and tying the horse to the post. He knew no one would try to steal it.

The rider entered the tavern as lightning flashed overhead. He eyed the two soldiers in the corner before scanning the room. The bartender looked at the newcomer, while polishing a glass “Close the door will you lad? It's bloody cold outside.” He looked at the bartender and was about to reach for his pistol but decided against it. He looked at the two soldiers one more time before closing the door and heading to the table.

The man who had arrived earlier stood and shook hands with him. “Richard, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Ian, some for you.” The pair sat down as Ian looked around nervously. “Their base is nearly completed.” Richard called the waitress over and ordered some coffee. “Pardon?” He said. “The new army base is nearly completed. I think it's already in operation as well, I’ve seen several trucks and jeeps leaving the base.” Richard looked at the two soldiers once more. “How is that possible? The only thing that the central government can build quickly are monuments of themselves. How did they build a fully operational Corps command in two months?” The door opened again and more soldiers entered laughing and talking. The two men leant back in their seats and scratched their heads. “I think it is best if I show you it myself.” Ian said as he stood up and grabbed his hat.

Richard sighed and stood up to join him. “Are you sure it is safe?”

Ian nodded, “I herd my cattle past them all the time, the guards aren’t bothered and rarely stop me, I’ll just say you are helping me with my cattle if they ask.” Richard grabbed Ian’s wrist, “I would like to remind you that you are an informant to The Rebellion-”

“If you dare try anything I will cry ‘Rebellion’.” Ian said

“And what, be tortured for being next to one?” Ian smiled and shook his head, “Oh Richard, you know better than anyone that this is no regular government mission, I mean, the new base, the soldier’s hesitation to kill civilians, allegedly on strict orders from higher ups, there are also rumours floating around that it might even by army-led, instead of taking orders from the government.”

“Is everything alright?” A gruff voice said. Richard let go of Ian and turned to face the towering, burly soldier that was behind them. “Yes sir, everything is fine.” Said Ian as he grabbed his hat that had fallen, and left the tavern.

Outside the skies had opened further, soaking both men as they stepped out. Richard mounted his horse and Ian brought out his donkey. Richard sighed as he realised he could spend the next few hours in the rain.

The next few hours were indeed spent in the rain and Richard didn’t even notice when they passed the walls of the new base. “Here we are Rich.” Said Ian. Richard was snapped out of his trance and looked at the base. Its grey walls wrapped around everything inside, concealing the activities inside. A large iron gate was the only entrance and sentries patrolled the walls and surrounding area. The surrounding area itself was barren, only having a few patches of grass and the random bush here and there. Ian had rights to most of the land here but only a small amount of it was used for his cows. The rest was infertile.

Ian turned off the track and Richard quickly followed. His hand went closer to his pistol holster as he watched a soldier on his horse returning from a patrol. The soldier ignored them and headed directly to the iron gate. Which opened and shut as fast as Richard could blink. Ian jumped from his horse and opened a gate and headed towards a herd of cows. Ian and Richard rode around the cows as Ian masterfully guided them to the gate and out onto the road.

As they rode back down the road again, this time following the road back to the army base. As they joined back onto the main road Richard turned to inspect the base again. Now the back portion was exposed Richard could still see the final sections of the walls were being completed. He heard the sound of motorised vehicles approaching and turned to round up some cows which had been startled by the sudden noise.

The motorcade turned into the army base. Richard watched as a jeep flying the flags of Kushmire, as well as Army Command, turned into the base. Since the pair had gone off the road, more soldiers had come out wearing beige raincoats and carrying rifles. Richard put his horse into the gallop and rejoined Ian. “Did you see the motorcade that arrived?” Without looking back Ian nodded, “Yes I did, once of the cars had the flag of the Kushmire High Commander on it.”

“High Commander?” Richard asked, “No, I saw the Army Command flag.” Ian smiled and shook his head, “Easy command to make, note the added anchor above the wreath intersected with rope, High Command is here.” High Command is the highest office in the Kushmire Armed Forces. It holds the High Commander and his team of twelve other high-ranking officers, who are the official advisors and leaders of the armed forces.

Richard looked back as the gate slammed shut. Its resounding slam resonating throughout the valley. “We were under the assumption that this was a small army-led operation.” Richard looked back again, “Why does the High Commander have to be here for a small army operation?”

“Could he be christening the base?” Ian said

“Then why bring a large escort?” Richard shook his head, “No, I think he is staying for a bit longer than we might like.”

Ian looked at Richard as they approached the new paddock for the cows. “And that is a problem because?”

“Something big is coming.” Richard said. Ian nodded, “Yes, I believe your little attack on their minister wasn’t as well received as you hoped it would have been, as I believe they don’t send High Commanders for little razing missions. Oh no, they send High Commanders to take down rebellions.” Ian watched as a Kushmiran flag was raised high over the flag post.

Fleeing the Coup
Borders of Kidai Prefecture, 14th March NL15

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the dense rainforest of Kidai as the regional Prefect, Zhe Noufu, rode his horse along the winding path accompanied by his meagre escort. The humid air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and blooming flowers. Kidai, a land of abundant rainforests, rich in timber and fertile soil was not Zhe's preferred posting, it is a humble region, recently harassed by bandits seeking their fortunes raiding its exports of lumber and foodstuffs. Zhe had been assigned the Prefecture by the recently murdered Emperor and now returned to the Prefecture, fleeing the chaos of the coup attempt at the Imperial Diet at the capital. Zhe Noufu was a man of modest stature, with a perpetually anxious expression that betrayed his lack of confidence. His eyes darted nervously as he rode, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, he was acutely aware of his status as a foreigner to the natives of Kidai, a fact that only added to his unease, the locals viewed him as a cowardly man, sent to this remote province to be forgotten.

Zhe approached the local military garrison alongside his small escort, where he was greeted by the garrison captain, a stout man with a stern face that implied he maintained strict discipline amongst his men. The captain stood at attention with his men, their expressions a mix of curiosity and scepticism as Zhe approached;

"Welcome, Prefect Zhe," the captain said, bowing deeply. "We are honoured by your presence."

Zhe Noufu dismounted and returned the bow, trying to hide his discomfort. "Thank you, Captain. How are the troops faring?"

"We maintain our readiness, sir, but there have been increasing reports of bandit activity in the northern forests. They are becoming bolder and more organized," the captain reported a hint of concern in his voice.

Zhe Noufu nodded, trying to maintain an air of authority. "We will address this matter in due time, other matters have priority, I must reach Phosong as soon as possible, and I require a greater escort... to ensure my safety."

Sometime later

As the soldiers rode in silence, their eyes scanning the surrounding jungle for any signs of danger, Zhe Noufu felt a growing sense of dread. The dense canopy above blocked out much of the sunlight, casting the forest floor in a perpetual twilight. Strange sounds echoed through the trees, the calls of unseen animals and the rustle of leaves creating an eerie atmosphere. The journey through the rainforest was arduous, the dense foliage and uneven terrain making progress slow. The path was narrow, often little more than a trail worn by the passage of animals and the occasional traveller. After several hours of riding, the forest began to thin, and they emerged onto a hill overlooking the city of Phosong, the city sprawled along the coastline, with ships docked at its busy port and merchants bustling about, loading and unloading goods. Timber and agricultural products from the surrounding townships were piled high, ready to be shipped to other parts of the empire. A broad river flowed through the heart of the city, its waters shimmering in the afternoon sun. Numerous bridges spanned the river, connecting various parts of the city and small craft and larger trading vessels navigated the waterway, adding to the busy nature of the city and port.

As they descended the hill and entered the city, the townspeople stopped to stare at the new prefect and his escort. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to open disdain, Noufu could feel their eyes on him, judging him, and his anxiety grew. At the centre of the city stood the administrative building, a sturdy structure made of local timber, its design both functional and imposing. The group made their way towards this structure, where a group of local officials awaited them, the magistrates bowed as the Prefect approached them.

"Welcome to Phosong, Prefect Zhe, we are honoured by your presence."

Zhe Noufu returned the bow, his voice unsteady. "Thank you, Magistrate. a situation has occurred in the capital, I will retire to my office, please summon the General of the Prefectural Garrison."

After the magistrates acknowledged his order, Zhe retired to his office, a spacious room with a large wooden desk and shelves filled with documents. The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders as he took his seat; the Emperor dead, a coup attempt by the Admiral, and a burgeoning coalition to depose the coup government. Slowly, Zhe began to settle into his seat when there was suddenly a rapping against the office door and De Renmen, the General of the Kidai Prefectural Garrison, entered the room. He was a tall man with a broad build, his face weathered by years of military service. Despite his imposing demeanour, his eyes carried a spark of intelligence and caution.

"General De Renmen," Zhe Noufu greeted him with a formal bow. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

The general returned the bow, his expression respectful but curious. "Prefect Zhe, it is an honour to meet you. How can I be of service?"

Zhe motioned for De Renmen to sit. "General, we are facing a dire situation. Admiral Gong has launched a coup against the Emperor, which has likely thrown the capital into chaos, no doubt his forces are extending their influence into the provinces. We must act swiftly to secure Kidai and counter any movements by the admiral's supporters."

After overcoming a brief moment of shock the general leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "We will need to bolster the garrison and secure key locations, particularly the port and bridges, as they are vital to our supply lines and communication. I will begin mobilizing additional troops and fortifying our positions."

"Thank you, General," Zhe said, feeling a small measure of relief. "Your experience and leadership are invaluable in this crisis. Together, we will protect Kidai and uphold the emperor's legacy. Furthermore, ready troops for an attack against the Admirals forces, the surviving members of the Imperial Diet are forming a coalition to depose the Admiral and restore order to the Empire in preparation for the new Emperor"

De Renmen stood, his resolve clear. "I will see to it immediately, Prefect. We will be ready for whatever comes."

As the general departed to execute the plans, Zhe Noufu stood alone in his office, looking out a window, the weight of his new responsibilities pressing down on him. As the flickering lights of Phosong's lanterns reflected in the river outside, he thought about how this could symbolise the tenuous balance between stability and chaos. The Empire and his Prefecture stood on a precipice, and any wrong move could send it all tumbling down.

Two Pillars of Light (collab with Hoydland)

Sehan Teahouse, Koshen, State of Kalquen, Celestial Empire

May, 1910

The late spring air washed over the last empty plains of Northern Koshen, blowing the smoke of the Rebellion down south from the Koshenian Capital, several kilometres away. In this calm windy moor, cradled by foothills, sat a lonely Hamlet. A small collection of buildings constructed around a central dirt path.

On the northern end of the buildings sat a humble teahouse, a small creek running down beside its smooth walls. The building had an aura of individuality, compared to the dark homes of the village.

Within the finely masoned walls of the teahouse, lights flickered, turning the cozy interior a warm orange. Beneath the glow of lamplight and hearth sat General Wei Lanceson, his crisp black suit tailored to a perfect fit.

The General looked up from the long table which had been set up in the centre of the teahouse, small rows of chairs laid out for his awaited guests. The general's scribe sat adjacent, sipping hot tea from his cup. The room remained quiet for some time, as the early morning sun began to lazily shine above the horizon.

Wei talked casually with several of the other Kalquenan officials sitting near the table, smiling and ensuring that each man had spoken his mind.

Just as the General reached for the pot of tea before him to refill his scribe's cup, a young boy ran to the door of the teahouse.

The young boy staggered to catch his breath, propping himself up beside the varnished wooden doorway. After a few anticipated moments, he spoke, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and enthusiasm.

"Sir! General Lanceson, Sir! We saw their precession on the road! They'll be here any minute now!"

Wei shot up at the boy's words, briskly walking to the doorway. He looked out into the distance and smiled.

Just up the road laid a single, long, Hoyd-made automobile. One of the first of its kind, the rural areas they had passed to get here had never seen anything like it. Hidden inside its heavily tinted windows sat four individuals: Former Imperial Representative and current Lead Diplomat Rai Chinzorig, Lead Diplomatic Advisor Erchim Zorigtyn, Commander Togh Khadan, and Chinzorig's secretary (the first female to be hired by the Hoyd government), Maral Cota. The sports car bumped lightly on the dirt road as they approached their destination.

"This place is certainly... quaint." Khadan stated, turning his head towards his party. He was here to act as security for the diplomats, but he was certainly out of his element.

"Yes, are you sure we're in the right place, Rai?" Zorigtyn asked, a tone of doubt showing through his voice.

"I'm sure, Erchim. We're almost there..." Zorigtyn laid back, notably exhausted after the long journey. Cota opened a notepad, taking detailed yet unnecessary notes on the surroundings. As Chinzorig fixedhis suit and tie, he saw it in the distance. The teahouse, the meeting place. To him, it was the perfect location for such an important discussion.

As the automobile rolled up to the teahouse, Chinzorig was the first to step out, his neat appearance giving a professional feel to his party. That is, until Zorigtyn tripped on the dirt as his shaky legs gave out. Cota rushed to his side as Khadan gave him a disappointed look, before placing his firearm in his jacket.

Wei looked forward to Chinzorig and his party, smiling as they came closer to the teahouse, Wei turned to the young boy, placing a silver jin in his hand and patting his shoulder to send him on his way. As the boy scurried off gleefully, Wei and his diplomats walked out onto the small wooden porch of the building. As Zorigtyn fell over, Wei quickly jogged out towards the group, watching the man stand as he arrived.

Wei smiled, looking towards Chinzorig, holding out an outstretched hand.

"Come now, we have much to discuss" said the General.

Chinzorig nodded, not wanting to go through the pleasantries and small-talk normally associated with such a meeting. Zorigtyn brushed off the dust on his suit jacket and stood by Chinzorig's side, hoping he wouldn't overshadow him. Khadan stood just behind the pair, studying the area of any dangers that could present themselves. He felt outnumbered by the many guards that surrounded him along with the General himself. Cota shuffled along last, feeling out of place in such an important negotiation.

General Wei nodded curtly, waving his hand at his guards, all of whom stood down, walking back to a small home across from the teahouse. Wei turned, walking back into the wooden doorway, he turned his head back to the Hoyd party.

"Please. Make yourselves at home, let me know if you would like any tea" said Wei, turning his head back to face Chinzorig.

Wei then walked across the warmly-lit room, taking his seat at the end of the finely carved table. He turned to one of his aides, a portly man in a folded white robe with a black sash.

