Kozmos
Jew Detective
Dont tempt me Frodo!
PureNES: Epoch of Glory
- Thread starter Thlayli
- Start date
Dont tempt me Frodo!
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Update 1: Foreshadowing - 1510
Port Verres, Alhaven
One corner of a shredded newspaper fluttered in the night breeze, as the Dreningen man walked down a deserted street. He wore the standard brown overcoat, black boots, and brown cape. There was a diagonal slash across the front of his coat in the Southern style. A silver strip of cloth across the slash marked him as an Edler, at least. It meant he was an emissary of considerable authority.
He had worked seventeen years in these wretched colonial posts, and this was the worst among them. A hired mercenary at first, his teams put down the periodic mining revolts across Hadir. It required subtlety mixed with cold-hearted brutality. When he wasn’t “suppressing” the revolts, he negotiated with native chieftains to bribe and betray opposing tribes and clans, forcing thousands into the darkness of the aluminum mines.
He was quite proud of it.
Dreningen’s investors asked no questions, and the profits flowed in. The entire system relied on hundreds of hard, brutal men that put Guild above life itself. Dreningen’s resource empire stretched across continents, requiring shippers, accountants, and “professional soldiers” to cooperate and act in tandem. It was a well-oiled machine, oiled with the suffering of those crushed in the gears.
In their infinite wisdom, the Guildsmen had seen fit to assign him here. In retrospect, these greedy half-breeds weren’t that different from those disgusting brownskins he had left in Hadir. The skin color, customs, and technology might change, but the greed remained. Even though he hated this wretched liaison position, it was only three more years until he received a direct, permanent commission. Just keep these half-Metti Aspect-scum happy, he told himself.
Recently, the name “Doria” had been filtering through the ranks. Upper management had classified the Torenzi family as a standard-level threat. Unfortunately, the usual Dreningen practice of breaking an opposing merchant’s kneecaps wouldn’t do here. They acted though too many intermediaries to be traced, and their one direct negotiator had fled the country, to the north according to his information.
Something would be done about this. Thyssen would suffer for taking guild money and betraying them like this. This could escalate into a major crisis in the “upper framework,” standard Guild terminology for the official government of Mettlingen, if nothing was done. But something would be done. His men were ready to move.
Three men slid out of the alley behind him, and four more walked into the flickering light of the gas lamp by the square. The moonlight flashed off several knives.
There were three pistol shots, and one scream. As he lay in a pool of blood, the Dreningen man silently cursed his luck. He didn’t think the half-breeds were ready to move yet…
---
Berius, Berian Republic
Markos cringed in terror as the explosive shell whizzed overhead. A trail of smoke followed the fiery ember of the shell, until it crashed into one of the harbor buildings, unluckily enough an armory. He saw the brilliant flash of light as the powder magazines caught fire an instant before the shockwave blew him backwards into the water. His head spun…why was everything so green, he wondered…as he sank towards the bottom of the bay.
-
It had been a calm night for everyone but the diplomats. A fierce triangle of letters had been sent between Palantina, Einsrecht, and Berius. As the Republic’s emissaries frantically tried to stop the flow of insults between Guild Elstadt and the Dominion of the Princepii, those in positions of power braced for the worst. The fastest steamship…well, the only steamship Berius owned had been dispatched toward Telerius, the Pelarch abandoning what last ounce of pride he had.
The Pelarch’s decision to cast his lot with Elstadt and the New Empire was one of the worst decisions he had ever made. It was unlucky that a Naian corsair had caught the steamship, looking for gold, but even unluckier that the pirate captain was intelligent enough to understand just how valuable the letters were.
Supposedly the Lord-Dominator broke his favorite writing desk in half when he heard the news. His vassal, newly conquered at great expense, had tried to betray him. Compiarda had become increasingly reclusive lately, and whispers of a secret illness were beginning to spread. Sitting in the shadows of his innermost study, the Genius of Palantina smiled to himself.
-
Antonius Valartum, Pelarch of the Berian Republic, was nervous. The Lord-Dominator himself, and a full embassy were traveling to Berius. Cursing his ill luck, and the convenient absence of the Elstadt emissaries that had been so comforting only a week ago, he ordered his men into place. They had only one choice: Pretend like absolutely nothing had happened.
“We shall give the Lord-Dominator a state welcome,” he said to his aide. “Station a battalion of guards at the Lion’s Port. I shall meet our so-called master there.” Inwardly he frowned. Hopefully he would ensure that Compiarda would not survive the
-
Eleón Compiarda was approaching sixty, but the aged general’s back was as straight as it had been at the Battle of Cleve Couraine, almost thirty-five years ago. Broad shoulders tapering to a surprisingly narrow waist, his spotless white military jacket and cape made a stunning impression. The ravages of age clearly didn’t affect this living legend.
It was good to be fighting again, he thought, and laughed inwardly. A small smile curved across his face.
“Admiral. Inform the Berians that my embassy has arrived.”
Turrets moving in unison, the ironclads of the Dominion of the Princepii unleashed a volley of fire on the Berian harbor. As he watched the chaos and destruction unfold through a spyglass, he thought about the situation. This wasn’t real fighting, as his opponents hardly had any skill or power.
Elstadt and Telerius would move on him soon enough. Then the real fun would begin.
-
Markos thought only of his young wife, probably hiding in the cellar of the bakery where they lived and worked, as he pulled himself onto the shore, watching the flames spread. Berius was a city of stone, and well fortified…but for the warfare of the past century. Given enough fire, he soon learned with horror, even stone would burn.
With a swift breaststroke, he retreated to the somewhat intact pier of the nearest dock. Small chips of granite from the ruined buildings were carried into the swirling, smoking column of flame that lit up the sky, and then softly fell into the water around him, like a horrible parody of rain.
