Manifest Destiny

[SKILORD]

In the far north few trees dare mar the icy perfection of the tundra. Such animals as there are cling desperately to these and are left without help the further they dare from them.
Man is more than an animal though, and needs no comfort from the meager northern woods. Fort Prince of Wales was conceived in this harsh landscape, an insult to the territorry that sought mankinds imprisonment to the south. It is far from a large city, Fort Charles to the south outdoes it in that respect easily, but it holds a mystical aura that it's citzenry finds inescapable. That palace of stone atop the ice, their ancestors had dared the snow to destroy their masterpeices, the winter had yet to respond.
Which is not to say that there had not been attempts on the city's existance by nature, Blizzards often laid waste to the plans of inhabitants. The city never submitted, it was the eternal echoe of the indomitable will of one man.
In any other nation it would have been an insignificant city, even in the Hudson Republic it could easily have been forgotten. Priceless perhaps to those who wherein resided, but meaningless to tax collectors and the cold beuracrats of the nation. but Fort Prince, as it was called for shortness sake, was the epicenter, the very heart of the empire the first ina long line of settlements by a people who were not daunted by any obstacle the tundra may place before them.

Samuel Watson lived here, he was an unremarkable citizen in a barely remarkable town, he stalked the booths of the marketplace he had no job anymore freeing hos mornings to watch the great flame in the sky rise victorious above the ice as he cruised the shops, selling and buying at maddening rates, some places sold paper at lower prices than others could match, he bought the goods at their cheapest and sold them where those with more expensive prices reigned. He made little profit this way, but he stayed alive, which was more than he could ask from a beggars life. He noticed a shop with a long sheet draped over the front. It piqued his imagination and he quickly found himself within it. Behind a long table, stacked with luxuries from afar stood a man, his skin the dark color of the far south, a Cuban Watson surmised. The black man smiled at his first customer.
"How may i interest you?" the Cuban guestured at his table, moving his palm back and forth, indicating the prizes he sold. Sam couldn't remember the last Cuban in port.
The merchant noticed a cigar, the Confederate flag printed as a trademark on the wrapping. He lifted one of his own, which bore no mark.
"Put that crap away," he indicated Watson's cigar," try this, when you like it you may buy the box."
Watson took the cigar, offering it to the Cuban to light, a chance not squandered. He inhaled some of the greatest smoke he had ever dreamed of.
He remembered the price of the Confederate cigars, that seemed ashes in his mouth compared to the Cuban, he inquired the price.
"Three shillings a box," to Samuel's shocked expression he replied," to be honest they cost only one in Cuba."
The money was gladly from his purse, and Samuel began to inspect the table anew.
"Perchance an orange?" the Cuban asked, after Watson had searched for a while, removing an orangish ball from under the table, 'I have oranges the likes of which will make you wish never had before tasted one, for those before blasphemed the taste mine presented."
Samuel had never tasted such a fruit before, and he smelled it cautiously, noting the odd scent. There were those who would kill their customers and loot their meager belongings he thought, his eyes glancing towards the sheet over the front, he took the fruit and bit.
"You are clever with words," he noted to the merchant.
"I should hope so, i spent my youth perfecting them on the continent."
Samuel had never left his home city.
"Where have you been?"
"Mostly the United States and Texas, but a magical foray into Quebec and a disaster in the Confederacy."
"What happened in the south?" as soon as the last word left his lips and he saw the look on the Cuban's face, he wished the words back.
"I was mistaken for a runaway," he rolled up his robe's majestic sleeve, revealing a well muscled bicep and a group of scars that seemed to continue well into the robes.
Stunned, Samuel found no words. he finally changed the subject,
"You have your own ship?"
"Yes," and to the question asked only by Watson's dream taken eyes, "you will have to earn your keep."

A promise later Samuel Watson stood on the brink of a brave new world.

 

[SKILORD]

The valiant ship sat chained to the Docks of Trois Rivieres, it's freedom vanquished, it looked longingly out to the sea it had dominated days before.

Samuel Watson was free though, free and entranced. Trois Rivieres was a bustling city, far larger than Fort Prince or any of the small canadian fishin villages they had stopped at on their way. The cities were a stark representative of their nation's place in the world, Cities under Charles Bayley seemed prosperous, those in Canada were filfthy and utilitarian, Quebec's were palaces built for the masses.

Sam's furs remained on board. Pedro, his benafactor, had advised him to try those goods in the United States where such things were less common, and thereby more expensive. He found a great many things worth his time in Trois Rivieres though, and had set out to make a tidy sum there. Two Cuban Cigars, sold for outrageous prices, and his box of Confederate's for a likewise sum. Tobacco was not unknown to the men of Quebec, but was hateful to the soil. In return the market had provided him with Quebecois Dyes, linen, and an assortment of gems and gold that would bring ample funds to support a lavish lifestyle for years to come.

A fellow crewman of his was training in the arts of goldsmithery, assuming that it was indeed the other man's work that he had been shown the jewelry would fetch plenty to purchase their own ship, when they reached New York.

Pedro awaited him, a disapointed look on his face as he watched Watson walk proudly up the steps.

"How much did I sell you those Cigars for?"

"Three Shi---"

Pedro cut him off,"Three shillins was a fair price, i made my profit, why did you feel inclined to sell two of them for Twenty apeice?"

"They were bought! the people thought that not too unjust a price."

"You are a second rate merchant my freind, you have no ethics."

