The Medieval South [IC]

[Alaroma]

Nate Jones

The smirking Ranger walked up to the leader of the Colt Company, and took off his out in respect. “Mighty fine ships you got here, I must say. Does the Confederacy proud.” He said, before stopping in front of the man. “Name is Nate Jones, I’m here on behalf of the Texan Government. We wanna commission you to join the Texan Navy, in service of this mighty fine Kingdom. You’ve brought us your wonderful arms manufacturing, arming Texans and giving them jobs, and we want you to protect our waters the same way. Of course, your service would be compensated.”

[Cylarn]

Medea Hopkins
Appalachian Partisan Rifles
Nashville-Asheville Rail Line
Thirty Miles West of Asheville
Late Morning, January 1877

Amid the mountain brush, Hopkins and her party were near-invisible. The brunt of her force awaited orders atop a wooded plateau, well out of range of the roads and trails. As for the Partisan herself, she and an entourage of six other Partisans sat on the side of a hill, with a line of sight through the trees to a nearby blockhouse, as well as the high-flying chunk of railroad bridge that served as their target. A specially-designed suit, made of baggy green cloth and specked with small pine branches and foliage, was worn by each of the seven Partisans. They were ghosts.

A single Southern flag hung in the sky above the blockhouse, listing easterly with the wind. Through a pair of binoculars, Hopkins observed a fair amount of activity at the post. Such blockhouses served as small outposts and waystations for passing patrols. Oftentimes, they would pass off shifts at the blockhouses. At this particular location, a group of ten horses idled by their hitching posts, with most of the horses being unsaddled. They were Percherons, mostly, and what saddles she did see appeared to be a mix of different civilian styles.

That's unprofessional, I think. Hopkins passed her binoculars to Tim, who sat on her left side.

"What do you make of those horses?" she asked in a hushed tons.

Tim took a moment to give an answer, studying the creatures carefully. The escaped slave had worked with horses most of his life, and knew them better than he knew people.

"Work horses," he said quietly. "They look like they came from a farm, more fit for pulling plows than fighting wars."

Hopkins nodded. "There were Thoroughbred warhorses out here earlier. Sabers on the saddles, which were all uniformed military pieces. Guess the Cavalry switched shifts."

"Home Guard, I suppose then," Tim replied. It was a logical assumption; despite the decade of sovereignty, the Home Guard was still wildly different from the regular Army, on the grounds of arms and equipments and tactics. While they could very easily buy their own horses, many members of the Home Guard took to rustling under an official moniker, and then further utilizing stolen horses. Such animals were important to mountain farmers and people of all colors in the Appalachian Mountains, and depriving someone of their horse was akin to chopping off their right hand.

"I doubt they'd give us much of a fuss."

Hopkins held out her hand for the binoculars; Tim quickly obliged. She took sight of the blockhouse again, checking out its strengths. Telegraph wires snaked through the mountains, and Hopkins could see one such wire connected to the blockhouse.

"There's a telegraph in there," she said. "If we fuck over the element of surprise, they'll send word to Asheville as quick as they can, and it'll make our escape that much harder once the roads get clogged with reinforcements."

Hopkins lowered the binoculars, pausing for a moment before speaking again.

"We'll divide up for this," she stated, a plan formulated. "Eight men will go climb the bridge, plant the TNT, and then pull back here to rally up and ride out. While they're doing that, the rest of us will go take care of the blockhouse. We can sever the line, and then blow the place up."

"Home Guard's not worth much," Tim muttered derisively. "I can ride in close with a stick or two, pop it in the window. Wouldn't hurt to hit them from two sides."

Hopkins gave a simple nod, but the idea was a good one. "I can provide fire from the hills, us in the ghillies. We keep them under fire on one side, and then you ride in with some boys and destroy it."

The two looked at each other in affirmation, before breaking off to the group at large. Hopkins briefed the men; they would conduct the operation in three different groups. Depleur, an ex-Louisiana Tiger, would take charge of rigging the bridge to blow. Hopkins and Tim, respectively, would assault the blockhouse in order to keep Depleur and his party from being spotted by the Home Guard in the blockhouse. The Partisans saddled up, and moved in on their targets.

For Hopkins, she and her group of five ghillie-clad Partisans, armed with a collection of Snider-Enfields and Rolling Blocks and Sharps rifles, crept in the wilderness within a hundred yards of the blockhouse. Their horses kept secured safely away, they watched as business in the blockhouse continued as usual. No one came outside, and the horses continued to mosey at their posts.

From her position, Hopkins had a degree of height on the position of the blockhouse. One window covered each side, with individual loops cut out for rifles. She could see directly inside, as none of the heavy wooden covers had been shut from the inside. With her binoculars, she saw figures inside, walking around. Some appeared to be drinking or smoking. It was perfect. One of her men sat high above in a tree that he had climbed, using a long wooden pole saw to cut the telegraph line that sat near their position.

Just off of the road, near the back-end of the blockhouse, Tim and a group of riders waited. He watched the telegraph wire being taken down, courtesy of a pair of binoculars. Lowering them, he turned his head and body to look to two riders behind him. One of them, a young man not much older than seventeen, passed a stick of dynamite to Tim, while a much older man with a white beard sat with his sawn-down double-barrel pointing upwards into the sky.

"Right, we're gonna do this like we did to that post in Boone, remember?" Tim asked the two, in a low voice. They nodded affirmatively.

"Bartlett, you're gonna ride up ahead and blast out that window. Lomax and I will then ride up and he will light the dynamite while I throw it in. Then, we will ride around the front and help Hopkins pick off any who make it outside."

Tim turned to his other side, looking to the rest of the detail. "Y'all watch our backs, and make sure some cav patrol doesn't sneak up on us. Once the blockhouse blows up, ride in behind us."

With a gentle kick, Tim and his two companions took down the hill onto the road. It was empty, quiet. The blockhouse sat up ahead. At a light canter, they proceeded forward. With the dynamite in his right hand, Tim motioned for Bartlett to move forward. As the mountain man and his shotgun picked up their pace as they closed in on the blockhouse, Lomax rode up and struck a match before lighting the stick of dynamite in mid-ride.

Bartlett raised his shotgun to his shoulder and simultaneously cocked back a single hammer. He got extremely close, maybe within five feet of the window, and let loose a single barrel of buckshot into the window. It shattered instantly, and Bartlett peeled around the other side, his agile Irish Draught turning the corner of the blockhouse and down the road. Lomax followed behind him, Henry Rifle pointed in the air, as Tim drew in and chucked the live dynamite into the blockhouse.

"APPALACHIA!" Tim shouted as he pulled away from the window.

