Tales of Two Horizons IC-Open

For all of your non-Nationstates related roleplaying needs!


Remove ads

User avatar
Posts: 12551
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Tue Oct 20, 2015 4:47 pm

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland


Dieu et Mon Droit

Chapter 3: From Across the Rolling Hills, and Across the Tides of Blue

The Colours of the King's German Legion

The Battle of Lahore, March 12th, 1835 A.D
Captain Friedrich von Hohenzollern, The King's German Legion, 11:36 AM

Friedrich inhaled sharply, rubbing his gloved hands against each other as he stared into what could have been called an mirage had he not been able to know it was all too real. Lahore stood, solemnly and on its last legs. Her walls had been battered, struck again and again by the valiant Company Artillerists whom sat patiently on the hillside behind them, firing their guns straight into the beating heart of the Sikh Empire. Von Hohenzollern smiled bitterly, covering his ears in a vague attempts to somewhat protect them from the sound, rather akin to an individual pounding drums in his ear canal, that was being emitted by those mighty and fearsome cannons.

And that was when the man showed his emotions. He slowly removed his hands from his ears, breathing a sigh of relief as the ringing subsided. Had he held his ears tightly for a few more moments, he would not have heard the horror that came next. Down came a portion of the wall, rubble and chunks of stone slamming into the back-to-back homes of the poorer residents of the city whom had build their homes and livelihoods pressed against this supposed vestige of safety. A collective scream, even a squelch most foul, could be heard as the wall tumbled and fell. The German's teeth clenched, his hands tightened into balls and kicked the sand beneath his boots. Little had him annoyed or frustrated recently, but screams of civilians brought him back to terrible ideas of the French invasion of Hannover all those years ago. They were seen as a wave, as Friedrich was but a mere child in the face of that French Monster.

He composed himself, dusted down his uniform out of habit and stood firm and solemnly. All knew what came next. Forward came the message from the superiors, some Company Official or Prince had seen it as an ample opportunity to press the attack on the broken section of the wall. Twas a siege, after all and the little engagements that had occurred outside of those walls at this point had all ended with decisive British victories that slowly brought the overall count of defenders to a close. None expected an easy fight however, by all sources Lahore was the capital of the Sikh Empire. That did not mean however, as Friedrich had deduced, that any form of governmental body even remained here. He'd have guessed the moment the British had declared war they moved north, further from the front. It mattered little to him really, now was not a time to ponder on that.

He drew his sword, as did other officers and captains in command of their respective regiments of the line. To his right, the fifers and drummers began to play their tunes and many a hardy Germanic face turned solemn as the advance towards the breach began. Hundreds of feet, marching in unison, arms swinging to the beat, bayonets glistening in the sun and the colour of the King's German Legion flew proudly alongside the higher flag of Britain. And so the tide of colours moved forward, as Hanoverians, Britons and Indians marched in their companies to secure the wall. Friedrich, looked over to his right-hand-man, whom stood quite ironically on his left, and gave a brief nod as the music reached the point as where the lyrics began. The indication was well known by all in the King's German Legion. The chant was loud, ferocious even, and the walls themselves seemed to tremble before the booming voices.


Jamadar Khushal, 3rd Sikh Artillery Regiment, 12:12 AM
Jamadar cursed inwardly, rolling the heavy artillery piece into the hastily built series of redoubts behind the wall. He did his best to avoid the sights of severed limbs, pools of blood and crushed bodies and merely focused intently on the rolling wheel of the artillery piece. He had been trained by European Mercenaries - as had most of the Sikh Empire's artillerists - for this exact purpose. It was well known across the Sikh Empire, her Government and her Military, that the East India Company would not be satisfied until the entire Indian Peninsula succumbed to the rule of the British Kings off in the distant land of Europe.

And so he heard the garrison and the professional soldiery of the Sikh Empire, under the command of the Vizier Ranjit Singh - whom had indeed not left the city - were to put up a valiant defence of Lahore. He saw some of the garrison funnel into some dug lines behind the redoubt, putting forth their muskets in about formations of 5 or six with a sizeable gap in between, so as not to shoot the cannon and artillerists in front of them. He paid no mind and he and his group managed to push their cannon into the section of the redoubt, beginning to angle the howitzer to be prepared to fire upon the incoming British soldiers.

"Come on." he nodded to one of the other artillerists and the group began to load their machines of war, their instruments of destruction. The other defences upon the hastily built redoubt had already begun firing and several spotters had made note of casualties forming amongst the Sepoys whom constituted the frontal line of the British advancement.

"Princely State Sepoys!" one called, before he was thrown off of his position by a stray cannonball. The body slammed into the floor, an arm clearly carved off. Little stirred amongst the camp. Jamader only muttered a silent prayer to God before he fired the howitzer.

Thomas Redding, 5th Nottingham Grenadiers, 12:20 AM

Redding gripped the butt of his musket tighter, watching as the cannon fire slammed into the position directly in front of them. It had been noted that defences had been hastily erected to halt the British. It was working for now, at least. Several Sepoy regiments had held their advance, opened ranks and some even fled under the cannon fire. Some of the Company Fusiliers had done so as well. Not the Hanoverians, whom had sustained the least casualties. Quite unorthodoxly they knelt and crouched at the signs of enemy cannon fire. Word of this trouble had gone back to camp, and artillery had been called in to soften up the 'Sikh Underbelly'.

This was not to say, as Redding had noticed, that the rest of Lahore was not under fire. Much of the city walls were under constant battering from the British guns. Heavy pounders and calibers and shot slammed into the once smooth sandstone that now was being chipped and blasted away by balls of cast iron and other metals. It seemed the Company was more concerned about levelling Lahore than actually capturing it, but Thomas knew these vocal opinions were frowned upon by his superiors. He had sworn an Oath, one to King and Country and the solemn standard of colour that fluttered in the wind reminded him where his loyalties lied.

And so they pushed into the breach, under fire from musket and now hasty attempts at canister shot did the Nottingham Grenadiers. Redding was surprised when he saw the front of the line had remained vastly in tact, though he did note that many of the second and third and fourth liners would merely push up to give the illusion the British lines were never ending. A shout came across the regiment Bayonets! Bayonets! And so in tandem, many muskets came forth and presented the Sikhs with a ferocious show of teeth. Each man fired off a shot for good measure, intensive whizzing breaking the short bursts of silence between shouts on both sides.

