Experimental NES - A 14 Day Narrative Experiment - Retired Players and IOTers Welcome

Day 3, Noon

Captain Altraius stepped outside the South Gate. Logic told him to avoid anything too garish. He donned a grey pea coat and a black cap. He saluted to his Grendarme subordinate. He had only just met Lieutenant Waldstein, but at the very least he knew he wasn't loyal to Huge. 340 Grendarme of the former 1000 remained, and of the 8 captains, only two remained. Colonel Thayburn was likely dead or worse at this point, and the only commanding officers at this point were Holst and himself. And Waldstein was like him; a noble who couldn’t stand the noveau riche. He wouldn’t turn himself over to Holst or Huge. Altraius saluted “I’ll be back soon. Keep the men I mentioned on duty here. If for whatever reason returning to the Grand through the is difficult, keep one of the men at the White Lion, I can usually find a way through there”

Waldstein nodded “Sir!” he paused for a moment. This revolution had a way of breaking down the barriers between superiors and subordinates. One’s destiny lie in their own hands now. Altraius may be the commanding officer that he choose now, but….”Sir, we’re not really with Huge are we?”

“God no. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.”

“Then are you going to General Van? See if he can push through?”

Altraius chuckled “I wouldn’t shoot Klaus Van if….wait no. I messed that up. I would shoot Klaus Van in any circumstance.” He paused for a moment “Ok how about this. I would shoot Klaus Van if the bullet had to go through…. my…. hand? Wait that doesn’t make sense….forget it. You get the idea, right?”

“Yes Sir. Then….whom?” Waldstein ticked off his fingers “General Howe is fighting Tiveria in the South. The Admirals have declared for who knows what. General Grummond is old, but he does command the 4th Army. Perhaps he could take the city? Some of the Royal Guards I heard also revolted”

“Lieutenant, we are loyal only to the monarchy and its rightful heir, whomever he or she might be.”

Waldstein’s eyes widened quickly and then shut. He saluted and said “Sir!”.

Altraius smiled. He was not sure where his own Lieutenant Monnet was. Likely deserted or dead at this point, but Waldstein was a more than adequate replacement. At the very least, he knew when to shut up.

The Azure District had not done well. Windows were broken, and children were scurrying through alleyways. However, foot traffic was out and about, and people were able to returning to their jobs in the Grand. When he finally arrived at King Hakkon Plazza, Eisel was there waving “Yo hooo! Over here!”

Altraius bit his lip and walked over. He hissed “You idiot, could you be any more suspirious?”

Eisel smiled “Of course we could. I have a red and black arm band if you want!”

“Forget it.”

“Besides, the soldiers aren’t going to arrest anyone now. There’s a reason the Army wears black pants!”

Altraius sighed “You’re not funny”

“Shows what you know, everyone thinks I’m hilarious!”

As they continued walking, Eisel talked about the going ons of the city “Strummund Heights fell to a mob, and Huge’s men failed to take Richter Point. Apparently two of his units defected.” Eisel nodded to three servants walking past before continuing “And now there’s a counter revolution over near the harbor. Some Grendarme and sailors took up arms declaring for the Crown.”

“Mm.” Altraius nodded. They were already out of the Azure district and he hadn’t even noticed. But then it dawned upon him “Huge didn’t take the Azure District”

“Well, strictly speaking he technically did. But you are right my dear captain. It’s what they call a Valosian Horse trick”

The South Gate was open now. The soldiers would stop the mobs from getting in sure, but they didn’t open up a supply line. They took their finger out of the dam. Outside of the Grand district’s manned walls, there was little control of movement between districts, Most of the city outside of the Grand just melded together.

Assassins….sabatours….vandals…Eisel put his hand on his shoulder and whispered “Revolutionaries. You got it now!” and his whisper broke out into a laugh

Altraius stared blankly ahead. What had he done?

A little cavalcade approached the barricade from the twilight fog - five grim soldiers in worn tunics, and a careworn little coachman driving a black carriage that had had the Renaldi crest hastily painted over a few days ago. A young man atop the barricade bade them halt, and they did so. The soldiers did their best to look non-threatening, and the young man clambered down to talk with the coachman.

"Turn around, man, there ain't a way for you through here. Jarrow's restricted ground, hear?"

"Of course," said the coachman. "I understand, Mr..."

"Narridge."

"Narridge. Could you recommend a different way to the Grand District?"

Narridge grimaced, considering. "Nah, Scanzberg'n Troydon're both walled off, too. You mought try South Road, it's supposed to be clear."

"Who mans the gate?"

"General Huge, sir."

"Thank you, Mr Narridge." The coachman opened a side compartment on the carriage and handed Narridge a small pouch that clinked and a bottle of whiskey. Narridge whistled appreciatively, and dumped the coins from the pouch into his hand.

"Y'know, if you had more, we mought be able to pass you all through Jarrow after all, sir."

The coachman said nothing, but climbed on top of the carriage and spoke inside. "My Lord Marquess?"