Samuel didn't understand him, what ethics were there but those imposed by the system of Capitailism? These lofty ideals caught Watson entirely off gaurd. His look suggested such, Pedro didn't understand his ignorance of ethics.

"You will leave my ship, but for the weather and time of year it would be now, as it stands you, and that stinking worthless helmsman of mine, will be ejected from the ship in New York."

Samuel smiled gratefully,"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas indeed..." pedro replied, he alone could see that the other man had the potental to be a great merchant, thy would part in New York, he knew, but they would never truely part.

 

[SKILORD]

The ship from whence they had come floated gracefully south, most likely to Cuba once more. Hernando and Sam sat idly on the docks, they had nowhere to go, and were frankly a bit shocked at their ejection. They had seperated from Pedro a few days ago, and though Pedro had met sam's eyes a few times, though those eyes were full of disaproval, they hadn't spoken since.

"Why have we been abandoned?" Hernando finally found to ask.

"Doesn't matter, we would've left here anyway."

"I know, and it doesn't bother me that we don't keep Pedro company anymore, but that he forced us away...."

"We would've left anyways."

The night was spent on the docks, they had little to eat, but their purses were full, having sold a good deal of Dye and Fur to the citizens of New York. Morning came gently, to men who had no sleep during the hours of dark. Fishermen kept them company then, muscled men who tossed great beasts of the sea onto the harbor, packed them in melting ice and hauled them away with either cart, or a few noisy horseless carriages. The wealthy men who posessed the later often claimed

"The way of the future, aye, soon horses will be vanquished from the docks."

To the melody of a city awakening, though it had never really slept, in the sense that Fort Prince or Trois Rivieres did. The two men fortified themselves with quickly chugged milk and a stolen crumb of bread, the store remembered for when they were wealthy Sam had promised himself to pay them back, disliking that he was now literally a theif, as Pedro had often called him.

The jewelers equipment was fround in a run down smithy, and purchased for a price that was fair, after intense haggling. A small shop was found for sale near the harbor as well, and quickly purchased. In their new home and workplace the two men unloaded their gold and jewels hastily, hiding them from those who would never have beleived that two men who looked so rough held such gems, let alone purchased them legally. Sam strolled through the streets through the afternoon, headed for the local courthouse, where he was to register 'International Jewelers of New York' for taxes.

The officer looked lopsided at the bedraggeled man.

"A jewler?" he asked, almost shocked.

"Actually the salesman, as i am only now registering, I assume it would be fair to say we haven't had any business yet."

"I need the other fellow's signature." Sam promised to send Hernando by to sign it, and the other man promised to keep it until Hernando arrived." Don't forget to keep accurate records my freind, you steal from the government you steal from us all."

Again that word, steal, Sam was tired of hearing it.

-

The ship graced the waters, barely touching them as it floated past port after port. It was not allowed in any of them, the CSA had placed a ban on Cuban goods and ships. The men sat lazily at the edges of the ship, poles placed forth, beseeching the water to provide a supper.

It had been a legendary catch thus far, tonight it seemed they would dine on Tuna, among other exotic fish the ocean had produced for them. A handful of shrimp and lobster, bought in the US, already say above the small cooking fire, which was mistrusted even as small as it was, necesarry.

"Coconuts my freind, Bannanas, all is ours when we reach home. God i've missed Coconut milk." One of the oldest members of Pedro's crew tried to rouse his spirits, but to little avail, the Captain seemed callouse even to the promise of feast.

"Do you think we shall ever have the misfortune of seeing that man again?"

His shipmate knew of whom he spoke by instinct, Pedro had spoken of little else since he regained his ship," I hope not, i fear so, that boy has the seeds of greatness in him."

"How long until he perverts those seeds to bring forth the grapes of wrath?" pedro wondered aloud, the other man sat silent, not understanding."We will see him every time we return to New York I fear, he planned to open a jewelry shop. Which will become profitable under him, i have seen Hernando's plans for bracelets and rings, they are sufficient to fuel the fire of merchant within Sam, i swear that man was born to sell."

"We could avoid New York."

Pedro shot him a murderous look," New York is one of our most profitable stops, if the Confederacy ever reopens to us, maybe, but until then we must return. We have no choice but to see him again."

It was at that moment that the Frigate chose to appear from the mist. Cannons laid heavy metal balls at the feet of the ship, the captain called over to the merchant ship, which soon boarded and unloaded of it's goods.

"You can't do this!" Pedro protested.

"Damn n*****, " the other man said, strking Pedro. ( Author's note: I named him poorly),"Welcome to the CSA, get beneath deck."

Pedro moved for his ship's storage.

"Of my ship, you're now property of the Confederate States of America."

-

The banker's arms were rainsed high, the pistol in the other man's hand only held one shot, but he would rather not have that shot be the last noise he heard. The robber held a bag filled with the bills that had once belonged in the bank of San Fransisco's coffers, but the other man owned it now.

The sundance kid smiled, as he backed into the dusty street, smiled until a gun was pressed against his back outside the door.

"I knew you'd be back, don't ask me how, but i did." the voice was familiar, it belonged to the sheriff, Billy the Kid.

"Thought you were dead Billy."

"'parrent not,"

"Remember to load the gun this time?" The Sundance kid laughed. and listlened to the expletive behind him as a gun swung to hit him like a club, but Sundance was faster and he spun to frighten the other man, a bullet was fired from the outlaw's gun.

Now one must understand that Muskets are rarely accurate, this holds doubly true for pistols of that kind. In addition the Sundance kid never intended to strike Bily with the bullet, only intended to frighten him, to expedite his escape.