And as the Grenadiers poured through the breach in their unbroken formations, an unstoppable tied matched by the fluttering of banners in the wind, the musicians had the audacity, courage and determination to began to play.

Jamadar Khushal, 3rd Sikh Artillery Regiment, 12:24 AM

"What the hell is that music?!"

"I don't know!"

Jamadar thrust his musket forward, impaling a Redcoat straight through his stomach. Blood and guts oozed out of the wound as the man's eyes rolled back and Jamadar climbed out of his redoubt, after having rapidly hammered a nail into the loading mechanism of the cannon and ran back across the rapidly falling breach in the wall. Crumbling sounds echoed across the city, another segment of the wall had fallen - and this time the British were already much closer - to his right he saw more rubble and dust collect, and before anything could come through he noticed several dozen men of the ghodachadas charge through the breach. These men were the Sikh Elite, irregular cavalrymen, and well known for their prowess in battle.

And yet for all their glory, Jamadar's spirits were not raised. He stepped back and was almost thrown over as several Sikh regimentals charged forth, a mixture of sword and bayonet at hand and leaped into the trenches themselves.

The battle was merely beginning. An Officer ran up to the artillerist, a scowl across his face that betrayed no thought.

"Get back into the fighting!" he called, shouting above the sounds of the battle.

"Artillerist, sir, there are no can-"

"I don't care. Every able bodied man will halt the British at that point or we're all going to be" a gesture to his neck was made. "Up to here in shit!"

Jamadar could only nod as the officer handed him a captured musket, a pouch of musket balls and a dagger. He gulped slightly, loaded his musket and fired at the first individual he saw emerge from one of the trench lines.

Captain Friedrich von Hohenzollern, The King's German Legion, 13:57 PM


Friedrich pointed his pistol at one of those Sikh defenders. With no second thought he pulled the trigger and watched the metallic ball tear through the man's clothing, skin and out back his back. The battle within Lahore had been raging on for several hours now, fatigue amongst both sides was high. Fortunately however, the walls of Lahore now stood battered and multiple entry points now dotted the city. British troops had poured in, the hammer to an anvil, but had met fierce resistance across the board. The most successful group had actually been a team of men whom assaulted the most precarious place imaginable, the iron hide of the city, the fort in the North West.

He had no time to dwell on their success, but he had made note that the defenders had weakened their defence upon this breach by moving them further in that direction. As far as the Hanoverian could care, that was good enough.


The Hanoverians had, for the better part of the good hours, been engaged in a deadly melee with their Sikh Counterparts. Numbers had been thinned on both sides, and bodies adorned in red littered the redoubts and trenches and breaches made, all alongside the fallen foe. More calls came from the rear, and in slammed a regiment of British Gurkahs that had been held in reserve.

Friedrich mused as one of the Asiatic fellows fell in beside him, before clambering out and leading an advance to the next defensive position. All the cards have been played. He mused. Slowly and surely, the German noticed, the Sikhs were beginning to grow tired and weary. With one final push, this section, and those that followed would be clear and the city would soon crumble to British hands.

Percival Morrison, 1st Welsh Lancers, 14:16 PM

A gallop worthy of Heaven itself. Hundreds of horses, their hooves impacting the earth with grace as equal as formidableness. And the lances too, they were the frightening aspect of these horsemen. And so they circled, circled a moving train of individuals whom were aiming to leave the city through the gate by the Fortress. Encircled they were, and Percival Morrison could not but be upset by the waste of the horsemen in this battle. Halting civilians? Barely worth the time of these formidable lancers.

Morrison snooped his nose at these vile individuals. And so they were halted, their empty eyes watching the British in their own pomp and splendour slowly round them up and draw them from the battle. The Bugler, whose face was more red than the brightest tomatoes, brought the bugle up to his lips once more and blew the tune for dismount. Morrison grinned lightly, butting one of the Sikhs with the flat end of his lance before dismounting and petting his horse tenderly.

And so the officer, a Bentley, gathered all the men, women and children they had captured.

"Morrison?" he called, pulling down on his gloves.


"Inspection time, check their goods. See what they've got."

Aagya; the Sikh Girl, 14:30 PM

She trembled. God, she trembled.

Just yesterday she recalled the joyous calls throughout the streets of Lahore, the busy markets, the troops patrolling the streets. It was known that Lahore may soon be attacked, but it was never said what the impending doom was. Aagya had discovered they were devils clad in red. She rubbed her upper arm, covered in splinters and scars at her attempts to escape a crumbling ruin of a bakery she happened to be in when these 'British' arrived with their cannons and men.

She tried. She so very well tried to get out, but between the screams of the baker as his roof collapsed on him and the support beams of the building coming down around her she had been reckless, her arm brushing past a broken beam and turning into the morass of injury it was now. There was some hope, several of the more noble garrison men were collecting all civilians they could find and began a process of moving them out through the Lahore Fortress. It was noble, valiant and she knew there were so many men whom she'd never even have the right to learn their names. They might as well have all had the same faces; for it mattered not to the British whom it was that was in their way.

She sniffled. Memories of an hour before, as they walked along the road leading out of the fort. Freedom, away from this dreaded plague called war. They would be out of Lahore, they would be safe - the Vizier would give his consent for his people, or so they had been told by the garrison men. She knew they were lying. Their faces betrayed it. She said nothing, though. Hope came in short supply when an army stood outside your walls.

A Painting of Lahore

And there they were. They got so far from the city, yet so close. She recalled it, a memory that would forever be ingrained in her mind. One of the individuals at the rear gave a scream, something about horses and everyone turned to see what he was on about to notice a stampeding group of cavalrymen approaching them. That dreaded flag, crosses within crosses, blues and reds. Then they were encircled, all their hopes dashed. It was worse for those whom broke into a sprint at the sight of these horsemen. All she recall was some older man covering her eyes as a sound so horrible to describe occurred. She later discovered, after prying the stranger's hand from her eyes, that these 'British Horsemen' had run down those whom attempted to escape as an example to the rest. All she could do was laugh to herself, laugh to stop herself from the tears that were swelling up within her as all she knew was destroyed.

She shuddered. She looked at her arm.

She kept hearing this word 'Morrison' be repeated. She guessed it was the name of one of those British horsemen. Her guess was as good as she thought, as this man approached the assembled civilians and began to confiscate their property. She gave a quick glance to her person. She had nothing, she knew he'd understand. She was but a poor adolescent girl. And one by one he drew closer, and she noticed he was seemingly pleased by his task. Her arms folded beneath over her breasts and she waited.

