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1850: Alternative Divergence [AH][IC]

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The Ik Ka Ek Akai
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 13362
Founded: Mar 08, 2013
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby The Ik Ka Ek Akai » Wed Jan 17, 2018 12:36 pm

Well, this was certainly an interesting situation. The gentle monk had turned apologetic, even more docile, and insisted that he had struck an offense to her. She thought briefly on the situation, questioning what might urge such behavior out of him. Was it, perhaps, simply his being set in his traditions? After all, someone of her status was quite important- the landed nobility holding much sway and practically inventing knights in times of old. Perhaps her status was even more important now, when feudalism was squashed and centralized governance ruled the world. To top it off, she was the Latin empress! As much as she might be forced to recognize Constantinople as the superior court, the Catholics of the world would always look to her as the true heir to Rome. Fair enough- it was her palace in the city after all!

"All is forgiven, do not fret." She said at last, giving a gentle, almost motherly smile. It was, after all, the way the Pope worked- being the holy father. Would her imitation of that for this monk, then, be suitable? No time to consider, the situation demanded to be progressed. "You have committed no true slight against fair Roma, but if you wish to lend your noble service, know that we will always welcome the knights of God and their holy brothers in this land. The Occident must be in service to her people as her people are in service to her."

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Heidi Girl of the Alps
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 64
Founded: Apr 09, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Heidi Girl of the Alps » Thu Jan 18, 2018 5:29 pm

Reino de España
Madrid
National Palace
The Teutons

Image

Olivares was familiar with the German stereotype that they were quite brutally honest and straightforward. Some would see this a positive trait- but in this case Schäffer's request was far from at all being appropriate...especially given how early in the meeting they were. His guests lack of tact caused him to wince slightly. He had hoped that such a request would not be given- perhaps they would ask for economic cooperation, a treaty of friendship and trade, or possibly anything else not directly involving his war. But this only confirmed his deepest suspicions. He was well aware of the war in the Baltics. War correspondants reported on the war monthly..or whenever they could get a message through the Scandinavian blockade. Olivares was well read and made it a habit to read the newspaper every day. Could joining the war truly be favorable for the Confederation?

Shrugging off the initial suprise of Schäffer's response, he shifted his hands and rested his chin on his clenched hands giving a smug pensive look. "That is quite the bold request, Don Schäffer. I would almost say it is rude for a man of your rank and honor to ask such a thing, especially since i've known you for less than an hour. Perhaps our hospitality and promptness has been misconstrued as a carte blanche to ask of us anything you so desire. If that's the case then I should not have to tell you that that is not what we are attempting to convey here..." Olivares beckoned to a butler in the room carrying an ornate decanter set on a metal tray, who promptly approached him to pour him a glass of scotch. Olivares continued, however this time with glass in hand, he leaned back into his seat in a quite relaxed position "Nonetheless I find your honesty amusing Don Schäffer. Since you have journeyed so far I will hear your case. But in the interest of a more meaingful discourse I will need to call another man into this meeting, if it does not displease you." Nodding to one of the concierges, he knew this was the cue to call Saliz, the Minister of the Navy to the table. When he left, Olivares cued for the Minister of War to begin speaking. Diaz then again cued for another concierge to give him a large rolled up paper, tied by a red textile cloth. He placed it on the table, unraveling the noose that bound the paper. While he fiddled with it (Quite ackwardly) he directed a question at Schäffer, in the same bluntness which his guests had decided to present themsleves as. "Tell me Don Schäffer, what would the reward be for my countrymens blood? How would you expet us to fight such a war?"
Reino de España
Madrid
National Palace
The Irish

The palace guards manning the gate took several minutes to confirm Ó Ceallaigh's request to enter. After a guard returned with the greenlight, the Irish mission was let inside the gates where they continued along a path up a small incline towards the palace. Once there, another smaller set of gates guarded by another contingent of palace guards awaited them. However unlike the previous checkpoints, they were let in without haste into the palace front space. The diplomats were given a cursory inspection by the guards- as men of high honor were not allowed to be touched by anyone unless absolutely necessary. This rule applied doubly so for foreign diplomats, who according to Iberian custom were to be treated with utmost respect and hospitality. Although leaders sometimes lapsed on this rule- the servants and guards never did (at least not without permission. The irish dismounted, however they were disallowed to carry baggage inside for the time being. The Irish entered into the same atrium the Teutons had been greeted in just an hour earlier however unlike before, one of the guards directed a question to Ó Ceallaigh when inside. "My apologies for the inconvinience. But we must know who you intend to bring inside, so we know what the appropriate avenue within will be for your statesmen's business. In the meantime, do not languish in our presence sir- some servants will arrive with refreshments shortly."
Iberian La Plata
Southern Chile
Puntos Arenas

"How are you doing father? I hope you have found yourself confortable in your new mission."

Father Montanna had his back turned, leaning over a cabinet top to read a book. A young woman's voice startled him and caused him to give a suprised glance back. Seeing that it was just a young follower from the previous nights mass, he turned to face her . Relieved, he gave a warm greeting as any priest usually does. "Ah, you startled me young lady. How can I help you?" The priest turned fully to his guest, to give her his attention.

"I have news from Commodore Diaz father. The settlers who were expected to arrive are at the palisades nehind the western gate. As did the promised soldiers. Here, I have a letter from their Colonel. It was Lopez, if I remember..." She extended her arm to hand Montanna the sealed letter. The father opened the letter and found a full record that Lopez had taken during the journey.

Written here is Colonel Lopez's full record of his journey to PUNTOS ARENAS. Please mind my improper writing

January 3: We departed from the last outpost, with 1,912 civilians, 1950 rankers, a small contingent of mounted scouts, and and indeterminate amount of oxen, sheep, and horses. After brief discussion, we decided we would continue south until we reached the port, where the rest would embark to the chosen settlement area north.

January 5: Light rain spoiled a few uncovered rations. We decided to share some soldiers rations to avoid returning to the last stop. Caravan leader stopped in order to allow the soldiers to make the pace- albeit begrudgingly.

January 7: Infantry marches at a pace undesirable to the caravans. Leader asks to keep marching over night to keep schedule. I dissaproved and continued at the current pace.

January 9: Scouts reported traces of observers, likely heathens or natives. March continues without a stop.

January 11: Scouts come into contact with a small group of heathen women and children. Reported sypmtoms of the Pox. I decided to spare them rations, however settlers refused. Due to the resistance, I decided to leave them be- a decision I find regretable.

January 13: We find an abandoned village of heathens, few days old. We find nothing of value. Upon further inspection, we find the resting place of scores of men just a few hundred [yards] east of the village, near a cove.

January 15: (arrival). Waiting for entrance.


Montanna only gave the letter a brief skim before closing it. He sighed and thanked the young lady for her dutifulness, and sent her on her way.

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23745
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tracian Empire » Fri Jan 19, 2018 11:31 am

Image
Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων
Βασιλεία Ῥωμαίων
Basileia tōn Rhōmaiōn
Basileía Rhōmaíōn

The Empire of the Romans
The Roman Empire

Η βασιλεύς Σύγκλητος και ο Λαός της Ρώμης
I Basileus Sýnklitos kai o Laós tis Rómis
The Emperor, Senate and People of Rome

Βασιλεύς Βασιλέων Βασιλεύων Βασιλευόντων!
Basiléus Basiléon Basilévon Basilevónton!
Emperor or Emperors, Ruling Over Those Who Rule!


Legacy of Rome


Image
Constantinople
City of God, City of Light.. brave New Rome, show your might!


Μέγα Παλάτιον
Palatium Magnum


The room was dark, but some of the rays of the sun still managed to get through the brocade curtains, announcing the end of the night and the beginning of the day. A tall, oaken door was opened, allowing a servant to enter the room, a man wearing a golden necklace, with a medallion decorated with the emblem of the Palaiologos family. With solemn gestures, the servant raised the curtains, allowing the light to enter, revealing the green marble columns behind him. At the same time, another servant, one who had been in the room all this time, sitting on a chair right next to the large bed, stood up, leaning over a nearby table, initiating the mechanism of a small, bronze tree, and the mechanical canaries on its branches started to sing. In the bed, a young man, Emperor Michael IX Palaiologos, slowly opened his eyes. He was tired, as he had only gone to sleep a couple of hours before - as he had to spend most of the night in a banquet with a large group of important nobles - a really complicated and rather unpleasant affairs. And well.., he was probably never going to get used to this again. It was pretty weird.. how two years could change a man that much. He should have been used to this, most of his childhood had been the same. But the military expeditions in which his father had sent him had truly changed him. Life was short.. frail.. and precious..and as the man instinctively touched the small scar on his chest.. he thought that all of these ceremonials and rules surrounding the court life in Constantinople were.. rather ridiculous. He respected them, of course, they were traditions, passed along from generations gone.. but they were still slow, and cumbersome.

Still, there was nothing he could do about that. He sat up from the bed, slowly walking into the adjacent room, were a porphyry pool with lukewarm water was waiting for him. Like well, a lot of the Roman citizens in the middle and upper classes, Michael loved to have baths, but not only because of the near compulsive obsession of the Roman culture with being clean. He loved to bathe, water always calmed him down, cleared his mind, and took the fatigue away. And yet, as he was climbing down the stairs of the pool, plunging into the water sprinkled with the essence of roses and lilies, with perfume from Tarsos and Metopion, he couldn't help but think if he would one day share the destiny of so many of his ancient imperial predecessors, who had died drowned as enemies held their heads under the water until life had completely left their bodies. A pretty morbid thought - and a ridiculous one, as his brother Constantine would say. He had to ask the court historian to make a list, but he was pretty certain that up to the establishment of the Palaiologos dynasty - way more than half of the Roman Emperors had died in shady ways, poisoned, drowned, mutilated, or suffocated. The Empire had long ago abandoned that dark past - for the past centuries, the sacrosanctity of the Emperor's person had been pretty firmly established. The state, the dynasty, and the succession were all safe, and as such, Michael had a lot less chances to die assassinated than the other eight Emperors who had worn his name. Still, the statistic only strengthened the basic idea that lied at the heart of being an Emperor. Wearing the imperial mantle was a duty, not a pleasure. And that was something he was never going to forget.