A quartet of men clad in grey and butternut burst through the front door on the other side of the blockhouse, frenzily moving in a panic. Most of them tripped and fell as they did so, dropping rifles and pistols by accident as they did so. Behind them, the back half of the blockhouse erupted into an explosion, with boards and debris launching into the air. The front half, although spared from the main blast, lurched forward and fell over top of the posts, inadvertently freeing the horses that the Home Guard had posted outside. Some of the men attempted to chase after their fleeing, panicking steeds, while others went for their guns.

From her position, Hopkins and her detail raised their weapons as Tim and his trio passed by their kill zone, other riders coming up the road to join them. With their advantage in height and position, Hopkins fired the first shot from her carbine, aiming at a soldier positioned crouched with an Enfield at the ready. The round struck home in his upper left leg, and he collapsed to the side, clutching at his wound. The other guardsmen turned to respond to the horsemen, when a volley of concentrated fire erupted from the treeline.

Most of the men were hit instantly, falling over in the face of a wall of aimed shots. Two more similar patterns of fire, joined by the rapid repeating fire of the riders on the road, felled the remaining Guardsmen. Their bodies laid astrewn before the smoldering heap of ruin that had been their blockhouse. Hopkins stood to her feet, as did her entourage. She raised her rifle into the air, a look of pride upon her face.

"APPALACHIA!" her party erupted, the war cry echoing through the mountains.

As quickly as they had conducted their assault, they cleared the area and retreated further into the mountains. Back at their initial rally point, Hopkins held up her left hand to order a halt. The riders stopped, and their commander trotted to the rear, her eyes focused on the distant bridge. She witnessed the bridge crumble due to an explosive eruption under its supports, followed by a loud boom. A few moments passed, and the bridge collapsed into the mountain chasm below.

The Nashville-Asheville Line had been severed. At the same time, other actions were underway.

---

Dean "Skiddy" Brown
Appalachian Partisan Rifles
In the vicinity of Shufordsville, North Carolina
Early Morning, January 1877


Camp Price was the main attraction of Shufordsville. Much of the town, once primarily dedicated to logging and quarry work, now served much of the Imperial training base. Stores and tradesmen had opened up shop to service the camp, whether boots needed repair or land needed clearing. At any given time, a thousand fresh Imperial recruits were garrisoned here, learning the trade of soldiery from a small cadre of experienced Confederate war veterans. A small government railroad of little use other than for transporting recruits connected Shufordsville and Asheville, which hosted a reception and recruitment point for Imperial volunteers.

Some five miles outside of town, Dean Brown and his partisan band trotted freely upon the western road leading to the camp. All of the riders were clad in an assortment of Confederate uniforms, be they grey cavalry tunics or butternut coats. To the civilian traffic they encountered, they were perceived to be legitimate Imperial soldiers or Home Guard, if a bit eclectic-looking. To the trained eye, Brown ensured that the unit passed as something between irregular cavalry and Home Guard. Their story was that they were a partisan-hunting outfit from Memphis, on their way through to Asheville. To boot, all of them were white men, and most had served in the Confederate Army to differing extents. Brown himself had been a cavalry lieutenant under Stuart for the duration of the war.

However, things change. The former Confederate officer was now leading almost forty men to raid a training camp run by fellow Confederate veterans. The Home Guard, for Brown, has changed things for him. Seeing his brother lynched by the Home Guard for slapping a greedy banker across the face, had changed things. It was for that reason, he became a Partisan.

A Spencer carbine laid on his lap as he rode, secured in place by his elbows. He trotted ahead of his column alone, puffing on a cigar. The land surrounding this road was open, with the forests cleared for pasture and farmland. His gaze focused on a rider to his right flank, coming over the hill. His left hand went up, as he silently coaxed his steed into coming to a halt.

The rider drew close, clad in a grey cavalry uniform with a gold-lined forage cap on his head. He brought his grey and white-speckled pony up to Brown, giving a nod of greeting.

"Price is just now waking up," the rider said. "Three battalions in total, seeing about nine-hundred on their rosters when they let me in the main office yesterday. They're spread out in a triangle pattern in their camping arrangement."

"What else can you tell me about how awake they are?" Brown asked, cigar resting in his left hand. The rider responded by shaking his head, and spitting a glob of brown spit onto the dirt road.

"Not great. They're going easy on these guys with the Emperor dying, and given that this training regiment appears to be pretty fanatical, they probably have a grieving period. A lot are probably sleeping in."

"How would we look riding in?"

"No one would give a wink at you. I was able to ride in full-gallop yesterday evening at Supper, and their 'sentries' never even gave me a challenge. I know they fucking saw me bolting in, too. Way I saw in their ledgers when they weren't looking, was that the recruits are only being given five rounds apiece, and their guns are kept unloaded and ammunition stowed in their pouches unless they are on the range."

Brown gave a sigh of disappointment, and took a puff of his cigar.

"They're forgetting where they are. This is Western North Carolina."

Walsh approached Brown and his scout from the column, clad in a long butternut tunic and a grey cloak, along with a black Stetson. He had heard most of what they were talking about.

"It sounds like a massacre," he said solemnly. Brown nodded in agreement.

"If that's what it takes, that's what it takes."

"We're outnumbered, Skiddy. Still could rout them good, but we need to do it right."

"I know, Walsh, and we've got the advantage. There's almost a thousand of them, but they know next to nothing about how to fight."

Brown continued on.

"From multiple sides, we close in and charge through the camp. We got the carbines, the wheelguns, and the blades we need to finish anyone who tries to put up a fight. We burn the tents, shoot anyone who gets close, and let them brunt of them run off. We cut through each encampment, blow up their armory and supply depot, before we cut the fuck back to rendezvous with Church."

The frown grew on Walsh's face. "We were told to divert..."

"And we are diverting, Walsh."

After a few parting words, the column advanced again along the road. The scout took point, leading the force across the lightly-powdered fields towards the camp. White tents soon appeared in the distance, white smoke riding high above the camp. The column continued onward, their horses carrying them closer and closer. With a wave of his left hand, the column spread out into a line of twenty men across at 200 yards. A few figures on the outskirts of the camp wandered about, and appeared to be watching the approaching horsemen.

Rifles got unsheathed as they closed in, and a collective cock of rifles - levers and hammers - was carried out. Walsh hollered something incomprehensible, and around half of the Partisans joined him to form a portion of an L-shaped attack. With two lines of horsemen armed with repeating weapons and breech-loaders, revolvers and other weapons on standby, they would assault the camp. More soldiers within began to pay attention, but very few, aside from the sentries who began to wander towards the scene, were carrying rifles.

Brown raised his left hand, and the Partisans raised their rifles as their horses carried them into range. The anticipation grew, as trigger fingers tickled their respective triggers.

"FIRE!" Brown yelled as he dropped his left hand. A thundering crack of rifles igniting in unison was the response.