Then she came face to face with this man. He looked at her, confused. His fingers curled towards his hand in a gesture of give, give. She twirled, showing her hands and clothes as to say she had nothing. The man's eyebrow slowly rising before he seemed to take the initiative of what she meant. She sighed, in relief, until his hand groped her hip and another her bosom. She shrieked, without thinking, and struck the man across his face with a slap from her hand.

Now the British and her fellow people looked at her, she trembled.

She trembled as the sight of the bayonet came dashing towards her stomach.

She fell onto the floor and she smiled as the sound of the guns slowly stopped, no longer did Lahore tremble. And neither did she.

A Ship, a Great Symbol of Britishness.

Cape Town, Cape Colony, British South Africa, March 17th
Masts creaked in the winds, and gulls squawked repetitively as they circled around the crow's nest and the sails of the mighty warships. Cape Colony, as it was referred to, was Britain's sure way of seeing the passing of goods from the East back to Britain, for it was the age-old established trade route ever since it was utilised by the Portuguese before they became part of that dreadful Iberia nonsense. Cape Colony was not a particularly British place, most Europeans were Dutch and the English only truly dominated in their created coastal city, Port Elizabeth.

Governor Benjamin D'Urban was not a particularly busy man. Cape Colony was sparsely populated for its size and managing the affairs was quite simple. True however, both the Dutch 'Afrikaners' and the Native Black Peoples proved to be rather quarrelsome. Recent spats with the Dutch Speakers led to increased tensions across the entirety of Cape Colony. D'Urban had requested more troops to help garrison South Africa against what he perceived as rather rebellious ideas of insubordination; so when a small British squadron arrived he could only have assumed it was for the best.

Unfortunately for him, this squadron was actually taking ships from him (Albeit it, it brought some more regiments to help with the defence) and informed the governor that these were necessary for Britain's war with Nusantara, for they were to strike at Madagascar. And so Benjamin D'Urban watched with vague enthusiasm as the British Fleet left harbour, taking with her hardy marines he would have much better used in keeping the peace in Cape Colony. It bothered him not however, if push came to shove D'Urban was the veteran of half-a-hundred campaigns and he would certainly be able to deal with a few rebellious 'Afrikaners.'

British Bengal Fleet, Perka Isle, Indian Ocean, March 19th
The British Bengal Fleet was perhaps the largest conglomerate of Ocean-Going Warships in the Indian Ocean. This wasn't too proud of a saying, considering Britain dominated the entirety of the Indian Ocean by owning India. Her fleet was well stocked, supplied, maintained and served as Britain's strong arm - as the wooden wall served wherever it was - however, Britain's latest ambition came at the cost of an offensive war with the Nusantarans. It was well equipped for such a task; plenty of mighty warships and plenty of transports ferrying an hefty number of marines and soldiers from British India. It was quite lucky that the Indian Army had been mobilised previously, but Admiral Pigot - the commander of the Bengal Fleet - merely shrugged his soldiers and reportedly said 'the more the merrier'.

Pigot was an unflinching man. He had earned a reputation to stand upon deck and the broadside rails as the ships engaged fire. Whilst not the most brilliant of ideas, its effect on morale was always a good boost. As he aged however, he tended to do it less. He became more cautious, not less inefficient, but general more considerate of what he was throwing his fleet into. Granted, aboard the Waterloo, a behemoth of a ship sporting 120 guns, one had no need to go quickly when the ship itself was a hulking wall of cannon that required no speed. Pigot did still, however, have a flare to his youth about him. Frigates and sloops were never in short supply in his navy, for he favoured their speed - and the frigates balance of hull strength, speed and cannons - to be able to utilise them in great support of the much heavier and harder hitting ships.

His goal was to strike at Sumatra, a decisive blow whilst the Dutch assaulted the Nusantaran holdings in Australia. As far as he could recall, the plan then called for the Dutch and British ships (Those stationed at British Timor anyway) would strike at whatever target the Dutch seemed fit. Pigot did not particularly care as to what the Dutch saw fit and had insisted the Dutch were to swing round and assault Sumatra from the south. If his words had fallen on deaf ears, he could not say, but he would certainly continue with his goal.

Victoria, Aged Four.

Holkham Hall, Norfolk, March 20th.

Victoria stared out of the large windows with glee. Thanks to William removing her mother from her presence for the past 16 days, Victoria was free. She went and ran through the fields as soon as she had spoken to Frederick Wilhelm, or as she had taken to calling him, Willy and Freddy - to his rather amusing annoyance. The freedom of the outdoors was amazing, one that was not restricted to the ever glaring view of her mother or the somewhat more relaxed observations from Sir Conroy. But she couldn't think about that at this moment in time, she was too happy, too pleased. Every minute would be savoured of this trip.

And so, Victoria had decided to paint. She never learnt how to do so, she was fantastic at drawing but just trying to paint something on canvas was something she had never done. So now she stared out of her bedroom window, and tried to paint whatever she had seen that interested her. The original attempts were somewhat amusing to her now that she looked back at the intense rage she had with the canvas paper as her attempts at drawing her dog, Dash, ended up making it look like God had created a dog with a distorted head, three extra limbs and for reasons she could not explain, was purple.

She had grown up around portraits and so attempted to imitate them, too. Portraits of her uncle, her father, her mother, past Queens and Kings. Yet she... couldn't. She didn't have the steady hand or the eye for detail, but it was fun. Entertaining. Free. As she continued to paint, she got to a point where she underwent a large period of giggling. She laughed, laughed and laughed. She fell onto the bed, giggling amidst the sheets. Later on, she arose, her hair in a mess and her dress hanging below her navel and had no faint idea of why she indeed was laughing.


"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Just a minute!"

She put her dress back on properly, reached for an ivory comb and did her hair as best she could. After a couple of minutes she approached the oaken door and opened it.

"Your Grace." the King's valet began, bowing. "Your Uncle wishes for you to break your fast with him and his ward. Are you ready?"

"Well, one does not refuse such a thing from his majesty. Let us go." The valet nodded and led the heir presumptive towards the dinning table.

