Reopening the History Books [Closed; IC]

by **Maltropia** » Sun Jan 22, 2012 2:36 pm

Paradoxian history has long been neglected by the historians of that region. A land of heavily contrasted nations, politics have never been sufficiently boring that anyone has had the time to review the past. Wars between the Kingdom of Peace and the Hegemony of Machtergreifung, border disputes between monarchist Maltropia and socialist New Freedomstan, Ishgarian slave-trading and innumerable invasions of Colitas, Anderian coups and Bigfootian interventions - diplomacy swings wildly back and forth with alliances forming and collapsing overnight.

Yet the roots of this tumultuous continent go back centuries. Colonial nations seizing land on the coast, Paradoxian states viciously retaliating against invasion, civil war and natural disaster have marked Paradoxia as a realm divided. Little is known for sure of this chapter of Paradoxian history, which begins as the 17th century opens: as countries realise that there will not be enough room in Paradoxia for them all to live happily ever after and proceed to wage war against new enemies and former allies with reckless abandon. "Maltropian" nationalism is rising as the colonists, formerly of Ireland, long for sovereignty over the vast tracts of land they have claimed.

It is the year 1600. History is not so certain as we thought.

OOC Thread: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=161196

by **United States of Peace** » Sun Jan 22, 2012 2:45 pm

by **Machtergreifung** » Sun Jan 22, 2012 5:36 pm

With the start of the 17th Century, in the north-east of Paradoxia, the Hegemony of Machtergreifung was taking its first steps towards expansion and growth that would continue far into the future.

Since the coastal cities of the region had agreed that they could best prosper united, and decided to elect one of the nobility to the position of Hegemon and defied a far-off and forgotten homeland, the Hegemony had its history filled with blood and battles. The exact point when the Hegemony ceased to be a insular trading power and began its expansion is hard to find, owing to the fact that the loose alliance of coastal cities had been expanding into the interior for nearly four hundred years, destroying tribal kingdoms with superior technology.

However, the first great attempt for the Hegemony to assert its influence over a large section of Paradoxia came with the appointment of Erik Bruce. Bruce caused quite a sensation in Kreigsberg, the capital of the Hegemony, for he was hardly twenty years old. He was the second son of a rich trader from Pryport, and from a young age was set to become a military commander, his older brother, Johan, to inherit the family buisness and fortune. Erik was appointed commander of the armies of Pryport, as well as military aide to the Hegemon through his fathers influence is the Assembly, consisting of the nobles of the various cities.

The young Erik was in Kreigsberg when the Revolt of Hidden Daggers occurred. The clergy, along with some support from the middle class and serfs, attempted to overthrow the Hegemony. The Hegemonic Palace and Assembly Buildings were the centerpoints of a two day battle between the rebels and a mixed group of retainers, nobles, levies, servants and soldiers under Erik's command. The coup gained its name for the fact that so many important people were killed by people in close contact with them. Erik's father and brother were killed by men working for the Bishop of Kreigsberg, and the Hegemon and a significant portion of the Assembly were also slain, if not by assassins, in the fighting around the Palace.

The Revolt ended after Erik Bruce stormed Kreigsberg Castle and put the ringleaders to the sword. After some hours of fighting fires that had spread in Kreigsberg city, Bruce was summoned by the Assembly. Depleted by murder and fighting, the few remaining delegates understood that strong leadership was needed, and Bruce was swiftly elected Hegemon.

The young Hegemon moved swiftly. His first decision was to establish the Hegemonic Guard, to protect the person of the Hegemon and the Assembly in case of attack. His second, to unite the disjointed units of mercenaries, levies, and milita into a unified military.

by **Northern Bigfootia** » Sun Jan 22, 2012 8:13 pm

Near Elsfleth
Reikan Commonwealth
May 16th, 1600

"Countermarch! Advance!"