"Please see to it that our Hoyd friends are given anything they wish for. Treat them as you would myself" asked Wei, his polite tone clearing the silent air.

Cota's ears perked up at the mention of tea. She could hardly function without it. She glanced towards Chinzorig, who met her eyes. Nodding, he turned to General Wei. "Tea will be all. One for each of us, if you wouldn't mind." Khadan let out a frustrated gruff, preferring the much superior coffee bean. He was the last to sit down, as Zorigtyn stood tall in his chair, conveniently sitting a seat closer to Wei than Chinzorig.

Wei smiled at his compatriots, beginning to stand to pour their tea, however, his aide, a young half-Altsinian man, placed a hand on his shoulder. Wei turned.

"Monroe, getting our friends a cup of tea won't kill me" joked the General, his aide standing back as Wei got up.

He grabbed the ornate kettle, moving to each of the Hoyd group's cups. Each time, smiled as he poured.

Once he was done, his aide set a plate of small pastries on the table, Wei then sent him off, tapping his scholar's shoulder.

Wei turned his gaze back to the table, picking up his cup of tea and taking a quick sip of the herbal mixture.

He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I hope your trip across the border was uneventful, my friends. You have no idea how much it means to Kalquen as a whole that you are here" said Wei, the burning lights causing an orange shimmer to manifest itself within his eyes.

"Now, please. You have not come this far to listen to a man blabbering on about his nation. Speak your minds, if you please"

All sipping on their tea, Chinzorig opened his mouth to speak but was ubruptly interrupted by the loud voice of Zorigtyn. "Our journey here was certainly uneventful. I couldn't even guess that such a conflict was happening in this region!" Chinzorig sighed before beginning what he was about to say.

"Thank you for inviting us here, General Wei. It's such an honor to come to the home of your people. Your nation is simple yet beautiful in its landscape and personality. I have been curious, however, what your cause is. What is your motivation in such a... revolt? And why invite us at such a delicate time in your journey?" Zorigtyn sat back in his chair, practically fuming on the inside as Cota dutifully took notes on her pad.

"Our cause? Why, thank you for asking, my friend. Kalquen has been fed up for centuries, under imperial rule, we have been starved and worked thin, like mere tools or playthings to the Crown. With the passing of the Emperor, we found that it was time to rise up, to free ourselves and all other people of the Celestial Empire" said Wei, at times turning back to his compatriots and sharing gazes of admiration and memory.

He smiled lightly at Chinzorig, before continuing his small speech.

"As well, we've chosen to invite you. From what we know, Hoydland has been intrigued by the system of democracy, and Kalquen seeks to arrange our countries closer together, in order to protect the cause of democracy. Both of our nations want freedom, and together, I picture two pillars of light, fighting against the darkness of imperial tyranny" said Wei, his voice booming and filled with emotion, finishing his last words with a fist to the air.

Beaming ear to ear, the General turned back to Chinzorig and his group.

"Now, what say you, my friend? Is our cause noble enough to join?"

At the mention of imperial tyranny, Khadan's eyes widened, looking over at Chinzorig. Being a much more experienced and old-fashioned Hoyd, the idea of overthrowing the already crumbling imperial government was highly frowned upon and even treasonous to think about. Chinzorig noticed this, holding up a reassuring hand along with a similar smile. He turned back to Wei, but not before Zorigtyn, ofcourse, could pitch in.

"Your cause is certainly noble, General. However, I'm sure Hoydland wouldn't want to support such an unruly and, might I say small, revolt, especially at such a delicate time in our empire's history-!" Chinzorig interrupted.

"Not so fast, Erchim." He said, striking a bold glance at his coworker. Zorigtyn leaned over to him, whispering.

"What are you suggesting, Rai?" He asked between gritted teeth. Chinzorig ignored him.

"I see a benefit to your rebellion, General. You no doubt make many important points. After all, Hoydland is a beaming face of hope for the empire, what with us first bringing democracy and a modern view to the, now defunct, imperial diet. But I've always wanted more from our existing governments, unchanged for generations of our history. I can speak for our Governor to say that progress needs change to succeed, and I'm sure you'd agree. Your overlords have plagued us for centuries with these outdated ways, always attempting to change us, disrupt our way of life, and hinder progress." He looked at his fellow Hoyds. Cota nodded dutifully, and Zorigtyn and Khadan sat in shock at his words. "As a representative of the not province, but nation and people of Hoydland, we will join your efforts to overthrow your overlords, and to change the Celestial Empire for the better, through peace, prosperity, and progress for all nations that form it."

Wei nodded, his face filled with respect and hope.

"I thank you, greatly, for your interest. I understand that some of you may be against the idea, and I don't believe that we should be sending troops to the capital for our freedom. Not yet. We must protect each other, from those who seek to remove our freedoms. I thank you, my friend, for your words. We indeed will bring a better Celestial Empire, one which stands alone as a powerful group" Wei said, turning to his scribe.

The man fanatically recorded each word spoken, his hands flying over the papers before him. Wei took a sip of his tea, then continued.

"Now, our nations, Hoydland and Kalquen. If we are to fully group together, I promise that Kalquen will provide all the food and resources that you may require, and we will be there, to fight beside you as Brothers, in the name of freedom. You may reject the alliance at any time, if you do not see a benefit in our cause. We will not force another sovereign nation to fight for a cause they do not believe in"

Wei's words thrummed through the Teahouse. Several of his diplomats smiled, as the young boy from earlier peeked through the open doorway.

"I promise, wholeheartedly, that I believe in our cause. Two pillars of light, a group of free peoples. I see many more pillars of light in the future. I see prosperity. I see Hoyd and Kalquenan people never having to go hungry again. Is there anything I can help to convey my belief further?" said Wei, his voice at points turning into a deeper, more emotional tone.

The four Hoyds in the room glanced at one another, as if silently communicating their thoughts. After a few seconds of this, Khadan and Cora nodded to Chinzorig. Surprisingly, Chinzorig then turned to Zorigtyn, a serious expression on his face. They understood, and the advisor began. "No, that will be all, General. I- we believe in your visions. Hoydland will support Kalquen in its search for freedom. Consider this a formal alliance, my friend."

Khadan sighed. He, as many older Hoyds were sure to be, was hesitant on such an arrangement. In the entire history of the province, Hoydland had never interfered in the inner politics of the Celestial Empire. They had stayed starkly independent from any other government besides the occasional participation in the Imperial Diet. But now, to ally with a rebellion that wasn't supported by the Empire? It was practically insane! However, he had no power, as a commander, in a room of diplomats engaged in negotiations. Will such a bold decision fail? Only time would tell...

Wei nodded towards the diplomats, his newfound allies. His heart pounded in his chest, his face remaining solemnly optimistic.

"Kalquen will not let you down" said Wei, his words hanging in the air like the warm light around them.

He thought of his vision. He could see it, in his mind's eye.

Two pillars of light...

Shining brightly in the cold night...

April 11th, 1910
City of Qaimong

Governor Duan’s office was dimly lit that day, as the clouds and stormy weather of spring settled in. As he peered over various documents and notes, his expression was not that of tire and boredom, but of an unrelenting wrath, burdened by the feeling of betrayal. He knew that something was awry, and that he, if needing to deal with it meaningfully, couldn’t do so alone. He knew of one man who could bring such actions to light, yet without risk to his own, as his own backdoor dealing went against this man’s morals, and should he ever find them he would inevitably turn against him…

“...Governor Duan, sir.”

Duan recoiled slightly as he looked up at the man who had entered his office. A tall man of stern figure in military uniform, with graying hair and an eyepatch over his right eye, peered over the governor. “General Lewis, I-I apologize, I was too engrossed in my work there, busy and all.” He chuckled weakly.

General Lewis continued to peer at him. “I sense you are intimidated by my presence, governor, yet you are the one who called me.”

“Yes, yes I did.” Duan recomposed himself as he thought about the reason why he called him in the first place. “As you know, with his highness's passing, I’m sure that you are aware of the rise of some… Unlawful miscreants. I fear that within the armed forces stationed here, there are rogue elements that fall within this category, and worse so perpetrated by a high ranking official in the government itself: my dear friend of mine Erton Strutt.”

Lewis’s gaze remained unfettered. “For a man as craven as yourself I appreciate your straightforwardness. If your claims are true, then I, and the empire at large, are deeply troubled. I will begin to investigate the armed forces at once. Afterwards I shall turn my gaze towards that of Strutt.” He left for the door. “I shall have this investigation done by this time next year, you have my word on that governor.”

Duan’s expression turned into a wicked smirk as Lewis turned his back. “I hope so, General.”

Of Desperation & Betrayal
May 10th, 1910
15 Miles Southwest of Qaimong City

It was half past 7 in the morning in the seas outside of the city. Aboard the deck of a small corvette, an exceptionally young admiral, clean shaven with pale skin and long hair in a ponytail, stared blankly yet purposely out to sea, having been unable to fall asleep the previous night. As he ate a stale ration, a spotter climbed down from the ship’s mast onto the deck. “Admiral, they’re here.”

The admiral turned toward the spotter. “At last. Once this is over with maybe then I can get some shuteye. Turn the ship to them, we’ll meet them halfway to us.”

As the ship began to move, unbeknownst to the crew, they were being watched from afar. Aboard a larger warship, General Lewis watched them from behind, noting the ship’s movement. He set down his pair of binoculars. “I don’t see any other ship… Did anyone give an order to move that ship from its position?” The others shook their heads. “Follow them. I believe we may have the man we’re looking for.”

As the young admiral’s corvette reached the other ship, the operation began swiftly. Crate after crate was offloaded from the other ship onto the corvette, each containing undisclosed goods. The admiral, with assistance from a translator, was conversing with the captain of the other vessel, the admiral giving the captain a large sum of money in exchange for the goods. As the admiral finished up his conversation, the spotter ran again to him. “Admiral, we need you at the bridge, now!”

“What now,” asked the admiral.

“No time to explain, we need to go, and you, other person, you need to get out of here!” The other captain didn’t understand what he was being told, but through the shouting and gesturing, he roughly understood. The Admiral ran up to the bridge, where everyone else was standing outside where the signal light was located. The admiral pushed his way to the light, where once he was outside he saw a cruiser approaching his ship, signaling to it. As it finished, the admiral turned to the man on the light. “What are they saying,” the admiral asked.

The man on the light turned to the admiral. “This is General Lewis of the Celestial Army. All parties surrender your vessels at once. Failure to comply will be met with lethal force.”

The admiral was stunned. “S***. The hell’s the army doing here?” He thought about what he had just loaded onto the ship. He swung back around. “The crates, throw them overboard!” At once, the small group around the lights scrambled back into position, conveying the order across the ship. As General Lewis watched them from a distance, he noticed the men throwing the crates into the ocean. “I knew it. Fire a warning shot. If they fail to comply, prepare to blow them out of the water.” He turned towards the others on the ship. “And give the order to prepare to board, we could face some resistance.” As the admiral’s men were throwing boxes overboard, they saw a plume of water rise off the port side followed by a thundering boom. The men began to panic as conflicting orders began to flood the deck. The admiral stood in shock as he witnessed the cruiser fire its cannon. The cruiser began to send another message: “throw another box overboard, and we will fire at you. Cease all activity.” The admiral, accepting his fate, turned around and gave the order.

When the cruiser arrived, a large party of soldiers boarded the corvette and the other vessel. Among them was General Lewis, who made his way to the bridge. When he arrived, his men took control of the room before he approached the young admiral. “You’re the captain of this ship,” Lewis asked sternly.”

“Yes sir,” the admiral replied.

Lewis looked at the ranking insignia. “You seem quite young for an admiral. What’s your name?”

“I’m Kai. Kai Feng.”

“Kai. Well then, I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the conduct of your ship and your men. Firstly: who is on that other ship and why did you move out of position to engage them?”

Kai responded quickly. “He was a Tarstic merchant. We were moving to turn him around as per the current state of emergency.”

The General didn’t buy it, but moved on. “Next question: what were your men throwing overboard as we were approaching?”

Kai froze for a moment, then answered. “Those were boxes of food, gone bad. We were throwing them over as to keep the ship sanitary.”

Lewis was unimpressed. “Final question: do you have ties to Admiral Ross?”

Kai froze completely. Ross was the man who had promoted him to admiral 2 weeks prior, however he was also very corrupt, with Kai following his lead as his right hand. “If Lewis is asking me this question, what does he want,” Kai thought to himself. Lewis, noting his silence, marched up to his face. “Answer me boy.

“...No,” he answered.

At once, a fist flew into the side of Kai’s jaw. He fell onto the ground grabbing his face in pain. Lewis, having snapped, began to scream at him. “Don’t you dare lie to me boy! I know everything going on here: the Tarstic smugglers, the boxes of illicit contraband, and your mockery of the title of admiral! Tell me: why did Admiral Ross promote you?”

“Because I-”

Because he needed a fall guy! He was never meant to be arrested; he knew we were on to him, so he promoted you! Think, Kai! You never had the experience! You were never worthy of the title!” He kicked Kai in the head before turning to the rest of his men. “Arrest them all! I want every last corner of this ship searched and its men questioned!

Amidst all this, a thousand thoughts flooded through Kai’s head. He, nothing more than a fall guy? Nothing but to be set up for another man’s misdeeds? After everything he’d done for Admiral Ross, that he would be tossed aside as an afterthought? As he thought this, another man helped him to his feet, and proceeded to escort him onto the cruiser. The man turned to Kai. “Why’d you do it,” he asked. Kai turned back at him weakly. “My family. We were going under. Ross, he promised me everything. Now, I don’t know what will happen to my family.” He closed his eyes, picturing his family. “God help them.”

Halford Army Base

Albert got out of the tiny, cramped jeep and looked around the army base. The stone walls that surrounded it were only just being completed. Most of the base was covered in sleeping quarters and equipment storage with a large area near the back of the base, dedicated to motor vehicles. There were smaller areas of recreation scattered around the base with makeshift grills and pitches for cricket.

Albert removed his coat and set it down on the jeep and lit a cigarette as another officer approached him. Lieutenant General Tamsan Colbert Haydn saluted Albert, “Sir, welcome to Halford Army Base.”

