Birth of Empires IC

[Acroticus]

The world is at war. From the vast plains, dense forests, and dry deserts, man battles for supremacy. Many people have come together to form nations, great civilizations. Man learned to kill, to plunder and rape, to kill in the name of their god, to build monstrous churches, and discovering things not only about their nation, but about themselves. Now, in 1530 AD, mankind faces some of its biggest challenges ever. Some of the greatest nations ever created are strong and they are beginning to meet. Will it become a place of peace and unity, or fall into the darkness of plague and ignorance? Will mankind finally get along? Only you can say, for YOU make the decisions.

The period of Colonization has begun. European powers are beginning their plunder of the world's resources, and the rush to colonize will certainly increase tensions among the powers that be. Will the world fall into war? Will Europe be ripped apart? Will the natives throw off their colonial masters?


Rules

The basic rules that apply to all role play's will apply to this role play, but some of you need them repeated.

1. OP is God.
2. Co-op is my prophet.
3. No God Modding, try to keep things somewhat realistic this also applies to technology.
4. No Meta-gaming, OOC knowledge cannot and does not apply to IC.
5. Respect other players and try to remain civil during debates and arguments.
6. All final decisions made by the Op and Co-Op are final.
7. Posts must be Two Paragraphs Long At Least!
8. Do not huge claims. Leave space for others and if I see 5 million people with only Madrid under your control, I'm going to deny you.
9. "But..but..Acroticus..they aren't historically accurate!" I don't care. The Welsh could have dominated England for all that I care.
10. You begin with no colonies: the world has just begun colonization. The Americas have been discovered, but there has been no colonizing yet. You're nation is your nation.
11. Final rule, but probably the most important. YOU MUST MENTION SOMEWHERE IN YOUR POST WHERE YOUR ARMY IS. No teleporting.

[Sabara]

(Will get up post soon)

[Nucoso]

Imperial Palace, Addis Ababa, Abyssinia

Emperor Na'od of Abyssinia met with his advisory. The newly elected council consisted of the Emperor's most trusted men. Each were granted limited power regarding their field of knowledge and as such aided the Emperor with the day to day administration.

Na'od and his advisory knew very well the situation that Abyssinia faced, not only internally, but externally. The empire, which had stood since 1137 managed to become the largest power this side of Africa. Nevertheless, it faced a recent overthrow of the former Zagwe Dynasty. Emperor Na'od, claimant of the original dynasty that established Abyssinia, rose to prominence within the army, and once able to convince his fellow soldiers of his royal blood, managed to take the throne.

The population easily accepted the new Emperor, as it was legend that a claimant of the founding Dynasty would bring Abyssinia wealth, power, and land beyond anyone's dream.

Emperor Na'od, a young man of only 35 years of age, with his deep imposing voice, spoke to his adviser:
"Men...our situation is not dire, it is stable, but we must prevent any further disruptions. The clergy, loyal to the last regime, stirs my people in order to oppose my rule."

One of the men present spoke, his elderly demeanor and his clothing denoting his honorable title of Elder:
"My liege, it is clear that the clergy hold power, especially over the most faithful of our people, but our armies secure your reign. I propose we seek friendship with the clergy. It is the largest of the factions that are loyal to the Zagwe".

Another man, much younger than the Elder, yet older than the Emperor spoke:
"Clearly, our Elder lacks knowledge of the clergy's hatred for our 'heretic' Islamic neighbors. Allying with the clergy will mean that we would never be at peace with our neighbors".

Another Elderly man spoke, his voice deep and strong:
"We must seek allies, foreign powers to secure our borders".

The Emperor then spoke:
"We must appease the clergy and our neighbors. It is clear our emerging empire need friends. I shall dispatch an emissary to The Mohammedan Caliphate, we shall see their view on our empire and from there I shall make my choice".

____________________________________

An emissary was dispatched to Mecca, he carried various gifts and a personal message from the Emperor of Abyssinia.

Oh Glorious Ruler of the Mohammedan Caliphate,

I, the humble leader of Abyssinia seek to establish formal relations with your glorious Empire in terms of friendship. We wish for our two nations to grow and prosper from now until the ends of time. I humbly offer you these gifts as a show of our commitment to diplomacy.

King of Abyssinia,
Nəgusä Nägäst Na'od

[Silician]

Charles had recently passed his kingship of Spain to a family member of his, Rodrigo Medenzo II. He planned on keeping peace with the new kingdom. He sent messengers through the sea towards Spain and other countries with gifts of wine, which denotes love and good faith, and also gifts of olive oil.

Cousin,
I hope for a bright future ahead of us. I offer these gifts of wine and olive for we are family. I do not ask anything in return except for your love and for you to pick me up if I've fallen.

Sinceramente,
The Holy Roman Emperor,
Charles of Habsburg

Charles also had some family ties in England, his aunt is Catherine of Aragon. He sent a letter to Emperor Henry of Brittania with wine and olive oil as well.

Your Grace, the Emperor Henry VI of Brittania,
We know of your troubles with France and we also have lost our kingdom in Switzerland to the French. I hope that we may aid each other in this battle and hopefully end it without too much bloodshed. The wine I offer you is some of our finest, and the oil represents good health and charity towards you and your family.

Without Wax,
King Charles Habsburg of Italia

Charles sent one last letter to each of the three leaders of the Croato-Albanian Monarchy

King Tomislav Jelacic II. of Croatia,
Duke Stjepan Drzislav of Hungary,
King Etheros Armes of Albania,
I know that our close borders have caused tension between our two kingdoms in the past, but I am willing to fix our broken relationship as we are fighting for the same cause, to break down the French Empire. As a token of my gratitude I send you a gift of olive oil. It is poor manners in my country to not send olive oil to a friend or ally. Olive oil represents charity and good tidings, I hope you reply.

The King of the Romans,
Charles of Habsburg

[Red Croatia]

Thanks to the Croatian Federation surrounding the borders of the country the messenger was bribed to make sure that only one of the three letters arrive to their destination,The letter sent to Tomislav Jelacic II. arrived safely while the letters sent to the Hungarian Duke and the Albanian King were burned to ashes.

...

After reading the letter and seeing the gift sent by King Charles Hasburg of Italy King Tomislav Jelacic of Croatia felt the need to urgently respond :

To Great Charles of Italia,
I appreciate your kindness and i agree with your personal opinions of relationships between our countries,therefore i invite you and your wife and family to my castle in Zagreb for a friendly feast as i believe we should discuss these issues which our two countries are facing in a more appropriate way,then two of us can skip to the more important subjects as France...

(Date in which the King of Italy is supposed to arrive to Zagreb and other formalities are attached to the bottom of the letter)

,King Tomislav Jelacic II. of the Croats

After sending the letter King Tomislav Jelacic II. makes sure that his servants are aware of the date and time of the arrival of the Italian leader.After doing so the King goes to the woods with his General (friend since childhood) for their annual hunt.

...

Meanwhile the Duke of Hungary discusses with his advisers about how to keep the complaning Hungarian miniority satisfied with his rule as a Croat.

[Acroticus]

Ocean, North of Great Britain

Captain Alvek looked out at the sea. It was as vast as he could imagine, and yet he knew that it was not as large as he thought. And he was a new breed. Maps had been in circulation now involving a new Spanish discovery: the Americas. Few people knew what the land looked like, other than the several islands on which the Spanish had landed. Now the Trucovans wanted to be involved.

It had been nearly a week since the Trucovan ships had left harbor in Poselok. They had cleared Denmark and the North Sea, and were now headed around the British Isles. The expedition was labeled exploration, but Alvek knew the Senate had designated this trip for another job. They were to bring more land, and a larger population into the Trucovan nation.



Orclaw, Trucova

Consul Drobos sat in the Senate, watching the debate. Much of his job appeared to consist of watching the Senate argue, as he had little power to unilaterally do anything. He could vote in the Senate; that’s it. The rest of his job was carrying out the wishes of the Senate.

Today the Senate was thrown into a commotion by the argument not about whether or not to have colonies, but where exactly to colonize. Little was known about this new world, and the expedition that had been sent would be walking in the dark. However, several businessmen had been brought in for testimony, all declaring that they would be willing to take those risks to send their own expeditions to the New World.

Drobos watched helplessly as the leaders of the Senate argued about colonizing Africa, a much easier target and a place much better known. However, most Senators agreed that beginning a race for Africa would benefit other nations like the Rhenum and the Spanish. The argument would soon be over; Drobos recognized the winning side. The declaration was made: Trucova would avoid Africa until another nation began to colonize.

Drobos sighed. He would have preferred to take Africa as quickly as possible, and try to strategically own the continent, but then again, it was not his choice.

[Communist republic of altorus]

The great house were in the middle of a dangerous vote,the vote in question was that for years the eastern portion of the country had a lower quality of life than the west this made revolts more likely. The vote was at 203-167 at this rate the east would be modernised and the quality of life increased.


The vote was passed after hours of deliberating-the east was to be modernised and the quality of life increased. Soon the great house ordered unanimously to train 200,000 men into a good quality militia to achieve this money was required. So the great house dug into the government coffers to train the men and the training commenced soon after.

[Vorradia]

OOC:

A better, updated map:
http://oi48.tinypic.com/11iic6b.jpg

The map of Serbia im using to manage the country:
http://www.vidiani.com/maps/maps_of_eur ... enegro.jpg

National History: (Please Read)

230 years ago, Britannia was ravaged by civil war. Two men claimed to be the rightful heirs to the throne, and a bloody succession conflict erupted across the British Isles, that would drag on for many years.

Little is known of the war. The Empire of Britannia that rules the isles today has mercilessly stamped out all record of the great schism from their history. They deny that it ever happened.

But there are those who remain loyal to the true Emperor of Britannia to this day. They know the truth. When the civil war ended, in 1306, Prince Edward Charles of Britannia was executed.

He had been the second in line to the throne, but he had tried to seize power by claiming that his elder brother the rightful heir was an illegitimate child. And so he sparked the war.

The war ended with Edward Charles defeated, and his followers were left in disarray. They were exiled from Britain, never to return again.

They settled in the Balkans, in Serbia.

The son of Edward Charles came with them, and the exiles declared him to be their leader, and, believing him to be the rightful heir to the throne, vowed that one day they would return to Britain and return the country to the man they thought was it’s rightful ruler.

But they never did that. Instead they spent the rest of their lives struggling to colonise the Balkans. They hated their new home, far from Britannia, and their hatred fuelled their radicalism. They became fanatical British supremacists, bent on genocide. In the two centuries since their arrival, the native Slavic peoples of the Balkans have been almost entirely exterminated or driven out by the British colonists.

The exiles made the city of Belgrade their capital after killing off the locals. There they officially founded their nation, the Order of Albion, in 1369.

Today the city of Belgrade is not so much a settlement as a sprawling gothic fortress.

The Order is a small nation, but they are a tough, hardy and resilient people, having had to build a nation up from nothing in the vile wilderness after their exile from their homeland.

They are also a dangerous people. They are a militaristic state, as their very nation was founded on hatred, resentment and jealousy. They look at the glorious empire of Britannia with envious eyes.

For in their minds they believe that is it their nation, their homeland. They believe that they were wrongly exiled.

The line of Edward Charles continues to this day, and he rules the Order of Albion from Belgrade. To this day his people dream of returning to their homeland and conquering it, and placing Edward Charles III, the man they believe to be the rightful heir to the crown of Britannia, on the throne.

IC:

THE ORDER OF ALBION

Belgrade (New London), British Serbia, The Order of Albion.

Much to the disappointment of Lord Fennman, the morning came with grey skies and a light drizzle, most unsuited to mark this most auspicious of days. But their plans had been made. The ceremony would be held today.

From the high Battlements of the King’s Fortress he looked down up the people of New London. They eagerly thronged around the fortress gates, awaiting the royal procession.

Six weeks ago, a son had been born to King Edward Charles III. The line of Edward Charles I, great founder of the Order of Albion was secure. By the grace of god the future Edward Charles IV had been born.

All word of the birth had been kept from the people until the news could be sent all across the land, to every Lord and Lady of the Order. The Ceremonies to celebrate the birth of a future Edward Charles had to be held across the nation on the same day.

With their abysmal lack of roads, Fennman thought, it had taken quite some time for the ceremonies to be organised. But now everything was ready, and yesterday the news had been bought to the masses. Today an immense crowd surged up to the palace walls to witness the Ceremonies.

Now it was time.