"I heard, Frederick, thank you." The older man in the carriage considered his two charges. Still looking at them, he said, "See if a hundred will do."

Times in Jarrow were apparently tougher than they appeared, as a hundred bought them an honour guard, a bed for the night, and two hot meals apiece. The curtained door opened, and out stepped an older man, a girl of seventeen and a boy of twelve, all in expensive traveling clothes. The older man turned to one of the soldiers. "Captain?"

"Yes, my Lord Marquess?"

"Send two men to secure horses and carriage somewhere safe."

"Yes, my lord Marquess." The captain nodded at two of the other soldiers, who climbed on the driver's bench and set off into the mist. The remaining party of seven was helped over the barricade and settled for the night in a ground-floor apartment.

"Uncle Isidor?" asked the boy once they had bedded down.

"Yes?" said the older man through his hat, which was over his face.

"What do we do now?"

"In the morning we'll go deeper into the city and find cousin Julian and cousin Joanna. With luck, they and Corinne are still somewhere safe, by the palace. We'll start there."

The boy seemed to accept this, or at least was silent for a few minutes. "Helena?"

"Mmf?" said Helena, most of the way asleep.

"Never mind," said the boy, rolling over. He stared at the peeling paint on the wall for a long time, but eventually drifted off as well.

---

I've gone and added several characters. Brief summary.

Marquess Isidor Renaldi, elder brother of the deceased Queen consort, come to find Julian and Joanna

Helena and an unnamed boy (tentatively Andrea) Renaldi, his niece and nephew by a different sibling, probably a brother

Frederick, their coachman and retainer

Mr Narridge, a resident of Jarrow and temporarily the Renaldis' hired help

Three soldiers loyal to Marquess Renaldi, who have accompanied them into Faustenberg

Two soldiers loyal to Marquess Renaldi, who have ventured off to secure the carriage in the outskirts

Corinne, the name of the Queen Dowager

OOC: technically Huge controls the gate. He's not there though he's at the palace, the Grendarmerie is manning it. But good addition another character to add

Also you have a neice, Princess Joanna

Hey, that's what they know in Jarrow. Rumours aren't perfect, eh?

Julian was rubbish at printing. His hands were too delicate to properly grip the press, and his meager little arms were not accustomed to the manual labor of the third class. As Julian skimmed tomorrow’s issue, one certain article caught his eye.

“Is it true that Reverend Cuthbert was shot?”

“‘Fraid so, boy,” responded Enrico. “Twice. Miracle that he’s still alive.”

“I think we should go visit him,” opined Julian.

“We? Visit him? Are you crazy?” Enrico asked rhetorically. “Huge’s croons would shoot us on sight if I left the house with you.”

“I don’t think so. If you just dressed me in some baggy trousers and a long coat, the guards would never recognize me.”

“Unh unh, child. Your face’d be recognizable anywhere. Why do you even want to see him, anyway?” asked the man.

“He’s seen me! My father would take me to see his sermon every other month. He knows what I look like. He’d be able to communicate through the underground channels. He could spread the word that I’m still alive!” Julian argued.

“Yeah, and public knowledge of you being alive is just what we want right now,” Enrico rebutted sarcastically.

Julian sighed. “Normally, I wouldn’t tell this to anyone, but my father had a secret network of tunnels made underneath the city in the case of an emergency like this.”

“And why did you come here instead of inside the tunnels?” Enrico asked.

“The secret police knew everything about them. Once the commander flipped over to Huge’s side, he told him about all of the entrances in the city.” Julian elaborated.

“Then those tunnels are useless,” the Italian declared.

“Not entirely.” Julian said with a grin. “Decades ago, a cave-in blocked off the route to the slu-” Enrico glared at the boy, “fine, poorer regions of the city. Not even the secret police knows about the tunnels beyond that cave-in.”

“How does that help us?” inquired the printer. “Cuthbert’s church is on the other side of the city from here.”

“Not Cuthbert. Isidor.”

“Isidor Renaldi? What about him?”

“He’s my uncle,” Julian said. “My father made an agreement with him so that if he died during rebellion, Uncle Isidor would come and fetch me and take me somewhere safe.”

“Did he have anywhere in mind as a meetingplace?” Enrico asked.

Julian, rummaging around for a piece of parchment, said, “On the outskirts of town; there’s a tunnel entrance near here that should lead us directly there.” Julian, taking the parchment, wrote down an address. He showed it to Enrico, who looked startled.

Taking a deep breath, Enrico at last declared, with finality, “All right. Tomorrow morning. We leave at the crack of dawn.”

OOC: a bit late to the party, but here you go.

-

The scar that ran down from her temple, through the pit of a missing eye, across her lips and ending below her chin, greatly hampered the tuneless whistle seeping through her cleft lip. For some cursed reason, the scent of smoke made her empty stomach growl in longing. Rifle and cannon fire occasional drifted through the alleys, and the clammer out of the crowds had taken on a much more strained tone. Republicans, loyalists, revolutionaries and counter-revolutionaries. The commoners and elite were choosing sides or making their own, and heroic battles and horrific slaughter were rapidly becoming a daily occurrence in the name of the patriotism and a better future. And still her stomach growled.