“Thank you General, I see you have operations started already?” Tamsan nodded, “Yes sir, regular drilling and patrols have begun. Currently the only units that I have here are Grenadiers.” Albert nodded,

“You can expect the arrival of Guardsmen and infantry soon, several units left their bases on both sides of The Line.” Tamsan nodded as the two men started walking towards a large structure towards the back of the base.

“This structure houses our command station for the operation, maps, communication room, intelligence, all in here and all on site and independent from other departments.” A guard standing outside opened the door and let both men inside. The ground floor contained the reception area with a lone desk manned by two women in military-green tops and skirts. They didn’t stand to attention as the two senior officers walked past.

Tamsan noticed Albert looking at the two women, “They aren’t technically part of the Armed Forces. They are given uniforms and asked to do administrative tasks, they very rarely see active combat. Besides, if you want something done in Kushmire you might as well get a woman to do it.”

“That wasn’t my concern.” Albert said as the pair entered the command room. “This is where everything happens?” Tamsan nodded, “Yes sir, communications are down through that door over there. Here is the map of the local area.” Tamsan gestured to the large table in the middle, “That board over there has our current objectives written out.” Albert looked at the board, it detailed the long term plan as Albert had recited it to the parliament, the first section was broken down into several parts, one of which was ‘Finish construction of base’ which had been crossed out.

“The KFP boys are doing their magic, they are still in the process of gathering information on The Rebellion, until that time our job is to keep drilling and keep safe.” Tamsan guided Albert to another table which had several men in suits and coats scanning newspaper articles and intercepted telegram messages. “This table belongs entirely to the KFP and has been dubbed the Analysis Division. These boys here take notes of telegrams as well as local newspaper articles and use them to advise the leadership on next moves. Currently, as our operation has only barely begun we are not expecting anything of interest to pop up, if it does we will send it to you. So far, the newspapers have just been publishing about the new operations base. However, in future we believe this process could be useful to us, to allow us to catch leaks perhaps even before they reach the press.”

Albert nodded, “You said that I will only be notified if something of interest pops up?” Tamsan nodded, “Yes sir, that is correct.”

“Well, tell these boys to send the daily notes from the previous day to my desk in the morning, everyday, until this operation ends.” Tamsan nodded, “Uhh, yes sir, that can be done.” Albert looked around as officers walked around the command centre carrying out their tasks. “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Albert and Tamsan entered the commander’s office. A dull affair as per standard of the Armed Forces. “Tamsan, I am sure you are aware of the nature of this operation. How, this is led by The Citadel, not the central government.” Tamsan nodded as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses out of a small cabinet. “Well then Tamsan, I trust that you already know that first communications must go through me, or KFP command, not the president’s office.” Tamsan nodded again.

“Yes sir, a very… unpleasant looking KFP officer told me that already.”

Albert smiled. “Well, that’s the KFP for you.” Albert took a sip of his glass, “General, there is also something else we must tell you.” Tamsan sighed and laid down his glass.

“The day gets better.” He said.

“The KFP is attempting to develop a system where we can listen to, and potentially record them as they happen.” Albert continued.

“Ah yes, I was already told this, there is a leak within our government and the KFP is trying to find it. Obviously, those soft-bellies won’t like that their own army is trying to go behind their back, so this stays here.” Albert smiled and nodded as Tamsan topped up their glasses. “Here’s to the fall of The Rebellion.” Said Albert.

“Cheers to that sir!”

Rebellion Command - Deep in The Badlands

Troy paced around the room. Another man sat in the corner throwing a leather cricket ball at the wall. “Can you stop pacing around like that?” He said. “You’re stressing my gentle heart.” Troy looked at the man, “Henry, you want me to stop? Jesus-” Troy turned to leave,

“Hold on,” Henry started, “I think we are all getting a bit wound up now that the army has finally established a strong presence in the area.”

“I warned them!” Troy said, “I warned them they aren’t bluffing this time, that this time it won’t just be a simple razing of a small village, this is going to be something bigger. This could spell the end of The Rebellion.”

“Woah! Woah! Let us take a few steps back my friend. You are making a lot of assumptions here. Firstly is that they will actually have the time to get to us within the span of the next elections. Okay, so when we go in there, you tell them about everything we talked about, you are probably the best director of field operations we have had in awhile, if you stand their screaming at our leadership they will bend towards Charles. You know how sensitive they are, but they are also smart, believe it or not they do understand. If you allow them to see what you see then they will start to agree with you.”

The doors opened and a guard wearing a black coat and pants waved them through. “Harry is ready to see you.” Harry Montgomery was the descendent of the late Lord Montgomery who started the civil war. It began after the completion of The Line, and was over when government-backed army forces flew the flag over The Keystone Chamber.

Troy and Henry entered the room. Probably the most furnished in the entirety of the underground labyrinth of halls and tunnels that have been continuously built upon since the defeat of The Rebellion, and their retreat to The Badlands. It contained a large map of Kushmire, and The Badlands drawn out with a darker shade.

“Troy, you wanted to see us?” Said Harry. Beside him was Lewis McFairworth, Harry’s right hand man, a manipulative genius and a bloodthirsty criminal, the third and final chair was empty today, as the Chief Ranger, Richard, was away contacting an informant about the base. “I thought Richard would be back now.” Troy whispered into Henry’s ear.

“Without him it might be a bit difficult.” Henry agreed. Harry, being descended from the founder of The Rebellion, was filled with hope and a vision, however, devoid of the skills to achieve it. As such he often fell to the advice of others. Soon enough several senior operators within The Rebellion caught on to his weakness and used it to further their own power. Turning parts of The Rebellion’s operation uncooperative with the rest. A recent example of this was the assassination of Blake Clearwater, a decision that nearly split The Rebellion in two.

“Harry, you know why I am here.” Harry sighed and stood as Lewis pulled out his razor knife and started to slide his finger along the edge. “Troy, my good friend, I have talked to Charles about it, he says that there is no need to worry about the new army base. I am not having this conversation with you again.”

“Harry, respectfully, Charles is a mere trooper within the Ironwood Police Department, you really believe that he can say with confidence that the army base is nothing but a fad.”

“He never said it was fad. He said it was simply an expansion of their control, however their capacity to harm us is minimal, it would take years to get the government backing to run a strike into The Badlands, and, you must remember they must destroy all our caves to destroy us.”

“Yes, Harry I am aware…” Harry raised his finger, “My dear friend you are probably the most skilled of us when it comes to field combat, as the only one who has actually been to the Officer School in Barricus, you are almost invaluable, almost. I would hate to dispose of you.” Lewis pulled out his gun and laid it on the table.

“Okay, Harry, listen, alright listen to me. You are making a grave error here. What benefit do they have to build a new base near Sparticus, if it was for exterior defence then when build one in an inland city, that isn’t even economically developed, and it's not a training camp, training camps don’t have elite Grenadiers patrolling around them.”

“And training camps don’t receive visits from the Supreme Commander.” The doors burst open and Richard entered, soaked from head to toe. “What do you mean?” Asked Harry. “Sir, I was just over there with one of my informants, I am going to be honest with you sir, Troy is right. There is something happening here, I saw a motorcade, with one of the cars flying the flag of Supreme Command entering the gates.”

Harry sighed once again as Lewis put his gun away. “Well, that can’t be good. But how did they do all this without the public knowing something, why has the government not released anything on what is happening here. As far as I’m concerned, word on the street is that something is happening, no one knows much other than that a base has been built, and a military presence in the area has been increased. They are probably waiting for the razing to begin, but the soldier’s have been surprisingly benign.” Lews said.

“That’s because Grenadiers are more professional than the regular rank and file. Regular infantry haven’t arrived yet.” Richard replied.

“Alright, still doesn’t explain how no one knows anything that is about to happen, the government hasn’t released anything.” Harry said.

“What if the government is also being kept in the dark.” Troy cut in. Richard and Lewis looked up at him. Harry scoffed. “What, don’t be ridiculous, are you saying the armed forces are doing this without the government knowing?”

“No, I am saying they are doing this while telling the government enough to keep the ministers thinking they are in the loop, but not enough that they can boast about it.” Troy said, “After the civil war ended the Armed Forces underwent rigorous restructuring, the government not so much. I have reason to believe the supreme command has had this plan on the backburner for a while, they just needed to find the right person to do it.” Troy finished.

Richard sat down in his chair and scratched his chin. “Who's that new Supreme Commander? He’s an Admiral isn’t he?”

“Fleet Admiral Albert Victor Newport Marcus Hull.” Harry said, “A mouthful, He took the office last year, why?”

“That’s right, what do we know about him?” Lewis asked. Troy sighed and leant forward, “Well, he’s the son of a farmer and his wife, grew up in a humble area, not poor, but not elite, joined the navy before he left high school, was at the top of his class when he graduated. Commanded several ships throughout his career. The first supreme commander of the Armed Forces with a Naval background. This man’s serious, knows what he’s doing, I can get someone to find out more if you want. See if he has any relatives, he has to have a wife and kids.”

Lewis sighed, “Okay, well, this Admiral Hull, but he can’t be doing it alone, the Armed Forces can crush us in open combat, but it could take years, decades for their analysts to track us down, they would never even reach us if we keep moving.”

“They aren’t working alone.” Harry said. He leant back in his chair and rubbed his face in his hands. “Charles, also told me about something, I thought it was nothing at first, but now, things are starting to fall into place.” Harry paused and tapped his fingers on the table. “Charles was assigned to a new unit recently, a support one.”

“What’s he supporting?” Richard asked.

“It’s not what, it's who. He had a meeting with, according to him, a shady looking person. He was handed this.” Harry pulled out a card. Etched into it was a logo. “That’s the emblem of the KFP.” Henry leant forward. “Holy s**t.”

“When the KFP comes along with the army, they observe the razing and its effects on the village. Then they do everything in their power to suppress that it ever happened, using ungodly methods. These guys don’t stop at anything. Their existence is known only by name to the public, a shadow in the darkness.” Harry’s hand started shaking. “They killed my sister and her husband and destroyed their farm for the simple crime of being next to a village the army razed. I couldn’t even recognize their bodies until someone pointed it out to me.”

The group lay in silence. “I think it is time we contact him.” Richard, Lewis and Troy looked up from their trance. “Now? Shouldn’t we wait until we have something solid to give him.”

“He is the only person that has the power to stop this, at the minimum help us, you lot have done all you can. Let’s see if he knows anything that we don’t.” Harry stood and walked to one telephone, lazily mounted to the wall. He picked up the receiver and spoke into it. The phone was connected to several switchboards across the country controlled by The Rebellion. After connecting with the right ones, a person on the other end picked up.

“Hello? President’s office.” The voice said.

The Keystone Chamber

President Frederick Baldwin had entered the most high-profile office in Kushmire in the hope that he would one day, change the nation. The fifth child, and only son of a manufacturing kingpin and his second wife, Frederick received the highest education at one of Kashmir's most prestigious schools, Ockset Decosian Boys School before travelling to the Empire’s capital to complete his studies. As part of the first generation born after the Civil War had ended, Frederick had been brought up on ideals of peace and preservation. Frederick had spent most of his time in office walking the fine line of being too soft on Ironwood and Maplewood districts, that The Rebellion ballooned out of control, or being so iron-fisted that the public would vote him out.

A line that he had walked on so finely, he never bothered to try to fix the issues across The Line. The Line itself was a mysterious issue, as no one knew exactly what it was built for, or why. Those files were lost in The Civil War, as were those who planned, and built it. Though those who built it died, The Line itself carries on, whatever it was built for, its purpose now serves as the symbol, and separation between rich and poor in Kushmire.

Frederick tapped his fingers on his desk. A habit that he’d developed over his time in office. His term was nearing its end, and this time next year, the people of Kushmire, well, those on the wealthy side of the nation, would be taking to polls. Frederick looked at the paper in his hands, a telegram from Supreme Command. In it, the details of the past week of operations, surprisingly little, and Frederick knew there was more that they weren’t telling him.

The doors opened, and his aide, a blushing blonde woman let in Al Harrison and Leon Allen. The Ministers for Finance and Internal Affairs and slated successors to Frederick. “Sir, you called for us?” Said Leon. “Yes gentlemen, I did. Please take a seat.”

Leon and Al sat in the armchairs in front of the elegant desk. Frederick sat down in his high back chair, behind him was the Flag of Kushmire, adorned with golden frills along the edges. On either side of the flag was the coat of arms in banners. The emblem of Kushmire etched into a seal, with a red crown and green wreath above and below.

“Al, Leon, thank you for coming.” Frederick said.

“No problem sir, you dragged me out of a meeting with board members.” Said Al. Frederick smiled and picked up the telegram he was holding earlier. “Gentlemen, I have summoned you here today, Al as my most senior minister and Leon, as the Minister in charge of this operation, to surface a few concerns that I have.”

Leon sighed and leant back in his chair. “Is something up Leon?” Frederick asked.

“No Sir, carry on.”

“Anyways, the reports that our Admiral has been sending me, well, they have been subpar to say the least, very minimal information has been given. Leon, is this the same with you?” Leon nodded,

“Indeed sir, almost every document that has landed on my desk has been in the form of a telegram, nothing too big.” Frederick turned to look at Al who was scratching his chin. “My apologies gentlemen, I am the minister of finance, not espionage, I believe I have fallen behind on certain information.” Al said.

“Let me catch you up Al,” started Leon, “You might remember that Admiral Albert Hull presented to us a plan to take down The Rebellion in the near future.”

“That’s right, he never gave us a specific timeline did he?” Al said. Leon nodded in agreement, “Yes, that’s the nature of operations like this, it is often difficult to gauge a time period, but that is besides the point, the first stage of operations included building an army base, establishing a stronger military presence in the Ironwood and gathering intel, all very large operations that would require tons of paperwork and coordination, which in turn generates reports often hundreds of pages long. Not several telegrams a few lines long.” Leon and Al looked at each other.

“Are you saying that our Armed Forces are hiding things from us, from you?” Al asked. Frederick turned to look out the window. Outside were the sprawling fields that were the gardens of The Keystone Chamber. The city of Barricus could be seen in the distance. “I don’t know whether they are doing it on purpose or intentionally, but I don’t like it that they are withholding information from us.” Said Frederick.

“It could be a security precaution, there is a known leak in the government, and until we find out whom, it is difficult for the military to trust, they already sunk millions of Liras into the project, it would be a waste if the mole were to pass on everything to The Rebellion.” Frederick slammed his hands on his desk, causing Leon and Al to lean back.

