[regional RP] Sirona

[IlioAsa]

FOR NATIONS IN THE NEW COALITION OF NATIONS

Nations of NCON participating in Sirona

Rules

The theme is Napoleonic era gunpowder fantasy. Think, 1790s to 1810s. We can allow "advanced" steam technology (up to the 1830s) but only for countries that use little to no magic for balance purposes. This is a collaborative story telling role play, not a competitive map painting role play, so plan your role plays accordingly, and make friends.

Magic: Magic is the manipulation of the arcane energies of the world to accomplish feats of supernatural ability. A trait which few posses, inherited from their parents, the wielding of magic with any efficacy requires years of study. Magic is traditionally employed with offensive spells, calling lightning from a clear sky or summoning an arcane stream of flame; defensive spells which inhibit the casting of others or strengthen the armor worn by a mage or their allies; and logistical spells, promoting the growth of plants to increase harvest yields, warding off or curing illness, and healing injuries at unnatural rates.

Code of conduct
magic system

Finally, before receiving placement on our map, we require two role plays

1. A role play introducing your nation to this world.

2. A role play speaking about some event or happening in your nation.

[Urbani]

The Kingdom of Lyone was once a small island kingdom, enjoying it’s position among some of the most popular sea-trade routes across Sirona, Lyone enjoyed great wealth and prosperity, though the nobility rarely shared. With each successful trade or shipment of fine silks, rare gems and jewels, sugar, tobacco, and slaves, the nobility hordes and draped themselves in finery, always seeking to upstage one another while the common folk toiled away their lives and either starved or froze in the winter months. As the class divide grew and grew, Lyone’s situation grew increasingly volatile until at long last, the spark ignited and the powderkeg blew.

All across Lyone, the common folk took up torches and pitchforks and followed James ‘Devil-Eye’ Ward into the city square, with the royal palace in flames, and lined up the nobility of Lyone, announced their crimes against the people. Devil-Eye would call for a judgment and the people would cry out for justice, and by Devil-Eye’s own hand, justice would be delivered.

In the months that followed, the outlaws, revolutionaries, pirates, and rebels that saw the royal family of Lyone killed or driven away, would rapidly begin to consolidate and organize their power, drawing from Devil-Eye’s previous experience as an admiral of the Royal Navy. The Witches of Dunwall, themselves seizing control of Lyone’s colony, would join Devil-Eye’s republic, their matriarch, Agatha ‘Auntie’ Barlow taking a seat at the table. The Iron Dragon of the Burning Isles and Terror of the Bonnaire Abyss, Karnaggonn would soon take another, before Devil-Eye put out a call to any pirate in Sirona, granting them an open invitation to join this nascent ‘Pirate Nation’. The response would be underwhelming, seemingly only attracting a Goblin and his crew aboard their small cutter, but more pirates are beginning to see Devil-Eye’s vision of a nation without masters, overlords, kings, or Tyrants.

[IlioAsa]

The Chussen K'IlioAsa, or the Community of the Iron Lake is a huge nation populated almost exclusively by Chunes. They follow the Chunish clan system and maintain a large army to guarantee their independence.

IlioAsa has recently emerged victorious from a war with Frankia (the Franko-Chunish war, 1755-1814) to halt their colonization efforts and contain it to the human dominated territory north of the Coyote Mountains. Recently, former member of the 6th Light Rifles brigade by the name of Liselotte Tackett has been given the title of OMeko, following the death of her grandmother, Louisa Bonnaire.

The new OMeko will adopt a policy of greater interaction with the non Chunish world, and is seeking to establish diplomatic relations with the other nations of Sirona.

The Chunish religion has a strong objection to magic, and the use of it can lead to punitive hard labor sentences. As such, IlioAsan academia has focused heavily on the emerging steam technology, giving them a noticeable edge over many other peer nations. Factories dominate the extremely highly populated cities and cast their black haze of smoke over the people. The IlioAsans see this as one simple and unimportant drawback of progress. A locomotive line, yet another new technology to emerge from IlioAsan Engineers, has recently been completed from OHakni to OSetho to speed up the crucial trade between OSetho's ports and OHakni's factories.

[Neo Metropol]

The Arcanate of Soltryce is a massive nation populated largely by humans, almost all of whom are mages of some form or capacity. They follow a feudalistic system, with an elected Senate from several noble Mage Houses, all presided over by an Archmagus, a position granted to the most powerful mage currently living within the Arcanate, currently held by Aurora of House Almatre after a rumored "greatest show of magical force in history", the Lady of the Moon. Between incredible magical power and the desire for power, there's lots of court intrigue involved.

For as long as it has existed, Soltryce has been dedicated to the pursuit of the Arcane. Everything from infrastructure to hierarchy to social interaction within the Arcanate is dictated by magic and one's proficiency with the art, so far that the skies above its capital of Lucaria flow with ethereal blue streams of pure mana. It is home to Sirona's greatest institutions of magical learning. As such, its technological progress remains strikingly low, and there are very few factories throughout the entire country. As such, though they are far beyond their neighbors in terms of magical prowess, they remain leaps and bounds behind in terms of technological innovation. This is compensated for by, of course, making advancements in magical infrastructure.

They are open to outsiders, especially when it comes to the exchange of magical knowledge...

[IlioAsa]

5 years before, year of their Lord eighteen hundred and ten, Franko-Chunish war. In the mountains north of Chus K'Iwen

The Chunes all knew better than to try to fight the Franks directly. It isn't that they couldn't, they just knew the humans were always just a little more disciplined and a little more brave. It was just before sunrise, but the warmth of the sun was nowhere to be found. The air was thick with fog and as dark as the moon's light could not penetrate. The Chunes of the 6th Rifles would consider this an ideal environment for combat. They expertly navigated the northern foothills by the sound of babbling brooks and woodland creatures alone. Many of these soldiers were experienced frontierswomen themselves given some of Sirona's most advanced firearms technology.

