The Medieval South [IC]

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Somewhere Near the Virginia Border

"If you give the Ferryman enough notice the Ferryman will meet you anywhere, good sir."

Astor reached into his coat pocket and took out a locket, a small little trinket you would buy your sweetheart or give to a child. Astor would hand the locket to the Governor for him to examine. It was silver in color with four scratches on the back. On the inside was the picture of a young woman, some European noble from a country far far away. Engraved on the inside of the locket, opposite of the woman, was the letters N and S.

"This will let you know who your talking to is the Ferryman and that the Ferryman is talking to you. He'll have one exactly like this. Four scratches in the back, a picture of this exact woman, and the letters N and S engraved on the inside. For the North Star. When you present each other the lockets he will say "Lovely piece, I have one similar from London". You will respond by saying "This piece I found in Paris"."

Biltmore Palace

Following the conclusion of the assembly Bernard stepped outside into the main hall to return to his entourage. He was instructing his assistant to procure horses for the ride back to Charleston when Lieutenant Stephenson came around the corner. Making eye contact he greeted the Lieutenant. Kelsey was rather surprised when the officer asked if he would like to join the delegation into Maryland. It was like they read his mind. Within the hour he would be riding to the north with the others. Before leaving he would sign orders for the 10th Infantry to assemble and make preparations to defend Biltmore.

[Jesus Our God]

Cpt. Moses Morgan
Consul of the Gray Legion
Charleston, South Carolina
January, 1877

“This is a day that will live in infamy,” muttered Moses Morgan as he read the news of the Appalachian Partisans' attack in North Carolina.

The report of hundreds of men killed and wounded was grisly enough by itself, but the newspaper also included the stories of survivors who recalled being woken up by flying lead and screaming comrades. Most of the soldiers who were killed were new recruits, boys barely old enough to be conscripted. A cartoon in the paper illustrated the attack, showing the ragged mulatto bandits firing on their foes from behind and bayoneting wounded survivors on the ground.

Morgan took a drag from his Cuban cigar and then took out his pen, knowing that such a brutal attack on the South would demand retribution.

“What should we do?”, asked Mark 'Bucky' LaMonte, Morgan’s co-consul in the Gray Legion, while sipping from a cup of coffee prepared by one of Morgan’s house slaves.

“We take blood for blood,” Morgan answered, while beginning a letter to the Gray Legion’s commanders in North Carolina. “And we make sure people remember what happens to race-mixers and Lincolnites in the South.”

For a moment Bucky looked at Morgan with concern, but then turned away. “It may be hard to find these guerrillas, they seem like a real fighting force,” he said.

“True,” Morgan answered. “The guerrillas may think themselves safe in hiding, for now. But they will soon learn their cowardice comes at a high price — for their cause, and their supporters. The day the Legion has been waiting for has finally come.”

“I suppose we’ll be needing our rifles?”, Bucky asked, taking another sip of coffee.


“And rope, too,” Morgan answered, and continued writing his letters.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Letter from Consuls Moses Morgan and Mark LaMonte

Legionnaires,

The day is upon us that we must take revenge against the miscegenating Lincolnites. They will not and cannot be allowed to get away with their treacherous attack on Camp Price. From this moment until further notice, all chapters of the Legion are tasked with preparing for retaliation against the Lincolnites and their friends.

Your primary goals should be the assessment of valuable targets and hostages and conceiving the means to capture or eliminate them. Your secondary goals should be the amassing of supplies, forces, and cadres in your local areas. In short time, orders shall be given for the organization of units and for the carrying out of retaliatory actions.

In the meantime, see to it that some Negroes pay for the transgressions of these Lincolnites, so these abolitioners can be refreshened on the consequences of testing the Southron’s patience. I will be disappointed if I do not hear of your endeavors’ fruits before long.

Now, arise for Asheville! Arise, men of the South!

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Her Grace Sophie Charlotte
Dowager Duchess of Alençon
Baltimore, Maryland
January, 1877

All of Baltimore was abuzz with news of the Partisan attack. The fact that hundreds of Southern soldiers had been caught unawares and were killed by pro-Unionist Partisans was no small thing to sneeze at. Some die-hard Republicans felt like the Southerners got what was coming for them. They celebrated the Partisans' raid on Camp Price like John Brown's raid on Harpers Ferry, and they gossiped about slave rebellions and overthrowing the plantocracy.

Young people, who are more abolitionist in general, seemed especially fervent about the possibility of a new war, and the chance to win the same honors as their fathers and older peers. But a great deal of Marylanders were Democrats, who weren't particularly fond of the last war with the South, and even thought the Union could learn a thing or two from their Southern brothers. For them, the Asheville attack was grim and foreboding news, that drew the shadow of war over Maryland.

The Dowager Duchess Sophie Charlotte had traveled to Baltimore for a reception with the new Archbishop, James Gibbons. After the Duchess moved to Annapolis, she continued to host and attend various charities, events, meetings, and conventions with the Catholic Church. Archbishop Gibbons took note of her at one such function, and they quickly bonded over their shared missionary devotion and stories of immigration. On this occasion, though, their conversation was dominated by the dichotomy and the rivalry between North and South.

"Father," said Sophie, interrupting the Archbishop's story of his time as the Vicar of North Carolina. "Could we pray?", she asked. "Just for a moment, just to pray for the poor souls of those Asheville boys. I can't get their stories out of my mind."

"Certainly, your grace," the Archbishop replied, and together they prayed:

"Almighty God, hold close your soldier-sons in your merciful hands, and protect them as they have protected others; Bless them and their families for their service and sacrifice, and send them angels of your love and comfort; Keep us safe from weapons of war, and keep us far from men of violence. Grant this, O God, through Christ our Lord and savior. Amen."

After their prayer, the two sat in silence for a moment, before Sophie spoke.

"Father, I fear our prayers alone cannot hold back the winds of war. Surely, there is more we can do?"

"Your grace is ever determined and ever resourceful," the Archbishop replied, in an affectionate tone. "I am glad to have a missionary such as you in my flock. Many of our parishioners share your concerns, as do I, and together the Church can raise high both the cross and the banner of peace."

Then the two discussed more ecclesiastic and political affairs, and before long it was time for the Duchess to head back to Annapolis. On the carriage ride home, Sophie's mind was occupied by the day's conversations. She opened her diary and began writing down her thoughts and all sorts of plans, including the draft of a petition to circulate.

⁜ ⁜ ⁜

Draft Petition for Peace and Southern Solidarity

Dear Governor Newton Knight,

We, the undersigned, are the peace-loving Christian people of Maryland, who object strongly to any war between the North and South. Countless lives have already been needlessly lost fighting against our fellow Americans, and we have no interest in doing such again. We ask that you keep our soldiers out of harm's away, and that you keep them within the borders of Maryland. Furthermore, in Christian solidarity with our Southern brothers and sisters, we implore you to condemn the heinous Asheville Massacre, issue state bounties for all of the Appalachian Partisans, and support the Democratic plan in Congress to establish free trade relations with all Southern states. Such actions shall testify to our state's great devotion to peace and Christian ethics, and we beseech a governor that shall swiftly undertake them.

Signed...

[Cylarn]

Benedict "Ben" Church
Appalachian Partisan Rifles
Wilkesboro Train Station
Wilkesboro, North Carolina
Evening, January 1877


"What do you mean he took an engine?" Ben asked with a strong degree of incredulity, as he stared eye-to-eye at the seated railway officer. A wooden counter and metal bars kept the Partisan from getting any close to the officer.

"Your man hijacked a locomotive, but he said that he'd have it back 'before we even missed it,' and took off west up the line," the civilian officer said, pushing his glasses up to his face. Ben groaned loudly; Skiddy Brown had stolen a locomotive, and Ben could only assume that he was heading to Morganton. The officer then held up a fifty-dollor Imperial banknote. "Is this even gonna be worth anything? Your man gave me this."

Ben nodded, and his eyes turned to the direction down the track that the train had gone. "Next stop's Morganton, right? Did he take any of your boys?"

The officer nodded. "Took the driver, two firemen, and the train conductor."

He leaned in closer to Ben, motioning for the Partisan to approach. This man was no idiot; he knew what the score was. It wasn't hard to piece two and two together when one had access to every itinerary for every train moving west.

"Look, uh...I know what's going on. That guy's going after those guns; I mean, the Imperial ones that were headed for Buncombe. You know, right?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, and the officer held up a stack of forms and schedules, and sat it down without explanation. Ben got the meaning. Everyone fucking knows about the train. This could get out of hand very quickly.

"Are you someone I can trust?" Ben asked. The officer widened his eyes in response, flickering them to the ground before returning the eye contact.

"Ten years ain't too long," he said solemnly. "My brother and mother were hanged outside of Boone by Bragg. They did nothing wrong. I know who you are; everyone in this town does. You shot Bragg; that means the world. You have my support, Ben Church."

Ben smiled warmly, as a sign of appreciation. "Thank you. However, it was a woman. A woman shot Bragg, from what I understand. However, that's neither here nor there. What can you tell me about the rail west of here?"

"It's abuzz, and so are the roads. I've received word by telegram from the other operators that troops are mustering at Weaverville. There's been movement on the rails further down south, troops from Georgia and South Carolina and all over. They're headed for Asheville."

Ben supposed that with the bulk of the Imperial command apparatus in Asheville, they would muster nearby and begin operations eastward in a matter of days. He feared that they were going to take into account the lessons of ten years prior. The Partisans, for all of their strengths, relied heavily upon the people of Western North Carolina. The Council would be convening; if they voted for an official declaration of secession from the Empire and concurrently appealed northwards for admittance into the Union, a general war effort could be taken on. In that regard, the Partisans would have to operate alongside the localized Unionist militia forces and "quasi-military" regiments that would be no doubt be formed by prominent Unionist leaders in the state.

"How in Morganton?" Ben asked.

"There has been trouble in Morganton, ever since the bridges went down. From what I heard, the locals are heaping every bit of blame on the soldiers. A whole battalion of Salisbury regulars are up there; been there for five days for some sort of training out at Weaverville. They've been having their way in town since they stepped off the train, and with the line severed to Asheville, they've been causing a lot of ruckus. Getting drunk, robbing people, fornicating around town. My brother there tells me it's an absolute Gomorrah there."

Ben shook his head. They're running into a trap. "How committed to the Southern Cause are your counterparts in Morganton?"

"Not very, but they'll need some... compensation promised. My word is good, but I recommend you be ready to pay. They're stingy fucks in that town, I swear."

Ben sighed. The Partisans often carried paper money or gold as a way of bribing or "rewarding" support from local civilians. "Fine. Are you willing to send them a telegram?"

The officer simply held out his hand, smirking ear to ear. Ben shook his head, reached into his pocket, and placed five gold coins onto the counter. "There. That'll get you five bottles of liquor."

The officer took hold of the coins, and slid them out of view. "So, a telegram is to be sent, arranging for my sister-station's assistance in your little...?"