After the Nubian servant finished his daily massage, Michael covered himself in a silk robe, the one he only wore in his apartments, before he walked out on the terrace, to fill his lungs with some fresh air. From there, he was able to see a scenery so beautiful that it seemed forever new and changing. The waters of the Golden Horn were always changing, blue as the clear sky, green as the emerald, grey as the clouds that brought the rain, or sometimes vaguely purple, like an imperial mantle. And next to it, on both sides of the Bosporus, he was able to see the always living grand sight of Constantinople. Michael looked at the domes of the churches, at the towers of the palaces, at the great Hippodrome, at the many monuments and buildings, at the houses, at the trees, and the columns, the forums, the gardens.. And of course, what better way to end this short pleasure than by looking at the great Church of the Divine Wisdom, the Hagia Sophia? As beautiful as when it was built, the centre of Orthooxy.. Constantinople was truly the most beautiful city on the Earth.

The Basileus then returned to his room, where his breakfast was waiting for him. It was of course, a day of fasting, so the breakfast was pretty frugal by certain standards, but he had no problem with it. Some fasting helped both the mind and the spirit, something that many people had forgotten. And yet, once he stood up from the table, Michael's entire persona changed. The simple and friendly man from before immediately changed, taking on the proud and cold look of the Emperor and Autocrat of the oldest empire in Europe. The steward announced the arrival of the Grand Logothete and of course, the arrival of many other important dignitaries of the court, those who had the honour of witnessing the morning toilette of the Emperor. Many other servants, wearing sumptuous liveries, brought the clothes and other articles that their sovereign had to wear in that morning. Michael put on a long, white tunic, and then the servants wrapped his feet with purple bands before they put on crimson red shoes, embroidered with the imperial eagle. They then helped him put on the so called "sakkos", a long and rather rigid purple robe, with large and puffed sleeves, girding it with a belt decorated with pearls and diamonds. They placed the imperial mantle above the robe, fastening it on his left shoulder with a filigree fibula. Michael then made the sign of the cross before he kissed the miracle performing icon in the corner of the room, and then he placed the imperial crown on his head, the golden one, decorated with diamonds, sapphires, amethysts and rubies. He then took the sceptre and the globe in his hands, before looking at himself in the mirror. He smiled, a little satisfied. He had an imposing and commanding appearance.. as a Roman Emperor should have. In moments like these, the imperial ceremonials seemed to be.. perfect. After all, he was the continuation of a millenary tradition, the successor of Augustus, of Trajan, of Constantine the Great, of Justinian the Great, of Basil II the Bulgar Slayer, of Alexios I Komnenos, of Michael VIII Palaiologos..

As he was about to leave the room, Michael overheard what the Varangians in front of the doors were saying - in an attempt to improve their mediocre Greek, most of them decided to speak in it among themselves, but still, it was pretty funny. "Amazons? It sounds ridiculous, but it might be interesting to see a competition once.. between those rumoured Amazons, those Germanic Knights in the North, and you, my guards. Although I'm sure that you would win, right, my Varangians?" The four guards, all foreigners, smiled. "Of course, Basileus. They'd be no match for us.." Michael smiled too, and after that short example of being a human, the Emperor returned to well, being an Emperor. Surrounded by the guards and the many dignitaries, Michael walked towards the throne hall, through galleries filled with statues and and mosaics. And of course, the great hall itself, the marble columns and flooring, the golden gates, the dome above, beautifully decorated with flowers of porphyry and onyx, and the sculptures and mosaics showing moments from the glorious past of the empire. Finally, the Emperor sat down on the golden throne, and the Logothete of the Drome took a step forward.

"My Basileus, we have received a message from the Polish Commonwealth. General Jan Zygmunt Skrzynecki the representative of the Polish states in our Empire, speaking in the name of the Polish King, has asked you, my Emperor, to offer a loan to the Poles for the modernization of their infrastructure. They offer a share in the company that will build those railways, and of course, interest for our loan." The monarch remained quiet for a few moments. "It does not seem to be such a presumptuous request, of course, as long as they will pay back that loan. Having the Poles owing us some money could be an advantage, that way we can be sure that the rights of those Orthodox faithful in their lands are protected. And of course, if they will not pay back that loan, we have other ways to get that money back.. what do you think, Logothetes tou Eidikou?" An older man took a step forward too. "I believe that it would be a wise move to approve that loan. The loan does not need to be entirely supported by the state - I'm sure that the Church will donate a part of the sum if you, my Emperor, will explain talk with the Patriarch in order to explain to him that this loan is in the name of the Orthodox faith. Speaking with some nobles about the profit will also get us a part of that sum - we can arrange a meeting with the Doukas family. There is no need to take that money out from the state treasury - not until we discuss the Antioch-Alexandria railway." The Emperor nodded, but he barely controlled himself, as he couldn't just smile. Often, it seemed that the ceremonious interactions of the court were all games.. games planned from long beforehand. Of course, the Emperor had known about this from the day before - but this was a great opportunity to please both the Church and some of the bigger nobles. "So be it then. Send a message to General..Skr..Skrz.. Jan, for his King. The Roman Empire shall grant them that loan, even if we do not know what our brothers and sisters in the West will do. Anything else?" The Logothetes tou Eidikou bowed and took a few steps back, while the Logothete of the Drome started to speak, about matters concerning the Bureau of Barbarians this time. "Nothing concrete, my Emperor. It would seem that the Vandals have made no moves, and the rate of their attempts to raid our shores has been reduced over the past month. In north, in the Kingdom of Hungary, the ethnic tensions seem to be on a rise, but we do not know if that will cause any incidents. I will of course, bring you a report with all that my men know later today." Michael remained quiet for a few moments. "Send some more akritai up to the Danube, if we'll have any more Dacian or Romanian refugees pouring over.This could be helpful when we finally decide to start diplomatic relations with the Hungarians, they shouldn't forget that we are here." The Logothete of the Drome bowed, and as he took a step back, the Logothetes ton Oikeiakon stepped forward. "My Emperor.."


Image
Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων
Βασιλεία Ῥωμαίων
Basileia tōn Rhōmaiōn
Basileía Rhōmaíōn

The Empire of the Romans
The Roman Empire

Η βασιλεύς Σύγκλητος και ο Λαός της Ρώμης
I Basileus Sýnklitos kai o Laós tis Rómis
The Emperor, Senate and People of Rome

Βασιλεύς Βασιλέων Βασιλεύων Βασιλευόντων!
Basiléus Basiléon Basilévon Basilevónton!
Emperor or Emperors, Ruling Over Those Who Rule!



To General Jan Zygmunt Skrzynecki, His Majesty the King of Poland's Minister to the Roman Empire,


Most Honorable General Jan Zygmunt Skrzynecki, you will be pleased to find out that His Imperial Majesty has decided to give the Polish Railway Company the loan that you have asked for. The Roman Empire views the Polish Commonwealth with the utmost respect, and it of course wishes to have friendly relations with your nation. From that point of view, His Imperial Majesty would like to send Georgios Philanthropenos, Duke of Epirus, as his official representative in Warsaw. We hope that this will lead to better interactions and more cooperation between our two nations.


Signed by,

Ioannes Batatzes, Logothete of the Drome of the Empire of the Romans, in the name of:

His Imperial Majesty, Michael IX Palaiologos, in Christ Basileus and Autokrator of the Romans, Porphyrogennētos, Kaisar and Despot of the Eternal Rome, the Empire without End, Forever Sebastos, Viceroy of Jesus Christ on Earth, the Pious and the Blessed, Defender of the One True Orthodox Faith, Great Protector of the Holy Cities of Constantinople, Rome, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria, Lord of the Mare Nostrum, Sovereign of the Holy Order of the True Cross, Grand Master of the Order of Saint Andrew, of the Order of Constantine the Great and of the Order of Justinian the Great, Emperor of Emperors, King of Kings, Ruling Over Those Who Rule, etc., etc.
Last edited by Tracian Empire on Mon Jan 29, 2018 7:53 am, edited 3 times in total.
I'm a Romanian, a vampire, an anime enthusiast and a roleplayer.
Hello there! I am Tracian Empire! You can call me Tracian, Thrace, Thracian, Thracr, Thracc or whatever you want. Really.

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The Traansval
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9084
Founded: Jun 26, 2016
New York Times Democracy

Postby The Traansval » Sat Jan 20, 2018 9:24 am

Oranje-Nassau Kazerne, Amsterdam
Holland, Kingdom of the Eight United Netherlands
February 28th, 1850

"LEFT FACE!"

The men of the 4e Regiment van de Lijn van Amsterdam turned on a dime to their left, all of them in perfect synchonization.

"FORWARD, MARCH!"

The sound of thousands of boots trampling on hardpacked dirt echoed across the parade grounds. The men stood in neat organized lines, their rifles shining in the fresh golden sun of morning light. Up on a hill, watching them as they drilled, was Generaal Prince Fredrick of the Netherlands. Uncle to the King, Fredrick was one of the Netherlands most competetant military men. He'd spent his late youth abroad, and had studied the armies of Scandinavia, Iberia, the Tuetons and Rome. Now, under the Ministry of War, he'd embark on a great project to reform and modernize the Dutch Army. Starting with the 4th Regiment. A Regiment that had a certain Soldaat Pieter van de Pierre from Wallonia.

Pieter marched with his fellow soldier, turning this way and that in perfect order. They'd been doing this for about a month now, training and drilling. Rest only came when you slept, and meals were short to allow for more drilling. Rifles had been issued a week earlier, and Pieter was already finely attuned to his. Soldaat Pieter looked up at the sun, seeing it had reached its zenith. He smiled, knowing what was about to come.

"HALT! PROCEED TO THE BARRACKS IN A ORDERLY FASHION AND RECIEVE YOUR MESS"
Region:Federation of Allies
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CO-OP of The 1900's Era RP

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Plzen
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6203
Founded: Mar 19, 2014
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Plzen » Sat Jan 20, 2018 11:33 pm

Republikken Skandinavia / Lýðveldið Skandinavíu
1850 år etter Kristi fødsel


Stockholm, Scandinavia,
1850 February 13th


As was typical, the Chancellor, upon receiving these suggestions, retreated back to his gaggle of advisors and adjutants to discuss the latest proposals on the floor. Everyone waited patiently. It was known that this was how diplomacy was done, especially in a formal conference like this.

It was, quite possibly, the reason why these conferences lasted so many days.

There were few complaints. Although some of the more isolationist elements of his little group of advisors were aghast at the treaty's implication that Scandinavia would stand side by side with any foreign power in the times and places of coincidence's choosing, most felt that the added security that the strength of the Royal Netherlands Navy could give to their colonial holdings was well worth committing to the same against the Netherlands' enemies.

After about a quarter of an hour, Chancellor Kierkegård emerged from his group, and faced His Majesty the King of the Netherlands with an approving glance. He has already made his decision, and there was very little to be added. A host of minor third-rate issues that his diplomats would handle smoothly without intervention from the government.