The bullet struck the other man's shoulder, and Billy went down, panicing and dropping his own pistol, every eye in the crowded street found it's way to the man who hadn't wanted to hurt anyone physically, only financially. The dark bandanna that coverred much of his face began to slip, and Sundance ran, dodging through street after street, hiding for hours at a time before fleeing again.

In the street he abandoned a wounded man vowed revenge.

-

Fire can be a beautiful thing, unless it chooses your home as fuel. Such was the spectacle that the world offered the eyes of Henry Caliber, who had once ranched in Texas, until said ranch surrendered to an inferno, to be honest Henry had barely escaped himself. He came home to find his family laying in his bed, faces drained of blood, much of which he had found on the sheets of the bed. He had barely realised this when shouting announced the presence of those who had picked his house clean of posessions, the flames likewise announced it. He had crawled out a window, noone had seen him, he had seen the Confederate flags on their carriages and realised at once that this was an actionagainst abolitionists, who ruled the border town he lived nearby, the escaped slaves who he had hidden in his basement, though by pact the Texas had made with the Confederates such was not to be done, were most likely recaptured, he pitied them, and they likely pitied him.

The bleating of helpless cattle, trapped inside the barn brought him to tears, as he lay in the trees near his burning home. He slept their, plauged by nightmares.

The next morning found him in Dalas, pleading his case to the local governor, he found only pity, the government could not ask to extradite these men, who could not be recognised and would likely never be found. He turned East, and without a shred of evidence or a clue, prepared for his crusade against the CSA.

 

[SKILORD]

Any feedback?

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

not bad although be warned i'm a southerner

 

[SKILORD]

Me too EQ, it's alright. (NC boy, though born in the USVI)

It's just that the Jeff Davis was a real b*stard in this game, and i explained his vendetta against cuba with racism. The Confederacy became my primary foe in this game, so this story isn't complimentary to them.

 

[SKILORD]

Sitting in the cafe two of the newest initiates in the New York social elite looked at each other, a newspaper between them.

Crisis escalates, Cubans demand return of Merchants while Confederacy refuses. Bayley and Oakley vow to support allies

"Blows may decide," Hernando noted, that was a frame of mind all to common recently, the realization of the conflict on the horizon was the acceptance of the world, only a few had seen it before the Merchant crisis had escalated it such.

"I'm going to save him." Sam spoke assuradely, defying the world to oppose him.

"You were the one who said we would have left him anyways, leave him. He didn't much like you anyway."

The cafe owner walked over to them beaming, they had entered his life mysteriously a few months ago, paying for half a loaf of bread they claimed to have stolen months before that, "Anything you need sirs?" They had been a blessing, the patronship of such rising stars had brought the cafe to notriety, it rose with equal leaps and bounds as International Jewlers.

"No, thank you," Hernando waved him away politely," Besides, who will sell if you leave?"

"The name my freind," Sam grasped his partner's shoulder, "I don't sell in Pensylvania, or Quebec City, or even Cincinatti."

"True,"Hernando conceded, with this he admitted defeat," please don't die," he begged.

Sam smiled," Never."

He was condescending, Hernando hated that about him, he was never condescending to the customers, most of them loved him. Hernando felt little for the other man, few freindly emotions ever graced the Cuban's soul. He accepted that he needed Sam as much as Sam needed him, maybe more.

"Go, pack and go, liberate the b*stard who abandoned us."

Sam smiled, picked up his coat, made by his private tailor, and smiled as he left for the shop, where both men still lived and worked.

-

Henry Caliber was already in the Confederacy, not that he especially wanted to be.

He hired out as an enforcer of the slaveholder's whims, as an overseer. Under such a guise he had helped a dozen slave families to freedom, he took their slavery upon himself, but he was enslaved to his task, not another man. His family had burnt that theirs might go free, he wondered how many of the men he freed were worthy ro be exchanged at such high rates.

He wasn't alone in his task, several men on the very same plantation he worked. One of them grabbed him gently as he left the line, having received his dinner. He pointed to a lonely table, a ways from any prying ears.

As they sat the other man wispered," Hank i know yer as tough as they come, but are you afraid of anything? Could the Slavers do anything to disuade you from a task?"

"I'm afraid of fire.... nothing else."

"Well then it shouldn't be too tough a job," the other abolitionist grinned slyly,"Anything you wouldn'y do for the cause."

"Sure,"Henry leaned back," Wouldn't burn a house, or kill a woman or child."

"That's alright," the other overseer was smiling wholesale now,"President Davis is neither."

 

[SKILORD]

Rusted chains held them down, but they didn;'t force their heads down, the cubans did that on their own. Tears were shed in the prison over a lost home, blood was left to drown these tears, as the merchants were beaten for answering questions wrong, how could they know how Cuba was defended, having been so long at sea?

Every now and again, while the jailers rested their weary arms, Pedro would lift one or another crewmate's head and wisper:

"Coconut Milk, hold onto that hope."

Dirt, Salt all united with their wounds, creating a concerto of firey pain not to be forgotten. Pedro had been their before, he was the vetran of another strinke by the South, but this did not make him calloused to their assaults. It made them worse, because he knew what came next.

The jailer came in, a rare grin crowned his scarred, angry face. He pointed at two men who had served Pedro since he began his voyages, men Pedro had been raised with. He served them their final sentance.

"Runaways." Pedro shook his head, it could not be, he had known those men since childhood. They had gone to school together, played as babes. The gaurd now pointed at Pedro as the other men were hustled away to a plantation.