“They have wiretapped every damn telephone in this building, and you are telling me that the KFP still cannot find who the mole is? I can’t even call my wife without them finding out!” Frederick stood up from his chair and paced around the room. “Leon, I want you to ask Admiral Hull on the status of the intelligence gathering, and tell me exactly what he says. If he gives you a lacklustre answer, I’ll give the bastard a call myself.”

The door opened and Frederick’s aide came in holding a black telephone. “Sir, a call for you.” Leon and Al stood up, “Well Sir, I’ll see what I can do.” said Leon as the pair left the office. As they left Leon looked at the desk of the young aide, on it were three telephones, one which connected to the main switchboard in The Keystone Chamber, the second, to Frederick’s home in Barricus and the third which Leon had never seen before.

The pair entered the hallway as the call was connected through. “Did you see that phone on her desk?” Leon asked,

“Pardon?” Al replied, “I wasn’t paying attention to that, just concerned about Frederick, never seen him like that before.” The two carried on walking down the hallway,

“It's almost as if he’s also trying to hide something.” Leon said. Al stopped and turned to look at him, “Are you saying that, there are things that he is not telling us?”

“Maybe, what if he’s concerned that the armed forces have stopped sending him full reports is because they found out something about him, because while he has been given a telegram worth of information, I’m drowning in it.” Al stopped again.

“What? So you lied!” Leon nodded,

“Unfortunately yes, I was concerned about him… how do I say this?”

“Attitude?” Al said. Leon shook his head,

“No, something else, but that phone I saw on the way out has raised some internal questions.”

Al looked around, two Presidential Guards were drawing nearer. “Let’s talk in private.”

Leon and Al entered Leon’s office. Overlooking the Crystal Ponds on the East end of the building and decorated with Civil War memorabilia, Leon’s office looked and smelt like the past. “Frederick said it himself, every phone in this building is wiretapped, now everytime I have walked in and out of that office for the past month, I have never noticed that third one.” Al picked up a whiskey bottle on the counter. “So you are saying that, Frederick might be talking to someone, and he doesn’t want Albert or the KFP knowing about it.”

Leon nodded. “Now I can’t say for sure if he is indeed using it for treacherous purposes, as far as we know, he could be using it for more, private, conversations with his wife. I’ll have to check with the KFP.”

“And I should be privy to this because?” said Al. Leon sighed, “Despite being the most junior MP in time served in office, Frederick has placed you as successor to himself if something happened, essentially a deputy president.” Al looked up from the whiskey he was inspecting, “Hold on a second, he never told me that part when he asked me to take on the role, he said it was unlikely that something would happen to him in office.”

“Yes Al, that is generally because traitors don’t really like telling their allies what they are up to.” Leon replied. Al put the bottle of whiskey down and walked over to Leon. “Okay, what is your course of action?” Al asked.

“I have a meeting with Albert in a few weeks, it's miles away from here at the Sentinel Island Navy Base. It’ll be safe to discuss with him there, the KFP most likely doesn’t know about that third telephone, but I’d like to discuss it with Albert before I deal with those freaks.” Al grunted and began moving around the room.

“Okay, this falls way beyond my qualification, I’m a businessman, barely a politician and definitely not a soldier, but I’d like you to keep me in the know about this. If someone is going to assassinate the president, whether it be us or someone else, I’d like to know.” Leon smiled,

“Very well Al.” Al turned to leave the room, and as he was about to step out Leon called out, “And for the record, I think you’d make a much better President than Frederick.” Al chuckled and left.

"The Journey West I"
August 19, NL 15
The Port of Lha-Nast

The Celestial Empire: Slaves to barbarism. It wasn't always like that. Many centuries ago, when the bounty still was rich, and the sun shined four times brighter, and snowfall was an obscure curse, things were different. Adventurers from the barbarian countries crossed the Oral Mountains and followed the Kings' Road east and south, and crossed the Badlands into the Empire. The walls shimmered, the castles towered, the cities sprawled, the academies filled, our wisdoms triumphant. And they would marvel, and belove our culture and be filled with envy. And when they returned to their own countries, they would remark at the beauty of the Land of Ten Thousand Faces.

Such glories are long past. Today the pigeon's tongue dances in the mouths of former patriots. Our great port cities pawned off to the barbarians, who parade about them wearing the cloaks and crowns of conquerors. Now, that callous lot have been emboldened by the news from Nhasa, and surely plot their next schemes amidst their brothels and taverns. The whole prospect drove disgust up Hugo Mast's throat. There they were, those barbarians, wandering about his roads, banking into his docks, exchanging their dirty moneys in their despicable language of greed.

The rasp of a doorknob broke Hugo from his hate, and he turned to face the sole door leading into his office. He clenched his fists even tighter, to the point where his nails were beginning to break the skin at his palm. "I thought I told you to leave me be!"

"That's no way to speak to your Grand Admiral," came a familiar, grandiose voice as the door swung open.

Hugo kneeled, "Grand Admiral Gong," and looking up, he saw a strange man of tan skin standing at his commander's right hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that—"

"That I would be leaving Nhasa?" Gong filled in the blanks, "please, Hugo, you're not a stupid man. Stand up, why don't you." Hugo stood. Gong, on the other hand, quickly slinked his way past Laurent's desk (neatly filled with papers and organizational baubles, with no room whatsoever for mementos) and took the man's chair. "You're not a drunk, are you, Hugo?"

Hugo looked suspiciously toward the tan man, and observed his fine suit, and the strange tattoo that streaked up one side of his neck. "No, I'm not a drunk, your excellency."

"Then you'll still have some of the sherry I sent you last Feast Day."

Hugo groaned, "sir—"

"Fetch it, why don't you," commanded Gong.

After a moment of silent protest, Hugo walked into an adjacent closet, Gong continuing, a bit louder of speech: "I'm not a prisoner of Nhasa, despite what you might think if you only read what the Diet's supporters printed. Did you read that bile in the Herald? Jesse O'Rourke essentially declaring himself king. What a clown, wouldn't you say." When Hugo heard the faint sound of papers being rustled, he began to hasten his search, digging through scarcely-touched boxes and hidden drawers. "Temrisians and their delusions," and then the Grand Admiral's voice descended, so Hugo could not hear the whispering ramblings. "Of course, the rebellious provinces will all have their day. Ah, you found it."

Coming back out, and with half a bottle in hand, Hugo stood for a moment, petrified. Gong had gone through his papers, and the order of documents he always worked so hard to keep had been disrupted. His annoyance was palpable, but nonetheless, he poured a glass, and offered it to Gong.

"Pour one for yourself, lad," suggested Gong, "it's no fun drinking alone."

Confident that he would not be drinking, Hugo nonetheless poured himself a glass, and took the visitor's chair. "What did you come to me for, sir? I hope you are relieving my fleet of this station." He arched his eyebrow, "I hope we may soon sail to Teicher, to crush the old order before they become trouble."

Gong laughed, and raised his glass. "Cheers to that," he offered, and Hugo responded with a half-hearted raise of his own glass, though he did not drink.

"Sir."

"I understand, Mast," said Gong, "you want to get out, start making a name for yourself, as your father did. He was our finest admiral." Hugo narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Deep shame what happened to him. Deep shame indeed."

"He died a landless traitor," said Hugo, his voice chilled as ice, and his vision set squarely on Gong. "As you might if you don't start making moves," he cleared his throat, "sir."

Gong smiled a strange smile, "I'm dispatching your task force on assignment."

"To Teicher?"

"Yes."

Hugo couldn't help but smirk. This was almost too good to be true. As it turned out, it was.

"As an escort, Mast." Before Hugo could respond, Gong gestured to the tan, well-suited man. "This is Skahr Musain, a merchant from Kolch."

Without acknowledging the man, Hugo chuckled, "I'm surprised there are still Kolchites left, what with my idiot brother in charge of the province."

"Mr. Musain has come into possession of a passenger ship, and, with our approval, intends to sail through the seagates of Teicher with a crew of our nation's finest, into the western continent, to see Tarst, Morsain, and Reichskrieg."

Hugo clenched his fist, "that sounds like barbarism."

"Nonsense," and Gong dismissed the notion with the wave of his hand, leaning back in Hugo's chair almost to the point of breaking its headrest. "I've lent Musain a small fortune of gold from the treasury. He's going to make investments in these countries, and remind them that we are still a bastion of economics, culture, and power in the world."

"But we're not. And we're in a recession!"

Gong stood up, "now, now, I'll let you do all the planning. You've got until next week to make it happen. Invitations are going out right now, to all the country's finest. Just make sure they get to Teicher unmolested, and don't try to follow them out." He bellowed a hollow laugh, "we don't need trouble with the knights of yore just yet."

The door was shut behind Gong, and Hugo was left alone with the Kolchite man. A sorry, furious noise left his lips, which might to another man have sounded like words.

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

One week later...

Vice Admiral Hugo Mast, and the Kolchite Merchant Skarh Musain stood atop a mighty oceanliner, the mightiest ever built in the Celestial Empire, its towering chimney billowing out excited smoke. Below, the invitees arrived in their dozens, ready for the journey west...

THIS IS AN EVENT!

For the next two weeks, we together will be going on a fantastical journey to the west! This is your chance to get a taste of the outside world, and who knows what adventures (or misadventures!) might happen...

Respond to this post with your character arriving. He or she can take one item with them. If he or she is married, he or she may bring their spouse also, but his or her spouse may not carry an item. ADVENTURES ARE DANGEROUS, so don't send a character you're not comfortable losing! If you want to interact with another person's character at any point in the story, you can respond to another person's post and strike up a conversation. Participating in this event will reward you with one point for your score sheet.

HAVE FUN!

Post self-deleted by Greater Atris.

Post self-deleted by Greater Atris.

A Brave Arrival

The Journey West - Event Post

Lha-Nast, August 20th, NL 15

A pair of leather boots were drowned out by the crashing of waves against the Port of Lha-Nast. The face of a Hoyd man emerged beneath his hat. As he looked up at the humorously lengthy ship, a mixture of fear and anticipation couldn’t help but fill his eyes. The man, dressed in a long black coat, a dark boater hat, uncomfortable formal pants, and circular glasses emitting a professional feel, revealed a pencil-thin mustache. His hand grasped onto a briefcase filled with extra clothing, all of which exudes his wealthy upbringing. After all, appearance is everything.

As he looked towards the entrance, he couldn’t help but notice that he was one of the first to arrive. His punctuality had never really left him, really. He couldn’t help it. His name, no, identity was William Khadan, son of renowned commander Togh Khadan. Living in Chasewater, Temris with his mother for most of his childhood, he was shipped to Khottar at the age of fourteen to be tutored by his father. Although he rarely spent time with his father, he was raised in the aristocratic world of Hoyd politics, making powerful friends within the gauntlet of the democracy. So, when his father received an invitation to an expedition to the west, he knew he couldn’t attend himself. However, he understood how important it was to improve relations within the empire. William was skilled in many of the same areas as his father, making him the perfect choice. Without another thought, he told William he was going to Lha-Nast, and sent him on his way.

And now, here he was, confused yet excited for such an adventure. He felt the back pocket of his travel bag, before breathing a sigh of relief. He had remembered to pack that knife after all. Not that he intended to use it, but it was good to have nonetheless. He took a step forward, then remembered his guest. As if on cue, short heels ran across the dock. His twin sister, Olivia, had arrived. Olivia Khadan was an… interesting character. Unlike William, she had stayed in Temris until her sixteenth birthday, when she moved with her husband to Hoydland. Her husband died of a genetic disease soon after, leaving her to fend for herself. William had offered her refuge, but she refused, disappearing from his life. Olivia was quite beautiful, though, and her Temrisian looks were extremely admired in the Hoyd media. Her famed father only increased her fame, and she soon became a celebrity. She was the most eligible bachelorette in the province, making a fortune by modeling for Hoyd designer companies. William personally despised his sister, believing that she hadn’t earned any of her fame. However, he understood that having someone as beautiful as her accompany him would certainly help his reputation.

He greeted his sister. “About time you show up…” He shook his head as he turned to her. She scoffed.

“I had to do some shopping first-” She looked up at the towering ship before her, immediately gaining all of her attention. “Wow…” William frowned.

“It’s really not that impressive. We could easily build that. I mean, what’s the purpose of something like this?” Olivia ignored him, stepping towards the entrance. He quickly caught up, his briefcase firmly in hand.

Kolch wrote:"The Journey West I"
August 20, NL 15

Wyndham, Northern Atris
Henry Baschet liked quiet Saturdays the most, he thought. It was seven A.M, and his wife Rosalyn was asleep beside him, which, much to his pleasure, would mean that he had two hours of peace before she woke. The house was emptied as usual, the servants having gone home for the weekend, and he wandered downstairs past the antique paintings hung from the walls.

How he hated those oil-paintings, their occupants, farmers and nobles and lifelike animals' eyes that seemed to follow him and every step he took down the staircase, the biting cold of the varnished wood beneath his feet. Henry felt around in the morning gloom for the bannister, and finally stepped out into the main hall.

No doubt his ownership of Crawford Place had elevated his status in the local community. Even the sight of him entering its doors a mere four months ago had turned him from just another new-money resident into the talk of the town. Back then, it had felt like paradise. Now it felt like a gilded birdcage. A gilded birdcage that still carried a new-home smell to it, along with everything else the newlywed couple owned.

The cook, before he had departed sometime last night, had left a plate of sandwiches put together from cold cuts, onions, butter and vegetables. As he shuffled about the kitchen brewing himself a cup of black coffee, he reflected on the events of the past year. He couldn't stand this marriage anymore, and only after four months, too.
To marry into one of Atris' fifty richest families- the Fifty High Rollers, as they were called, was no small feat.. to marry into the richest household something else entirely. For months he had grown increasingly weary with this new way of life.

Additionally, their chauffeur was away, which would mean that this morning's business he would have to conduct himself. He stepped out of the house onto the front veranda, feeling the acute shock of the morning cold impact him all at once, and trotted his way over to the car which was parked neatly in the driveway. It was really only a one-minute drive to the mailbox, but it was far quicker and less tortuous than making the walk in near-zero temperatures.