Bullets struck into the camp, hitting the ground, the tents, and whatever else happened to be within their range. Multiple recruits fell to the ground, struck by the initial volley. What came next, as the Partisans pressed their attack, was independent fire on individual Imperial soldiers. The untested men in the camp panicked and fell over themselves as their early morning reprieve was invaded by a Partisan attack. Men scrambled for their rifles, only to drop them in the mud. Men who were sleeping prior to the attack stumbled out of their tents to a scene of bedlam, while the Partisans began to enter the perimeter.

Some of the Partisans drew out their revolvers, putting down fire at close range on the scrambling recruits. The horses continued into the camp, often knocking over the kettles and tents as they did so. A fire, caused by a knocked-over lantern erupted within the camp. Brown swirled around, Remington '58 and reigns in his right hand, and a Model 1860 Cavalry Saber in his left.

"LET 'EM RUN! SHOOT 'EM IF THEY TRY TO STICK AROUND! YOU BEST GET THE FUCK OUT OF APPALACHIA!"

The horsemen pressed on as a general panic ensued. Many of the recruits fled from the carnage, while others were killed or severely wounded in the confusion. Elsewhere in Camp Price, the cadre responded by hastily forming troops from the unaffected encampments to march in and engage the Partisans. Brown could see approaching infantry columns amid the carnage of the encampment that he and his men had burned. Doctrine kicked in; the Partisan Rifles were not yet at the stage in which they could take on two battalions of Imperial infantry - recruits or not - in open battle. As they drew in, he gave the order to retreat, and the force swiftly withdrew across the field, back towards the mountain, where their horses could easily lose the pursuing infantry.

---

Benedict "Ben" Church
Appalachian Partisan Rifles
Asheville-Salisbury Line
30 miles east of Asheville, North Carolina
Noon, January 1877


"You're full of shit, Danner," Ben called out heartily to the two buckskin-clad Cherokee men who walked in front of him upon the rail bridge, as he and a black man clad in a blue tunic carried a wooden crate by handles on the side. One of the Cherokee, an old man with long black hair steadily turning gray, gave a chuckle.

"Great fur-clad men have inhabited Appalachia for centuries. Long before you were here, certainly long before we came here. I have not seen one in almost forty years, but do not doubt me."

"Do they talk?" the man in the blue tunic asked.

"The fur-men?" Ben queried. "They probably just grunt at each other."

"They have their own tongue, but I cannot say I know it."

Ben held up his right hand. "Hold up. Here's good."

Setting the box down, Ben peered over the side. Down below, was a chasm of pine spears, pointing up towards him. He did not fear heights; he had hiked many mountains, and climbed masts at sea. Ben opened the box and grabbed a bundle of dynamite sticks. The younger Cherokee man brought over a spool of fuse wire, and fastened it to the dynamite.

"I'll go down there, and set it. Be ready down the line with the second bundle."

With that said, Ben hoisted himself down. Danner followed him from atop, as the Partisan leader fastened the bundle underneath the bridge's support.

"You were at sea, Ben?" Danner asked.

"Yeah," Ben said, before tightening the bundle to the support.

"Have you seen monsters at sea?"

"I have."

Ben began to lift himself up, and Danner obliged by grabbing hold of Ben's arm to pull him up. He looked down the line; the Cherokee had positioned himself at the far support, but he appeared to be kneeling next to the track, studying something. Ben began to walk towards him, but stopped as his foot landed atop the rail. He could feel something in the rail as he looked down. He and the Cherokee Partisan made eye contact; something was coming.

"Connect the fuse to the detonator, and get off the bridge!" he shouted to the other two members of his party, before he started off down the bridge to the second position of dynamite. The Partisan was hard at work rigging up wire to the second charge. Ben stopped in his tracks as the Partisan ran towards him.

"It's set!"

"C'mon, there's a train coming!"

The two sprinted to join their comrades on the other side of the bridge. The black Partisan sat over the detonator, watching as Ben and the other Cherokee Partisan joined them at their position. As soon as they had taken into the woods, a massive locomotive rolled through, bearing the emblem of the Thomasville Railroad Company. A furniture train. The largest share of luxury, high-end furniture came from factories in Thomasville and Lexington, most of which was on order by Asheville high society. It was as valid of a target as any.

"Wait for the engine to clear the bridge..." Ben said quietly. His Partisan nodded, hands firmly gripping the detonator. The locomotive chugged on, bearing with it a long line of freight cars. Almost...almost...

"Do it," Ben ordered curtly. The Partisan pushed down on the plunger, igniting the charge. Two separate explosions - not nearly the load needed - erupted, compromising the mid-section of the bridge. Due to the force, the cars passing over were knocked a foot upwards off of the track, before coming back down hard on top of it. Now fragile, the bridge began to give way to the chasm below, under the weight of several freight cars loaded with heavy furniture pieces.

Despite this situation, the locomotive was still trying to continue down the rail. Its cargo held it from fully escaping the gorge down below, however, and the engine found itself slowly but surely being dragged back. Ben and his men could see a trio of crewmen rushing atop the coal cars, towards the end of the cars. He surmised that they were trying to unhitch the falling cars as they followed the bridge into the depths of the Appalachian Mountains, and he hoped that they would be successful.

In the end, the engine escaped certain death; the workers unhitched the car, sending the rest of the cargo into the chasm below, while the locomotive and its coal cars continued on to Asheville. Ben smiled lightly at this, and the Partisans returned to their horses.

With their objectives complete and the railroads severed, the Partisans began their separate journeys to relative safety in the largely-Unionist town of Dutch Cove.

[Alaroma]

Texas Rangers

Alan turned to his other fellows, who shrugged. The ones from neutral counties were suspicious. They were denying Investigators sent by the Legislature’s authority, and they just shrugged it off. Alan tried again. “So, let me be clear gentlemen, are you denying the right of State Law enforcement, backed by the Kingdom Legislature, to do its work in the way we’ve been authorized to do. The necessary step being we arrest him first mind you, then take him to a Kingdom Court. I just want to be absolutely clear, are you sure about this? You would be disobeying State Officers in doing so, and thus aiding a man with a warranted arrest.” If so, he and his rangers would leave. They had a deadline to meet, and if they hadn’t meet it in fashionable time, the boot came down on Beaumont.

[Sarderia]

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT

Lambert turned to his men, looking to each other as if startled. They began to laugh. " 'Kingdom Legislature'? Ahahahahaha! His Majesty's most loyal appointed Legislature of Austin, Dallas, and Houston, you mean, totally elected and representative. I bet there's not even a representative from Beaumont, or even Galveston or San Antonio in your Kingdom Legislature. If there are, they wouldn't approve this blatant prejudice against the elected Mayor of a city. Our statement still stands; either you make a case against him here in our courthouse, or return to your barracks. Personally, I wouldn't risk angering an entire city - much less considering its allies - just to arrest one man. But I digress. You do you."