The King’s Fortress in New London was a sprawling gothic edifice, a vast towering monument to British imperial might. Today the banner of the Order of Albion was proudly draped across the fortress walls, billowing in the harsh wind.

A fanfare was played, and the colossal gates yawned slowly open. The crowd erupted into fervent cheering as the procession began.

A solid wall of fully armoured pikemen marched through the gates, red sashes of the Order around their breastplates, proudly bearing aloft their regimental banners. Behind them came serried ranks of matchlock infantry, resplendent in bright ceremonial colours and regalia.

The Order of Albion was but a small, struggling nation surrounded by great empires, but the British were a strong, hardy warlike people, and their army was the envy of many a European power. Flawlessly drilled and ordered, they marched forth in perfect formation.

The Noble families that presided over the lands of the Order had seen to it that every village, town and city in the nation would witness a procession just as magnificent as that in New London itself, and it was so.

Across the nation the celebratory processions were underway. The honour and reputation of all the great families was at stake here, and no expense would be spared as they competed to outdo each other with the splendour of their celebrations.

And in every city in the nation, the governing Noble families joined the processions on horseback, where they would deliver the Kings speech.

Lord Fennman, governor of New London, rode from the gates of the Kings Fortress with his family, flanked on either side by the Royal Guard, the Kings personal force, formed to protect the monarch and important members of the state in public occasions.

The King was well loved, that Fennman knew, but the people did not regard him, an aristocrat, with as much love and devotion. There had been attempts on his life before.

Fennman rode with the procession to the City centre, and dismounted. He prepared to read the Kings speech. In all the largest cities of the nation, their lords prepared to address the masses.

In the city of Smedevero, the governor Lord Campbell of Smedevero prepared to do the same. As did Lord Shawe in Obrenovac, Lord Nevinson in Cacak, and Lord Grey in Krusevac.

And they began. The Kings words were heard all across the land.

“Britons! These are the words of your King:

My people, loyal subjects of Britain, today we are gathered here, to remember the great tragedy of our past, but also, to celebrate the future.

230 years ago, a great betrayal divided our nation in two, and the course of our people’s history was irrevocably altered by the wicked machinations of one man.

In 1300 the true and rightful heir to the throne of Britannia Prince Edward Charles; was not crowned king. His elder brother Prince Henry, a product of damned adultery no less succeeded the throne!

A bastard with no right to the crown of our glorious nation sat atop the throne while it’s rightful heir was imprisoned for speaking out against the travesty!

But, there were some who were loyal to the true King of Brittania. They were your forefathers, the very heroes that went on to found our Order.

In 1301 they stormed the Royal Palace and freed the true Prince, and they rallied behind him to fight for their country. They fought with great righteousness and bravery, but alas the enemy were too many and too strong, and our forefathers were defeated. The civil war was lost, and the rightful heir to the throne, Prince Edward Charles was executed by his brother.”

Across the nation the crowds fell utterly silent.

“Our noble forefathers, defeated by the armies of the Black Prince Henry, were exiled from our British Isles. They sailed to the shores of the Balkans, in search of a new home.

But! They had not lost hope; for amongst the exiles was the young son of the martyred Prince! The line of Edward Charles would continue!”

The crowds cheered again.

“In the harsh, untamed wilderness of the Balkans, our forefathers built a great nation from nothing! Beset on all sides by the barbaric Slavic hordes, and plagued by famine and sickness, they endured terrible sufferings and hardship!

But our people were strong, and they survived, claiming this land from the Slavs and making it our own! Across this desolate land, on the ashes of the Slavic cities, we built new homes, great palaces, and mighty walls!

And here we are today! Today we celebrate the continuation of the line of Edward Charles! A son has been born to me!

But today, even as we celebrate the future, we must not forget our true purpose.

For my newborn babe is the rightful heir to the throne of Britannia!

Who is it sits on the throne today in our distant homeland?

I tell you. A traitor. A direct descendant, of the false King Henry! Who betrayed his brother the rightful heir and lied to his people and his countrymen! Who claimed through force what he could not claim by right!

The man who squats on the throne of Britannia today, Emperor Henry VI defies the very will of god, and he shall be brought to justice!

One day our mighty army shall land on the shores of our blessed isles, our people shall return to Britain in arms and wrest the false King of his throne! Then we shall restore the one true line of Edward Charles!

This I swear, as your rightful King Edward Charles III.”

++++++++++++++++++++

Three weeks later

++++++++++++++++++++

The celebrations of the birth of a new royal heir had only recently subsided, and the Lords of the Order of Albion now convened with the monarch in his court, in the King’s Fortress in New London.

As governor of the capital, New London, Lord Fennman addressed the Monarch and the assembled aristocracy first.

“Praises be upon you, your majesty Edward Charles III, Grand Master of the Divine Order of Albion, Ruler of conquered Serbia, and true and rightful King and Emperor of Britannia, our glorious homeland.

And my greetings to all the gathered Lords of the Order of Albion, I trust your journeys were not too difficult.

We are here on this day, to serve our great monarch, and to address all the most grievous matters that do currently press upon our state. “

There was silence for a moment.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Shawe of Obrenovac rose to his feet. “As Lord Commander of the Armies of the Order of Albion, I believe I will be best able to inform you on our dire situation as regarding our immediate neighbours in the Balkans”

“Of course,” the King spoke. “You may commence” Though of ailing health, the King was a large man of forty-five years, and his powerful voice commanded attention.

“I fear greatly for our Orders safety. The Slavic Croato-Albanian Empire to the West is rising greatly in strength. They now maintain an army of over a million fighting men.

They have not forgotten the slaughter we waged upon their people those two centuries ago. The Slav’s hatred for us still burns bright.

If we suffered an invasion from the Croato-Albanian Empire now, our Order would most likely not survive, and all the struggles of our forefathers would be in vain, and Britain would forever languish in the grasp of a false king.

We invited dignitaries from the Croato-Albanian Empire and the Boeotian league to attend the processions here in New London three weeks ago.

I had hoped that such a display of military strength would cow the Slavs and make the Greeks think of us as worthy allies.

I believe that we must attempt to forge an alliance with the Boeotians, to resist a possible Slavic invasion from the Croato-Albanians to the West.”

The response from the Lords was mixed, a flurry of shouts burst out across the room.

“Yes, it must be done to preserve the order!”

“No! The British people will never rely on foul foreigners for defence!”

“We must form strong alliances with our neighbours-“

“Never! The British will never bargain with the foreign hordes! We will crush them, and Britain shall rule over all the world!”

“Come to your senses, we cannot resist the Slavs alone, the Greeks are not our enemies!”

“Silence!” The King roared. The court fell utterly silent within a moment.

“We are a valiant, and proud people. I believe that if we are strong, Britain will one day rule the world. But we must not let our pride blind us to the truth. We need firm friends to preserve the Order from the Slavic horde.

Think of our home, Britain. If the Order is lost, then our blessed isles will be under the rule of a false king forever, the descendant of an illegitimate bastard! Would you see that happen?

I agree most heartily with you my good Lord Shawe” the King praised him. “Without cementing a strong alliance with the Greeks it will be impossible to resist a Slavic incursion.”

The King stood. The assembled Lords all rose in respect to hear him speak, bowing their heads as they did.

“My loyal subjects, with all this talk of war I foresee dark times ahead. Yet with bravery and fortitude, we can make good of this. War brings destruction, but also conquest and growth in equal measure. It is imperative to the future of our Order that we are an imperial power!

We must expand and prosper, if ever we are to be able to retake our homeland and restore the line of Edward Charles. I believe that conflict is imminent. As your monarch, I decree that from this day, war taxes shall be levied upon all your lands, until these tensions between our Order and the Slavs of the Croato-Albanian Empire are settled, whether through force or diplomatic means.”

“Your will be done your majesty” the aristocracy replied in unison, before sitting back down.

If there was any discontent about the war taxes, none of the Lords dared show it in front of the King. He was an unusually calm man, steadfast in the face of danger and threat. But rumour had it that now in his ailing health, his temper was furious and fiery when aroused.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Grey of Krusevac rose to his feet. “As Lord Admiral of the Navy of the Order of Albion, I believe I will be best able to inform you on our dire situation as regarding our naval strength.”

“Speak” The monarch commanded.

“Our Navy is weak. In fact, I am afraid I will be truthful. It is a pathetic mockery of Britain. Our army is small, but envied for its discipline and strength by all of Europe. Our navy has no such distinction. I believe we barely have enough naval power to take on a fishing fleet.

If our people are ever to conquer our homeland and restore our blessed isles to you, your majesty, the rightful King of Britain, then we will need a great navy.

And our naval power is severely limited for one reason; we have no permanent route of access to the coast. We are landlocked in between the Slavs to the west and the Greeks to the east, and any access to the Balkan’s shores can only be gained through expensive treaties with either the Croato-Albanian Empire or the Boeotian League.

If we can form an alliance with the Greeks as Lord Shawe and your majesty have proposed, then we can easily negotiate permanent access to the coast, and build a navy that the British people can be proud of!
Without a navy, we have no future. Without a navy, Our homeland Britain will be forever beyond our reach!”

With that the argument was settled. A chorus of agreement rose from the assembled aristocracy.

An alliance would be formed with the Greeks.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Aldebourne of Valjevo rose to his feet. “I believe that while of course matters of war and peace are the most pressing issues that face our state currently, there are lesser problems we face that may increase in magnitude if left unchecked.”

“Speak of them.”

“We are a young nation, and in many a sense we are like children in comparison to the many great empires that surround us, undeveloped in many ways. Our infrastructure is in an abysmal state. Most of this country is still untamed wilderness. We still use the roads left by the Slavs two hundred years ago, and they are all falling apart, where they still survive at all.

If there is a war with the Slavs, we may fall not because our military was in any way lacking, but because we could not move our troops fast enough to defend ourselves.”

“It is true” Lord Shawe spoke again, “Nearly three quarters of our entire military strength was involved in the celebrations of his majesties son’s birth, and our roads are so poor and lacking that most of my troops are still travelling back to their border outposts and garrisons. If the Slavs attacked now we would not be able to mount a defence until they had already advanced deep into our territory.”

“Thank you, Lord Shawe,” Aldebourne continued, “It is clear that something must be done to address this situation. But there are more troubles afoot. In the past few decades, our population has risen drastically, and yet we are producing hardly any more food than we were thirty years ago.

I fear that unless we settle new land for agriculture, or pillage foreign territories, soon we will be facing mass starvation.”

“In that case food must be prioritised for the military!” Lord Shawe demanded.

“You would let our people starve?” Lord Nevinson rose from his seat.

Lord Fennman could sense an argument about to break out, “Order! I implore you!” he begged. “Please, we can resolve these issues with reasoned debate.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A day later
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lord Fennman of New London paced through the Courtyard of the King’s fortress, pondering his nations fate.

All the convene had really been able to agree on was that an alliance should be formed with the Boeotian league, and an emissary of the Order had been sent to Thebai to ask the Greeks for military protection in the event of a Slavic invasion.

Damned Slavs. Fennman only wished that his noble forefathers had driven all the Slavs from the Balkans 200 years ago. Maybe then Britain would already have been reclaimed, without the constant menace of the Croato-Albanian empire to contend with.

Fennman stopped. There in the grassy courtyard was the boy. Amusing himself with a stick or some other such childish nonsense.

The boy was the nine-year-old son of King Edward Charles III.

To the horror of the aristocracy, nine years ago they discovered that the King had had a child with a Slavic slave woman. There had been outrage, but of course they had to protect the stability of the state. No one outside the Kings court could be allowed to know. It was the Orders most closely guarded secret.

If they even suspected that anyone outside the Kings cabal of aristocrats knew anything about it, they would likely be hunted down and killed by the Orders assassins.

Damn boy, Fennman thought. Filthy Slavic half-breed. They had had to keep him locked up in the King’s fortress his entire life, to prevent any knowledge of his existence reaching the outside world.

That would work for now, while he was young, but when he got older…

If it were up to Fennman, he would just have killed him. But the King had not allowed it, and though he had made an error of judgement he was still the rightful monarch of Britannia and Fennman was still loyal to him.

But the boy was a problem, one that if mishandled could topple the state, and these were difficult times already as they were.

[Communist republic of altorus]

To the Mohammedan Caliphate


We wish to enter an alliance with your proud nation this will cement your nation's existence against the Ethiopians who despise you. This agreement will allow you to become a trading partner as believe it or not, my nation was a muslim nation centuries ago but we fought a crusade and were invaded by the Mongols and Chinese helping Europe hold off them for a number of years we won our independence in the end.