Her useless arm was cradled in her lap, her good hand using a stick to prod the small fire. Adding a bit more rubbish to the fire, she continued with her tone deaf whistling. The song rang true in her mind, an old drinking song from a man she once had to endure, and one of the few things she kept with her from that broken home. A song of cruel indifference. It seemed to fit the times. The soldiers and freedom fighters would continue the fight for their greater causes, and the common folk would rally behind which ever would toss them more bread. But what side would pay attention to how much bread fell from the wagons to settle in the grime filled gutters? What president would toss a coin into the shadows? What loyalist commander would witness those who had been so crushed and ground into the filth? Those who could not stand, who could not speak, who could not work? Some had broken minds, some had shattered bodies, and what they all shared was a uselessness to society. The poor could be manipulated by those above them, a constant malleable and disposable work force, or they could be the cannon fodder for a self proclaimed 'people's army,' clogging rifle barrels and grinding down blades with their flesh. But the crippled and broken were of no use to anyone, they couldn't hold a rifle or charge a barricade and they would never work the factories or pay taxes. Their was presence was but a constant blight to any who glanced into the wrong shadow.

she dropped the stick into the starving flames, and rummaged through the sack at her side to withdraw a ceramic jug. Gripping it between her thighs, she worked the stopper out, then using her browned teeth to grip the fabric, tore a long strip from the bloodied guardsman's tunic. She lit one end, then stuffed the other end into the jug, and replaced the stopper to hold the strip in place. The jug sloshed as she stood, and with an awkward toss the jar landed atop the bakery's roof.

The Scarred Woman warmed her hand by the the greasy rubbish fire, then drew the tunic about her scrawny shoulders. Which ever faction came out ahead would treat the useless the same as their forbearers - with cruel indifference. But she new others. She had brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers who resided in every unchecked corner and ignored shadow. Their's was a family that had no purpose, and not worth noticing, and when the fires spread, when the animals died and the waters became laden with sickly filth, who would look to those who had never existed?

With the sac of jugs clanking and sloshing over her shoulder, the Scarred Woman hobbled down the alley, her back sheathed in a brightening orange glow. Her family would not be part of the city's future. They could not change, and they could never rule. The crippled and broken could not rise up, but they could tear others down.

The tuneless whistle could no longer be heard over the blaze.

Day 3 11:45 PM


His heart beat rapidly. This was it. Joanna he thought. It very well could also be a man with a gun pointed at his head, but there’s no way Eisel would walk 11 hours just to kill him out here. This was it.

He opened the door, his eyes closed.The door creaked open and he opened his eyes. He had been staring at the floor, and his eyes worked their way up the elegant dress, up to the body and then the face. The blue eyes that could turn playful or piercing in a second. The blonde ringlets of hair that rested against her pale cheeks.


His….it was…..Joanna His knees wobbled as he sunk to the floor.

She tilted her head and smiled

“Oh Rohan! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again”

"Joanna...."

Patter. Patter. Patter.

Patter.

Bang.

A unwittingly startled Jenna Danton jumped back, the sudden burst of gunfire from somewhere on the other side piercing the dismal grey late afternoon sky. Honestly, after several days of this madness, Jenna was surprised she could even tell the rain and the gunfire apart. She stumbled down another few meters, trying to duck as best she could. She looked back, to see another rooftop burning just over the next row. The university gates were just around the corner and down the street. Funny, almost, how true madness could reign so entirely, just footsteps from the gates of reason.

Not for the first time, Jenna was reminded of that old saying. "The King is dead. Then who was king? Who was not king?"

Naturally, this University in Westenhal had been quite confused in the first hours after that harried courier had rushed through the gates bringing word from Faustenburg of the King's downfall. The (royally) appointed heads of the university had called for order.

But the students were itching to join the revolution, and they'd declared themselves and the university no longer under the authority of - well, whoever was actually in power at the moment. Jenna had somehow found herself roped into all this. A woman teaching at a university? Odd enough. A woman on the Students' Directorate? That, Jenna had somehow become. And she'd accepted it in stride. She'd seen the horrors of the King's secret police unleashed upon this place for herself. But the last days hadn't been anything more than a great big haze.

She'd left the university for a walk into the old Nederstad district of Westenhal, by the riverside, once more. She just wanted to look outside the tightly packed university campus, and with the seeming disappearance of the military, the time had felt right. "Don't go, you don't know what you'll see!" she'd been warned, but she hadn't heard gunfire from that direction, so she figured it was safe - enough.

What a mistake that had been! The centuries-old cathedral now had a pair of poor sods nailed to the wall, labelled filthy ungodly traitors. Torch-wielding the streets, and any trace of the city guard had vanished from these streets, without the slightest trace. Luckily, no one had noticed her, and she'd turned around, starting to grow concerned. And then the shooting had started.