"The State and Parliament of the Scandinavian Republic finds the proposed terms acceptable without changes," he proudly announced. "It will likely take the clerks a few hours to produce formal copies of the treaty agreed upon, and no doubt even longer to organise a formal signing ceremony, so perhaps you will be amicable to retiring to an early banquet? A new era of friendship between our two peoples begins tomorrow, and we should stand well-prepared for it."

Finally, it is done.

In defence of Christendom!



Visby, Gotland,
1850 March 15th


...so where is everyone?

Sergeant Persson was deeply confused. But, on the other hand, he was also greatly relieved.

I suppose we are not having a battle today. he realised. The garrison did not surrender, but they might as well have.

The city that once held twenty thousand people was mostly damaged, and the area around the fortress was completely barren of roofs. Originally they planned on flying the Scandinavian red-on-yellow from the vertex of Visby castle, but it seemed like there just wouldn't be a need; the castle was essentially nonexistent, and the top of it especially so.

So this is what ironclads can do to cities. The conventional wisdom - that no ship can defeat well-placed coastal fortifications - gone up in dust!

The flag now just flew from an improvised flagpole in what they thought used to be the central crossroads. It was difficult to tell, with all the rubble around. The Lieutenant originally anticipated having to post guards to prevent sabotage, but none dared approach the flagpole. It appeared that the local population was still largely in shock.

Not that I wouldn't be myself, if the enemy razed Roskilde this way.

The sergeant received his new marching orders. With the city in their hands, it was their role to sweep the island and garrison every town, hamlet, farmstead, and workshop in this island.

The battle has ended, but the campaign has just begun.



Scandinavian Mission to Iberia, Madrid,
1850 March 16th


As his work so often made him do, the ambassador again burned the night oil, hunched over, writing.

"It then regretfully appears," the ambassador wrote, "that the Iberian leadership is unwilling to discuss our proposal at this time."

The desk that he was writing on, like every other piece of furniture in this central room of the Scandinavian Mission to Iberia, was ornate. The craftsmanship and the techniques used were those typical in Iberia, being made by the local artisans, but the functional and sleek style definitely resembled the post-enlightenment trends of the northern lands, from which the ambassador hailed.

"Having not received any response from our partner government in two weeks, it is my professional opinion that with each passing day, the chances of us receiving a response grows increasingly slim."

This letter, however, was addressed to Copenhagen. A report, not a proposal. So much more important, in that way, for this could be the report that determined what his standing would be when he returned to Scandinavia.

"It is therefore my opinion as an ambassador," he concluded, "that in order to find co-operative partners in eliminating Vandal piracy in the North Atlantic, Scandinavia will need to pursue relations with the other seagoing powers of Western Europe."



Parliament Office, Copenhagen, Scandinavia,
1850 April 09th


"You know that this is a flimsy excuse, right?"

"I am aware."

The cabinet was holding its semi-regular meeting, and the State Minister was holding the line. On the desk lay a certain letter sent by the State Council in Batavia.

"So why are you insisting on nonresponse? Scandinavia needs a stronger military presence in Java, and this so-called 'State Council' is refusing to seriously work towards that objective!"

The State Minister sat up a bit straighter. His words were cold and dispassionate, as usual. An emotional man State Minister Baldur Norddahl was not. He was slow to anger, slow to jealousy, slow to defend his honour. and slow to be pleased. That was why he was the State Minister, and not the Chancellor.

On the other hand his thoughts were very quick indeed.

"Please control your temper, Dieter. In any case, need I remind you that Java is the center of all of our Oriental affairs?"

There was no response.

"So," he continued, "Batavia knows the scene. It is they, not us, who remain in regular contact with the Oriental authorities. It is they, not us, who are well-suited to judge the diplomatic climate dominating East Asia. It will be Batavia, not Copenhagen, who knows what is best for Scandinavia in the affairs of Asia."

"In short," the State Minister concluded, lowering his voice and growling softly, "if the State Council has decided that suspending the construction of these coastal fortifications in Java is in the best diplomatic and military interests of the Scandinavian Realm, despite the fact that we have offered to pay for its construction costs, I am inclined to believe them - just like I did when Batavia insisted that a Javan army was unwise."

Deathly silence ruled the table.

"Now," he repeated, a tone of warning in his voice, "are there still any objections?"



Udaipur, Hindustan,
1850 April 30th


Kasper Rukkonen bowed deeply before the Maharana. Being a diplomat in Asia, he understood better than perhaps any other Scandinavian the necessity of not just respecting a person, but demonstrating that respect in every possible way that those who stayed in Europe all their life might find gaudy or inappropriate. Especially when the person in question has just generously decided to grant him audience.

When one culture met another, it was those million little things that mattered.

"The plenipotentiary of the Scandinavian Republic greets the majesty of the Maharana," he began, recovering from his bow. Standing up, and keeping his eyes in front of him and not upwards towards the Maharana, the ambassador waited to be acknowledged.

He brought with him a proposal. Hindustan had a strong interest in making their country strong and wealthy, and Scandinavia, in making their trade concession at Serampore more valuable. An economic partnership between their two nations was not only natural, it seemed almost inevitable. But, he knew, it was unwise for a diplomat to move straight to business. Asians took their rites and honours very seriously.

So do us Europeans, really, Kasper contemplated. They are just different rites and honours. In a way, more subtle, but no less demanding.

So, the plenipotentiary of the Republic waited.
Forward, my comrades, march to your stations,
Righteous and proud! Win, we most surely can.
This is a triumph of peace and of nations,
A dawn of friendship for all people of man!

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Old Tyrannia
Game Moderator
 
Posts: 14303
Founded: Aug 11, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Old Tyrannia » Sun Jan 21, 2018 9:18 am

Image


Secretariat of Martial Affairs
Kyoto, Japan


At 42 years of age, Hajiro Reiichirou often wondered where his youth had gone. Not for him, those happy days spent amidst beautiful young women, sake and silk curtains. Not for him the daring exploits of other young men, the customary parties and wild exploits most men indulged in whilst their bodies were still strong and their features still possessed of that handsome youthfulness. It seemed as if he had instead experienced an unnaturally extended childhood, locked within the walls of the sprawling family residence in Taihoku under the supervision of his mother, tutors and his father’s other consorts; only to be prematurely thrust into middle age upon the death of his father. The second son of Hajiro Rikichi, Reiichirou would likely have spent his days living the relaxed life of a spare, had his elder brother not given his life for the Kaikoku in an unfortunate clash with the indigenous barbarians of Kappashima. Now it fell to Reiichirou to manage his father’s company. The Taihoku Sangyo Zaibatsu, or Taisan for short, was one of the Japanese Empire’s most powerful financial conglomerates, with interests in shipping, mining, arms manufacturing, banking and even clothes retail. As head of Taisan, Hajiro was among the most powerful people in Taiwan, and had quickly become accustomed to the respect he was afforded despite his initial feelings of anxiety at exposure to the world outside his family compound.

Here in the Yamatokoku, however, no Kaikoku-born merchant prince could expect the same sort of deference. In the eyes of the military-aristocratic samurai caste, and the ancient court nobility or kuge, he was still essentially just a rich peasant. It took some getting used to, being further down the social hierarchy than many of the high-ranking servants in his clients’ homes. But here, Hajiro Reiichirou, with his natural lack of assertiveness, thought he might for once be better suited to task than his talented but proud late brother. For Reiichirou, it did not chafe so much to be looked down upon. He was not so used to deference that he could not lower himself to being deferential. He had always been third down in his family hierarchy, and, thinking about it, some of his own servants as a child had in all practical terms outranked him- if only because the authority they exercised was derived from his parents, whose power was absolute on their own property.

This evening was his most important audience since he had arrived in Kyoto to seek new contracts. He was meeting with the Kaikoku-seifu Secretary of Martial Affairs, Hoshina Tsuneyoshi, to discuss a contract for the construction of twelve new ironclad steam warships for the Imperial Fleet. Reiichirou sat in a waiting room inside a government building, looking out the window as the sun set bathed the carefully arranged rock garden in the central courtyard in a golden glow. The peaceful sound of rushing water blotted out the sound of hurried steps and low conversations in the surrounding rooms, as civil servants went about their business. Like many of the new civil servants appointed to high office by the new kampaku, Hoshina Tsuneyoshi was a relatively young man to fulfil such a lofty post, only in his mid-thirties. He came, of course, from a prominent samurai clan and had served as an officer in the Imperial Marines for six years before pursuing a political career. Reiichirou had gone to great lengths to prepare himself for this meeting. He had learned from his various sources that Hoshina was a fair-minded but dogmatic man, strongly committed to the bushido code and the Confucian values underlying his society. He was clearly not such a traditionalist that he could not offer his loyalty to a female regent, however, or else he would not be in the position he was now. Reiichirou hoped that his martyred brother would prove an asset here; after all, before getting himself killed he had achieved officer rank in the marines, which nowadays was generally seen as equivalent to entering the samurai class. Though Reiichirou wasn’t sure that Hoshina would necessarily agree with that sentiment he hoped the Secretary would be swayed by his family’s honourable service to the Kaikoku.

After much waiting, the sliding doors of the Secretary’s office parted and a wizened man with a balding head dressed in grey stepped out and bowed to Reiichirou.

“His Excellency instructs me to offer his apologies for your wait, and invite you to join him in his office,” he said.

“His Excellency need offer no apology. No offence was caused. It is to be expected that a government minister be busy,” replied Reiichirou, inclining his head in response to the official’s bow. The secretary’s attendant bowed once again before ushering Reiichirou into the office. In front of him was a raised, foreign-style desk fashioned from red lacquer and engraved with dragons and songbirds- likely an import from China given the style of its decoration. Behind the desk, in a chair of the same material and ornate style, sat a youthful man with thickset eyebrows, high cheekbones and a square jaw. The Secretary of External Relations was not a heavyset man, but his broad shoulders and body shape gave him a sense of wideness. He wore a formal, red kimono decorated with his clan’s insignia. He rose to his feet and gave a small bow, which Reiichirou mirrored with a much deeper one; and then another, and another. Finally, Reiichirou straightened and met Hoshina in the eye. The young secretary gestured to a stool in front of his desk.

“Please, sit,” he enjoined. Reiichirou did as asked, thanking his host for the kindness. Hoshina lowered himself gracefully into the chair. Tea was brought in in silence.
“Welcome to Yamatokoku, Hajiro-san,” said Hoshina, breaking the silence. “You have enjoyed your time in the capital since arriving?”