As the landing craft began to discharge grim, soot-blackened soldiers, Markos realized that his time was up. Crawling up the columns that supported the pier, he ran barefoot down the polished wood, hoping to find a safe haven in the city that had become an inferno.
---
Guild Kuurel Headquarters, Einsrecht
“I’m really sick of this.”
“Johannes, we’ve been through this a thousand times. Even if you ARE technically a genius, nay, a demigod, you still have to attend the inter-organization meetings.”
“Holy Seraph, divine in nature and reason, created everyone for a specific and well-defined purpose. Please, I beg of you, get the accountant toadies to go, they were born for this kind of thing! I’d like to get back to my designs.”
“You really are something, Master Johannes. And you haven’t attended Clave in years, so don’t get all religious on me.”
“You can’t make me LIKE it.”
“Like the mind of a child,” Leiden muttered. “Just wants to play with his blocks.”
“What was that, my good Edler?”
“I was simply saying that we shall be late, honored High Craftsman, if your incessant babbling continues any longer.”
“Let’s get it over with, then.”
-
Johannes Kelbrachen, High Craftsman of Guild Kuurel, and famed inventor of the K-1 airship, rudely propped his legs up on the massive oak meeting table of the main staff meeting room.
“Well, my chaps, as they say in Jathalland, let’s get done with it before the duels break out.”
One aide whispered to another behind him, “I don’t think they really say that…”
Lord Treasurer Adolf Leidens of Guild Elstadt unbuttoned his golden silk jacket, removing a monocle (reputedly one of polished diamond) from his eye as he sat down.
“I realize that partial insanity is a required trait for Kuurel membership, but did they honestly have to send you, Johannes?”
Gerick Rens, Vice Commandant of Dreningen Operations Division, shook mud from his plain brown jacket. “I’m a busy man. Can we please begin this?”
“A hearty agreement! I’d pound my stein on the table to that, if I had one Rens. Care to oblige?” Johannes motioned to an aide.
“No beer! You remember what happened last time,” Leidens remarked.
“Holy Seraph, can we PLEASE begin this!?”
“Yes, yes. First order of business is the formulation of inter-guild policy with respect to foreign events.”
Johannes abruptly became serious at this. “You realize that Dreningen’s complete mismanagement of the situation has led to the current crisis in Alhaven, I hope?”
Elstadt’s representative nodded. “For once, I agree with Herr Tinker on this matter. Your appointment of the boorish Edler Jerrick to the liaison position in Verres was completely idiotic. It gave the URA exactly the casus belli they needed.”
Johannes grinned widely. “Oh yes, a wise policy. If we can’t win over the steel magnate, let’s just assassinate him! Very smart.”
Rens merely snorted. “Dreningen has the situation under control.”
“Unacceptable,” said Leidens. “We have a declaration of war on our doorstep. Dreningen’s abuses and overtaxation of the frontiersmen have created a rebellion, and one quietly supported by the URA.”
“You know, Rens,” Johannes grinned, “We don’t have to support you. If you want to stop being useful, keep telling us you have it ‘under control’ and see what happens.”
Dreningen’s man shifted in his seat. “Very well…we will transfer control of the territory to the authority of the Republic, if we retain the mineral and lumber rights.”
“You won’t get away that easily. Kuurel and Elstadt will take half of the profits from the Alhaven mines for the next ten years, assuming we manage to actually recapture them.”
Rens nodded, his jaw clenched. “We must mobilize our assets for conflict with the URA.”
Leidens stood up, passing around three copies of a lette. “That is not our only issue. Look at this. It’s from my procurement office at the Gates of Fire.”
“We both know about Beria’s fall, Leidens. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit back and take it from Compiarda until we can stabilize the situation in Alhaven.”
“I can’t believe…”
“I move to close this order of business,” Johannes said.
“Seconded,” Rens grunted.
“Completely unbelievable,” Elstadt’s man examined a diamond-encrusted watch. “Well, if you’ll be of no use to me, I’m afraid we’ll be on our way.”
“One more issue, gentlemen,” Johannes arched his fingers, frowning. “You know about Taenevix, I assume.”
“Yes, we know.”
“Their progress is…disturbing, to say the least. They have already produced at least five working models, and all on the level of the K-5.”
“Your point being?”
“The Imperial Republic has modernized. They’re no longer the army of Claidhe peasants that fought the Sixty Years’ War against Jathalland. They completed their railroad system, completely modernized their armies to the Compiarda standards, and now they’ve turned their attention to building an air fleet.”
“If they succeed…”
“If they succeed, it will completely undermine our influence, and profit, in providing the technology to the nations of Arios. And Gosica has some experiments with heavier than air craft that are…troubling, to say the least.”
The Dreningen representative smiled. “Taenevix is a new threat, and Gosica is an old threat, but we can counter them both.”
“How is that, Gens?”
“New markets, Johannes.”
The High Craftsman smiled. “I move to adjourn.”
“Seconded,” Leidens smirked. “You’re going to plunge us all into war again, you fools.” But he was smiling. They all were.
---
Hespiron, Celia
An evening fog had rolled in, obscuring the features of the distant shore. All they could see were the stark outlines of towers: black silhouettes cut against the last, straggling rays of the setting sun. The ships moved noisily, their engines’ noise rapping off of the rocks opposite and echoing back, but as of yet there was no challenge. Slowly, trees came into view, wreathed in the mist, and the first hints of a town.
It was then that Octavian noticed something wrong. Another light was blossoming, something quite unlike the beams that still struggled through the thickening haze. It had a flickering, uncertain quality about it that he did not like at all. He shouted back for his signaler.
The man reported quickly, and Octavian had him flag down the other ships. They turned as a fleet: those on the boundary of the flagship’s vision passed along the message to those beyond it. The harbor began to loom, piers poking out like fingers of some massive drowned creature. The fires were suddenly all around them as houses burst to pieces under the intense heat and cannon shot whirled in every direction.