Well, none of that mattered now. She just had to get around this last corner, and it was a simple few dozen meters to the university's front gates, and safety.

As she turned the corner, "Won't you help me, miss?" said a young voice from behind her. "Please? They're out to get me."

Jenna turned. Sitting on the ground, against the wall of a shuttered shop nearby, lay a girl, not yet flowered into a woman. Her skin was dusky, marking her out despite the normal clothes she wore, and her speech bore a sultry accent - clearly a foreigner, but not one unfamiliar to this country. Perhaps a traveller, or a child of one, now cast adrift like flotsam with the collapse of order.

And indeed, past the girl, the street, just now open and empty, had now been barricaded by a hungry-eyed bunch of men, a makeshift cross raised high above them. These were no revolutionaries, merely a crowd no doubt riled up by some demagogue to do - something. The word "purify" had probably been said, more than just once.

"Please?" the girl looked up at her with pleading eyes, almost mechanically, reminding Jenna - this was actually happening, right all around her. The girl didn't rare turn back to face the crowd, even as a pair of stones hurled by the crowd landed meters behind her.

"Come on," Jenna decided at once. The girl stood up shakily, and promptly almost fell down again, making Jenna grab her hand. Jenna looked down, and saw a gash down the girl's right leg. The girl couldn't walk under her own power; this much was immediately obvious. "What's your name?" Jenna asked.

"A - Amalia," the girl stammered quietly.

Despite the situation, Jenna smiled. "That's a pretty name. Come on, I'll carry you home. You'll be safe there, I promise." Amalia nodded.

And so Jenna lifted Amalia up in her arms and ran.

PERSONAL JOURNAL, SOME TIME AGO
These pages are written in a small cabin of a merchant ship called Abigayle. I am starting this diary, as they always do, as a personal hobby. After twenty-three years traveling the world, sailing across seas and knowing foreign lands, I finally have the right to rest. Countless memories of my past never go away and the nightmares of terrible actions that I took torment me in the evenings. Dream is just an empty word without meaning. I thought England would be my home, always heard good things about that country and, in particular, London.

My wife has always been my highest priority. I met her while teaching at a university in Lyon, one of my best students, and although not understand the fascination she had for me, we got married a few years after we met. When I talked about London she ended up telling me stories of how she and her family grew in Faustenburg.

And maybe she was right about Faustenburg, maybe it was just a demonstration of homesickness or desire to revisit her family that was once forgotten. My name is Aubrey and, although English, I spent my life in France. I am married to Annaïg, a beautiful French woman who is also my assistant. I am a mentor, a teacher, a philosopher... or any other denomination.

The elders say that time is the best medicine but in fact time is only a scar that does not heal. Who would say that the salty smell of the sea would be the cure for a soul like mine.

DAY 3 - DEATH'S HEAD CROWNED

The tunnels beneath the city were dark and dank. Enrico led the way, with a torch, Crown Prince Julian walking behind. For not the last time, he wondered what he was doing here. Collaborating with nobles on some crazy plot, filled with intrigue and danger. It felt more like one of the cheap adventure stories with runny ink that once sold from his stall than something from reality. And would this really work?

A brash, confident voice rang out of the darkness, as if answering his fears.

"Did you really think that this would work?" The man's voice sounded incredulous.

"Does a mouse know where it scurries?" came a feminine voice purring out of the darkness.

"Is the tunnel a safe hole...or the gullet of a cat?" replied the voice of a man rich and quizzical, as if engaging in a game of riddles with the woman.

"Mice play at games, when really they are being toyed with."

Throughout this dialogue, Enrico and the Prince stood frozen in fear. It was only now that he knew just how stupid he had been to play this game. March through the very same secret tunnels that the secret police used and expect not to get caught?

The methodical tap-tap-tapping of boots in the darkness finally revealed two figures, in long black coats, black leather gloves, and polished boots. The man wore a revolver and a smile. The woman dangled what looked like a meat cleaver swinging from her belt.

"Let us see what the President thinks of his new toy."

"Perhaps now he will toss aside the other."

---

The Renaldis awake in the morning to find their inn surrounded by about two hundred trade union rioters. Clearly, sleeping in Jarrow before attempting to rendezvous with the Prince was a horrible idea. Only nobles from the countryside still convinced of their own personal immunity from danger would think remaining in the heart of the most dangerous district in the capital at the height of a rebellion was in any way a good idea.

Obviously the world is no longer their plaything, its surface to be danced on with ease.

Marquess Isidor Renaldi stepped forward, said "I am here to..." and promptly fell over as a large furnace worker clubbed him with a thick piece of iron. The guards, long since disarmed and stripped of their weapons, could merely watch as their master was beaten and kicked by the enraged mob before one, a red armband around his forehead, let out a piercing whistle.

"Oi, you lot, that's enough!"

He scratched the side of his face with a fingernail, considering the bruised and battered nobleman at his feet.

"Take 'em to Cuthbert. Let God answer for t'ese poncey fat bastards."