It was an elegant room, an exquisite and large accommodation for the finest dining. An glorious table, almost the length of the room, was at the centre piece. A fine white cloth adorned it ever so graciously, and candle sticks aplenty were placed atop it. Chairs surrounded the piece of furnishing, and a plethora of breakfast items were already placed upon the table. Several tea pots, jars filled with sugar and others with jams, slabs of butter, loaves of bread, rashers of bacon along with sausages and egg and bread fried in oil and covered in honey.

She mentally licked her lips at the banquet before her, waited for the valet to pull the seat for her to sit down and planted her buttocks firmly on the comfortable dining chair. Opposite her sat Frederick, to her left and his right sat her uncle, William, at the head of the left side of the table.

"Good morning, Victoria." both men almost said in unison.

"Your Grace" she nodded at Frederick. "Uncle." she smiled at William, whom smiled in return before slamming his spoon into hard boiled egg and cracking its shell. The trio tucked into their breakfast, making idle chatter in between their various selections of eating.

"Victoria." William interjected. "About your mother..."

"Leave it be, uncle. She means well..."

"I will not have that." he almost slammed the spoon into the table. "No heir of mine is to be controlled by that witch of a woman whom disgraces my brother's name, yours and mine!" The King inhaled, relaxing and letting his shoulders drop. "I have warned her that if I find out she or 'Sir Conroy' has done you a wrong doing whenever you return to Kent, I will have her fined and penalised for doing such a thing."

The German Prince gave a short nod in agreement. "It may not be my place to say, your Grace." He said, soft spoken and tenderly. "But I am in agreement. From what Victoria tells me of her mother and your dislike of her, I say it is justified."

"See!" William said once again. "Its not just I whom sees it."

Victoria sniffled slightly, giving her uncle a hug before moving around the table and giving another to the German Prince, Wilhelm. "Thank you." she said, holding back a sob or two.

From: The Office of Foreign Secretary Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston
To: The Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs

It is no secret that France has always been the secondary power in Europe just after Britannia, one whom can change the course of history upon the continent with a mere breath. And yes, we have fought in the past but we believe they were well justified reasons. I do not mean to sound rude to you, but had Britain not intervened the dastardly Corsican would have engulfed Europe under his clutches and we would all be worse off in the long run.

And whilst it is true that together we cannot be rivalled, there may be too many differences between us for our very much extended mutual cooperation.

This is not to say that Britain does not seek to work with France, but rather that the extent of dividing the world between the two of us may be an affair that cannot work well as we may butt heads on too many issues.

I shall forward the message to his Majesty and his family of your invitations, I am sure they are to accept the proposal - Paris has always been the finest of the cities upon the continent. One of grace and elegance and to meet with the French King may build a bridge between our nations. Regardless,

The British Parliament is heavily interested in your ideas of the selling of the French Indian Territories. We are certain we can negotiate a price and a convention about Africa and Asia to decide what each of us solemnly agrees that is the right of the other nation is most agreeable.

We shall be sending a diplomatic entourage with his Majesty, then.

May God Bless You,
Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston, Acting in the Interests of His Majesty, King William IV.
Impeach Kerensky Legalise Autocracy Soviets are Fucking Stupid Pyotr Wrangle, 1936
Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
"At age 13 the internet should be used for porn and club penguin " - The Kingdom of Glitter
Consider Kylaris, peasant. The Greatest Collab Post. Ever. Of All Time.
TNL (NWH): to conclude my earlier message considering that none of us give enough of a shit about your misplaced nationalism to ever create an rp where spain is even remotely fucking relevant i don't think we're ever going to call you, ever

NS' self-declared most humble Catholic.

User avatar
Posts: 2649
Founded: Aug 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Jaslandia » Tue Oct 20, 2015 6:57 pm

Doukas Palace, Dyrrachium, Grand Duchy of Epirus
March 23, 1835

It was a peaceful morning in the capital of Epirus. A tranquil start to what would prove to be an eventful day. Grand Duchess Theodora I rose from her bed, and breathed in the cool morning air from an open window. Next to Theodora was her husband Michael, who was still soundly sleeping.

“Wake up, lazybones,” Theodora said as she shook her husband awake. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the weather is gorgeous. Today is going to be a great day!”

“You always say that, dearie,” the Grand Duke sleepily replied.

“I know, but I have a really good feeling about today. Just you wait and see.”

After being served breakfast in bed, Theodora and her husband got dressed and went down to the throne room. Their Chancellor, Aleksander Bajrami, was waiting for them. The son of a family of Albanian farmers in rural northeastern Epirus, at age 21 Bajrami went to Dyrrachium to seek his fortune as a merchant, eventually being appointed first finance minister, then the Queen’s Chancellor. Bajrami had a shrewd mind, and above all, unceasing loyalty to the House of Doukas.

“It is good to see you again, Your Majesties,” Aleksander began.

Aleksander Bajrami

“Please,” replied Grand Duke Michael, “you can use our first names. It’s simpler that way.”

“Very well… Michael," Bajrami replied, slightly unsure. "Anyway, I have the latest spy reports. Build-up is continuing in the Two Sicilies. It’s only a matter of time before they invade.”

Theodora shook her head. “It’s one thing for the Greeks to attack us; war with them is inevitable. But the last thing we need is an invasion from Naples on top of that.”

“I suggest we write to the Doge,” the Chancellor said. “They can put pressure on the Neapolitans to leave us alone.”

“We could try that,” Theodora said, “but for all we know, the Neapolitans might be willing to attack Venice as well. We need help from other powers. We must turn to the West in these dire times.”

“I shall prepare a message,” Bajrami responded. “I’ll also write to Hungary, if that is alright with you.”

Theodora nodded.

“In the meantime, I think we should mobilize our armies.”

“I agree. Have Defense Minister Metaxas issue orders to mobilize the regular army, the Guards, and 25% of the reserve army.”

“Of cou Nse… Theodora. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“In fact, yes,” Theodora answered as a playful grin came over her face. “Could you be a dear and fetch me some water? I am absolutely parched.”

Aleksander Bajrami smiled at the Grand Duchess’s somewhat jocular request. “Anything for my Majesty.”

To: The Foreign Ministers of Great Britain, France, and Prussia
From: Aleksander Bajrami, Chancellor of Epirus

Greetings, most distinguished gentlemen,

It brings me great pride to write to representatives of such prominent and powerful nations. I write to you bearing a humble request.