"Expropriation."

"Right, that big word. Anyways, it'll be up to your people to do what they have to do. I hope that they've got a better plan for once they find what they are looking for."

Without a word, Ben stepped back from the counter and took his leave into the blowing snow outside, stepping onto the muddy street. The street was mostly empty, as Ben passed through, his path taking him to The Hanging Tree.

---

Reverend Thomas Endicott
Society of Friends/Watauga Council
Hanging Tree Tavern, North Wilkesboro, North Carolina
Evening, January 1877

There were interesting developments in the struggle for Appalachian Independence. A celebrity status had been obtained in the North by Church and the Appalachian Partisan Rifles, as alluded to by Tevis. Indirectly, that meant that additional backers may assist with sustaining the movement in the face of an Imperial reprisal. That sustainment would come in the form of ammunition, suitable uniforms and boots, tents, food, and other necessary provisions. Volunteers, acting upon private initiative for their own reasons, would also come from the North to take up the cause of the Partisans.

There was something else. Tevis mentioned Newton Knight, Governor of Maryland. A Union border governor with an extensive record in the war against slavery, Endicott could see the similarities of the two men. What separated them, was the immense support of the Federals that Knight enjoyed. Tevis described Knight as an enthusiastic follower of the Partisans' exploits. That support, and possibly the intervention of Federal forces, would be a most vital boon for the Appalachian movement.

"Fate, it seems, has brought us together," Endicott said jovially. "You, my friend, were sent by God to come here into this land of Reivers, whether you wish to see that or not."

The door to the tavern opened; Endicott turned around to see Ben Church, as he entered the establishment. Almost purposefully, he approached the Reverend's table but did not take a seat. He did not look at Tevis; his eyes focused on Endicott.

"The Council is convening soon, at the courthouse," Ben said.

Endicott sighed, and took a long sip of his coffee, before setting the mug down and standing to his feet, motioning for Tevis to do the same. Ben turned his gaze on Tevis, wondering who this man might be.

"Ben, I'd like you to meet my friend," he said, motioning to Tevis. Ben kept his hands by his sides, as the three began to maneuver for the door. An attendant handed Endicott off his coat

"Who are you?" Ben asked as the three men passed off into the snowy street of Wilkesboro. From the cloak of falling snow, a rider holding a lantern approached the trio, coming to a halt before them. Ben, interrupted, turned his attention to the rider, who leaned down to speak to his commander.

"Sir, we got word that the Greys in Mount Airy are mustering at their lodge. I rode like hell to tell you."

Ben nodded. The Greys were a force of Imperial terror, almost as much as the White Knights could be considered. The whole lot of them were among the most notorious rapists, bandits, and blood dervishes who fought under the Confederate banner. Thankfully, they had no branches in the towns and settlements in much of the expanse of Watauga and Pisgah. "I want eyes watching the towns. If these foreigners think that they can drag good folk from their homes, and if they lift a finger to lunch anyone, I want a blood debt collected. Get Walsh to arrange a response if the Greys find themselves too far west."

The rider nodded, and turned away from the party, trotting off back in the direction that he had come.

[Dentali]

James Longstreet
Orders

To Major General James Thadeus Holtzclaw

You are hereby ordered to take your command, the 4th Division of the 2nd Corps and deploy them to battle the rebels in the Appalachians. With all haste head to Weaverville, North Carolina and report to the command of Chancellor Jackson, you will be deployed to defend rail lines, supply depots and other key strategic sites. While I do not expect the rebels to match you in numbers you will have to deploy over a large area. Good luck and God Bless.

To Major General Henry DeLamar Clayton

You are hereby ordered to take your command, the 1st Division of the 1st Corps and deploy them to battle the rebels in the Appalachians. With all haste head to Blairsville, Georgia and deploy your troops defensively in the Chattahoochee to ensure the rebels do not cross into Georgia and attack our rail lines, strategic sites or civilians. Offensive orders may follow in the futureGood luck and God Bless.

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Near the Maryland-Virginia border
January 1877

Newton Knight took the locket from Thoth's hands and examined it closely. Fitting that a mysterious secret organisation would maintain such peculiar traditions for safety's sake.

"Indeed. It does look like a trinket one may find in Paris." He smiled at the Underground representative across the table.

"Well, Mr. Thoth, I must say my interest has definitely been peaked. I cannot wait to meet the Ferryman, at his convenience. I would invite him to the gubernatorial building, but since secrecy if of the essence, another option may be needed."

Tapping his fingers on the table, Knight sunk into thought for a while, pondering until an idea came to mind.

"The Union League chapter house in Annapolis has a salon that is open to all wishing to engage in its activities. May I suggest the Ferryman make his way there? I myself attend the building every Friday. A bit posh for my taste, but the League has some great minds and loyal Unionists in it. One more fellow from outside of town won't raise any eyebrows there."


Washington Carroll Tevis
Special Agent in service to Governor Knight
Hanging Tree Tavern, Wilkesboro, North Carolina
January 1877

The meeting with Reverend Endicott was indeed too fortuitous to be mere chance. As the cleric said, it were the machinations of Fate at work. Or better worded still, divine intervention. The work of God who directed his faithful servants against the godless demons that ruled the South.

Washington Tevis was unable to speak on the matter though, as a rugged man came into the tavern and almost instantly claimed the Reverend's full attention.

Tevis rose up at Endicott's gesture, and laid eyes on the imposing figure of Benedict Church. A guerilla fighter extraordinaire, if Tevis ever saw one. Tevis had never had the honour of fighting alongside Newton Knight during the war, but he had seen his fair share of adventuring freedom fighters during his time in the Fenian Brotherhood. One look at the Appalachian mountain man was enough for the US Colonel to know that this was every bit the tough-as-nails guerilla that his Irish brethren up north had been.

Benedict Church was a man of no nonsense and all business. Tevis didn't even have the time to offer his hand for a greeting before the three of them were already outside in the snowy alleys of Wilkesboro. Church seemed to trust Endicott implicitly, as he received his valuable intel on the positions of the Legion without even batting at eye at the presence of Tevis, whom Church so far could only know as "a friend."

Washington Tevis retained a respectful silence for a few moments after the rider had left, awaiting the moment that Church fixed his eyes on him once again. Placing his hand on his heart, he bowed his head gently at the Partisan.

"Washington Carroll Tevis, at your service. Newton Knight, Governor of the State of Maryland, sends his regards."

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Somewhere Near the Virginia Border

"Apologies if it seems a bit much. The Ferryman is one for theatrics as you'll soon find out for yourself."

Astor finished the remainder of his drink before standing up. He offered his hand to Governor Knight. If things work out between him and the Ferryman the network would become much more efficient in its operations. Hell, if the south exploded Astor himself may catch a ride into the North himself.

"It was pleasant to meet you, Governor. It will be sometime before we see each other again. If everything goes right with the Ferryman I genuinely hope. Until then."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Outside Richmond, Virginia
Castle Beauregard

“… and thus, gentlemen, we will march into Appalachia” Hurst said, straightening from his hunched position over a map of the eastern coast. In red ink were marked the various routes along which the White Knights of Jesus Christ would be marching south, to North Carolina. 25,000 men, a division’s worth of the empire’s most veteran soldiers, along with cavalry and artillery. A large undertaking under any circumstances, and especially so since the entire empire was being mobilised. When Hurst had told his officers that, they had sighed a collective sigh. There was no open disagreement uttered, though. These orders came straight for the emperor, and while the White Knights might bitch and moan about their colleagues in the army, they would never so much as utter a word of complaint towards their monarch.

“Is that understood?” Hurst asked, receiving an orchestra of nods from the assembled officer corps. They were colonels, captains, lieutenants, all standing resplendent in their white-gold uniforms. There was little uniformity in these uniforms, as they were all custom-made on behalf of their wearers. It was like the armour of the European knights of old in that regard. Many of them had their chests decked out with medals and honours, the most common being the Golden Cross of Saint Davis. Many of the officers were absolutely beaming with anticipation. For many, this was the first proper engagement in quite some time. A war is not a war until you have stared down a cannon, the saying went, and the myriad of revolting slaves they had put down over the years had never had access to that kind of firepower. Now, they were going into the field, banners fluttering in the wind, bayonets gleaming in the morning sun.

“Right. Then, men, see to your duties. May Jesus be with you all” Hurst ended.

“And with you, sir” answered the chorus of officers, as they started filtering out the Lord-Commander’s office. Just as they started to do so, Hurst called back a few of the highest-ranking officers.

“Colonels Alford, Clarke and Fletcher, could you stay for a moment?” he asked as he freed his desk of the map that had covered it. He nodded towards the lounge chairs in the corner of his office, and the colonels gladly took their places. This was not the first time they had conversed in Hurst’s office, as shown by the ease with which they slid into their regular spots. Hurst took a crystal bottle of whisky from his liquor cabinet and took four glasses from a lower drawer.

“Excuse me having to do my own hospitality, gentlemen” Hurst began. “My maid is unfortunately not in the position to attend”

The slave girl was indeed not in the position. She was resting in the hospital wing after some soldiers had man-handled here a bit roughly. Those responsible had been punished for damaging the colonel’s property, but not too badly. It had just been some soldierly fun, after all, and there was no sense in disciplining soldiers on the cusp of a long march south.

“Don’t worry, Charles” Colonel Clarke answered, clapping twice. Slowly, the door opened, and a young-looking slave entered the office. He was neatly-dressed, but he held himself uncomfortably, and he cast his eyes towards the floor.

“Barrel, pour us some drinks, will you?” Clarke ordered. The slave nodded and graciously accepted the bottle from colonel Hurst, before filling four glasses with an appropriate amount of the dark blown liquid. Then, Barrel put back the bottle in the cabinet and ghosted into one of the corners, his eyes peering down at his toes.

“New Darkie?” Alford asked, Clarke nodding in answer.

“A gift from a friend of mine. Captain Balford of the HIMS Gettysburg. Ran into a bunch of Spanish smugglers heading for Georgia. They found him hiding inside a barrel, hence the name” Clarke explained. Hurst looked at the slave with curiosity.

“Is he dumb or something?” Hurst asked. Clarke shook his head.

“Speaks perfect English, Spanish, French and Dutch. My understanding is that he used to translate for the smugglers” He explained. Alford let out a thundering laugh.

“An educated one, ey? I never thought I’d see a polyglot nigger. It’s like a counting horse!” Alford exclaimed, gaining him some genuine laughter from his colleagues.

“It makes sense, if you think about it” Fletcher said. Colonel Fletcher was a well-read man, with a bunch of university educations under his belt. He could read ancient Greek and Latin, and was positively obsessed with the works of Aristotle and Plato.

“Slaves don’t possess Logos, so they cannot misinterpret what they have to translate. They are physically only capable of a perfect translation” he said, gazing at the young slave with academic fixation. From his pocket he took a notebook, and started scribbling.