Passing all the way through the front garden, out from under the shadow of the imposing Oliverian-era mansion, Henry still had something looming on his mind. He had promised Rosalyn a honeymoon trip and, last night, claimed to have been working on finding a destination to travel to. It was a shame that she just wasn’t interested in the places he wanted to go, no, not a simple vacation over in Temris getting fresh country air, or at the beaches in southern Atris, no. Her idea of an enjoyable vacation was altogether rather queer to him; the sort that involved the laborious process of buying tickets for an ocean liner and making the arduous journey to Alstin, to sightsee and buy souvenirs, and back. The only preparation he had done was to buy a necklace.

Something caught his eye, however, as he rummaged through the mailbox, discarding the newest batch of flyers promoting snake-oil-concoctions and wonder-pills that had arrived overnight. A neatly-stamped envelope, with an imperial seal no less.

His first reaction was to yelp, and leap back.

What had he done? Henry didn’t consider himself a particularly interesting citizen. He distanced himself from ne’er-do-wells, carried about his business in a perfectly legal manner. Every tax was paid, every invoice recorded and every item in his house carefully accounted for. No family, regardless of wealth, would get an imperial-stamped letter, certainly not in Atris of all places.

With trembling hands, he opened the envelope and read its contents. As he progressed further down the page, his eyes grew wider and wider, before he hurled the letter back into the car and practically sped back up the driveway.

To his surprise, Rosalyn was already in the kitchen, poking at a sandwich and reading the latest edition of the Atrian Women’s Gazette- something that was supposed to be released this morning, which she had obtained hours in advance through all sorts of connections in the uppermost tiers of the company. Henry was certain of that fact.

“The chef’s away this weekend, so I was thinking that we could go to the Statesman in the town square,” she said, not looking up as Henry entered, a stack of mail in his hands. “They brought in a new chef. Used to work for the Emperor himself a few years ago.” Her tone was rife with masked discontent. As if she was irked that she, the heiress of the richest family in Atris, had been deprived of the chance to have one of the Emperor’s own cooks as another name to the household staff.

“How much do they pay him a year?” Henry asked, setting the mail down on the table.

“Eighty thousand solarii,” she said, looking up and adjusting her reading glasses. She glared at him from beyond the lenses.
Pocket change for her, Henry thought again. Pocket change for him, too, but that was more a product of the business he had built rather than an obscene amount of generational wealth. He hated this place. Stinking of old money and old connections and old bloodlines. He was born for the boomtowns of Atria, the small factory-towns being swamped by prospective migrants and the new, shimmering Tarstian mansions being raised in them, the towns where any man could make a fortune off selling his own product and jump ship before the markets stabilised.

That was why the Aiglerouge family had bothered to intercept him at that royal gala two years ago, he thought. Everything, even romance, was focused on business implications. The Royal Combined Industries Group, under his watch, had grown and grown with no signs of stopping, pushing out old players in the domestic market.

Perhaps that was why Marcus Aiglerouge had acquainted himself with the young Atrian entrepreneur, and later introduced him to his daughter. It was all about business. There was no chance that the Aiglerouges’ corporate empire could be edged out of the market if they simply married into their main rival.

It was always about business, every bloody thing. All acts from the aristocratic old guard and their death throes, trying to grasp their ancestral prestige and wealth even as it slowly crumbled in front of their eyes.

“-Are you even listening?” Henry was brought back into reality by a sharp word from Rosalyn. “The Rathbones went on their honeymoon last week. I went by their home yesterday to drop off some cakes and their butler told me.”

Henry sighed internally. It was a bloody shame that she just had to get up this early and ruin his perfect morning, he thought. It was a bloody shame.
“Speaking of honeymoons,” he said, sliding the envelope across the table, its imperial seal facing up.

“If you’re getting arrested for tax evasion, don’t get me involved in it.” Rosalyn remarked sardonically, as she unfolded the letter, scanning through its contents. “I wouldn’t be sur-”

She squinted at the message, and raised a hand to her face, lowering her reading glasses.

-

A week later, the two were in the port of Lha-Nast, having raced across the entire Empire aboard the newest model of locomotive, courtesy of the Royal Combined Industries Group which Henry so conveniently happened to own.

It was convenient, Henry thought, as they stepped off a stagecoach and ducked under a Teicherian flag hanging from a lamppost, that his influence had bought this trip. Perhaps whoever had organised this voyage westward had seen the merit in inviting two of Atris’ most powerful individuals, economically-speaking. The CMS Aftalia loomed above, shadowing the sail-ships rotting at their berths.

They pushed their way through a growing crowd, drawing stares both of fascination and envy, directed at their opulent outfits. In Rosalyn’s hand were two first-class tickets for berths aboard; in Henry’s pocket, conversely, a velvet box inside which sat a brilliant necklace made from opals and silver.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Rosalyn suddenly said, as they stopped at the foot of the ship, standing in the shadow of its funnel.

“What?” Henry replied, patting himself down.
Had he forgotten luggage? Toiletries? Formal-wear? He scanned their possessions, but found no apparent anomaly.

Rosalyn grumbled, pulling her wide-brimmed hat back onto her head as a gust of sea-wind threatened to blow it away.
“You blithering idiot,” she said. “You said that you’d come up with a name a month ago.” She gestured to her midriff. “Well? Any names, or have you forgotten?”

Henry groaned internally. The child’s name.
Of course he forgot that, of all things, and leave it to Rosalyn to remember about it the day of their departure.

“I-” he stammered, trying to think of a name on the spot.

“Right,” she snapped. “Because you’ve forgotten about the whole damned thing, you imbecile.”
She followed Henry up the gangway, peeved the whole time, and then the two disappeared into the ship’s innards, waved in by a waiting steward.

Kolch wrote:"The Journey West I"
August 19, NL 15
The Port of Lha-Nast

The Celestial Empire: Slaves to barbarism. It wasn't always like that. Many centuries ago, when the bounty still was rich, and the sun shined four times brighter, and snowfall was an obscure curse, things were different. Adventurers from the barbarian countries crossed the Oral Mountains and followed the Kings' Road east and south, and crossed the Badlands into the Empire. The walls shimmered, the castles towered, the cities sprawled, the academies filled, our wisdoms triumphant. And they would marvel, and belove our culture and be filled with envy. And when they returned to their own countries, they would remark at the beauty of the Land of Ten Thousand Faces.

Such glories are long past. Today the pigeon's tongue dances in the mouths of former patriots. Our great port cities pawned off to the barbarians, who parade about them wearing the cloaks and crowns of conquerors. Now, that callous lot have been emboldened by the news from Nhasa, and surely plot their next schemes amidst their brothels and taverns. The whole prospect drove disgust up Hugo Mast's throat. There they were, those barbarians, wandering about his roads, banking into his docks, exchanging their dirty moneys in their despicable language of greed.

The rasp of a doorknob broke Hugo from his hate, and he turned to face the sole door leading into his office. He clenched his fists even tighter, to the point where his nails were beginning to break the skin at his palm. "I thought I told you to leave me be!"

"That's no way to speak to your Grand Admiral," came a familiar, grandiose voice as the door swung open.

Hugo kneeled, "Grand Admiral Gong," and looking up, he saw a strange man of tan skin standing at his commander's right hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that—"

"That I would be leaving Nhasa?" Gong filled in the blanks, "please, Hugo, you're not a stupid man. Stand up, why don't you." Hugo stood. Gong, on the other hand, quickly slinked his way past Laurent's desk (neatly filled with papers and organizational baubles, with no room whatsoever for mementos) and took the man's chair. "You're not a drunk, are you, Hugo?"

Hugo looked suspiciously toward the tan man, and observed his fine suit, and the strange tattoo that streaked up one side of his neck. "No, I'm not a drunk, your excellency."

"Then you'll still have some of the sherry I sent you last Feast Day."

Hugo groaned, "sir—"

"Fetch it, why don't you," commanded Gong.

After a moment of silent protest, Hugo walked into an adjacent closet, Gong continuing, a bit louder of speech: "I'm not a prisoner of Nhasa, despite what you might think if you only read what the Diet's supporters printed. Did you read that bile in the Herald? Jesse O'Rourke essentially declaring himself king. What a clown, wouldn't you say." When Hugo heard the faint sound of papers being rustled, he began to hasten his search, digging through scarcely-touched boxes and hidden drawers. "Temrisians and their delusions," and then the Grand Admiral's voice descended, so Hugo could not hear the whispering ramblings. "Of course, the rebellious provinces will all have their day. Ah, you found it."

Coming back out, and with half a bottle in hand, Hugo stood for a moment, petrified. Gong had gone through his papers, and the order of documents he always worked so hard to keep had been disrupted. His annoyance was palpable, but nonetheless, he poured a glass, and offered it to Gong.

"Pour one for yourself, lad," suggested Gong, "it's no fun drinking alone."

Confident that he would not be drinking, Hugo nonetheless poured himself a glass, and took the visitor's chair. "What did you come to me for, sir? I hope you are relieving my fleet of this station." He arched his eyebrow, "I hope we may soon sail to Teicher, to crush the old order before they become trouble."

Gong laughed, and raised his glass. "Cheers to that," he offered, and Hugo responded with a half-hearted raise of his own glass, though he did not drink.

"Sir."

"I understand, Mast," said Gong, "you want to get out, start making a name for yourself, as your father did. He was our finest admiral." Hugo narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Deep shame what happened to him. Deep shame indeed."

"He died a landless traitor," said Hugo, his voice chilled as ice, and his vision set squarely on Gong. "As you might if you don't start making moves," he cleared his throat, "sir."

Gong smiled a strange smile, "I'm dispatching your task force on assignment."

"To Teicher?"

"Yes."

Hugo couldn't help but smirk. This was almost too good to be true. As it turned out, it was.

"As an escort, Mast." Before Hugo could respond, Gong gestured to the tan, well-suited man. "This is Skahr Musain, a merchant from Kolch."

Without acknowledging the man, Hugo chuckled, "I'm surprised there are still Kolchites left, what with my idiot brother in charge of the province."

"Mr. Musain has come into possession of a passenger ship, and, with our approval, intends to sail through the seagates of Teicher with a crew of our nation's finest, into the western continent, to see Tarst, Morsain, and Reichskrieg."

Hugo clenched his fist, "that sounds like barbarism."

"Nonsense," and Gong dismissed the notion with the wave of his hand, leaning back in Hugo's chair almost to the point of breaking its headrest. "I've lent Musain a small fortune of gold from the treasury. He's going to make investments in these countries, and remind them that we are still a bastion of economics, culture, and power in the world."

"But we're not. And we're in a recession!"

Gong stood up, "now, now, I'll let you do all the planning. You've got until next week to make it happen. Invitations are going out right now, to all the country's finest. Just make sure they get to Teicher unmolested, and don't try to follow them out." He bellowed a hollow laugh, "we don't need trouble with the knights of yore just yet."

The door was shut behind Gong, and Hugo was left alone with the Kolchite man. A sorry, furious noise left his lips, which might to another man have sounded like words.

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

One week later...

Vice Admiral Hugo Mast, and the Kolchite Merchant Skarh Musain stood atop a mighty oceanliner, the mightiest ever built in the Celestial Empire, its towering chimney billowing out excited smoke. Below, the invitees arrived in their dozens, ready for the journey west...

THIS IS AN EVENT!

For the next two weeks, we together will be going on a fantastical journey to the west! This is your chance to get a taste of the outside world, and who knows what adventures (or misadventures!) might happen...

Respond to this post with your character arriving. He or she can take one item with them. If he or she is married, he or she may bring their spouse also, but his or her spouse may not carry an item. ADVENTURES ARE DANGEROUS, so don't send a character you're not comfortable losing! If you want to interact with another person's character at any point in the story, you can respond to another person's post and strike up a conversation. Participating in this event will reward you with one point for your score sheet.

HAVE FUN!

Dear Spencer
The Journey West Event
Port of Lha-Nast
New Life 15

Spencer MacDarcy’s hand trembled as he reached for his morning coffee. His half-eaten breakfast, a hardboiled egg, gruel, and a piece of toast, were strewn in front of him. As Spencer tipped the cup toward his mouth he could hear his father clear his throat; an altogether unpleasant and guttural sound that emanated from deep within his chest. The caffeinated liquid washed over his dry tongue, and as he withdrew the cup he could feel it slip down his throat into his shrinking stomach.

Spencer turned his head slightly to face a mirror that hung above their dining room fireplace. Its crisp reflection revealed a thinning man with gaunt features and darkening eyes behind which an unfathomable wellspring of grief spouted. A shadow of a man, his father had called him less than twenty minutes before. His eyes drifted downward toward his right hand. The pale shadow of where his wedding ring once sat stared back at him.

The catalyst of his transformation.

From behind him arose the satisfied cooing of his newborn son. Kayden was mercifully too young to realize fully what he’d lost. A mercy that Spencer almost envied in those moments when he held his son close. Standing, Spencer turned to Kayden.

His father cleared his throat again. “Sit down. I should not have to tell you to finish eating,” he said, disappointment hanging on every word. “The nanny will take care of him.”

The thin, fragile smile that had begun to form on Spencer’s face quickly faded. Taking his seat as the nanny carefully crossed the dinning room to whisk Kayden away Spencer’s heart shattered further. Casting a weary gaze over his breakfast, Spencer could almost feel the other half rushing to rejoin its neatly plated brethren.

“You should not have allowed yourself to get so attached,” his father said, raising a single, bushy eyebrow over the morning’s paper. “It is not healthy or becoming of a man of your stature.”

Spencer bit his lip, considering other men his age. “Jesse O’Rourke is a doting father. Why can’t I be?”

The elder MacDarcy lowered the newspaper he’d been reading. Annoyance had settled into every nook and cranny of his wrinkled face. “Mr. O’Rourke is a weak man. He may be the current Chief Lord, but I doubt he will be for long.” The paper was raised again. “Weakness stems from love, compassion. You would do well to dispense with both.”

A cry echoed from the next room. Spencer instinctively rose from his seat but was forced back down by their butler. Colin MacDarcy then motioned for the two present footmen to block the exits.