Octavian felt a tug at his shirt, and saw a lieutenant urging him to come below deck, to be covered by the protective iron shell. He shook his head. He wanted to see this fight through.
More warships urged onwards into the harbor, and a few stopped at the docks, disgorging companies of soldiers, who wore the sea-green uniforms of the Eternal Empire. Shells burst overhead, and a few struck the ships solidly, rocking them back and forth. Still the fighting boiled around them.
Octavian spied the main company of enemies, marked by their ragged, motley clothing, and ordered his guns to bear upon them. The heathens touched off a few cannons, the shot glancing harmlessly off of the iron plate, while the great turrets swung around to bear upon them. Three shots, and they cleared hastily, a portion of their number lying dead or broken upon the earth. Their fleeing remnants engaged the Telerian brigades, whose solid, disciplined lines ignored bullet and shell, plowing through the bedraggled infantry before them. Only a few corpses wore the green.
It was a few hours before the officers in the port motioned that it was safe to come ashore; Octavian greeted them, and proudly took the honor of raising the Empire’s flag over the ruined city of Hespiron, side by side with the white crossed anchor and spear on navy that this nation was accustomed to flying. No infidel’s banners were raised over this city, and while it would be unlikely that their force could do more than secure the city alone, Octavian felt secure enough to offer a toast to his men that night. They had served him well.
Several hundred miles away, an Emperor clenched his fist in rage. He had a new enemy…
---
Koriyama Prefecture, Hadato
“Ashitaka!”
He turned, callously. “Akari-sensei.”
“You have dishonored me. I had high hopes for you as my student, but your insult to the Emperor has been grave.”
“Lord Toriyama was assassinated, and his lands were stolen by that greedy miser!”
“Lord Toriyama died without children. You know the law. If you had not made your desire…no, your greed for his lands so clear, the Emperor might have awarded them to you!”
Akari looked towards the town. The wooden gates were firmly shut, and all the villagers were out of sight. Even the laborers on the rice fields had vanished. But they were all probably crouched down on the palisade, watching the confrontation.
His eyes widened as Ashitaka eased his katana out of its sheath.
“Akari-sensei. I will uphold the honor of the clans and feudal lords…even against you.”
His teacher sighed, withdrawing his own blade. “You were a member of the Emperor’s household, and I still am. It saddens me to see that you have no loyalty to your liege.”
“I serve no Emperor!” Ashitaka yelled, and charged.
There was a spark as their blades met, and they shivered against each other before breaking apart. The men circled each other, looking for an opening. Akari was reluctant to draw blood…even if he was honor bound to fight, perhaps he could still win without bloodshed?
A crane abruptly flew into the air, and with that distraction Ashitaka attacked. His moves were a blur. He had been studying from someone else…his style was more brutal, and more direct. Was it Tiger, or Lotus? No, his moves were too fluid, too dynamic…
“Master, you look confused. Perhaps the Serpent style is unfamiliar to you?”
Akari was surprised. He had thought Serpent too advanced for his pupil. Even so, that was only taught in the western regions…how did he find someone skilled enough? He would puzzle through this mystery later, because now his life really was in danger.
Shifting his stance, Akari spun to block a rapid series of attacks towards his chest, and finished with a cut that sliced open his student’s sword arm. For all his skill, the swordsman suddenly remembered, Ashitaka was still merely a boy. And what master could strike the killing blow against his student?
“It’s over.”
Akari walked back towards the town, not looking back at his former student, kneeling by the side of the road. He knew that they were destined for two different paths, and hoped they met again one day. Of course, by then it would be as enemies.
---
Golden Leanne, Buridisia
Golden Leanne. What a name. What a city.
Perhaps two or centuries ago, this place was the center of Arios. It had unmatched fortifications, brilliant palaces, wide, open streets, and was the undisputed center of Claidhe culture and power. Of all the nations that claimed the title of Claidhe Emperor, Buridisia came closest to fulfilling that vision.
The unlucky fortunes of the Claidhe are legend. Originally a massive migration of barbarian raiders from the Great Steppe, they carved out most of northern Arios as their domain before they ran out of room. The lands that would become Taenevix fought constantly with the Athurians and the Kantics, and the Callixtans had a never-ending feud with the Gotts and Guipikans. But Buridisia was special. Protected by the soaring white peaks of the unending Geran Range on their south, and by (mostly) friendly Claidhe principalities to their north, Buridisia was always protected from danger.
Everyone blamed Princeps, and Compiarda, for the horrible war that destroyed Buridisia’s future. But as glittering armies marched through the passes never to return, and the people’s confidence turned from optimism to doubt, and slowly to despair, a new thought began to form itself: We are completely defenseless. The vaunted mountains were useless against the Dominion’s advance, and city after city fell, medieval walls useless against artillery with elevation on their side.
Golden Leanne suffered most of all. As the symbolic capital of the Claidhe, it became a battleground for Princepii garrisons, anarchists, monarchists, republicans, and factions from every conceivable group.
Finally, it was taken, one sunny morning. The last few Princeps battalions withdrew to the south, and a small but fanatical party of (western) monarchists was ejected from the ruins of the royal palaces. The new occupiers slowly filtered through the city, establishing their control. Soldiers crouched behind headless marble statues and twisted, sputtering fountains before slowly moving on. By the end of the day, their cautious advance had paid off.
A new flag was raised over Leanne…it was a green flag, with a single, red star.
“Long live the People,” they shouted in the streets, “Long live the Conclave!”
---
This is basically my first attempt at an all story update. A lot of changes on the map weren't reflected in a story, but they're still important.
Also, if you ordered reforms or projects, you can assume that their progress is chugging along, but not yet completed. More specific questions can be forwarded to NK or me, though I'll be gone for a while.