Two hundred muskets roared as the leading two ranks of the Nova Regiment's shot sleeves and skirmish line fired their weapons at the air in front of them. As they reloaded, the men of the rear ranks rushed forward and executed another precise volley. Colonel Albert von Luckner mentally kept track of the time as he watched the Regiment's drill. practiced repeatedly over the last several months, slowly bring the 1,200 man formation's musketeers and pikemen forward. The weather was unusually clear for this time of year, a condition which undoubtedly helped prevent misfires in the unreliable matchlock muskets, and the dry ground allowed the Regiment to make steady progress.

After three minutes have passed, von Luckner shouted another command, just barely audible over the thunder of the Regiment's firearms. "Halt! Retire!"

The Regiment reversed its countermarch; each volley now brought the two forward ranks to the rear of the line, and the Regiment begun returning to its original position with equal speed.

"Halt! Volley line!" He waited as the musketeers of the two battalions' skirmish lines filled the empty files normally kept clear for countermarching and both outer shot sleeves lengthened their line, assuming a dense three-rank formation. "Fire!"

Almost five hundred muskets, the vast majority of the Regiment's shot, thundered a simultaneous massed volley. The air became thick with white smoke, adding to the already poor visibility caused by the earlier countermarch, which the wind started slowly dispersing.

As the drill concluded, the Archduke of Hecate, Captain-General of the Reikan Commonwealth, left his observation point and approached von Luckner, tipping his feathered blue hat as he brought his horse alongside the Colonel. "Most impressive. If only half of this Army's Regiments could do as well." he said.

von Luckner tipped his own hat in reply. "Thank you, sir. I am certain the other Regiments' performance shall prove satisfactory in short order."

The Reikan Commonwealth has never been famous for its land army. It has always looked to its large and modern navy to be the decisive implement in war, but over the course of the preceding century the Commonwealth's unreliable land army has been dealt frequent and devastating blows, severely damaging the country's prestige and influence in the Bigfootian states. These events prompted the Captain-General to initiate sweeping reforms in the army's recruitment, organization and tactics. There have not been as much resistance to these reforms as there should have been; most of the army's former officers have been killed or resigned following the latest destruction of the Reikan army, and the death of its previous Captain-General, six years prior. The new army was rapidly growing, both in number and in performance as more troops were recruited and trained, but its new methods or its reliability have yet to be tested in the field.

The Captain-General glanced at the Nova Regiment as the smoke cleared enough to reveal its twin light blue standards waving in the wind.

"Indeed. And then, by God, we shall regain our lost glory."

by **United States of Peace** » Sun Jan 22, 2012 8:20 pm

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=161196

by **Ishgar** » Mon Jan 23, 2012 12:25 am

This whole post is OOC

Since I have no compelling creation story, no plan to merge these nations, and no immediate plans for what they'll do, I wrote up brief intros for each of my three nations. Psantholing will probably see the most action at first, and Hoyear will remain pretty quite for the first couple decades.

Pshantholing is a powerful agricultural fiefdom made up of fifteen or so territories. It is held together by a militaristic king partially by necessity; as it is totally landlocked and surrounded by other powers, Pshantholing must respond to any attack on its lands with extreme violence. The oligargh and his almost twenty fiefs have little regard for their people except as souls that can be saved and hands that can farm the land. Pshantholing’s vast tracts of land, multiple castles, and large population has made it a powerful force in Paradoxia, but some whisper than Psantholing is a nation in decline. Its governmental system strikes many as archaic and apathy or downright antipathy towards technological and social advances may leave Pshantholing in the dark ages. Catholic. Also, we'll sign up for armies that have crushed the Reikan Commonwealth.