If you wish we can export building materials such as stone bricks and glass to help construction of your country. Also the great house is looking for allies that is why I wrote this letter to you in the hopes of cementing my nation's existence. As of now this alliance is important the threat of those disgusting Chinese east of us is very big.

From James Unghu

The great house leader.

[Red Croatia]

OOC:

A better, updated map:
http://oi48.tinypic.com/11iic6b.jpg

The map of Serbia im using to manage the country:
http://www.vidiani.com/maps/maps_of_eur ... enegro.jpg

OOC:
I don't think my map will be used lol.
But thanks for thinking it would be an improvement if it did.

IC:

King Etheroes Armes of Albania after several days of thinking,decides to send a letter towards the region of the Order of Albion.

To the house of Order of Albion,
from the Throne of Albania
Greetings towards you and your dynasty from my beloved country,
First to be on top of my manners i am aware that a son has been born to your family,with a strong man as his father like you,I
don't doubt that your dynasty and country shall continue your path to glory.
However-I Etheros Armes send this letter with a political agenda to discuss the relations between our neighboring countries.
Croato-Albanian Monarchy is fully aware of the situation your in and we understand your claims on the British isles,which we all-especially me believe are valid,therefore our country would be happy to help yours move back to your ethnic lands.

However you should not take this as a request of an alliance,
take this letter as a sign of our interest towards you and your people.
Im looking forward your respond...

,King Etheros Armes of Albania

The letter arrives with a chest filled with crystal crafted into the shape of tulips,which represent royalty and honor in Croato-Albanian Monarchy.

...

Meanwhile King Tomislav Jelacic II. of Croatia brings introduces a series of new laws that have been secretly debated over for months and hires a men to gather all the cities and introduce them to the citizens


1. The country shall now have only one capital:Zagreb.
Capital cities of Albania-Tirana and Hungary-Budapest have been demoted.

2. All militaries moving from Albania and Hungary will now be now be controlled from Croatian
capital of Zagreb.

3. Every Hungarian living in Croatia shall have to accept Croatian culture and language.

4. Taxes for those that hold the Hungarian nationality in Hungary shall increase,but the prizes
on the Hungarian market shall decrease.

5. All Hungarians and Albanians are allowed to change their nationality to Croatian as long as
they're familiar with the language and the culture.

6. Croatian language will be mandatory in all schools of the three states of the states in Croato-Albanian Monarchy

7. Taxes on Croatian land borders with Hungary and Albania are decreasing

8. Representing yourself as an Albanian or a Hungarian while holding a Croatian nationality is highly illegal

[Communist republic of altorus]

The militia was being trained in Ukinau under the command of sir John Eleco. It was a cold day in the barracks but the militia was made of the toughest men in the empire. Eventually a man clad in purple robes appeared The man was call John Unghu, the chairman of the great house. Immediately everyone bowed to him and he told sir John Eleco"that the Chinese have become more aggressive and we must be wary" with these words he left the barracks and sent an ambassador to the Mohammedan Caliphate. As he waited for their response he headed to the great house to debate whether the nation would get colonies in the new world.

The envoy would request whether they could build a warship in their territory He would also request an alliance.

[The Empire of Pretantia]

Charles also had some family ties in England, his aunt is Catherine of Aragon. He sent a letter to Emperor Henry of Brittania with wine and olive oil as well.

Your Grace, the Emperor Henry VI of Brittania,
We know of your troubles with France and we also have lost our kingdom in Switzerland to the French. I hope that we may aid each other in this battle and hopefully end it without too much bloodshed. The wine I offer you is some of our finest, and the oil represents good health and charity towards you and your family.

Without Wax,
King Charles Habsburg of Italia

To King Charles of Italia,

Indeed France has troubled us for centuries, and we shall assist you in any battle that comes. However, in return you must aid us, when asked of, to attack the Brotherhood of Albion. As you may know, Albion has insulted Britannia without end, and their supremecist attitude is enough to hold them to hubris. It is not known when we will attack them, only that it will come. Until then, be prepared for the worst.

Signed,
Emperor Henry Vi Britannia

It has been over two centuries since the civil war, when Emperor Henry Zu Britannia took his rightful place in the throne against the rebels. Since then, the enemy has lived in exile as the Brotherhood of Albion, constantly seeking to usurp the throne with a bastard child. The true Britannians would have nothing of it, and shall never fall to traitors and thieves like Albion. Now only to let time pass until the time came to strike. Hopefully Italia would also fall in the act of invasion.

[Red Croatia]

After long time of Croatization in Hungary the half of the Hungary's population were Croats,and now since the tax introduction to Hungarians and fall of the Hungarian market which has moved to Croatian Slavonia for higher profit,many of the people there had to move,while the desperate miniority eventually died of poorness,disease and hunger,which the court with a Croatian duke on its head didn't react to it,and let the people suffer.

With Duke of Hungary being a Croat the most feared solution was introduced.
After being defeated in war,cleansed of their own land,federated and tortured by the Croats,Hungarians gave up,and allowed their land to be annexed to Croatia.They soon they gave up their nationality and language,and to avoid the shame they denied to be Hungarians,and soon raised their children to be Croats for a better place in the world.


...
At the throne of Croatia

King Tomislav: Has it been done...?
Duke of Hungary: Yes..Atlast.
King Tomislav: *Nods slowly with great sadness*
Duke of Hungary: Your orders,your majesty?
...
King Tomislav: You know what to do..The time has come...Give out the orders to Etheros and end this quickly...

The duke nods slowly and begins what everyone prepared for,
He leaves the room in a rush and with his garda he moves towards the Castle of Tirana.
After arriving he goes to the throne room of Etheros Armes with his garda,as the guards see him they know what is going on and they abandon the rooms as the Duke walks and go to the streets to gather the people.
As the Duke walks and stands in front of Etheros and tells him that it is the time that Croatian Empire rises.As the King hears that he stands frozen and after several seconds stands up..
He walks to the center of the throne room and looks towards the ceiling and drops his crown.The guards stand around him and together with him they walk towards the gathered streets of Tirana.


In front of the gathered people the king starts talking..

"Dear...Citizens...We have received news of an old agreement that it is not time to fulfill..."

"After long time Albanian Dynasty and Court have at last...accepted this decision..."

"Albania shall now...be permanently annexed to Croatia..."

He shreds a tear and leaves the street,moving towards his castle,being surrounded by guards.

Soon a minority of proud Albanians start to yell while the rest stand silent.
The guards handle the situation with slaughter in several hours,then they spread the news to other cities making sure that the whole Monarchy is aware.

The contracts have been signed,The Courts have accepted.
The whole Croato-Albanian Monarchy shall now unite into The Croatian Empire..



After this long-planned tragedy that everyone knew would happen King Tomislav makes sure that his servants spread the word into all the other countries of Europe that the Albano-Croatian Monarchy,is no more.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

“Oh, my caliph, heir of Muhammad, protector of God’s most holy word, leader of all the righteous, my brother. Today, I stand before you, not as family, but as your loyal subject. My body and devotion are at your command! Your most holy army has gathered at our western borders. Ready to punish the infidels and traitors of our sovereign borders. You, oh caliph, need only ask for it, and I will, by divine right, crush the pharaoh that inhabits Egypt, and add his lands to your eternal domain. Oh, caliph, great prophet, your most gracious of gestures is enough to punish those who opposed God himself!”

It was the most theatrical thing, to speak with Abu ibn Muhammad. Even Hamad, the oldest brother of the caliph, always had to crawl through the dust to even speak with him in public. This was logical, of course. The caliph was the direct descendant of the prophet, Muhammad, and the only prophet of Allah. His rule was divine, and all his splendour made this only clearer. The throne hall, across the street from the Ka’aba itself, was designed and build to impose awe and fear onto anyone who entered. Large, green banners fluttered at the light breeze that cooled the room. The windows, all made of stained glass, depicting all manner of victories. Never a famous hero, however. Islam forbids the depicting of saints and prophets. On both sides of the hall, rows of soldiers looked straight at each other. All caliphate man-at-arms looked the same. Their helmets had a little spike on top, but resembled a cone of some sort. The helmet protected the ears, the forehead and the nose, and only stopped at the eyes to make sure the soldiers saw something. From there on, a chainmail curtain protected everything else from the neck up. Soldiers had no face. Just dark, brown eyes, without emotion. From a difference, you couldn’t even see the eyes, making you feel as if demons themselves were coming for you. Their upper bodies were protected by scale armour, wherein overlapping metal scales completely covered the torso of a soldier. Plates of steel armour protected the arms and legs. Under all this armour, green robes provided a point of recognition, if the armour itself didn’t drive you insane. Their shields were pear-shaped, and covered with text from the quran. Mostly about warfare, struggle, or strength.

The caliph himself, Abu ibn Muhammad, sat on a throne made from solid gold. It was made during the reign of the conquest caliphs, and was engraved with holy texts and fancy ornaments. The caliphs robes were the most complex pieces of clothing in the city, and probably in the empire. His splendour and power both made his position stronger than any leader. His authority wasn’t just law, it was divine right. The caliph looked at his younger brother, and just waved at him with the most gracious of gestures. “You may, my brother. Go forth and spread the word across the world. Egypt will fall to my might.” Hamad said nothing. He just raised his knee, and stamped it on the floor with a loud bang. He saluted, turned around, and walked straight out, without uttering another word. He achieved what he had come for.

Just as Hamad left, a messenger came in. He was flanked by two pike-armed men-at-arms. The messenger bowed down to the caliph, with his face pressed against the ground, as if he were bowing down to God himself. Which he was, actually. A imam, one of the caliphs most trusted advisors, rushed forwards to take the letter. He broke the seal, and read it out loud. “Oh glorious ruler… Nəgusä Nägäst Na'od” The caliph had listened intently to the letter being read. It wasn’t a terribly long letter, but it made their intent clear. They wanted a safeguard. A protector. Maybe even trade routes to the other parts of the world. Soon, the upper Nile would be part of the caliphate, and the only free trade route from the Ethiopians would be cut off. An alliance gave exclusive trading right to both the caliphate and the empire. With another gracious gesture of his hand, the caliph ordered the imam to get close. “Send back a caravan, with all kinds of trade goods. Spices from Indonesia, silk from Japan, and gunpowder weapons from China. Not too much, but just enough to start markets. Within a few months, they will be begging for trade rights through our ports and the silk trade routes. Actually, send these caravans to all the great empires, as a sign that I, the new caliph, successor of Muhammad, am entering the world stage. ”. The imam just whispered “inshallah” and left the giant hall, with his new assignment fixed in his mind.

Just in time, it seemed. Just after the imam had left, another messenger came bursting in. He was of some sort of tartar descent, and his skin was pale like that of the Turk. But this was no Turk, as an advisor told Abu. He hailed from the empire in the north-east, remnants of the Great Khanate. The Khanate Successor, as the nation was called among the walkways of the imperial palace. The messenger was also accompanied by two guards, but they held him firmly, and almost seemed to drag him across the marble floors. Before the feet of the caliph, they threw him on the floor, and pointed their swords at him. The caliph and the advisors were surprised by this incident. But it was soon clarified. One of the soldiers walked towards His Holiness, and handed over a piece of paper. He read it with the outmost care, after which he tore it to pieces and stood up. His face, which was normally cool and detached, was now filled with rage and fire. His voice roared through the room, which echoed it back and forth. “How dare these filthy inbreeds! Foul children of Mongol women and Russian peasants!” The advisors slowly backed away from the throne, as was custom during times of rage. Abu ibn Muhammad might be the representation of God’s Mercy, he was also the embodiment of His wrath. His words spat fire over the poor man in front of him. “How dare you, heretic pig, declare that I, the heir of Muhammad himself, am too weak to protect myself.” He spat in front of the man. “Hajib! HAJIB! Bring me Hajib!” The imam that had previously been told to gather the caravans, was summoned back to the throne room. “yes, Your Holiness, what is your bidding?” The caliph almost jumped off the platform suspending his throne. His voice turned icy, and his eyes grew dark. “I have an extra present for the Khanate Successors.” Abu made a short gesture, signalling the guards. “Cut off his hand. His right hand, with which he brought me this insult.” The guards did exactly that, without any questions asked. The man screamed in agony, but he would live. His hand, befouled with the words he just transmitted, was put inside a box, and it was shipped off to the nation of origin. With a note, explaining that, “if you want to return your puppet, the bringer of insults, please offer a more favourable agreement, and apologise to our great empire.”