---

The day began with two massive public setbacks for the administration of the nascent Republic of Fausten, still only in control of the central districts of Faustenburg, and a small toehold in Jarrow near the ruined arsenal.

The first was the murder of General Rudolf Russ, a high-level Huge loyalist, and the impromptu election of ex-Captain Albert Hauge as Commander. His division, the famed "Death's Head Crowns", are legendary for holding the pass at Montecarcino to cover Fausten's retreat before the Tiverian onslaught in the last war. Their declaration of loyalty to the King, dead or alive, has shaken Huge's loyalists to the core.

The second, perhaps more predictable than this revolt, was the rebuff of General Van Klaus, who has pacified the majority of the Azure District and begun to quell the rioting in working-class Scanzburg with the assistance of local gendarmes. With the Azure District lying between the Grand District and the harbor, control of the palace's lines of communication with the outside world cannot proceed without holding it.

And General Van has publicly rebuffed Huge (perhaps ironically) as a monarchist and a traitor to the ideals of a true republic. Van's troops and the inhabitants of the Azure District seem to support him, though it remains to be seen what moves he will make next. Van is in a difficult position, as the other military forces in the capital are Huge loyalists or counter-revolutionaries expressing disdain for the very idea of a republic. He may be forced to make uncomfortable alliances soon.

Some might suspect a collapse of Huge's entire coup in the face of these actions. But the President has acted somewhat competently to consolidate his power within the Grand District, a huge network of bribes managing to keep many of his officers loyal thus far, and fear of the ravenous forces outside the Grand District keeping the nobles and other literati of the bureaucracy dependent on the President as the only force preventing the chaos he has unleashed from consuming them all. Most of the gendarmes, led by the charismatic Captain Altrius, have also remained loyal to Huge.

Furthermore, Huge's moves to control the secret police have proved massively successful. The young Prince Julian had fled to the poorer districts of the city, but an ill-formed escape attempt delivered him directly into the clutches of the secret police monitoring these selfsame tunnels.

Will President-General Huge now finalize his regicide by repeating it on the Crown Prince...or rather, technical King, Julian I? Or will he seek to use him as a figurehead around which to rally the city to his cause? The royal siblings are Huge's trump card, once their capture becomes public knowledge. All will turn on how he decides to use them.

---

Trade unionist supporters have ended the standoff at St. Virgil's by distributing loaves of bread to the crowd. Three cheers for the unions were heard, and many young men then donned the red and black armbands of the unionists. The Archprelate himself has remained ensconced in the Cathedral for fear of the crowd.

As to the source of these loaves of bread, it is said a merchant with sympathies to trade unionism somehow distributed them. It is also said that he is attempting to procure and sell weapons to further fund this rebellion. Whether he is a war profiteer or running a deeper game is unclear, but the unionists seem content thus far to profit from his efforts.

---

Riots overtake the university town of Westenhal, even as detachments of Royal Hussars (some declaring loyalty to Huge, others acting under their own authority) prevent several of the Great Estates in southern Fausten from raising their own flag of agricultural trade unionism. This abortive revolt in the countryside is put down in bloody fashion.

A squadron of ships has agreed to accept Huge's offer of amnesty, and have sailed upstream to Faustenburg, securing the customs houses and a few of the docks. The marines are peppered by skirmish volleys from rebellious gendarmes and dockworkers associated with the Ragenau faction of the unionists, and a long column of smoke rises from the harbor.

For now, both trade-unionist controlled territory and Van's army lies between the Grand District and the docks. And the majority of the Royal Navy continues to be firmly opposed to Huge's coup.

The Imperial Sovereignty of Tiveria declares war on Fausten, "for the righteous reassertion of the province Fostia to the Imperial Sovereignty, to order and peace under Her Imperial Magnificence Empress Alana I."

This happens all the time, but given that Fausten is in complete chaos, perhaps this war it will stick.

---

Factions:

The Republic of Fausten
Strength: est. 3,500 soldiers and gendarmes, moderate morale, well-provisioned, ample field/siege artillery and few gatling guns
Leader: President-General Christian Huge
Supporters: Captain Altrius of the Royal Gendarmerie, Agents (unknown name) of the Secret Police

The Union of Tradesmen and Laborers
Strength: est. 5,000 workers, family members, some light arms, mostly melee weapons, undisciplined
Leaders: Father Cuthbert, Mr. William Carter
Supporters: Unofficial truce with the "Republic of Ragenau," a crime syndicate and smuggling operation with anti-authoritarian leanings operating near the harbor

The Death's Head Crowns
Strength: est. 1,600 soldiers, well armed and provisioned, some gatling guns and siege artillery
Leader: Commander Albert Hauge
Supporters: Unofficial truce with other Royalist factions and sympathizers

The Army of General Klaus Van
Strength: est. 900 soldiers, high morale, well armed and well-provisioned, some field artillery
Leader: Brigadier General Klaus Van
Supporters: None so far

OOC: Christos, you can now kill or spare baseballpie's characters. Act as you will. When your characters interact though, whoever writes the second story should coordinate with the first. Try not to directly contradict each other.