Sərhəd – Freischlont is a neutral region made powerful by mining & trade and renowned for its culture. The mountain ranges and river to the south hold vast riches and make it relatively safe from assault, and the walled city of Sərhəd, built entirely on a large island within a river, has rebuffed several attacks. A largely peaceful and progressive area, it has faced repeated threats from Psantholing due to its faith. Sərhəd is the birthplace of Protestantism in Paradoxia. While Freischlont is almost half Catholic and Sərhəd-Freischlont has no state religion, Psantholing sees these people as heathens. Freischlont pales in comparison to the beauty of Sərhəd. It serves mostly as a trading port for the goods produced near Sərhəd and the mining operation that has grown in the mountains by Threefooted River. Sərhəd-Freischlont also boasts one of the most complicated government systems, with a modified form of federalism including senate, a mayoral council, an executive branch, and a judicial branch. Mostly Protestant populatoin.

The city state of Hoyear is situated on the northern coast of present-day Ishgar. Currently a simple fishing town, its citizens have begun to hunt the largest creatures in these northern waters: whales. Interest in this market has encouraged technological advances in Hoyear to an extent not seen elsewhere in Paradoxia. This city largely keeps to itself, engaging in limited trading along the Tuxian highlands and as a stopping point on the way to Freischlont. Hoyear is currently ruled by a benevolent but slightly bored city council. Catholic.

by **Maltropia** » Mon Jan 23, 2012 9:59 am

June 1st
Corcaigh Nua

Hushed whispers echoed about the docks as the ship pulled up alongside the quay and a line was thrown over board. Though Maltropans praised naval might, there was nothing but disgust for the origin and nationality of this mighty warship and those that accompanied it. It had been months since the last vessel of this type had arrived, taking with it a cargo of Maltropa's finest and leaving nothing but festering hatred in its wake. Nonetheless, forty men in full military uniform stood on the docks, an obviously wealthy man at the group's fore. A man of high-bearing stepped off the ship, accompanied by much of his crew - in English dress. The imperialists had returned.

The Maltropan commander approached him and saluted. "Captain, it is an honour to have you in Corcaigh Nua." His expression did not reflect his words.
"A pleasure to be here in the colonies again, I assure you," the Captain replied, his face likewise belying his speech, "I am William Blanchard of Her Majesty's Royal Navy."
"Brian Ua Chorcaigh, Duke of this city," the Maltropan introduced himself. He gestured towards the crates assembled against the port buildings. "I presume you are here for all this?" Blanchard nodded as the Duke continued. "I also guess you will be reprovisioning and quartering in the city. My company will escort you to appropriate quarters." Blanchard nodded again, and the men of both nations formed columns to march away. Blanchard and Ua Chorcaigh moved towards the citadel, both with hands on sword-hilts.

Dinner was a meagre affair. The bread was hard, the meat singed, and the vegetables visibly wilted. The soldiers, particularly those from England, did not seem to be enjoying the meal, and neither did their commanders. As Blanchard struggled valiantly with the beef, he attempted to make conversation. "I am told that Maltropa is among the most successful of our colonies," failing to elicit a response, he continued. "One would not think it from the quality of food it produces."
The Duke looked up at him. "I had not heard that the Crown kept colonies for their food. Maltropa has never been known for its food." He had, of course, arranged for the Englishman to receive the most repulsive portions the kitchen could produce.
Blanchard snorted derisively. "'Food' will never describe this... this... mess." Demonstratively, he speared a nastier-looking chunk and glared at it before continuing. "Why I bother dining in this Godforsaken land is a question whose answer I shall never know."
Ua Chorcaigh leaped from his chair. "You will apologise for that, Captain! You who dare blaspheme your faith - you should know better than to insult Catholic men in a Catholic country!"
Blanchard, taken aback, looked around the room. All eyes were on him, and were the Maltropans fingering their weapons...?
"You overreact, Duke," he grumbled, "but I apologise. I would not risk my life for words."
"Those were no mere 'words', Captain; well we know your entire nation shares that sentiment. And Maltropa does not desire to be a tyrant's subject any longer."
Blanchard swallowed the burnt meat, audibly gulping. He attempted to form a response. "Aah... bbbb... th'Queeee..."
Ua Chorcaigh cut him off: "No, Captain, this is the last voyage a British ship shall ever make to Maltropa and yet receive welcome. At dawn tomorrow you will return to your ship. You will set sail with your full cargo and inform your Queen that she has lost her greatest colony."
Blanchard meekly acquiesced. There was little he could do to oppose that would not result in his death. "As you say," he murmured.
The remainder of the dinner was silent and uneventful, and if Blanchard seemed sick afterwards nobody commented on it.