Also, NK should be adding a Qiankun story in a later post. We already discussed the outcome of the story, but I didn't have enough time before I left to write it.
The deadline for orders is Wednesday, July 27.
Map's on the next post.
Port Verres, Alhaven
One corner of a shredded newspaper fluttered in the night breeze, as the Dreningen man walked down a deserted street. He wore the standard brown overcoat, black boots, and brown cape. There was a diagonal slash across the front of his coat in the Southern style. A silver strip of cloth across the slash marked him as an Edler, at least. It meant he was an emissary of considerable authority.
He had worked seventeen years in these wretched colonial posts, and this was the worst among them. A hired mercenary at first, his teams put down the periodic mining revolts across Hadir. It required subtlety mixed with cold-hearted brutality. When he wasn’t “suppressing” the revolts, he negotiated with native chieftains to bribe and betray opposing tribes and clans, forcing thousands into the darkness of the aluminum mines.
He was quite proud of it.
Dreningen’s investors asked no questions, and the profits flowed in. The entire system relied on hundreds of hard, brutal men that put Guild above life itself. Dreningen’s resource empire stretched across continents, requiring shippers, accountants, and “professional soldiers” to cooperate and act in tandem. It was a well-oiled machine, oiled with the suffering of those crushed in the gears.
In their infinite wisdom, the Guildsmen had seen fit to assign him here. In retrospect, these greedy half-breeds weren’t that different from those disgusting brownskins he had left in Hadir. The skin color, customs, and technology might change, but the greed remained. Even though he hated this wretched liaison position, it was only three more years until he received a direct, permanent commission. Just keep these half-Metti Aspect-scum happy, he told himself.
Recently, the name “Doria” had been filtering through the ranks. Upper management had classified the Torenzi family as a standard-level threat. Unfortunately, the usual Dreningen practice of breaking an opposing merchant’s kneecaps wouldn’t do here. They acted though too many intermediaries to be traced, and their one direct negotiator had fled the country, to the north according to his information.
Something would be done about this. Thyssen would suffer for taking guild money and betraying them like this. This could escalate into a major crisis in the “upper framework,” standard Guild terminology for the official government of Mettlingen, if nothing was done. But something would be done. His men were ready to move.
Three men slid out of the alley behind him, and four more walked into the flickering light of the gas lamp by the square. The moonlight flashed off several knives.
There were three pistol shots, and one scream. As he lay in a pool of blood, the Dreningen man silently cursed his luck. He didn’t think the half-breeds were ready to move yet…
---
Berius, Berian Republic
Markos cringed in terror as the explosive shell whizzed overhead. A trail of smoke followed the fiery ember of the shell, until it crashed into one of the harbor buildings, unluckily enough an armory. He saw the brilliant flash of light as the powder magazines caught fire an instant before the shockwave blew him backwards into the water. His head spun…why was everything so green, he wondered…as he sank towards the bottom of the bay.
-
It had been a calm night for everyone but the diplomats. A fierce triangle of letters had been sent between Palantina, Einsrecht, and Berius. As the Republic’s emissaries frantically tried to stop the flow of insults between Guild Elstadt and the Dominion of the Princepii, those in positions of power braced for the worst. The fastest steamship…well, the only steamship Berius owned had been dispatched toward Telerius, the Pelarch abandoning what last ounce of pride he had.
The Pelarch’s decision to cast his lot with Elstadt and the New Empire was one of the worst decisions he had ever made. It was unlucky that a Naian corsair had caught the steamship, looking for gold, but even unluckier that the pirate captain was intelligent enough to understand just how valuable the letters were.
Supposedly the Lord-Dominator broke his favorite writing desk in half when he heard the news. His vassal, newly conquered at great expense, had tried to betray him. Compiarda had become increasingly reclusive lately, and whispers of a secret illness were beginning to spread. Sitting in the shadows of his innermost study, the Genius of Palantina smiled to himself.
-
Antonius Valartum, Pelarch of the Berian Republic, was nervous. The Lord-Dominator himself, and a full embassy were traveling to Berius. Cursing his ill luck, and the convenient absence of the Elstadt emissaries that had been so comforting only a week ago, he ordered his men into place. They had only one choice: Pretend like absolutely nothing had happened.
“We shall give the Lord-Dominator a state welcome,” he said to his aide. “Station a battalion of guards at the Lion’s Port. I shall meet our so-called master there.” Inwardly he frowned. Hopefully he would ensure that Compiarda would not survive the
-
Eleón Compiarda was approaching sixty, but the aged general’s back was as straight as it had been at the Battle of Cleve Couraine, almost thirty-five years ago. Broad shoulders tapering to a surprisingly narrow waist, his spotless white military jacket and cape made a stunning impression. The ravages of age clearly didn’t affect this living legend.
It was good to be fighting again, he thought, and laughed inwardly. A small smile curved across his face.
“Admiral. Inform the Berians that my embassy has arrived.”
Turrets moving in unison, the ironclads of the Dominion of the Princepii unleashed a volley of fire on the Berian harbor. As he watched the chaos and destruction unfold through a spyglass, he thought about the situation. This wasn’t real fighting, as his opponents hardly had any skill or power.
Elstadt and Telerius would move on him soon enough. Then the real fun would begin.
-
Markos thought only of his young wife, probably hiding in the cellar of the bakery where they lived and worked, as he pulled himself onto the shore, watching the flames spread. Berius was a city of stone, and well fortified…but for the warfare of the past century. Given enough fire, he soon learned with horror, even stone would burn.
With a swift breaststroke, he retreated to the somewhat intact pier of the nearest dock. Small chips of granite from the ruined buildings were carried into the swirling, smoking column of flame that lit up the sky, and then softly fell into the water around him, like a horrible parody of rain.