“Thank you, Lord Hoshina. Yes, it has been most enjoyable.” And profitable, he added mentally.

“Many visiting from the colonies are overwhelmed by the city. But, you are from Taihoku. And, is Taihoku not considered greatest of all the colonial cities? Then, perhaps you will not be so impressed. You are no backwater colonial.”

Reiichirou was caught off-guard by such a blunt term coming from the mouth of a Yamatokoku-born nobleman, and government official to boot, but he shrugged it off. “Taihoku is, indeed, a beautiful city. But surely all cities pale besides Kyoto.”

"I am not well travelled, and would not know. But let us not be distracted by pleasantries. Several companies are competing for the contract you have come to bid for today. Your company’s offer is not the most cost-effective.”

“This is because the designs my company offers are significantly more advanced than those of our rivals. The prototype, Kochi, carries thirty-six guns and its design is better suited to the open ocean than the Korean turtle ships. Its armour can withstand the new exploding shells developed by the Western barbarians. It represents a revolution in warfare by sea.”

“And it would take six years for your company to complete all twelve ships?”

“With our current production capacity, yes. However, upon discussions with our engineers, it would appear possible to open two new drydocks within two years, which would enable us to complete all twelve ships within three years. But the cost would be significantly greater.”

Hoshina looked thoughtful. Reiichirou felt perspiration dripping from his forehead, resisted the temptation to wipe it away with his hand. This contract was worth hundreds of thousands of yen for his company; not only that, but it would enhance Taisan’s- and the Hajiro clan’s- prestige immensely, likely attracting far more commercial clients, and possibly opening the door to further government contracts in the future. He was confident that his company had developed the most advanced warship in the Japanese Empire, and possibly the world; he was confident, too, that given the intense competition for naval supremacy between the various powers of the world, the Kaikoku-seifu would willingly pay almost any price for the latest developments in armoured ships. Currently, the Imperial Navy was comprised largely of the older, wooden craft, although lightly armoured iron-plated Atakebune had a long history of service in Japan’s fleets. Japan had always lingered behind her Korean rivals in the development of naval armour, whilst maintaining an edge in their ships’ abilities to cross large areas of open ocean; Korea’s heavily armoured turtle ships were not well suited to straying from the shore. Now, however, with the advent of explosive artillery shells and increased competition for control of the Pacific, Japan’s older warships were simply not up to the task and the sheer size of her navy and the skill of her sailors were insufficient to ensure Japanese control of the waves. This contract was thus as important to the Kaikoku-seifu as it was to Taisan. And yet, despite his confidence in the strength of his pitch, nerves continued to eat away at Reiichirou as he essentially asked Hoshina to pay an even higher price than previously arranged.

“We appreciate the resources your company would be expending to fulfil this order, Hajiro-san,” replied Hoshina finally. “However, the economic resources of the Secretariat of Martial Affairs are not infinite. Perhaps if the price was lowered, a way of recognising your service other than financial reimbursement could be found… Bestowal of a court title may be an option.”

Reiichirou froze. A… Court title? Even the lowest title in the hierarchy of the imperial courts was more than most Kaikoku-born commoners could ever dream of. To be a recognised Gentleman of the Court would increase his social position enormously. He would, in effect, have entered into the nobility. It was a tantalising prospect, even if it meant a smaller profit on his first major government contract. How much would he be expected to shave off? As long as he was still making a small profit, it could be a worthwhile investment for his family.

“You honour me with the suggestion, my lord.” He paused for a moment. “Of course, there are still economic constraints to be considered. Such limitations obligate me to require a minimum financial reimbursement for our services…”

“Of course, of course,” replied Hoshina. “It would not, of course, be in line with regulation for a subject to be elevated to the Imperial Court based purely on supplying the Kaikoku-seifu with military equipment. It would be necessary to carry out some additional service to the Kaikoku. You have acquired a reputation for good manners and diplomatic skull during your time in Kyoto. The honourable Secretary of External Affairs has conceived a diplomatic mission to Europe, to observe technological developments amidst the Western barbarians. The delegation is to include individuals from the military, economic and diplomatic spheres. Shall I refer your name to my honourable colleague?”

Ah, so there is more to his suggestion than meets the eye, thought Reiichirou to himself. He wondered why the Kaikoku-seifu would be so interested in having a Kaikoku-jin merchant amongst their delegation to the West. Perhaps because he was more used to dealing with foreigners- or because he would be more accommodating to the diplomatic necessity of pandering to representatives of barbarian states than the highborn Yamatokoku-jin nobles who would likely form the main part of the delegation. Reiichirou was unsure whether this invitation was one he wished to accept; but, he knew that the prize Hoshina had chosen to tempt him with was a desirable one indeed. Noncommittally, he replied, “Of course it would be an honour to so serve the Empire. But, such a service would need to be considered alongside pre-existing obligations…”

“We may discuss such details further at a later time,” responded Hoshina. “If you are interested, however, I may inform my esteemed colleague the Secretary of External Affairs of this meeting?”

“You may,” Reiichirou answered. “May I assume that it is the intention of the Kaikoku to grant my company this contract, then?”

Hoshina looked momentarily uncomfortable. “Of course, we have not fixed a price yet…”

“But in principle,” Reiichirou pushed, “can you confirm for me that it is your department’s intention?”

“Certainly it would be the preference of the Secretariat,” Hoshina agreed reluctantly.

“Thank you, Lord Hoshina.”

“And you also, Hajiro-san. Regrettably other work now requires my attention, but I will command that a second meeting is arranged at which we can finalise the details of the arrangement discussed here. I trust you will be able to offer a reasonable price for your company’s services then.” He rose, prompting Reiichirou to do the same.
“Of course. I look forward to seeing you again, Lord Hoshina.”

He bowed, whilst Hoshina bowed in response. Reiichirou left the office with a sense that he had found himself in the very centre of a large and deep lake, without actually knowing if he was able to swim.




Secretariat of External Affairs
Kyoto, Japan


The sun had already set and the moon’s pale light was lapping into his office when Orihara Masanari, Kaikoku-seifu Secretary of External Relations, was disturbed by a member of his staff.

“Your Excellency,” the official intoned, “a messenger has arrived with an urgent message from the Secretary of Martial Affairs, His Excellency Lord Hoshina Tsuneyoshi. He requests an audience.”

“Is that so? Then, by all means invite him in,” responded Masanari. His underling bowed curtly, backing out of the office. A moment later the screen doors slid apart and a another official- somewhat younger and more plainly dressed, but otherwise remarkably indistinguishable from the first- entered the office. He bowed. Masanari stood and returned the gesture.

“Your Excellency,” the visitor said, extending his hands to offer a sealed document, “I was asked by my lord Hoshina to present to you this document personally…”

“Ah, and so you have done, I see,” responded Masanari, reaching out to take the document himself and admiring it as if it were the first chrysanthemum of spring. The young official sent to deliver Hoshina’s message took the opportunity to inspect the secretary. Orihara Masanari was just under six foot in height, with a smooth, heart-shaped face framed by dark hair. He was pale and slightly built, softly spoken and draped in a formal black-and-grey kimono emblazoned not with the mon of his house but the emblem of his ministry. He was known to be as eccentric and unpredictable as it was possible to be in a society that emphasised stiff formality and not drawing unnecessary attention to oneself without being locked in a room for the rest of one’s days. Barely out of his twenties, he was one of a crop of promising young officials elevated to high office by the kampaku for their talents and progressive leanings; they were less likely to object to the highest office in Japan being occupied by a woman.

“You may leave now, honourable…?”

“Fukuda Tsutomu, Your Excellency.”

“Honourable Fukuda-san. Your diligence is duly noted.”

A satisfied Tsutomu left, and Masanari, now alone in his office, unsealed and unfurled the message. It was hastily written; the script would win no calligraphy prizes. But it was readable.

To Orihara-san… The individual you requested has been secured for the delegation, and the Secretariat has in principle agreed to grant his company the contract he desired… We have received reports that work on the fortifications on Java are paused; the reason for this is unknown… Orders have been given for forces in the South to be increased. We will expand patrols of the coastline of the Great Southern Continent.


It was brief and direct, Hoshina-san through and through. Masanari was elated. Today had indeed been a productive day. He had been able to secure Lady Toyotomi’s permission to hold a conference with the Aztek and Korean representatives, in order to secure the transpacific alliance he had envisioned. Hoshina-san had apparently been able to persuade the head of the Taisan Conglomerate to join Masanari’s planned diplomatic mission to the West, a move that would help to bind the elites of the colonies closer to the Kaikoku’s central government whilst providing Masanari with a different perspective on the West that he felt was so desperately needed. He had finally triumphed over Hoshina-san’s preference for a more immediately aggressive strategy in the South, winning over the Kaikoku-seifu to his view that alliances with other powers had to be secured before any steps were taken against the barbarians intruding upon Japan’s sphere of influence. Masanari understood that Hoshina’s position was based on more than just an aggressive thirst for war. His fears that given more time to build up their settlements, expand their territories and fortify their position, the barbarians would be more difficult to expunge, were quite rational. However, Masanari was more cynical than Hoshina; he preferred to play things safe, and not to enter any conflict without ensuring first that victory was all but certain (nothing was every truly certain, of course). Though Hoshina quite openly disliked Masanari, viewing him as a cowardly, scheming pen-pusher, Masanari liked Hoshina. He was interesting, brighter than many at first assumed, imbued with a heroic quality that seemed to burden him with a heavy sense of duty and a strong faith in the rightness of the system he served, without holding any illusions about its darker side, or the questionable things done to protect that system. Such a paradoxical character appealed to Masanari, who delighted in dissecting people’s psychology.

He was almost done for the evening. He needed only to prepare a report on the day’s events for the regent’s desk, and to place his seal on the documents prepared to be sent to the Most Serene Imperial States of Korea and the Aztek Ascendancy. Tonight, he was to be dining with an imperial counsellor of the third rank within the Yamatokoku-seifu and a prominent leader of Kyoto’s traditionalist faction, Konoe Kyosuke. Lord Konoe was a rigidly conservative champion of propriety and protocol in all things, an opponent of the administration to which Masanari belonged; but Masanari liked him nonetheless, finding him an individual with a far more complex way of seeing things than his apparent commitment to tradition would suggest. What was more interesting still was that unlike Hoshina, Lord Konoe seemed to like Masanari in return. Their private meetings were always welcome insights into the inner workings of one another’s respective camps. Masanari looked forward to a night of friendly sparring between two sharpened minds.