"For attempting to help runaways in the escape of the Confederate States of America, you have been sentanced to death, by firing squad, in one week."

Blood drained from his face, as he looked upon his mortality, and realised how little he meant in the grand scheme of things.

-

"What would you want with them?" the man seemed shocked that Sam had asked.

"I'm a reporter, looking to report on how well they are cared for."

The other man was shocked, in his dull fashion. Sam swore he had never seen so stupid a beast before in his life. The gray eyes held no spark that placed man above the animals, that gave him the ability to accomplish such things as building Fort Prince of Wales.

"well... uh, there's an political prison on embassy drive, that might be it..."

Such a man would not find such a thing as a political prison absurd, it occured to Sam, were all Southerners so dumb?

Screams echoed from the halls of the Richmond Political prison, that meant there were more than one he realised. He knocked politely on the great wooden door, which opened, revealing a weary old man behind a desk, and the beast that opened the door.

Sam estimated that he was seven feet tall, wide as an ox, probably strong to boot. His hand dropped to his revolver, which laid within his coat, he wondered how many shots the man could take, probably a few, giving the old man time to shoot him, he didn't like the odds.

"I'd like to see the captain and crew of the merchant vessle, the Padre." He announced confidently.

The other men stared, shocked, until a grin spread across the old man's lips and laughter took the room by force.

"I don't see the humor."

"You expect us to allow visitors, to political prisoners?" The old man wiped a tear from his cheek, the smile remained," There is no way there is a nation so naieve as to allow that."

"Let me in now." Sam said firmly. The old man didn't flinch, the monster moved closer.

"No, it cannot be done," the old man began to lift his gun.

Sam was the faster draw, and a bullet soon peirced the old man's chest.He slumped into his chair for the last time.

The giant looked, shocked upon the corpse," Da...Da..."

It was absurd that such a beast was the spawn of the tiny man now bleeding his last behind the desk. Sam looked, bewildered as the beast turned to him.

The realization came quickly as the giant charged, Sam lept out of the way, though not quickly enough and he lost his revolver to the sheer force of the beast, it slid across the floor, coming to rest safely out of the way.

A scream escaped the giant lips as he charged again. Sam picked up a large plank and slapped it viciously across the charging face. The wood broke harmlessly, though the man did damage himself when he hit the concrete wall. Sam lunged for the gun, rolling on the ground at it, avoiding the great feet that shot his way. The gun was raised at the angry monster. One, Two, three shots rang out. before the giant made his way over to sam, swatting the gun from his hand, out the window. Sam couldn't follow it now, and he was left to dodge punches. His strikes did little, and the ballet of destruction was lead, most definately, by the giant gaurd. A punch landed on Sam's face, tearing the skin and knocking Sam behind the desk, where he almost lost conciousness. His hand laid to rest across a long metal pipe.

The Rifle.

Sam jumped up as the giant lumbered across the room. Three rifle shots felled him, Watson left the rifle at his feet. As he took the keys from the first corpse, and made his way to the cells, where he was greeted by frightened stares.

"Come now, you're goin to pose as my slaves, we're going to my ship."

As he held the chains and lead the Cubans out of the jail, to the harbor Pedro looked at him.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Sam smiled back," Shut up slave."

-

Henry sat at the bar, listening to the stories of glory the men beside him chose to tell.

"So we made our way after that slave, ah mean, how could ee escape? We treated him good, right?"

Hank nodded, little choice here but to agree.

"We found him across the border, in texas. Well a few of the boys wanted to call it off there, but i remembered readin' summear that they couldn't help the slaves go. So we marched in 'der and took what was ours.

Henry's interest was piqued," what'd you do from the stealin' basterd?"

"Well, he were'nt there. So we took his woman and kids and," time froze as the last moments of his family were told him by a drunk, in a bar a nation away from his home. Anger pounded his vains, here was the master, here was the goal that he was enslved to. His hand dropped to his pistol.

He couldn't, he had another job. The other abolitionists had made him swear not to leave Richmond without killing the president, he was so close, having found the play that Davis would attend next, Jefferson loved the theater, and purchasing tickets near the president's. If he submitted here he would never make it. He couldn't give up now.

Listening to the tragedy told as a grand victory Henry Caliber held back tears, held back his gun. As his virtue made him the villain in the grand story of southern slavery he kept his calm. He piled beer after beer before him, paying it all in the nearly matchless funds the abolitionists had gotten from other nations. Drunk, sobbing, he fell asleep in a pile of garbage, in a street without a name.

 

[SKILORD]

Hiawatha was a classic play, it told the story of a Iriquois general, from times before the world began counting. Primarily the man died in the end, which Henry found appropriate.

He took his soft, cushioned seat, and the stranger next to him extended a hand and a smile.

"'ello chap," the stranger said.

"ummm, hello, you would be?"

"Call me Booth, John Wilkes Booth."

"It's a pleasure," Henry finally returned the smile. This man might be trouble. Hank sat to watch the play.

"I love the theater," Booth mentioned as the lights began to dim," have you seen We American Cousins? it's quite good."

Henry shook his head,"I've not. Do you live here, watching every play?"

"I'm an actor, i've got an off night tonight, and decided to see a play for a change," Booth laughed at his own joke. Henry didn't and looked at this absurd man. The play began.

Hiawatha was returning from great conquests of the tribes, returning in victory to Salamnaca, the capitail of the ancient empire. henry watched entranced, the play was excelent, and it occured to him that it had travelled as far as he, having originated in Fort Charles, where Shakespear had composed it.