As the landing craft began to discharge grim, soot-blackened soldiers, Markos realized that his time was up. Crawling up the columns that supported the pier, he ran barefoot down the polished wood, hoping to find a safe haven in the city that had become an inferno.
---
Guild Kuurel Headquarters, Einsrecht
“I’m really sick of this.”
“Johannes, we’ve been through this a thousand times. Even if you ARE technically a genius, nay, a demigod, you still have to attend the inter-organization meetings.”
“Holy Seraph, divine in nature and reason, created everyone for a specific and well-defined purpose. Please, I beg of you, get the accountant toadies to go, they were born for this kind of thing! I’d like to get back to my designs.”
“You really are something, Master Johannes. And you haven’t attended Clave in years, so don’t get all religious on me.”
“You can’t make me LIKE it.”
“Like the mind of a child,” Leiden muttered. “Just wants to play with his blocks.”
“What was that, my good Edler?”
“I was simply saying that we shall be late, honored High Craftsman, if your incessant babbling continues any longer.”
“Let’s get it over with, then.”
-
Johannes Kelbrachen, High Craftsman of Guild Kuurel, and famed inventor of the K-1 airship, rudely propped his legs up on the massive oak meeting table of the main staff meeting room.
“Well, my chaps, as they say in Jathalland, let’s get done with it before the duels break out.”
One aide whispered to another behind him, “I don’t think they really say that…”
Lord Treasurer Adolf Leidens of Guild Elstadt unbuttoned his golden silk jacket, removing a monocle (reputedly one of polished diamond) from his eye as he sat down.
“I realize that partial insanity is a required trait for Kuurel membership, but did they honestly have to send you, Johannes?”
Gerick Rens, Vice Commandant of Dreningen Operations Division, shook mud from his plain brown jacket. “I’m a busy man. Can we please begin this?”
“A hearty agreement! I’d pound my stein on the table to that, if I had one Rens. Care to oblige?” Johannes motioned to an aide.
“No beer! You remember what happened last time,” Leidens remarked.
“Holy Seraph, can we PLEASE begin this!?”
“Yes, yes. First order of business is the formulation of inter-guild policy with respect to foreign events.”
Johannes abruptly became serious at this. “You realize that Dreningen’s complete mismanagement of the situation has led to the current crisis in Alhaven, I hope?”
Elstadt’s representative nodded. “For once, I agree with Herr Tinker on this matter. Your appointment of the boorish Edler Jerrick to the liaison position in Verres was completely idiotic. It gave the URA exactly the casus belli they needed.”
Johannes grinned widely. “Oh yes, a wise policy. If we can’t win over the steel magnate, let’s just assassinate him! Very smart.”
Rens merely snorted. “Dreningen has the situation under control.”
“Unacceptable,” said Leidens. “We have a declaration of war on our doorstep. Dreningen’s abuses and overtaxation of the frontiersmen have created a rebellion, and one quietly supported by the URA.”
“You know, Rens,” Johannes grinned, “We don’t have to support you. If you want to stop being useful, keep telling us you have it ‘under control’ and see what happens.”
Dreningen’s man shifted in his seat. “Very well…we will transfer control of the territory to the authority of the Republic, if we retain the mineral and lumber rights.”
“You won’t get away that easily. Kuurel and Elstadt will take half of the profits from the Alhaven mines for the next ten years, assuming we manage to actually recapture them.”
Rens nodded, his jaw clenched. “We must mobilize our assets for conflict with the URA.”
Leidens stood up, passing around three copies of a lette. “That is not our only issue. Look at this. It’s from my procurement office at the Gates of Fire.”
“We both know about Beria’s fall, Leidens. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit back and take it from Compiarda until we can stabilize the situation in Alhaven.”
“I can’t believe…”
“I move to close this order of business,” Johannes said.
“Seconded,” Rens grunted.
“Completely unbelievable,” Elstadt’s man examined a diamond-encrusted watch. “Well, if you’ll be of no use to me, I’m afraid we’ll be on our way.”
“One more issue, gentlemen,” Johannes arched his fingers, frowning. “You know about Taenevix, I assume.”
“Yes, we know.”
“Their progress is…disturbing, to say the least. They have already produced at least five working models, and all on the level of the K-5.”
“Your point being?”
“The Imperial Republic has modernized. They’re no longer the army of Claidhe peasants that fought the Sixty Years’ War against Jathalland. They completed their railroad system, completely modernized their armies to the Compiarda standards, and now they’ve turned their attention to building an air fleet.”
“If they succeed…”
“If they succeed, it will completely undermine our influence, and profit, in providing the technology to the nations of Arios. And Gosica has some experiments with heavier than air craft that are…troubling, to say the least.”
The Dreningen representative smiled. “Taenevix is a new threat, and Gosica is an old threat, but we can counter them both.”
“How is that, Gens?”
“New markets, Johannes.”
The High Craftsman smiled. “I move to adjourn.”
“Seconded,” Leidens smirked. “You’re going to plunge us all into war again, you fools.” But he was smiling. They all were.
---
Hespiron, Celia
An evening fog had rolled in, obscuring the features of the distant shore. All they could see were the stark outlines of towers: black silhouettes cut against the last, straggling rays of the setting sun. The ships moved noisily, their engines’ noise rapping off of the rocks opposite and echoing back, but as of yet there was no challenge. Slowly, trees came into view, wreathed in the mist, and the first hints of a town.
It was then that Octavian noticed something wrong. Another light was blossoming, something quite unlike the beams that still struggled through the thickening haze. It had a flickering, uncertain quality about it that he did not like at all. He shouted back for his signaler.