The following day, just as the sun was rising above the horizon and dispelling the low grey mists that hung about the docks, a British treasure fleet made sail from the port of Corcaigh Nua for the last time. There was no celebration in the city, beside a lone cannon shot from the citadel. On the keep, an honour-guard hoisted a new flag, unfurling for the first time in the light morning breeze. Red, white and black flew above the city of Corcaigh Nua, defying the British to turn about and subdue the rebellion. They did not. Maltropa was her own at last.

by **United States of Peace** » Wed Jan 25, 2012 6:48 am

In 1912, Queen Dasine of the Kingdom of Auria, declared in her annual address of the Parliament of Auria, the dissolution of the Kingdom of Auria and her Empire. In her speech, she declared the replacement to be "The Kingdom of Peace", dissolved the Crowns of Lonia, Ardora and Dara, and renamed the major states of the Kingdom.

Today, we know them respectfully as the Duchy of La Aquitaine, the United States of Peace, the Western Coastline and the Regional Area, unified under the Crown of the Kingdom of Peace.

The actions that caused the largest name change in Paradoxian history are collectively called "The Revolution" in the History of Auria/Peace.

In 1021, the Kingdom of Auria/Peace consisted of only the Duchy of La Aquitaine/Auria. The region of Dara/United States of Peace at the time had been recently united when the various States and Cities of Dara came together to elect a King to rule the whole of Dara. Their choice was King Maitas the Last of the largest of states in Dara, the City-State of Matania.

Immediately following unification, the Kingdom of Dara under King Maitas invaded the Mountain Kingdom of Auria, north of Dara. At the time, the Kingdom of Auria was ruled by the House of fa Torun and their patriarch, Queen Elisa I. Despite reaching the Capital City of Auria, La Natara, the Forces of King Maitas were defeated after a prolonged Siege of the City and in 1034, a Invasion Force under Queen Elisa and her daughter Princess Yadisa invaded Dara. By 1055, the entire region of Dara stood under Aurian control. King Maitas was forcibly married to Princess Yadisa and the Crown of Dara was added to Auria's laurels.

Over the next six centuries, the more sophisticated culture of Dara merged into Auria, and by the 17th Century, it became fully integrated. However, several vital differences remained, as the North held largely to the Pagan beliefs and a matriarchal society, while the South retained its Christian religion and patriarchal society.

On a rainy day in August of the Year 1600, Princess Layla fa Toren became Her Majesty Queen Layla the Second of the Kingdom of Auria, taking formal power from the Regency of Cardinal Esrin.

by **Machtergreifung** » Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:16 am

Kreigsberg
Winter, 1600

The young Bruce had been in power less than a year, and already the Hegemony had changed greatly. The changes were hurried on by a curious combination of factors: a excellent harvest, the death of many of the leading families and the general lack of opposition to Erik Bruce's plans.

Progress went fast. By the time the first snows fell, the Hegemonic Army had been totaly re-organized. It was a stranger to everything that had came before it, radicaly different from the levies and mercenary forces of warfare preceding it. Instead, Bruce established a volunteer force, with ranks, structures and a command system. Bruce intended his army to promote on merit, the only requirement for officers being that they could read and write. In spite of this, the officer caste was very much rooted in the system of old, in paying for positions and ranks, as well as family power.

By that winter, Bruce had a army of around 10,000 volunteers from across the Hegemony, more than he had been expecting. A mixture of pike and musket, with a very depleted cavarly arm, as in the cities only the rich could afford horses, and horses were traded with the interior kingdoms.