A warrior, his body painted in classic Iriquois style turned to his general,

"Remember sir, thou art mortal."

Henry almost laughed, what appropriate advice. Another leader would do well to remember this, he turned to look at the President, who smiled at his assasin. The assasin smiled back, biding his time.

As Hiawatha was assasinated, by a group including his once freind Squanto, Hank turned back to look discreetly. Jefferson was entranced.

The play came to an end. Henry stood,m a knot in his stomache, he lifted his revolver to a panicked face. the president of the Confederacy shouted as the bullet entered his heart, death was coming, there was no avoiding it.

"Sic Semper Tyrrannis!" Henry shouted, holding the smoking gun high.

As he ran from the scene he realized that he would be remembered forever, his name found in every history book, written in the blood of Jefferson Davis.

As the assasin fled John Wilkes Booth stood up and with fury in his eyes shouted to the world.

"Dammit that's my line!"

-

The city was buzzing while the murderer was searched for. Samuel Watson wished the best of luck to the man as he returned to his carriage. He was going to return to the North. he found a man huddled in his carriage, outside the theater.

"And who will you be?" Sam wasn't frightened, he was incapable of such, having defeated the giant.

"Where are you going?" the other man spoke with a Texan's accent, Sam shrugged he'd give him a chance.

"I'm on my way home, to New York. Why is it so important that you know?"

"Take me with you, i'm wanted here, i won't be wanted there...." the man seemed on the edge of things.

Recognition dawned on Samuel's face," You, You," he pointed at the theater.

"We're still in the CSA," Henry reminded him.

Sam nodded, and sat in the driver's seat, prodding the horses to make their way to the border.

-

"Yippi-kayey Mothef***er" Billy wispered, it was his personal chant, he used it to psyche himself into a rage, or to taunt his defeated foes. He hadn't used it much for the latter, and wasn't now. He squatted frightened outside the saloon. Sundance was inside.

Walking confidently to the door Billy lifted his revolver and shouted,

"This is the sheriff, I call for the surrender of the Sundance Kid, come out with yer hands raised."

Noone stirred. he pushed to door open.

"Oh, my, I see, i'll be going then." The rifles at his face didn't respond, for which he was thankful. They parted, and he went in, wondering where his sanity went. Sundance sat upon a chair above the rest, the King of Theives.

The pistol was up, pointing at the Kid.

"git down."

Sundance laughed at him, "look around, my freind, the rifles haven't fallen. Surrender. We'll probably only torture you for the next week. Then we'll let you gop, humiliated."

Billy threw his gun down.

"Sh*t," he kicked the floor as he eyed it. his head bowed," I knew i shoulda been a balletrina, but daddy said No, it wouldn't be manly. Well Sh*t! Is this manly?!"

Sundance laughed again.

"I can't torture a balletrina." he hopped down and indicated to the riflemen around him and shrugged.

"Shoot 'im"

While the blood drained through the floorboards Sundance began.

"War's come boys. Yesterday We declared war on the Hudson Bay Republic, Cuba and the US for their attacks on the Confederacy. Oregon in turn declared war on us, along with Quebec, but that doesn't matter. I have a plan boys. I don't want this war so here;'s what i say we should do. Rise Up! We have received a nice sum," he indicated a heap of currency," from assorted nations, to destroy Oakley's factories, and do such to disrupt the western war effort. I've accepted the deal, of course. Well let's get to it!"

A plauge left the saloon a great mass of men all wearing the signature bkllack bandannas of the VeryVeryBadMen Gang.

 

[SKILORD]

It's very polite of you to leave the story unmarred, allowing it to flow so easily, but i wouldn't mind a little feedback.

 

[SKILORD]

When the Kid woke up he was laying in the middle of wreckage, what an awful dream he thought.

Sundance had always been a pacifist, he shyed from conflict. Now he watched buildings burn as vaugly familiar faces grinned from horses, sometimes up to three women tied and bound to the horse. What they planned he couldn't imagine, being an innocent outlaw.

"What the f*ck?" he muttered, watching San Fransisco burn. This was his city, he couldn't stand for this.

But you will a voice within echoed. Sundance fell, convulsing. Cutting himself on rocks in his violent internal struggle. crawling up he heeard the voice no more. He must have won, for now.

The Kid marched into the city. A man stood, a torch in his hand before a shabby wooden building. The dust was so thick in the air, Sundance seemed to appear from nowhere.

"Hey boss." the black clad man offered his hand. Sundance pushed it aside.

"Gimme that," he said, grabbing the torch. the other man seemed frightened and the pacifistic Sundance shouted," There ain't room enough for the both of us, get the hell outta Dodge!"

The other man seemed genuinely terrified now, and he dissapeared into the darkness of the dustcloud.

Sundance peered into the torches flames, a face seemed to take form,

Throw me, Burn, Kill Loot, it uttered as he stared dumbly into it's radiance.

"N, N..No" he stammered. The convulsions took him again, he rose, fire in his eyes now, and tossed the torch into the granary. Laughing as the flames rose, an offering to insanity, but insufficient as to elect mercy from it.

Sundance cackled long into the night. He would unite his army, they would take the West by force. Maybe one day he would write a book about it all. He'd definately name it, How the West was Won.

-

"Sic Semper Tyrrannis"

Henry had heard it a million times on his flee from Richmond, the slaves were rising. Such chaos was painful to the CSA as it tried to fight a war against the Union to the north. He felt no pity for the generals of the south. Fires raged as plantation after plantation burned to ash. He wept the first time he saw it happen, hidden in the carriage.