The man reported quickly, and Octavian had him flag down the other ships. They turned as a fleet: those on the boundary of the flagship’s vision passed along the message to those beyond it. The harbor began to loom, piers poking out like fingers of some massive drowned creature. The fires were suddenly all around them as houses burst to pieces under the intense heat and cannon shot whirled in every direction.
Octavian felt a tug at his shirt, and saw a lieutenant urging him to come below deck, to be covered by the protective iron shell. He shook his head. He wanted to see this fight through.
More warships urged onwards into the harbor, and a few stopped at the docks, disgorging companies of soldiers, who wore the sea-green uniforms of the Eternal Empire. Shells burst overhead, and a few struck the ships solidly, rocking them back and forth. Still the fighting boiled around them.
Octavian spied the main company of enemies, marked by their ragged, motley clothing, and ordered his guns to bear upon them. The heathens touched off a few cannons, the shot glancing harmlessly off of the iron plate, while the great turrets swung around to bear upon them. Three shots, and they cleared hastily, a portion of their number lying dead or broken upon the earth. Their fleeing remnants engaged the Telerian brigades, whose solid, disciplined lines ignored bullet and shell, plowing through the bedraggled infantry before them. Only a few corpses wore the green.
It was a few hours before the officers in the port motioned that it was safe to come ashore; Octavian greeted them, and proudly took the honor of raising the Empire’s flag over the ruined city of Hespiron, side by side with the white crossed anchor and spear on navy that this nation was accustomed to flying. No infidel’s banners were raised over this city, and while it would be unlikely that their force could do more than secure the city alone, Octavian felt secure enough to offer a toast to his men that night. They had served him well.
Several hundred miles away, an Emperor clenched his fist in rage. He had a new enemy…
---
Koriyama Prefecture, Hadato
“Ashitaka!”
He turned, callously. “Akari-sensei.”
“You have dishonored me. I had high hopes for you as my student, but your insult to the Emperor has been grave.”
“Lord Toriyama was assassinated, and his lands were stolen by that greedy miser!”
“Lord Toriyama died without children. You know the law. If you had not made your desire…no, your greed for his lands so clear, the Emperor might have awarded them to you!”
Akari looked towards the town. The wooden gates were firmly shut, and all the villagers were out of sight. Even the laborers on the rice fields had vanished. But they were all probably crouched down on the palisade, watching the confrontation.
His eyes widened as Ashitaka eased his katana out of its sheath.
“Akari-sensei. I will uphold the honor of the clans and feudal lords…even against you.”
His teacher sighed, withdrawing his own blade. “You were a member of the Emperor’s household, and I still am. It saddens me to see that you have no loyalty to your liege.”
“I serve no Emperor!” Ashitaka yelled, and charged.
There was a spark as their blades met, and they shivered against each other before breaking apart. The men circled each other, looking for an opening. Akari was reluctant to draw blood…even if he was honor bound to fight, perhaps he could still win without bloodshed?
A crane abruptly flew into the air, and with that distraction Ashitaka attacked. His moves were a blur. He had been studying from someone else…his style was more brutal, and more direct. Was it Tiger, or Lotus? No, his moves were too fluid, too dynamic…
“Master, you look confused. Perhaps the Serpent style is unfamiliar to you?”
Akari was surprised. He had thought Serpent too advanced for his pupil. Even so, that was only taught in the western regions…how did he find someone skilled enough? He would puzzle through this mystery later, because now his life really was in danger.
Shifting his stance, Akari spun to block a rapid series of attacks towards his chest, and finished with a cut that sliced open his student’s sword arm. For all his skill, the swordsman suddenly remembered, Ashitaka was still merely a boy. And what master could strike the killing blow against his student?
“It’s over.”
Akari walked back towards the town, not looking back at his former student, kneeling by the side of the road. He knew that they were destined for two different paths, and hoped they met again one day. Of course, by then it would be as enemies.
---
Golden Leanne, Buridisia
Golden Leanne. What a name. What a city.
Perhaps two or centuries ago, this place was the center of Arios. It had unmatched fortifications, brilliant palaces, wide, open streets, and was the undisputed center of Claidhe culture and power. Of all the nations that claimed the title of Claidhe Emperor, Buridisia came closest to fulfilling that vision.
The unlucky fortunes of the Claidhe are legend. Originally a massive migration of barbarian raiders from the Great Steppe, they carved out most of northern Arios as their domain before they ran out of room. The lands that would become Taenevix fought constantly with the Athurians and the Kantics, and the Callixtans had a never-ending feud with the Gotts and Guipikans. But Buridisia was special. Protected by the soaring white peaks of the unending Geran Range on their south, and by (mostly) friendly Claidhe principalities to their north, Buridisia was always protected from danger.
Everyone blamed Princeps, and Compiarda, for the horrible war that destroyed Buridisia’s future. But as glittering armies marched through the passes never to return, and the people’s confidence turned from optimism to doubt, and slowly to despair, a new thought began to form itself: We are completely defenseless. The vaunted mountains were useless against the Dominion’s advance, and city after city fell, medieval walls useless against artillery with elevation on their side.
Golden Leanne suffered most of all. As the symbolic capital of the Claidhe, it became a battleground for Princepii garrisons, anarchists, monarchists, republicans, and factions from every conceivable group.
Finally, it was taken, one sunny morning. The last few Princeps battalions withdrew to the south, and a small but fanatical party of (western) monarchists was ejected from the ruins of the royal palaces. The new occupiers slowly filtered through the city, establishing their control. Soldiers crouched behind headless marble statues and twisted, sputtering fountains before slowly moving on. By the end of the day, their cautious advance had paid off.
A new flag was raised over Leanne…it was a green flag, with a single, red star.
“Long live the People,” they shouted in the streets, “Long live the Conclave!”
---
This is basically my first attempt at an all story update. A lot of changes on the map weren't reflected in a story, but they're still important.