As Bruce went into winter quarters with the Hegemonic Army in Kreigsberg, he was making his plans for after the spring. He would march inland, and force the kingdoms that had managed to retain their independance into the fold of the Hegemony.

by **Maltropia** » Thu Feb 16, 2012 1:18 pm

December 21st
Corcaigh Nua

The chill wind froze the men on watch in the tower. They stared relentlessly out to sea through the unshuttered window - barely two weeks finished, the local carpenters had yet to find time to finish this building. Despite this, the structure housed a dozen men and a pair of light culverins - "light" no longer seemed the word after the garrison had had to lift them up the tower, but they were nonetheless thankful it hadn't been the city's great mortar. That had been stationed on the new quays, behind a high stone rampart, along with several other cannons and the men to fire them. In winter storms - one of which was apparently on the way - the waves often drenched the guards there, while the wind chilled them to the bone. Delighted to realise his good fortune, the eastern guard scanned the horizon with renewed vigour. Still nothing but a thick sea-haze from north to south, blanketing the - wait, what was that? His bleary eyes focused on the unexpected, and definitely new, smudge. It was becoming distinctly squarer. Leaping up and exclaiming loudly, he furiously began ringing the bell.

On the pier, Captain Liam Ó Gráda sat, hunched with his back to the high seawall, shivering despite the heavy cloak draped and wrapped around his shoulders. To his left stood the imposing mass of the great bronze mortar, and ahead lay the calm waters of the harbour. He cursed under his breath, breath which left puffs of mist in the frigid air. How had he been stuck with this posting? He glared up at the tower, and its undoubtedly-smug occupants. How they deserved that cushy position he could not tell, nor how they had only had to bring up those light cannons while he and his men had been labouring to move the mortar along the slippery quays.
Suddenly, the tower's bell began violently ringing out its warning, as the tower guard yelled "Sails!" Ó Gráda jumped up, struggled briefly in the cloak, and slipped halfway along the pier to arrive inches from the end. Sure enough, the dim outlines of several ships could be seen cresting the horizon. He hurried back to the quays, watching as troops filed out of some of the dockside buildings. Above in the tower, the bell continued to ring, while Duke Brian rode down the road from the fortress. Ó Gráda threw a quick salute.
"Sir," he began, "ships on the horizon."
The Duke sighed, exasperated. "They're British?"
Ó Gráda, equally resigned, nodded. "What else?" Both men stared out to sea at the ever-encroaching vessels. The bell had stopped ringing, as labour around the port now focused on moving artillery into position and setting up barricades on the quays. If the English landed, they would be met with volleys of musket- and cannon-fire.

The three British warships slackened their sails as they came within range of Corcaigh Nua's docks. The steep hill and its many-tiered fortifications reared above them, impressively built for all that it had been a scant six months in construction. Pacing the deck of the lead vessel, Captain Blanchard was frustrated by the strength of the fortress. It should not look so imposing, he thought. Had he not seen with his own eyes, mere months before, that this town was indefensible and ill-guarded? How swiftly that had all changed, and what a quandary he now found himself in with no supplies for a return trip. It would be fight or die, and it seemed as though the first option was just a prolonged route to the second. He took out his telescope, and through it viewed that new tower. It was sturdily built - obviously the Maltropans knew what they should expect from the Queen. As he focused on the upmost floor, he noticed the rising sun catch on something large and metallic. Could it be a cannon..?

The resounding boom confirmed his suspicions. As vicious flame burst from the muzzle of the tower's culverin, reverberations echoed about the harbour. Something hurtled across the bows, missing the prow by feet. That flag he'd seen the last time he left Maltropa was being raised again - there would be no surrender. He turned to face the gun deck and roared at the crew. "Fire!" he yelled, knowing full well the willingness his order would be met with.
The entire ship rocked back as row upon row of cannon recoiled from the sheer force of their fire. A score of cannons on each vessel pounded the seawall and quayside buildings, ripping holes through wooden frames. The wall, however, appeared practically unscathed. From behind, the great mortar launched its payload at the closely-packed squadron of ships. As it came hurtling down, it tore through wooden hull and fell straight to the seabed. The two culverins in the tower, and a number of other cannons on platforms about the city, rained heavy fire on the British warships, which began to show the level of damage inflicted. As one vessel sank to the bottom, its guns continued to fire despite the swift evacuation of crew. The mast snapped in two as a cannonball ploughed through its midst, and the descending rigging entangled the neighbouring warship.