I am sorry to say the Grand Duchy of Epirus is under threat. Relations with Greece have always been hostile, and war could break out at any moment. However, even more concerning to my government is the threat from the Italian peninsula. Reports seem to indicate the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is amassing an army, and our concern is that this army shall be used to invade and subjugate our noble Grand Duchy. As Epirus has been a Christian bastion against the hordes of the Turks for many years, surely you can aid my state?

I would like your respective governments to pledge support to my nation in the event of an invasion. This support can be supplying the Epirote army with weapons, to naval support, to direct military intervention. Diplomatic and economic support of Epirus would also be most welcome. In exchange, Epirus shall be a loyal ally and friend, and would even be open to the possibility of leasing a naval base to a friendly foreign power.

I dearly hope you consider my offer, and may God bless the nations of Britain, France, and Prussia!

Signed, Aleksander Bajrami

To: Emperor Simon X of Hungary
From: Aleksander Bajrami, Chancellor of Epirus

Hail to you, most illustrious monarch!

It brings me great pride to write to the leader of such a prominent and powerful nation. I write to you bearing a humble request.

I am sorry to say the Grand Duchy of Epirus is under threat. Relations with Greece have always been hostile, and war could break out at any moment. However, even more concerning to my government is the threat from the Italian peninsula. Reports seem to indicate the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is amassing an army, and our concern is that this army shall be used to invade and subjugate our noble Grand Duchy. I believe you are well-suited to defend my nation, as our two countries have mostly had peaceful relations, and we have a shared friend in the form of the Venetians. Surely you would see fit to aid our cause?

I would like your government to pledge support to my nation in the event of an invasion. This support can be supplying the Epirote army with weapons, to naval support, to direct military intervention. Diplomatic and economic support of Epirus would also be most welcome. In exchange, Epirus shall be a loyal ally and friend, and we may be open to the possibility of allowing a Hungarian military base to be established on Epirote soil.

I dearly hope you consider my offer, and may God bless the Grand Hungarian Empire!

Signed, Aleksander Bajrami

To: The Doge of Venice
From: Aleksander Bajrami, Chancellor of Epirus

Greetings, my friend!

On behalf of the Epirote people, I once again thank for your continued support of Epirus. That said, Epirus needs help in pbhis crucial hour.

As you know, relations with Greece have always been hostile, and war could break out at any moment. However, even more concerning to my government is the threat from the Italian peninsula. Reports seem to indicate the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is amassing an army, and our concern is that this army shall be used to invade and subjugate our noble Grand Duchy.

While I am sure that the military aid you provide us would be most helpful, I wish to avert war before it starts. If possible, I wish you to put diplomatic pressure on the Neapolitians. As you are a fellow Italian state, I am sure they will listen to you. If not, with your mighty mercantile empire, they might back down if you threaten them with sanctions or an embargo. Of course, your exact course of action is up to you, but I implore the Republic to do something to defend our Grand Duchy.

I truly hope that you shall be able to aid Epirus, and may God save the Republic of Venice!

Signed, Aleksander Bajrami
Last edited by Jaslandia on Tue Oct 20, 2015 8:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Call me Jaslandia or Jas, either one works
This nation (mostly) represents my political views.
Puppets: Partrica, New Jaslandia, Kasbahan
Pro: Regulated Capitalism, Two-state solution, nice people, Nerdfighteria, democracy, science, public education, rationalism, reason, logic, politeness, LGBT rights, feminism, UN, Democratic Party

Anti: Religious extremism/fundamentalism, terrorism, dictatorship, oppression, hatred, bigotry, racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, conspiracy theories, Stalinism, theocracy, social conservatism, corruption, Nazism, Vladimir Putin, Republican Party

In-between: Religion, socialism, Barack Obama

RP Population: 675,000,000

User avatar
Posts: 1993
Founded: May 06, 2012
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Krugmar » Wed Oct 21, 2015 2:47 pm

The United Emirates of Aden
في سبيل الله و أمير

March 24th, 1835
al-Mukhif Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-Qasimi
Aden Palace

Al-Mukhif made his way slowly through the palace, moving silently and gracefully, his robes fluttering in the slight breeze. He could make out bizarre and disgusting sounds coming from the audience chamber, and felt that he would need to investigate. It was one of his duties, after all, as Vizier, to make sure the household was running smoothly and to take care of business for his nephew. He was fond of his nephew, but disappointed in the way he was handling his new duties as the Emir of Emirs of Yemen and Imam of the Zaidi community.

The door was light and gave way when he pushed it open, offering no resistance, yet he wished that it had. A clump of bodies were before him, two dancing girls and what he guessed was his nephew by his darker than usual skin. He swiftly moved his hand before his eyes to protect the dignity of those before him as well as his own.

Al-Mukhif, Vizier of Aden

"Uncle, you really should learn to knock" complained Ali, a childish grin appearing on his face as he pushed one of the girls to the floor and pulled himself to his feet. Al-Mukhif kept his hand above his face, though it didn't cover his grimace or the gritting of his teeth. "Go on girls, out, me and uncle have some business to attend to" Ali said, the two dancers obeying and quickly rushing from the room.

"Is this how a descendant of the Prophet should behave? Drunkenness, lust filled idiocy? Your father laboured for many years to keep the other Emirs subservient to him, now you will just piss it all away for a good few years of fun and pleasure" shouted al-Mukhif, his face having turned a deep shade of red from both embarrassment and anger.

"A descendant of the Prophet shouldn't have to live in a godforsaken country under the heel of former slaves turned rulers. My father had to give gifts and kiss the boots of those who should be his vassals, what ruler was he? The tribesmen of the north ignore me, the Emirs ignore me, the Mamluks send down a single Viceroy who has so little to do I wonder he hasn't taken his own life to escape this abyss. What am I to do uncle?" asked Ali, leaving his question (amongst over things) hanging in silence for several minutes.

Finally al-Mukhalif calmed down and thought carefully about the question, his nephew did not seem like such a lost hope after all. "Progress is slow, but we will arrive soon enough. This Mamluk Viceroy is the key to everything, to declaring you Malik and creating a new Kingdom of Yemen. But first we must deal with the Emir of Sanaa, my agents spin tales that displease me." he replied, allowing himself a small smile. "Now put on some clothes, several merchants are here to see you to give gifts."

March 25th, 1835
Yahya Muhammad Hamid ed-Din
Sanaa Palace

The room was quite small, located at the top of a short spire, and relatively destitute. A small man with thin, wiry black hair entered, glasses adorning a stretched and wizened face. "Bin Salah, you have news for me I trust?" he asked his Vizier.

