Clash of Lines: 1890's progressing RP (IC, RP thread)
Posted: Mon Sep 10, 2018 8:44 amMarch the 7th, 1891, Mensheviquan Capitol of Uxhal, Noon
King Nasyev, the 23 year old head of state in Menshevique groaned as he leaned back in his chair, the voices of congressmen and women bickering back and forth drowning out any sense he might make of their arguments. Several weeks ago he had dispatched envoys to the nations of the world, inviting the leaders to enjoy a grand celebration in Uxhal; and to see what Menshevique had to offer.
He'd grown tired of the small trade deals with only their closest neighbor's, when recent innovations had gifted them with such a surplus of resources to sell on the world marketplace and secure wealth for his people; however, he'd gone ahead and made this important diplomatic decision without the Congress, as it would take them a year to make their minds up.
Now they had found out, and they didn't like the thought one bit; but Nasyev had seen a way forward for his people in his childhood, travelling the known world and seeing it's many sights, being trained to serve as Executive for his nation. They could not retain such small minds and be a part of the larger world; as the Congress grew to a full roar, Nasyev stood from his chair and slammed his hands on the fine oaken table they were seated around loudly. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned on him.
His voice, regal and darkly angry, began "You complain and gripe and bicker, but damn you all; you would hold our nation in the past over your trivial fears, as so many governing bodies do today. I wish to usher in an era of prosperity, for our people! Do not make them suffer for your cowardice." His eyes scanned, looking for someone to meet his fierce gaze, but not a soul had the courage throughout the room.
He swept the long, silken cloak that hung down around his back shoulders to the side, and said "Without further argument, I have preparations to tend to. Find your civility, for you most certainly did not bring it today." He spun on his heel, his long black hair swinging with him, and he made his way to a large set of double doors, swinging them open and entering a corridor.
30 minutes later
Nasyev's head advisor, a funny little fat man by the name of Poltash walked alongside him through the bustling cobblestone streets and rows of brick buildings that formed Uxhal; people busily scurried about, putting up banners and decorating for the coming festivities. Merchants hauled their carts along the roads, calling to passerbys to purchase their wares.
Nasyev sighed as the two made their way through the mix, now lacking his earlier finery in favor of a simple black suit and bowler cap; he'd tied his hair back into a long ponytail. He glanced over at the portly, short, elderly man and said "The Congress has been convinced...how have the preparations been coming?"
Poltash hobbled along beside his king, doing his best to keep even with the young man's long stride as they made their way down the crowded sidewalk and he replied "Fresh Fish, Meat, Vegetables and the Wine and Red Mensheviquan Ale you requested have been shipped in via the docks. Our fireworks have arrived as scheduled, the city is nearly decorated as you wished and a brigade of horse and infantry drilled for this event arrived this morning from their march."
The small man smiled, happy with himself, and Nasyev cut him a grin "Thank you, my dear friend...we are in need of allies these days. If all goes well, I am hoping this ceremony might usher us onto the world stage, finally." The two continued in silence, as they made their way to the edge of town, stopping to make sure each part of the work for the celebration was being done properly.
Finally they came to their last stop; the star fort where the soldiers were being kept in reserve until it was time to march. The great stone structure stood tall and proud, and the gate was promptly opened for the duo; Nasyev was pleasantly surprised as they entered into the court/drill yard, finding row after row of soldiers standing flawlessly dressed in parade uniforms with great red and gold plumes in their shiny leather caps, and gold trim and buttons on their normally drab uniforms.
As he inspected the men and women of the Mensheviquan armed forces, observing the pleated and well maintained manes of the cavalry mounts, Nasyev was approached by a beast of a man with snow white hair. The Maverick General himself, Tyrus Streltsky, dressed in parade uniform; he clapped the young king on the shoulder like an old friend, and smiled "Your troops are ready; your father would've been so proud my friend."
Nasyev returns his smile, "Thank you."
MEANWHILE, 30 MILES NORTH, ON THE CARAS RIVER: SUBJUGATOR PATROL
Gliding easily along the river with their powerful steam engines, the Subjugators patrolled in a tight V formation, a mile between them and shore on either side; sailors were on high alert, manning their stations vigilantly. The Kings guests were expected today, and they had been deployed to recon the area.