[Communist republic of altorus]

The great house was buzzing with activity than a package arrived and John Unghu opened it he shouted quietening the great house to whisper"THAT HERECTIC BASTARD" he immediately sent a intricate picture of Mohammed which is blasphemy to Muslims to the mohammedian caliphate and a messager not a weak messager he was not an ordinary messager. Men who saw him screamed others said he was the son of satan.He had muscles that rippled like the waves of the seas and was a chief torturer in the dungeon. He was sent to the Mohammedian caliphate he was a huge man of 7ft and the Muslim king would not be able to wound him as it was said a sword melted when it touched his skin. After 2 days he arrived at the Muslim palace...

[United Federation of the World]

With Rodrigo Medenzo II lying ill on his bed Isabelle sat on the smaller throne. She missed the days when her father used to swing her around and tell her she would rule the world someday. She used to love that phrase... now she dreaded it. She was well trained but there was no way she could lead an army. Who would she trust? Her father told her no one but then she would have no military leaving herself dead and her people as well. She sat silently as she ignored the comments of the court lords. Bickering about some old lady they supposed to be a witch. Her mind was clogged but she remembered her one hope. The new world! A place in which the world was not busy or strong. Only her most trusted advisers and father knew of the land. Even Europe hadn't fully discovered it. Her mind may have been cloudy but this new world was the light at the end of the storm!

She sent 5 boats from the Portugal Coast to sail across the sea. They were to claim land and find a good settlement to start in. She also ordered 100,000 troops to Portugal to but down the petty revolts. She thought the number was enough but her father argued, coughed hardly, over the low number. She in return sent 300,000 more along. She continued the expansion into Africa. Her troops pushed along the coast. Being supplied by her huge navy she was able to go long distances and have supplies. She also began to push inward in Africa. With the 700,000 troops she had in Africa a lot was to be done.

One night her father rose from his bed and slipped a message under his door. It was picked up by the messenger and distributed to the couriers. It read:

Dear, Fellow Nations of Europe

I do not know you and I only send these couriers in hopes of finding other civilized people like me and my countrymen. If you find this courier dead or alive please reply to my message. I hope to establish contact with someone.

Singed, Rodrigo Medenzo II

The couriers road off. Some by sea some by land. In every direction but West. Forty-five total messages were sent.

[Megale Epeiros]

BASILEUS PTOLEMAIOS XVI XANTHOS

Thebai, Cadmeis
Winter 1530

Bars of sunlight, golden as honey in their illumination, poured into the dark chambers of the Cadmeia, a citadel that stood on the acropolis of Thebai, and had stood there as long as men of Boeotia could remember, at least three thousand years if the poets told true, though if it had been there even longer, none could say. It was clear, however, that it was there, here and now, and happened to be the soul of the city, being the home of countless of basileis across the pathways of time, and most importantly, the current ruling king, Ptolemaios XVI Xanthos, who bore the Twin Crown of Boeotia and Makedonia. For it was he who now watched the aforementioned bars of sunlight in his royal chambers in the Cadmeia, and looked upon it with much dismay. There was much work to be done in his lifetime, and perhaps it might not even be finished for another few generations.

Sighing, he stood from his seat and paced to the wall, and upon it was the map of the known world, with Boeotia and all its lands around the Mesogeios, or the Mare Nostrum as the Romans called it, in the middle. The words of the Prettanoi emissaries still echoed within his mind. War now loomed on the horizon, a war he could not avoid. A war he could definitely benefit from, but the cost of such gains were yet unknown, perhaps greater than he deigned to think. A war he knew would inevitably come, a war he craved for. A war that summoned the very rush in his blood that had possessed him all those years ago, in distant green summers as a young prince. The parchment that carried the Albionian message was in his hands, and he had read every inch of it from every angle possible before he was willing to act.

He looked upon his western borders, and the very thought of Slavic dominance in the area mocked him. He supposed the war with barbaric Italia would have to wait, and Megale Ellas will not be able to be reclaimed for a short while. He had to fortify the border on the west coast between the two great nations, and reinforce the wall his forefathers had built around the Carpathian, which had already been under way for roughly two months. Vengeance on his borders had to come first, but there was something else that he still had to attend to. Ptolemaios then looked to the small nation of Albion, a meagre buffer state that had the potential to develop into something more with Boeotian guidance. Besides, they already shared a common enemy, the damned Slavs. Aid would not come without a price.

"Pelopidas, summon a scribe at once." Ptolemaios called out to a one of his guards, who stood at the ready outside his bedchamber along with several others. "And ask him to bring many rolls of parchment; we have a long day ahead of us."

In the meantime, he looked to his eastern boundaries, and toward the monotheistic Ecumenical Patriarchy of Byzantion. As a member of the Orthodox faith, they would be indebted to his cause were he to attack their Catholic enemies. He, after all his years as king, still could not understand the Orthodox-Catholic schism, but he understood that the Catholics were to be seen as heretics by the Patriarchy, and vice versa. Either way, it would be in the League's best interests to establish good relations with their Eastern neighbours. Perhaps a political marriage might be in order...

***

---

TO BASILEUS EDWARD CHARLES III

Basileus Ptolemaios XVI of House Xanthos hereby wishes for the blessings of the gods, both Old and New, upon the great nation of the Order of Albion, and may they continue to prosper under the watchful eyes of Zeus Philoxenon.

The sovereign of the Boeotian League hereby recognizes your King's claim over the islands of Prettanike, or Britannia as your people call it, and therefore acknowledges the legitimacy of your divine right to rule as established by the almighty gods of Olympus. The Basileus hereby wishes to declare his support to Basileus Edward Charles III, and strengthen the ties between our two peoples in the form of an alliance, and wishes to discuss the terms of this alliance.

1. Observing the position of Albion in the region, the Boeotian League hereby surrenders the port-town of Epidamnus and all nearby towns in the region to Albion.

2. The Boeotian League agrees to train able-bodied men from your kingdom to be expert sailors and navymen, so as to preserve the dominion of Albion in the region.

3. The Boeotian League allows the establishment of trade routes between the two great nations.

4. The Boeotian League shall hereby send ten thousand of its best hoplites and Thessalian horsemen from nearby provinces to your disposal.

5. The Boeotian League shall aid in any possible future endeavours against the Britannian Empire.

6. The Order of Albion shall not consort with the enemies of the Boeotian League, nor shall it support any enemy movement against the Boeotian League.

7. The Order of Albion is to aid the Boeotian League in any possible future endeavours against its enemies.

Signed,

Basileus Ptolemaios, Sixteenth of His Name, Sovereign of House Xanthos, Bearer of the Twin Crowns of Boeotia and Makedonia, Wielder of the Labrys of Peloponnisos, of Chersos Ellas, of Aetolia, of Thessalia, of Acarnania, of Epeiros, of Illyria, of Odrusai, of Getai, of Troas, of Aeolis, of Ionia, of Doris, of Lycia, of Pamphylia, of Cilicia, of Kriti, of Kypros, of Kyrene, of Karkhedon, and all the islands of the Archipelago and the Ionios, Guardian of the Hellespontos.

---

TO CONSUL DROBOS CHLVEK

Basileus Ptolemaios XVI of House Xanthos prays for the good fortune of the great Trucovan Empire, and may they continue to be possessed of the prosperity gifted by the gods, both Old and New.

The sovereign of the Boeotian League hereby wishes to bring our great nations together and thereby prosper together. To that end, he wishes to establish trade routes with your great Empire, and promote good relations between our people. He imparts upon his messenger an olive branch, as a token of goodwill and peace.

Signed,

Basileus Ptolemaios, Sixteenth of His Name, Sovereign of House Xanthos, Bearer of the Twin Crowns of Boeotia and Makedonia, Wielder of the Labrys of Peloponnisos, of Chersos Ellas, of Aetolia, of Thessalia, of Acarnania, of Epeiros, of Illyria, of Odrusai, of Getai, of Troas, of Aeolis, of Ionia, of Doris, of Lycia, of Pamphylia, of Cilicia, of Kriti, of Kypros, of Kyrene, of Karkhedon, and all the islands of the Archipelago and the Ionios, Guardian of the Hellespontos.

---

TO PATRIARCH JEREMIAS II

Basileus Ptolemaios XVI of House Xanthos hereby warmly greets his great neighbours, the Ecumenical Patriarchy of Byzantion.

The Boeotian League notes that relations between our great nations have room for improvement, and to that effect, wishes to establish trade routes between our great nations for the mutual benefit of both our peoples. The Basileus also hereby offers his daughter, Basilopoula Kassandra of House Xanthos, in marriage to a prince of royal blood of your great city.

Signed,

Basileus Ptolemaios, Sixteenth of His Name, Sovereign of House Xanthos, Bearer of the Twin Crowns of Boeotia and Makedonia, Wielder of the Labrys of Peloponnisos, of Chersos Ellas, of Aetolia, of Thessalia, of Acarnania, of Epeiros, of Illyria, of Odrusai, of Getai, of Troas, of Aeolis, of Ionia, of Doris, of Lycia, of Pamphylia, of Cilicia, of Kriti, of Kypros, of Kyrene, of Karkhedon, and all the islands of the Archipelago and the Ionios, Guardian of the Hellespontos.

---

BOEOTARCH PYRROS

Zagreb, Croatia
Winter 1530

In the dim light of the waning moon, Pyrros rode through the thick woods, wending through forest trails while all the while looking behind him, in such a panic that an observer of his flight would have thought him running from a skeletal army of Hades. It might as well have been to Pyrros. Leaping over fallen logs and ducking under malevolent low-lying branches, Pyrros finally made it to the crest of a hill, and looked across the countryside to Zagreb, the shimmering city of the Croatian Empire, an asylum for him from all the terrors of Boeotia.

Draping himself under a travel-worn chlamys, his face concealed by a wide-brimmed felt petasos, he continued onwards, riding all across the plains. How long had it been since he fled his plight? Two, three weeks? A month? He could not say. Neither could he remember when was the last time he had a bath. He had no time for such luxuries on the run. Try as much as he could, he was never able to forget the horrors he had faced. The people he had killed. The secrets he had kept.

Finally, lost in thought, he had been able to reach the grand gates of Zagreb. Clearing his throat, he yelled at the top of his lungs a request to enter the city.

"I come in peace! I seek refuge from the evil of the Boeotian League, and have come to offer myself in servitude to the Croatian Throne!"

Hidden under the brim of his hat, he closed his eyes, awaiting for a dreaded arrow to pierce his heart and end his suffering. His lips quivered, awaiting the judgement of the guards, as he murmured a silent prayer to the gods for protection.

[Acroticus]

Warsaw, Poland Province, Trucova

Drobos sat once again in the Senate when people had heard of the news in Africa. Spanish troops moved south to claim the northern portion of the continent. Anger was dominant, and the pro-Africa colonization Senators held what they considered conscientiousness over their counterparts.

Drobos knew this would happen. He was tired of being powerless: he had once been a political force to reckon with. What had happened? Well, the Senate seemed to have a natural hatred for overly powerful men, and so, they seemed hostile to the Consul of the Senate as well. He had more power when he was a Senator!

The head of the Senate, not Drobos, banged his gavel, and stopped the heated argument.

“We have a letter from the Boeotian Empire. The Emperor asks for Trucovan trade routes, and a close Trucovan-Croatian relationship.” The letter was passed around, and Senator Kilpinski came forward to make his argument.

“The Trucovan Republic has long stayed out of issues to the south. However, it would appear that new times call for new measures. As the dominant force in East Europe, I say Trucova must become more involved in the Baltic disputes.”
A resounding “here here.” Came from the rest of the Senate, and it became clear that this was the popular opinion.

“Very well,” the Senate President responded. “We will agree to the trade routes the Boeotians have set forth.” The Senate President looked at Drobos. “And in the meantime, our Consul has asked to talk to us about Africa.”

“Thank you,” Drobos stepped up to the podium from his seat above the Senate President. “Fellow Senators, our plan of action to curtail this Spaniard expansion must be the colonization of Africa. Now there are two plans that have been presented to me. The first is this one,” he pointed back to where his aides had placed a map. “The Nile Clonization Plan; we follow the Nile south, and capture all the fertile land that it brings. The other plan is the Senegal Plan. In this invasion, we attack the West coast of Africa, just beneath the Sahara. The idea is to block the Spanish from expanding too far into the continent.”

“And which do you suggest?” the Senate President asked.