[Union Princes]

Nate Jones

The smirking Ranger walked up to the leader of the Colt Company and took his hat off out of respect. “Mighty fine ships you got here, I must say. Does the Confederacy proud.” He said, before stopping in front of the man. “Name is Nate Jones, I’m here on behalf of the Texan Government. We wanna commission you to join the Texan Navy, in service of this mighty fine Kingdom. You’ve brought us your wonderful arms manufacturing, arming Texans, and giving them jobs, and we want you to protect our waters the same way. Of course, your service would be compensated.”

Caldwell Colt arched an eyebrow at Nate Jone's request. Now, this is truly bizarre. "Well, Mr. Jones," Captain Colt politely coughed. "I fail to see why I am so desperately needed to be in the Texas Navy. The king's dockyards, although not as industrious as New Orleans', is still capable enough of producing his own navy without my criteria. I'm just a mere captain of the CSS Texas, not an admiral or lord, under oath to serve the Emperor. King Boykin shouldn't be afraid of my market not reaching to him; my revolvers are available for purchase throughout the Confederacy."

[SangMar]

Christian Franklin - (Still) En Route to Asheville

---

The town I’d just stopped in almost seemed like a memory: one almost as fleeting as that of the first town - I’d switched horses several times since then, to avoid tiring any of them out too much. I was just fortunate that my own horse, still in the second town I’d visited was able to be taken care of. A kindly ranch-hand had said I could come back and pick it up once I was done with my trip - thank God for people like him, people who know that the Path is a force for good. Still, I doubt the people who own the horses I used after my own feel the same way: I’d taken horses from their ranches and farms under the cover of darkness - making sure that I wasn’t seen. After all, the Path can hardly claim to stand for peace when committing acts like that; so deniability is key - if no one saw me, and no violence occurred, it would really not be an issue. But hopefully, they’d take those horses disappearing as little more than an accident - after all, things happen on frontiers like these.

Soon however, I was assailed by a howling wind and lashing rain - an occasional rumble of thunder and flash of lightning illuminating my way ahead. I’d go ahead and hunker down for the night if this continued - after all, there was no shame in such a thing: Since leaving that most recent town, I’d covered, by my own guess - a further 70 kilometres. I was making good progress towards Asheville. Hopefully soon, I’d cross the Arkansas state border - and then, I’d be able to find one of the few railroads that could get me closer to Asheville in much less time. With this in mind, I rode on a little longer - before coming to a stop by a large tree. I tied my horse to the base of it with some rope, and then I clambered upwards onto a branch - it held my weight well, and the thick coverage of leaves above shielded me mostly from the torrent of rain above. After that, I fell asleep, eager to catch up on rest.

[Mediama]

Ernestine, par la grâce de Dieu, Reine de Louisiane, Princesse de Nouvelle-Orléans, et Duchesse d’Angoulême
La Salle de Bal du Château de Biltmore
La Verre Vide

The Emperor was the only man in this nation that I would bow to. And that arrangement was not guaranteed to be permanent. He was, given the redness in his face, impressively coherent. One would imagine he would either pass out or begin to wheeze with such an unnatural complexion to him. He spoke of unity and commonality and such other generic things that one would expect. Overall, it was not a particularly memorable speech, though I nonetheless picked apart every word in my head.

I did not have a glass with me when this occurred, and so I did not participate in the toast. However, what I did notice in the corner of my eye was something about the man offering the toast. Andrew, I believe his name was. His glass was empty. My understanding of superstition was that to toast with an empty glass was highly inauspicious. I quietly glared at him as he raised his empty glass. The deficit of etiquette at this gathering was quite shocking, considering many Southerners fancied themselves superior in grooming to their former Northern counterparts. Indeed, it was an interesting notion present. One which the good Lord Duchamp was keen on pointing out. We were, indeed, different from them. But now was perhaps not the time to establish it.

“Had the Angevins succeeded, perhaps the circumstances would be different,” I cryptically replied as I nodded to acknowledge him. To support the idea of Queen over Emperor publicly was, while compelling, certainly unwise. We did not, after all, have the good fortune the Prussians did of being legitimised whilst having the military to back it up. My father, as a general himself, had done much to maintain a well-trained standing army, but we’re still no Prussians. Nor are we Bonapartes. We are manifestly Bourbon in character, and so, in recognition of the old ways of court politics, I found it most wise to avoid any more potentially risky grovelling from a tardy noble.

“We appreciate your confidence,” I said, “Now, if you both would be so kind as to excuse us, we must withdraw from such riveting conversation. One must greet all guests at a ball, of course. Farewell.”

With a small half smile and a gentle nod, I stepped back, and made a tiny grabbing gesture as I turned towards my courtier, Amélie.

«Amélie,» I said to address her, «Veuillez nous chercher un petit rafraîchissement de la salle de rafraîchissement. Nous voudrions un des petits sandwiches avec des concombres. Aussi, une petite confiserie ou pâtisserie serait bien appréciée.»

Having expressed my wishes to Amélie, I left my conversation partners and endeavoured to find others to briefly converse with for formalities.

Amélie-Marie Philippe D’ Orléans
Vicomtesse de Belle-Chaise
La Salle de Bal du Château de Biltmore

«Come vous voulez, madame.» Amélie chirped with a smile. She gave a small curtsy before she turned and briskly walked to the refreshments room near the ballroom. She had to admit, her majesty did look graceful and pretty in her finery as she practically glided along the ballroom. Her ballgown left little to the imagination for her figure, to her own hidden blush behind her fan. She herself was wearing a somewhat ornate, yet a tad more simple white ball gown, befit for a courtier like her. Whilst she gathered the needed sandwiches, and the odd confectionary and pastry, she couldn’t help but take in the decor of the palace.

Whilst she had grown up within the higher echelons of southern their fixtures were all but naught compared to the grandiose and exquisite nature of the ballroom.

The company that said room housed could leave a lot to be desired, frankly she was disillusioned at the notion of so-called “southern hospitality”. She knew that everyone did their best in trying to act cordial at one another, yet she felt as if it was all but a facade.

Amélie knew it, the ballroom was the place where connections were made and the like, but to her the ball was a place to have fun, not to develop political agendas and to covertly backstab people for your own gain. Work was work, fun was fun.

But that was just a matter of life for nobility.

Amélie quickly gathered what her lady had asked for onto a plate, and then proceeded to daintily pick it up with her right hand, before she once again briskly returned to her lady’s side.

Should she return with no incident, she would present the plate to her lady once she was available. «Les rafraîchissements, madame.» She said, waiting for her lady to acknowledge her, slightly tensing at the attention she was drawing in.

