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[The Ziron Empire]

Of Older Times
“You will be home before the leaves have fallen from the trees.”
- Kaiser Wilhelm II

Welcome back to Camerania. The Age of Empires and wagons westward is upon us. This is a time of great change, political and economic. Socialism and Republicanism have begun to challenge the Imperial and Monarchal hierarchies that have existed in the region for centuries. Technology is evolving, and the killing power of machines has skyrocketed. The musket has given way to the machine-gun and the rifle, aircraft begin to taint the sky, and chemical weapons cast a dark shadow over the brown Earth. This forum is new, and as such, some new guidelines are to be followed.

On War
While traditional ground armies exist, mechanical travel does not. Nations will be able to deploy troops via railway within their own borders, but pushing into foreign land must be done by horseback or on foot. Aircraft are in their infancy, but feel free to use them to the best of your ability. Surface navies are now under threat by U-Boats and the first submarines. Blockades will starve your nations if applicable, and a starving, dying population is likely to revolt. Entrenchments and fortifications will be devastating to attackers, so find ways to deal with them. Make troop casualties high, don’t skimp on the numbers.

On Social Matters
The age of reformation can be messy. Ideas such as Republicanism and Socialism will spread like wildfire through a population. Old Empires and Monarchies may have to take drastic action to deal with these new ideologies. As a nation, you can undermine the governments of others, funding or supplying loyal ideologies within an enemy society. Revolutions are likely to occur, no matter how safe and secure your borders and government. Populations in this period are reduced. For those of you below 100 million, your number will remain. For those of you beyond that, your numbers are to be reduced.
Billions, take first three digits of your nation population, and that will be your population in hundreds of millions.
Hundreds of millions, take the first three digits and add them to your population beginning in the hundreds of thousands place.

Examples:
- 12.5 billion = 125,000,000
- 8.62 billion = 108,620,000
- 894 million = 100,894,000
- 218 million = 100,218,000

Map of Camerania can be found here. For those wishing to join the forum, please telegram myself for inquiry.

[The Norwegian Lands]

Entering her second month as President of the Norwegian Lands, Marie Ellison is still in awe at her new residence. Something about the Gray House seems interesting to her.

- “Why does this place look more like a royal palace than a stately mansion?”

Jack King, her senior counselor, had been working in government longer than she had been alive.

- “That is an interesting story…”

The year was 1875. The world was changing. And The Norwegian Lands was at the forefront of that change. The same ruling dynasty had ruled the country continuously for thousands of years before the settlement of Southern Europe, let alone the present day.

Since 1853, Ludvig XII had ruled as King of the Norwegian Lands. Various reforms over the years left him as little more than a meaningless figurehead. While he could still rule by decree, anything signed by the King could easily be overturned by a vote in the People’s Council. The King was largely seen as out of touch with modern-day TNL, as he would regularly veto legislation passed by the directly-elected People’s Council, only to see his veto overturned almost every time, while his orders would be overturned equally regularly by the People’s Council.

The monarchy had grown more and more unpopular over the years, starting with the rule of his grandmother, Catherine II, who tried to suppress opinions that were out of touch with hers, only to be forced to abdicate after mass protests of her rule plagued the nation, and continuing with his father, Karl XIV, whose economic policies left much of the nation in trouble while he unilaterally raised his, his court’s and the People’s Council’s salaries on multiple occasions, only doing so with the latter to avoid having his decrees overturned.

He looked out the window of the Royal Palace in central Port Oslo. Another protest against his rule was taking place outside. Sighing, he sat down on his throne. He wondered if he should abdicate himself, but looked over at his daughter, Elizabeth, his only child. She was the best thing that ever happened to him - not even his enthronement could top this. He didn’t want what was happening to him to happen to her.

He started to ponder his next steps. With things looking bleak for the monarchy, would the only future for TNL be a future without the monarchy? Ludvig thought long and hard, wondering maybe, just maybe, if abolishing the monarchy was the only answer.

[New Lucitania]

Iron horseshoes stamped against the cobblestone, sparks jumping as they trotted forwards. Throats bellowed ”Watch on the Rhine“ in perfect chorus as the sweeping column of Austro-German forces moved ever onwards into Romania. Artillery pieces dragged behind the column, followed further by mile upon mile of supply wagon and mail carts. There wasn’t so much as a belt buckle or bootstrap out of place. The men were like fog rolling through the valley, a great sweeping storm of misty grey and glittering gold. The Kaiser stood on a nearby hill, saluting his men as they passed. Today was Union Day, a reminder of the day that once made the Empire whole.

“Kaiser Ulrich!” a voice called. A small dark man in a white Austrian Cuirassiers uniform rode up.
“Marshal Rothstein’s battalion has been sighted twenty two miles westward. It appears to be a faint.”

The Kaiser drummed his fingers along the hilt of his sabre, his other hand tugging lazily at his great waxed moustache.
“Call up the Royal Dragoons and 86th Calvary. Form a block, and harass their rearguard. I wish to force Rothstein into a decisive battle.”