Also, if you ordered reforms or projects, you can assume that their progress is chugging along, but not yet completed. More specific questions can be forwarded to NK or me, though I'll be gone for a while.
Also, NK should be adding a Qiankun story in a later post. We already discussed the outcome of the story, but I didn't have enough time before I left to write it.
The deadline for orders is Wednesday, July 27.
Map's on the next post.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Aux revoir.
Spoiler :
Nylan
Characters Welcome
He was just going to stop and resupply before voyaging west, but I daresay his quirky personality would be a fun mix to anything you have planned, or any trouble that comes along. Or, you could just see him leaving the harbor as your crew arrives. Whatever piques your fancy.
Kozmos
Jew Detective
I would like to get my nation in-depth detail like the others did.
Great update, btw. Very intriguing.
Great update, btw. Very intriguing.
Nylan
Characters Welcome
I don't even know who you are O_o
(far better than smiley^)
(far better than smiley^)
jalapeno_dude
AKA Panda Judo Eel
Great update...now if only I knew what the hell was going on... 
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: You're like a merchant family; you're not supposed to know everything 
Just feel satisfied with the fact that The Guilds have decided you're a threat
Just feel satisfied with the fact that The Guilds have decided you're a threat
jalapeno_dude
AKA Panda Judo Eel
No, I mean I'm having trouble even finding everything talked about on the map.OOC: You're like a merchant family; you're not supposed to know everything
...and is it just me, or has the map not changed from last turn?
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: Actually, the map has changed. The first part of the update deals with the Metti territories in Alhaven and if you compare the two maps you can see that the rebelling Metti territories in Alhaven have expanded. Also, the northern regions of the Dominion of the Princepii have seen war and territory changing hands in Buridisia. There's also the Darian and Telerian invasion of Hespiron along with some rebellions popping up in Hadato.
I admit I had the same feelings about the map as you did jal before I saw my beautiful Empire's southern coast engulfed by that evil color
I admit I had the same feelings about the map as you did jal before I saw my beautiful Empire's southern coast engulfed by that evil color
jalapeno_dude
AKA Panda Judo Eel
I don't see any changes...very strange.OOC: Actually, the map has changed. The first part of the update deals with the Metti territories in Alhaven and if you compare the two maps you can see that the rebelling Metti territories in Alhaven have expanded. Also, the northern regions of the Dominion of the Princepii have seen war and territory changing hands in Buridisia. There's also the Darian and Telerian invasion of Hespiron along with some rebellions popping up in Hadato.
I admit I had the same feelings about the map as you did jal before I saw my beautiful Empire's southern coast engulfed by that evil color
According to your computer, what's the URL of the map, and what's the URL of the old map?
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: The old and new maps have the same names of PureNES_Named_Map so you would have come to the conclusion that nothing has changed while things have changed; the new map was simply saved over the old one. I assume you didn't save the first map?
Here's the link to the old one courtesy of the Great One that is alex994
http://img383.imageshack.us/img383/1818/purenesnamedmaptn0.png
Here's the link to the old one courtesy of the Great One that is alex994
http://img383.imageshack.us/img383/1818/purenesnamedmaptn0.png
Whose quirky personality? I'm cool with crossovers. Feel free to consult me on characters.
Nylan
Characters Welcome
jalapeno_dude
AKA Panda Judo Eel
Ah, thank you!OOC: The old and new maps have the same names of PureNES_Named_Map so you would have come to the conclusion that nothing has changed while things have changed; the new map was simply saved over the old one. I assume you didn't save the first map?
Here's the link to the old one courtesy of the Great One that is alex994
http://img383.imageshack.us/img383/1818/purenesnamedmaptn0.png
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
I will answer questions to the best of my ability, but the answers will probably not come tonight...
Nylan
Characters Welcome
OOC: Is Cleric the URA?
Kozmos
Jew Detective
You may call me Bill or Mr. President.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
OOC: A Qiankun story. I'm going to update Excelsior, then come back to this.
The night was holding a chill, unnaturally deep for this part of the Empire. It should not be this way, Li thought miserably, but no matter how many times the refrain repeated in his head, it still was. He shifted around, a bare cloak all he had to protect himself from the unnatural mist, and the hard ground; a wadded up cloth was his pillow. Never had he slept worse in his life. Never had he been so far from home.
A light breeze was picking up, and Li shifted the cloak to try and cover his head. His face would freeze off before the end of the night; he was sure of it. Some of the older veterans had been taunting them that noses fell off in the northern hills of the empire from frostbite. It was not the northern hills, but the weather was not like the south had always been said to be.
As suddenly as a gunshot, a horn rang through the night. Li leapt to his feet, stuffing the cloak, cloth, and all, into his pack before throwing the whole haphazard pile onto the ground. He scrabbled around for his gun, and took a burdensome pile of ammunition along as well, before rushing to assemble. The slowest men in training had always been whipped, and the instructors warned that the slowest men in the field would be put in the front.
He was relieved to see that he was not the last one; in fact, he was only a little behind the majority. He filed into his proper place as the flood of levies milled about him, with an officer on horseback screaming at them all to hurry. Another horn sounded in the distance, and several drums began to pound, along with gongs, the last an deeply unsettling sound.
Once the men were in place, the company started marching. Li could see other blocks of men marching along beside them, and with a jolt realized that this could only mean one thing: battle.
His gut seemed to hollow out as he contemplated the fight ahead, complaining dearly from lack of food, and exacerbated by nerves. He did not even know who, or why they were fighting. They were far too inland for any kind of battle yet. The Jin Bo were far to the north, and the Telcari, surely, had not reached so far inland. But even if they had, how would he know? The generals never told the soldiers what was happening.
Far off, another set of drums was rattling. They were entirely unlike the Qiankunese drums; entirely unlike anything he had ever heard, their sound high pitched and rapping.