“I know some colleagues at the university who would be thrilled by this” he said. His companions found it hard to imagine, but they didn’t comment. Fletcher was cleverer by half than the three of them combined, after all. He acted as the interpreter of political events, and had a knack for playing chess with his opponents.

“So…” Alford continued, happy to talk about more important things than a multilingual slave.

“Have you met the new emperor, Charles?” he asked. His brow was furrowed in a manner that made it hard to read his expression. Hurst met his gaze with a painfully neutral expression. The fact was, he had. And he did not know if he was pleased. The boy was rash, impulsive, prone to drinking and whoring, even more than his father had been. From the first impressions he had, the boy had very few… redeeming qualities. Whether his personality made up for it… for that, it was too soon to say.

However, Hurst wondered whether he could share this information with his fellows. The Imperial Guard had only known one emperor, to which it had owed undying loyalty. He had forged their empire in his image, after all. Brought a new age of prosperity to them all. Personally elevating them to the nobility for their actions. For him, they had already bled and lost so much. It was plain heresy to suggest that the emperor was anything less than brilliant. But now… was the supreme loyalty of the Knights owed to the Person, or to the Throne? A simple question that might decide the fate of thousands.

Fletcher seemed to feel this uneasiness, and, weighing his words carefully, entered a theory into the conversation.

“It was the will of the emperor that his son should succeed him, no?” He offered. “Then, it speaks to reason that we should trust in the vision of the late emperor, even if we cannot see His vision”

“The vision of Saint Cornelius” added Clarke. It was the first time Hurst had heard the title of Saint used to refer to the late emperor, but it made sense. Somehow, it released tension. If the emperor had planned it, then there was nothing wrong with discussing their observations, since they did not matter anyway.

“The boy is… seems… a bit aggressive. He likes the pleasures of life, perhaps more than he likes… seems to like… the affairs of state”

“So he ordered the full-in invasion of North Carolina, did he?” Alford asked. Hurst nodded.

“In as many words, in fact” Hurst replied. “Stonewall took it from there”

“Damn secret negro-lover…” Alford spat. “He’ll probably use the opportunity to let all them rebel blacks go free afterwards”

“Not if we get them first, he won’t” Clarke answered, with a malicious smile around his lips. “My boys have the sharpest bayonets on this side of the Atlantic” he added, miming him fixing a blade on top of a rifle.

“In the end, I suppose it matters little who governs the empire” Fletcher mused, staring into the middle distance. When he did that, the others knew he was about to grant them a nugget of his educated wisdom. Fletcher kept silent for a while, seemingly basking in the curiosity of his compatriots.

“Our empire is a natural state of being. It is natural for the black man to serve the white man. They are much more at ease, at least when they are not given weapons by white agitators. No black freedom movement has ever grown out of the mind of a black man. Those ideas are made by uneducated white men”

“In fact, there never was a black Aristotle, or a black Plato, or a black Shakespeare. Creativity and science are inherently white endeavours. And, of course, most importantly: Jesus was white. Even if all the artists and philosophers of the world had been black, then Jesus would prove that God wants to lead humanity through the white race. It is clear as daylight”

“Now, when presented with that information, you can do one of two things: you can do what the confederacy did. Declare a new state, a new body politic, in which you recognise that truth. Or, alternatively, you can look at your guns and declare that you do not need truth on your side, since you can enforce your will with the rifle and the sabre. That’s what the Union is doing, but it’s not sustainable. Society will gravitate towards the natural order, and in the end, if a government’s only role is to keep you away from a divine truth, then it might just as well cease to exist”

“So, when we march down to the Carolina’s tomorrow, we are really marching with God on our side” Fletcher said, ending his monologue. The others looked at him in awe, happy to be reassured in their belief in the empire. Indeed, if their state was a natural one, even a bad emperor would be better than being in the godless Union, where man and slave walked the streets as equals. In the end, they would be victorious. The arc of the universe was long, after all, but it would bend towards justice.

“Anyway” Clarke said, after a moment of collective silence.

“I’ll bet you ten bucks that captain Polk will be the worst-dressed officer on the march tomorrow. Any takers?”

[Sarderia]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

AVERY COUNTY

"Damn, this whole land is teeming with Union suporters," Lieutenant Stephenson remarked. Arthur found it hard to disagree with him. While nominally these lands along the Appalachians were property of some lords and minor barons, there's hardly a nobility presence across the area, if any. Instead, people were openly celebrating the partisan's attack with bonfires, waving the Old Glory, and from Asheville to Cranberry, Arthur had lost count how many "The Star Spangled Banner"s he heard along the way. It is very fortunate that he chose to wear the ragged clothes of a merchant instead of the glitters and glamours of a Southern noble. If he insisted, like some of his men did earlier, they would have been lynched and dead in the ground right now.

That doesn't mean he hated the Unionists, however. He was indifferent towards Confederates and Yankees during the war, and he is still to this day. His father was, too, despite serving with General Lee in the war - but then, his father cared only about the money. Arthur actually preferred the Union's political system better. It was way more representative and democratic, but that's his personal political union, and that wouldn't hinder his current task. "Don't ever try to say things like 'Dixie' down here. Lord, they seemed to have a burning hatred for that," he replied.

The Lieutenant and his other guards chuckled. They continued the journey along the mountain path, meeting more partisans as they came nearer to Avery County. Arthur and Stephenson are seated on the carriage, with his guards trailing behind on horses, and finally Bernard Kelsey's convoy behind his coach. They were riding fast, and that was considered a miracle as the Appalachian roads mostly consisted of dirt paths that made travelling with couch very horrible. But they brought only a minimal amount of cargo - munitions, their uniforms, and several crates of cotton just in case someone's suspicious - and that pretty much sped up the journey. Occasionally, they would stop several minutes at a General Store and gave away the cotton, so that the civillians could confirm their identity as merchants when suspicious partisan troops questioned. After a night's long of continuous marching, the convoy finally arrived at Cranberry, where they put out a camp outside of the city. It wasn't large, but it was sufficient for a day, since they need to hurry up the next day to board the train into Virginia. But before departing, Arthur made sure to send a telegram for Joseph E. Johnston, his most trusted acquaintance in the State - and the one he believed would play the Confederate general and diplomat to the Union at the same time.

JOSEPH EGGLESTON JOHNSTON
COUNT OF MANASSAS

---

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

March of Washington - a title Johnston gave himself when he was appointed as Count of Manassas - is a somewhat grand-sounding title, to be frank. But in reality, it is no more than a piece of word written after his name. He added the title to himself not because of an over-ambitious zeal to conquer the North; instead, it serves as a cover up for his dealing with the Union behind everyone. For most of the South, Johnston showed himself as the staunch guardian of the Empire's border with the Union. However, the Empire's hold over Virginia itself has decreased over time, as many regional rulers were more loyal towards themselves - and their state - than a Northern businessman turned Emperor that ruled from a lavish palace in North Carolina. Johnston's holding hadn't been spared from this lack of centralization either. So he did what any sensible person would do; opening his arms into the United States' fold, and slowly adopting a more cooperative stance with the North. This, combined with a strong military presence in his lands, currently served enough to deter any Union incursion into Virginia. Johnston often consoled himself by saying this is necessary. If we don't adapt, they would trample upon us like hogs running to their food.

And that is precisely what Johnston is doing right now. He already stationed the Army of Northern Virginia, about twenty-thousand men, in the outskirts of Alexandria once news of partisan attack reached Manassas. The whole city is basically a large army compound - Johnston collected his taxes from Fredericksburg. The few but large industries in Manassas mostly produce military equipment and other essential things such as textile and alloys. His sudden actions, of course, agitated the Union presence in Washington - capital of the United States no less - but Johnston had his men flying white banners along the Potomac, signifying non-agression. He's sure news of the attack had reached Washington as well, so the Union politicians would know it is something expected of him. He had brought Rooney Lee - the son of his former superior who claimed overlordship over Arlington after the Confederacy's demise. Lee inherited the family estate in Arlington and turned the plantation into a fortress - with Johnston supplying the much-needed funds to him. It is quite hard, actually, to convince the man to take a more friendly approach to the Union, but in the end Johnston managed to turn him over.

While Johnston was busy writing commands for the Army, a courier from Manassas appeared in his tent. Rooney Lee received the letter and read it out loud beside him. "By command of the Chancellor of the Empire. Thomas Jonathan Jackson, under the authority of His Majesty Emperor George Washington Vanderbilt the Third, we are commanded to muster our troops immediately and join the fight against... partisans? I thought this is a small matter."

"It seems that His Majesty is unable to get his arse up and properly manage the partisans that has blown important railroads so close to his home. He's pissed, Commander, and now he wanted the whole Empire from Texas to Virginia to save him from being hold up in that shithole of a castle." Johnston took the letter. "And from what I've heard, both Vanderbilt and Jackson are no patient gentlemen either. Our presence is required, even if only to maintain our credibility in front of the Emperor."

"We could not risk the Union advancing on Virginia, my Lord. That damned Governor is an opportunist. He would take the chances while we are away in North Carolina fighting some peasants, and when we return half of Virginia is flying the Star-Spangled Banner. The best option is to negotiate, like you planned," Lee answered.

Johnston pondered for the moment, thinking the best way to split his forces. "How many troops we currently have in this camp?"

"Seventeen thousand from the Army of Northern Virginia. Nine thousand conscripts from Fredericskburg, Manassas, and the lands along the Potomac. We have blacks as well, six thousand freedmen." Lee checked the Army's journal.

"I assume the best option is to split our forces, then. Commander, you will stay here with the freedmen and slaves. Can't risk our troops turning on the White Knights or the Roanoke Rifles down south. I will take twenty-two troops from the Army and conscripts altogether, and might be gathering an additional five thousand on my march down south. That should be sufficient. You are to remain here with the rest." Jackson pretended not to notice Lee's startled look. "Promise the freedmen properties after the war, and no segregation. Don't give them weapons until it's very necessary. And... a little thing. Your cousin sent a telegram, just an hour ago... he would be negotiating a non-agression pact with the Union governor. But it would be a long journey from Asheville to Baltimore... you need to meet with Governor Knight first, convince him to spare our domains if he really wanted to advance south."

Lee nodded. "I would have hoped to take part in the battle... but of course. Shall we inform Knight of your plans?"

"You may. I am considering to stall my arrival at Asheville a little bit. To know the partisans' true intentions seems to be very enlightening to me." Johnston subtly hinted to Lee that he wanted to meet with the partisans' leader.

"Ah... I see, I shall make preparations to meet the Governor now, my Lord. Sic Semper Tyrannis." Lee bowed slightly and left the tent. Presumably he's gathering his guards and horses to enter D.C right now. Johnston gathered his letters and packed it all in a pouch, and adjusted the Confederate Army hat he has been wearing since the earliest days of the Civil War. About time we marched again. He left the tent to gather his commanders, slightly humming a tune. Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten...