大日本海国外交事務局
Secretariat of External Affairs of the Great Japanese Maritime State


TO: The Aztek Ascendancy
RE: Diplomatic Summit

To the relevant government office of the Aztek Ascendancy,
On behalf of Their Imperial Majesties the Emperors of the Northern and Southern Courts, and Her Excellency the Imperial Regent, greetings. The Kaikoku-seifu has long contemplated upon the expansion and strengthening of our ties to the lands to our east, across the vast Pacific Ocean. It is the belief of the Kaikoku-seifu that our peoples share a common interest in the maintenance of peace and stability in the Pacific, which is regrettably threatened by the encroachment of outside nations into waters long acknowledged as ours, and in expanding trade between our great continents to the enrichment of all. Therefore, to promote harmony and cooperation we cordially invite a delegation of the Aztek Ascendancy to attend a conference in our city of Edo. Details will follow; we await confirmation of your attendance.

Signed and approved,
折 正
原 就

Orihara Masanari, Secretary for External Relations of the Great Japanese Maritime State

大日本海国外交事務局
Secretariat of External Affairs of the Great Japanese Maritime State


TO: Minister Chae Jun-bum, First Seat of Ministry of Rites, Most Serene Imperial States of Korea
RE: Diplomatic Summit

Esteemed and valued ally,
On behalf of Their Imperial Majesties the Emperors of the Northern and Southern Courts and Her Excellency the Imperial Regent, we convey our greetings to His Most Serene Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Korea and to His Majesty's servant, Minister Chae Jun-bum. Your humble servant Orihara Masanari of the Secretariat of External Relations sends also his personal salutations. The Kaikoku-seifu shares His Most Serene Imperial Majesty's concerns regarding the encroachment of barbarians into lands once reserved for civilised peoples, and welcomes the prospect of a unified front against such violations. Your Excellency or another representative of the Most Serene Imperial States is therefore cordially invited to attend a conference in our city Edo, to discuss the matters raised by Your Excellency on His Most Serene Imperial Majesty's behalf. Details will follow; we await confirmation of your attendance.

Signed and approved,
折 正
原 就

Orihara Masanari, Secretary for External Relations of the Great Japanese Maritime State
Ascended to Modhood on the 14th September 2016
The Grand Fascist Empire of Old Tyrannia
⚜ IMPERIVM MAGNVM FASCISTICVM TYRANNIAE ANTIQVAE
Factbook | Tyrannian Empire | Tyrannian Fascism
Everything for Queen and Country.

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Krugmar
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1962
Founded: May 06, 2012
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Krugmar » Sat Jan 27, 2018 12:41 pm

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Bharata Khanda

मै दुर्गा की जयेष्ट-पुत्री,क्षात्र-धर्म की शान रखाने आई हूँ
मै सीता का प्रतिरूप ,सूर्य वंश की लाज रखाने आई हूँ

मै कुंती की अंश लिए, चन्द्र-वंश को धर्म सिखाने आई हूँ
मै सावित्री का
सतीत्त्व लिए, यमराज को भटकाने आई हूँ

मै विदुला का मात्रत्व लिए, तुम्हे रण-क्षेत्र में भिजवाने आई हूँ
मै पदमनी बन आज,फिर से ,जौहर की आग भड़काने आई हूँ



April 30th, 1850
Amar Vilas, City Palace
Udaipur, Hindustan


"I had hoped I may have a word, Amatya." Said a young man who had seen no more than twenty-five summers, yet already was clearly dressed in the Maharana's favour.

The one he was addressing was far older, a veteran of the old conquests now reduced to a statesman. "Of course Gaurav, we are headed the same way I believe." He replied as warmly as possible. It was not that he disliked the boy, they were somewhat related through Hanuman's wife, it was that his inexperience and fiery temper were dangerous for the Maharana, and had to be discouraged at all times.

"There is a European here isn't there, one from Skain? That is why his Majesty has summoned us." Gaurav asked, struggling to limit his pace to the slow walk of his elder.

"And which little birds whispered such thoughts into your mind?" He asked; "Do not answer that, I already know. But it is true, a man from Skain is here." He answered. The battle lines in the court had been drawn decades ago, networks as visible as the sun in the sky. He would not have been the Amatya under the late Sardar and current Swarup were he not aware of them all at all times.

"Then the Maharana will demand the land they have illegally stolen?" Asked Gaurav, a self-styled martial man who had never lost a battle, for by providence he had never seen one.

Hanuman chuckled, "The Maharana will take a more diplomatic approach I believe. The Ingali to the south are a far greater threat than the Skain, and the Maharana's mind has been on the west as of late."

"You mean you have been telling him to strike west rather than complete our reconquest of Bengal?" Gaurav asked angrily, his face slowly becoming as red as the royal standard.

"I am merely an instrument of the Maharana's will, his thoughts are my own. You would do well to remember that." He said curtly, breaking off the conversation as he increased his pace. Guarav attempted to catch up, but his place was already filled by the eminent admirers and clients of the Amatya.


April 30th, 1850
Manak Mahal, City Palace
Udaipur, Hindustan


The Maharana stared at the European for a minute after he had stopped speaking, his eyes darting about his person in a graceful frenzy. The man standing behind him leaned in and whispered something into his ear, and he chuckled. The woman to his left remained near motionless, perhaps easily mistakable for one of the many statues which adorned the palace were it not for her light breathing. His adoptive mother, the wife of the late Maharana Sardar Singh, still held great power over her son and the court.

After a tense few moments the Maharana glanced briefly at the man in fine silks sitting in in front of him to his right, below the raised floor and level with the Scandinavian Ambassador.

The man in fine silks, a minor member of the Sisodia clan, was called Hanuman Singh, and it was well known that he handled the Maharana's affairs. He stood slowly and adopted a smile dripping with venom, "The Maharana sees you, and he is most anxious to hear your proposal. He is most anxious to settle any irregularities in Bengal, and elsewhere."



Key
-Maharana Swarup Singh, Lord of India
-Maharani Baruni Kumari, adoptive mother and widow of Maharana Sardar Singh
-Amatya Hanuman Singh, Prime Minister
-Gaurav Singh, courtier and favourite
Last edited by Krugmar on Sat Jan 27, 2018 2:37 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Liec made me tell you to consider Kylaris

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Plzen
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6203
Founded: Mar 19, 2014
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Plzen » Sun Jan 28, 2018 8:26 am

Republikken Skandinavia / Lýðveldið Skandinavíu
1850 år etter Kristi fødsel


Udaipur, Hindustan,
1850 April 30th


Irregularities.

That is, definitely, what the Maharana just said. Ever the trained diplomat, ambassador Rukkonen's face remained vaguely cordial and passive. Hell would have to freeze over before Kasper Rukkonen lost control of his gestures and expressions. Internally, however, the diplomat's mind winced.

They are still upset about Serampore?

Sitting at the mouth of the Hooghly River open to the Bay of Bengal, with easy access to the Ganges, Serampore was as natural a harbour as could possibly exist. A perfect vantage point from which to control north Indian trade, multiple European powers have built forts in the region and commercial rights over that area were heavily contested.

Were, that is, until Serampore outgrew and defeated every other European settlement on the riverbanks, sent the local nobility into exile, and seized the entire province for the glory of Scandinavia.

That's a really, really long time to hold a grudge for.

"Indeed," ambassador Rukkonen responded, eager to move the topic off the issue of Bengal. "Arrive with a proposal, I did."

It would not look good to just read a script in front of such an impressive audience. Instead, Rukkonen chose to improvise. He memorised the terms of the proposal well beforehand, and it appeared that it would be paying off. Be prepared for any occasion, as the old diplomats' saying goes, so that anything can be grabbed.

"The protectionist nature of both the states that we represent with regards to commerce," he began, "greatly hampers the free flow of trade and the growth of productive prosperity in the Indian Subcontinent, isolating the rich farmlands and populous cities of inland Hindustan from global trade."

"As a friendly neighbour state strongly interested in the facilitation of commerce and co-operation between our two glorious peoples, as well as in the development of both itself and its neighbour state, the Republic which I represent has seen fit to propose to you a preferential trade agreement, including the liberalisation of the ownership and trade of the factors of production across our mutual frontier as well as reductions in physical, technical, and fiscal barriers to the trade of goods and services."

"It is hoped that such an agreement would bring great prosperity upon both of our nations."



Christiansborg Palace, København, Scandinavia,
1850 May 12th


With a swift fall of the gavel, the Colonial Settlement Act was passed, declaring the rich and fertile interior of the Scandinavian Gold Coast and the not so rich interior of Scandinavian South Africa open to free settlement by any citizen. Any household could claim 160 free acres of land in West Africa or 280 in South Africa for the effort of living there and farming it.

Of course, there was the little problem of the African natives already living in that "empty" land, but such supposedly minor problems could not detract from the wave of enthusiasm washing over Copenhagen. There were vast empty plains to be claimed, all across West Africa - and surely Scandinavia is more deserving of those golden plains than the barbarians that currently call those lands home!

The Assembly sought to encourage a powerful push out of Scandinavia, hoped that people will move and spread their civilisation to every corner of the world. This... this was a start. The best way to expand the frontier was to do it with waves of settlers, firebrands, and merchants, not with an army. With the ratification of the Colonial Settlement Act, the first act of Scandinavian imperialism is coming to a close.

The second is about to begin.
Forward, my comrades, march to your stations,
Righteous and proud! Win, we most surely can.
This is a triumph of peace and of nations,
A dawn of friendship for all people of man!

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23745
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tracian Empire » Mon Jan 29, 2018 10:41 am

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Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων
Βασιλεία Ῥωμαίων
Basileia tōn Rhōmaiōn
Basileía Rhōmaíōn

The Empire of the Romans
The Roman Empire

Η βασιλεύς Σύγκλητος και ο Λαός της Ρώμης
I Basileus Sýnklitos kai o Laós tis Rómis
The Emperor, Senate and People of Rome

Βασιλεύς Βασιλέων Βασιλεύων Βασιλευόντων!
Basiléus Basiléon Basilévon Basilevónton!
Emperor or Emperors, Ruling Over Those Who Rule!


Legacy of Rome




Ρώμη, 1850 μ.Χ.
Roma 2603 a.u.c.