I am father to that he thought. The beast seemed more than could have come from him. The son, the hate of revolution, was so much greater than the father.

His tears did not put out the fires, though. He was but an idle spectator, fleeing the nation he hated, and returned his hatred threefold. New York, as he imagined it, was a magical city, where a man could become a god in a matter of weeks, his accomplice was a living testament to that. Sam smiled most of the time, he was returning home, both men had accomplished great missions against the slaveholders, together they had brought forth war.

"What will i do, when we reach New York."

"You won't stay." Sam stated the obvious.

"I have nowhere to go..." Utter despair showed in Henry's eyes.

"I'm sending you to Ottowa, i've wanted a branch there for a long time."

Hope ruled the day, as Henry crawled on his knees to freedom, and prosperity.

 

[SKILORD]

Richmond's once proud walls lay in shambles, a widow's ashen mourning gown.

The nation had lost it's leader, it followed any general who could defend their farms from either the north or their former slaves, who roamed the courtryside in merciless bands, laying waste to any acheivmant of the men they had once called masters.

They held the whips now, they held guns, stolen or provided, they held no care for the people they were grinding into the ground, they were out to find exactly how many wrongs made a right. Women found no solace, three raging groups burned the feilds only the losers had vowed to protect.

General Lee was the last hope, though he chided himself for such egotistical thoughts he knew them to be true. Stonewall was buried outside Richmond, if the Union general had the decency to bury a foe who had fought well, as Lee knew Stonewall had done, Jackson always fought well. Lee liked to think the yanks had buried his old comrade in arms, he liked the Northerners, where his countrymen despised them. It took a long talk to remind them who exactly had begun this war of attrition that ravaged their homes. The ships waving the Stars and Bars had fired the first volleys, the men in gray the first shots.

Which is not to say it could be avoided, could the loss of the greatest leader of the south be overlooked, could the other cheek be turned, as rifles came to bear on it? They had had little choice but start it, but start it they had.

Cavalrymen lay in wait, his cavalrymen, riflemen were hidden behind the hill opposite them, his as well. Union troops were expected, and Robert Lee couldn't bear to let a chance to make their acquaintance go lost. If the yanks were repulsed here they wouldn't make it to Vicksburg, the South needn't loose another city.

A shot rang out, from the other hill, the lead horse collapsed as the Union troops wheeled around to positions. They were ready for an ambush, thought Lee, and the trap was sprung early, a wiser man would retreat.

But the cannon of retreat lay dormant. Lee had no intention of surrendering Vicksburg over so slight a obstacle. He raised his sabre, and horses carried their masters to a death the men were happy to receive. The sabre swung low as Union positions were bombarded by cannons who sang a different tune than retreat. Riflemen stood high on the opposite hill, aiming back in the yankee line, where the horsdes hadn't arrived they laid fire down.

Damn that's a lot of Northerners. A tear in his eye, the fuse lit. The final cannon roared, the men fell back, reluctantly, yet knowing no other option, to Vicksburg. The cavalry was gone, not a horse left worth the glue. The survivors of the mounted men were captured, the prisoners of the North.

-

Pearson looked the man in the eye.

"I cannot help."

"You must realise that you too are endangered, there is no place in this world for sympathy anymore, you must join one side or the other."

"Your opponents will destroy me, my nation will crumble."

"The Mexicans have a fleet of new Ironclads moving up the coast, the troops in their caravels should keep the Quebecois busy. I promise you you will survive the conflict."

"How can you make such a promise?! Your leader didn't," The Confederate envoy blushed.

"Such things are.... unavoidable. Fate has offered us a duifficult hand, but we can play it, if you help. The Cowboys have an army moving to attack Bayley's men. You will be safe from them, they hardly have any feildable troops. You could take their iron mines away and lay their plans to waste."

Pearson grinned, it wasn't a happy look he shot at the other man.

"I'll consider it, give me to the years end."

-

The same words were intoned by a man who couldn't see a war, his fledgling business wouldn't survive it. Already Henry Caliber had discovered that his skills as a salesmen were lacking. Many slots in the once filled shop were empty despite his feeble attempts to sell them. He almost wept with fear whenever he had to send in his list of sales to the main office in New York. How long would he last if left to himself?

Often he dreamed of the farm. He had been a good rancher. The men obeyed him, he could bring the cows back o the barn singlehanded. Selling had been left to those more experienced than himself. His wife had sold well, she could sell any quantity of Cattle he needed to be rid of. He missed her, more than any of the children who had sat upon his knee as he told them stories of his grandfathers first try at ranching.

Grandpa.

The old, weary man had held such hope for him. The original rancher had seen the entranced look as young Henry looked at the great beasts he would one day master. Hank had lost it all, despite his ancestor's hopes.

It was almost enough to make a grown man cry, but Henry couldn't imagine feeling sorry for himself, rather he had to work on selling the gifts of gold in his shop, in the hope that one day he would rebuild his home, restock his feilds.

To make his grandfather's dreams justified.

 

[SKILORD]

The water lapped at the sides of the iron ship. The tanned mexican captain grinned, thinking even the sea bows to my vessle.