The Lt. standing on the front deck of his ship, scanning out ahead for signs of suspicious activity had an ominous feeling in his gut...it'd been months since they'd driven a large gang of pirates from the swampy edges of this part of the river but he still couldn't shake his gut feeling.
A young sailor approached, his crisp blue uniform and fair features a dapper sight, and cut a salute: the officer acknowledged the young man "What is it Corporal?" The young man barked a quick reply, perhaps a tad too eagerly "It's the captain sir, he's requesti-" he fell, clutching his midsection, accompanied by a crack and a spray of blood.
The officer immediately shouted "AMBUSH!" as fast moving pirate steamers emerged from hidden spots along the swampy shores, their sharpshooters slinging lead at the Subjugators. A pirate barge, camouflaged with shrubbery and carrying an older style cannon fired, hitting the Subjugator to the left of the Lt's boat.
In a crackling of wood, splinters flew from the foredeck, and one of the Subjugators cannons fell into the water, along with the unlucky 2 crewmen making ready on the gundeck. The Lt. dove for cover as a rifle bullet whizzed where he'd previously been standing; he looked to his sides and began to count; almost 18 pirate steamships and barges, bearing in on the small patrol.
He cursed, drown out by the shouting of Mensheviques troops and the dinge of battle, the roar of cannonry. The pirates firing was erratic and wild, and their first volley had little effect besides their first hit; the Lt. Had found his footing, and taken cover behind a metal plate welded to the hand rail of the deck, to cover a crouching man. He peered over with his Yatsky repeating Carbine aimed, and began firing pirates aboard an incoming ship.
Many of his crewmen, not manning the guns had done the same, and he heard the defiant crack of the Hotchkiss gun aboard his own boat. He watched as the barge with the lone cannon was ripped in two, another quickly aimed shot penetrating the boiler of the small steam schooner beside her, detonating it.
As a pirate riverboat steered closer to board, many of the men on board fell under the heavy .45-70 rounds lobbed by the sailors; the parrot ten pounder took aim and hurled an angry swarm of grapeshot at it; the foredeck was swept clean as men were minced by the hail.
However, as hard as the Subjugators fought back, time was running out; the pirates would eventually reload their single shot cannons, and their numbers were far superior as they closed in.
King Nasyev, the 23 year old head of state in Menshevique groaned as he leaned back in his chair, the voices of congressmen and women bickering back and forth drowning out any sense he might make of their arguments. Several weeks ago he had dispatched envoys to the nations of the world, inviting the leaders to enjoy a grand celebration in Uxhal; and to see what Menshevique had to offer.
He'd grown tired of the small trade deals with only their closest neighbor's, when recent innovations had gifted them with such a surplus of resources to sell on the world marketplace and secure wealth for his people; however, he'd gone ahead and made this important diplomatic decision without the Congress, as it would take them a year to make their minds up.
Now they had found out, and they didn't like the thought one bit; but Nasyev had seen a way forward for his people in his childhood, travelling the known world and seeing it's many sights, being trained to serve as Executive for his nation. They could not retain such small minds and be a part of the larger world; as the Congress grew to a full roar, Nasyev stood from his chair and slammed his hands on the fine oaken table they were seated around loudly. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned on him.
His voice, regal and darkly angry, began "You complain and gripe and bicker, but damn you all; you would hold our nation in the past over your trivial fears, as so many governing bodies do today. I wish to usher in an era of prosperity, for our people! Do not make them suffer for your cowardice." His eyes scanned, looking for someone to meet his fierce gaze, but not a soul had the courage throughout the room.
He swept the long, silken cloak that hung down around his back shoulders to the side, and said "Without further argument, I have preparations to tend to. Find your civility, for you most certainly did not bring it today." He spun on his heel, his long black hair swinging with him, and he made his way to a large set of double doors, swinging them open and entering a corridor.
30 minutes later
Nasyev's head advisor, a funny little fat man by the name of Poltash walked alongside him through the bustling cobblestone streets and rows of brick buildings that formed Uxhal; people busily scurried about, putting up banners and decorating for the coming festivities. Merchants hauled their carts along the roads, calling to passerbys to purchase their wares.
