Sikh and Ye Shall Find (EE, Closed)

[OMGeverynameistaken]

Kyoto, The Russian Empire

Emperor Peter VII observed the gardens of the Old Imperial Palace, presently the seat of the oldest dynasty in the world, specifically, his. Or half of his, anyway. Regardless of that, even most European royalty acknowledged that the Yamato heritage was rather impressive, tracing its way back to a historical origin in the early first millennium, and, according to legend, all the way back to 660 BC with the Emperor Jimmu.

Of course, most of the Emperors since then had been no-account layabouts who's primary activity had been to not be seen by the peasants while various warlords fought over the land and slaughtered people. Although one had to admit that the system had worked. Japan had never fallen to any invader and, when invaders HAD shown up, everybody had come together, albeit rather temporarily, to beat them off.

Still, an Emperor should reign, not merely shower. And Peter intended to make that clear.

Thus, the various Japanese nobles who had been loyal during the Traditionalist uprising had been gathered here today for what was, essentially, a kegger.

All manner of alcohol flowed freely. Sake was popular, of course, but stronger drink was the realm of the Emperor, and Peter was proving once again his legend for being nigh impervious to the negative effects of alcohol. Or, rather, the negative physical effects. With several of his traditional drinking companions, he was currently winding his way through a traditional Japanese drinking song, rendered into the currently popular Russian-Japanese pidgin which dominated the Empire's intercultural dialogues. This effect was, apparently, agreeably comical. Although many present might not have thought so if they had been sober.

However, the Emperor's rules were very strict. If you could not produce a note from your physician saying that you would DIE from drinking alcohol, you were going to get drunk. The last man to refuse drink in the Emperor's court had been bodily hurled out the front door of the Kremlin Palace by Peter himself and had soon after found that he was no longer recognized as the Ambassador for the Khanate of Kokand.

So it was that, by the time the messenger arrived at the Emperor's venue, he had been forced to drink several shots of vodka, a very nearly full bottle of sake and half a mug of beer. This had been offered to him by a bear, or what he thought was a bear, which had growled at him when he tried to leave without taking a drink.

Somewhere, somebody set off a string of firecrackers. A drunken scream indicated that 'somewhere' may have been in somebody's pants.

"Your majesty!" The messenger screamed, stumbling over several upturned chairs and through a zen garden which looked chaotic in a non-serene fashion. He was fairly sure that he had not been heard, so he tried again, "Your MAJESTY!"

"Ahn th' pre'y Tokyo garrrls'r a-...Eh? Whass'it, man?" Peter VII, Emperor and Autocrat of All Russias, paused in his singing to inspect the messenger, who considered that it was a good thing he didn't smoke, because his face probably would have just been incinerated.

Bowing, the messenger proffered a note and then, when the Emperor stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, coughed and stood back up, "A message from the Minister Kochubey of Foreign Affairs, sir. Reads as follows...'Dispatch from the Yamato Maharaja..."

...

Several minutes later, the party had ended and the messenger was holding a bag of ice to his eye, now swollen and bruised around the edges from the rather impressive punch Peter had landed. The Emperor had, of course, not apologized, but he did seem to regret the action somewhat now that he had calmed down, and the messenger was rather grateful for this. He had even been offered some painkillers.

Now, though, he was busily taking down a dispatch to the foreign affairs minister, who was probably not going to be pleased with the news. The Yamato were acting up, and so Peter intended to finally settle their claims to Japan in, as it were, the old fashioned way.

'Ultima Ratio Regum'

So it was that they were to contact the Sikh Empire, a state which had proven quite aggressive, to say the least, in their defense of territorial integrity, but which had largely been ignored by the Russian Empire thus far, in order to arrange a meeting and discuss the possibility of mutual interests, military aid and perhaps further issues of importance. And, if all went well, the diplomat would return with his head and things would get along fine from there.

Hopefully.

---

A Dispatch from His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Peter VII of Russia
To His Majesty Maharaja Gulal Singh of the Sikh Empire

Greetings as one sovereign to another, and hope that this dispatch finds you in good health,

I am most pleased to finally have occasion to write to you, Maharaja of the Sikhs, having heard much of the military skill of the Sikh state and its fine warriors which, alas, I have not yet had occasion to see personally, having myself been distracted with the issues of state in my own Empire. I hope that, with this occasion, that may change.