“As I said, the nanny will take care of it.” Colin turned the page of his newspaper as Spencer took his seat once more. “I have decided to give you a job.” He cast Spencer a disapproving gaze. “There is an ocean liner bound for the west that will be departing in two weeks from the port of Lha-Nast. I have decided that you will be going abroad to speak with my contacts in Tarst, Morsain, and Reichskrieg about further investments in the Chasewater and Turges Railway.” Spencer’s father turned the paper again, his eyes narrowing at the pages. “That should provide you with enough distraction.”

Colin held up a defiant figure. “And do not think about protesting or asking if you can bring the child along. The answer is no. I have already bought your ticket and have made the necessary arrangements to get you to the port. The child will remain here in the capable hands of Nanny McDuff.”

So, this was his fate now: a widowed drone bereft of the one person that brought him joy. Spencer grit his teeth. If he had any sense at all he’d take his son and flee into the Great Fhasach. The sparse towns in the desert wastes would provide him with all the opportunity in the world to disappear with his son while his father plotted and schemed.

Slapping the rest of his egg onto his toast, Spencer wolfed both down in two great bites. Chasing it with his coffee he then shoveled the gruel into his mouth. Nearly shattering the bowl as he slapped it back down on the table. Through narrowed eyes he glowered at his father. “I will go on one condition,” he said.

Colin smirked. “You are in no position to negotiate. Everything has already been decided.”

Spencer stifled an acidic burp as he leaned forward. “I want you to promise me that Kayden will still be here when I return.”

The smirk his father wore so devilishly well quickly morphed into a solid frown. Spencer knew his father despised children, babies even more so. That was evident in how little he’d cared for Spencer growing up. Always sending him from one boarding school to another. Each filled with wealthier kids than the last as his father built up his railroad. The impression left a mark on Spencer’s memory. One that burned every time he was denied his son.

Colin MacDarcy neatly folded his newspaper, almost shrugging his son off as he stood. “I cannot guarantee that he will be here the entire time you are away, but I will ensure that he is here when you return.”

Anger pursed Spencer’s lips. Under a darkening scowl he watched his father depart, butler and footmen in toe. As his fists balled, a sudden realization washed over his weary heart. There was no one left to keep him from Kayden.

Running from the dinning room he found the nanny and Kayden in the nursery a few doors down. The nanny looked surprised to see him, and almost reluctant to surrender Kayden as Spencer approached with open arms. Sealing the baby away in his gentle embrace, Spencer’s eyes filled with tears. To tear them apart now was sinister, criminal. Touching his forehead to the baby’s own, Spencer’s ears were filled with Kayden’s delighted cooing. He hadn’t yet learned to laugh, but by the gods Spencer was determined to be there when he did for the first time.

______________________________________________________________________________

The road was long and hard on the weakened Spencer. Traveling first from Chasewater to Turges by train, Spencer then had endure several days spent in a rough and tumbling stagecoach as it passed through the untamed wilds of the Great Fhasach. From Castle Cavan in County Armagh to the small town of Wreav in County Urdnough in the hinterlands of Temris, Spencer could not count a day that he wasn’t sick. Then came the week’s long journey across the Empire.

If he had been a shadow before his departure, he was a spectre now. Having lost several more pounds over the course of his journey, the heir to the MacDarcy fortune appeared before the CMS Aftalia as a shell. Yet his mission was far from over. Groaning internally, he watched as his bags were shuttled from the carriage he’d arrived in to a cart before being transferred onboard.

Placing his hand into his pocket, Spencer withdrew his pocket watch. The watch, solid gold with diamond inlay, had been a wedding gift from his late father-in-law who had lived long enough to see his daughter marry. Checking the time, he sighed deeply. There were still a couple of hours before departure. Tucking the watch back into his pocket, Spencer turned his attention forward.

Just ahead, he witnessed a fairly well-off couple arguing about something. Whatever it was appeared to have completely stumped the man who glanced over their luggage to his wife’s frustration. Smiling for the first time since he left Chasewater, Spencer thought back to his own dearly departed wife. Encased in his memories, Spencer followed the couple up the gangway into the bowels of the ship.

Kolch wrote:"The Journey West I"
August 19, NL 15

Shady Dealings
Phosong, August 25th NL15

In the dimly lit streets of Phosong, Sishijiu Pin made his way towards a rather understated casino, one that served as the headquarters of a minor triad. The casino, modest yet adorned with a surprisingly ornate engraving of a peony rose, stood amidst the shadowy alleyways, its façade adorned with just a few red lanterns that cast an eerie glow on the cobblestone street. Sishijiu Pin, clad in a tailored black suit and wearing round glasses, surprisingly exuded violence and threat, as he stepped through the unassuming doors, a haze of smoke filled the air, mingling with the scent of opium and the sound of clinking glasses that greeted him. The room was a blend of modesty and decadence, filled with the city's elite gamblers, hushed conversations, everyone unwilling to acknowledge but always aware of the ever-watchful eyes of enforcers. Each table he passed was a reminder of the influence wielded by his triad, a silent acknowledgment of the control they held over this area of Phosong's vices. Sishijiu Pin moved with purpose, his presence a blend of calculated menace and unspoken authority, ready to conduct the night's business as he approached a raised area of the casino's floor.

Climbing the stairs to the raised area and approaching the locked door, two burly men stepped in front of Sishijiu to block his way. Pulling up his sleeve, Sishijiu revealed an extensive arm tattoo, many plants bearing pink rose flowers. Looking at his arm, the men grunted and moved out of his way, one of them pushing against the door to swing it open.

"In. The boss is expecting you"

Sishijiu stepped through the door into a narrow, dimly lit pathway. The air was cooler here, and the faint hum of the casino's activity faded behind him, replaced by the soft echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor. The pathway, lined with flickering wall sconces, seemed to stretch on endlessly, winding deeper into the building's secretive depths, Sishijiu's round glasses caught the light intermittently, casting brief glints as he advanced. Finally, he came to the end of the path, a heavy door looming before him, guarded by another set of stern-faced enforcers who nodded in silent recognition. Without hesitation, Sishijiu nodded back, his expression a mask of calm authority, the enforcers stepped aside, allowing him to enter the door and enter the room beyond.

Entering the room, the ambience shifted to one of solemn reverence. The room was sparsely furnished, with a large wooden table at its centre and a few chairs placed strategically around it, a set of incense burning quietly in a corner of the room, thin tendrils of smoke curling upwards and creating a slight haze that lent the space an almost mystical aura. The room's most striking feature, however, was the paper wall at the far end of the room. A soft, red light emanated from behind it, casting an ethereal glow that illuminated the delicate texture and rose patterns of the paper. Through the translucent surface, the silhouette of the triad's boss could be seen, sitting calmly in a traditional wooden chair. The indistinct outline was enough to convey an air of authority and power, the boss's presence both commanding and enigmatic. Sishijiu, ever composed but feeling incredibly nervous, walked towards the table, his movements measured and respectful, the subtle rustle of his clothing was the only sound as he took his seat, eyes briefly flickering towards the shadowed figure behind the paper as he heard a voice.

"Sishijiu Pin, we have summoned you because the Peony Association has a ... task for you"

A second voice echoed across the room;

"Complete this task, and we will see that you will rise from the ranks of the ge"

A third, feminine voice came;

"The Association has become aware of a ship, scheduled to depart from  Lha-Nast"

As these words were spoken, an enforcer approached from behind, placing a paper ticket before Sishijiu.

"You will board this ship with this ticket we have ... acquired."

Sishijiu picked up the ticket, examining the information written on it, from what he could gather, he was to board the CMS Aftalia. As he was examining the ticket the first voice rang out again.

"This ship will be journeying to the far west, when you arrive you are to make contacts with local organised crime and secure lucrative smuggling deals for their ... goods"

"Arrangments have been made for your travel to Lha-Nast, they will meet you at your home, prepare your belongings and do not fail us"

After a brief silence, Sishijiu stood without a word, he bowed respectfully towards the shadowed silhouette behind the paper wall and turned to leave the room. The scent of burning incense lingered in the air as he walked back through the narrow, dimly lit pathway, retracing his steps towards the bustling casino floor. Once outside the meeting room, Sishijiu moved swiftly but with purpose. He navigated through the casino, the cacophony of gamblers and clinking glasses barely registering in his mind. Exiting the casino, he made his way to his modest quarters. There, he gathered his belongings with practised efficiency. He carefully folded his clothing, placing it in a small suitcase, and secured his prized possession—a sleek, well-maintained pistol and a small collection of ammunition—tucking it into a hidden compartment within the suitcase. After some time, the sound of horse hooves clattering on the cobblestone street signalled the arrival of a carriage outside the house. A solid, black carriage, drawn by a pair of sturdy horses, came to a halt in front of his modest abode. The driver, a grizzled man with a stoic expression, tipped his hat slightly as Sishijiu stepped outside, suitcase in hand. Sishijiu took a moment to survey the scene, the night air cool against his face. With a final glance at his quarters, he handed his suitcase to the driver, who placed it carefully inside the carriage. Sishijiu then climbed into the plush interior, settling into the seat with a sense of purpose as the carriage set out, commencing the long journey to Lha-Nast.

Kolch wrote:
"The Journey West I"
August 19, NL 15
The Port of Lha-Nast

The Celestial Empire: Slaves to barbarism. It wasn't always like that. Many centuries ago, when the bounty still was rich, and the sun shined four times brighter, and snowfall was an obscure curse, things were different. Adventurers from the barbarian countries crossed the Oral Mountains and followed the Kings' Road east and south, and crossed the Badlands into the Empire. The walls shimmered, the castles towered, the cities sprawled, the academies filled, our wisdoms triumphant. And they would marvel, and belove our culture and be filled with envy. And when they returned to their own countries, they would remark at the beauty of the Land of Ten Thousand Faces.

Such glories are long past. Today the pigeon's tongue dances in the mouths of former patriots. Our great port cities pawned off to the barbarians, who parade about them wearing the cloaks and crowns of conquerors. Now, that callous lot have been emboldened by the news from Nhasa, and surely plot their next schemes amidst their brothels and taverns. The whole prospect drove disgust up Hugo Mast's throat. There they were, those barbarians, wandering about his roads, banking into his docks, exchanging their dirty moneys in their despicable language of greed.

The rasp of a doorknob broke Hugo from his hate, and he turned to face the sole door leading into his office. He clenched his fists even tighter, to the point where his nails were beginning to break the skin at his palm. "I thought I told you to leave me be!"

"That's no way to speak to your Grand Admiral," came a familiar, grandiose voice as the door swung open.

Hugo kneeled, "Grand Admiral Gong," and looking up, he saw a strange man of tan skin standing at his commander's right hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that—"

"That I would be leaving Nhasa?" Gong filled in the blanks, "please, Hugo, you're not a stupid man. Stand up, why don't you." Hugo stood. Gong, on the other hand, quickly slinked his way past Laurent's desk (neatly filled with papers and organizational baubles, with no room whatsoever for mementos) and took the man's chair. "You're not a drunk, are you, Hugo?"

Hugo looked suspiciously toward the tan man, and observed his fine suit, and the strange tattoo that streaked up one side of his neck. "No, I'm not a drunk, your excellency."

"Then you'll still have some of the sherry I sent you last Feast Day."

Hugo groaned, "sir—"

"Fetch it, why don't you," commanded Gong.

After a moment of silent protest, Hugo walked into an adjacent closet, Gong continuing, a bit louder of speech: "I'm not a prisoner of Nhasa, despite what you might think if you only read what the Diet's supporters printed. Did you read that bile in the Herald? Jesse O'Rourke essentially declaring himself king. What a clown, wouldn't you say." When Hugo heard the faint sound of papers being rustled, he began to hasten his search, digging through scarcely-touched boxes and hidden drawers. "Temrisians and their delusions," and then the Grand Admiral's voice descended, so Hugo could not hear the whispering ramblings. "Of course, the rebellious provinces will all have their day. Ah, you found it."

Coming back out, and with half a bottle in hand, Hugo stood for a moment, petrified. Gong had gone through his papers, and the order of documents he always worked so hard to keep had been disrupted. His annoyance was palpable, but nonetheless, he poured a glass, and offered it to Gong.

"Pour one for yourself, lad," suggested Gong, "it's no fun drinking alone."

Confident that he would not be drinking, Hugo nonetheless poured himself a glass, and took the visitor's chair. "What did you come to me for, sir? I hope you are relieving my fleet of this station." He arched his eyebrow, "I hope we may soon sail to Teicher, to crush the old order before they become trouble."

Gong laughed, and raised his glass. "Cheers to that," he offered, and Hugo responded with a half-hearted raise of his own glass, though he did not drink.

"Sir."

"I understand, Mast," said Gong, "you want to get out, start making a name for yourself, as your father did. He was our finest admiral." Hugo narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Deep shame what happened to him. Deep shame indeed."

"He died a landless traitor," said Hugo, his voice chilled as ice, and his vision set squarely on Gong. "As you might if you don't start making moves," he cleared his throat, "sir."

Gong smiled a strange smile, "I'm dispatching your task force on assignment."

"To Teicher?"

"Yes."

Hugo couldn't help but smirk. This was almost too good to be true. As it turned out, it was.

"As an escort, Mast." Before Hugo could respond, Gong gestured to the tan, well-suited man. "This is Skahr Musain, a merchant from Kolch."

Without acknowledging the man, Hugo chuckled, "I'm surprised there are still Kolchites left, what with my idiot brother in charge of the province."

"Mr. Musain has come into possession of a passenger ship, and, with our approval, intends to sail through the seagates of Teicher with a crew of our nation's finest, into the western continent, to see Tarst, Morsain, and Reichskrieg."

Hugo clenched his fist, "that sounds like barbarism."

"Nonsense," and Gong dismissed the notion with the wave of his hand, leaning back in Hugo's chair almost to the point of breaking its headrest. "I've lent Musain a small fortune of gold from the treasury. He's going to make investments in these countries, and remind them that we are still a bastion of economics, culture, and power in the world."

"But we're not. And we're in a recession!"

Gong stood up, "now, now, I'll let you do all the planning. You've got until next week to make it happen. Invitations are going out right now, to all the country's finest. Just make sure they get to Teicher unmolested, and don't try to follow them out." He bellowed a hollow laugh, "we don't need trouble with the knights of yore just yet."

The door was shut behind Gong, and Hugo was left alone with the Kolchite man. A sorry, furious noise left his lips, which might to another man have sounded like words.

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

One week later...