Nasyev sighed as the two made their way through the mix, now lacking his earlier finery in favor of a simple black suit and bowler cap; he'd tied his hair back into a long ponytail. He glanced over at the portly, short, elderly man and said "The Congress has been convinced...how have the preparations been coming?"
Poltash hobbled along beside his king, doing his best to keep even with the young man's long stride as they made their way down the crowded sidewalk and he replied "Fresh Fish, Meat, Vegetables and the Wine and Red Mensheviquan Ale you requested have been shipped in via the docks. Our fireworks have arrived as scheduled, the city is nearly decorated as you wished and a brigade of horse and infantry drilled for this event arrived this morning from their march."
The small man smiled, happy with himself, and Nasyev cut him a grin "Thank you, my dear friend...we are in need of allies these days. If all goes well, I am hoping this ceremony might usher us onto the world stage, finally." The two continued in silence, as they made their way to the edge of town, stopping to make sure each part of the work for the celebration was being done properly.
Finally they came to their last stop; the star fort where the soldiers were being kept in reserve until it was time to march. The great stone structure stood tall and proud, and the gate was promptly opened for the duo; Nasyev was pleasantly surprised as they entered into the court/drill yard, finding row after row of soldiers standing flawlessly dressed in parade uniforms with great red and gold plumes in their shiny leather caps, and gold trim and buttons on their normally drab uniforms.
As he inspected the men and women of the Mensheviquan armed forces, observing the pleated and well maintained manes of the cavalry mounts, Nasyev was approached by a beast of a man with snow white hair. The Maverick General himself, Tyrus Streltsky, dressed in parade uniform; he clapped the young king on the shoulder like an old friend, and smiled "Your troops are ready; your father would've been so proud my friend."
Nasyev returns his smile, "Thank you."
MEANWHILE, 30 MILES NORTH, ON THE CARAS RIVER: SUBJUGATOR PATROL
Gliding easily along the river with their powerful steam engines, the Subjugators patrolled in a tight V formation, a mile between them and shore on either side; sailors were on high alert, manning their stations vigilantly. The Kings guests were expected today, and they had been deployed to recon the area.
The Lt. standing on the front deck of his ship, scanning out ahead for signs of suspicious activity had an ominous feeling in his gut...it'd been months since they'd driven a large gang of pirates from the swampy edges of this part of the river but he still couldn't shake his gut feeling.
A young sailor approached, his crisp blue uniform and fair features a dapper sight, and cut a salute: the officer acknowledged the young man "What is it Corporal?" The young man barked a quick reply, perhaps a tad too eagerly "It's the captain sir, he's requesti-" he fell, clutching his midsection, accompanied by a crack and a spray of blood.
The officer immediately shouted "AMBUSH!" as fast moving pirate steamers emerged from hidden spots along the swampy shores, their sharpshooters slinging lead at the Subjugators. A pirate barge, camouflaged with shrubbery and carrying an older style cannon fired, hitting the Subjugator to the left of the Lt's boat.
In a crackling of wood, splinters flew from the foredeck, and one of the Subjugators cannons fell into the water, along with the unlucky 2 crewmen making ready on the gundeck. The Lt. dove for cover as a rifle bullet whizzed where he'd previously been standing; he looked to his sides and began to count; almost 18 pirate steamships and barges, bearing in on the small patrol.
He cursed, drown out by the shouting of Mensheviques troops and the dinge of battle, the roar of cannonry. The pirates firing was erratic and wild, and their first volley had little effect besides their first hit; the Lt. Had found his footing, and taken cover behind a metal plate welded to the hand rail of the deck, to cover a crouching man. He peered over with his Yatsky repeating Carbine aimed, and began firing pirates aboard an incoming ship.
Many of his crewmen, not manning the guns had done the same, and he heard the defiant crack of the Hotchkiss gun aboard his own boat. He watched as the barge with the lone cannon was ripped in two, another quickly aimed shot penetrating the boiler of the small steam schooner beside her, detonating it.
As a pirate riverboat steered closer to board, many of the men on board fell under the heavy .45-70 rounds lobbed by the sailors; the parrot ten pounder took aim and hurled an angry swarm of grapeshot at it; the foredeck was swept clean as men were minced by the hail.
However, as hard as the Subjugators fought back, time was running out; the pirates would eventually reload their single shot cannons, and their numbers were far superior as they closed in.