"My Emperor, I do not wish to criticize your decision in any way.. but I hope that your Highness realizes that this is the first visit of a legitimate Roman Emperor in Italy for at least the past 100 years. This will have many consequences" From the other side of the luxurious carriage, the young Roman Emperor looked at the older man calmly, managing to hide his annoyance. The Master of Ceremonies was not a bad man by any means.. but since he had known Michael for so long, ever since the Emperor had been a little child, the older man always tried to advise him on all matters. The man did have a knack for politics and diplomacy, even if of course, the strict ceremonies of the Roman court were his passion - but unfortunately, he really disliked the Italians, considering them.. perhaps a little inferior. It was an opinion shared by many of the conservative members of the East Roman aristocracy that Italy was far too independent for what should have de jure been a part of the Empire - an opinion heavily opposed by the progressive "plebeians", and of course, the Basileus opposed it too. "I do fully understand the consequences, Teletarches. This will be a stepping-stone in the relation between Italia and Romania. We need to stop this senseless tension and hate. No side of the empire can survive without the other. Especially now, with so many enemies on the horizon, we must turn towards our brothers in the West for friendship and help. We need to cooperate if we hope to ever defeat the Vandal power and to bring Northern Africa back under Roman rule. Why waste our time with a senseless rivalry, while the enemy is waiting in front of our gates? That is why the empire has fallen, that's why Rome was sacked. Because instead of fighting against the barbarians, the Romans fought among themselves. We have to stand together against the Vandal threat." The Master of Ceremonies soon realized that it would be impossible to change the Emperor's mind, after all - even the Grand Logothete had failed to convince him to stay in Constantinople. "You are right, my Basileus."

The Emperor sighed, before he took a sip from a cup filled with water. The journey from Constantinople had been pretty tiring, but they were now finally approaching the Eternal City. The Book of Ceremonies, of course, clearly specified what an Emperor had to take with him during such a journey, from the large tents and the luxurious furniture brought for the comfort of the Basileus, to the wardrobe, the art pieces, the perfumes, the jewelry, the gifts for foreign dignitaries, the money, the holy icons and the holy relics, the golden, portable throne, encrusted with diamonds and sapphires, the golden dishes and cutlery, the library, with its many books, theology, fiction, history, military strategy. And of course, the portable bathtub and the portable chapel, for the Emperor's use. And the 500 riding soldiers, all wearing ceremonial uniforms. The monarch had managed to force the Master of Ceremonies to abandon what was not really necessary, but he couldn't break all traditions. Unfortunately, as the ceremonial required, Michael had to abandon his comfortable military uniform before approaching the city of Rome, and as such, the monarch was now wearing his ceremonial outfit. Of course, the long white tunic, the rigid sakkos, with its large and puffed sleeves, with small enameled plaques sewn into it, girded with a belt decorated with precious stones, the crimson shoes, embroidered with the imperial eagles, were all present. This time however, Michael was also wearing the heavily jewelled Imperial loros. The decorated loros was like a long strip, dropping down straight in front to below the waist, with a portion behind pulled round to the front, the part that was supposed to hung gracefully over the left arm of the monarch. The crown and the scepter were of course, also there, the crown made out of gold, decorated with many precious stones and with its golden pendoulia, while the scepter itself was made out of thick gold, heavily encrusted with precious stones and pearls, with a holy relic hidden in its center. The cross on it was also golden, but encrusted with rubies. Normally, such an attire was reserved for important situations, like the Easter Sunday, but this only served to further prove the importance of this meeting. As for the Emperor himself, well, he had the somewhat messy, light brown hair of his father, the late Emperor, and the amber eyes of his mother. Spending so much time confined by his work in the Great Palace and in the Senate of Constantinople, Michael was also a little paler than most of his subject, but no one could deny that he was also attractive. All the three brothers of the imperial family for the way in which they looked, but the similarities kinda stopped there. While Michael was usually considered to be the most attractive, at least in the secret rankings of the noblewomen of Constantinople, he was also the most mature of the brothers, charming and strong. Constantine, on the other hand, was a well known ladies' man, a hedonist, immature, irresponsible and the nightmare of the Ecumenical Patriarch. The youngest, Manuel, was also the shiest, responsible and very mature for his age, but also really quiet and withdrawn.

"I really hope that their welcome will be worthy of your presence, my Basileus. You are their Emperor, and they should remember that well.", the Teletarches said in a low voice. The court in Constantinople was forever caught in its ceremonial chains, with ceremonies existing for nearly every moment of the day, to prove the harmony order of the imperial power. Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus, a man divinized by the old Master of Ceremonies, used to say that the order of the Empire and of the imperial court had to reflect the motion of the Universe as it was made by the Creator. From that point of view, Eastern Roman nobles considered the Western court to lack the glamour and beauty of the Queen of Cities. As beautiful as the Eternal City might have been, they believed that it lacked the harmony of the eastern court. Michael sighed yet again. "You should ask the people of Italia, Teletarches. Who is their monarch? The Emperor of the distant East, or their Empress in Rome? These old beliefs will take us nowhere. They have to welcome as friends, they're not servants welcoming their masters. I just hope that this meeting will bring a new hope for both sides of the empire." And that's when a voice was heard from the outside, one of the soldiers riding alongside the carriage. "My Basileus! We have reached the city of Rome!"
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Liecthenbourg
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Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Tue Jan 30, 2018 6:14 pm

The Grand Republic of the All Russias
Velikaya Respublika Vserossiyskaya


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Chapter I: The Young Kadets


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Mikhail Grigorievich Chernyayev
Grand Prince of Novgorod,
Supreme Chancellor of the
Grand Republic of the All Russias

Novgorod The Great, Novgorod, The Grand Republic of the All Russias
15th February, 1850


"Ah, come in Minister Dostoyevsky. We do, indeed, have much to discuss."

The office of the Grand Prince of Novgorod was magnanimous indeed. An ornate red rug ran the length and width of the room. A heavy redwood desk, from the forests of southern California, was its centre-piece. Carved within it were great details, intricate carvings and fletchings in the wood. Above this lovely piece of carpentry, above the marble mantle-piece that flanked three of the four sides of the fire-place, sat a the stuff and mounted head of two polar bears and a large, fully antlered, elk. All from Alaska, gifts from Governor Wrangel.

Dostoyevsky slowly walked in and before him Chernyayev had strode over to the fireplace, prodding the logs within with the fire-poker he had, turning the logs around as the warm and ferocious fire consumed them.

The minister, and aspiring writer, smiled contently as he sat down at one of the luxurious green colour cushioned seats that sat facing the Grand Prince's own. Chernyayev reached over to his spirit rack, bringing forth two large bottles of whisky and vodka. He poured out two glasses of each, raising the whisky first.

"To your health, and that of Novgorod the Great, Minister Dostoyevsky."

He raised the glass in reciprocation. "And to your health, Grand Prince and Supreme Chancellor."

Chernyayev's face took the full brunt of the whisky, it coming down like a refreshing liquid silk. Dostoyevsky, on the other hand, had his face pucker as if he had taken a bite out of a salt covered lemon that had been marinated in vinegar.

"Now." The field marshal began, sitting at his chair and resting his elbows upon the desk. "What can you tell me of the dealings within Novgorod the Great? Have we Young Kadets kept our cool within those halls? Is my appointment being threatened from within our own ranks, as some of the Thuleans seem to say."

The Thuleans were the Young Kadet's main opposition, striving to create a proportional representative democracy as they theorised it would exist in the realm and land of Thule. Their leader, Pavel Pestel, was a military man - much like Chernyayev. The two had been close friends, back in the day of the unified Lemurian Idealism. It itself strove to take Russia on a path of total 'utopian' equality, a march of progress that never stopped.

And then the rupture of 1843 happened, wherein the Lemurian faction imploded upon itself over a series of disagreements over the treatment of minorities, suffrage and electoral systems -- the Thuleans had, in that time, maintained that the minorities should be forcibly integrated into Russia's society, demanded full emancipation of women and a proportional system in addition to wishing to be diplomatically insular. The Young Kadets had broken from them, calling themselves after the heroes of Novgorod's Darkest Political Hour, and had taken to control much of Novgorod the Great in the ensuring years.

The young and aspiring minister took to downing his own glass of vodka before responding. It was good, but it was like drinking liquid fire. The brand was unknown to him, but he expected nothing but the best from the Supreme Chancellor's collection.

"I've heard the rumours, Chernyayev. But I dismiss them all, clearly a plot by the Thuleans. With the questionably democratic reforms of the YK, we will maintain power. But we understand that this is for the good of Russia, only when our reforms are truly complete -- when we can claim that someone who lives in Vladivostok can get to Novgorod in less than 2 months! When we have reformed the land completely; when all of the sons and daughters of Russia can sing in freedom in the land that they own. The aristocrats, when they are finally no more."

"The Thuleans have always maintained a sour spot following the split of '43. They weren't ready for when our paramilitaries, and our loyalists in the staff, took control of the apparatus of state." Chernyayev stood in a solemn silence, the mere swirling of his whisky in its glass making sound. He ran a rugged hand on his growing brown stubble, his eyes trailing idly towards the pen knife he'd become accustomed to shaving himself with.

Dostoyevsky looked on at his Grand Prince and drummed his hand against the chair he was sat upon. Eventually, the aspiring author and politician spoke up: "Grand Prince?" he said, meekly.

"Yes, Minister Dostoyevsky?" the bear replied, hand clutching the glass ever tighter.

"I was thinking, truly - is it wise to expand the ideas of republicanism so fervently in our diplomacy? It seems we will isolate ourselves on the stage of world affairs?" The young minister's fair face frowned, scrunching up in fear of the taller, bulkier man who served as Supreme Chancellor. He did not say anything, he merely unfurled a map from a cabinet in his desk. His hands, coarse and dry as the alcohol he was drinking, rubbed against them like two bricks grinding.

"Do you know what this is, Minister Dostoyevsky?" The question was obvious; it was a map of the globe.

"Aye, I do. Our fair Earth, our World, as given to us by God."

"And how many friends did we have before I took power, and sought to bring about republicanism to all -- most -- of our neighbours?" Chernyayev's hand went over to the Swedes. "Them?" The hand trailed over to Poland. "Or the Poles?" Then to the Holy Order "Clearly not. Nor Holy Rome." Then his hand, turned to the east, trailing across Siberia, coming closer to Alaska than to Novgorod. "China, Japan, Korea?"

"None, Supreme Chancellor. None could claim to be Russia's friend."

"Because we have always been alone, Dostoyevesky. It is the fate of us of Novgorod, who pioneered the governance of man, to be cast aside by reactionaries and monarchies." He downed the last of his whisky and smacked his lips together. "Now, do you see why I am the way I am?"

"Yes, Supreme Chancellor."