"No your Highness, it seems that our Imam grew tired of the dancing and serving girls I placed into his service and replaced them all." he answered, shrinking back in anticipation of anger.

Yahya, Emir of Sanaa

Yahya did not grow angry, far too lost in thought for that. "No, I doubt the boy would have replaced them, you told me yourself that one of them was his favourite and a potential mistress. Al-Mukhalif is behind this, the bastard must have caught one of them and thrown the lost out. That snake takes no chances" he said, drumming his fingers upon the plain wooden table.

"I shall attempt to place new agents within the city, but it is difficult to get them into the palace, al-Mukhalif thoroughly checks them. We have enough information though, do we not?" replied Bin Salah, anxious to keep on the good side of his employer. Yahya merely nodded, gazing his eyes out of the small window onto the streets of Sanaa. "Will we take these complaints to the Mamluks and to the Zaidi hillsmen?" Bin Salah questioned.

"Soon, but first I shall make a gift to the Mamluk Sultan and meet with the Viceroy. I also wish to gather the Emirs and gain them to my side, at the moment they fear al-Mukhalif far too much to make a move. Once al-Mukhalif is gone, the boy will have no support, even from within his own city. Then I shall strike." replied Yahya, dismissing his adviser with a wave of the hand and following him out. He remained silent as he made his way down the stairs, his plan still formulating in his head.
Liec made me tell you to consider Kylaris

User avatar
Posts: 2906
Founded: Mar 01, 2014

Postby Sveltlana » Wed Oct 21, 2015 8:53 pm


Now, mortal, you have made the mistake of opening Pandora's Box. What evils have you unleashed upon the Earth?

Me, Svet lol good one svet
Me, Svet
: ikr svet it was pretty good

-- Politics --
Fuck that.

Senka: [about me] "You are a deplorable reactionary fascist cockroach with no hope of redemption who should be condemned to burn with the rest of the plutocratic imperialist stooges in the cleansing atomic fire of the righteous."

User avatar
Post Marshal
Posts: 16626
Founded: Sep 01, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Senkaku » Thu Oct 22, 2015 6:59 am

Yingjiangtai Palace

There was a dark northern wind in the air, whistling over the dull tiled roofs of the little palace that sat squatly in the middle of Zhoukou, a glorified nunnery for a cast-aside empress to live out her last days.
As it had for the last several days, the palace now blazed with light as evening strode in from the east- filled with intrigue and plotting that had flowed even to this little outpost from the glory of the world, Dongjing.
"My lady, your orders have been carried out to a word," Liang Chun said, eyes gleaming with dark excitement as he hobbled in, trying not to lean on his ivory cane. "Your soldiers are ready to march, and I have sent birds to all parties as you ordered. We are ready to march."
"Exactly how many men do you have, Commander Liang?"
"8,000 from Taikang County, where my men are based and where I was able to directly recruit, and 20,000 from the other counties of the prefecture. 4,000 more cavalry are prepared, in Taikang and Fugou, to strike towards Tongxu and pave the way for the main assault."
Yin raised an eyebrow. "31,000? Are these all my armies, in their totality? I should hope you have been more active than that, Chun."
"My lady, with the birds I have already received back from Xuchang, Shangqiu, and Zhengzhou, by the time we attack, you will have at least 120,000 men at your back, perhaps more. This is only the beginning, my lady."

The Empress turned away, staring out a window to the north.

"Your cavalry will march at moonrise for Tongxu."

Liang Chun bowed and left, leaving the Empress alone to contemplate a darkening, cloud-shredded sky.


Yinjin rubbed his eyes as Meilin gave Song a sleep-addled look of complete confusion.
"What did you just say?", she said, shaking her head in confusion. Of the three of them, only Song had that greatest of political talents- the ability to get by on very little sleep.
At this point, though, he was starting to get impatient. It was nearly sunrise, and he'd spent almost the entire night in a flurry of activity after a certain informant had sent a bird to the capital- going back and forth from Lantai, waiting while guards found a certain woman and then while interrogators questioned her, then napping briefly as they found and questioned another man. Then he'd had to tie up a number of loose ends and have his siblings woken- by now, it was a real worry that other people could be finding out about what was going on.
"The Empress has sent soldiers to Tongxu. As many as 10,000, I've been told. Apparently they entered the town in normal uniforms and started killing the garrison."
"Why would they be doing that? And how do you know the Empress sent them?", Yinjin said, looking baffled.
'Well, brother, where are we?"
"Lantai," Yinjin with a slight sigh.
"Some of my censors have been interrogating certain persons aware of her scheme. We haven't found out everything, but I know enough to say that I am quite certain she is marching on the capital and that soon everyone will know. Which means we should leave as quickly as possible."
"Why?", Meilin interjected. "The garrison and the Imperial Guard can certainly stop 10,000 men, even with minimal warning."
"Really?", Song fired back. "The walls were never meant to protect the city very well even when they were young and in better shape, and they were never designed to stand up to heavy cannonfire."
Meilin shrugged. "The capital region armies are much too large for a little force like that to pose much of a problem, and they're probably all provincial rabble anyways. But if you're right, and they do get through- well, we know Yin's main target will be the Precious Consort. Not us. If her men are in the city, and they don't know our men are in the city..."
She paused, looking between her brothers. "What? We always wondered how we could explain Gang's little accident. Well, now it will make perfect sense. 'Oh no, the city had been thrown into confusion by a rebel empress, what a tragedy that the Crown Prince perished in the chaos. The Emperor is so grief-stricken he's given the triplets the regency.' Is it not a perfect opportunity? No one would even question it!"
"Except the Chancellor and the Precious Consort," Yinjin pointed out.
Song's eyes were gleaming now, though. "But it would make sense for the Emperor to be so catastrophically grief-stricken if his beloved were to have a meeting with fate in the chaos of the city nearly being overrun."
"How do you propose to ensure that they 'nearly' overrun the city, when you're not even sure how big, how fast, and how far away the Empress's army is?", his brother pressed.
"Send out orders to the capital region generals to the north to begin marching to assist us immediately, but send them birds to hold off if they might arrive too soon," Meilin said with a shrug. "We have the men in and around the city in place, Yinjin. We just need to act. Set some charges off under a weak point, maybe, to make sure the Imperial Guard doesn't stop her at the walls- we could even pin that on Gang, actually. We go warn the Chancellor over tea, slip Song's little concoction to him- and suddenly, we have everything we want."