As you are no doubt well aware, the Hindu state to your south has long made claims to my throne and to my people, issuing various pompous declarations and demands which my predecessors have been content to ignore. You no doubt have your own issues with the so-called 'Yamato' sovereign who claims to be my relative, and who also claims authority over your territories.

Therefore I propose that, out of mutual interest, our two states should arrange for an official contact to be made. If you would be willing to accept my ambassador to your presence, I have no doubt that much of worth will be discussed and that in the end some suitable arrangement to our mutual benefit can be made in regards to our Hindu friend.

However divided in faith we may be, Maharaja, we must both be men of the world and, therefore, take into account what is best for our nation. Russia has no qualm or quarrel with the Sikh Empire nor, as far as I am aware, does the Sikh state have any special issue with Russia. Now, we both have something to discuss with our dear cousin to the south and so it may be wise to discuss what to do about that situation.

I shall await your reply eagerly,

Signed,
Emperor Peter VII of Russia
(Signed)

[Khalsa Raj]

Greetings to Emperor Peter VII of Russia

The Khalsa gives our humble thanks to the kind words of the Russian Mararaja, the Khalsa itself has much to thank of the Russians Officers who contributed to the military reforms undertaken by my predecessor.

It is most unfortunate that the Yamato do usurp your good name, as they declare authority over the Punjab, and the Military Councils do cry for the liberation of Delhi, but Bahadur I do not believe the time is now. We must await the tidings of the stars for good fortune in battle, it is not the place of mortals to go against the Vahiguru after all.

But should the Yamato seek to enforce their foolish claims we shall defend Amritsar and throw back the Pagan dogs.

We would be honoured to accept your envoy to discuss matters personably. As these messages are not secure from certain elements within the Punjab that would go against the Khalsa I am certain we will have much to discuss and a more meaningful treaty for the betterment of your Great and majestic Regime and the Realm of the Khalsa.

Maharaja Gulal Singh, Bahadur of the Khalsa, Raj of Jammu and Kashmir.
(Illegible Scrawl)

[OMGeverynameistaken]

A Dispatch from HIH Peter VII
To the Maharaja of the Sikh Empire

And likewise we extend our thanks to you, and hope that the contributions of our dearly departed father were of great use to the Sikh people against the Muslim scourge.

Our diplomat will arrive shortly. We hope that much progress will be made. I have taken the liberty of including several gifts for your personage. I hope they are not found wanting.

Signed,
Peter VII of Russia
(Signed)

---

En Route to Lahore

High above the Kashmir Valley, the Russian yacht was not among the gaudiest of craft, but it was certainly flashy. Its dark green hull, bordered with gold and bearing the imperial sigil in gold as well, was well polished, reflecting the sun quite nicely. It made its approach to the Sikh Empire in a direct fashion, clearly broadcasting its diplomatic neutrality signal and while its crew hoped that nobody took it into their minds to decide that now was the time to provoke a war with Russia.

Grand Duke Constantine Nikolaivich Romanov-Yamato, Peter's remaining brother, who was frequently referred to as 'the smart one' for having very quickly sided with Peter in the previous rebellion, was only moderately annoyed at this assignment. He was annoyed that he was going to have to visit South Asia, which by all accounts was a fly-infested swamp of a place, and talk to a bunch of Sikhs, which was apparently a kind of Muslim, only different. He was annoyed because, no doubt, a significant amount of heavy artillery was trained on their little craft at the moment, whether from the Caliphate to the West or the Chinese to the East, or perhaps even the Sikhs themselves.

He was, however, rather pleased that he was going to get to meet a Maharaja, especially a rival to the blasted Caliphate which had caused so much diplomatic trouble in recent times. Meeting actual reigning royalty was not terribly common. His brother didn't count, as, in Constantine's opinion, anybody you've seen naked was difficult to really think of as royalty.

The craft's pilot gave him a signal, indicating that they were near Sikh territory and, with approval, would begin their descent. The Grand Duke nodded, and gave the pilot a little wave. The pilot, who was himself terribly impressed at getting this duty since his last job had involved ferrying alcohol to Phobos, picked up the little radio handset and began to speak on what he had been told was the Sikh Empire's traffic control channel.

"Attention, attention, this is Russian diplomatic flight 005 out of St. Petersburg, requesting clearance to enter Sikh airspace on diplomatic business. Repeat, this is Russian diplomatic flight 005 out of St. Petersburg, requesting clearance to enter Sikh airspace on diplomatic business."