Robert Can't, you have the same situation with talonschild. His characters' fates are in your hands.

The secret police have melted back into the darkness.

Defacto, we're going to shy away from OTL country and city names for now, though you can have similar ones if you wish.

I know we're overdue on a map. I promise there will be one up no later than tomorrow; I'm still working out the orientation of Faustenburg in my head. But you know the important details from the update.

SO BEGINS DAY 4

Hey,

I miss this?

A squadron of ships has agreed to accept Huge's offer of amnesty, and have sailed upstream to Faustenburg, securing the customs houses and a few of the docks. The marines are peppered by skirmish volleys from rebellious gendarmes and dockworkers associated with the Ragenau faction of the unionists, and a long column of smoke rises from the harbor.

Click to expand...

The reason I ask is I didn't read this part. How did Captain Voss and the HMRS Freya allow such a action? The last I read was 1/5 of the Army of General Klaus Van was headed to the harbor.

If such a thing happened it should be a post. Captain Voss would use every possible action to hold the harbor & the mouth of the river to the Capital. Plus I believe any ship that came after the Kings death would be force to surrender or be a Captain loyal to the Monarchy or the Queen. As posted earlier most of Fausten's Fleet is Loyal to the Queen or Monarchy.

Or was I to slow in writing about the harbor & MoD took action. Like in a movie when a character is killed of screen.


Blaze Injun

Captain Voss is just one among many; though the leadership of the Navy still opposes Huge, one squadron of ships was able to slip away under cover of darkness and sail up the river to the capital.

Also, if your faction goes one or several days without stories, their leadership starts to slip a little bit.

OOC: Good. I want to end this NES with at least one pointlessly dead Renaldi, and no more than one of them surviving. Was gonna liaise with Robert Can't over me being in his 'hood, but this is just as good.

That said, Robert, I'd like to play with them a little more before they get offed.


Night, day 3
Frederick Spira stole out onto the roof of the building where his master slept. He had attracted the attention of the one guard on the staircase, but, having flipped him a silver bezant, was allowed to slip past. He had little difficulty in jumping to the roof of the adjacent factory, but caused rather more noise than he liked. If he could get to the twisting streets of the old city he would only be discovered at a time of his choosing, of that he was confident. From there he could learn what needed to be known.

---

The village of Auxmor, a few hours' ride southwest of Faustenburg

Dieter and Gordon found little hospitality on their way out of the city. Several had fled the area when the trouble first began, but most were holed up in their homes with some unlucky son staying up all night with rifle in hand. The carriage already bore two bullet-holes.

In the second village they approached, around half-past-one in the morning, was less affected by the turmoil, though no less vigilant. After being accosted by four armed men, they were eventually directed to an abandoned manor (though the reason for its abandonment was left unspoken), where they stashed the carriage in the barn. After giving the horses what little feed was left in the barn, Dieter stood (or sat) guard while Gordon curled up next to him and slept.

Dawn, day 4
Helena Renaldi tore into the crust of bread tossed at her with as much gusto as her heritage and situation allowed. Though terrified for her uncle's life even more than her own, she maintained a steady stream of glares at the assembled menfolk. Next to her on the street, Andrea was curled up numbly against the wall, mindlessly worrying at his fingertips. He was starting to lose feeling in them ever since his silken gloves had been taken. The man who had taken them was idly using one to polish his bayonet, looking as though he hadn't slept in weeks. The other had had the Renaldi crocus cut out of it, which had been made into a sort of cockade and pinned to someone's hat.

OOC (again): I think these could use a good editing, but I'm too tired. Later.

A soldier rushed inside the Assembly of the People shouting: "Crown Prince Julian has been captured!"

"Really?", Christian Huge asked him.

"Yes, sir!"

Christian Huge then turned towards the Assembly:

"If we want to stabilize our Republic and make sure that the Royalists have no legitimate claim to power, we have to execute the son of the tyrant!!"

"Execute him!", the noblemen shouted. They were afraid that if monarchy was restored and Julian somehow managed to become King, he would seek revenge on them for supporting Christian Huge. So, they decided to get rid of him once and for all. They had thrown their lot with the Republic and now they depended on it's survival.

Christian Huge then ordered: "Hang Julian!"

The soldiers indeed grabbed Julian and hanged him outside the Palace. The monarchists had lost one more claimant to the throne.

Enrico was given a severe beating and was let free.

Aeneas looked at the sorry bunch of men before him.
"So, what have we here?"
He looked at the scrubby people before him.
One, Boris, stepped forward.
"Sir, um... we're smuggling weapons in through Friedrichsdorf and Erichsford. What do you suggest?"
"What is the situation in Faustenberg?"
"Well, Huge appears to be doing rather well. It might be useful if we did something with hi-"
"You realize he'd betray us the moment he was good."
"Yeah, I guess. Um, Aeneas, what about Cuthbert?"
"That... That could work. Jannis, tell Cuthbert I wish to meet him for negotiations."