Vice Admiral Hugo Mast, and the Kolchite Merchant Skarh Musain stood atop a mighty oceanliner, the mightiest ever built in the Celestial Empire, its towering chimney billowing out excited smoke. Below, the invitees arrived in their dozens, ready for the journey west...

THIS IS AN EVENT!

For the next two weeks, we together will be going on a fantastical journey to the west! This is your chance to get a taste of the outside world, and who knows what adventures (or misadventures!) might happen...

Respond to this post with your character arriving. He or she can take one item with them. If he or she is married, he or she may bring their spouse also, but his or her spouse may not carry an item. ADVENTURES ARE DANGEROUS, so don't send a character you're not comfortable losing! If you want to interact with another person's character at any point in the story, you can respond to another person's post and strike up a conversation. Participating in this event will reward you with one point for your score sheet.

HAVE FUN!

A New World

Arnold Harrison stood at the port with his wife, Jenn Harrison. The pair were about to set off to a promise of a new world. The ship in front of them was the steam ship CMS Aftalia, a steamship that will set off to the new world. In his briefcase he carried several legal documents, clothes and other amenities one might need on a holiday, as well as a miniature brass anchor that has been passed down through his family over the generations. In his hands the tickets to first class.

The pair had arrived by taking a train from the capital of Barricus, where they live, to the port of Ockset, where they took another steamship belonging to South Harbourview and arrived at Lha-Nast. Before he left, Arnold had a long conversation with his older brother, Al, about the trip. “Al brother, this is not a holiday, this is a long time I’ll be gone, I most likely won’t be back until the end of the year.”

Jenn released Arnold from a tight hug, “I’m going to take a wash before we weigh anchor.”

“Alright love, I’ll take a walk around the decks.” Arnold said. Arnold left the room with his brass anchor in his coat pocket. He stepped out from A deck, and onto the upper balcony of the ship. He looked up at the towering smokestack. No steam was exiting the funnel yet, so the boilers hadn’t been activated. Arnold did one lap of the ship, noting positions of ropes, vents and lifeboats, including collapsible ones. When he returned to where he began he looked at the bridge, it was empty.

Arnold checked his watch, “Three hours before we leave, at least get the engines warmed up boys.” He muttered to himself before entering the superstructure. Arnold entered the first class dining room, a grand affair of exquisite carpets, chandeliers, veneer chairs and a stage. “May I help you sir?” A waiter asked him. Arnold turned, “No thank you, I was just taking a look around.”

Arnold returned to his cabin where his wife was just doing her hair. She turned and put her arm around the chair, “Did you make a reservation for tonight?” She asked. “Yes I did.” Arnold replied. He walked over to his desk and pulled out his briefcase and clicked it open. Jenn walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. “Working on our holiday?”

“No, working on yours.” Arnold pulled out his notebook as well alongside several blueprints for a new, proposed but classified ship. Jenn, who was the principal of the local school, sighed, and returned to her mirror. “What time is the reservation?” She asked.

“At 7pm for two.” Arnold replied as he continued to look at the blueprints. The four-funnel ocean liner was part of a global race to become the fastest to cross the vast seas, while still being a bastion of luxury and engineering marvel. South Harbourview planned to build three similar sized vessels to potentially open routes to Mira Cal, or potentially even Temris.

The biggest problem that the company’s designers were having was picking out a propulsion system for the enormous vessels. Normally, vessels are equipped with either expansion steam engines, or steam powered turbines to turn the propellor screws. However, due the gigantic weight of the ship, using two normal steam engines or turbines won’t be enough to get the ship moving at an economical speed.

That wasn’t the only problem on Arnold’s mind. “We are building a vessel four times the size of the Aftalia, and yet we insist on having only 5 more lifeboats.” The sheer cost of the vessel has seen the company’s greedy and pervasive accountants to insist that designers take shortcuts. Arnold had brought up his concerns with his brother, “You are in government, you can make a change, when… If something happens on that ship and there won’t be enough lifeboats to go around, we can take a gander at who’s going to be put in front of the firing squad.”

Arnold scratched his chin as he looked around the luxurious stateroom that he had booked for him and his wife. He turned back to the plans and noted down the materials they were using, all locally sourced in Kushmire, but of the rarest types of wood and fleece. “You bastards aren’t so stingy when it comes to the secondary s**t are you?”

Kolch wrote:
We set sail to the applause of thousands.

"The Journey West II"
20 August, NL 15
The Eastern Valairian Ocean

Through the windows of the bridge, Skahr Musain watched the distant blue tides, all in constant motion, rocking the ship with each adjacent move. If the sands moved like that, he reasoned, nobody in Kolch would ever get anywhere. The man tossed around his glass in his hand, so that the sherry inside lapped at the rim of the goblet like the waves against the steel and wood of the Aftalia. Seeing this, the goings-on outside seemed much less impressive. It was known: The sea must have been the drink of the gods.

"Mr... uh, Musain was it?" voiced one of the sailors from one side, watching the Kolchite like a man would a wild animal. He gestured to the man heading the wheel, "are you sure it was wise to staff the ship with Kolchites? Your people, and forgive me for any offense, sir, are not known seafarers."

Skahr scrutinized the man for a pregnant moment. "Mr. Liang, don't you know? Kolch is a land of rivers. We sail the waves as the camel sails the dunes, as you might say."

"I wouldn't," Mr. Liang said under his breath.

Barely hearing the man's comment, Skahr shot his subbordinate a dark glare. Taking a deep breath, he raised up his cup and drowned in what was left of his drink. "If the maps are right, we should see the shores of Alisai soon enough."

Mr. Liang dared to speak, "sir, a storm is coming." He pointed to the growing clouds in the direction of the bow, amassing on the horizon. "it will be difficult to navigate, especially for the inexperienced. Perhaps—"

"Enough of this talk," snapped Skahr. "I'm going to go down to the smoking room."

Liang stood, "the smoking room, sir?"

"Yes, for a smoke." Skahr laughed at the other man's ignorance, "a smoke every few hours clears the throat, and makes for better breathing. Farewell." Skahr went to have his smoke, as the ship inched toward the storm, and the storm marched likewise toward the ship.

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Hoydland wrote:
Ohmergersh, shopping! Yass, queen!! Slay!!!

While William should have no problem acclimating to a luxurious environment such as the Aftalia, especially with his first class room, placed next to a wealthy man and wife from Kushmire. Olivia, however, had sucker's luck: Indeed, her luggage had disappeared! Should she converse with the staff, they inform her that her luggage had been mistakenly delivered to the room of one of the other passengers. She will have to start knocking on doors if she wants to find her precious belongings. William's belongings, including his knife, are safe, however.

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Greater Atris wrote:
Name him Kyle.

Henry and Rosalyn, meanwhile, face altogether different challenges. They both have been invited to a dinner theater tonight in the Gray Room, the greatest dining room within the vessel's innards. However, before the allotted time, Rosalyn was struck while in the hall by a steward, whose name was Lillis. That wouldn't be rough, if not for the fact that the woman was carrying a tray of sherry glasses. Rosalyn's dress is ruined.

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Temris wrote:
Steal Rosalyn's baby after it's born. Double the babies, double the fun.

With a grimace, Spencer entered the ship, and soon found that his room was cluttered with some other passenger's luggage! If that wasn't bad enough, he's been invited to dinner theater tonight in the Gray Room. Strangely, they've offered him two extra tickets. Perhaps they hadn't received the memo that he was traveling alone.

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Kidai wrote:
What do you call a pastry made by a crook? A crookie!

The shifty Sishijiu boards the ship and finds his way into his room. A bit more luxurious than he might have been used to. Nonetheless, he is offered a welcome respite until the landing...

That is, until he hears his door slowly creak open...

In comes a man in a trench coat so long it trails his feet like a dragon's tail. "Sishijiu Pin," said the man, pulling from within his coat a pistol. "You are under arrest for crimes against the peace."

[LET ME KNOW HOW YOU PLAN TO GET PAST THIS ONE!]

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Kushmire wrote:
PUT THAT CROOKIE DOWN! If you got that reference bless yer heart.

A sailor knocks on the doors of the Kushmirians' cabin. At the doorframe, they find a sailor, who introduces himself as Mr. Liang. He offers a complimentary bucket of ice, with wine resting inside. A conversation is struck, and soon he learns of Jenn's like of ships, and invites them both to tour the Aftalia's engines. However, while this happens, Arnold notices an odd-looking man in a trench coat disappear into the adjacent room...

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NOTE: In this event, please respond to each other here in the RMB while interacting. Posts replying to others don't have to be more than a paragraph if you don't want them to be. You can go on for as long as you like, but a storm approaches, and we meet it head-on next week...

Kolch wrote:

"The Journey West II"
20 August, NL 15
The Eastern Valairian Ocean

Through the windows of the bridge, Skahr Musain watched the distant blue tides, all in constant motion, rocking the ship with each adjacent move. If the sands moved like that, he reasoned, nobody in Kolch would ever get anywhere. The man tossed around his glass in his hand, so that the sherry inside lapped at the rim of the goblet like the waves against the steel and wood of the Aftalia. Seeing this, the goings-on outside seemed much less impressive. It was known: The sea must have been the drink of the gods.

"Mr... uh, Musain was it?" voiced one of the sailors from one side, watching the Kolchite like a man would a wild animal. He gestured to the man heading the wheel, "are you sure it was wise to staff the ship with Kolchites? Your people, and forgive me for any offense, sir, are not known seafarers."

Skahr scrutinized the man for a pregnant moment. "Mr. Liang, don't you know? Kolch is a land of rivers. We sail the waves as the camel sails the dunes, as you might say."

"I wouldn't," Mr. Liang said under his breath.

Barely hearing the man's comment, Skahr shot his subbordinate a dark glare. Taking a deep breath, he raised up his cup and drowned in what was left of his drink. "If the maps are right, we should see the shores of Alisai soon enough."

Mr. Liang dared to speak, "sir, a storm is coming." He pointed to the growing clouds in the direction of the bow, amassing on the horizon. "it will be difficult to navigate, especially for the inexperienced. Perhaps—"

"Enough of this talk," snapped Skahr. "I'm going to go down to the smoking room."

Liang stood, "the smoking room, sir?"

"Yes, for a smoke." Skahr laughed at the other man's ignorance, "a smoke every few hours clears the throat, and makes for better breathing. Farewell." Skahr went to have his smoke, as the ship inched toward the storm, and the storm marched likewise toward the ship.

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While William should have no problem acclimating to a luxurious environment such as the Aftalia, especially with his first class room, placed next to a wealthy man and wife from Kushmire. Olivia, however, had sucker's luck: Indeed, her luggage had disappeared! Should she converse with the staff, they inform her that her luggage had been mistakenly delivered to the room of one of the other passengers. She will have to start knocking on doors if she wants to find her precious belongings. William's belongings, including his knife, are safe, however.

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Henry and Rosalyn, meanwhile, face altogether different challenges. They both have been invited to a dinner theater tonight in the Gray Room, the greatest dining room within the vessel's innards. However, before the allotted time, Rosalyn was struck while in the hall by a steward, whose name was Lillis. That wouldn't be rough, if not for the fact that the woman was carrying a tray of sherry glasses. Rosalyn's dress is ruined.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>With a grimace, Spencer entered the ship, and soon found that his room was cluttered with some other passenger's luggage! If that wasn't bad enough, he's been invited to dinner theater tonight in the Gray Room. Strangely, they've offered him two extra tickets. Perhaps they hadn't received the memo that he was traveling alone.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The shifty Sishijiu boards the ship and finds his way into his room. A bit more luxurious than he might have been used to. Nonetheless, he is offered a welcome respite until the landing...

That is, until he hears his door slowly creak open...

In comes a man in a trench coat so long it trails his feet like a dragon's tail. "Sishijiu Pin," said the man, pulling from within his coat a pistol. "You are under arrest for crimes against the peace."

[LET ME KNOW HOW YOU PLAN TO GET PAST THIS ONE!]

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A sailor knocks on the doors of the Kushmirians' cabin. At the doorframe, they find a sailor, who introduces himself as Mr. Liang. He offers a complimentary bucket of ice, with wine resting inside. A conversation is struck, and soon he learns of Jenn's like of ships, and invites them both to tour the Aftalia's engines. However, while this happens, Arnold notices an odd-looking man in a trench coat disappear into the adjacent room...

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

NOTE: In this event, please respond to each other here in the RMB while interacting. Posts replying to others don't have to be more than a paragraph if you don't want them to be. You can go on for as long as you like, but a storm approaches, and we meet it head-on next week...

"Mmm, oh these CROOKIES, I gotta get the recipe from Liz."

A Calm Before the Storm

Arnold placed the bottle of wine on the cabinet. “We can enjoy that one together later. Perhaps after a tour of the engine room. I have to warn you though, it is very loud there.”

“I can imagine,” Jenn started, “My husband’s the head of a mercantile marine, you’d be surprised how much women pick up from their husbands discussions with other men.”

“I never doubted your intelligence Jenn.” Arnold said as the pair locked arms. “I was just reminding you, not everything in our world is as quiet and peaceful as our lives.” Arnold saw a shadowy figure slink around the corner of their slightly ajar door and tightened his grip on the brass anchor before turning to look at the blueprints.

Jenn noticed her husband tensing and looked at the blueprints. “Are you sure you should have brought these, uhm, very valuable plans on this trip? It’ll make you unbearably tense the whole time.” Arnold relaxed again before looking at his wife. “No, it will be fine, I keep them in my locked briefcase, and besides, if anyone tries anything.” Arnold pulled out his brass anchor.

Jenn smiled and shook her head. “You are unbearable, you are terrified of things that go bump in the night, let alone corporate espionage.” Arnold smiled as he put the brass anchor back into his pocket and patted it. “Don’t wear anything too fancy, I don’t want to hear anything about coal marks on your dresses.”

Arnold and Jenn were guided down into the bowels of the ship. As they did. The distant throbbing of rotating pistons grew louder and louder. Eventually they entered the parts of the ship where no passengers were allowed. The extravagant carpets and lighting gave way to pipes and powerful industrial grade square canisters of light. The sailor pointed towards a door. “Would you two please wait here, the Engineering Chief should be here with you soon.”