The man rode off, as quick as he had come. The Kaiser adored these military maneuvers, they made for a fantastic hobby. He has missed the fight of his younger days, clashing against the Zironians and Austrian rebels. He missed the cough of blackpowder and the songs of the Imperial musketeers. But these exercises kept his mind on track.

They were just exercises, after all.


German Calvary watch a lone Lucitanian spotting craft guide their direction.

[Cothria]

Pittsburgh, Union Standard Tavern
Nine men sat at a table, though hardly were they men at all. They ranged from ages seventeen to twenty three, several sported tangled, patchy beards, and more still blistered with ever fading acne scars. The scent of mildew and scotch water cleanly through the warm night air. The bartender flipped the wooden sign, it’s face now reading ‘Closed’ to all those beyond the tavern’s doors.

“Have you got them?” spoke a pointy chinned man in a weathered flat-cap said, hurriedly.

“Shut yer trap. O-course I gots em.” responded the barkeep, approaching the table where the men were gathered. He had a kind face, but was a man of heavy set.
“O’Neil dropped em off this mornin’. Was in a real ruck bout it too.”

The barkeep dropped a large brown envelope bound with a thin red twine onto the table. It landed with loud thud.

The pointy chinned man reached forward, flicking open the shining edge of a switchblade, and slicing through the thin brown paper. Fake press passes, glittering in the dim light of the oil lamps, spilled out onto the table. They were followed shortly by identification and insurance papers as the package was turned upside down and shaken.

A gout man with a heavy brow and half moon spectacles leaned forward, examining the papers.
“They look real enough. Reckon they’ll get us to the man?”

The group exchanged scowls and huffs.
“They’ll get us to the man. Only days from now, we’ll have our chance. Just don’t screw it up. We’ve only got this once.” hissed the flat-capped man.

“We all know what’s at stake now.”

Salt Lake City, Utah
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.”

The air was thick and stuffy. Dust particles glittered as they drifted across the narrow golden beam of sunshine that filtered through the stained windows of the great and silent church. Father James’ sat beside the small man, who’s eyes were filled and wet with tears.

“What sins do you wish to confess?” spoke Father James’ with a smooth and quiet voice. He placed his hand upon the small man’s shoulder.
“God is forgiving if thou chooses to accept that wrong has been done. One can repay God, and God can repay you.”

The man took several shallow breaths before speaking, his voice horse and croaking.
“I have planned to kill. I have ordered a good man to be killed. I have ordered just and holy men to be killed.” wept the man.
“But I have done it in the name of our Lord, I have done it in the name of Smith. I have done it in hopes of making all right, in hopes of our Heaven upon this Earth! I have sent to kill for the poor and for the common ground, but I know it is wrong. I am so sorry, Father.” the man sobbed, his choked breath breaking his words into fragments.

Father James’ took some time, listening to the wailing before his response.
“It is not I you should be sorry towards, my son. I am not the deliverer, nor the salvation. It is our Lord, the almighty who should receive your heartfelt repent.”

The man’s wails ceased slowly.
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You, and I detest all my sins because of Your just punishments. But most of all because they offend You, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin.”

Father James’ smiled slightly.
“Give thanks to thee, for the Lord is good. You are absolved of your sins, for the Lord is forgiving and just.”

The Church was quiet, it’s silence absolute and total. Outside, the thundering of boots grew louder.

The Star circled banner flew high and proud above the White House in the blue Washington sky. Citizens of all colours and clans rallied outside the Whitehouse gates, waving picket signs and bashing their fists against the iron. Chanting rose to a near maddening fervour, with “Where is our solution!?” and “Republic of Pigs!” ringing out from the crowd. It was the ninth day of the ever growing Washington labour strike, the solution to which had been blocked from being found, matters of state secession taking up the floor of Senate.

Within the Whitehouse, Ministers and Senators lined the hallways and flooded the narrow passages. The day had been awash with chaos and disorder. A gavel crashed into the podium, silencing the Senate with a hard thud.
“The gentleman from California is recognized, and may speak!” yelled an old woman, her bony face and teeth both an unnatural pearly white.

“The gentleman from California thanks your honour.” spoke a smartly dressed man in a dark suit and blood red tie. His hair was slicked back, and his nose crooked.
“It is not within the interests of the public to recognize Statesman Jebediah’s comments and claims. The idea of a sovereign Utah has no legal precedent or authority to be held in legal confirmation to this court! The gentleman from Utah should be sacked, and his conspirators round up and hung by the neck until dead. This is outright treason towards the Republic! The European Monarchy of old was not overthrown in our great Union only so a Mormon megalomaniac could crown himself Christ and break from it! No Crowns no longer! This is treason on the part of the Utah state government, and the militias that back it! Plain and simple!”

The man retook his seat as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause of agreement. The gavel slammer. More men spoke out, condemning the actions of Senator Jebediah and the state government of Utah. It was a nearly unanimous decision, with the idea of secession being overwhelming shut down in the senate. A press conference was to be held the following day, where Republican President Daniel McRalph was to give his State of the Union address to members of the government, as well as an afternoon of interviews to the local media.