Sergeant Liselotte Bonnaire was a native of the OHakni Mountains herself and remembers fondly the days when she would traverse the mountains in buckskins looking for Warden-Ernest soldiers during the succession crisis. It was a civil war that lasted a decade before the Franks thought they could take advantage of the situation and invade through the principality of Iwen, but they had not realized that the only thing the chunes hate more than the other clans is humans. The flesh eating beasts would fowl the sacred landscape of Iwen's mountains, and the only way to cleanse it is to feed their flesh to the coyotes. Liselotte had joined the 6th rifles to ensure this sacrifice will be made.

As the sunlight bled orange over the fog, the scattered light only made it that much harder to see. The chunes could hear the sound of the Franks and their foul language. They spread out wide to cover a large area and waited on Liselotte's signal. She could simply wander into the camp, the humans cannot see her, but she can hear them. Close to the middle of the camp was general Menneville, she has heard that voice once before, and she has come to silence it forever.

"La situation est complexe, je le sais. Il y a qu'une seule solution. Nous commencerons par envoyer de l'infanterie légère dans ce col. Une fois le passage sécurisé, nous y ferons passer le reste de l'armée. Ensuite, nous nous rassemblerons de l'autre côté et marcherons sur Chus K'Iwen. L'armée Chunienne est peut-être nombreuse, mais ses soldats manquent de discipline. Ils ne nous combattront pas directement."

Liselotte drew her pistol and gently opened the flap of the General's tent. He was easy to identify with his big fancy medals and ribbons across his uniform.

"Zoma ess kachssu"

In the heavy fog, the gunpowder of Liselotte's pistol burned with a slow crackle, but it was fast enough to punch a hole in general Menneville's chest. The other men in his tent drew their pistols but Liselotte rushed away from the tent flap, and by the time they followed her out, she was nowhere to be seen.

She had already retreated to just the outskirts of the tents where her soldiers had lit fires to alcohol filled bottles.

"Antiakach!" Her voice rang out over the fog. As the Franks scrambled in confusion, their tents burned, the flame created a piercing light that scattered in the fog. Liselotte took a position behind a thick tree and listened carefully. The Frankish officers were easy to pick out by sound, as they were the only ones with an authoritative voice. She aimed at the sound and fired. Once again, the gunpowder crackled lazily, but it was enough to silence the voice.

She opened the breech of her rifle. This movement was drilled into her so much that she could do it blindfolded. She tore a paper cartridge with her teeth and poured the powder into the powder pan and then into the breech block. She pushed the bullet, wrapped in the end of the paper cartridge, using her thumb. Her rifle was ready again in record time. The Franks thought they could use the reloading time to regroup, but another volley was on them before they could. The fires grew hotter and soon individual soldier's cartridge boxes were caught in the flame and exploded with terrible force. Panic soon set in and the Frankish soldiers started retreating haphazardly further back into the foothills.

It was only the next day the Chunish army was ordered to conduct a full counter attack. Liselotte hardly had the time to rest or clean her equipment by the time she was regrouped with her whole brigade and marched with the regulars through the Enya pass. It would be another day of marching before they would meet up with the now demoralized and decapitated Frankish army. The chunes formed into their lines, 40,000 women strong.

Despite being largely leaderless, the Frankish soldiers still knew their place. They were vastly outnumbered but the human persistence was their guiding virtue, and despite the devastating blow to morale, they decided to make a last stand.

The Franks had dug out a fortification for their infantry and for their canons. The canons signaled the start of the battle. The canon balls skipped over the flat ground and slammed into the Chunish lines, turned into food for the coyotes. The Chunes, confident in their superiority marched on. Their own artillery had fallen behind in the forced march and were so far unable to set up.

Something had to be done or the canons would smash their army into paste before they can reach the fortifications.

"Jen JawaIlo K'Eksom! Frank K'OJawaIlo K'Eksom chuh kachssu." Liselotte pointed her rifle at the canon crews. Her command was repeated down her open order line. Her soldiers found a position lying low on the ground. Liselotte lay on her back and rested the muzzle of her rifle down on her foot. She aimed carefully at one of the canon crews' leaders and fired. The bullet was slow enough that the path can be watched as it traveled through the air and nailed the Frankish commander in the head. His soldiers watched him fall.

They had no riflemen of their own, the only guns they had that could reach that distance were the canons. As one canon crew would try to aim for the rifles, the rifles would pick their crew off before they could fire. If they tried to aim several canons at them, those are canons that cannot attack the Chunish regulars. It was easy to reload while supine in the dirt using this new breech loading rifle, and the Frankish canons were soon neutralized.

The Chunish regulars closed distance and started exchanging fire with the Franks. Lacking a clear leader, the soldiers just found hard defensive positions and stayed there. The cavalry fought on the flanks, but the heavy Chunish cuirassiers soon overtook the much lighter Franks colonial cavalry. The rest was a bloodbath as the Franks held a strong position but the Chunes seemed to be able to replace any and all losses with their endless well of reinforcements. As The Chunes surrounded the fort, the ultimatum was given, surrender or die.

Without a clear leader, the ultimatum was not accepted, and the Franks fought to the last man. Some abandoned the line and disappeared into the wilderness, some surrendered brigade by brigade and were taken prisoner, but many others were killed.

Frankish losses were 5,000 killed in action, with countless more taken as prisoner. Chunish losses were 8,000 killed. This rotting bloodbath was considered a victory as it meant effectively the end of the Frankish army in their colony and the Chunish border was to be well secured.

While Liselotte was not a braggart like most chunish mountain woman, word spread fast that she was responsible for the victory. It was Liselotte the hero, the legend, the one who killed General Menneville, and her who silenced the canons. She understood that more glory almost always came with more work, but she wasn't expected to become nationally recognized, with her face printed in newspapers. She would spend the next year trying to hide from her fame, but eventually the "more work" caught up to her.