(OOC:
I assume Lahore is the capital...if I'm wrong, correct me.)

[Khalsa Raj]

"Documentation checks out. You are authorised to Land."

Hari Singh Ramgarhia awaited the Russian diplomat at Lahore Station, looking upon the tastefully decorated Green ship that approached the archaic by Western Standards, but serviceable Spaceport. Ramgarhia himself was outfitted with long dark Green robe of silk with gold inlays, much like the vessel itself along with a modest white Turban that was the all encompassing headdress of all Sihk. The choice of dress was no accident and was specifically chosen to express comfort and servitude to whomever the Russian ambassador may be. Along with the Bahadur was a small envoy, which might be more accurately described as a motley party, typical in Indian courts. Lesser nobilities in grand robes of silk, but as grand as to outdo Ramgarhia, their assorted toadies, dancing girls handfeeding fruits and other small delicacies to their masters, fan wallahs keeping a cool breeze going in the hot Indian climate, bordering it all stood a squadron of Sihk Akali's in their electric Blue uniforms of Western Cut which contrasted sharply with the decorated golden talwars at their hip, bright yellow sashes, and the distinctive pyramid shaped turbans adorning their heads.

Even with the loud inane chatter of the court and the heating landscape, the Akali, the timeless ones, stood still and at attention with linear muskets at the shoulder. They were the elite, the commando's of the Khalsa, of the committed Nihang Religious order whom were at the helm of every battle of the Khalsa. Although indeed serving as ceremonial guards was the duty of the Akali, it was undoubted that there were political reasons for their presence as well. Even though no one spoke of it, it was the Akali that spearheaded not only attacks upon the enemy, but assassinations of political enemies of the Khalsa as well.

But now they stood as if they were part of the landscape even as the earth rumbled as the Russian vessel made landfall.

OCC: Both Lahore and Amritsar are Capitols, although Amritsar is more a Holy Place whereas Lahore is the centre of economic activity and the majority of the Punjabi court.

[OMGeverynameistaken]

The craft circled the airport once before landing as its (primarily) symbolic forward gun fired off a standard 19-shot salute, suitable for anybody short of a reigning monarch. The diplomatic equivalent of ringing the doorbell.

This operation completed, the ship swept in, executing a quick 45 degree turn, bringing its exit ramp into line with the awaiting Sikh court at such a distance as to avoid causing anything more significant than a modest breeze to strike the awaiting nobility. From there, engines on low, the pilot guided the ship sideways as, on its side, the boarding ramp began to descend. With timing honed by years of station-ship docking operations, the pilot cut the engines just as the ramp touched down.

This operation being conducted with a 30 meter long vessel was, needless to say, a fairly impressive feat of piloting to the uninitiated. Any space pilot would probably have scoffed and taken off points for shutting down the engines a quarter second before the ramp touched down.

A moment later, the door at the top of the ramp folded upwards and a pair of marines emerged, marked by the blue-and-white striped telnyashkas they wore, visible beneath their green jackets. These took up station at the top of the ramp as a further pair appeared and made their way to the bottom, managing quite well the difficult task of marching in step down a stepped boarding ramp.

At last, another man, this one wearing clothes distinctively marking him as a servant of some sort, long tails and powered wig with a queue in particular, stepped out, snapped to attention himself and shouted, in Russian, thus calling somewhat into question the point of this particular shouting, "His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Constantine Nikolaivich Romanov-Yamato!"

Snapping aside himself with such speed that it very nearly created a small sonic boom, the herald made way for the Russian grand duke, the guards snapping even further to attention and falling in behind him as he descended the ramp to the awaiting Sikhs. At the end of his trek he paused, taking a moment to survey the court, noting the dress, gaudy even to his somewhat desensitized tastes, and headgear that dwarfed both his own officerial bicorn, worn as part of the Cuirassier dress uniform he was presently wearing, and the dress tricorns of the marines.

Constantine, after descending the ramp, was immensely grateful to whatever genius had come up with the idea of climate-controlled dress uniforms. Tiny machines ensured that, despite the heat of the day, he was merely pleasantly warm, save for his exposed face and hands which took the full blast of the Indian climate. Rather as he had expected, really.