Yinjin tilted his head in consideration as the red rays of a bloody sun skimmed gently along the eastern horizon, bringing a touch of indigo to the pitch-black sky.

The Imperial Palace

The Emperor yawned a little. "So, Marshal Shang, to summarize...?"
"To summarize, radiant lord, the Vietnamese have taken Pontianak, and a second landing of some of their ships has invested the Banjarmasin region. The southrons, however, are seemingly preparing counterattacks in both locations, but a reinforcement fleet with Siamese and Khmer soldiers will be landing in the next few days to help secure our control on Borneo. The Eastern Pacification Fleet, meanwhile, is sailing from Luzon with 30,000 men to strike the northeastern-most holdings of the enemy, the island of Mindanao and its attendant islets. On Java, our armies are now within striking distance of Trowulan, and smaller landings have seized Jayakarta and put troops ashore in southern Sumatra. The Nusantarans fight valiantly, but Admiral Lin reports he successfully engaged a large body of their ships in Eretan Bay several days ago and soundly defeated their fleet. It is only a matter of time, my lord, before Nusantara falls- and the western barbarians appear to be joining in our fight as well, with attacks in their eastern isles and northern Sumatra."
Kim Cheol-gyun, the Korean ambassador, now stepped forward. "Radiant and glorious lord, Korea still offers to act as a mediating party to end this conflict, which has already cost many lives for China, Nusantara, and Vietnam, and-"
Datong cut him off, eyes smoldering with anger. "Ambassador, I have already spoken on this matter. Korea's mediation is neither needed nor wanted. Nusantara will bow to the Middle Kingdom even lower than does Korea and pay for their crimes against us. Now, Marshal, you say our forces are within range of Trowulan?"
"Indeed, radiant lord. A force of 70,000 is now within two days' march of the royal city. The Nusantarans are forming up every man and boy they can gather to try and fend them off after their previous defeats, but they will doubtless fail."
"They will burn it. I do not want a single building left standing for men of any nation or age to look upon and remember. Not the highest temples or the most meager shacks will be left of Trowulan, the city of traitors and assassins."
"It shall be-"

The huge double doors of the throne room began to swing inwards on silent hinges, silencing Marshal Shang and causing the Emperor to turn his head in surprise.

An old man, dressed in the rich blue robes of the Chancellor, leaning upon an ornate walking stick, shuffled into the vast hall, followed by two young men and a young woman- the Princes Song and Yinjin, and their sister the Princess Meilin.
"What is the meaning of this interruption?", the Emperor said, visibly annoyed.
"The meaning, gracious and patient lord," Song called in a clear voice, "is to alert your radiant presence of a crime so great and so immediate it scarcely can be believed that such a thing would be done under Heaven."
The eyes of the court were now all trained on the triplets and the Chancellor. It was the Precious Consort, seated below the throne, who spoke next.
"What crime is this, that you would interrupt the Son of Heaven in his duties of state and army?"
"A rebellion," Yinjin replied flatly. As an imperial prince of the blood, there was no need for him to use any titles for Lifen. "The Empress Yin, even now, is marching from Zhoukou on the capital. Tongxu has already fallen in the night- her soldiers will be upon us soon."

The Emperor gave the triplets and the Chancellor a look akin to that a cobra might give a small mouse or vole before it strikes and devours it, his eyes almost luminous.
"The garrison is already marching to their positions, my lord," the Chancellor said gravely. "Dongjing is secure, but your servant humbly counsels you to immediately mobilize all available armies in the Central Plain to swiftly crush this rebellion. Rumor has it that in Zhoukou- now Yijing- a new dynasty has been declared, the Ming, with the first empress regnant since Wu Zetian at its head."
Datong was now incredulous. "A new dynasty! Claiming I have lost the Mandate? This foul treason will be dealt with harshly," he growled. "Marshal Shang, you will do as the Chancellor suggests and mobilize all units in the Central Plains Military Region to crush this insult to the gods. Take in new conscripts if you must, bring in steppe auxiliaries- you will gather every last soldier you have available to destroy Yin as swiftly as possible. I, in the meantime, shall go observe the defense of my capital."

Within half an hour, 31,000 soldiers of the newly-declared Ming dynasty, having marched through the night from towns north of the dynasty's capital at Yijing (formerly known as Zhoukou under the benighted former keepers of the Mandate of Heaven, the Song), had fallen upon the old dynasty's capital at Dongjing. Dongjing was a vast city, with at least three million people sprawling out beyond four sets of walls (which had not been well-maintained since the last Mongol incursions). Though the city garrison and the vast armies that defended the glittering imperial city had been alerted to the advance, the Ming forces still had the advantage of surprise as they swept down roads, past canals, to launch the first strike. They were over the first bridges over the canals into the city just as the garrison had been moving to burn them, and fires began springing up as Song soldiers caught outside the walls (or those on them, trying to defend them) set buildings ablaze in the fight against the rebels.

Dongjing's defenders were still stirring to life as the Empress Yin's artillery began coming up. It was meager (for now), far inferior to the main artillery park of the Song army- but against decrepit walls last used against the Mongols, it was sufficient. The areas where the walls were better maintained and gatehouses were equipped with cast steel cannons were impenetrable, with the Song guns having far better range and accuracy and terrifying destructive power, but the areas that had been left in disrepair- these were easily smashed down by hails of hot steel from the Ming cannons and rockets.
Two pincers now streamed into the imperial city, leaving fire and death in their wake, as armies vaster than entire cities began to stir to defend the Son of Heaven. The Datong Emperor himself, watching from the walls, hurriedly donned his armor, riding out personally among his men- along with Zhen Lifen in the flesh, the Precious Consort wearing chain mail and stiffened silk with her diamonds and pearls.