[Alaroma]

The Austin Chronicle: The Truth Tellers

Chapter 2: Crisis

---

The question of the day has been the authority of the Legislature, versus the stubbornness of one single county. However, there is an odd hope that might see that West and Boykin are reconciled, and that the mad Mayor in Beaumont still be punished. We have just received a contract between Benjamin Boykin and Elias West. It’s contents are frankly quite remarkable, so I will keep this simple. In the contract, it Confirms the Texan Government as the sole legal authority of the Texan Navy, the sole right of the Texan Government to raise a Military for the Kingdom, the Right of the Texan Government to advertise for the service of men into the Military, and the right of the Texan Military to have sole right to purchase equipment such as Artillery, and Heavy Repeaters. If you need a frame of reference, think of the Gatling Gun used by Yankee Troops during the war of Northern Aggression. It also gives the Texas Legislature the right to call for conscription given that Duke West consents. It gives the Government some yards in Galveston to rent for the placement of the Navy, and the construction of Naval ships. It also entails the hand over of Mines and Oil wells to the Boykin Company. It also details commitments to joint ventures in Confederate Arizona between Boykin Company and the West Company, along with the heading of Elias West of a colony there. Now our dear readers, these are the last big ones. The Railroads will be giving Boykin a 50% Share in the San Antonio-Galveston line, as well as waiving the fees for the West Corporation. Finally, and by far the most important, there has been a marriage arranged between Elias West, and our dear Princess Iris Madeline Boykin. In this marriage, she would become Duchess of Jefferson County, and Lady of Beaumont.

Now this agreement raises a number of questions, especially in regards to Beaumont. Did the Mayor know about this agreement? If he did, was this an attempt by him to ruin the proceedings so he could maintain his power? Though perhaps he didn’t, and as his efforts had gone a while back. Though this all doesn’t matter until the Texas Rangers can arrest the man, and bring him to trial. Frankly, for a unified Texas, I think we should all hope the spirit of this treaty come to light is honored, so perhaps we should all calm down a bit, and see where this goes.

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Annapolis
January 1877

"The news today is downright glorious!"

Governor Newton Knight was obviously overjoyed with the latest tidings from down South. He beat his fist on the table under loud cheers by other members of the Maryland Executive Council, as soon as the latest news was read aloud by the Secretary of State.

"Two railroad bridges blown to smithereens, gentlemen. Asheville's wings have been clipped on both sides. And the raid on Shufordsville! I do declare, whomever is behind this has got balls."

The assembled Cabinet members nodded in approval, disregarding the inappropriate colloquialism used by the former Jayhawker from Mississippi. They had grown used to it by now.

Hugh Lennox Bond, Lieutenant Governor of Maryland, judge of criminal law and one of the first to call for allowing Negro Americans to serve in the US Army back in 1863, now spoke.

"On the matter of who is behind the attack. We have cause to believe that it originated from Appalachia. No other movement in the Carolinas has the firepower or organisation capacity to pull off an attack like this, as far as we know."

Knight raised an eyebrow.
"Ben Church, you say? I could've known. He is one tough son of a gun. He's been giving the Grey ones a thrashing after thrashing for over a decade now."

"Indeed, Mr. Governor. We know precious little of the goings-on in the area though. We presume the so-called Partisans make their home in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but there is little to no confirmed information about them."

Knight stroked his greying beard.
"And to our detriment it is. This is the largest attack anyone has ever carried out against the Rogue Provinces. I reckon these ain't simple bushwhackers pumping lead in some Confederate patrols no more. This is a tried and tested guerilla army.
My brethren and I fought tooth and nail for years back home in Mississippi, so trust you me if I say I know the hardship it brings. I lost two cousins to Robert Lowry and his gang of fanatics, when they tracked us down with bloodhounds. I nary escaped alive myself that time."

"There is no other choice then," Bond interceded. "The only morally just path is to support the resistance in any way we can. This is Maryland after all. They don't call it the Free State for naught."

"Nor is the Old Line State a name given to it for no reason," Knight responded, giving his Lieutenant a pat on the shoulder. "Remember the Maryland 400, indeed. But first we need to get in contact with these Appalachian Partisan Rifles. And we need someone willing to infiltrate deep into Confederate territory."

Turning around to a soldier standing guard, the Governor continued.

"Get me Tevis."

****


Frederick Douglass
US Marshal, Federal Judicial District of Maryland
Montgomery County, near the Great Falls
January 1877

The early winter morning sent shivers down Douglass' spine. The other half dozen men he had assembled did not seem to fare much better, cursing under their breath and huddled under coats and blankets.

"Hot damn, I could kill for a hot bath," a large man with impressive mutton chops cursed. He pulled his dark-blue frock tighter over his deer-skin hunter's outfit and readjusted the Deputy Marshal badge that decorated it. Jonathan Pembroke, nicknamed "Brock", had been Maryland's tried and tested Chief Deputy Marshal. A true man of the wilds, Brock had ridden with the Jayhawkers up in Kansas, torching plantations and killing Missouri secessionists long before the Civil War even started. A Union boy through and through, Brock had worn the blue throughout the war, and joined law enforcement afterwards, specializing in guarding the Virginia border at the Potomac. Despite only recently having arrived in Maryland, Douglass had grown quite fond of the ruffian, and had not hesitated in bringing him along for this mission.

"I'd rather you save your killing for whatever yodeling yokels may be crossing the river, Brock. Put that fancy Winchester to good use."

With a wide smile full of yellowed teeth, Brock gripped his Winchester '73 repeater even tighter.

"No worries, Ol' Bessie knows what to do."

The banter was suddenly interrupted when splashing noises were heard coming closer. Putting his Henry rifle at the ready, Douglass called out.

"US Marshal Service! Stand down and state your business!"

A short moment of silence, as the contours of a raft could be seen coming closer.

"Don't shoot! Please, help us." The raft floated close enough to see clearly. Three Black men and two women, exhausted, famished and desperately trying to reach Union soil. And one white man, steering the boat towards land.

"Quick! They're on our tail!" the white man said, pointing acriss the river, where torches could now be seen in the dark. "Slave catchers!"

Not even awaiting any orders, Brock opened fire in the direction of the dancing lights, dispersing whatever was happening at the Virginia side of the river with ease. "There ya go. Yer welcome."

Frederick Douglass walked towards the boats man while his posse aided the escaped slaves onto free land. "You from the Railroad?"

"Depends who's asking," grinned the man.
"Frederick Douglass, US Marshal."
"In that case, yes I am."
"Well then. I bring a message from Governor Newton Knight of Maryland. The Governor believes that we could reach a deal of cooperation to help break the chain of Dixie, and extends his hand in friendship to whomever is in charge of the Underground. We'd be much obliged if you would pass on this message."