“Senators of Trucova, I suggest we carry out both of these plans. It would certainly cause great sacrifice to our purse in the immediate future, but several years on, our great nation will become that much greater for it.”

“HERE, HERE!” cheers flew from the seats of the Senate. The Age of African expansion had begun.

Letter to the Boeotian Empire
From Consul Drobos Chlvek

We gladly accept your trade offers,and wish for a hearty and healthy relationship between our two nations.

signed Drobos Chlvek

[Red Croatia]

[b]
Thebai, Cadmeis
Zagreb, Croatia
Spring 1530

In the dim light of the waning moon, Pyrros rode through the thick woods, wending through forest trails while all the while looking behind him, in such a panic that an observer of his flight would have thought him running from a skeletal army of Hades. It might as well have been to Pyrros. Leaping over fallen logs and ducking under malevolent low-lying branches, Pyrros finally made it to the crest of a hill, and looked across the countryside to Zagreb, the shimmering city of the Croatian Empire, an asylum for him from all the terrors of Boeotia.

Draping himself under a travel-worn chlamys, his face concealed by a wide-brimmed felt petasos, he continued onwards, riding all across the plains. How long had it been since he fled his plight? Two, three weeks? A month? He could not say. Neither could he remember when was the last time he had a bath. He had no time for such luxuries on the run. Try as much as he could, he was never able to forget the horrors he had faced. The people he had killed. The secrets he had kept.

Finally, lost in thought, he had been able to reach the grand gates of Zagreb. Clearing his throat, he yelled at the top of his lungs a request to enter the city.

"I come in peace! I seek refuge from the evil of the Boeotian League, and have come to offer myself in servitude to the Croatian Throne!"

Hidden under the brim of his hat, he closed his eyes, awaiting for a dreaded arrow to pierce his heart and end his suffering. His lips quivered, awaiting the judgement of the guards, as he murmured a silent prayer to the gods for protection.

The guards stand still while one of them kindly explains

"Gate passage shall not be granted to you sir,the king does not allow the direct entrance of refugees.Only way to enter is if you go in one of the two satellite cities and enter the city by harbor,there you will be checked for any weapons and given a license to trade within the walls sir!

"The two satellite cities are Sinj to the North and Split to the south,you must simply follow the coast sir!"

The well-disciplined guards continue standing still and looking focused,not answering to any of his movements afterwards.

[Megale Epeiros]

Thebai, Cadmeis
Zagreb, Croatia
Spring 1530

In the dim light of the waning moon, Pyrros rode through the thick woods, wending through forest trails while all the while looking behind him, in such a panic that an observer of his flight would have thought him running from a skeletal army of Hades. It might as well have been to Pyrros. Leaping over fallen logs and ducking under malevolent low-lying branches, Pyrros finally made it to the crest of a hill, and looked across the countryside to Zagreb, the shimmering city of the Croatian Empire, an asylum for him from all the terrors of Boeotia.

Draping himself under a travel-worn chlamys, his face concealed by a wide-brimmed felt petasos, he continued onwards, riding all across the plains. How long had it been since he fled his plight? Two, three weeks? A month? He could not say. Neither could he remember when was the last time he had a bath. He had no time for such luxuries on the run. Try as much as he could, he was never able to forget the horrors he had faced. The people he had killed. The secrets he had kept.

Finally, lost in thought, he had been able to reach the grand gates of Zagreb. Clearing his throat, he yelled at the top of his lungs a request to enter the city.

"I come in peace! I seek refuge from the evil of the Boeotian League, and have come to offer myself in servitude to the Croatian Throne!"

Hidden under the brim of his hat, he closed his eyes, awaiting for a dreaded arrow to pierce his heart and end his suffering. His lips quivered, awaiting the judgement of the guards, as he murmured a silent prayer to the gods for protection.

The guards stand still while one of them kindly explains

"Gate passage shall not be granted to you sir,the king does not allow the direct entrance of refugees.Only way to enter is if you go in one of the two satellite cities and enter the city by harbor,there you will be checked for any weapons and given a license to trade within the walls sir!The two satellite cities are Sinj to the North and Split to the south,you must simply follow the coast sir!"

The guards continue standing still and looking focused,not answering any of his responses.

BOEOTARCH PYRROS

"No, you don't understand!" Pyrros exclaimed, blustered, and surprised at his good luck. The gods were definitely saving him for a worse end, no doubt. "I have no intent of being a merchant in your grand cities! I know every single detail of the League, and all its deepest inquisitions! I know where every man of the sword lies in waiting, and where weak spots and gaps in its defenses are across its borders! I am willing to serve the great sovereign of the Croatian Empire!"

Upon not receiving any response from the guards, he began riding around the perimeter of the walls, searching for some sort of entrance, even if it happened to be a sewer.

[Vorradia]

OOC:
A better, updated map:
http://oi48.tinypic.com/11iic6b.jpg

The map of Serbia im using to manage the country:
http://www.vidiani.com/maps/maps_of_eur ... enegro.jpg

National History:

230 years ago, Britannia was ravaged by civil war. Two men claimed to be the rightful heirs to the throne, and a bloody succession conflict erupted across the British Isles, that would drag on for many years.

Little is known of the war. The Empire of Britannia that rules the isles today has mercilessly stamped out all record of the great schism from their history. They deny that it ever happened.

But there are those who remain loyal to the true Emperor of Britannia to this day. They know the truth. When the civil war ended, in 1306, Prince Edward Charles of Britannia was executed.

He had been the second in line to the throne, but he had tried to seize power by claiming that his elder brother the rightful heir was an illegitimate child. And so he sparked the war.

The war ended with Edward Charles defeated, and his followers were left in disarray. They were exiled from Britain, never to return again.

They settled in the Balkans, in Serbia.

The son of Edward Charles came with them, and the exiles declared him to be their leader, and, believing him to be the rightful heir to the throne, vowed that one day they would return to Britain and return the country to the man they thought was it’s rightful ruler.

But they never did that. Instead they spent the rest of their lives struggling to colonise the Balkans. They hated their new home, far from Britannia, and their hatred fuelled their radicalism. They became fanatical British supremacists, bent on genocide. In the two centuries since their arrival, the native Slavic peoples of the Balkans have been almost entirely exterminated or driven out by the British colonists.

The exiles made the city of Belgrade their capital after killing off the locals. There they officially founded their nation, the Order of Albion, in 1369.

Today the city of Belgrade is not so much a settlement as a sprawling gothic fortress.

The Order is a small nation, but they are a tough, hardy and resilient people, having had to build a nation up from nothing in the vile wilderness after their exile from their homeland.

They are also a dangerous people. They are a militaristic state, as their very nation was founded on hatred, resentment and jealousy. They look at the glorious empire of Britannia with envious eyes.

For in their minds they believe that is it their nation, their homeland. They believe that they were wrongly exiled.

The line of Edward Charles continues to this day, and he rules the Order of Albion from Belgrade. To this day his people dream of returning to their homeland and conquering it, and placing Edward Charles III, the man they believe to be the rightful heir to the crown of Britannia, on the throne.

THE ORDER OF ALBION

Belgrade (New London), British Serbia, The Order of Albion.

Much to the disappointment of Lord Fennman, the morning came with grey skies and a light drizzle, most unsuited to mark this most auspicious of days. But their plans had been made. The ceremony would be held today.

From the high Battlements of the King’s Fortress he looked down up the people of New London. They eagerly thronged around the fortress gates, awaiting the royal procession.

Six weeks ago, a son had been born to King Edward Charles III. The line of Edward Charles I, great founder of the Order of Albion was secure. By the grace of god the future Edward Charles IV had been born.

All word of the birth had been kept from the people until the news could be sent all across the land, to every Lord and Lady of the Order. The Ceremonies to celebrate the birth of a future Edward Charles had to be held across the nation on the same day.

With their abysmal lack of roads, Fennman thought, it had taken quite some time for the ceremonies to be organised. But now everything was ready, and yesterday the news had been bought to the masses. Today an immense crowd surged up to the palace walls to witness the Ceremonies.

Now it was time.

The King’s Fortress in New London was a sprawling gothic edifice, a vast towering monument to British imperial might. Today the banner of the Order of Albion was proudly draped across the fortress walls, billowing in the harsh wind.

A fanfare was played, and the colossal gates yawned slowly open. The crowd erupted into fervent cheering as the procession began.

A solid wall of fully armoured pikemen marched through the gates, red sashes of the Order around their breastplates, proudly bearing aloft their regimental banners. Behind them came serried ranks of matchlock infantry, resplendent in bright ceremonial colours and regalia.

The Order of Albion was but a small, struggling nation surrounded by great empires, but the British were a strong, hardy warlike people, and their army was the envy of many a European power. Flawlessly drilled and ordered, they marched forth in perfect formation.

The Noble families that presided over the lands of the Order had seen to it that every village, town and city in the nation would witness a procession just as magnificent as that in New London itself, and it was so.

Across the nation the celebratory processions were underway. The honour and reputation of all the great families was at stake here, and no expense would be spared as they competed to outdo each other with the splendour of their celebrations.

And in every city in the nation, the governing Noble families joined the processions on horseback, where they would deliver the Kings speech.

Lord Fennman, governor of New London, rode from the gates of the Kings Fortress with his family, flanked on either side by the Royal Guard, the Kings personal force, formed to protect the monarch and important members of the state in public occasions.

The King was well loved, that Fennman knew, but the people did not regard him, an aristocrat, with as much love and devotion. There had been attempts on his life before.

Fennman rode with the procession to the City centre, and dismounted. He prepared to read the Kings speech. In all the largest cities of the nation, their lords prepared to address the masses.

In the city of Smedevero, the governor Lord Campbell of Smedevero prepared to do the same. As did Lord Shawe in Obrenovac, Lord Nevinson in Cacak, and Lord Grey in Krusevac.

And they began. The Kings words were heard all across the land.

“Britons! These are the words of your King:

My people, loyal subjects of Britain, today we are gathered here, to remember the great tragedy of our past, but also, to celebrate the future.

230 years ago, a great betrayal divided our nation in two, and the course of our people’s history was irrevocably altered by the wicked machinations of one man.

In 1300 the true and rightful heir to the throne of Britannia Prince Edward Charles; was not crowned king. His elder brother Prince Henry, a product of damned adultery no less succeeded the throne!

A bastard with no right to the crown of our glorious nation sat atop the throne while it’s rightful heir was imprisoned for speaking out against the travesty!

But, there were some who were loyal to the true King of Brittania. They were your forefathers, the very heroes that went on to found our Order.

In 1301 they stormed the Royal Palace and freed the true Prince, and they rallied behind him to fight for their country. They fought with great righteousness and bravery, but alas the enemy were too many and too strong, and our forefathers were defeated. The civil war was lost, and the rightful heir to the throne, Prince Edward Charles was executed by his brother.”

Across the nation the crowds fell utterly silent.

“Our noble forefathers, defeated by the armies of the Black Prince Henry, were exiled from our British Isles. They sailed to the shores of the Balkans, in search of a new home.

But! They had not lost hope; for amongst the exiles was the young son of the martyred Prince! The line of Edward Charles would continue!”

The crowds cheered again.

“In the harsh, untamed wilderness of the Balkans, our forefathers built a great nation from nothing! Beset on all sides by the barbaric Slavic hordes, and plagued by famine and sickness, they endured terrible sufferings and hardship!

But our people were strong, and they survived, claiming this land from the Slavs and making it our own! Across this desolate land, on the ashes of the Slavic cities, we built new homes, great palaces, and mighty walls!

And here we are today! Today we celebrate the continuation of the line of Edward Charles! A son has been born to me!

But today, even as we celebrate the future, we must not forget our true purpose.

For my newborn babe is the rightful heir to the throne of Britannia!

Who is it sits on the throne today in our distant homeland?

I tell you. A traitor. A direct descendant, of the false King Henry! Who betrayed his brother the rightful heir and lied to his people and his countrymen! Who claimed through force what he could not claim by right!

The man who squats on the throne of Britannia today, Emperor Henry VI defies the very will of god, and he shall be brought to justice!

One day our mighty army shall land on the shores of our blessed isles, our people shall return to Britain in arms and wrest the false King of his throne! Then we shall restore the one true line of Edward Charles!

This I swear, as your rightful King Edward Charles III.”

++++++++++++++++++++

Three weeks later

++++++++++++++++++++

The celebrations of the birth of a new royal heir had only recently subsided, and the Lords of the Order of Albion now convened with the monarch in his court, in the King’s Fortress in New London.