Chernyayev smiled. "I've fought in Eastern Europe, the Caucauses, Central Asia, Siberia, and I spent some time in Alaska, and northern California too. The world is a dangerous places; a place dark and full of terrors. And we alone, for now, stand against it. Only when the chorus of the world sings amongst us like our beloved sister republics do, only then can Russia truly be at peace."

Dostoyevesky remained silent, but nodded in confirmation as he reached over for his second helping of that actually rather fine whisky. In their silence they drank, as if their respective company did not exist.

"Minister Dostoyevesky?" the Grand Prince called, one again cutting through the silence.

"Yes, sir?"

"Inform Novgorod the Great I plan on exercising my authority again, like I warned them I would. I ride for Central Asia by the end of the week; the Khanates will see the fire and fury of the Republic of Russia; the stag will show her antlers."



  • Party of Lemurian Idealism: A Republican Russian party advocating for a utopia, based on the notions of the mythical concept of a Lemurian Super-Civilisation.
  • '43 = The splitting of the party of Lemurian Idealism, into its Thulean Faction and the Young Kadets. The YK overthrew the Thulean faction in a sort of coup, but the people of Russia seem to love the YK.
  • Dostoyevsky mentioned reforms; and that's because currently there are deadlines in Novgorod for your vote to arrive. Obviously they want to link up the far flung corners of the state, but until then votes that don't arrive are held to have been cast in the name of the Young Kadets.
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The Ik Ka Ek Akai
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Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby The Ik Ka Ek Akai » Fri Feb 02, 2018 3:25 am

Tracian Empire wrote:"I really hope that their welcome will be worthy of your presence, my Basileus. You are their Emperor, and they should remember that well.", the Teletarches said in a low voice. The court in Constantinople was forever caught in its ceremonial chains, with ceremonies existing for nearly every moment of the day, to prove the harmony order of the imperial power. Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus, a man divinized by the old Master of Ceremonies, used to say that the order of the Empire and of the imperial court had to reflect the motion of the Universe as it was made by the Creator. From that point of view, Eastern Roman nobles considered the Western court to lack the glamour and beauty of the Queen of Cities. As beautiful as the Eternal City might have been, they believed that it lacked the harmony of the eastern court. Michael sighed yet again. "You should ask the people of Italia, Teletarches. Who is their monarch? The Emperor of the distant East, or their Empress in Rome? These old beliefs will take us nowhere. They have to welcome as friends, they're not servants welcoming their masters. I just hope that this meeting will bring a new hope for both sides of the empire." And that's when a voice was heard from the outside, one of the soldiers riding alongside the carriage. "My Basileus! We have reached the city of Rome!"


some time after the Monk's visit I dunno

They had reached the city of Rome indeed. Fair Roma gleamed in in the distance as the Greek party stood atop one of many hills of Lazio. The great buildings of marble- the domes of the Basilica and the Pantheon, a glistening and well-kept Colosseum, and several churches and palaces dotting the skyline of the city. There were likewise ancient insulae apartments made of yellowed, but still recognizably white, bricks acted as a sort of filler. This all, of course, seen above the ancient Aurelian Walls surrounding the city. Beyond the walls lay a few farmhouses, a couple stables, and some small clusters of buildings of notable size perhaps constituting the smallest type of hamlet known to man, but all that was glorious Rome lay within those walls- firm as they day they were built. Standing atop the walls were men in gleaming armor, near as bright as the shining marble of the city, staring out stoically as the Basileus approached.

The men atop the walls were in well-polished suits of archaic armor, clearly intended as ceremonial, though the rifles they carried were all too modern. Their armor consisted of a golden plate, intricately designed so as one could even, from the foot of the walls, make out the impressive craftsmanship. Old Roman designs decorated the whole, with the images of great heroes decorating every aspect and a lion's head poking out from the mid-chest. At the shoulders and arms, as well as hanging below the plate, were standard Klivanion in its yellowed scales bordered by red. Beneath this further, poking out where it could be seen at joints and just after segments of other armor, lay a darkened layer of chain. Their rifles were of a dark, well-grained wood with gold-tinted hammers and barrels, though the triggers remained as iron as ever. Their helmets bore a perfect fusion of Roman and Rebirth styles, with the general form of the old Roman helmets, albeit with firmer side-plates, accompanied by Rinascimento gilded art, all topped by a small red plume. Red was, ultimately, the West's color. Popularized by the general Belisarius, the East had always been thought by the Italians to be a decadent place of purely civil means, lost to the ways of Greeks and Persians, and explaining why their authorities seemed to much prefer Tyrian purple to the old legionary red.

Seeing the emperor approach, two men at the towers of the gates took off their helmets to better see. Letting loose their dark, flowing curls, and observing him with great curiosity. Hearing a shout of "Alzare!", the gate to the city soon lifted. The Basileus would then be flanked by strange men, pale and bulky, wearing solid chain with splinted armor over, in a strange way resembling the Varangians at the end of their medieval glory. Their own helmets were unique, likewise made of metal strips, with a distinctive red plume resembling a horse's tail. Their swords were short and straight, with I-shaped blades, and all wore shields bearing a triskelion. Those shields, their armor, and even their swords lent these men to a largely ceremonial use, but looking at them one might wonder that, when battle came, would their armor and shield not do them great justice? Though they had only swords, in such short distances as in urban conflict, a sword could strike a man down well before an enemy could lift his musket. These men were, judging by their rather long beards of color too fair and too straight to be Italian, the infamous Lombards. These Germans, long ago settled in the hinterlands of Veneto and Friuli to prevent outright invasion during a sensitive time, had quickly risen as the Western answer to the Varangian Guard. By devotion, strength, and ferocity, they were often thought to be equals.

"Il Capitano, Alperto da Tirolo!" a crier called down the street, as many civilians soon moved aside. Having been previously unaware of the spectacle, they watched the Basileus as he was guided down the street. The Lombards all, except for Alperto, held their swords upright toward the sky. The captain, meanwhile, left his in sheath and instead carried, in both hands, a large fasces, a bundle of sticks tied together with an old, ornate bronze axehead poking out from the clump. He called out to clear the road now and then, but in no time at all the crowds had instead all lined up beside the streets to observe the Greeks passing through.

The Italian people were dressed uniquely, in a way that seemed to appeal to the senses of both Romans and Westerners alike. The fashion for men seemed to consist of overlarge tunics, with drooping, but not too drooping, sleeves reaching the full arm's length. The immediate area of the wrist seemed held together by bracers of some craft, made of wrapped strips of linen or leather, though some wore proper leather bracers as well. This tunic was long enough to drape down to mid-thigh, or in some cases all the way to the knees, at which point it could be seen that pants, generally in the darker colors, were worn. These pants were straight-fit, mostly close-fitting, not tight like leggings and yet not loose as many such pants elsewhere. The more working-class people wore further wrapped strips near their ankles and shins, with closed-toe boots finishing up the job as a universal footwear.

The women of Italy, meanwhile, seemed a fair mix of styles. Most wore what seemed a simple chemise of varying sleeve lengths, typically belted at the waist, and with a simple pair of boots adorning the feet. The tops of the boots could not be seen beneath the skirt of the chemise, however. The style was overall modest, though not paralleling the glamorous daydresses seen elsewhere in the west of the continent, but had a simplistic elegance to it. Those with finer dress still seemed to prefer a simplistic style, more varied in material, with color being within close range between accent and body, but overall very aesthetically pleasing nonetheless. None of the women of Rome had the strangled bodies borne of tightlacing, but instead only light corseting with a strive for simplicity of line. Overall, one might describe their styles more akin to the earliest days of the century than to the current day. No, the more modern fashions would be reserved for much more formal situations, not casually walking in the street. Of course, many of these women might've desired their formal attire upon noting their presence with the Basileus. The stench of perfume emanating from their ivory gloves, the poorest of cotton and linen and silk with the richest of kid and lamb, was almost strong enough to mask the natural scents of the city.

The city smelled not only of perfumes, but of all things within it. There were smells of fine pastries drifting in the cooling breeze, a small smell of sweat from the workers now turned to observe the spectacle, the most distant smell of the cloaca that might become more pronounced the closer one got to it. There was the smell of trees and grass, perhaps the clucking chickens hidden somewhere nearby giving off their own bestial scent, and to top it all off there was a constant smell of fresh river mist radiating from the cool, fine rivers flowing through and near the city, as well as from all the fountains that the Italians so enjoyed in their public spaces. That was not all, for there was a single scent more that would strike the Greeks sharply and suddenly. Ah, yes, the city reeked of glory.

For a while, as the Basileus was led through the streets, a sort of low murmur came from all around. It was largely in the Central Italian language, featuring both a local street vernacular Romanesco, and the more 'proper' speech of the middle-class and upper-class. Other languages, however, were far from absent. Were the Basileus to truly listen, he might hear Neapolitan, Venetian, Dalmatian, Ligurian, the Germanic tongue of the Lombards, perhaps some Calabrian. If he truly listened closely, he might even hear the familiar banter of the Greek tongue, albeit in a much different Griko variety descended from the Italiotes, spoken with a much more Doric rhythm and style than the fanciful Koine of the Constantinopolitans. It soon dulled, however, leaving only briefly a period of disturbing quiet where neither the birds chirped, the people chatted, or the chickens clucked, only leaving the sounds of the horses as they stepped on the marble streets of Rome.

A horn sounded out as the Basileus was brought to the side of a wide street, decorated along its length. Down the street came the stomping of four white stallions, hooked to a single gilded chariot upon which stood Cesara Alessandra Udina Belisaria, clad in full ceremonial attire. She wore, as an outermost layer, a purple palla wrap with golden embroidery, bearing similarity to the Byzantine and even earlier Republican celebratory regalia. Beneath, she wore a leather breastplate with gilded accents and red flaps at the shoulders and around the bottom. The gilded accents formed depictions of the virtues personified, though these were hard to see under the 12 silver phalera layered on top. The bottom-most layer of the outfit seemed to be a simple stola, with her sleeves held together with pins on the upper side on the arm in two distinct places, giving her a significant droop as well as an open view of her arms from a certain angle. At her hands were 4-button ivory kidskin gloves, emanating their own stench of fine Eastern perfume, while on her feet were a modern style of boots, dyed a vibrant blood-red like Caesar before her. Seeing as her descent was traced to great Belisarius through rather extensive record-keeping in times of trouble and a lack of central authority, and that somewhere in the 7th century there seemed records that the Belisarion line married into the Julia gens, perhaps it was only so fitting. Belisarius was the new Caesar after all, so that passing of the torch symbolically from Caesar's gens to that of the new Caesar truly made the line a legend to be in awe of. So it was, and here Alessandra stood, showing off before her Eastern counterpart in a Triumphal procession- a special case to celebrate the return of the Greek emperors to visit Rome at last.