[Khasinkonia]

Ernestine, par la grâce de Dieu, Reine de Louisiane, Princesse de Nouvelle-Orléans, et Duchesse d’Angoulême
La Salle de Bal du Château de Biltmore
Duc de Georgie

I subtly nodded my head in acknowledgement to my courtier as she handed me a small plate. The plate itself was of good quality, although I was not well-versed enough in diningware to be certain whether it was fine china or simply creatively decorated. Certainly, fine china was risky to offer to dancers, even if they were nobility. My cucumber finger sandwich and little treat, however, were nonetheless there. A small custard tart. It was sweet enough, and easy to eat with one’s hands. I always used my right hand to hold the plate, and my left to eat, so as to minimise potential mess.

Concurrently, the Duke of Georgia addressed me.

“And a pleasure to meet you as well,” I responded as I lightly curtsied once I swapped my plate to my left hand.

I shifted the plate back to my right hand as I then mentioned, “However, we believe we have already become acquainted, have we not? Certainly, we have been present together during numerous imperial functions.”

[Dentali]

Ernestine, par la grâce de Dieu, Reine de Louisiane, Princesse de Nouvelle-Orléans, et Duchesse d’Angoulême
La Salle de Bal du Château de Biltmore
Duc de Georgie

I subtly nodded my head in acknowledgement to my courtier as she handed me a small plate. The plate itself was of good quality, although I was not well-versed enough in diningware to be certain whether it was fine china or simply creatively decorated. Certainly, fine china was risky to offer to dancers, even if they were nobility. My cucumber finger sandwich and little treat, however, were nonetheless there. A small custard tart. It was sweet enough, and easy to eat with one’s hands. I always used my right hand to hold the plate, and my left to eat, so as to minimise potential mess.

Concurrently, the Duke of Georgia addressed me.

“And a pleasure to meet you as well,” I responded as I lightly curtsied once I swapped my plate to my left hand.

I shifted the plate back to my right hand as I then mentioned, “However, we believe we have already become acquainted, have we not? Certainly, we have been present together during numerous imperial functions.”

"There is meeting and then there is meeting" Longstreet qualified "Being introduced is not the same as being truly acquainted. And you are someone I certainly wish to get to know better."

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Somewhere in Virginia

Somewhere deep in the Virginia country away from the prying eyes of authorities and government officials alike sat a small little compound that was one of many used for the operations of the Ferryman. On this day, a man by the name of Robert Astor III sat at a desk within the structure going over paperwork and other matters of importance, rather grumpily as should be noted. Of course Bernard would use this coronation to push all the business matters onto my lap Robert thought to himself.

Robert reached his hand out towards the corner of the desk where a newspaper was hanging of the edge. The newspaper had an article on the cover reporting on the recent Appalachian severing of Vanderbilt's lines down in North Carolina. An inconvenience for the assortment of political and military leaders down there leaving the coronation without a doubt.

Bernard, if he didn't want to wait for repairs, would need to take an alternative route back to Charleston thought Robert. Since his journey south was temporarily halted perhaps a trip north would be an alternative.

The night before, one of the Ferryman's agents had arrived at the compound bringing word from Maryland. Apparently the governor up there wished to discuss relations between the union state and the Ferryman. Robert knew of Governor Knight and his abolitionist tendencies. It would be helpful for the network to have some friends up in that direction. Especially now with all the tensions in the south thanks to Vanderbilt's passing and the crowning of a new emperor. Robert thought of the recent news coming out of Texas as an example. Robert had two messengers sent out. One back to Maryland agreeing to talks and another to Bernard informing him that he was vetting potentially new allies.

The messenger heading to Maryland was instructed to tell Frederick Douglass that a meeting between Robert, who operated under the pseudonym Thoth, would meet him and whoever else necessary at a small out of the way tavern along the Virginia-Maryland border. It was a Ferryman safe house and would be an ideal place to meet in secrecy. Robert told the messenger the date this would happen and he went into the night.

"Thoth?"

A man had appeared in the doorway.

"We're packed up and ready to move. Waiting on you."

Robert nodded and quickly packed up his paperwork. It was time to move again. If he was outside of Charleston he would never spend more than two days at one location. Within the hour him and his entourage had vacated the building, leaving it once again a little shack in the middle of nowhere.

[SangMar]

Christian Franklin - Now En Route to Asheville, by Train!

---

By now, I was traveling through Tennessee - on one of the few stretches of railroad that had a direct line to Asheville - that horse which I’d tied to a tree seeming, much like the towns preceding it, a distant memory now. Eventually, after several more stops and a little more traveling, I reached Asheville. Excellent, I’d finally be able to find out about this emperor - thank God those Appalachian Partisans were so useless at destroying railroads...

Well, I wished it had happened like that.

What actually happened was, I managed to get on a train in Tennessee - but not only did it only go about 30 miles or so, I was then told that I’d have to make the rest of the travel to Asheville by horse, coach or on foot. Apparently, the details were very sketchy, but some group - I didn’t think their pursuers got a good look at them, had destroyed the key railroads into Asheville - leaving me, and presumably the guests at the new emperor’s coronation stranded: they were stuck in Asheville, and I was stuck out of it. Still, I steeled myself - and not yet up to a ride, hunkered down - walking through several villages in search of two things, a coach and secondly, work. Thankfully though, I found the latter - agreeing to a few days of work on a tobacco plantation in return for a trip closer to Asheville, some food and a little money. So, after some rest - I got to work, toiling in the fields on just a handshake and a promise.

---

The Path’s (Continued) Southern Excursion - Texas

---

Having crossed the inter-state border some time ago, the solitary Path member entrusted with the trip soon came across a town - Beaumont: well, he’d already been through Dallas - which he could readily admit was an incredible place, he’d never seen anywhere like it - bustling with life and buildings everywhere. Beaumont though, was different - the streets were deserted when he arrived sometime during the night. It felt like a ghost town - understandable given the events recently. Who wouldn’t stay at home following the mayor putting the fear of God into the townsfolk? And several corpses being unceremoniously shown off in public? That said, the Path member wasn’t psychic: he had no way of knowing this. So instead, he dismounted his horse and began walking through Beaumont - leading his equine beast by the reins. He was just looking for people - it was odd, sure it was night, but a little activity was to be expected even so.

---

Paradise Under-the-Sky (Pop, 895), Arkansas

---

Even in the short time since Christian had left the remote settlement, things had already changed slightly: for one, John - the Path’s second in command and leader of the town in Christian’s absence had already welcomed three new inhabitants. Two were escaped slaves, and now members of the Tranquil Path, while another was a veterinarian who’d been asked to stay after discovering the town while traversing through Washington County on his way to the Indian Territory - though he wasn’t a member. They’d already been assigned a tent too - which would serve as their new, temporary home - while their actual home in the town, a nondescript (Like all of the residences in the settlement) log cabin was being built. Eventually, given the veterinarian’s status as worker vital to the settlement’s continued running and economy, the Path would add on a small extension to that cabin - allowing the veterinarian to have his own room, so he could gather his thoughts in peace.