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Near the Virginia border
January 1877

Newton Knight stood up as well, and shook Thoth's extended hand with a firm grip, giving him a warm smile.

"It was an honour to make your acquaintance, Mr Thoth. I am looking forward to meeting the Ferryman, and at our no doubt fruitful cooperation in the future. And who knows, perhaps we will meet again. May God be with you."

After the Underground Railroad representative left the tavern, Knight finished up his coffee and stared in front of him, pondering for a while. Eventually, he got up and put on his coat, before paying at the counter and exiting the inn into the cold darkness of the outside.

A cloaked man waiting at a nearby fire barrel came his way. US Marshal Frederick Douglass, for that is who it was, put his hand on the Governor's shoulder.

"So that was Thoth, spokesman of the Railroad? Good to see a brother rising to such a position, especially one still living down South. I must admit it's genius. A Black man, even a free one, still attracts even less attention than a White one in many places. If only because most Dixie boys wouldn't even give a coloured man a second glance."

Knight smiled and turned towards his trusted marshal.

"An astute observation as always, Frederick. Any news I missed today?"

Frederick Douglass nodded, rubbing his grey beard.

"Two things. First off, a petition seems to be going around, reportedly started by this Sophie Charlotte character. Some drivel asking you to keep Maryland on friendly terms with the slave-owners down South and even to put bounties on the heads of the Appalachian partisans."

Douglass passed a petition paper to the Governor. Knight glanced over it, frowned tensely, crumbled up the paper and thew it into the fire.

"The opinions of some Bavarian tart are of little interest to me. Anything else?"

"We received a message from Rooney Lee, right hand man of Joseph Johnston of Manassas. It seems that he wants an audience with you."

Knight's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose up.
"A delegate from Joe Johnston? And the son of the old devil Robert E. Lee himself, no less? Well I'll be...
No doubt something to do with the Partisan attacks and the mobilisation south of the Potomac."

"Indeed, our scouts have reported increased activity of Greycoats on the Virginia side. And they have been waving white flags all over the southern riverbank in an apparent show of non-aggression towards us."

Knight chuckled. "More like they are scared the Union will walk all over them if they leave their borders undefended and march into Appalachia. Which we definitely could. But anyway, let's meet this Virginia lad and see what he has got to say for himself."

Gesturing to another nearby man who had stood by incognito, the Governor continued.

"Let the telegram line send a message back to William Lee, and inform him he is welcome to enter Maryland as a diplomatic envoy. He is to cross the Potomac near his native Arlington and will be escorted by a detail of the National Guard and Marshal Douglass from there to Annapolis, for official parlay with me."

Mighty interesting times we live in, the Governor thought to himself. Curious to see where this'll lead.

[Sarderia]

WILLIAM HENRY FITZHUGH "ROONEY" LEE
COUNT OF ARLINGTON

---

WASHINGTON, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

"Halt!" Rooney Lee screamed, and the four dozen Army of Northern Virginia soldiers formed a closed line ranks behind him. He lifted up his hands and the men formed a slope arms position. Six soldiers escorted Lee to meet the Union Marshal Douglass in the middle of the Long Bridge. One of the soldiers carried a small white flag, with a flag of the Army of Northern Virginia behind him. Lee saluted the Marshal for a second, and put on his gloves. He reached for the telegram Knight sent him, and showed it to the Marshal for another second before putting it back to his pocket.

"At ease, soldiers," he commanded his guards. "Greetings, sir. My name is William Henry Fitzhugh Lee, Major General of the Imperial Army, commanding the Army of Northern Virginia, Second Corps. As you have certainly noticed earlier, my superior, General Joseph Eggleston Johnston had sent a letter to the Governor of Maryland regarding a possible discussion. I am honored and glad that the honorable Governor has replied and agreed to our proposal. I have come to honor the agreement."

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT
(This event happened before Eugene Broussard and Thomas Ouillet's second meeting)

The night was strange, truthfully. From meeting some stranger in the Main Street, at the exact moment Eugene has done finished sorting out Company orders - and he had to lie about his identity to the man. Nevertheless, Eugene could finally wake up in bliss after resting in his mansion. A rather peaceful night for him. But as soon as he stepped out of his bed, he got the adrenaline running. Oh, this is going to be a very interesting day indeed. He knew Boykin's goons would soon arrive in Beaumont - that much is very predictable of him. The man and his subordinates are autocratic to the bone; they wouldn't let disturbances, such as Beaumont's lynching events, destabilized their base of power. Unfortunately for them, the duke Elias and his subordinates weren't the ones that liked to bow down either. Eugene, especially, is determined to do the part he is assigned. Eugene washed his teeth and got dressed in fine clothes, but not too lavish as an aristocrat would dress. He entered his personal office downstairs and called his secretary, a middle-aged former grocer turned West Company employee. He quickly typed a letter in the typing machine and instructed the secretary to deliver them immediately.

"Make sure this is delivered across the border into Mexico. The Marquess of Rio Grande, and the Mascogos chieftain. We are already reaching a success in stirring unrest against the King's administration. Good Lord, I couldn't thank heavens above enough now that him and Duke West are now away in North Carolina! God willing, some fortunate event will occur and hopefully both of them cannot come back home. But for now, we must find an assistance - if they are willing to hear our proposal. You must send it through a secure line. Whether telegram or not, make sure that no Boykiners had their eyes on this."

Honored Lords,

It has come to our attention that Mexicans has increasingly been quite active in the southern regions of Texas. We would like to inform you as well, that the political condition - civil unrest and dissatisfication, talks of tyranny and treachery - are being increasingly common inside of our Kingdom as well. The people are fed up with the tyrannical and repressive government of His Majesty. He has confiscated weapons in Dallas, affecting the distributions of arms throughout the Kingdom, and he has ordered that a Mayor must be imprisoned unjustly. We beseech your assistance in toppling down the crown's regime. Should you decided to heard our plea, our ears are ready to hear your answer, in the Wilson County Courthouse, south of San Antonio. There is a church; ring the bell seven times, and we shall know you are there. Should you are willing to meet us there, you might not want to bring a huge amount of men. We will be present, and we shall be eternally grateful.

Sincerely,
Lone Star


---


Señores Honrados,

Nos ha llamado la atención que los mexicanos han sido cada vez más activos en las regiones del sur de Texas. También nos gustaría informarle que la condición política (disturbios civiles e insatisfacción, conversaciones sobre tiranía y traición) también es cada vez más común dentro de nuestro Reino. La gente está harta del gobierno tiránico y represivo de Su Majestad. Ha confiscado armas en Dallas, afectando la distribución de armas en todo el Reino, y ha ordenado que un alcalde sea encarcelado injustamente. Le rogamos su ayuda para derrocar el régimen de la corona. Si decide escuchar nuestra súplica, nuestros oídos están listos para escuchar su respuesta, en el Tribunal del Condado de Wilson, al sur de San Antonio. Hay una iglesia; toca el timbre siete veces y sabremos que estás allí. Si está dispuesto a reunirse con nosotros allí, es posible que no desee traer una gran cantidad de hombres. Estaremos presentes y estaremos eternamente agradecidos.

Sinceramente,
Estrella Solitaria

[Dahyan]

Frederick Douglass
US Marshal, State of Maryland
Long Bridge, Maryland-Virginia border
January 1877

Frederick Douglass looked at the security detail Rooney Lee had brought with him, his eyes fixing mostly on the Confederate battle flag.

Figures they would come with the pomp and circumstance that we know they love so much, he thought to himself. Quickly shaking of the negative thoughts that always came with seeing Southern reactionaries, the Marshal concentrated on the task at hand.

He extended his hand to shake that of the Imperial officer, and did his best to conjure up a legitimate smile.

"Indeed. Governor Knight is very much intrigued by General Johnston's unexpected message. You are welcome to come into the State of Maryland.
Allow me to introduce myself. Frederick Douglass, US Marshal for the Federal Judicial District of Maryland. I have been assigned the task to escort you to Annapolis for an audience with Governor Newton Knight. If you would follow me, please."

The Marshal escorted Lee across the bridge, where a security detail of Maryland Volunteer Cavalry was awaiting.

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Annapolis, January 1877

Governor Knight, dressed, for a change, in a proper attire befitting of his position, had taken place at the oaken table positioned in the sitting room of the mansion. Flags of the Union and the State of Maryland adorned the room, and the hearthfire spread its light and warmth throughout.

When William Lee entered the room, Knight gestured to the seat the far side of the table, for the Imperial to take place.

"Welcome, Major General. I must admit my attention was definitely grabbed by the message from your superior, General Johnston. I am happy to receive you in the wonderful State of Maryland, and most interested to hear your proposal."

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

BILL MERCER

---

Morganton

Bill began to regret his change of clothes once he saw that Morganton was under heavy Imperial occupation— but then again, perhaps his innocuous garb had convinced some partisan hidden in the brush to spare his life along his journey. He stopped his worn-out Highlander next to the rail station, tying him to a post nearby a water trough, at which the best began to greedily lap.

Mercer entered the rickety clapboard station and exchanged a grim look with its operator before entering the attached telegraph office. He just needed to send the telegram to the local commander of the Rifles in Lexington and then and leave as quickly as possible. He'd been writing it out in his head for a day now, and so the words came to him easily:

Major John Norton
Lexington, Virginia

Imperial court at Asheville under partisan attack –(STOP)– Immediately muster Roanoke Rifles –(STOP)– Secure Chancellor's kin and holdings against possible partisan assault –(STOP)– Then await further orders from the Chancellor –(STOP)–

Lieutenant Colonel William Mercer

---

RAPHAEL SEMMES

---

BILTMORE PALACE

Raphael descended the stately steps of the Biltmore mansion, stepping out into a frightful night. His entourage, mostly former Confederate officers now wearing the insignia of Alabama's state militia, followed closely. The Archduke turned and instructed them to make arrangements for his return to Alabama. This was a contingency for which he had been totally unprepared.

Semmes was usually considered the life of any party, a boisterous and charming man with a natural aura of charisma— but tonight had been different, at least after the council was convened. He had surprised his peers by remaining silent during the meeting; he was usually one of the most vocal of the Emperor's court, not least when he had spent the day drinking. But Raphael had been oddly sober, calculating the immensity of this development.

A partisan uprising in the Emperor's own backyard— it was a terrifying prospect for any Southern gentleman. Thankfully, Alabama's wretched Unionists had always been a tiny minority, and other than the blacks, the Archduke worried little about any rebellions within his own state. Destabilizations in others, however, could be just what he needed to propel Alabama into the Empire's spotlight.

All of these thoughts swam in the Admiral's head as he waited for his bewildered lieutenants to conjure a method of transport out of thin air, but they were subordinate to one more. Semmes had always been an outsider at the Imperial Court, despite his charm, because he had joined late in the game, after political alliances had already been entrenched. He had hoped, like many times before, that this particular evening would be his breakthrough, that he would forge a friendship with another power player in the court; but alas, he had failed. Most of the other landed nobles were concerned with furthering their own affairs, and what little conversation he had made with them had been unproductive at best, outright hostile at worst.