She had gotten a letter from the OJanMeko, Waffles Tackett, she is being called to serve as the OMeko. Now seen as a war hero, she is one of the only ones so beloved across the clans as to accept the position without the country immediately plunging back into civil war. She knew she had a responsibility to accept, so she did.

---

Present day, somewhere off the coast of Selisinpin. Eighteen hundred and fifteen.

While the Franks had accepted a treaty, the humans were also notoriously petty. They had hired a band of privateers to harass Chunish trade. The Free Captains, gods curse their wretched names, were all too eager to accept the pay. They began targeting Chunish trade with the Confederation of states. While attacking their trade with the Heptarchy was considered, even these thrice cursed pirates knew better than to bring the Heptarchy's navy upon them. The Confederation was weak, owing to their near lack of a strong central armed force.

The Chunes had an ace in the hole.

The frigate IARN Pickle was the pride of the fleet, an honor rarely given to lowly frigates. She was the absolute pinnacle of Sironan naval technology. She had copper sheathing on her underside, 25 guns armed with explosive shells spread over the main deck and one covered gun deck, and massive paddle wheels on each of her sides. She can keep pace with the fastest of sailing ships at 13 knots in a tail wind with the engines on. She had reheater flues in her boiler allowing for much higher pressures than the Watt engines commonly used on the other steam frigates of the IlioAsa Royal Navy.

The ship was captained by Kelp Warden-Ernest, a notably eccentric Chunish woman who claims to "be in household with the sea" and has never once taken up a lover. She has a distinguished career as a frigate captain, being a terror to the Frankish navy and to the Free Captains.

The common belief was that adding steam engines to a ship made her faster, but that was simply not true. If anything, it made ships slower. Steam frigates would typically run at 10 to 12 knots, while sailing frigates were capable of 15 or more with a tail wind. The advantage was maneuverability, as sailing frigates depended on the wind entirely for their movement, but the steam frigates could move up to 5 knots under steam power alone. At higher speeds, the less than ideal mast pattern and drag from the paddle wheels would limit the speed of the ships. the IARN Pickle was only an exception because of their latest innovations in steam power technology and materials science, allowing the paddle wheels to turn far faster without sustaining any damage.

Captain Kelp had kept careful watch of the horizon and she understood duty called as soon as she spotted a frigate without a flag. She knew that could only mean one thing. She ordered her crew to prepare for battle, and hoisted a flag, signaling the unidentified ship to submit to inspection by authority of the IlioAsa Royal Navy.

When the ship ignored the request, the Pickle sailed closer and fired a warning shot. As she suspected, she could see the frigate was already ready for battle.

These pirates were no mere robbers of the sea, many of them impressed from navies all over the world who had spent years drilling in gunnery, now with a renewed loyalty to their barbarian causes of rebellion against authority and the natural order.

The pirate cannonballs had shivered the timbers of the Pickle, but not damaged her ability to fight. The order was not needed, as the Chunish navy seawomen were ready to immediately return fire. The explosive shells battered the sides of the pirate Frigate and shattered the sides. The pirates wasted no time attempting repairs and tried to turn into a direct tailwind hoping to slip behind the Pickle's stern and rake it with her canons.

Captain Kelp grabbed a Boatswain and ordered her to tell the engine crew to release the clutch on the port side paddle and sail full steam on just the starboard. With this order, the ship turned a tight circle and pushed itself ever closer. By the time the pirate ship was ready for another broadside, the Pickle was just behind her stern. The canon crews were instructed to fire when ready, and one by one the explosive shells tore a hole in the pirate's rear and shattered all the windows of the captain's quarters.

"Get the Marines prepared for boarding!" Captain Kelp shouted. The Captain herself drew her cutlass as her ship met, her port side to their starboard. The collision rattled both crews, and they readied for a bloody battle on the decks of the pirate ship. The marines armed with their musketoons had unloaded a volley into the pirates on deck, and this was followed up swiftly with seawomen armed with boarding pikes. The battle was close enough they could smell each other's breath when Captain Kelp spotted the pirate Captain. He was fighting close beside his men holding a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other. As each side's seamen and seawomen came to blows, the captains entered into a duel.

It was blow after blow, crosscut after crosscut the captains were equally matched with the blade. Captain Kelp was good with a sword and could almost always end a fight quickly, but this battle wore on long enough to leave their marks on each other's cutlasses until finally a wave crashed over the bulwark. The pirate captain on his peg leg slipped just enough for Captain Kelp to rush in and plunge her sword into the Captain's chest. It was time she sent a message to the pirates in the only language they understand. She severed the head of the felled captain and held it high in the air. She instructed her crew to show no mercy, to kill every last one of them. Now, losing the fight, the pirates saw their chances at survival slip. Some tried to jump overboard but were picked off by Chunish snipers. Those who stayed and fight fell to musketoons or boarding pikes. Anyone who surrendered was granted only the grace of dying quickly with a pistol shot to the head.

After the slaughter was over, the ship's sails were rearranged. Assuming a consistent westerly winds, the ship should continue south under it's own sails until it reenters Free Captain territory and may be found by their barbarous comrades.

[The Manticoran Empire]

The Heptarchy is, as all nations are, a testament to its history. When the Gods raised up the Orcneas from savagery into the warmth of civilization, they did so across the Seven Isles. On each island, a different king rose, defeating all who challenged them until only the kings of the other islands remained. Wars between the islands would be interrupted only by periodic invasions from the Continent and vengeful counter-invasion. On it went for millenia until, nearly a thousand years ago, the islands were united under the first High King, Aethelred. Now the Heptarchy reigns o’er the waves, its banner raised high over four continents.

[The Way Sun Cooperation]

The Alvostan Confederation

---

(Exceptionally brief) Background:
The Alvostov Confederation was formed just one hundred years ago between three stagnating city states on the Elutand Isles.