Quebec hadn't come prepared to bow. Unwavering sails flew above antiquated frigates, Rusted cannon took aim at the heirs to the sea. Ancient mastery took the feild against newfangled power. The frigates were faster, their rough wooden sides plowing the fertile waters, but a single shot ended the prelude, initiating the battle proper. The sails were torn, the Pride was dead in the water, her captain futilely attempting to maneuver even as holes were drilled into her deck by compassionless metal. The captain placed his hand on his ship one last time as they sank beneath the waters his stubby gray beard nuzzled his ship one last time, they were outdated, the captain accepted that, he was happy to at least die on the ship he had sailed since he first took to the sea. A single tear dropped from his light blue eyes into the dark blue ocean as he watched his ship's sisters rush to their fates.

By the end of he day the Mexican ships had slowed down, for which the Admiral cursed the sunken ships.

-

Vicksburg was lost.

A provisional government took seat in Miami, but Lee expected little life from them, there was no life for the South left to give.

His men dragged their feet on the roads, when roads remained. Some had ridden horses once, Lee wondered if there was a horse left in the south.

Bull Run had once been a one horse town, but the horse was dead, little good it would do. Slaves were reported to have stolen it, they ate it too, if the townsfolk could be trusted. Few men would remain when Lee left.

He looked over the troops that Miami had selected, faces too young for war or too old to bear combat any longer, a determined glint in every eye, but the Union would soon steal that, even as the slaves stole everything else. He held himself back while he inspected the random array of firearms. When he reached his room he wept, to see a nation brought to it's knees, so defeated that it had to send it's future to war.

-

The newly issued Rifles were uniform. Every Rifle fired the same shot as it's Brothers. Strong, proud men held every one of them, but then the Hudson Bay Republic had yet to taste war.

The armies marching now wished to see this change though. Canadian troops forced their way to the newly hostile border as a huge force came from the west.

The men were well trained at least, Sun Tzu had written his Ar of War based on his experiences with the training seargents of Hudson Bay. As Individuas they were formidable, united they hoped tp be indefatigable.

The war marked the end of the old republic, which had been accustomed to isolating itself from the world, a new era had dawned the world had come north, shoved itself down the throats of the lurking state.

The rifles were clean, ready to answer back to the world that had forced them to be a part, A new dawn came, as the night threw itself on this sabre, the Continental Warthe time for the Hudson Bay Republic to rule had come, the ascent inevitable, but would the world like the giant it had forced from it's slumber?

 

[SKILORD]

Republicans took the feild.

Conservative even in their attire, they were a bold new order of political Candidate. Lincon himself claimed to be a member of this special group.

But they all carried rifles. As always, hardy opponents of gun control.

It only felt right to be fighting the Mexicans. The strips of fertile coast were a worthy prize if they won, and many a Texan woke to nightmares of being nothing but members of the Mexican state, and hen escaping that only to join the Union. Such dreams were the bane of the Lone Star Republic, though they came with alarming frequency.

The Confederacy, a loyal ally had declared war on the Texans, who remained unafraid, a few Republicans placed near the border frightened away the already terriffied irregullars. The Entire Confederacy was constantly paniced, which was understandable as they were being thrashed. Cuba had even taken a few citiies in Southern Floridia.

Texas was going to war, another fresh nation in the War of Attrition.

-

The dirt smelled awful. Petre dumped it from his hand and wiped it on the side of his horse, a stallion, bred for perfection. The Rifle he held was not an idle threat, and his men worked like they understood it.

The last group hadn't, maybe they could sense the blood on his hands.

He heard them speaking amongst themselves, why did the Madman remain, He had faced no censure for murdering an entire unit of Cossacks similar to themselves, officially because the boys there had worked too slow.

Unofficially though....

THe Russians had been short on money at the time, they couldn't pay the men that month, an uprising began, but Petre had helped end it, by slaughtering his men.

It was a small price to pay for Russia.

They were riding to Oregon, the Mountaineers were causing trouble for the Cowboys to the south. Petre was beginning Russia's push south, Oregon was fertile, If Mother Russia took that, food would swell in the granaries, mone would be made, instead of lost, and the power of Russia would expand, unchecked, from sea to shining sea. One nation, under Catherine. Who would oppose her?The Canadians would soon be swept away by the Quebecois, the Quebecois humiliated by the Mexicans, Mexico beaten by Texas and the CSA...

The United States could be a problem, they had proved their worth against the south.

But such mindless ponderings were of little good, Petre had picked up the trail of a group of Mountaineers, plunging through the forests. Petre's rifle was out, the younger men saw nothing, and hid from any potential line of sight.

The shot rang out, a man fell from the tree he had perched himself in.The Mountaineers knew the terrain better than any Cossack. Petre's men had run when he pulled the rifle. Soon he lay bleeding in the wilderness.

 

[SKILORD]

(Some of the jokes present in the following chapter will make little sense, they were homage to gooberboob's A -Viking- we go, which wasn't posted here, this includes the Barry White thing)

The newspapers all brandished the fact, it was a personal accomplishment for them, the men who hadn't seen a battlefeild.

The Confederacy had just signed the Peace of Antieam, surrendering unconditionally to the allied forces. Texas had won a few cities, the Union held Virginia and most of the Northern Confederacy, Civil war raged near the Carribean, North of Cuban Floridia.

Sam wished Gen. Lee the greatest of luck, his people had learned their lesson about slavery now, he had no desire for a fascist republic persecuting the once masters.

Business was declining, people had no time for luxury anymore. Where once he had been the bright boy of the New York elite he became ignored as their ranks thinned, Bankrupcy waited around the corner. And he dreaded a return to his former lifestyle of poverty.