Perhaps she'd need to get him on that chariot at some point.

The triumph was glorious, with many people cheering, and the show quite impressive from any given angle. After she rode past, the Lombard guards would lead the Basileus at last to her resident palace atop a lovely natural mound in the city's landscape. Seeing as she was carried by chariot and the triumph was largely a demonstration rather than the days-long ritual of old, she had already returned by then. As the Lombards helped the Basileus and his group into the throne room of the Italian palace, with its lavishly tiled floors, painted ceilings, and red marble columns, she was seen handing her palla to a servant, and the armor with phalera to another, leaving her with her stola, boots, and gloves, now accompanied by a fine shawl given to her that she quickly wrapped around her upper arms. In this state, she had two thin leather belts- one around her waist, the other just below the bust, in old Roman style. The smell of her gloves' perfume was now much more noticeable, but the scent of incense and beef floated likewise through the air from various directions.

"Salve, Rex Romanorum. Benvenuti a Roma. Sono Regina Romae." she said, with a small, coy smile. Glaring for a second at the obsessive man near to the Basileus, before turning her burning, dark eyes to the Basileus himself. She sat in silence, curious of their reply.

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The Frozen Forest
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Frozen Forest » Sun Feb 04, 2018 5:45 pm

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Cusco, Tawantinsuyu
February 4th, 1850


An enormous riot had spread across the City following Incap Rantin Atoqwaman's departure. Many believe that they began in the Market district where the Tokoyrikoq were arresting White Stone affiliated traders. Reports suggested that a short struggle over a bundle of squid led to a minor protest which spread into a full blown riot when Incap Rantin forces assaulted the defenseless citizens. The local Guard was overwhelmed and Pichkapachaka Kuraka Quizo was stabbed to death and beheaded publicly. Fires were set where available and the White Stone Movements leaders, chiefly Movement Leader Yarac and Movement Leader Avill moved to consolidate and organize the riot, directing it down the streets of the Upper Class. Prominent Nobility were killed and their possessions stolen or destroyed by the rioters.

Horses were released from the various stables owned by the upper class and used by the rioters to move around the city and communicate with different groups. The Sapa-Inca had been informed of the Riot hours after it began. His guard was initially mobilized to deal with the threat until news of the White Stone Movement's control made its way to the Imperial Palace. His personal Guard was ordered to defend the Palace and nothing more, the Rioters were sanctioned to destroy the Incap Rantins supporters within the city. A single rider was sent out of the city to Nazca, where the Incap Rantin was no doubt observing the sudden revolt. It carried news that the Sapa-Inca's forces had been mobilized and were being deployed against the threat, and that it was being curbed.

With the time bought the Sapa-Inca sent a second rider to the Northeast, specifically to the army stationed there. Out of the four leading Kuraka, the four major Generals throughout the nation he'd been able to garner the support of one. Kuraka Sichua of the Army of the Northeast was motivated by his own ambition when he answered the letter and mobilized the Army of the Northeast to march into Cusco in support of the Rioters and the Sapa-Inca. The Sapa-Inca had promised him the appointment of Incap Rantin when the time came for him to be restored to power. The following day the smoke and fire that had consumed the city had burnt out. Prominent and Nobility dominated neighborhoods had been seized or destroyed by the White Stone Movement and the Rioters. Three Captains of the City Guard were dead and the other two had surrendered their arms. The storehouses had been taken and their contents distributed throughout the Rioters. Several holdouts existed though all were in the process of negotiation with the White Stones.

The Sapa-Inca made a speech towards a crowd of 12,000 White Stones to declare his intention of restoring his power. The Army of the Northeast had mobilized and was beginning its march to Cusco. In Nazca the Incap Rantin had survived another attempt on his life by his own Guard. He had mobilized the other Three Armies, whom began their own marches towards Cusco. Movement Leader Yarac had taken about 2,000 White Stones to construct defenses on the western and southern roads into Cusco. Movement Leader Avill took the remaining 10,000 to prepare defenses on the Anawarkhi and Wanakawri Mountain Peaks. Over the course of the next five days primitive earthworks were constructed around the city with mandatory, immediate Mit'a service demanded of all the cities capable residents. By February 13th the Army of the Northeast had arrived and the three other armies had gathered to the South in order to oppose the Sapa-Incas forces.

Cusco, Tawantinsuyu
February 14th, 1850


The Sapa-Inca took note of the overcast sky above. The weather had been dull and grey but no rain had fallen. There was a soft wind which carried with it an uncharacteristic sting. The Army of the Northeast had arrived the day before and had spent the entire day positioning itself to meet the other three armies who arrived later that night. The Army of the Northwest, led by Kuraka Inac, had been traveling the longest. They had been required to relocated from the Northwest corner of the Empire to Nazca, bypassing Cusco and the Army of the Northeast. It was likely that they had also been spared no time to rest before having to march North so that they could be opposing him today. The Incap Rantin had positioned his three armies in a rough line to the South of Cusco.

The Northwest Army occupied the center, initial reconnaissance suggested that they were holding about 2/3rd's of the army in reserve with the initial line being made up primarily of heavily armed veterans. Personal banners indicated that the initial line was being commanded by Kuraka Inac and Hunu Kuraka's Cavi and Patao. Though his banner was absent it was likely that the Incap Rantin was leading from the Center as well, and was among the commanders there. Kuraka Inac would no doubt be resentful of sharing his command with the Incap Rantin.

The eastern flank consisted of the Army of the Southeast, led by Kuraka Rina. Rina was easily the oldest Kuraka between the four Armies. At seventy-two years old he had the most experience within the Armies. He was also one of the last people in the Empire to remember Sapa-Inca Llacsa. He had served the Sapa-Inca in his last years. He participated in Incap Rantin Hacan's purge of Llacsa's children and the much later White Stone Rebellion in support of Incap Rantin Atoqwaman. His front line consisted mainly of what appeared to be Slingers with light infantry behind them. Banners indicated that Hunu Kuraka's Suqui and Ascan were present. On the farthest part of the flank were dismounted Cavalry under Pichkapachaka Kuraka Guana.

The western flank was occupied by the Army of the Southwest, led by Kuraka Vilca. Vilca was one of Atoqwamans strongest supporters, he would fight the hardest to achieve the objectives given to him. He had a similar arrangement as to the Army of the Southeast, except that his side was noticeably longer. Obviously he intended to hold less men in reserve. Under Vilca there was Hunu Kuraka's Aumumbo and Tiseo. His Cavalry leader seemed to be Pichkapachaka Kuraka Zopi. Zopi wasn't even ethnically Andean, rather his family hailed from the uncolonized southern regions to the south of the Empire. His family had migrated north when Zopi was a teenager, he was a staunch Incap Rantin supporter.

His own Army wasn't able to match the style of the Incap Rantins. His forces included only the Army of the Northeast, 12,000 White Stone Warriors and 8,000 of his Personal Guard. In total he had about 66,000 soldiers, while the Incap Rantin was wielding an army of at least 138,000. Atoqwaman also had the experienced professionals of three different armies, while he had to make due with one, plus his guards.

He knew that the White Stones would fight more proficiently together. White Stone Movement Leaders Yarac and Avill were arranged into a square on the right flank. The terrain on the flank was the steadiest and therefore the easiest to attack. The White Stones had been able to strengthen the position by taking water from lake Puray and drenching a layer of ground just in front of the thick earthworks, turning a long patch of ground into wet, slippery mud. Caltrops had been thrown into the mud, hidden by the slippery brown substance but remaining sharp and immobilizing. Finally long stakes were emplaced to prevent an effective charge by cavalry or infantry.

The Anawarkhi Mountain served as an effective barrier, as such it was a natural choice for the left flank. The decision to split the Army of the Northeast was essential and unanimous. 20,000 men would hold the center, which also happened to be the highest and most difficult to attack. They were infantry but were given slings to use as well. The Central-West portion would be led by Hunu Kuraka Tahi and the Center-East portion led by Hunu Kuraka Randorc. Tahi had already seen action in the far North, skirmishes with local tribes from over the border, he'd directed efforts to attack and wipe them out wherever possible. Randorc on the other hand had seen very little actual combat, but was schooled as a member of the Upper-Nobility and was inspirational to his men.

Finally there was the left flank, defended by the remaining 26,000 soldiers of the Army of the Northeast. The steep slopes of the Anawarkhi mountain formed a natural barrier, one that the Incap Rantin's forces would have to find a way to ascend in order to attack Cusco. Despite the natural difficulty in ascending them, they needed a strong defense as if they were overwhelmed the Center would be impractical to hold. It was an essential defense that had to be held. They were led by Waranqa Kuraka Mago. Mago was notably inventive and adaptable but had never risen above his rank due to his outspoken political views. He was a staunch Republican, a rarity within the Empire due to the suppression of such ideals. How he had came by such information was irrelevant as his military skill was what made him notable.

The last unit was his Personal Guard. Naturally he kept about 1,000 in reserve so that he could travel safely around the Battlefield. The remaining 7,000 were to be divided up among the flanks and center. 4,000 would join the White Stones on the right flank, where the fighting would be fiercest. 2,000 would be on the left flank and the remaining 1,000 in the center, with each half of the center gaining 500. The Personal Guards firepower would be decisive in the battle and needed to be dispersed rather than concentrated for the greatest effect.

The Sapa-Inca knew that the following day would be the start to an important battle. His state-visit to Korea would have to wait until the conclusion of what was quickly becoming a Civil War. Soldiers on both sides would be resting, gathering final supplies and information, eating and drinking and or praying to Inti. Night fell quickly and rain settled in just as fast. First it was a light drizzle but soon it was a horrible torrent. Supplies were covered or protected as adequately as possible but the storm would only serve to make the following day more miserable for everyone.
Well Hi, i joined NS on Feb 1st, 2013 under the name Aztec of america and have been on Nationstates since. I tend to frequent the Portal to the Multi-universe. Recently i've been trying to develop The Frozen Forest, so if you want a historical, trade or diplomatic relationship, shoot me a telegram.

I don't bite, so don't be afraid to say hello.

Add 3,981 to my Post Count

More recent RP's i've been in/are in
To pierce a Steel Heart
1850: Alternate Divergence
After the End


Proud Contributor to the International Socialist Volunteer Corps and International Socialist Congress.
Royal Marriage with Camelone! (Queen Freja Krieger and High King Frederick Krieger)

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