On a whim, Raphael glanced about Biltmore's courtyard in the hopes of spotting Boykin, Longstreet, Forrest, Queen Ernestine— anyone with land and a title. If he could make at least one partnership before the night was over, he would consider it a success.

[The Vaktovian Empire]

Nathan Bedford Forrest
Biltmore Palace, Asheville, North Carolina
January 1877

---

For Nathan Bedford Forrest, social occasions weren't exactly akin to his taste. The Coronation of the Emperor of the South was a celebration to be had, and a welcome one at that, however the Archduke needed to promote himself well. He was a man of extreme patriotism, Southern pride and a cooperative effort. Yes, the Archduke was most certainly interested in the growth of a new Southern Empire. It would guarantee safety, stability and protected growth with the North looming just above the Mason-Dixon. However as far right as Forrest was on speaking Conservative politics and economic structure in Dixie, there were two major drawbacks. For one thing, he certainly didn't want the growth of a new centralized Southern Empire to hinder his ability to govern his territories at the level he did, and with the level of power of which he exercised. To his credit, Nathan Bedford Forrest might not have been much of a Christian man, least any of a civil man, but he had done one thing right. He had ruled through unintentional fear and power in Western Tennessee, under the new name of the Grand Duchy of Memphis, but hadn't exactly been anything of which he was characterized by both critics in his Royal Court, several news outlets and papers in West-Tennessee, or his fellow Dukes and Kings. For lackthereof a better term, Forrest was a moderate politically despite being quite the advocate of simultaneously the slave trade, slavery in general, and rationalized hostility towards the North. In Nathan's eyes the North couldn't be trusted, even if they had lost. They would return with vengeance and the South, whether unified under one roof or not, needed to be ready. The problem was in the eyes of the military strategists, those being Jeb Stuart and Stonewall Jackson respectively, the only chance at surviving a second Northern invasion other than that which had started the Great War, would be unity in masses and the ability to all fight under a centralized command structure and all for the same reasons, generally speaking. At current, the South had no sort of unification.

The other problem, stemmed from his own son, who he loved deeply, but who had alterior motives, unbeknownst to his father. With his receiving of a formal education at the Freed-Hardeman University in his own Provincial City of Dayton, of the Province synonymous also of "Dayton", the boy had gotten the closest thing Forrest could offer to that of a formalized Northern education. Forrest had never had such the smarts or intellect for the formal University or College, the place of great theologians, scientists, brave minds and uncharted territory. His boy though, was rising from his newfound education. He had always been far brighter than his father ever could have hoped for; an intellectual mind that was none-too-hesitant to take up arms and fight right alongside his father in the Great War at just the age of fifteen, to the disapproval of his loving mother. He had soaked up so much knowledge from his father so fast. He was quite the military mind, at thirty-one years of age he himself was now a wise mind and someone with initiative. His boys plans, to his knowledge solely dealt with the growth of Southern pride, slavery, and military might in West-Tennessee. To his credit, however, his son had far bigger aspirations, including the slow but gradual modernization and industrialization of the more already urbanized parts of the Capitol and surrounding population areas. William Montgomery or "Monty" Bedford Forrest, planned on the might of Memphis and the caucus of its Southern border with Mississippi, funneled by both plantation, farm and factory for the foreseeable future and beyond. Likewise, he had dreams to assist with other colleges and universities that were beginning to pop up in the Archduchy's territory, and being from the Royal family himself, use his own shared wealth of the family's dollar to industrialize his lands at his best effort. Thoughts maybe early for their time realistically speaking, but little by little it was in Monty's heart to make Memphis, especially around the city, as close to what he had learned of the Union's success.

His problem was his creation would go against Southern politics. It would far put Southern planting, production, and the economic model that his father promoted firmly at an uneasy point, if not capitulaing it altogether, and it would get the undivided attention of the other powers, as they would see this Unionist style of rule and modernization in some ways as a threat to the very sanctity of their ways of life especially involving slavery. To his credit, Monty was his father's perfect enemy, but he loved his father. Both of them had a bond that was unbreakable. Time would tell if Forrest would make of what his son's intentions were, and what lies and secrets would be withheld on both sides of the coin until only one was potentially face up on the table. Forrest took what he did know however, into account as he entered the Biltmore Palace, the crown jewel of the Vanderbilts in the South, and awaited the Emperor's appearance on his night of nights.

---

Just look at the boy Thought Nathan as he eyed the Emperor when he finally made his entrance, half-heartily delivering a brief speech before again he was gone in a flash. In Nathan's eyes that was no man worthy of ruling the throne as the Emperor of the South. None such indeed. But Nathan worried little for the boy. His father had granted him the custody of his lands through ownership via written birthright to the lands immediately around Memphis. The rest in proximity, under the direction of one of his trusted advisors-turned Viceroy, Newton H. Amherst, he still had direct control of administratively. As far as the other regions of his lands, he allowed the Viscounts and Barons to rule as they saw fit in their respective areas, and at that, he also made sure there was a semi-unionist approach of "checks and balances" if you will, in order to, even with the Viscounts and Barons craving their power, to give fair chance and localized rule to village leaders, officials, and mayors of towns, within reason, provided they were allegiant in their pledges towards Forrest and the Capitol, and maintained a level of decorum with their over watches at the Provincial level, any entity or territory was provided an honest chance and argument to that simplest of procedures as the Provincial laws and rules for construction and the ordinance of land from one to another.

Yes the concept Forrest had built in Western Tennessee was nothing short of a spectacle, and it was probably more Democratic than half of the systems in the deep South; Texas, Georgia and Arkansas to name a few. And then there was always Louisiana. Forrest worried little of other entities; their size, their strength, their goals. He believed he had everything he needed in the parts of land he had been fortunate enough to "conquer" and rule over. What was modest to say best was approval ratings were at an all time high. Tennessee was now a border state, with Kentucky receded into the Union following the Treaty and truce. With that being said, unionists ran a muck in Tennessee just as much as they were continuing to run into the Carolinas and Virginia.

Forrest was nearing the older years of age on the grander scale, if comparable to those of the great late 1800s per say. He couldn't deal with a fully-fledged rebellion, or a localized civil conflict. That was another reason why he had entailed the help of Jeb Stuart, although Stuart believed that Forrest had a preoperative to wage war on the North. The Archduke had no intention of taking on Northern forces on the Kentucky-West Tennessee border on his own. Metaphorical pictures had been painted of Forrest to be a crazy warmonger with not half the sense to know when and where to draw a line. Many had cited Fort Pillow, even Southern-loyalists, who hated the unionists to a tee but disprove of Forrest's political image, both inside and outside of Memphis' reach and influence. There was certainly room for divide in the Grand Duchy of Memphis, and the Archduke, while for sure wasn't the hospitable Christian-driven man that most would perceive to be a Southern aristocratic viscount under the Emperor's "Southern Empire" he certainly was stern in his beliefs, and a strong leader of what he did have control over. Rebellion was inevitable, even as close as the border Memphis had with the uncharted territories in Middle-Tennessee, if not within its own borders already, comprising of unionist towns and the like.

The bridges had been severed to the Asheville-Nashville Rail Line. Forrest had retired to his quarters for the evening, as the festivities had concluded and parties were both marching to intercept those responsible for the sabotaging of the Railways, and a delegation headed to Maryland. Forrest wanted no part of it, as did he not want a part of it for any of his people. His goals in his own territory far outweighed those for the greater good of the Southern Empire, as of current, which was part of his problem, and the reason Stuart had originally been dispatched a year prior with such haste by Jackson. Eyes weren't necessarily needed on Forrest for the reasons they had originally perceived. It wasn't his actual intent to commit warmongering on the North, much the contrary, it was his stubborn nature to do things his way, on his time, and as a sectionalist, that truly could spring catastrophe, especially if the forces of West-Tennessee weren't united with the mission or the goals of those under Jackson. It could mean an open invasion of or thru Tennessee by the North in the future.

---

James Ewell Brown "Jeb" Stuart
Chambers, Military West Wing of the Archduke's Complex
January 1877


War thought Jeb, as he stir and lay in his cold sheets in the Quarters. The window to the third-story bedroom was cracked ever so slightly, as a cool winter's breeze came through it. Winter in Tennessee hadn't been nearly as bad as that in Virginia, or much less in a tent in the years of the Great War. Jeb knew that some type of conflict was inevitable. Earlier that evening, Forrest had wired him from Asheville and the Biltmore "Imperial Railways sabotaged, will have to plan alternate mode of travel... Southern forces of collective groups mobilizing, Partisan conflict seems inevitable". Jeb hadn't liked the news one bit. The South's intent to solely repel the pro-unionist forces of the partisans, could be a juxtaposition, and seen as the Union as a direct attack on their own military assets. It was extremely possible the Union were funding the Partisans, at the least. They could even be unofficially part of the Union Army. Stranger things had happened, and guerrilla warfare wasn't exactly a new tactic, Heaven Forbid the fact General Washington and employed similar tactics as party of the Revolutionary Conflict with the English.

Jeb saw multiple sides to an ever-changing coin in Memphis. For the one thing, whilst in this first year of exposure of himself to the way of life in Forrest's newfound aristocracy, there weren't necessarily passionate thoughts towards the North, but it was hardly the rumors and lies being spread by papers and commonfolk alike that cited Forrest as a warmonger who had extreme existential plans to invade the North by "any means necessary" as he recounted many of the facades dictating. While in reality it was quite the contrary, Forrest was extremely sectionist in nature, and saw the greater good of the South as hardly his priority, despite him being extremely patriotic and "all about" Southern unification, least say he was in person during proceedings in his Court or dealings with just the advising councils Jeb would sit in on.

His position as Inspector General made him essentially synonymous with the Archduke himself. While Forrest had extreme power in Memphis and the surrounding Vice-royalty of Madison-Fayette, he relinquished much of the localized decision making and power to the viscounts and barons alike which pledged their loyalties to him. They in turn, exercised varying degrees of control and power over their territories, establishing courts, judiciaries and sheriffs all along the way, and many towns were the biggest factors in policy changes, and local laws being adopted as per the viscounts and barons. Truly, it wasn't democratic to say the least, but it was the closest thing to it, and which eliminated the theory of "big government" compared to the other entities that existed in the South which were admittedly extremely quasi-feudal in nature.

Jeb, as well as having pristine military power, had speaking authority. He, like Forrest's son, was a silver tongued diplomat, and having been trained originally at West Point, was one of few military strategists who had a formal track record and some sort of backing to his claims. There were several notables in Forrest's military rank who had held first-level officer positions at the tail end of the war, both young and medium in age. But Jeb's word was law aside from that of the other high ranking members in both the advisement councils and the Royal Court, and none were more respected than Jeb Stuart. He additionally, had been titled Grand Inquisitor of Espionage, and was in charge of all spying, scouting and reconnaissance procedures by the Grand Duchy, whether they be military or civilian in nature.