As governor of the capital, New London, Lord Fennman addressed the Monarch and the assembled aristocracy first.

“Praises be upon you, your majesty Edward Charles III, Grand Master of the Divine Order of Albion, Ruler of conquered Serbia, and true and rightful King and Emperor of Britannia, our glorious homeland.

And my greetings to all the gathered Lords of the Order of Albion, I trust your journeys were not too difficult.

We are here on this day, to serve our great monarch, and to address all the most grievous matters that do currently press upon our state. “

There was silence for a moment.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Shawe of Obrenovac rose to his feet. “As Lord Commander of the Armies of the Order of Albion, I believe I will be best able to inform you on our dire situation as regarding our immediate neighbours in the Balkans”

“Of course,” the King spoke. “You may commence” Though of ailing health, the King was a large man of forty-five years, and his powerful voice commanded attention.

“I fear greatly for our Orders safety. The Slavic Croato-Albanian Empire to the West is rising greatly in strength. They now maintain an army of over a million fighting men.

They have not forgotten the slaughter we waged upon their people those two centuries ago. The Slav’s hatred for us still burns bright.

If we suffered an invasion from the Croato-Albanian Empire now, our Order would most likely not survive, and all the struggles of our forefathers would be in vain, and Britain would forever languish in the grasp of a false king.

We invited dignitaries from the Croato-Albanian Empire and the Boeotian league to attend the processions here in New London three weeks ago.

I had hoped that such a display of military strength would cow the Slavs and make the Greeks think of us as worthy allies.

I believe that we must attempt to forge an alliance with the Boeotians, to resist a possible Slavic invasion from the Croato-Albanians to the West.”

The response from the Lords was mixed, a flurry of shouts burst out across the room.

“Yes, it must be done to preserve the order!”

“No! The British people will never rely on foul foreigners for defence!”

“We must form strong alliances with our neighbours-“

“Never! The British will never bargain with the foreign hordes! We will crush them, and Britain shall rule over all the world!”

“Come to your senses, we cannot resist the Slavs alone, the Greeks are not our enemies!”

“Silence!” The King roared. The court fell utterly silent within a moment.

“We are a valiant, and proud people. I believe that if we are strong, Britain will one day rule the world. But we must not let our pride blind us to the truth. We need firm friends to preserve the Order from the Slavic horde.

Think of our home, Britain. If the Order is lost, then our blessed isles will be under the rule of a false king forever, the descendant of an illegitimate bastard! Would you see that happen?

I agree most heartily with you my good Lord Shawe” the King praised him. “Without cementing a strong alliance with the Greeks it will be impossible to resist a Slavic incursion.”

The King stood. The assembled Lords all rose in respect to hear him speak, bowing their heads as they did.

“My loyal subjects, with all this talk of war I foresee dark times ahead. Yet with bravery and fortitude, we can make good of this. War brings destruction, but also conquest and growth in equal measure. It is imperative to the future of our Order that we are an imperial power!

We must expand and prosper, if ever we are to be able to retake our homeland and restore the line of Edward Charles. I believe that conflict is imminent. As your monarch, I decree that from this day, war taxes shall be levied upon all your lands, until these tensions between our Order and the Slavs of the Croato-Albanian Empire are settled, whether through force or diplomatic means.”

“Your will be done your majesty” the aristocracy replied in unison, before sitting back down.

If there was any discontent about the war taxes, none of the Lords dared show it in front of the King. He was an unusually calm man, steadfast in the face of danger and threat. But rumour had it that now in his ailing health, his temper was furious and fiery when aroused.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Grey of Krusevac rose to his feet. “As Lord Admiral of the Navy of the Order of Albion, I believe I will be best able to inform you on our dire situation as regarding our naval strength.”

“Speak” The monarch commanded.

“Our Navy is weak. In fact, I am afraid I will be truthful. It is a pathetic mockery of Britain. Our army is small, but envied for its discipline and strength by all of Europe. Our navy has no such distinction. I believe we barely have enough naval power to take on a fishing fleet.

If our people are ever to conquer our homeland and restore our blessed isles to you, your majesty, the rightful King of Britain, then we will need a great navy.

And our naval power is severely limited for one reason; we have no permanent route of access to the coast. We are landlocked in between the Slavs to the west and the Greeks to the east, and any access to the Balkan’s shores can only be gained through expensive treaties with either the Croato-Albanian Empire or the Boeotian League.

If we can form an alliance with the Greeks as Lord Shawe and your majesty have proposed, then we can easily negotiate permanent access to the coast, and build a navy that the British people can be proud of!
Without a navy, we have no future. Without a navy, Our homeland Britain will be forever beyond our reach!”

With that the argument was settled. A chorus of agreement rose from the assembled aristocracy.

An alliance would be formed with the Greeks.

“My Lords, my King,” Lord Aldebourne of Valjevo rose to his feet. “I believe that while of course matters of war and peace are the most pressing issues that face our state currently, there are lesser problems we face that may increase in magnitude if left unchecked.”

“Speak of them.”

“We are a young nation, and in many a sense we are like children in comparison to the many great empires that surround us, undeveloped in many ways. Our infrastructure is in an abysmal state. Most of this country is still untamed wilderness. We still use the roads left by the Slavs two hundred years ago, and they are all falling apart, where they still survive at all.

If there is a war with the Slavs, we may fall not because our military was in any way lacking, but because we could not move our troops fast enough to defend ourselves.”

“It is true” Lord Shawe spoke again, “Nearly three quarters of our entire military strength was involved in the celebrations of his majesties son’s birth, and our roads are so poor and lacking that most of my troops are still travelling back to their border outposts and garrisons. If the Slavs attacked now we would not be able to mount a defence until they had already advanced deep into our territory.”

“Thank you, Lord Shawe,” Aldebourne continued, “It is clear that something must be done to address this situation. But there are more troubles afoot. In the past few decades, our population has risen drastically, and yet we are producing hardly any more food than we were thirty years ago.

I fear that unless we settle new land for agriculture, or pillage foreign territories, soon we will be facing mass starvation.”

“In that case food must be prioritised for the military!” Lord Shawe demanded.

“You would let our people starve?” Lord Nevinson rose from his seat.

Lord Fennman could sense an argument about to break out, “Order! I implore you!” he begged. “Please, we can resolve these issues with reasoned debate.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A day later
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lord Fennman of New London paced through the Courtyard of the King’s fortress, pondering his nations fate.

All the convene had really been able to agree on was that an alliance should be formed with the Boeotian league, and an emissary of the Order had been sent to Thebai to ask the Greeks for military protection in the event of a Slavic invasion.

Damned Slavs. Fennman only wished that his noble forefathers had driven all the Slavs from the Balkans 200 years ago. Maybe then Britain would already have been reclaimed, without the constant menace of the Croato-Albanian empire to contend with.

Fennman stopped. There in the grassy courtyard was the boy. Amusing himself with a stick or some other such childish nonsense.

The boy was the nine-year-old son of King Edward Charles III.

To the horror of the aristocracy, nine years ago they discovered that the King had had a child with a Slavic slave woman. There had been outrage, but of course they had to protect the stability of the state. No one outside the Kings court could be allowed to know. It was the Orders most closely guarded secret.

If they even suspected that anyone outside the Kings cabal of aristocrats knew anything about it, they would likely be hunted down and killed by the Orders assassins.

Damn boy, Fennman thought. Filthy Slavic half-breed. They had had to keep him locked up in the King’s fortress his entire life, to prevent any knowledge of his existence reaching the outside world.

That would work for now, while he was young, but when he got older…

If it were up to Fennman, he would just have killed him. But the King had not allowed it, and though he had made an error of judgement he was still the rightful monarch of Britannia and Fennman was still loyal to him.

But the boy was a problem, one that if mishandled could topple the state, and these were difficult times already as they were.

IC:

THE ORDER OF ALBION

Belgrade (New London), British Serbia, The Order of Albion.


Beautiful murals lined the walls to the Kings chamber, some of them nearly two hundred years old. They depicted their heroic forefathers storming the Royal Palace after Edward Charles’ imprisonment, coming to the true King’s rescue. Then they showed him, rising from his cell surrounded by a divine golden light, like a beatific vision.

They filled Fennman with fiery purpose, and he strode towards the monarch chambers, head held high.

Two Royal Guard stood by the huge doors, Halberds crossed.

“I am Lord Fennman, most humble servant of the King. I bear him word.”

“His majesty does not want to be disturbed. “

“What? I am Lord Fennman”

“His majesty does not want to be disturbed.”

Fennman quickly lost his temper.

“What? Look, you know who I am! If you don’t let me through this door I will have you both hung, and your families burnt alive! While you damn well watch!”

This rattled the nerve of the Royal Guards who barred the entrance to the Kings personal chamber, but they remained in place.

“We beg your forgiveness your lordship, but we are acting under the protection of Royal Decree. The King will not be disturbed.”

“You had your chance. Guards!”

Fennman’s personal retinue marched down the corridor.

“Take these insubordinate swine to the block. There will be no ceremony, no public occasion. Just do it quickly and cleanly. I want their bodies out of the fortress within the hour.”

The Royal guards screamed in outrage and protest as they were dragged away. A few years ago Fennman himself would never have dared to cross the orders of the Royal Guard, seeing as they were the personal soldiers of the King himself. But Fennman didn’t care much for their Royal Decree anymore.

The King’s health was ailing. That was why the King had not joined the celebratory processions in New London to deliver his speech. The truth had been closely guarded from the public eye, but it was no secret to the nobility that his health was declining more and more rapidly.

Since the aristocracy had last convened in his court, the King had deteriorated greatly. Now he was confined to his personal chambers, unable even to stand up unassisted. Some said he had even gone mad.

He was in no position to rule right now. But when Fennman had taken on the feudal lordship of New London, after Slavic assassins took his father from him, he had sworn undying allegiance to the line of Edward Charles.

Fennman was somewhat lacking in morals, perhaps. But he did not go back on his word. He had sworn an oath and he would keep it.

Fennman entered the chamber.

He could never help himself but to gasp in awe whenever he entered it. Set in the very heart of the fortress, it was a miracle of British ingenuity and architecture. The sheer scale of the building threatened to overwhelm the unprepared soul who stepped inside. It was said that over half a million Slavic slaves had died in its construction

Vast, towering gothic arches soared into the sky, reaching towards the almighty. A thousand windows of beautiful stained glass radiated a blazing aurora of divine light.

Up above in the far reaches of the gothic sprawl, so high up the eye could barely see with clarity, enormous banners of the order hung covered in roiling scrolls of sanctified parchment that trailed off them, suspended in the still air.

Such awe-inspiring majesty befitted the throne room of the King of Britannia.

But did the ailing King befit Britannia? Dark thoughts clouded Fennman’s mind.

Across the vast chamber, the King lay slumped across his golden throne, his fine and regal robes dishevelled and frayed. For all the glory of his chamber, the man himself was such a sorry sight.

“What is the meaning of this?” the King stammered weakly. “I said no disturbances!”

“My Lord, there are matters of state that require your attention. You are the King of Britannia, your people need you to rule them!”

“Look at me Fennman. Am I in any state to do so? Leave me be!” The King coughed up a disgusting wad of phlegm and blood, spattering his royal vestments with filth.

“My lord. The very future of our blessed isles is at stake. What is a kingdom without a King? Our people need a strong leader in these times of hardship and peril!” Fennman tried to hold back the growing anger in his voice.

“Go to hell! Give a dying man some peace.” The King muttered.

Fennman saw that this was useless. He was utterly distraught. What would become of the Order now? War and disaster loomed imminent, and the King of Britannia was too ill to do anything?

Fennman was effectively paralysed. Without royal assent, he was powerless.

“Your…majesty, I have served you, your people have all served you with unwavering loyalty and dedication throughout your reign. Your people have shed their blood and sacrificed their lives to see you become King of the British Isles.

But a monarch has a duty to his people in return. You promised them their homeland. You promised them justice. You cannot abandon them now.”

“Watch me,” the King gasped weakly. He closed his eyes, and sunk even deeper into his throne.

Dear god, Fennman thought. What will become of us when our King has lost his senses? He had to do something.

Then a most, reprehensible, damnable thought came into his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Fennman saw a ceremonial halberd of the Royal Guard, mounted on one of the great columns that upheld the King’s majestic chamber.

Could he do it? Would he? He had sworn an oath of loyalty to the King Edward Charles III and his line. But was this the man that he had sworn his loyalty to?