At that point though, thoughts like that were irrelevant - the new members were having to think of entirely different things than some warm food and a cozy log cabin: this was because John and another Path member were instructing them in the basics of concealment and stealth - skills hiding within their forested environment, moving quietly, covering their tracks and hiding their scent - from predators and things like dogs that groups of bounty hunters or lawmen liked to bring along to find criminals. Of course, if they were truly peaceful - like how the Path expected them to be, they wouldn’t need to worry about that: as they wouldn’t be getting into conflicts with the law whatsoever. Still, it was important - with firearms being in short supply for the Path, they needed advantages in other areas.

[Sarderia]

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT

Eugene was silently walking through Main Street to check on several company documents. There is no way - even in for all his greed for Boykin's railroads and other things - he knew Elias West as an unforgiving and extremely vindictive person for most of his life. While he did not doubt what the Austin Chronicle, themselves claiming ironically as Truth Tellers, are reporting true events, he suspected that Elias must have made a loophole or a compromise somewhere to keep discord rampant in Boykin's lands. After all, railroads are not his true motive in all of this mess. No, he once said as much to Eugene; he wanted a bigger fish, though he never told anyone specifically about that. Not him, not Zebulon, not even Kirkland - but all man has their own secrets in the end. The state of Texas, maybe? If yes,Elias would have waged a total war against Boykin so long ago, but the man always waited, and waited, all the while hoarding his riches and plotting with only God - or rather himself knows who. Eugene recites his Hail Marys three times a day with the Pater Noster in Latin, as he wanted to keep Jesus with him after he's done with this shithole called the world. But for the Duke, he's not sure Elias even has a God. He'd want to distance himself as far as possible from such a man, but in the end he would lose everything if not because of him. Eugene's got involved very deep in this matter that Boykin got his whole army of Rangers hunting him.

As he was in deep thought, Eugene saw a man leading his horse on Main Street. He didn't expect the townsfolk to get out such late at night - even considering all the charade he and Zebulon put out days ago. Might be a Ranger. He pulled out the Colt revolver from the holster at his belt, hoping for the best. Maybe it's time for me to face God's judgement after all. With no policemen or ranger at his side, he had no choice but to aim the man's head, and talk, not so slowly. "Fellers down here don't usually get out at night," he shouted. "Are you friend, or foe? Give me your name, gentleman."

[Dentali]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

Governor James Longstreet
Biltmore Palace

Arthur offered James a cordial smile. "Of couse, I do so hope, my Lord," he answered. Great, he might want to further look into my portfolio. "I do mostly railroads down here, sir. That one... East Tennessee, Virginia, and Georgia, a nice good old five-gauge track spanning from Dalton, Georgia to Loudon, Tennessee. Before it turns over right into my home state." Arthur sipped his champagne. "There's several shipping companies in and out of Norfolk and Richmond, y'all know how eager these French and Englishmen are to emigrate here. They truly do wish they're in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten.." What am I thinking? "However. I have heard talks about the recent industrial development in Savannah, and Atlanta is rebuilding again. Say, probably, you might be wanting a better transport connection with the north? Or several investments to soften out the projects? With your permission, of course, I plan on making a move into Georgia and estabilish a branch of my credit company in Savannah."

Longstreet looked a bit uncomfortable when he mentioned connecting to the North but it was only a momentary break in his pleasant but stoic expression. "You have indeed heard correct, we are always looking to expand. I want more rail in Georgia than any other state, going across the empire with all track leading to Atlanta and Savannah. I do not have a state owned company for industries like most of our fellow states, private companies engaging in contracts with us to build rail. Should you wish to found a branch you are more than welcome to do so. On the condition you offer favorable rates with your credit company to our industrial interests I will make sure to fast track whatever bureaucratic mess you need to get through to open a branch."

[Dentali]

Benjamin Boykin: King of the Texans

Chapter One: Den of Wolves

---

Having settled his business with Elias until the men discussed legal implications the later that night, the King made his way to meet with Longstreet. Sure, he was in the middle of a conversation, but the two had made plans to talk earlier. “Duke Longstreet, a pleasure to see you my goodman!” He said with a smile as he approached the two men. As it turned out, he recognized the other man as well. “Pardon for the interruption. You’re one of the great General Lee’s nephews aren’t you? I believe I’ve seen you before in my trips to the East, I must say, it’s a pleasure.” He said, offering the younger man a hand. He didn’t want to interrupt, but the Duke had told him to get to him no matter what beforehand. Well, here he was.

"King Boykin?" Longstreet said turning to address the man "Its a pleasure to see you again, I leave Georgia so infrequently nowadays... Occasions like this mean the world to me. How are you and the good land of Texas?"

[Sarderia]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

Arthur was rather surprised by Longstreet's response. He greeted Boykin first, bowed slightly in respect of his position, and resumed his conversation. Well, what a lucky day it is. Longstreet didn't talk about his portions on the railroad. Nonetheless, I am not my cousins on France. His father had hoped to estabilish more regional cooperation between his Virginia Bank and the local aristocracy, and Arthur also did. "I must say I am rather... intrigued, my Lord. However, I do wonder why you chose to put the Virginia Bank's loans into other parts of your industry, considering our market capitalization is the same, if not bigger as Empire State's Goldman Sachs. Coincidentally, I am planning to extend the E.T.V and G railroad into Savannah as well, passing through Atlanta. So here is what my considerations are; a new company would be registered in Savannah for the construction of the Dalton to Savannah railroad. This company in turn would receive sixty-five percent of funding from the Virginia Bank, while the rest are financed by your office as Archduke. The Dalton and Savannah railroad will be managed by my railroad company in form of trust. In the range of ten years, I will gradually share the remaining stocks owned by my company to yours, until we reach fifty-fifty ownership, and the trust is abolished. I think it's an effective compromise."

He sipped his champagne, though really did not enjoy the soda taste of it. "As for other investments, we will certainly lower the interest rates on loans. As long as you remain a loyal customer, of course we will."

[Dentali]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

Arthur was rather surprised by Longstreet's response. He greeted Boykin first, bowed slightly in respect of his position, and resumed his conversation. Well, what a lucky day it is. Longstreet didn't talk about his portions on the railroad. Nonetheless, I am not my cousins on France. His father had hoped to estabilish more regional cooperation between his Virginia Bank and the local aristocracy, and Arthur also did. "I must say I am rather... intrigued, my Lord. However, I do wonder why you chose to put the Virginia Bank's loans into other parts of your industry, considering our market capitalization is the same, if not bigger as Empire State's Goldman Sachs. Coincidentally, I am planning to extend the E.T.V and G railroad into Savannah as well, passing through Atlanta. So here is what my considerations are; a new company would be registered in Savannah for the construction of the Dalton to Savannah railroad. This company in turn would receive sixty-five percent of funding from the Virginia Bank, while the rest are financed by your office as Archduke. The Dalton and Savannah railroad will be managed by my railroad company in form of trust. In the range of ten years, I will gradually share the remaining stocks owned by my company to yours, until we reach fifty-fifty ownership, and the trust is abolished. I think it's an effective compromise."