Stratin nestled in the mountains in Elutands interior grew famous for its rich mines and fine craftsman. But even with the city's wealth it was plagued by famine during its harsh winters. The city states merger farmland unable to support both the city and a winter stockpile. This lead to droves of the city's population leaving to where food was more plentiful only returning when the snow melted unable to resist the mountains call and the wealth buried within. This cycle continued leaving the city's mines almost silent for months at a time, its streets deserted and forges empty.

Cerapol perched on the banks of the Delta River benefited from vast and rich farmland. The city developed slowly most of its population dispersed across its vast territory. Its rulers authority being diluted as towns operated independently following the requests of guilds over the decrees of thier supposed ruler. For a time this balance was maintained until the ruler grew impatient seeing the influence of the guilds and attempted to remove them. This lead to a period of brutal conflict across the city state. Militias clashed against the rulers loyalists leaving the farmland soaked in blood but the guilds victorious.

Polograd located on a peninsula jutting out into the Bonniare Abyss offered a safe port for trade to anyone willing to pay its dock fees and respect its cardinal rules. Its population boomed drawing in people from the surrounding towns and farms expanding it into a dense sprawl encompassing the city. Although not escape the cost of so many people packed together as outbreaks of disease killed many but almost as quickly they were replaced by those looking for opportunity in its sprawl.

All three were weakened, all three knew alone they would not be able to continue so all three met to find common ground. None wanted to give up thier independence but all knew they’d be stronger together initially planning an alliance it developed into something deeper. Each of the city's began to prosper links between them becoming stronger until an idea was proposed to unify them under one banner to protect thier new found stability. Each city would maintain thier ability to decide for themselves but each guild and ruling family would send representatives to a assembly which would dictate the rules of law and the goals of the new confederation. This assembly would be hosted in a new shared city designed by the finest artisans from across Stratin, Cerapol and Polograd. Named after a shared word in thier old tounge meaning lost to time Alvostov would now be the heart of this new nation.

[Urbani]

Broken Mast Bay
Chamber of The Rogue Admiralty

The Four Commodores of the Brethren had been assembled. The Chamber was filled with nearly hundred men and women. Karnaggonn took up most of the room, laying near the round table like a lounging cat, his followers either stood to the Iron Dragon’s left and right, or arranged in the stands along the walls of the chamber. ‘Auntie’ Agatha Barlow sat opposite the dragon, her sisters and followers similarly arranged alongside her or in the stands behind the elderly orc witch. James Devil-Eye sat to Karnaggonn’s left and Agatha’s right, and opposite the “Dread Captain”, standing in his chair with one small boot planted on the table as he leaned forward.

James stood and banged a small cannonball against the table, part of a chain-shot, silencing the chatter from the assembly. “I hereby call this chamber to order” he said before continuing.
“A few days ago, The Black Hind was discovered, just off shore of Northern Lyone, near Hound’s Rest. Her captain and crew slaughtered, her rigging deliberately fixed so the Hind would ride the westerly winds and sail her into our waters without any crew, suggesting that the killers did it themselves so that we might find her in the state we did.”
Karnaggonn snorted. “A challenge. They mean to make us look weak.” The dragon growled.
James nodded.
Agatha smiled and spoke. “Do we know the identity of the culprits?” She asked.
James sighed. “We do…The Hind’s sails were stained with coal soot, meaning a steam engine was present. We know that IlioAsa has been building ships with these engines, the confederacy has yet to implement them and Soltryce focuses on more arcane matters.”

Karnaggonn growled. “This is an act of war. We know who attacks us, I shall burn their ports and their ships at once.”
Devil-Eye shook his head. “We need to be cautious, they are more organized than we are, and better equipped. If we act too rashly then we risk bringing their armada down upon us.”
“Isn’t that why we formed this republic?” Kroarch asked. “To defend ourselves against the imperial powers?”
Devil-Eye pinched at his brow, running a thumb along the scar carved across his namesake eye. “Yes it is but we cannot simply fight them head-on. We don’t have the numbers nor the strength for a military campaign.”
Karnaggonn slapped one of his front limbs down onto the floor. “I call for a vote!” The dragon nearly barked. “I vote for myself to claim the title of Rogue Admiral and declare war upon our enemies.”
‘Auntie’ Barlow rolls her eyes and waves a thin, almost skeletal, hand. “The Witches of Dunwall do not support the Iron Dragon’s claim.”
James sat back his chair heavily. “Nor do the Pirates of Lyone…”
Kroarch snickered, the sound echoed by the many goblins perched throughout the chamber before the smallest of the Rogue Commodores hopped down from his seat and made his way to the door, waving his subordinates to follow.

“Kroarch, where are you going? We’re not finished here.” Devil-Eye called out.
“I know.” The Dread Captain Kroarch said. “That’s why I’m leaving…”

[The Manticoran Empire]

The Bonnaire Abyss
50th Day of Midwinter 7298 AM

HMS Eagle sliced through the waves, enshrouded by a thick blanket of early morning mist. The ship, a fifth-rate with twenty-eight 18-pounder long guns and twelve 12-pounder long guns, had put to sea forty-six days before from Svernford with orders to hunt down piratical raiders. The objective was simple. Sink them, burn them, or take them as prizes. And it was that latter possibility which had the crew of the Eagle at their stations and eager.
A full mile ahead and two points off the starboard bow was the unmistakable shape of a sailing ship. A three-masted ship, likely a frigate, which Eagle had been chasing for a week. She had kept ahead of Eagle by putting on every yard of canvas her crew could find, appearing at this distance to be nearer a cloud than a ship.
The officer of the watch gazed through the spyglass, his mind racing as he struggled with the weight of decision. If he called the crew to quarters now and nothing changed, they would have to be called back later when they did bring their prey into range. But if he did not beat and their prey hove into range, then Eagle would cease to be the hunter. Another midshipman walked up to him and spoke in a voice pitched low enough none of the seaman could hear. “What is the order, Hollam?” Midshipman Hollam looked over his shoulder at the younger, taller boy beside him. “Tricky, Calamy,” he said in the same low-pitched tone. He waved towards the distant ship. “Call them now, perhaps we have to send them away and call them again. Don’t call them, perhaps she turns and we find ourselves raked before we can call them.” Calamy swept his gaze about the horizon, then turned to the deck, crowded as it was with the bustle of a man of war. He turned back to Hollam. “You’re officer of the watch, it’s your decision.” Hollam nodded and raised the glass to his eye again.
It was a faint twitch that caught his eye, almost as though some of the canvas of the distant pirate had been poorly lashed. It made the difference and he turned on his heel.