They marched onwards, a company lost in a sea of men. There were men before him, men behind him, in all directions, a sweeping line, all dressed much like him, in the rags that they had brought with them. The Empires finest were not here today; they were in the north. They were merely the Empires most numerous, and that was never a comforting thought when the possibility that the man before you might break at the first gunshot was all too real...
The drums pounded onwards, and more horn sounded all around them. Several more gongs crashed, reverberating through the woods.
The mist was blowing away now, and the wind was picking up. Dark clouds were gathering before them, a storm from the sea, and it was beneath this blackening sheet that the sunrise tried to poke through. The first feeble rays were illuminated the clouds undersides nearest them, blazing orange and yellow, but the reflected light was bringing no warmth to the day. Indeed, everything seemed to be getting much more chilly...
Suddenly everyone was shouting, and Li saw, cresting the hill before them, the long, long line of indigo-clad soldiers, who lowered their rifles with precision.
Order! an officer was shouting. Order! Ready all weapons! Load! There was a scrambling as the first cracks came from the line above them, and bullets, invisible in their rapidity, scythed through the first few lines of Qiankunese, who fell at once. Li struggled with the pouch of powder and bullet, finally stuffing them in the gun. Aim! Li was near the rear of his lines, so he kept his weapon shouldered, hoping no one behind him would be idiotic enough to fire. FIRE! A great cloud of smoke rose from the Qiankunese line, and a few men in the deep purple line above fell, their positions taken by more at once.
As the gunfire began to rage around him, and the Qiankunese fell with astonishing speed, Li realized dimly that they were losing. Some were running now, but he would not dishonor his family. He moved to the forefront, and shouldered his gun, pointing it at these foreigners, desperate to strike a blow for his country. He pulled the trigger, felt a slight recoil, and moved to reload. He did not even feel the slug crash through his skull.
The silver serpent had triumphed again; twined with the golden dragon, they had swept around the defenses that had been raised. The Great Wall had fallen.
The night was holding a chill, unnaturally deep for this part of the Empire. It should not be this way, Li thought miserably, but no matter how many times the refrain repeated in his head, it still was. He shifted around, a bare cloak all he had to protect himself from the unnatural mist, and the hard ground; a wadded up cloth was his pillow. Never had he slept worse in his life. Never had he been so far from home.
A light breeze was picking up, and Li shifted the cloak to try and cover his head. His face would freeze off before the end of the night; he was sure of it. Some of the older veterans had been taunting them that noses fell off in the northern hills of the empire from frostbite. It was not the northern hills, but the weather was not like the south had always been said to be.
As suddenly as a gunshot, a horn rang through the night. Li leapt to his feet, stuffing the cloak, cloth, and all, into his pack before throwing the whole haphazard pile onto the ground. He scrabbled around for his gun, and took a burdensome pile of ammunition along as well, before rushing to assemble. The slowest men in training had always been whipped, and the instructors warned that the slowest men in the field would be put in the front.
He was relieved to see that he was not the last one; in fact, he was only a little behind the majority. He filed into his proper place as the flood of levies milled about him, with an officer on horseback screaming at them all to hurry. Another horn sounded in the distance, and several drums began to pound, along with gongs, the last an deeply unsettling sound.
Once the men were in place, the company started marching. Li could see other blocks of men marching along beside them, and with a jolt realized that this could only mean one thing: battle.
His gut seemed to hollow out as he contemplated the fight ahead, complaining dearly from lack of food, and exacerbated by nerves. He did not even know who, or why they were fighting. They were far too inland for any kind of battle yet. The Jin Bo were far to the north, and the Telcari, surely, had not reached so far inland. But even if they had, how would he know? The generals never told the soldiers what was happening.
Far off, another set of drums was rattling. They were entirely unlike the Qiankunese drums; entirely unlike anything he had ever heard, their sound high pitched and rapping.
They marched onwards, a company lost in a sea of men. There were men before him, men behind him, in all directions, a sweeping line, all dressed much like him, in the rags that they had brought with them. The Empires finest were not here today; they were in the north. They were merely the Empires most numerous, and that was never a comforting thought when the possibility that the man before you might break at the first gunshot was all too real...
The drums pounded onwards, and more horn sounded all around them. Several more gongs crashed, reverberating through the woods.
The mist was blowing away now, and the wind was picking up. Dark clouds were gathering before them, a storm from the sea, and it was beneath this blackening sheet that the sunrise tried to poke through. The first feeble rays were illuminated the clouds undersides nearest them, blazing orange and yellow, but the reflected light was bringing no warmth to the day. Indeed, everything seemed to be getting much more chilly...
Suddenly everyone was shouting, and Li saw, cresting the hill before them, the long, long line of indigo-clad soldiers, who lowered their rifles with precision.
Order! an officer was shouting. Order! Ready all weapons! Load! There was a scrambling as the first cracks came from the line above them, and bullets, invisible in their rapidity, scythed through the first few lines of Qiankunese, who fell at once. Li struggled with the pouch of powder and bullet, finally stuffing them in the gun. Aim! Li was near the rear of his lines, so he kept his weapon shouldered, hoping no one behind him would be idiotic enough to fire. FIRE! A great cloud of smoke rose from the Qiankunese line, and a few men in the deep purple line above fell, their positions taken by more at once.
As the gunfire began to rage around him, and the Qiankunese fell with astonishing speed, Li realized dimly that they were losing. Some were running now, but he would not dishonor his family. He moved to the forefront, and shouldered his gun, pointing it at these foreigners, desperate to strike a blow for his country. He pulled the trigger, felt a slight recoil, and moved to reload. He did not even feel the slug crash through his skull.
The silver serpent had triumphed again; twined with the golden dragon, they had swept around the defenses that had been raised. The Great Wall had fallen.