He sipped his champagne, though really did not enjoy the soda taste of it. "As for other investments, we will certainly lower the interest rates on loans. As long as you remain a loyal customer, of course we will."

"Hmm..." Longstreet stroked his long beard in consideration "Assuming you comply with all the regulations and standardization set by the state of Georgia... We would require all materials and manpower for the task be Georgian in origin? I don't want you bringing in cheaper labor or material from out of state when my people could benefit more directly."

[Sarderia]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

"Of course," Arthur offered a cordial smile. "We have always used lcoal manpower and resources to construct extensive buliding projects. In fact, new railroads meant more jobs, and so more immigrants could be attracted into your state. I heard states down South here are racing to diversify their income. Trying to get away from plantations. I don't know about Georgia, but industrialization is surely a way to accelerate the diversifying of income." Arthur sipped his champagne again. "But we need to ensure the quality, and availability of local materials, though. Can't have railways without adequate steel, don't we?"

[Alaroma]

Benjamin Boykin: The King of the Texans

Chapter One: The Wolves Den

So now there was duel conversations, so while I wanted to let the conversation between the two of them run it’s course as much as possible, I’d station myself to possibly join the conversation. If not, I’d be ready to discuss what Longstreet wanted to talk about. “Texas is doing fine, the Legislature and I have done good work to improve public works, and education. Settlements have gone well too.”

After that, I tuned into the other conversation they were having. The younger man apparently wanted to discuss helping improve the industries of the Duchy Georgia. I sipped on my champagne, and took interest in the conversation. I had plans to make more investments in other parts of the Confederacy, so the question of what was the situation on the ground was interesting.

[Dentali]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

"Of course," Arthur offered a cordial smile. "We have always used lcoal manpower and resources to construct extensive buliding projects. In fact, new railroads meant more jobs, and so more immigrants could be attracted into your state. I heard states down South here are racing to diversify their income. Trying to get away from plantations. I don't know about Georgia, but industrialization is surely a way to accelerate the diversifying of income." Arthur sipped his champagne again. "But we need to ensure the quality, and availability of local materials, though. Can't have railways without adequate steel, don't we?"

"You have my assurances Georgian Steel is just as fine as any in the South. At any rate, I will only accept this deal if you use exclusively Georgian labor and Georgian materials from factories. Unless their is some material you need that Georgia does not have, which I doubt. This is a sweetheart deal for you, I would ask you make sure my country is well represented at the very least."

[Dentali]

Benjamin Boykin: The King of the Texans

Chapter One: The Wolves Den

So now there was duel conversations, so while I wanted to let the conversation between the two of them run it’s course as much as possible, I’d station myself to possibly join the conversation. If not, I’d be ready to discuss what Longstreet wanted to talk about. “Texas is doing fine, the Legislature and I have done good work to improve public works, and education. Settlements have gone well too.”

After that, I tuned into the other conversation they were having. The younger man apparently wanted to discuss helping improve the industries of the Duchy Georgia. I sipped on my champagne, and took interest in the conversation. I had plans to make more investments in other parts of the Confederacy, so the question of what was the situation on the ground was interesting.

"I am happy to hear that King Boykin. I wanted to ask about your frontier... One of my sons is a young officer, and I seek to give my children a diverse set of experiences, I am considering sending him to serve in the military of Texas or another state where he might see more combat than Georgia can provide. And perhaps he can serve as a link between our two states?"

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Somewhere alongside the Virginia border
January 1877

Newton Knight steered his steed slowly along the largely abandoned countryside roads of Southern Maryland. The water of the Potomac glistened ahead, standing out amongst the glistening white of snow dotted by farmhouses.

Some farmers walking nearby greeted the half dozen riders trotting along, but their disinterested expressions showed they did not recognise him.
Newton Knight, ever the yeoman he always was, had dressed in simple dearskin clothes and furs, with nothing betraying his status of governor. Just how he usually liked to travel the state he governed: no peering eyes, no pomp and circumstance and no false façades to impress the governor. Just surveying life as it is.

The farmsteads around were small and humble, and obviously recently constructed.  Some of then were Negro families, who had gained their forty acres and a mule after the war ended. Land distribution of former plantations had gone along well in Maryland, creating a prospering group of independent Freedman farmers growing cash crops such as tobacco on their own land.

Other farmers in this area were immigrants from Ireland, Poland and Italy, who often came to Maryland because of the state's background as more welcoming to Catholics than other places on the East Coast. Homesteading efforts were developing some territory near the soutner state border, which were less popular due to its proximity to Virginia.

"Sir, there's the place," a sergeant disguised in civilian clothing riding at the head of the squad said. Knight had brought a detail of five troops along for the ride, all in civilian outfit.

Indeed, there the little tavern was. A humble abode strayed up by a Pole a few years back. According to the communication by an agent of the Underground Railroad, this watering hole near the river would be the meeting spot for Knight and a representative known only as Thoth to parlay.

Walking into the inn and ordering a cup of black coffee, Knight looked down the almost abandoned room, and sat himself down in a corner.

[Alaroma]

Benjamin Boykin: King of the Texans

Chapter One: Den of Wolves

---

So he wanted to transfer his son to a western Regiment? His rationale over the West being less stable then it could isn’t faulty. That said, it wasn’t beyond that. Maryland was also unstable as well, and liable for it’s own troubles. Either way, more importantly was his suggested link. Frankly, if he wanted a link, a marriage between Israel and his daughter would be more beneficial. That said, I didn’t want to bring that up now, and I ain’t liable to reject an officer. “I’m confident we can find a position for your son in the Military in Texas. I’d imagine he’d get some enriching experiences out of it.”

[Dentali]

Benjamin Boykin: King of the Texans

Chapter One: Den of Wolves

---

So he wanted to transfer his son to a western Regiment? His rationale over the West being less stable then it could isn’t faulty. That said, it wasn’t beyond that. Maryland was also unstable as well, and liable for it’s own troubles. Either way, more importantly was his suggested link. Frankly, if he wanted a link, a marriage between Israel and his daughter would be more beneficial. That said, I didn’t want to bring that up now, and I ain’t liable to reject an officer. “I’m confident we can find a position for your son in the Military in Texas. I’d imagine he’d get some enriching experiences out of it.”

"I appreciate that, I don't want him to have any special treatment for him just an assignment befitting his rank. Tell me is he libel to see any action?"