“WE SHALL BEAT TO QUARTERS!” The shout passed over the deck, the men dropping what they had been doing and moving to their battle stations. A Marine, distinct in his red coat and tall hat, swung his drum around to his right hip and began to beat out a cadence, calling the rest of the crew to their stations. Hollam turned away as Calamy trotted off to take charge of his gun crew. He continued to watch the distant pirate, his eyes focused on the canvas. He did not notice the approach of two other men.

“What’s the word, Mister Hollam,” the crisp, clear baritone said from his right. He jumped, nearly dropping the spyglass as he recognized the voice of Captain Mathers. He turned, looking squarely at the master and commander of Eagle and, beside him, the First Lieutenant, Chard. Hollam saluted briskly then said, “I’m not sure if it’s going to be important sir, but if you look at the extra canvas they’ve raised, it’s sloppily done. I think they’re going to lose at least some of it soon.” Mathers lifted his own spyglass, remaining silent long enough that Hollam began to think he had made the wrong decision, that he had seen something which wasn’t there. But then Mathers lowered the glass and his smile was that of a fiend who knew a grand secret. “Mister Hollam, run out the chasers. Tom, have the gun crews ready for a broadside at eight hundred.” As he stepped away and Hollam turned to pass the orders to the men around the two twenty-four pounders on the bow, he heard the Captain from the deck. “Captain Hogg, have your Marines to the tops.”

Eagle’s chases belched fire and smoke as they reached across the mile of open sea. Both fell short but only just and Hollam coached the men as they reloaded. His guess had proven correct, as several of the spare sails the pirate had raised had now collapsed, tangling with other sails to compound the trouble. Eagle was now closing rapidly, about an eighth of a mile every minute. Hollam’s two guns fired three times in six minutes, hitting their prey twice. With the second of those hits, she began to turn, swing to port and Eagle turned with her. They were now seven hundred yards distant, with Eagle still angled slightly towards the other ship, hoping to close the range.
Hollam turned from the chasers to look at the pirate, raising his glass to his eye and watching as they ran out their guns. He saw them flash, obscuring the whole side of the enemy frigate in fire and smoke at almost the same instant that Eagle’s own broadside roared. Shot whistled through the air, smashing railings to splinters, cutting ropes, and tearing canvas. Hollam dropped, almost by instinct, to lay prone on the deck. He could hear men screaming in pain and, over all that, he could hear orders being shouted. He forced himself to his feet and looked around. His two guns were intact, as were the twelve-pounders nearest him. The midshipman who had been managing them, however, had been cleaved in two, blood pooling around his ruined legs and bubbling up in his mouth and around the splinters which protruded from his coat. Hollam spared him a brief moment of prayer, as William Lowe had been the youngest of the midshipmen aboard, a boy of twelve brought aboard the day before they sailed. Hollam did not know him well, being the oldest at eighteen and set for his Lieutenant's exam upon their return, but that very seniority relative to the boy had made Hollam feel a responsibility to the boy, a responsibility he had failed at.
He crossed himself and then turned away from the dying boy to chivvy along the gun crews.

The two ships hurled hateful shot at each other for several minutes, tearing jagged holes in their hulls, smashing guns to toothpicks and turning men and boys into so much gory paste. The pirate, Hollam noted, was coming off the worse for it. Her lower speed meant that Eagle was able to pull ahead and, about fifteen minutes after opening fire, Mathers brought the ship across the pirate’s track. Eagle’s broadside burned yet again, this time raking the pirate from stem to stern at barely a hundred yards distance. Hollam grimaced as the cries of wounded and dying men wafted over the sea towards him. Eagle sailed past, turning again to bring her own stern around before the enemy could bear on it, but no fire came. Instead, the pirate’s colors came fluttering down.

It was another twenty or so minutes before Eagle was alongside the pirate, a ship named Revenge. Hollam did not go aboard her, instead overseeing the collection casualties aboard Eagle. Calamy, he knew, was going aboard the prize, likely to be a part of the prize crew which would take the unfortunates to Haytham’s Landing, and the rumors of the prize money were already circulating. Revenge had been fat with treasures, all of it contraband that would be auctioned off, along with the ship. The Surgeon’s Mate, who had gone across to see to the wounded pirates, had commented that there had to be enough gold and jewels in the pirate’s hold to buy three frigates and the prize herself was no small fish, either.
Hollam clasped his hands behind him as he thought of the division. After the 5% fee for the prize agent in Haytham’s Landing, the Captain would get three-eighth’s of the money for himself, seeing as their orders had come directly from the Admiralty and not an admiral. An eighth went to the three lieutenants, the Captain of Marines, and the sailing master. Another eighth went to the warrant officers, the Lieutenant of Marines, and the Master’s mate. Yet a third eighth went to the petty officers, their mates, the Sergeant of Marines, the Captain’s clerk, the Surgeon’s mate, and the Midshipmen. The final two-eighths were divided into shares among the enlisted men, with able seamen getting two shares, ordinary seaman a share and a half, landsmen a full share, and boys a half-share.
Hollam was hardly the best judge of a ship’s value but from what he’d seen their prize had to be worth $70,000 or more, which would give Hollam himself a tidy $415, more than four and a half years pay for a midshipman. And that was before the head money for the pirate’s crew or the cargo within its hold. The Admiralty would pay $50 for every dead pirate and $100 for every living one, divided among the crew in the same fashion as the value of the ship. There had been two-hundred men aboard the pirate, according to the Surgeon’s Mate, with not less than sixty of them deceased and most of the rest wounded in one degree or another. If no one else died on the way to Haytham’s Landing, the head money would net Hollam another $100. And, if the Surgeon’s Mate was to be believed, the hold was worth many times what the ship itself was.
The thought of ending this cruise with what amounted to a lifetime’s worth of wages brought a smile to his lips. A smile which died when his mind remembered why this voyage would be so profitable. His eighth, that shared with the other midshipmen, the petty officers, and their ilk, was only being split twenty-one ways, not the twenty-six it should have been. He remembered Lowe’s last moments, how pale the boy had been and the fear in his eyes. What luck, he thought, that I ducked and he did not. What if it were the other way? He shook himself, driving the dark thought of his own mortality away and returning himself sternly to the task at hand.