Blanchard surveyed the scene with growing dismay. The cries of men and shriek of gunfire all about him did nothing to assuage his concern - he was fighting a losing battle. Yes, the docks were afire, and yes, there was no doubt as to the power of a British galleon, but... one ship sunk and another crippled with no visible Maltropan casualties? Were the docks even occupied? He even began to consider waving a white flag, but his concerns were ended when a cannonball exploded against the railing and propelled him into the cold waters of the bay.

Hours later, and to his intense surprise, Blanchard awoke. Surely that explosion should have killed him? The lighting in this room was dim; he could make nothing out of the shadows.
"Welcome to the land of the living, Captain," a strangely familiar voice said from nearby. "It's a rare pleasure to have you back with us in Maltropa." The light seemed to focus suddenly, and he recognised the man as that obnoxious "Duke" of Corcaigh Nua. Before Blanchard could speak, the Duke held a letter in front of his face. "This is your last journey to Maltropa, I fear. You ship will be reprovisioned and sent home, and you will ensure this letter is delivered to Court."
"You're not going to kill me?" asked Blanchard, suspicious.
Ua Chorcaigh looked genuinely surprised, however. "Kill you? Why would we do that? No, Captain, we need you to deliver this message. Maltropa does not want the Queen's interference any more. We want independence, nothing more. Had you not returned with warships we'd have been contented. Be secure in the knowledge that a fleet of war could never be furnished with supplies adequate to an invasion of either nation. There should be peace. For both our sakes."
Nodding understanding, Blanchard took the proffered letter. Almost immediately he looked up again.
"It's dated the first of January? But it's the twenty-first of December."
"Twenty-second, in fact," came the reply, "but you're unlikely to arrive before that date, and we felt that a new beginning was best placed on the first day of the year." Again Blanchard nodded, and was escorted out of the room. He set sail that same day, and neither he nor any other English fleet of war ever returned.

January 1st, 1601 AD
Corcaigh Nua

Pennants fluttered gaily in the light breeze, celebrating the joyful first day of the year. Large crowds filled the markets as the murmur rose to the sky; bells rang out from church steeples, tolling their good news; the port was a mass of bright sails - the fishing fleets would not have missed this day for the world. In the high citadel, the Bishop of the city was concluding a great ceremony, one which had never been seen in Maltropa before. The various assembled nobles and soldiers sent up a rousing cheer, praying for the good health of their monarch - King Brian Ua Chorcaigh. Following the great victory two weeks before, there had been great outcry for the Duke to become ruler of the realm. It seemed unfair to reduce the nation's other Dukes to lesser titles, so they simply proclaimed him King. Wishing for his ascension to be marked with welcomes from all Paradoxians, he had sent diplomats throughout the continent to invite whatever nobles they could find. Many had already come and hailed him as King, and he hoped many more would salute him as friend and ally.

by **Northern Bigfootia** » Sat Feb 18, 2012 11:12 am

Reikan ship Lysithea
Winter Bay, Oceanus Universalis
January 22nd, 1601

The schooner's single bow chaser fired again, its round shot once more missing wide of the Lysithea's stern. Captain Henry Hughes could not accurately see the proceedings on the schooner's deck from where he was standing on the galleon's quarterdeck, but he was certain the crew were hastily reloading their weapon. He was not concerned, however. A single light gun could do little to his ship, especially at this range.