No, but a few years ago this man was a great and noble leader. But it was clear that whatever disease or malediction blighted him, it had damaged his mind as well as his body. The noble King that Fennman had sworn allegiance too, was no more.

It had to be done. Sweat beaded on Fennman’s forehead, and he saw the future flash before him. If he did not remove this mad king, then the Order would crumble, and Britannia would forever be lost. But could he betray his divinely appointed monarch? What would become of his immortal soul?

He had a choice. Where did his ultimate loyalty lie? Was it with his King, Edward Charles III, or was it with his homeland itself, the blessed isles? Had any man ever faced a more terrible decision?

“Oh damn the agony of choice!” Fennman cried out. The King merely responded with a weak chuckle.

That was it. The King was mad. It had to be done, for the future of the Order of Albion, for the future of his people and his homeland.

Fennman pulled the halberd from the column. He stumbled back, straining under its surprisingly heavy weight. It felt long and unwieldy in his untrained hands. Fennman was an aristocrat; he had never laid hands on a weapon before.

He pointed the halberd at the King, whose eyes opened wide with fright.

“What are you doing?” he sputtered.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Fennman stammered, “I am only doing what must be done”

With a cry Fennman forced the halberd forward, ramming the point into his gut. He wrung it round inside his squirming belly, shaking at the sickening sound of tearing meat.

He wrested the bloodied blade out of the screaming King. Thick blood bubbled out of his gaping wound, and within a minute he was silent. Silent, and dead.

Fennman collapsed to the floor.

“Lord have mercy on my soul” he sobbed.

It was done. The Order would survive. If he were damned, then at least his soul would be martyred to hellfire to save the future of his people.

Fennman slowly pulled himself together, forcing all those terrible thoughts out of his mind. He had killed the man with the halberd of a royal guard.

He rushed out of the chamber, discarding his gaudy robes, now smeared with dark blood.

He ran, ran faster than he ever had in his damned life.

He burst into the dungeon. “Stop! Let them live! Don’t kill them!”

He was just in time. His men had just lopped off the head of one of the Royal Guardsmen who had stood in his way, and now they held the axe just above the neck of the second.

“We need him alive.”

++++++++++++++++++++++
3 weeks later
++++++++++++++++++++++

Once again Fennman stood atop the towering battlements of the King’s Fortress. Up here the air was clear, unsullied by the cankerous stink of the common people that lived around the fortress walls.

He looked down on the bustling city of New London. The commoners went on about their daily lives under the shadow of the vast and terrible edifice, utterly unaware of the madness that transpired within.

The knowledge of the Kings death had been kept totally secret from the masses. Now was not the time to reveal such a tragedy. Not so soon after the celebrations.

But messages had been sent to all the noble families of the land, telling them of the tragedy and the dire catastrophe that their nation now faced. Their presence had been demanded at the King’s Fortress once more, to resolve the crisis.

Fennman saw another carriage enter through the gates. He could faintly make out the insignia on the carriage top. That was Lord Thorpe of Zagubica.

Yes. That was the last one. They were all here.

The aristocracy had all assembled in the monarch’s court once more. Fennman strode in, and begun, without ceremony.

“My brethren” Fennman began. “As you know, a great and terrible tragedy has rocked the very heart of our state. The King is dead. “

“ How did he die? We demand to know!”

“Murdered.”

Gasps of shock and horror filled the room.

“Dear god!”

“Lord have mercy on us all.”

“What will become of the Order?”

“He was murdered,” Lord Fennman continued, “By a member of his very own Royal Guard. Here, is his killer!”

Fennmans retinue marched the man at pistol-point into the court. He had been given baggy dungeon rags that covered almost his entire body, to hide the scars of his torment. Fennman had seen too it that he was tortured until he confessed to the King’s murder.”

“Speak!” Lord Campbell of Smedevero demanded

“I confess, to the murder of the King of Brittania. I have been in collaboration with the Slavic slaves. I killed him to avenge the brutality he inflicted upon them. I killed him with my halberd.”

“Traitorous scum” Lord Fennman assured his audience. He waved his retinue off, and they marched the man away.

“I have decided to disband the Royal Guard, in case any more of them are tainted with treacherous thoughts.” He continued.

“Well” Lord Shawe, commander of the Order’s military stood up, “Execute the perpetrator. That is well within the scope of your duties my good Lord. But from where do you derive the authority to disband the entire Royal Guard! They are the best soldiers our Order possesses!”

“Well, my good Lord Shawe. The King has no immediate successor. We cannot give the crown to that damned half-breed son he kept hidden in the fortress, and the true heir to the crown is hardly more than a month old.

As Lord and Governor of New London, the Capital city of the Order, I have taken it upon myself to rule the nation in our future monarchs name, until the infant comes of age when he shall be crowned Edward Charles IV!” Fennman announced.

The aristocracy flew into outrage.

“What gives you the right to rule in his name?”

“This is a travesty!”

“Dear god this is a crisis unparalleled” Lord Nevinson declared. “With our King dead and no heir ready to take the throne, the very stability of the nation is at threat! Gentlemen, surely to preserve order and control, command should be turned over to Lord Shawe and the military, until the infant is old enough to be King.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

“The military has its place my brothers” Fennman retorted, “but they are not rulers! The military is a tool of the state. You fear that I may abuse my power. Fear not. Until the next King is crowned, I will serve the needs of the state to have a ruler. But I will never claim that my power is absolute, for only a divinely appointed monarch can lay that claim.

We shall manage the state, together, until Edward Charles IV is ready to be crowned.”

“Very well” Lord Shawe accepted. “Now, we shall all mourn for our lost sovereign in due time, but now let us be quick, for there are many other matters that require our imminent attention.”

“Quite right, my good Lord Shawe” Fennman agreed.

“Now, the first matter which must be discussed is this…cryptic message which we received from the Croato-Albanian Empire not a few days after we last convened.”

Lord Fennman presented the scroll to the aristocracy. And showed them the chest that it had arrived in, with it’s crystal tulips.

To the house of Order of Albion,
from the Throne of Albania
Greetings towards you and your dynasty from my beloved country,
First to be on top of my manners i am aware that a son has been born to your family,with a strong man as his father like you,I
don't doubt that your dynasty and country shall continue your path to glory.
However-I Etheros Armes send this letter with a political agenda to discuss the relations between our neighboring countries.
Croato-Albanian Monarchy is fully aware of the situation your in and we understand your claims on the British isles,which we all-especially me believe are valid,therefore our country would be happy to help yours move back to your ethnic lands.

However you should not take this as a request of an alliance,
take this letter as a sign of our interest towards you and your people.
Im looking forward your respond...

,King Etheros Armes of Albania

There was mass confusion among them.

“What on earth are they trying to say?”

“What does that mean, that they are ‘interested in us’?”

“I don’t like it, I don’t like filthy Slavs and I don’t like this”

“It says they recognise our claim to Britannia!” Lord Shawe exclaimed, surprised. “The Slavs have never seemed so…neutral before. Normally I would expect them to send us a long-winded list of insults and threats.”

“Indeed” Lord Aldebourne agreed, “the Slav has always regarded us with hostility, if not outright hatred and anger. I do not understand the strange indifference to us that they express in this message.”

“Our forefathers wrested this land from the cold, dead fingers of butchered Slavs. For the last two centuries we have either been at war with the Croato-Albanian Empire, or at the very least in some very hostile border disputes, and now they send us a chest full of fine crystals.” Lord Shawe raised an eyebrow.

“I believe brothers, that the general consensus is that we still do not trust the Slav.” Lord Fennman queried.

A chorus of agreement resounded through the court once more.

“That is good to hear. And now we should compose a letter to send back to them”

To King Tomislav of Croatia,

The Order of Albion is pleased to hear that you support our claims to Britannia, despite the fact that there has been much enmity between our two nations in the past.

Your ancient empire is a potent military force, and your armies could one day be of great use against the false pretender on the British throne.

But be warned Great King, that we still do not trust the Slav. Your message portrays a newfound indifference to our presence, and yet we can see that you still regard us with hateful eyes.

The land that the Order of Albion rules over today was bloodily wrested from your people, and we know that you desire your former territories back. You cannot deceive us, by buying our trust with crystal trinkets.

But know this O Great King. When the Order of Albion reclaims the British throne for the line of Edward Charles, we will have no further need for this land. When we have our homeland back, so will your people have theirs.

When Britain is ours, we will return this land to your people.

“is the matter satisfactorily dealt with then?” Fennman asked.

The room was filled with murmurs of agreement.

“And what of the war preparation taxes the King decreed before he died?” Lord Aldebourne queried.

“We must be wary of the Slav!” Lord Shawe reminded them. “We must not repeal the war preparation taxes! It was our Edward Charles III’s last act as monarch, and we will respect it.

And I do not trust the Slavs. Despite their honeyed words, I believe that our nation is still threatened by invasion from the Croato-Albanian Empire! If we repeal the taxes we will be financially unable to support a large army in the event of an invasion. “

There was resounding disagreement. Lord Shawe was the lord commander of the Order’s armies, and so the war preparation tax money from all the aristocrat’s lands would be going to him.

“Should our lands be taxed to fund your army Lord Shawe?”

“You will not line your pockets with my wealth!”

“Gentlemen!” Lord Thorpe of Zagubica stood up, “I believe we can be civil about this. Lord Shawe, I can give a reasoned argument for why the war preparation taxes are unneeded.”

“What?” Lord Shawe thundered, “You would risk Britannia’s future for your own prosperity!”

“Let me continue, Lord Shawe,” Thorpe feigned fatigue. “I do apologise to you my brothers for arriving so late and thus delaying you all, but I have my reasons. While travelling from Zagubica, my convoy was raided by Slavs looking for food.

Fleeing Albanians no less. My personal guard fought off the raiders, and we captured and interrogated several. Now, we have known for a long time that the Croato-Albanian Empire is mired in ethnic conflict.

Their empire rules over many disparate peoples, and internal strife is constant among them. Their leadership has made many attempts to eradicate ethnic differences. The Hungarian nationality has been all but erased in recent years, as you know.

But we learned from our prisoner, that Albania, for centuries an equal partner of Croatia in the Imperial rule, has ben permanently annexed into Croatia.

They were Albanian refugees fleeing the Imperial Croatian yoke. It is evident that with the massive internal conflict this will cause, the Slavs will be in no state to invade us.

The Taxes are unnecessary.”

Apart from Lord Shawe and Fennman, there was unanimous agreement with Lord Thorpe.

“Very well” Fennman conceded, “I believe it is a mistake, but the majority have made their desires clear. “War Preperation Taxes upon the lands of the aristocracy are hereby…repealed.

Now, we shall move on to the next matter of state. I am sure you will be pleased to hear, that the Greeks have granted us a most fair and reasonable deal.”

Fennman presented his audience with the terms.

TO BASILEUS EDWARD CHARLES III

Basileus Ptolemaios XVI of House Xanthos hereby wishes for the blessings of the gods, both Old and New, upon the great nation of the Order of Albion, and may they continue to prosper under the watchful eyes of Zeus Philoxenon.

The sovereign of the Boeotian League hereby recognizes your King's claim over the islands of Prettanike, or Britannia as your people call it, and therefore acknowledges the legitimacy of your divine right to rule as established by the almighty gods of Olympus. The Basileus hereby wishes to declare his support to Basileus Edward Charles III, and strengthen the ties between our two peoples in the form of an alliance, and wishes to discuss the terms of this alliance.

1. Observing the position of Albion in the region, the Boeotian League hereby surrenders the port-town of Epidamnus and all nearby towns in the region to Albion.

2. The Boeotian League agrees to train able-bodied men from your kingdom to be expert sailors and navymen, so as to preserve the dominion of Albion in the region.

3. The Boeotian League allows the establishment of trade routes between the two great nations.

4. The Boeotian League shall hereby send ten thousand of its best hoplites and Thessalian horsemen from nearby provinces to your disposal.

5. The Boeotian League shall aid in any possible future endeavours against the Britannian Empire.

6. The Order of Albion shall not consort with the enemies of the Boeotian League, nor shall it support any enemy movement against the Boeotian League.

7. The Order of Albion is to aid the Boeotian League in any possible future endeavours against its enemies.

Signed,

Basileus Ptolemaios, Sixteenth of His Name, Sovereign of House Xanthos, Bearer of the Twin Crowns of Boeotia and Makedonia, Wielder of the Labrys of Peloponnisos, of Chersos Ellas, of Aetolia, of Thessalia, of Acarnania, of Epeiros, of Illyria, of Odrusai, of Getai, of Troas, of Aeolis, of Ionia, of Doris, of Lycia, of Pamphylia, of Cilicia, of Kriti, of Kypros, of Kyrene, of Karkhedon, and all the islands of the Archipelago and the Ionios, Guardian of the Hellespontos.