Alas, the one downside to Forrest, in addition to his unwillingness to cooperate with the idea of a centralized Southern Empire, was his bitter love for slavery. Forrest swore by slavery and denounced and in some cases decapitated anyone who spoke otherwise, at least to himself or at that which could be made a public spectacle. The opinion to ban slavery was thoroughly outlawed across all the lands under Memphis, both directly and indirectly ruled by either Forrest or his viscounts. That idea didn't sit well with unionists in varying towns within the territories Memphis controlled, and the thought of rebels in turn, didn't sit well with Forrest. To be a rebel or an original rebel was to be a Unionist carpet-bagger, and that much, at least, could be a shared opinion of both Stuart and Forrest. But Jeb, who had only owned a slave after the war which had been given to him as part of his father's originally owned slaves, was non-the-wiser than to know that slavery would need to be made illegal if the North was ever to allow the South to permanently be a separate entity to the North and its own nation.

What was worse was, in the event that opinion started to carry more weight in the Grand Duchy, Stuart would have to side against the Archduke. As of present, he had nodded his head and smirked his wickedly deceiving grin of approval to Forrest whenever the topic of slavery and its support had come up in discussion at advisement meetings or sessions of the Royal Court. By comparison, if the voice for an anti-slave state within the confines of West-Tennessee were to take place, Jeb would wholeheartedly take the side of the opposition, with or without Jackson's approval. It was within Stuart's opinion in his own mind while he would "die for my home, of which I believe to be free and justified its own against the powers that be in the North" he wouldn't be able to condone slavery, a practice in which he himself had played a part in, but now had little interest in promoting.

Forrest had dispatched one of the top military leaders under Stuart and those in Command positions; Colonel John Goodwin, who co-conspired with Forrest at Fort Pillow to only distribute the White Union soldier prisoner names and headcounts, to head operations of law enforcement and military officials consolidated, to seek out, capture, and execute those who would save face and publicly denounce and disgrace the idea of slavery in Memphis territory, throughout all of the Provinces. Stuart had hoped Goodwin would refuse, or at the very best, do his to adhere to, but do little to actually enforce the orders given. Instead, from what Stuart's spies had reported last occurring the Emperor's direct adjacent provincial lands to Memphis themselves in Madison-Fayette, the atrocities were already underway.

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Annapolis, Maryland

Bernard Kelsey swayed ever so slightly atop his mount as the southern caravan entered Annapolis. This was the farthest north Kelsey had been in perhaps a year. He had been in the city a few times as a child, when his father had business buying whatever was needed for their small store back home in South Carolina. When the war happened he doubted if he would ever be this far north again. Thankfully, besides those first few months after hostilities ceased, the border had remained open for free men like himself.

Crossing into Maryland was thankfully not as hazardous as was expected. Troop movements both below and above the Mason-Dixon Line revealed the tensions in the air following the recent events involving Appalachia. However, the crossing itself was business as usual except for a more scrutinizing inspection of the caravans goods.

Kelsey let the caravan and delegation know that he would regroup with them later as he split off and began riding away. He wanted to get a good look of the city before he performed any official duties. It was quite a city just from a few glances and moments in the streets. It was a beautiful city, one couldn't argue. A modern city in all the sense of the word. Blacks and Whites mingling as equals instead of slaves and masters. Many of his southern compatriots would spit at the sight.

Kelsey would find the caravan again in perhaps an hour after his quick little tour. Kelsey wasn't sure what he was looking for, only that he was looking.

[Dahyan]

Juan Cavallo,
High Chief of the Mascogo Tribe
Southern Texas
January 1877

The smell of smoke filled the air. Even though the temperatures were chilly on the plains, the fire and thick black smoke made one forget the time of year. What used to be a plantation growing cotton for the Confederacy, was now but a giant fireplace sending embers all around.
Courtesy of the Mascogo nation.

The Mascogo, also known as Maroons or Black Seminole. A name that instilled fear in many a Dixie man close to the Rio Grande. A name matched in fame and infamy by that of its leader. Juan Cavallo, or John Horse. Gopher John for those Americans close to him, which were very few in number. A legendary war chief of mixed Seminole and African descent, and veteran of many a conflict, who had fought wars against Yankees, the Upper Creek, Cherokee, Comanche, Apache and Confederates in the past four decades of his life. The chief who had gathered Seminole, escaped slaves, Kickapoo tribesmen and Maroons across the Rio Grande in a daring exodus away from the threat of slavery, back in 1849.

Juan Cavallo, Colonel in the Imperial Mexican Cavalry, mayor of El Nacimiento, but most of all High Chief of the Mascogo. He was the man who had started this pyre.

Sitting on his horse watching over the inferno, Cavallo oversaw the situation, dressed in traditional Seminole garb, blow and quiver slung across his back and a Sharps rifle held firmly in his right hand. His piercing eyes, showcasing the keen instincts of a Seminole tracker, were set in a friendly but weathered dark-skinned face.

A group of his forces, mostly Blacks or mulattoes like Cavallo himself, came towards their chief, dragging a fancily-dressed prisoner along. Throwing the rather fat white man to his knees in front of Horse's horse, one of the men addressed the chief in the Hitchiti tongue.

"Chief, this is the man who owned this place. A gringo planter who owner at least two dozen slaves."

The planter, his outfit besmirched with soot and sand, looked around with panic in his eyes, desperately seeking a way out.

Cavallo spat on the ground.
"The laws of the warband are clear. Every slave-owner shall die as a warning to the others."

Turning his eyes to meet those of the plantation owner directly, Cavallo effortlessly switched from his native language to English.

"Shoot every other white man on the plantation. Then hang the fat one from the highest tree you can find. Leave the bodies where they can be clearly seen, as a warning. As usual."

As the cries of the planter being dragged away mixed with the shots of crackers being executed, Cavallo got off his horse and walked towards another old man who was busy torching the cotton fields nearby.

Coacoochee, or Wild Cat, a full-blood Seminole war chief and close friend to Cavallo, turned around and greeted him heartily. Just like Cavallo, Coacoochee hailed from far away Florida, and had been driven from his land by the white man's greed. He had been instrumental in supporting the 1849 exodus, leading a group of Seminole warriors along towards a new future in Mexico.

"Another plantation burned to ash, and its owners returned to Hell," Wild Cat spoke.
Cavallo nodded. "And how many slaves freed?"
"Twenty-five, including women and children. Twelve able-bodied men in total."
"Great news. As usual, allow them the choice to go out on their own or follow us to El Nacimiento."

The two veterans were interrupted by a messenger halting his horse next to them.

"Apologies, honourable chieftains. A message has arrived in El Nacimiento by a Texan courier from up north. Highly confidential, and meant for the eyes of Chief Cavallo.

Cavallo frowned. A message from north of the Rio Grande was a most unusual thing indeed, especially one sent personally to him. Opening the sealed envelope, he quickly read the note, and his expression suddenly lit up tremendously. Passing the letter over to Coacoochee, he tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"A mysterious note asking us for assistance against the King of Texas. Now that is a pleasant surprise."
"If indeed it is not just a badly laid trap," Wild Cat retorted.
"Indeed, good friend." John Horse stared into the horizon pensively. "But still too good a chance to pass up. Wilson County Courthouse, they say? We will send a man. Not ourselves of course, we're not that naive in believing a letter from a white man. But a messenger bearing our goodwill and willingness to participate in this... project."

After quickly noting down something on two sheets of paper, Juan Cavallo turned towards the Seminole messenger.

Ride for Nacimiento, and notify Estavio. He is to ride for Wilson County and make contact with whomever this Lone Star person is. The second note is for Marquis Marquez, to inquire if he got a similar message. It would surprise me if a man of his rank has not been contacted on this matter."

With the messages sent, Juan Cavallo walked back to his horse, just on time to see the hanging of the planter taking place.

"Back on the horse, my brethren. Let's get out of here before any Confederates show up."

[The Vaktovian Empire]

Nathan Bedford Forrest
Royal Courtroom, Royal Palace, Memphis, Tennessee
January 1877

---

[tab=50]Nathan Bedford Forrest had returned to Memphis, after a seven day horse ride to the nearest adjacent railway line, as the line from Nashville to Asheville had been severed by the Partisans who sought to bring independence to Appalachia, although their plot wasn't well known to the Southern aristocracy which had now mobilized armies, and simultaneously a delegation towards the North, and, to be more specific Maryland.

For the most part, individual events had remained quiet within the Grand Duchy. Colonel John Goodwin had been dispatched in the provinces in the closest proximity to Memphis' Province itself, to begin to seek out and tear down the names of those that would publicly denounce the empire, and make it known they were Union sympathizers. Goodwin would have several successful raids on multiple homes of residents, finding weapons, ammunition, and evidence of notations addressed to and from fellow co-conspirators. One of the most shocking revelations came during a raid from within the capital city itself, which saw a man with a family of three be found to have possession of sensitive documentation calling for potential assassination attempts on the Archduke, as well as simultaneous bombings of key infrastructure. The best part about the finding was it linked the man in question living in the capital to a cell based out of the town of Parsons, which was in the territory of Decatur-Hardin, a large sum of land on the Western border of estabilished Duchy territory, ending exactly at the Tennessee River. Across the river laid an immense mass of independent cities, towns, and villages, varying from Pro to Anti-Union and the like. It was no wonder Parsons, only five miles from the West bank of the Tennessee River, was a base for a cell. The most recent writings had uncovered the town had now fully capitulated and fallen to Pro-Union hands. This news could not be more unsettling, especially considering the Partisan attacks in the opposite side of Tennessee. The Archduke had called his Court to order.