Hernando had joined the army, and Sam couldn't find anyone half as good, maybe he would join the US army, he would be helping his homeland, most likely he would be sent against Canada, not on a trek West.

But the army wasn't for him, Sam never could take orders well, maybe he would go vigilante into Canuk soil.

He turned the corner, where he had predicted bankrupcy.

"We're here to commandeer your mattalurgic tools, we need them to build more delicate peices."

The thin man dropped to his knees, tears streamed in incredible amounts down his cheek.

"No...." he begged, his voice cracked, already he was becoming a hopeless street ruffian.

"Sorry,' the man certaintly looked sincere, but Sam couldn't care. He opened the shop for the government's theives, handed them the keys, opened the registerand unloaded all the cash, the officials stared as he progressed wordless.

"But sir.." one began as he approached the door for the final time.

Sam waved him off," Take it all, go ahead."

He wondered how long the closed sign would remain hanging on the door.

-

the streets were chaos as Sundance rode his horse over the good people of Virginia City. A Confederate Cigar drooped from his mouth, held there only by his evil grin.

His band had easily outdone itself, the looting would long support his reign once Oakley surrendered.

Oakley seemed in no mood to quit though, she sent her troops to victory and defeat with the same cold glare. She frightened even the hardenedSundance Kid, though a certain cowboy, Shaka was his name, seemed quite aroused by her coldness.

Shaka was an odd Cowboy, darker in skin than most, speaking in deep voice that he often called his 'Barry White' voice, Sundance didn't know who Barry White was, noone had ever heard of him.

Shaka was coming with him in a meeting with the Empress of the West, she had called it so he expected no surrender, but it would still help, as long as the other side didn't rise.

The gaurd patted the two down for weapons, Shaka didn't handle it well, and he wouldn't have been the Kid's first choice, but he felt an insane urge to meet the hard woman. Noone else had wanted to come.

They entered her war tent and without a word Anne Oakley rose and aimed her gun, a shot rang out and the gaurds came in to carry the body away.

"Sic semper tyrrannis," she spat at the body as it was dragged away," Even if he hadn't taken control yet."

"That's not your line baby," the Barry White voice purred, " Now come over here and lemme show you a real pistol."

Her gun was at his head.

"F*cking Pervert."

"Playing rough?" he asked hopefully before she made him regret having come. He would never speak again.

"Sic Semper Perverts..."

 

[SKILORD]

Deseret was a nation on it's knees. Polygamy had been outlawed in the conqured lands, leading to a great schism within the church. The free Mormons, who still followed Bringham, had been pushed away from Salt Lake City, and forced across the Rocky Mountains. Fanatics held every moutain pass, hoping to prevent the Cowboys from crushing their new homes. Protecting each and every one of their wives.

Anne Oakley surveyed the conqured lands on her map, smiling, pleased. Her cat meowed and rubbed agains her arm as it rested on the desk, she pet it tenderly as it purred, and kneaded, cutting her delicate map wih it's claws.

Another meow followed, the cat had een thrown from the palace and screamed as it landed in the trash.

Third time this week, the cat thought.The pile of man it had mistake for trash began to stir, and it picked fluffy up by her neck.

"What are you doing little girl," The beggar asked.

"What's it look like bufoon? getting out of the trash, I'm not afraid to work."

She clawed him, causing him to drop her roughly.

"I knew i should have quit the stuff..."

"And you were right, it's bad for you, it's routing your brain cells."

As the man stared dumbfounded the talking cat slinked away.

I'm not going home this time, that woman has gone too far.

But where would fluffy live now? She thought back to the map, there was an orange colored land to the East, if Fluffy just walked a little more, she would probably reach it, should only be a couple of blocks.

As she reached the outskirts of San Fransisco it dawned on Fluffy that she had a ways to go, a war to win, an oddessy to complete....

She almost turned back.

-

Pedro couldn't find International Jewlers.

He had visited every single ime his boat came into harbor, speaking long into the night with a man who had come to exceed him in every way.

Not that he was jealous of Sam, the Hudsoner had natural ability, and had been trained well. The once glowing shopfront was gone, replaced by a dull man who sold mediocre suits.

"Sorry sir, I don't know where the previous owner resides, may I interest you in a..." the nasal voice droned on and on.

Pedro considered killing the man, a quick strangle would end his pain, what would happen if he did....

As he pondered the consequences the door opened, humble and quiet, a young man crept beside Pedro, to stare mstified at the salesman.

"My term as a soldier is over, I heard you were mighty good at sales, i wondered if you could teach me."

"This moron?" Pedro snorted.

The youth was shocked, "You mock the Great Sam Watson?"

"This is no Sam Watson, this is a bumbling oaf of a half wit who has taken Sam's shop."

"I take offense at...."

"I should hope so, i have been offended by your mediocricity since i came in here," He held his arms open, guestering at the walls," The hallowed halls of the shopkeeper need not be sullied by a man of your doubtful talent."

"Who're you sir?" the youth seemed excited that there may be an alternative to the tailor.

"An old freind of Sam's, I came here looking for him."

"Can i come with you to help you find him?"

Pedro smiled, another young one to train, his beard was beginning to gray, he had survived several turns, which was evident on his face.

"Of course."

 

[SKILORD]

Since you're so Graphics oriented i'll post these shots from the game.

 

[SKILORD]

Note though that they are from before the events retold in this story.

 

[Erik Mesoy]

Woo- never realized this was a Civ3 game! You write incredibly well.

 

[EQandcivfanatic]

although others on the forum may ignore this i don't. Good job still