Hollam would report to Captain Mathers that evening the total list of Eagle’s casualties. Of the 500 officers, men, and boys aboard, casualties had been one midshipman, a Corporal of Marines, five Privates of Marines, six boys, eleven landsmen, eight ordinary seamen, and fifteen able seamen dead. Third Lieutenant Blakeney was wounded, as was the Sergeant of Marines, seven privates, twelve boys, four landsmen, fifteen ordinary seaman, and nine able seamen. Of those, none of the wounds were particularly severe. Mr. Bellamy, the Carpenter, reported that the ship’s damage could be repaired within the week out of the ship’s own stocks, provided they found a sheltered inlet in which to make those repairs. Just such a place could be found a half a day’s sailing to the north, along with fresh water and possibly food. So First Lieutenant Chard was issued his orders, provided a collection of men and Marines to form his prize crew, and sent on to Haytham’s Landing while Eagle went its own way to make repairs before continuing its patrol.

[Kriegsreich of Iron]

THE MIDNIGHT TZARDOM

The Midnight Tzardom is an absolute monarchy and necrocracy located in the southeast of the island of Chiucurra. Controlling as it does large deposits of iron and coal, the Tsardom's economy is based on the extraction of resources by the peasant population. In the capital of Athreas, a great necropolis of magical laboratories, abbeys, arms workshops, and mass graves, Tsar Azreal Alexandrvich Morningstern rules the Tzardom from within the precints of the Cathedral of Skulls, a sprawling windowless basilica made of the skulls of Azrael Alexandrivich’s enemies. He holds court with the Blood Divinity, a coterie of powerful vampires, inured from the negative effects of necromancy by the regular consumption of human blood and who are the central figures of a faith dedicated to the vampires. They rule over vast swaths of the Tsardom, owning huge manorial estates. They are patient, yet petty and brooding, content in both the knowledge they will outlive their enemies and resenting slights well over a hundred years ago.


Once, many and more years ago, Athreas was but one one of many city states that comprised Chicurura, ruled by a college of archmages. They commanded each powerful armies of spellcasters, and waged many powerful wars of conquest. The great Azrael Alexandrvich was the greatest and most powerful magician and strategist amongst them, bringing the great arcane prowesses of both him and his spellcasters to bear, with terrifying results, carving out a great empire that spanned half of Chiucurra. His conquests were made easier by the fact that the other city states were fractious, unable to unite even in the face of subjugation. Such was his power that he created himself as Tzar, from the name of a great conqueror from a dead empire. He seemed poised to conquer the island, if not beyond. But wonton conquest had its price, as the remaining half realized with great alarm the threat posed to them. Differences were hastily papered over, disputes settled, wars ceased. A great coalition was formed so as to halt the advance of the Athreans. They, equipped with superior numbers of experienced soldiers, forced back the Athrean armies, who were ragged and fatigued from years of warfare. The coalition reversed every one of the conquests wrought by Azrael Alexandrvich, whose strategic genius could but slow or temporarily reverse the many defeats, until they were at the gates of Athreas, threatening to put it to the sword. The Tzar was desperate, retreating to the depths of the magical archives of the college of archmages. There, he found a dark ritual, which had been performed by a since-defeated warlock and his disciples long ago. His generals fought a viscous defense for weeks while Azrael Alexandrvich prepared for the ritual, until he and his fellow archmages were gathered in the highest room of the college of magic while the enemy soldiers prepared to break down the door. The ritual involved unspeakable depravities, and shrouded the building in an aura of dark mana. Those in the building, friend and foe alike, were consumed as the sound of a great belling tolling thirteen times filled the air. By the time the sound quieted, the archmages had been transformed into something other, something more. The sun was blotted out by clouds of shadowy magic as the newly minted vampires, greatly strengthened by their newfound powers, tore through the coalition armies. But that was not the depth of their evil. Those they slaughtered were raised, covered in an obsidian armor, bloodred ashes and mana swirling around them, levitating above the ground. The populace of Athreas was sacrificed to the vampires, who feasted for days as they slaughtered their way through the city, their victims raising in their bloody wake. They quickly restored the Athrean conquests to their greatest, until they were at the city of Vallativa, a great citadel fortress buttressed rapidly by the armies of the coalition, who had commissioned an army of automaton constructions. The Athrean hosts gathered for what they thought would be a decisive battle. The two armies rode for battle on the fields surrounding the city. In the end, it was a stalemate. While the forces of the coalition had been roundly defeated, most of them had chosen to break instead of stand and die, and not before inflicting great losses for the Athrean forces, who were left unable to replenish their losses and too weak to either take the city by force or by siege. In the end, the vampire lords called down a great fire that consumed the population of the city, but left their corpses too damaged to be revived. In the end, an armistice was decided upon, and the coalition, deprived of purpose, collapsed back into infighting, while the Tzardom commenced a program of constructing a huge network of buttresses and fortifications across the border, preparing for a second invasion.