The sailor left the pair of them beside the door. The throbbing had now turned into a cacophony of clangs, bangs, screeches and hisses that pounded through the door, as if it were trying to escape. The pair waited for a few minutes and just as Arnold was about to leave the door opened and the chief engineer let them in.

The entrance walkway contained several machines which the engineer explained were electric generators which used the steam from the boilers to generate electricity for the ship. “The main bit is through here.” The engineer smiled as he opened the door and let Arnold and Jenn through.

The sound suddenly exploded as the previous clangs, bangs, screeches and hisses quadrupled in volume and hit them like a freight train. Jenn physically took a step back as she covered her ears. Arnold smiled, “Don’t worry love, you get used to it after a while, be glad we aren’t in the boiler rooms, underneath the turbines.” Jenn smiled and slid her arm around Arnold.

“Are you two okay?” The engineer asked them. “Yes sir, we’re alright.” The engineer smiled and continued with the tour of the engine room. Starting at the end of the engine room, the engineer pointed at the series of pipes trailing along the walls and into the steam engines.

“Steam from the boilers enters the pipes, passes through pressure gauges and into the shafts. The movement of the gas causes the pistons themselves to move up and down…”

The tour continued and Arnold tuned the engineer out as he was mostly familiar with a ship's engine. He watched as the pistons rose and fell in sync, which then rotated a shaft which would turn screws and eventually a propeller. Arnold strolled alongside Jenn, still looking at the individual parts of the engine room, such as the support columns holding the massive steam system in place, the tube that contained the rest of the screw and the crisscrossing walkways above.

“Any excess steam is either passed onto the electrical generators at our power plant, or condensed into water and sent to our turbine.” The engineer said as the pair found themselves at the entrance again. “Hold on, the turbine?” Arnold asked the engineer.

“Yes sir, that turbine, our main section of the power plant, does most of the electricity generating. We don’t use it for the twin screws, while they are powerful for their size they cause too much vibrations.” The engineer said as he opened the exit door and let them through. “Do you two know the way out of here?” He asked.

“Yes we do, thank you sir.” The door slammed shut and Arnold and Jenn were once again left alone in the dark corridors of the ship’s underbelly. “Well that was pretty interesting don't you think.” Jenn asked as she started towards another door. “Yes, yes it was.” Arnold replied.

“Did you know that the steam is expanded in four stages, hence the name ‘Quadruple-expansion steam engine’, because the steam is expanded four times.” Arnold smiled as his wife rattled off some more facts that a mere coal shoveler would know, “That is amazing isn’t it honey, did you also know that we are below the waterline?” Arnold sarcastically added.

Jenn stopped in her tracks. “Are you being serious?” She asked. Arnold nodded with a wry smile. “How deep below the waterline?” Arnold put his hand to his chin and tapped it,

“Well, if an iceberg did hit the side of the ship.” Arnold looked through the small glass porthole into the engine room, “You see those shafts leading to the propellers, they are called screws, that is what we’d be.” Arnold smiled as he finished. Jenn did not find it funny. An unfortunately timed groan as the ship rolled in the waves didn’t help either.

Jenn made pace out of the below-decks with Arnold, slowly tagging and smiling along behind her.


The Journey West Event – Part 2
CMS Aftalia
New Life 15

Spencer’s face contorted as he gazed upon the flamboyant, over-packed baggage. Was this a cruel joke played by all ocean liners under the flag of the illustrious Celestial Empire? He shook his head as he rolled his eyes. It was no wonder that the Empire boasted such a laughable navy.

Clutching the two tickets in his right hand, Spencer’s eyes glimpsed the fading pale shadow of his absent wedding ring. This must have been another joke: morbid and distasteful. His grip tightened on the tickets, as he turned toward the door. He’d had enough of this trip and of this ship already. His father must have the one to tell the crew to do this to him; to torture him so!

If this is the game his father wanted to play, then so be it.

Spencer turned sharply on his heel as he rushed out the door. He was going to find someone, anyone, to fix the mess his father had created even if it meant going to the bridge to speak with the captain himself!

The Citadel - Kushmire Armed Forces Headquarters

Albert slapped the papers down on his desk. The past few months of intelligence reports and gathering have begun to drown his office. There was a knock on his door and his aide, a short old woman who had worked in the job for the past 50 years. “Leon Allen is here to see you sir.” Albert motioned for her to let him in. “Let him in, Shirley.”

Leon stepped in dressed in a blue overcoat and matching trousers. “Albert my friend, I see you are also drowning in reports.” Leon gestured at the piles upon piles of paperwork that rose up from the floor. “Yes, the incinerator is working overtime in our building.” Allbert replied, “Why’d you want to see me again?”

Leon took a seat at the desk. It was one of the larger structures in the city of Barricus and faced the Central Square almost 3 kilometres away. “Nice view you have up here.” Leon said.

“Yes, shame that a bunch of paperwork is blocking it.” Albert said as he put down the document he was reading. “Now get to the point.” He said sternly. Leon sighed and leaned in. “Is this office safe?”

The pair left and took a walk in the gardens behind the complex. While the gardens were not nearly as large nor as beautiful as those in The Keystone Chamber they were still elegant, with fountains, ornate carved paths and 13th Century Kushmiran war statues. “What is it?” Albert asked. “We are having issues with Frederick, he’s concerned, no, annoyed, with the shockingly little information he’s being sent.”

Albert sighed and continued walking. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that I was being kept in the dark as much as he was. Of course we both know that is not the truth.” Leon sighed as he looked around nervously. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep him down. My concern is he’ll find out about my collection.”

“Why on earth did you tell him that you are also receiving empty telegrams as reports? Won’t that make him more on edge?” Albert said.

“What do you want me to tell him? That his junior knows more than him? You obviously have never met Frederick Baldwin. That is one man who doesn’t like being kept in the dark. Makes him anxious.” Leon said as he tapped his foot nervously and looked around again. This time checking the guards that patrolled the area.

“Why are you so nervous?” Albert asked. Leon turned to face Albert. “On the way out, I saw a telephone that I had never seen before. I know every phone has been wiretapped, and I sent someone to check it against the phone lists in the switchboard office. Sure enough Frederick’s office only has two phones, both wiretapped.”

Albert frowned. “F**k. Are you sure?”

“Damn sure. Look, I know what I saw. Why would he need a third phone for, we know one for his wife, and one for the rest of the building. The third one?” Leon said. Albert also began checking his surroundings. “Well this certainly complicates things, for one a rogue and unaccounted telephone isn’t enough to put anything real on him, but it is enough to cause some doubt.” Albert grunted as he took a seat. “Damn my old bones. The KFP’s original plan was to go through each of the cabinet offices and vet them and their aides.”

Leon took a seat beside him. “I don’t see why we still can’t go through that process.”

“Because all it takes is for him to call a cabinet meeting, show everyone the telegrams. Then one by one the ministers will come forward and mention who their offices have been cleaned through by KFP officials. It will be very easy for Frederick to make it seem like a coup in the making, then he has the power to dissolve military leadership, then here goes the country into another civil war, because I am not risking a nation to be led by rebellious scum.” As the words left Albert’s mouth the gravity of the situation landed on Leon.

“We’d have to take our next steps really carefully, we might end up in a multi-sided and very messy civil war.” Albert said.

“Just as the memories from the first fade.” Leon muttered. The two men sat in silence for a while. Knowing that the next course of action could decide the fate of the nation. “I’ll call a meeting. That requires several key people in Operation Rolling Skies, including yourself, but it can’t be here in Barricus. The Rebellion may be more powerful than we think.”

“Who do we need?” Leon asked.

“Well, plus yourself I’d like to have another government minister, preferably cabinet, that you trust. The head of the KFP for obvious reasons, Tamsan, he’s the General that I put in charge of ground forces for the operation.” Albert paused and cracked his knuckles. “Jesus Christ this throws a mountain-sized wrench into our plans doesn’t it.” Albert said as he rubbed his face. “I’ll go have a chat with KFP leadership, they’ll probably know what to do. As for you…” Albert said, shaking his hand at Leon. “You need to keep Frederick distracted, from now on anything related to Rolling Skies will be sent to your private address. It’s a risk we are going to have to take. I’ll beef up security around all the minister's homes to cover it.”

Leon nodded. “How do we know we aren’t being double-crossed by the KFP.” Albert laughed at that idea. “Well then my good friend we will be, for certain, absolutely and totally finished.” Albert continued laughing as Leon cracked a smile. “Alright, expect something in the mail, worst case scenario I won’t see you again for a month while we lead Frederick’s nose somewhere else.” Leon nodded as the two men shook hands.

KFP Headquarters - High in The Ascension Ranges

Albert got out of the luxury motor vehicle that brought him here. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” He told his two guards and driver. Albert looked at the towering building that lay almost 40 kilometres from Barricus’s gates, the dark and brooding castle situated high in the mountains made accessing it on foot, horseback and train almost impossible. Formerly belonging to an isolationist baron and his family, it was acquired by the government when he lost money and committed suicide leaving himself intestate. He pulled his coat over as a dark thunder storm rolled in.

Albert entered the office of the director of the KFP. Like almost the entire building, the only decoration in the dark stoned walls was the coat of arms and the seal of the KFP. “Admiral, you called for a meeting with me?” Said Rear-Admiral Mansfield Smith-Cumming. He turned around in his chair revealing the burn marks that ran down the right side of his face. Normally intimidating to some, Albert smiled as he looked at his old friend, knowing full well the burns were a result of a hilarious mishap while operating naval artillery.

“Yes Mansfield I did.” Albert said as he took a seat. The KFP was set up as a government initiative to improve communications in military combat. Eventually they turned to gathering intelligence on Rebellion movements to assist military leadership in combating their gathering strength. It was the first of its kind in Kushmire.

“Well, whatever for?” Mansfield said.

“Well, you know Leon Allen?”

“Yes, I have corresponded with him before, a stoic man indeed.” Mansfield replied.

“Well he came to me the other day, in relation to Frederick. He said that Frederick is getting uncomfortable with the negligible amount of information we are sending him.” Albert said. Mansfield nodded, “I would also be concerned if an operation was being carried out at this scale, and as the most powerful person in this county, being kept in the dark.”

“I believe that was an error on our part.” Albert said, “Because apparently the information we have been sending him can fit within a single telegram.” The smile disappeared from Mansfield’s face. “What, telegram? I asked for a believable document, at least several pages long to be sent not a f**king telegram.” Albert put his face in his hands.

“Well the plot thickens.” He said. Mansfield tapped his desk. “Why? What do you mean by that, is there more?”

Albert puffed his cheeks and let out a long sigh before continuing. “Yes, Leon also told me about an invisible phone at Frederick’s office, a phone that isn’t on the lists at the government switchboard.” Mansfield dropped the telephone he went to pick up. He stood and walked over to a corner of the office where a filer stood. He searched through it and pulled out a long binder with the thickness of an artillery shell.

“Are you sure he saw a… third telephone?” Mansfield asked.

“Well, he seemed pretty damn certain about it.” Mansfield dropped the binder on his desk with a heavy but dull thud. “This throws a spanner in the works. What did you two discuss? You and Leon I mean.”

“Well, we both agreed that we need to tread carefully, a rogue telephone isn’t enough to outright call Frederick a traitor, but it does raise questions. It's the fact that it’s IN Frederick’s office, that it could be his office that is the leak, if it were anyone else we can carry on as normal, however, Frederick has the power to cover his own tracks, all he has to do is call a cabinet meeting, dissolve military leadership for overstepping their power, and we both know damn well that I am not standing down.”

“The country will return to a civil war.” Mansfield breathed. Albert leant back in his chair as the room stayed in silence. Mansfield tapped his hands on the table again before speaking, “We should have a backup plan in place in case things do get out of hand. That right now should be our priority, once that is finalised, we can decide the next course of action, I believe that is wise. You focus on that while I’ll figure out how that damn telephone got in under our nose.”

“Is that important? I mean, it only points towards Frederick wanting to hide certain communications from us.” Albert said.

“No, no, my boys scanned through every single telephone that building has, checked all the cabling and everything, we would not have missed something. The only way The Rebellion, if it is indeed them, sneaked in a telephone was if they did it with our assistance.”

“A mole within the KFP as well.” Albert said. “Jesus, who do we trust?”

“Right now no one. Not even me.” Mansfield said. “Damn that telephone. Really f**king clever from The Rebellion.”

Albert looked up and frowned. “Why?”

“Because it's what I’d do.” Mansfield turned to face Albert. “Install a phone in the highest office in the country, The Rebellion most likely know that we are trying to snuff out a leak, by putting a phone in Frederick’s office, if they see us stop, or even delay the process, they can figure out what we are up to, by now surely they know we are withholding information from Frederick, yes while from their perspective it seems like they have been busted. If they are smart enough to figure that out, they are smart enough to lead the telephone lines from somewhere else, not their headquarters. This means there are a lot of people in on it, someone in the switchboard office, someone in here, someone in the cabinet. Though, not necessarily Frederick, is he the only one with access to the office?”
Albert shook his head, “Other than his aide, who was recently swapped may I add. It's Frederick only. What I want to know is how they turned him, the mans an idiot sure, but he’s no traitor.”

“This is assuming it is indeed Frederick and not his aide, it is possible that the two are working with each other but their way with things are stacking up, it's best we not make assumptions. It could just be that The Rebellion planted the phone to lead us down the wrong track. We never really formed a committee for this operation have we, you’ve just taken the initiative.”

Albert shook his head, “No, that makes a civil war even more dangerous, Leon’s brilliant, he really is, probably the few men in that room who knows what he’s doing, but as cabinet he’ll be more interested in preserving the union if things go south.”

Mansfield nodded in agreement. “Yes, that is the situation we have found ourselves in. I’ll start with vetting ourselves with men that I know I can trust, then we’ll go see what we can do about that telephone. Now that you mention, there has been a sudden, but steady increase in voltage passing through our monitoring systems in the parliament buildings. We just assumed that it was some idiot overcranking the same telephone, but an extra added one does make more sense. S**t, can’t believe I let that one slip.”

Albert stood from his chair. “Alright Mansfield, be careful my friend, I’ll see to it setting in a backup plan.” Mansfiled stood and shook hands with his friend. “Yes, thank you, I’ll see what I can do about the leaks and telephone, I’ll touch base with Leon about it. Thank you Albert. Hopefully I see you again soon, and I pray it's not on the other side of a battlefield.”

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