Hey,

Fours Are Always Lucky.

Not everything went right at the harbor for Captain Voss. During the second night as he consolidated his hold on the dock and surrounding streets, a group of five small 10 gun warships had slipt past the light guard. It had sail up the river to take the finer merchant houses. It was also during this time a message of amnesty and employement in the new usurper's fleet was taken on the flying bridge of the steam warship. Captain Voss' reply was final. A broadside from the HRMS Freya at the half sunken 70 gun Ship of the Line HRMS Neulbing Mons. There would be no deal.

Day three saw Captain Voss organizing the two forts that guarded the harbors enterance. Both remained loyal to the Monarchy as they were manned by naval personal. and passing out of powder and weapons to the flood of nobles and there supporters. They had come to escape the fightening only to be inlisted by Captain Voss. The Forts food stores were divide into half and spread through out the dock area to the people, be he noble or citizen. Cannon were moved from the forts to support the docks and deter any mob from charging in.

"Captain Voss, Sir." Said the young noble son that had joined in the defense of the docks. "Wake up. Its becoming daylight and 3 ships have been sighted headed toward the harbor."

"Get me my spyglass." Voss said knowing by the time he stood from sleeping on the deck it would be in his hand. He dropped the blanket that did little to stop the beating rain of the night from soaking him. "Are the engines ready?"

"Yes sir." The Chief Engineer looked at his watch. "We could be out and into them in 28 minutes."

"No we are going to be need here. Klaus and his thugs aren't going to let us be for very much longer I fear." Captain Voss rubbed his eyes. "Plus word has it that The Union of Tradesmen and Laborers are picking sides. We need to send a runner to see what thier leader picked." He took the spyglass and turned toward the coming ships. "Run up the Queens Colors, Storm and my personal flag."

Crewmen moved quickly to follow the orders and they all knew what it meant. It was a signal to the Captains of the Queen that the war had started. If the reply was the same with a second Queens Colors at the bottom they were allies. Once done they rushed to get see if friend or foe was coming.

"Let us see." Captain Voss strained to see if a reply came. It took some minutes before the ships were close enough to read the flags. For sure it was allies. Captain Geof Urnstilt and his 16 gun sloop followed by a large fat merchant ship. Within her holds were 50 horses and the colonial cavalrymen that rode them. The best news was Captain Friedrik Hooligan and his Ship of the Line, HRMS Grenyosvik "Yes boys. Today we have help."



Blaze Injun

The pain lingered.

It defined him. Because there was pain he knew he was not dead. Because there was pain he knew his job was not yet done. He was an instrument of the Lord's will and this must have been the Lord's will. He didn't really know what was going on. Snippets persisted, assailing his conciousness...


The picket lines had been formed, barricades erected and the men had armed themselves. People from all across the city were rising up - The textile mills of Jarrow, the good manufacturing centres in Irontown, the steel mills of Fitzpatrick Dock and across the country people were rising in solidarity. Cuthbert smiled to himself as he walked along the lines giving out blessings.


He was vaguely aware of being back in the Worker's Chapel on Holgarth street. Amy was sitting across the room, he could see the stains on her cassock. He realised that those stains were his own blood. He tried to turn his head to say something to her but just moving slightly send new waves of pain through his body.

He tried to say something but he couldn't form the words, it may have just sounded like a grunt but he couldn't really tell, the pain was taking over again.



"We should set up more debris in the road here." Cuthbert said pointing towards the wide road that ran down from the main town.

"Why? Its not like we have many resources to spare anyway." William was walking with him. The cold December air was biting and the ground still wet with mud from the torrents of the past few days.

"I was at Bowtown, I know how to form a Picket." Just one cavalry charge, that's all it would take.


Amy was next to him, a look of deep concern on her face. She started talking very softly to him "Tha's going to be alright Cuth, t'unions are continuing they're taking it a a sign from God that that survived."

Cuthbert tried to move, to protest along the lines that he wasn't out of the woods yet. However the pain took over again until not even Amy reassuring voice could be heard.


"May the Lord bless you and keep you, may his face shine upon you and give you peace." Cuthbert took his hand from the head of the young man, gave him a smile and moved along to the next in the line. Hundred had lined up for a blessing from him. He'd never expected to have this level of impact on the rising but it was clear now that he was as crucial here as any other. The Unions would usually be at each others' throats with old and bitter rivalries. Somehow he had seemed to unite them all in common cause.

He stopped at the next man, a youth in a large brown coat. "Would you like a blessing good sir?" He asked.

The youth looked up and put his hand into his pocket "Father, there's something I'd like to tell you." Cuthbert put on his listening face and hardly noticed the man pulling the gun from his pocket before it was in the man's hand and pointed at him.
Amy pushed trying to get him out of the way but the man was good and two shots rang out before he turned and let another off.


"...and Tha must remember Cuth, the Bishop is coming to see you today so I hope you'll be well enough to speak to him." Cuthbert rolled into consciousness again. Amy had a hand on his head. It was comforting.