[The Manticoran Empire]

The Wilderness
New Providence Frontier
28th of Hearthmonth, 7298 AM

The woods of the New Providence Frontier were truly ancient, the ground thick with undergrowth and deadwood. The trees, strong oaks and broad maples, cast their branches and leaves over the ground, leaving the floor in a perpetual twilight. The sounds of birds and arboreal mammals drifted across the cool morning air, joined by the rustling leaves and the buzzing of insects.

Within this twilight, a body of men were stalking. Or, more accurately, some of them were stalking. Twelve Aelves, their skin painted in the war paints of their tribe, crept cautiously through the forest, their moccasins falling silently on the underbrush. Each of the darkly colored aelves carried a musket, the stocks carved with intricate designs and decorated with feathers and beads. Looped to their buckskin trousers, they carried iron tomahawks and heavy wooden war clubs, equally ornate in their design and decoration. The decorations carried personal significance to each warrior, tied to their own personal achievements and those of their family. It also stood in stark contrast to the two score of Orcs in extensively tailored blue and red uniforms, their Land Pattern muskets carried at the shoulder with parade ground precision. Marching two abreast, the column was led by a young Orc mounted atop a white horse, his uniform resplendent with gold braid.

His name was James Robert Shaw and he was a Lieutenant Colonel in the New Princeton Regiment. He was twenty-two, his position a testament to his family's influence in the halls of power in New Princeton. Even his presence at the head of this expedition was due to family influence, though he would never admit it to a soul.
There was a dispute between Frankia and the Heptarchy regarding the boundaries between New Frankia and New Princeton, with Shaw instructed to meet and treat with the Frankish governor in order to secure more favorable boundaries for the lucrative fur trade. Those instructions, however, were worded in such a way that Shaw felt he had a broad latitude in how to achieve.

An aelf swung down from a tree, landing lightly in front of his horse. He was tall and slender, even for an aelf. His head was cleanly shaven except for a tall crest of hair in the middle of his head, which ended in a long, braided ponytail, decorated with beads and feathers. Shaw bit off a sharp curse as his horse reared to a stop. He was not fond of Aelfs. They were, in his estimation, savage and uncivilized creatures who waged war with an indiscriminate cruelty that, by rights, should have seen him ordered to civilize them by any means at his disposal. Instead, he was ordered to cooperate with the horrid beasts.
The aelf flicked his highly tapered and deftly expressive ears in something Shaw had been told was an expression of mischievous delight, though he failed to see the difference between it and the myriad other “ear flicks” that formed so much of Aelven body language. Shaw firmly gripped his temper and spoke in a calm, albeit firm, tone. “Yes, what is it Kai?” The Aelf seemed to ignore his tone, his face still as he spoke in the soft, almost song-like voice common to his breed. “Half a league ahead,” the Aelf said, gesturing with his hand in the direction he meant, “there's a clearing. A party of White Legs are encamped there. Soldiers, not trappers.”

Shaw stiffened. Half a league put them well inside New Princeton and no Frankish soldier had any business being this deep in the Heptarchy's territory. “Alright. Lead on. Sergeant Bourne, the men are to break into skirmish order.”
“Very good, sir. The company will advance in skirmish order. MARCH.”

It took more than two hours to close the distance. During that time, Shaw's company spread out, working their way around the meadow. Shaw had not yet decided on how he was going to handle the Franks. After all, his mission was to treat with the Governor, which would require that he meet with at least some Frankish force in order to secure an escort and audience. But he was very much displeased by the presence of Frankish troops in New Princeton.

A sharp, fwomping boom sounded from somewhere to his right, causing Shaw to rise in his saddle. God damn it to nine hells, he thought. He couldn't see anything through the trees and turned his attention back to the Franks, who were now turning around to face the forest. Several were already taking up their own muskets while others took up camp axes. The silence was almost oppressive, in that way only the sudden, unexpected explosion of temporary noise can create, and that oppressive stillness seemed to drag on for hours.

Then the silence exploded. One of the Franks must have seen movement because he shouted what might have been a warning while raising his musket and firing. More shouts, some in Frankish, some in Orcish, some the ululating war whoops of the Aelves. Muskets cracked in the ragged fashion of men firing and reloading independently. Shaw's head whipped around in mute stupidity. It was all going wrong. All of it. Oh he may have decided to attack the Franks but that option had now been snatched away from him. He called out. “Cease fire! Cease fire, God damn it all!”

It did no good. The guns continued to fire for at least a quarter of an hour, until some Frankish soldier lifted a saber with a white cloth speared on its end. Then it slowly tapered off over the next few minutes. After the guns had been silent for a moment, Shaw rode into the clearing, the rest of his party joining him. The Frank with the sword approached him and began shouting in Frankish. Another Frank trotted up and began translating. “What is the meaning of this outrage? He is an envoy, sent to treat with Governor Thomas. On what grounds do you attack us?”

Shaw was dumbfounded. An envoy? he thought, Saints and Martyrs! This just kept getting worse. His family's influence could save him from a lot of things. Attacking an official envoy, however, was not one of them. He just stared at the Franks, barely noticing Kai's approach.

The Aelf said nothing, his ears still, his fethered ponytail swishing from side to side. No one paid him any attention as he approached the Frankish officer. In his left hand he held his musket, a trade musket which had been his for two hundred years. In his right, though, he held a tomahawk. It, like most Aelven weapons, was also decorated with beads and feathers. Shaw only really took notice of him when he walked behind the Frankish officer and swung his tomahawk. Shaw could hardly believe his own eyes. The aelven hatchet split the Frank's head like an overripe fruit, blood fountaining from the gastly wound. The officer dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut and the translator, one side of his face soaked with the officer's blood, began shouting all over again.
Kai paid him no mind, stepping over the dead Frank and grabbing a fistful of hair. He placed the blade of his tomahawk against the dead man's brow and began to saw at the flesh, tugging on the hair to pull skin away from the skull.