“I do pray there is no question about this” Lord Shawe implored, “it is an excellent offer. They offer military protection against the Slavs and against the false King!”

Lord Grey, Admiral of the Order, rose from his seat. “And they offer us the chance to become a naval power! Now Brittania will be placed within reach!”

Fortunately, agreement this time was undisputed. There was thunderous applause.

“My good Lords,” Fennman began, “In securing this alliance with the Greeks, we preserve our hope, and we secure the future of our Order, our people, and our blessed isles! We must compose a response at once!”

To the Basileus Ptolemaios xvi Xathos

Oh, great leader, the Order sends you its thanks. Your offer is most fair and equitable, and the Order has unanimously accepted all of the terms offered.

This message will be brief, because we have no disagreement over any of your terms.

May god bless your people, and may the filthy Slavic stain that corrupts the Balkan lands be eradicated from this world.

“Excellent!”

“A most splendid turn of events!”

“I do heartily agree!”

“Moving on,” Fennman gestured for the aristocracy’s attention. “Lord Grey, Lord High Admiral of the Order of Albion, you shall travel to Epidamnus. Take a retinue of two thousand soldiers, and you shall conscript fifty thousand commoners to join you!

There, the Greeks will train your conscripts to be sailors, and you shall build us the finest navy Britain has ever seen!”

“My Lords” Lord Aldebourne of Valijevo rose from his seat. “When last we convened here, I informed you that our infrastructure is an abysmal state. Much of our country is still untamed wilderness, and where they exist at all we still use the centuries old roads left here by the Slavs.

We must solve this crisis. I propose a restoration tax on our lands to build new roads in our nation!”

There was grudging agreement.

“And what of the food crisis you informed us of?” Lord Nevinson asked.

“Now with access to the sea, I believe fishing fleets can solve all our shortages for the time being.”

“Very well,” Fennman agreed. “Now we have this curious message from the Spaniards. Merely asking that we acknowledge their existence. How shall we reply?”

Dear, Fellow Nations of Europe

I do not know you and I only send these couriers in hopes of finding other civilized people like me and my countrymen. If you find this courier dead or alive please reply to my message. I hope to establish contact with someone.

Singed, Rodrigo Medenzo II

The aristocrats came to a consensus.

To the Great King of Spain Rodrigo Mendenzo II,

Greetings from the Divine Order of Albion.

We answer your call for contact. We are a proud and militaristic people, but as you should know our only quarrels are with the Slavic peoples of the Croatian Empire, and the false king that sits on the British throne.

All others are our welcome allies. If you wish to trade with our nation, we would be open to any mutually beneficial trade agreements.

Anyone who accepts our claim to the British throne is a friend.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A day later
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

From the battlements Fennman watched Lord Grey set off for the Greek lands with his army, and his men.

So, he had done it. Within weeks of…. removing the King, most of the nations direst threats had been addressed. Could he say that his regicide was the wrong choice?

He turned and looked down over the other side of the battlements, into the sprawling, labyrinthine courtyards of the King’s Fortress.

There was the half-breed child again. Now he could be dealt with properly.

[Communist republic of altorus]

The news in New London travelled slowly to the Empire of middle Asia as they discussed the death of the king they knew who had killed him. That lord Fennman had done that however the great house would not release this information. For fear of retribution the way they had obtained this information was they had sent a spy acting as a mercenary to the kingdom of Albion who had briefly been working for the king he had seen lord Fennman's bloodied clothes and halberd. Eventually the mercenary left pretending to have not seen anything he had arrived 2 days after in Ukinau and told them what had occurred.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Outskirts of Cairo
General Hamad’s command tent

“invincibility lies in the defence, victory lies in the attack”
-Sun Tzu

Hamad the oldest brother of the caliph, commander of the Sinai Army, was confident. He sat on his chair, which was nothing more than two wooden x’s, nailed together at the middle and connected at the top with a piece of silk. It didn’t have the splendour one might expect from the current heir to the throne, but it was a hell of a lot easier to take this thing on a campaign than a solid golden throne. But his command tent made up for it. It was a large, green-white structure, made up of multiple segments. Right now, Hamad sat at his oak table, in the middle compartment. From here, he commanded the army he loved so dearly. It might belong to the caliph, but it was more like family to Hamad. The command tent had every aspect of a palace. Paintings of past wars, with only the light brown of the shrouds were the faces should be, in good Muslim habit. The tent had doors of silk, guards at every entrance, pieces of art, flowers, even two canaries, chasing each other in their cage.

Two days ago, his army had arrived at its position. It had been an all-inspiring sight. Large columns of footmen, in synchrony, marching towards the Egyptian capital. They had crossed the borders a week ago, a day before the caliph gave the order. Such was Hamad’s confidence. The border was easily crossed. The large army, 500.000 men in total, scared away the Egyptian vanguard just by marching at them, and stragglers had been cut down by their hundreds by catapathracts and horse archers. The columns followed the caravan roads, for they were well-known to the caliphate merchants who travelled to the Egyptian capital. Another reason for Abu to invade. The Christian pharaoh taxed the Muslim merchants to the point that almost no profit was made by trade with Europeans. Muslim tax, prayer tax, camel tax, all imposed on merchants from Arabia. The assassination of the Petty Caliph gave the new caliph the casus belli to invade directly without warning. Which he did. Now, battalion after battalion after battalion streamed across the desert roads, flanked by heavy cavalry, and, sometimes, heavy ordinance. Great Bombards, or Salahadin’s Mother, as the foot soldiers called the pieces of artillery. Hamad officially denounced the name, but he secretly found the comparison ingenious. Basjar ibn Salahadin, commander of the eastern armies, found it a lot less funny, but Hamad waved away his complains, stating that “They are not talking about your blessed mother, but about the Great Salahadin!” at which the general always grumbled.

Now, a week later, Hamad sat around the large oak table with his commanders. Big names were gathered here. Harad of Jerusalem, who crushed a Jewish uprising. Jahar of Medina, who caught an arrow in his shoulder for a soldier. And, of course, Khaled the Protector, who led the caliphs honour guard during a coup by traitorous Arab tribesmen. They, and a few other men, looked at a map in front of them. Black lines, thick, thin, or dotted, made outlines on the brown piece of paper. On top of the map, pieces of wood were positioned. Small rectangles of two colours littered the map. Inside the mapped city, red pieces blocked important choking points. The main square in front of the royal palace, but also the roads leading to other important buildings. The crudely drawn walls were littered with the red blocks. The other block, which outnumbered the red ones greatly, were green. They were positioned around the city like a crescent moon, in a kind of brick pattern. Hamad knew the pieces by heart, for he had led them many times. This was the second day that he discussed tactics with his commanders. One of them, Khaled, spoke first.

“We need to starve them out, my lord. Our battalions have encircled their positions almost perfectly. According to my calculations, they would have to surrender within the month, of we blockade the Nile. Three weeks, if we used the artillery.”

Harad was quick in his response.

“The Egyptians might have gained the trust of the local tribesmen by then. Do you want to fight a guerrilla war in the desert, Khaled? No, my lord, We must end this war quickly. A full-blown frontal assault, with ladders and siege towers is our only option. The walls must remain intact, if we want to defend our new asset.”

Other commanders nodded at Harad. This was the well-known tactic with which he defeated the Jews in Jerusalem, and it had worked tremendously. But Khaled immediately attacked the preposition, with the fierce fury that was his most-known trait.

“Our troops will perish if we fight the Egyptians in their home city. Those squares are death traps, if you ask me. If you want a frontal attack, be a man and lead it at the front line!”

These disputes were common. Harad was a heroic man, an attacker, a fighter. ‘Glory or the Kingdom of Heaven’ was his motto, and even engraved into his sword. His greatest wish was to die on the battlefield, and secure fame for himself and his family. The Jews of Jerusalem were massacred after the recapture, and the survivors fled to the Balkans, Britain, and Egypt, which was widely known as the Exodus Reborn. Khaled (Only just now I figured out where I got that name), however, was more calculating and cautious, a good trait for a guardsman. In his book, in which he describes in detail the caliphate army, he used the sentence ‘wars are fought in the end, not in the middle’. He believed one should achieve victory at the lowest cost, and he didn’t care for glory. Hamad himself didn’t really have a solid rule of conduct. He made things up as he went along, an generally disliked the arguments his commanders had, despite great respect for both of them. His mind floated through the room. The voices of the commanders died out in his mind, and made way for all the sounds around him. The blowing of the desert, the sounds of the river Nile, the marching of soldiers, and, most of all, the tweeting of his canaries. They were doing some kind of dance, chasing each other through the cage. Sometimes they would get each other, and begin again. Then, Hamad saw it. He straightened up immediately. His male canary, blue with stripes of green, would pretend to flutter in one direction, but fly in the path of his evading partner, and get here mid-flight. They were doing it constantly, but the female bird didn’t seem to learn. Hamad stood up from his seat, and the commanders stopped bickering. They looked straight at the general, waiting for what he had to say.

“Birds, commanders. My birds can lead this army better than you.” He pointed at the fighting couple. With his command staff, he pointed at a part of the map. “Here, our ladders and siege towers will gather. Tomorrow, at dawn, they will commence their assault with 50.000 men.”. Harad shone bright like a star, he felt proud that his plan was to be adopted. He looked at Khaled, who was clearly not pleased with the decision. “Get that smirk of your face, Harad. This is a mistake” He grumbled. Hamad smiled at them both. He continued talking, but couldn’t resist smirking a bit. “Let me finish, ladies. Then, 300.000 men will attack the weak points left by our enemies. They will put all their troops at fending off our towers, and before they can turn to meet us, their walls will have been breached by ordinance.”. The commanders looked at him with astonishment and shame, that they hadn’t come up with a plan that simple. They couldn’t argue, it was the best idea of both, but they didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting. They just nodded in agreement.

So, it was decided. At 18:00 that night, the bombards started hammering at every point in the city wall, but most of all, at the positions targeted by Hamad. The roar of cannon fire made it difficult to sleep, but a feeling of joy and happiness, that a man can only feel at the eve of battle, filled him up. Tomorrow, he would be the ruler of Egypt.

[Riserland]

The forbidden city, China

The early morning sun peered it's head over the walls as hundreds of men filled the narrow streets. Each man wore the exact same orange robes and carried scrolls under each arm, upon their backs and even in their mouths. Their sandals made a distinct click and clack upon the hardwood floors as they entered their respective places of employment. These men are bureaucrats; they manage taxation, armies, mail, agriculture and various other logistics for the entire empire. Beside each bureaucrat sits a boy dressed in the same robes but only in his early teens- these apprentices are tasked with picking up where the social workers leave off in the event one of them grows old or dies by other means. In the mean time these boys disburse into the greater city of Beijing to give messages to riders who will get them to Mongolia, Myanmar, India and beyond.....



Amidst the fog below the golden-orange sky a single figure climbs the steps towards the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Two guards armed with pikes bow deeply before the silhouette, he then thrusts open the double doors and enters the throne room. This is 22 year old Emperor Jiajing and today is his ascension to the throne. His father lived to be 67, no small feat given the time period but yesterday his time finally came thus it is now time to start the cycle once again. Generals, aristocrats, governors and guards fill the lowly lit room as hundreds of candles burn all around- each person is at their knees in dead silence.......A new age for the empire of China is about to begin.........

Current situation of the chineese empire

Domestic
By and large the nation is interconnected, at peace and prospering.

A new emperor has been crowned

The cities of Shanghai, Taipei and Hong Kong are plagued by piracy- economic growth in the surrounding regions is slowed slightly.



Foreign
No new developments

[Communist republic of altorus]

The great house chairman wrote to the Chinese emperor the letter began


Dear revered emperor

I congratulate you upon your ascendance to the Chinese throne while offer my condolences over your fathers death please accept a carved wooden dove showing we want peace with your great nation. I wish to have a trade route In between our nations so we can give each over spices and weapons.

Please respond revered emperor

From John Unghu


After writing this letter the chairman ordered each soldier to be supplied with a musket and full breastplate armour. This makes them slow but can take lots of shots without being penetrated by bullets, All people are to help modernise the sewage systems in the country increasing cleanliness.