---

His most trusted man, to his knowledge, Jeb Stuart, entered from the West Wing of the Palace, from the hallways which led to the remainder of the "Royal Complex" that housed the Palace itself, adjacent buildings, and the garrison for the Royal Guard. Stuart was dressed in his red-lined gray cape, yellow sash, hat cocked to the side with an ostrich plume, red flower in his lapel, the signature Jeb Stuart attire. A strong odor of a most elegant cologne trailed not far behind him as he entered. From the North Wing, that of which led the mainstay of the Palace, including Forrest's Chambers, Personal Study, and Residence, as well as the main entrance to the palace itself, entered Brigadier General Richard Taylor; a man who had served under Forrest's mentor General John Bell Hood during the great war. Taylor was now his first in command. Alongside him, entered his son; William Montgomery "Monty" Bedford Forrest, dressed in a standard looking Confederate uniform, augmented with grey epaulets to promote association as having direct connection with His Grace's Royal family in some linear way. His boots were freshly polished and not a crease donned his uniform. My boy though Forrest Boy does he make me prouder by the day seeing him grow older, wiser, and more professional, never could I have kept myself so highly self-scrutinized The fourth in command of the Grand Army; Major General Pierre Saint Laurent Emerstine, a devout Catholic and subsequently 90% Frenchman, was not present for this emergency hearing. Colonel John Goodwin, head of the new militarized Secret Police which as described dealt with rhetoric and anti-Confederate as well as Anti-Duchy propaganda was granted emergency seating in this call for the Court to assemble.
Out of the East Wing, came four additional men. The East Wing housed different chambers, board rooms, administrative offices, communications centers of non-military origin and additional resources and areas which handled the major political, economic, social, and religious proceedings of the Grand Duchy as a whole in place of the Archduke. There were several Ministers of these specializations in running the affairs of the Government at the top, as well as each Provincial lord who could hold titles from Viceroy to Viscount to Baron, and then underneath those offices were major administrative persons who could potentially be working and living out of the Capital City, representing, or helping to augment the governing of his/her territories; be them cities, towns, villages or settlements, from the Capital itself and sometimes in place of their ranking Mayor, Town Manager, Sheriff, Settlement Leader, etc. One of the four men who approached were Minister Stratton Wheeler of Wartime Politics, Strategy and War, a similar position to Jeb Stuarts however assisting with more of the administrative side to handling the military, as well as funds, and advisement for analytics related to warfare on the political side. A larger man, Wheeler appeared to be in what one could assume was his late 40s, mostly balding, he sported a handlebar mustache and associating stubble The second man was Minister J.K Hopkins of Strategic Economics and Finance; a man formerly who had done business ventures with Forrest prior to the war, and was a venture capitalist at heart, Hopkins himself had ulterior motives to ultimately establish Memphis as one of the leading places in Dixie to achieve financial success, through improving the quality of banks in the region, and establishing the power of the Southern Imperial banknote and inflating currency to be worth much more than it was currently. Aside from that, Hopkins was a younger man, most likely in his mid 30s with blonde hair and clean shaven, with a medium build. The third man was Minister Robert Pearson-Cutlass of Justice & Tribunals, he was the main entity that would weigh in on decisions of judicial proceedings, alongside an advisement board that he himself had appointed. His word on judiciary hearings, and sentencing was second only to the Archduke himself. He had been an astoundingly well renown judge in Nashville, and Forrest had written him in the early days of the formation of his Duchy to assist him in keeping order through fair and impartial trials and sentencing throughout its short existence thus far. Pearson-Cutlass appeared to be in the early 40s, late 30s age range, sporting ginger hair cut to a crew cut length, and mutton chops. He was a man of average height and average weight, appearing to be slightly above-average in muscular tone to the body. The last man was Governor General Maximelius Cordon-West of the Territory of Decatur-Hardin, the area in question of which the Town of Parsons belonged, and the sole reason this emergency hearing of the Royal Court had been called by the Archduke despite arriving back from his seventeen hour train ride which had been preceded by the seven day horse ride.

Forrest sat, wrapped in one of his more conservatively styled tunics, black pants and shoes underneath. His beard was ungroomed, and he hair sat messily atop his head. He would appear to any average man as unscrupulous, which in part was true. Forrest was a man of few manners and his wife's uncle, who had been her childhood caretaker had judged Forrest as such, but in addition to that, the Archduke had been mildly stressed to get back to his Duchy. He never liked to be too far away from the Palace, where he could directly administer his Government as necessary. He had no problem delegating responsibilities to these trusted ministers and military professionals, leading from the front line was past the older-man's time. But he did like to be central to proceedings, in case something, just like in this case, happened to arise.

"I've called this emergency proceeding ahead of the regular briefing of which I would have called in approximately three to four days following my long trip, because Colonel John Goodwin, in his extremely proactive efforts to pillage our great lands of treason and treachery, has uncovered an elaborate plot of traitorous acts, including treason, arson, and terror. In addition to all of this, he linked the suspected man in question to several other cells within our great capital city, and in addition to all of that, uncovered a plot to compromise the progress and stability of our nation from within our own borders by conspirators. The Town of Parsons, unbeknownst to Governor General Cordon West here,"

Forrest said, as he raised his hand to directly acknowledge the Governor General.

"Has fallen into the hands of rebels, traitors, thieves, and pillagers. In the reports confiscated belonging to the conspirator here in the capital, it was discovered not only has the Town been overtaken from the Sheriff and potential deputized persons under the direction of the Governor General, but certain elements to the towns infrastructure have been razed, and some have been pillaged. There is potential to the murdering of innocent persons who have committed no crime against these beasts."

The court had an uncanny silence to it. Despite the fact Forrest was no silver-tongued politician, and was the last person to be a testament to Southern etiquette, he was able to put on a great showing in positions where he needed to play the role of royalty. His son, in comparison, championed the role regardless of who was watching, and he never broke stride with being, and believing, he was of royal blood and destined for greatness. Forrest by comparison embraced the role he had been able to achieve for himself, but it wouldn't be uncommon to find Forrest slumped back in his throne chair on occasion, being flat out unavailable for proceedings, or generally uninterested in certain royal ceremonies. He wasn't a drunkard, or a partier, like the great George Washington of Asheville, but he also wasn't cut out to be solely a royal figurehead, or absolute monarch by comparison.

Forrest continued on his opening remarks.

"Henceforth, Colonel Goodwin, you are to pass on a detailed report and all essential pieces of evidence you have uncovered to Brigadier General Taylor and his Staff, in order for them to coordinate a counter-attack.

"Understood my liege, I will return to my men at once, and ensure the reports are detailed and organized before presentation to the Army," said Goodwin. "Very good," said the Archduke. "Good work, my friend. Your efforts to the success of our lands has not gone unnoticed, and our people are to be giving great thanks to your continued efforts."

The Colonel bowed his head to Forrest with a smile, and exited out towards the North Wing.

"General Taylor." He called out to the veteran standing at ease across from him. Without a moment's hesitation, the man clacked his freshly polished boots together with a loud *clack*, as did his preceding ranks among him; Stuart, Montgomery Bedford Forrest, and Taylor's entourage of a man of lieutenant rank who was most likely accompanying in an advisement role as well as taking detailed notes for the General, as well as two privates who stood as guardsmen. Simultaneous with the straightening and clacking of booted legs, they saluted their Archduke and Supreme Commander with unanimous and symmetrical salutes. Forrest firmly saluted his men back, then continued to address the General.

"As you were and yours were, General" as the man now spread his legs approximately shoulder lengths apart, hands clasped behind his back and back set perpendicular with the floor ever-so-straight, as did Stuart and Taylor's men of entourage, standing at ease.

"General, yourself and Inspector General Stuart are to formulate battle plans at once, we will dispatch a small army of approximately three hundred men, to crush this pitiful insurrection. As part of this Army will be two regiments of Royal Cavalry, as well as a support brigade of half a dozen or so 12 pound artillery apparatus and a single Vulcan minigun. Stratton?"

He turned to his Minister of Wartime Politics to the left side of his court.

"Do those numbers comply with our reserve ranks and our troops on assignment?"

"Your Grace, from the latest reports from the field, most of our reserves are on light duty and military exercises at a reduced level due to the start of the new calendar year, in compliance with the recommendation from the Inspector General," Stratton said, eyeing Stuart with a deathly glare from across the Court. The two men always butted heads on certain issues and maintained the most feverish rivalry despite the fact Stuart ultimately was superior in reputation and respect from those under his command in comparison to Stratton Wheeler.

"Very good then, three hundred men total it is, a contingent of forty horses for the cavalry and a couple of steeds to tow the apparatus as well as additional supplies for the forces in a couple of wagons." said Forrest.

"Excellent your Grace, myself and the Inspector General will undertake these orders at once," Taylor said. He looked to Stuart standing to his left giving him a look as if to motion for him also to exit, and bowed his head to the Archduke, turning on his heel and stepping out of the Court back from the North Wing from which he came. Monty and Stuart clacked their feet together and also began to depart. Monty cleared the doorway as the Archduke called out to Jeb.

"General Stuart," Forrest called out, as Jeb began to follow Taylor out towards the entrance to the Complex, to travel down the road away to the Military Complex for the Grand Army. "Yes your grace?" said Stuart "May I suggest assigning Major Sterling K.M Foster to the task, his exercises at the showcasing in Binghampton was exceptional and I believe he's ready for a battle as trivial as this." Said the Archduke. "Of course your excellency. I will advise the Brigadier General as such on our way to Headquarters," said Stuart. Forrest gave a genuine smile, but Stuart tipped his head to the ground, turned again towards the North Wing, and exited.

"As for the rest of you, we are adjourned. Governor General, you are hereby ordered to maintain a better foothold of your territories in the future. Just because your lands aren't officially a Province doesn't give you the right to neglect them in favor of the hosh-posh style of living and wining and dining in the hors d’oeuvres of the capital lifestyle." He proclaimed to the man who had now shriveled up into a metaphorical ball in stature due to the public humiliation in the midst of the three major Ministers; all men of which had more political and social power in the Duchy than himself.

"Of course your grace, I can assure you such a slip up will not happen again. I will embark for Parsons myself, as soon as the Army has done its job."

Cordon-West, the Governor General, of which had been able to sneakily slide into his position through strings pulled by Stratton Wheeler that the Archduke knew all too well about, knew Cordon-West to be a former soldier. Though Governor General was a title of political and military power simultaneously, all other rulers of the actual provinces, from Barons to Viscounts all held semi-military titles and could be considered part of His Grace's Grand Army as part of any defensive or offensive conflict. They were not required, as they weren't enlisted men, they were figureheads, and any role would hold limited command interaction in comparison to the main Generals and Colonels of the Army, but regardless, they were able to be involved militarily. In comparison Governor General was a very loose title, and Cordon-West had become typically well known especially within the past six months of his ownership of handling administration of the territory, he shied away from leading, directing, or augmenting situations which required the military, even though he was a former Private on the Confederate sides during the Great War, who had given up the military following it to live a lush lifestyle of a Memphis aristocrat.

"Actually, good Governor General," said Forrest. "I have no intention of sending three hundred of some of my finest men into a conflict and not having the man responsible for the formation of the enemies they are now needing to fight on the frontline with them. You are to report to General Taylor and instruct him I have assigned you to be a part of the mission with the ranking Major leading the advance in strictly a surveillance role. You will not give orders, you will not take command, and you will most certainly not discourage the conflict from occuring. Is that clear?" Forrest finished, with a clearing of his throat and a raise of his left eyebrow to the now completely shriveled up man standing in front of him. He was a sorry excuse for words by this point.

"Crystal clear in fact your excellency." Cordon-West retorted in a less than could be described as jubilant tone of voice as he sullenly left the Court for the East Wing.

"Minister Cutlass," Forrest looked to his Minister of Justice & Tribunal. "I trust that was have signifigant reasoning behind the calling for an execution by firing squad for the man of which indirectly provided us with this information of conspiracy?" He inquired.