The other aelves whooped as they set upon the dead Franks. Shaw looked around, seeing five, maybe six bodies in his direct line of sight. There were probably more hidden behind tents. Kai was eyeing the translator now and Shaw found his voice. “Leave him be,” he said, his voice firmer and more confident than he really felt. “Relieve them of their arms but leave them alive.” Kai's ears flattened his ears, which Shaw could recognize as a gesture of annoyance, but he called out in his own tongue to the other Aelves, who proceeded about the Franks without further violence. They took muskets, bayonets, knives, axes, cooking pots, purses, and cartridge boxes. As the Aelves took to their robbery, Sergeant Bourne trotted up to Shaw.

“I count nine Franks dead, Sir. Ten if we count this Ensign. Looks like twenty-five live ones. We’ve got one dead and three wounded. One broke his ankle tripping over a root, which caused him to discharge his firelock as he fell.” Shaw nodded. So that’s how it all went to hell, he thought, Tripping over a root. The damndest things. “Alright,” he said, “We’ll take them to that large meadow we crossed three days ago. Once there, we’ll send a messenger for reinforcements while we fortify our position. This is a damned unfortunate business but I’ll be damned to all the Hells before I offer a provocation.” Bourne simply saluted before walking off to organize the company.

Two hours later, Shaw led his column back into the forest. Kai and his Aelven warriors made their own way back to their village, splitting off from the column an hour into the march. The Franks, deprived of their arms and outnumbered two to one, marched through the next three days in sullen silence. When they reached Great Meadows, Shaw detached two couriers to Charles's Town. They would, assuming all went well, reach their destination by the sixth of Dawnmonth. Reinforcements, if they were forthcoming, would arrive a week or two after that. Any Frankish response, he judged, was unlikely to arrive in less than a full month.

[IlioAsa]

The District of Amerigo was little more than a construction site with a strange revolutionary government lazily placed inside. Liselotte and a detachment of her guard stepped off a steamship and onto a dock that seemed to have only been temporary and traveled past some temporary housing. Listelotte did not consider herself sympathetic to the CS and their strange atheistic ideology, nor did she consider herself tolerant of their peculiar institution. She didn't want to stay long. Every single sight of an enslaved Yioblanian disgusted her further. Liberalism stood for the ideal that all men were created equal under the humans' backwards god, but yet the implementation was always that of slavery.

Liselotte wasn't here to deal with the Confederates themselves, thankfully. She was there to deal with the only creature she hated more, the Franks. She was guided by her guard into a government building, and into a small meeting room, where the tall, powdered wig wearing, limp wristed, powdered faced creature of a Frankish noble already sat in waiting. As Liselotte entered the room, he stood, approached her, and grabbed her hand. She swatted his hand away.

"Sit down. 5 years ago I would have shot you where you stood, don't you dare touch me." Liselotte said.

The noble had kept a stoic face. "Very well." He returned to his seat

"It seems the Heptarchy is interested in war once again." The Frank said.

"Yeah, they do that. That sounds like your problem."

"Ah well you see," The Frank attempted to dab some sweat from his brow without disturbing his ugly white face powder. "We had planned to meet with them to discuss borders and resources, but instead our envoy was mercilessly attacked. If they would do that to us, a nation they see as a peer adversary, imagine what they would do to you."

"My land army outnumbers New Princeton by nearly 13 to 1, and their ships still rely on the whims of the gods for movement. I am not afraid of them."

"Surely you understand that your navy is no match for theirs, they can completely cripple your ability to trade, or obtain your own colonies."

"All the more reason to maintain good relations with them, I'd say. I believe we're done here." Liselotte stood from the table.

"Oh, no, your majesty wait! We can pay you. Money, slaves, ships, let's make a deal."

Liselotte drew a pistol from her holster. The Frankish delegation guards cocked their muskets. Liselotte's guard readied their breech loading rifles, the whole room stood in tense standoff.

"I want to make one thing very clear, human. I don't respect you, and I don't respect the laws of this Confederacy where we stand. I would get so much joy getting yet another kill on a worthless Frankish noble. Should we ever meet again, I want to ensure you understand that I never again want to be accused of being the kind of person who would ever want slaves or colonies. IlioAsa exists for the people of IlioAsa, not for our nobles, and not for an oppressive planter class. Now if you'll excuse me, I would rather spend the next few days on a ship back home and eating seaweed than suffer another minute with you."

Liselotte holstered her pistol and left with her guard.

IlioAsa National News

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Negotiations with Frankia fall through

District of Amerigo-- OMeko Liselotte Bonnaire spurns Frankish delegation in District of Amerigo. Frankia and their colony in Chektica invited the OMeko to meet in the capitol of the Confederation of States. The meeting was reportedly very short and produced no results. The Office of the OMeko states, "We consider this meeting to have been an insult to our proud nation and will seek no further diplomatic relations with Frankia."

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IARN Pickle gets her first kill

Chus K'Louise-- The latest steam ship of the IlioAsa Royal Navy, the IARN Pickle, was tasked with sending a message to the pirates. She successfully hunted the pirate ship The Black Hind. The Royal Navy is looking to ramp up anti piracy efforts in order to promote stronger trade and economic prosperity across all of Sirona.

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Mila Bouras' "gigafactorium" begins production in OHakni

OHakni-- The first of its kind, the Gigafactorium combines iron smelting, wood cutting, and final assembly all in one campus. This monument to industry takes up the space of several city blocks, and runs on the combined power of the OHakni River and of 3 massive Bouras Beam engines for redundancy. The IlioAsa Royal Army has already put orders in place for the mass production of both small arms and field guns. Local princesses have placed orders for iron trusses in order to take IlioAsa into the future of bridge construction and materials science. Phase 1 is already under production. Phase 2 of Gigafactorium production will include facilities to produce high quality crucible steel

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