They had sighted the schooner downwind of their patrol course several hours previously. Flying no flag, a sure sign of a pirate vessel, the schooner immediately turned towards the Lysithea, no doubt tempted by the possibility that the larger vessel was an unarmed merchant and assured of their ability to evade it were it not. Hughes had done all he could to maintain the illusion that his vessel was, in fact, unarmed. First having the bow and stern chasers hauled off below decks, he then ordered a panicked turn away from the schooner, bringing the galleon close to the wind and slowing it down considerably. The schooner, its fore-and-aft rig allowing it to sail much faster at this angle, was rapidly closing the range on its assumed prey. The schooner fired once more, briefly clouding its bow in smoke. This time the shot landed not ten yards from the Lysithea.

The pirate vessel was now less than 50 yards astern. Its crew was visibly starting to reduce sails to match speed with the galleon. It was time. "Mr. Lambert," Captain Hughes said to his lieutenant, "bring the ship about."

"Aye, aye, Sir." The lieutenant said before turning to shout his orders to the ship's company. "Helm hard a-lee! Brace about!".

The Lysithea's crew professionally brought the race-built galleon on her other tack, the direction of the wind now off her larboard bow. Henry Hughes waited until the turn was half completed and issued his next set of orders. "Run out starboard broadside! Hoist battle ensign!"

Lysithea's starboard gun ports now opened, and ten of her twenty-four guns were run out as the massive Reikan battle ensign was hoisted from her mizzen mast. The pirates, taken by surprise, attempted to match the Lysithea's turn, but the schooner luffed and came to a stop, dead in the water. "Fire as you bear!" Hughes continued his previous orders.

The thunder of the Lysithea's guns sounded and her deck shook as the galleon fired her broadside at the helpless schooner. Grapeshot from the 12-pounder guns slammed into the schooner's starboard bow, inflicting massive casualties on its crowded deck. Fire from Lysithea's marine company added to the slaughter aboard the pirate vessel. A couple of the schooner's guns fired an erratic reply, one round shot slamming straight into the Lysithea's side but doing no more damage than the wounding of a single man. The Lysithea continued her starboard turn, firing two more broadsides of grapeshot as she circled the helpless schooner. Soon all response from the pirate vessel's guns had stopped, as, indeed, most of the activity on its deck. Captain Henry Hughes turned to his lieutenant once more.

"Mr. Lambert, bring us alongside her, and prepare to board."

by **Northern Bigfootia** » Sat Feb 18, 2012 6:47 pm

Victory Palace
Reika, Reikan Commonwealth
January 25th, 1601

Charles II, by the grace of god, Archduke of Hecate, Captain-General of the Reikan Commonwealth was in a foul mood. It wasn't enough that the intensified naval patrols were still not turning up where the new pirate activity in Winter Bay was coming from, he now received a report that his largest foundry would take twice as long as it should have to deliver the iron cannons needed to equip the new star forts in Miyako and Athena. Moreover, many of the regiments of the new army he was desperately attempting to put together still could not be considered reliable. And that didn't even count—

A knock on the door interrupted his pacing. "What?" he bellowed at the entrance, making sure his face displayed every bit of his frustration. The door opened to admit the Count of Reika.

"Sir, pardon my—" he started before the Archduke cut him off.
"What is it?"
"There is a diplomat from the..." He paused slightly, as if remembering something, "Kingdom of Maltropia. They say—"
Charles cut him off again. "The what?"
"The Kingdom of Maltropia. They say that they have cut off ties with their parent country, defeated it and declared independence." Reika finished his previous sentence. "They also invite any noble to their court, presumably to recognize their legitimacy."

The Captain-General resumed his pacing. He didn't need an independent Maltropia to add to his troubles. They were bad enough when they were still under the leash of some distant empire, a fact which became evident when they gobbled most of Espin, but now that they were independent they were going to be even more of a problem.