"Certainly sir, that alone shall give us a reason to executive him. Shall I have the other captured men who were proven to be linked that Colonel Goodwin arrested in the city also be placed on the list for an execution for crimes against the state?"

"At once," Forrest said, without any hesitation.

"Right then sir, I shall see to it that it is done, privately of course, we don't want public opinion to sway. There hasn't been a public execution since the starts to our prosperous united lands." the Minister said.

Himself, Minister Stratton Wheeler, and Minister J.K Hopkins all left for the East Wing.

Forrest now sat alone in his Royal Court room, alone aside for his personal detail of Royal Guardsmen, who stood at the major entrances from the wings, and alongside his throne somewhat off to the side. Forrest sank back into his thrown, slouching back. He discarded the Royalty game and stretched his feet out so they extended far over the top step to the three or four steps that slightly elevated his throne over those of which stood on the black and white tile on the perimeter as his guests just had, or would seat themselves in the U shaped table directly in the center of his court for more formal meetings of prolonged discussion, planning and negotiation. He clasped his hands together, and then steepled them in a slow, deliberate motion as he stared off thru the window panes to the West, where one could somewhat view the size and sure might of the capital city from the surrounding countryside of which the Royal Complex was situated on.

How could I let my power dwindle in favor of a unionization with the Emperor? I don't bow to a boy, other than for formalities' sake. The will of my mind will be done, and I will have left a legacy for Monty to truly inherit. The might of what we stand for in Dixie shall stop at nothing, and for no one person, entity or object. My will be done, and this is finally the unwanted rebel incursion we've wished for to rationalize a mobilization for Westward expansion Forrest licked his lips as he continued his train of thought. He stared off to the left side of his courtroom now, eyeing the elaborate muti-colored glass panes that characterized baby Jesus, among other major holy happenings from the Old Testament. Forrest had never believed in God, yet he found himself, ever aging, now thinking to acknowledge him in some light. Maybe the Northerners are right. Maybe to trade a slave is to sin. I'm too far past believing that now. I would never be able to abolish such an essential craft to the continued success of my growing nation, to my growing prosperity, to the longevity and glory of my families' name. I'm royalty! Never to ever believe had I thought so ten plus years looking back, and with a son now who players superior to I, who will make twice the ruler I have ever been or could ever be. No. Not a sin. No God shall rule my life here on Earth so help me God. Even Mary Ann acknowledges my strength and spirit. Maybe even more than the Lord himself. I bow to no man on this planet aside from formalities' sake. Why should that be any different. Yet, Forrest from almost what appeared to be force-of-habit now, instinctively removed a white handkerchief from a pocket on his tunic, coughing directly into it, and seeing dark red blood spread across the majority of the surface of the soft piece of cloth. Forrest was dying. No one knew it, but the man would be done in soon, if not by the forces of God himself for the pure arrogance and treachery of which he continued to rationalize and commit himself to.

---

James Ewell Brown "Jeb" Stuart
Chambers, Military West Wing of the Archduke's Complex
January 1877


"But father, there's so many better things my talents are suited for. You know this. The Colonel you always talk about, Goodwin, you've heard of his hand being played here in the capital. It's turning into pandemonium. The people in the streets, in the markets, the parlors, the breweries, the bars, the casinos, they all see it. My services are better served here where I can be a reliable source of information to you where it matters most." said thirty-year old Flora Stuart, daughter of Jeb Stuart, in her quarters, which were a part of Jeb's in the West Wing of the Complex.

Stuart had just returned from his meeting with General Taylor. They would dispatch Major K.M Foster to head the counter-insurgency as per request of Forrest, much to the dismay of Stuart, who saw him as a still inexperienced man who his son had detailed spent limited time studying his books when as upper-level officers as a whole they would meet on scheduled days in the Army. Three hundred soldiers would be sent, including forty cavalrymen, alongside their trusty steeds, service horses for the towing of field artillery, the Vulcan the Archduke had approved for use, and support wagons carrying supplies. Now Stuart needed to make sure he had sufficient surveillance and intelligence on hand to witness how the results of battle would go, and what more could be uncovered in terms of the plot of these Northern-supporters to upend the progress of the Archduchy in their Western holdings.

"I know my darling, but you're right, I do need you where it matters most, and that is exactly where you're going," He said.

"I just don't understand, what's so big about a small town in the Western expansionary territories?" She asked.

"It's not the location, it's the underlying circumstances surrounding it. The men I told you Goodwin found had direct links to this group which has now taken power. There's no details on size, strength or fighting capacity within these rebels, but what we do know is they, like the man they were linked to, hate the idea of a Grand Duchy, and want to bring the Archduke down."

"But don't we want to do the same thing daddy?" Said Flora.

"No, not if we can help it. I realize when I asked you to undertake the job of being one of my top spies off the record you'd be good for it. Your mother continues to remind me no matter how old you seem to get you've got more of my blood in me than I realize." He said, with a smile, ruffling his daughter's hair, done up in a neatly styled loose bun towards the top of the back of her head. "The Archduke and me, though we may not see eye to eye on everything, have been fellow officers since before the start to a new life you've seen for the past ten some-odd years now, since the middle of the Great War at least. Objectively, I'd like to find ways for me to influence him even without him knowing. We both have a passion for Dixie, as you do as well my darling. There will be several other men I have as informants going as part of the army. They're fully enlisted men as well, but more veteran than some of the younger aged reserves I trained within the past few months. They'll keep you safe. No one is going to question you going. Women aren't encouraged to join the Grand Army, and those that do have limited roles, but I've worked it out with General Taylor you'll be going as an observer for me to report to me all strategic analysis. But your true purpose is to uncover more findings related to the bigger picture here." He said.

"So what would you have me do?"

"When you get into the inner parts of town, make sure that our forces don't air too heavily on the side of torching and ransacking the city. For one thing, the people have already reported massive property and infrastructure loss by some of these rebel raiders, despite the fact obviously the commonfolk shouldn't be their enemy if they're trying to liberate it in the name of the Union. Secondly, I need you to investigate as much as you can before some elements of the Major's forces find and confiscate sensitive information. There's a growing presence of investigations through Colonel Goodwin, which is undermining my title as Grand Inquisitor of Espionage. Although this time around he showed us everything he found, allegedly, it's highly plausible he starts to show us less and less on the military side."

"Isn't he a military officer though father? He served under the Archduke?"

"He served under the Archduke including during one of the most highly scrutizined battles of the Western theater... Fort Pillow"

"You had me read on Fort Pillow before, when you were giving me preliminary information on Archduke Forrest,"

"Correct, although I failed to mention Goodwin's connection. When the report was delivered to some of our staff including General Lee, Goodwin was the fellow under Forrest who delivered the report of individuals captured from the North. The report solely detailed white prisoners of the Union Army. Black prisoners had no names documented, although there were some black prisoners sent to the main prison camps from Fort Pillow. Ultimately, the conspiracy has Goodwin pinned as just a big conspirator in that whole rat's nest as the Archduke himself. To add insult to injury, numerous colleagues of mine who served in the Theater during the time of the massacre claim Goodwin was one of the main antagonists and promoters of over-the-top tortures and atrocities committed against both white and black prisoners of the North. He's hellbent on radical Southern thought and pride, in all of the wrong reasons. He's a loose cannon, and he cannot be allowed to continue to gain influence and firsthand view of sensitive documents before my Office."

"Right, so we have to find the paper trail on these resistance fighters before he does and seals it so then he can go on his own hunt,"

"Exactly, if you find some information first, hell, even interrogate a couple of prisoners before him and his men get that far after the battle is won and the town is secure, we're on up on the more radical parts of the Grand Duchy and we're able to know what the intentions and implications of a major raid on one of our territories was and is. I need to know how much the North may be directly involved, and more than that, I need to keep it silent. If Forrest is able to find a way to justify troops from Dixie into the Union when we as a Southern whole are so widespread and divided, it could mean the end to any free parts of Dixie that are enjoying their medieval style of rule, not just the Archduke himself."

"Alright father, I shall leave at once, attached to the army embarking for Parsons."

"Very good my dear, be safe, you were born to succeed me, you make me proud each day,"

Stuart watched his daughter pull on her coat and strap her gun belt up to her waist as she started out the door of her quarters and out into the hall towards the yard. Legacy was a word seemingly present with most of the older Confederate leadership now in Memphis. That much was certain.

Stuart, with these new developments in mind, needed to warn Jackson of what was about to transpire.

A message to his esteemed greatness Chancellor Stonewall Jackson of the Emperor's Council

Dear Old Friend,

I write to inform you of increasingly hostile developments here in West Tennessee. As we spoke briefly at the coronation, I understood you were undertaking very man responsibilites, and making your best attempt to keep order despite the fact the Partisans have launched their attack in the East, and the young Emperor commands very little respect or direct allegiance from any of the territories in Dixie, Archduke Forrest here as no exception. A growing organized secret police movement Forrest has put together, ran by his former enforcer John Goodwin, who you may remember from the memos detailing Fort Pillow and the massacre, have begun to rage intense wars internally against those that would look to badmouth and denounce slavery, or the Southern model as whole, as well as Memphis and its government specifically.
We've had several of these individuals captured, and their plans and information discovered by Goodwin. So far he's cooperated with us on the military side of things, but no telling how long that will last. Richard Taylor, who you may remember from the Western Theater who at one time relieved General John Bell Hood, is first in command under Forrest himself. I'm still unaware of his true allegiances and his stance towards a unified versus sectional South.
In any case, Goodwin could turn cold-turkey and start to cut the military out, if not at least myself, very soon. I've been appointed Grand Inquisitor of Espionage which essentially puts me in charge of all reconaissance, spying and surveillance, yet Goodwin in his newfound role with this secret police element, looks to upend me and potentially find ways to discover and turn information over directly to the Emperor.
We've had a Town; Parsons, near our border East with the Tennessee River, be connected with a rebel undertaking by Union sympathizers. Their true connection to the North remains unclear, as well as their connection to potentially the Partisans in the East. If we are to find evidence the North is directly or even indirectly involved, however, you as much as I fear the potential what an all out assault on the Mason-Dixon on the Kentucky border by Forrest's Armies could mean for the potential future and independence of any or all portions of Dixie, especially in our current divided state.
I write you old friend to allow you to be aware of these findings in advance. This telegram will hopefully reach you sooner rather than later, inevitably God willing before their train arrives approximately right outside of the Town.
I've sent my daughter, who's proven to be a great asset to my original mission of spying on Forrest while being his right hand for you. She will report back to me at her earliest convenience what she finds in relation to Northern involvement, as well as limited atrocities and unecessary killings and pillaging by our troops who will be fighting these rebels, some of which were rumored to have already raised and pillaged parts of the town among other things. She will make her best attempt to make sure Northern news sources don't unecessarily learn of violence in the Town as part of a stomping out of rebels, which could be further fuel for a move for Northern advance on our beloved Dixie.

Stay safe my friend, I anxiously await your reply,

J.E.B Stuart