He was scared, more scared than he'd been in his life but even now he felt God with him, guiding him. Instrument of his will. That was what he was telling himself: instrument of his will.

Instrument of his will.


Tears were streaming down her face, blood was soaking into her cassock. Cuthbert looked ahead, surprise in his eyes and a blank expression on his face. She cried out desperately for something to stop the bleeding. Cuthbert didn't hear. He felt he was dying here in Amy's arms. There's no place he'd rather die.
The last thing he heard before balcking out was the clip clop of hooves on the cobbles of the streets. He'd been right to tell them to put obstacles in the road - that was the sound of cavalry.
He slipped into darkness. A fanfare of men shouting, horses neighing and Amy crying were what led him into heaven.

"Come back"

Not a voice, not a thought or feeling, a concept. The divine.

And Cuthbert lived.

Wiping his brow with the back of sleeve, the Lame Brother watched as sunlight began creeping across the top of the South Wall, revealing the small figures of soldiers milling about. Through the cloth tied about his face he could smell the already repugnant stench of the bodies massed near the gate. His brother had also stopped, and was looking over with his perpetually innocent smile. The Lame Brother sighed and swatted his brother with a grunt, the only communication his tongueless mouth would allow him.

The Simple Brother took the corpse, once a young woman, by the legs while the Lame Brother hooked his stump-ended arms through the arm pits. They had been working through the night, along with a couple dozen others, slowly collecting the dead and carting them off. So far they had been able to work unmolested. Evidently both the civilians in the area as well as the soldiers on the wall either deemed them too insignificant to be worth acknowledging, or were simply thankful that someone was moving the corpses before the rot set in.

As they tossed the corpse atop the pile loaded in the cart, the Simple Brother began to once again hum that macabre tune he had picked up from Dandelion the night before. It was an odd, lurching tune that sounded as if it was formed from several other vaguely remembered songs, all with heavily conflicted moods. If this was the song's true intent, or simply his brothers lack of any musical sensibilities, he wasn't sure. He did know that it sounded better when Dandelion had been singing it.

The girl of less than ten had come to the brothers the night before, her burn-scarred face stretched in a childish smile as she sang. She had been the one who had delivered the message to the brothers, the message that had led them to be sweating over hundreds of bodies in the chilled morning air. The others working the field of corpses had similarly been visited by other street children, those able to so easily slip unseen through the night, all bearing messages from the same Scarred Woman.

The Lame Brother didn't know who the Scarred Woman was, and he naturally distrusted most everyone, with the exception of his daft brother and Dandelion. The girl didn't show trust all that often either, gods know she had enough reasons not to, but this Scarred Woman had won her over. That was enough for him.

She also seemed to have a plan. That was something he and his brother, and those like them, hadn't had for a long time. What that plan could be was up for debate. For now, he would just keep tossing shredded bodies, listening to his brother's tone-deaf humming.

Christian Huge announced to the Assembly:

"Fathers of the Nation, the Imperial Sovereignty of Tiveria has declared war on us. They want to enslave our nation and steal our wealth. We have to face them! It is our sacred duty to defend our Fatherland from foreign invaders!"

"Crush the Tiverians!", the 100 members of the Assembly shouted.

Commander-in-Chief Van Klong Junker shouted: "I volunteer to lead some men to defend the nation!"

"Great! What Bravery! What Patriotism!", Christian Huge exclaimed. "You shall lead 600 men to face the enemy!"

"I go sir. I will return either a victor or dead! As the Spartans said, with my shield or on top of it!"

All members of the Assembly applauded the Commander's bravery and he rushed out of the Assembly to lead his men against the enemy.

Christian Huge then called upon Minister Adolph Bismarck: "Minister, we need to end the civil war right now."

"I agree, President."

"Send the following message to Captain Voss, General Klaus Van and Captain Albert Hauge:

To the Gentlemen Captain Voss, General Klaus Van and Captain Albert Hauge,

Our nation is under attack from the Imperial Sovereignty of Tiveria. Our enemies want to enslave our people, steal our wealth and subjugate our nation! I thus plead you to let go of our differences and to rally around the Republic to battle against the foreign enemy. Are you going to let enemy conquer the nation so you can gain power? Are you really that power hungry? I do not believe so. I believe that you must be good patriots. So, join me and battle against our enemies.

Christian Huge, President of the Republic

Click to expand...

Minister, make sure that this letter is announced to the public. Also, send spies to spread stories about the Tiverian invasion all around the city and how the foreign invaders want to exterminate our whole nation. The people shall rally around us, as they will not accept civil war in the face of a foreign war. Also, since the letter will be made known, if those sirs refuse, the people will view them as traitors who instead of ending the civil war and accepting my offer to fight against our external enemies, they want to continue the civil was so as to get power even if it means aiding the Tiverians. So, if anyone refuses, make it known to the public."

"Yes, sir.", the Minister replied.

Christian Huge laughed. This foreign war gave him a chance to unify the nation!