"Shall I tell him you are busy?" the Count asked. "His ship is leaving tomorrow, but I can..." Charles held up his hand to stop him. Reika noted the visible effort it took him not to cut him off again.
"No, tell him I'll send someone with him, then go make whatever preparations to leave tomorrow."
"Me? But..." Reika started protesting, but quickly stopped himself. "Very well, sir."
"Don't antagonize them," Charles said, "but don't be too friendly with them, either. Try to find out what they're planning to do next."
"The Estates-General will want to decide on our stance towards them beforehand."
"They can complain later." The Archduke made a show of taking a book out of his library. He sat down and opened it, then looked up at the Count. "I believe that will be all."

by **Espin** » Sun Feb 19, 2012 1:30 am

January 23rd, 1601 AD
Corcaigh Nua

The Espian duke stalked unhappily up the hill, past numerous market stalls, throngs of people, patrols, as he closed in on the citadel of Maltropa. No, that wasn't right. Was it "Maltropia" now? Why they had dispensed with the Irish name perplexed him. It wasn't as though he was Irish himself, his ancestors having been Espian long before there even were Maltropians, but he had been forced to learn the language, his homeland being no longer a country but split between Maltropa - Maltropia - and the Bigfootian Duchy of Lynx. Oh, he was going to make that patently clear to "King" Brian Ua Chorcaigh.

The long, low hall had never been intended as a place for royalty. It could far more easily have been the dining chamber for the Guard, or even just an atrium of some sort, but, as no other room in the castle was as large, it had been requisitioned for use by the King. As he entered, a poorly-groomed man at the door - his "uniform" could have been military - announced his arrival to no one in particular.
"Duke Idrio of Espin!"
The pronunciation had been awful - the 'D' sounded more like a 'J'; neither 'I' sounded like the 'E's they were intended as. The Duke turned to face the... man, and corrected him slowly.
"Ee - d-ree - oh."
The Guard stared blankly back. "Idjreo, I said that." Idrio sighed and rolled his eyes, but before he could make it very clear where he stood on this nonsense, the King had finished with whatever documents he had been looking at and looked up.
"Ah, Duke Idrio, it is a delight to finally meet the lord of our young land's oldest and most noble house." Ua Chorcaigh had actually leapt up out of his seat to greet the Duke, pronouncing his name flawlessly. "It is an honour to have you here to celebrate the freedom of our realm - for that is what today is, a time to rejoice that Maltropia is no longer under a foreign boot heel. I welcome you openly and as a brother to me and our people."
Idrio found it hard to come out with something as biting as he had planned after so gracious a welcome. Certainly this was not what he had expected from the nation that had treated his former Kingdom as a prize to be won. Well, this was still the only chance he would have to make his grievances heard; he had better take it. "Your welcome, Majesty, is most gracious indeed. Yet you speak of boot heels, and I cannot say I have not felt a lack of freedom in my own Espin. I mean no offense to you, sire, but we were a free realm long before the first Maltropans - Maltropians - set foot on the soil here in Corcaigh Nua. Never have I, or any of my house, challenged your right to rule what you settled, but far too often we feel the pain of being considered a frontier, an outpost in the wilds, when our lineage is as old as Paradoxia itself."
To his surprise, the King nodded. "Yes," he said, quietly, after a pause. "Yes, I see what you mean. Though I have never had the pleasure of visiting your land, the tales I hear and the woodcuts I am shown of it make it appear a beautiful place, and you have long stood tall as a civilised people. It is unjust of us to treat you as we have. But I cannot simply change the way this country is run overnight."
A wry smile crept along the Duke's face. "Oh, but you can. You're the king."
Ua Chorcaigh roared with laughter at that statement, sitting back down on his chair as tears rolled down his face. "Yes, yes, yes, I suppose I am. The king, indeed." Eventually, he calmed down, saying, "Yes, I suppose I am. Yet I shall have to give the matter thought. How to do it? If I give you greater rein then the other lords will eventually demand the same. Is there some way I can favour one and yet treat all equally?"
"If there is, sire, I'm sure you will find it," replied the Duke. He had already grown to like this new monarch, if not the land he ruled. With such a cheerful man as his liege, it would be simple to regain independence.