Having taken in the crowd, he offered a slight bow, appropriate to a visiting diplomat expressing gratitude to his hosts, he then spoke in Russian, giving a concise, though polite, greeting to the assorted courtiers, which was promptly translated by the same herald into Punjabi. At which point Constantine made a brief inquiry, which was further translated, "His Highness wishes to know if it would be appropriate for this conversation to carry on in Farsi, which he is fluent in."

[Khalsa Raj]

As Nikolaivich made his presence and authority clear, he found himself aggressively welcomed by one of the Nobles in the entourage of Hari Singh Ramgarhia. Nihal Singh, a lesser noble dressed in an particularly extravagant robe of white and gold, that was possibly only excused in that it's excess degraded it's aesthetic appeal in comparison to the Maharaja. His plump face a giant grin, revealing a straight panel of ivory and gold as it were part of the suit itself.

"Welcome your Highness to Lahore, the City of Gardens!" beamed Nihal Singh, bowing repeatedly, and coming nigh close to embracing the Russian Duke, stopping just inches short under the knowledge that Europeans generally don't enjoy bodily contact.

"Most pleased to meet such a distinguished man such as yourself, a Duke no less!" then in a loud whisper with an exaggerated hand postured towards his mouth "How much did you anger Russian Maharaja...the Tsar to get sent here, hey!". He slapped his chest in his jest and turned towards the awaiting crowd and presented the Maharaja of the Punjab.

Maharaja Hari Singh Ramgarhia simply nodded in acknowledgement. Although even he knew the disparity in power of the Russian Empire as compared to the Realm of the Khalsa, it would be weakness to be humble before a mere diplomat. The Russian should know that a Maharaja outranks a Grand Duke, even if said Grand Duke is in possession of the Great expanses of Siberia.

After several other distinguished nobles of the court introduced themselves to Nikolaivich, an brief uneasy silence befell the group as the Grand Duke stated his wish to speak Farsi. A couple strained glances were chanced at the surrounding Akali, who remained stone still. Farsi was a popular language in the Punjab, as brought by the Caliphate, and was the primary language of government bureaucrats, scholars, and Merchants. However it was not a decade ago ,when the clerks of the Punjab demanded the Khalsa repay their ever growing debt or shrink their expenditures, did the Khalsa run amok and put anybody they could find that spoke Farsi to the sword.

Nihal Singh broke quickly sought to break the tension before the Russian could get a whiff of the political climate, "Of course Bahadur, certainly your Farsi is a far sight better then my Russian. Now, I am sure you do not enjoy being held up in the middle of a space field, allow us to discuss matters of state at Lahore Fort, or perhaps you know it as Shahi Qila."

A column of Elephants stood awaiting the entire procession, elaborately jewelled with great robed baskets that provided shade and privacy from prying eyes of commoners, a couple servants stood by with ladders to help the Grand Duke up, who was granted the honour of riding before the Maharaja himself.

[OMGeverynameistaken]

Constantine was somewhat taken aback by the forward nature of his reception, but a long life in the Imperial Russian Court had taught him to see the daggers in men's smiles. His younger brother's faction had attempted to murder him twice, after all, and God only knew how many conspiracies were active in the court even now. There was a running joke that Darwin should have gone to Russia instead of the Canary Islands if he wanted to see natural selection in action, one which remained popular even two thousand years after Darwin died.

So he simply smiled, a small, polite, smile, before answering the man, politely ignoring the use of the term 'tsar', which tended to get people punched in the Imperial Court of Russia these days, "My brother thought it would be amusing to send me down here, and, of course, if our initial talks go well, I am the only person in the Russian court suitable to meet with your own Maharaja. Royalty meets royalty and all that," His Farsi was slightly rusty, he reflected, but it could have been worse, "I have been looking forward to it, however. My only experience in Central Asia so far has been with our own dear Khannates. Muslims, you know." Constantine contrived to indicate in his tone exactly what he thought of Muslims. They were not good thoughts.

Constantine did, of course, notice the silence, the looks and the guards, but as of late the politics of a relatively small central Asian country had been far from the mind, eyes and ears of the Russian court and newspapers. He shrugged, however, "If you will permit a small delay, I have brought several gifts from my own Emperor to your city, nation and ruler. Unloading them will only take a minute or so, unless your guards wish to inspect them." He cast a glance at the brightly uniformed, albeit stonefaced, soldiers.