The Son of Heaven was not a young man. He had not ventured into battle since the campaigns against the rebellious Khitan, in his youth, and then in the single horrifically bloody day so many years ago when he had assassinated six of his brothers and forty thousand men had died in Dongjing alone to put him on the Dragon Throne. He had even only rarely ventured forth with the Imperial Army in recent years.
However, in his youth, the Datong Emperor had been a formidable battle commander, and a fine warrior himself, trained by some of the finest tutors in marksmanship, swordplay, and martial arts that the imperial court could retain. Mounted as he was now on a powerful Heavenly Horse, and surrounded by Imperial Guardsmen, he was quite formidable- and the monarch himself personally led the charge that poets would later forever immortalize at Dahongmen, the Great Red Gate. His horse was shot out from under him, and he took several wounds, but the cannons that had been battering down the gatehouse's crumbling walls were silenced and Song cavalry sent thundering down the streets to chase the enemy back.

Several miles to the east, the Beloved of Heaven, Zhen Lifen, was also in the thick of the fray. She was a daughter of a powerful clan and while not as experienced as the Son of Heaven in the art of war, she was quite capable of defending herself- as evidenced when she also led a charge against the enemy, personally impaling the Ming lieutenant on her lance to silence a rocket battery.

Seeing and hearing of the titanic efforts of their monarch and his Precious Consort, the panicking, confused soldiers of the Song dynasty rallied. More were now pouring in from the north of the city, building up in waves and hurling the rebels back block by block.

Behind them, not all was well.
Dongjing was a city in chaos, as soldiers rushed south and civilians fled for their very lives against the tide of armed men, with rockets and shells falling randomly all across the imperial capital. Nor were all the soldiers as loyal as they seemed- but these were not fifth columnists of the Empress.
The Chancellor fell suddenly and cripplingly ill in the Chancellery, observing the fighting. Intense mortar fire began to strike the complex just minutes later, nearly killing him, and more mortar fire drove the Crown Prince from his residence south of the imperial palace. He was gunned down in the street by a pair of assassins. Grand Marshal Shang was stabbed to death in the imperial palace by a colonel, who promptly fled along with several other officers, and all three generals responsible for the Army of the Purple Frontier were assassinated by bombs launched from mortars or catapults, or pre-planted in their vicinity.
These were not the Empress's doing. There was another power in Dongjing, one that had thus far remained hidden from the view of all that now made itself known. Soldiers now were marching from the north, with orders from their officers to take the Son of Heaven into custody and bring him to the imperial palace.
These orders had been given by the Prince Yinjin.


The Emperor, breathing heavily, stepped back, yanking his sword out of the chest of the man who had broken past his guardsmen. Artillery had finally been brought up to the gatehouse and was thundering away at the retreating rebels, though bullets and some arrows still whizzed around them. Several had been turned by his steel armor already, but the enemy were most definitely falling back.
Datong called in a booming voice towards where a group of cavalry were waiting near the gatehouse. "Charge! Attack them!"

They began riding forwards- and then a puff of smoke came from one of their pistols.
An Imperial Guardsman gave a choking sound and went down, blood spurting from his throat. There were more shots and more guardsmen went down, and the Emperor and the officers near him began screaming at the cavalrymen, ordering them to halt.
With the thunder of hooves almost upon him, the Datong Emperor crouched behind an overturned Ming cannon. The soldiers split around him, attacking his guardsmen, while some stopped and dismounted, walking towards him.
"Radiant lord, please, come with us."
"On whose authority does this vast presumption take place?", Datong snarled. The closest man was easily dispatched with a strike that flicked through the air, slashing into his jaw and biting deep. He fired his pistol with his other hand, sending another man staggering backwards with a hole shot straight through the armor over his stomach.

A distant, silvery voice floated through the smoke and the raging noise of fire and battle.
"Aid your Emperor! Charge!"
The roar was deafening as a platoon of Imperial Guardsmen suddenly, shockingly, whirled out of the smoke, steel flashing and singing high above the awful screeches and chokes of dying men. Guns erupted like thunderclaps, with Dahongmen's cannons sounding like the drums of Hell signifying the very end of all the world.
Diamonds and pearls glittered through the swirling powder-smoke, and a guardsman, having impaled the last attacker on his lance, beckoned to the Emperor. "My lord! Hurry!"

Song gritted his teeth as he stormed into the room, making Meilin wince a little, as more smoke washed in through the window. The thunder of cannonfire and steady crackle of small arms had not moved in an hour, even perhaps getting a little fainter- but it continued, unabated. Massive, roiling black columns rose over the imperial city, twisting in a hellish breeze bred from their own flames as the city's fire battalions hurried to their stations amid an eerie, whistling rain of rockets and mortar bombs.
"Lieutenant Qi is dead, as are all of his men. Father is continuing to lead the counterattack. Apparently Lady Zhen led the soldiers who rescued him, which means our bomb attack missed her."
Yinjin took a sip of his wine. "While you were out, we heard that the eastern prong is retreating- after a fashion. Shangqiu's commander has not responded to the birds ordering him to mobilize, none of the couriers sent there have returned, and Yin's forces are marching there. I expect the western prong will also start 'retreating' in light of Father's counterattack and the failure of the Xuchang garrison to respond to their birds and emergency couriers."
"Apparently Commanders Wei and Cao have also fled the capital in light of this," Meilin added. "And with most of our immediate forces now insufficient to defend us once it becomes clear who perpetrated the attacks on Father and Gang, I would suggest that we move to get out now- before we are cut off by the Shangqiu prong."
Song sighed and nodded. "Do we have horses, then?"
Yinjin smiled. "I got us a boat. We should hurry. Commander Yi will be nervous in Xuzhou with all this going on."

Three days later
The Imperial Palace
The Chancellery
Dragon Pavilion

The voice of great men, in times of darkness, is too frequently diminished to a whisper. So it was now, as Chen Zian murmured across a vast rosewood table, engraved with a gilded map of China and her dominions, scattered with jade chess pieces. Weakened by poison, half-blind, his leg wounded by shrapnel from the mortar attack on the Chancellery, with a cough that came and went and wracked his birdlike frame, he still wore his robes of state, resting in a wheeled chair in the stunning brightness that pervaded every hall and corner of the Chancellery now.
"My lord, Yin's rebellion poses a political threat, mainly. Her military initiative is..." he coughed, the choking gasp of a man whose time is ending. " going to burn out soon enough. She... failed... on her first try, and that was what she was banking on." He paused, face drawn. "The triplets... they are the real threat. They are the ones we never saw, and they have laid the groundwork for a... danger to your radiance's throne."
"We never saw the Zhoukou Rising, either," Vice-Chancellor Li noted, with a degree of sharpness. "The triplets are children. They will run to Xuzhou and exult in their rebellion and breach of filial piety, and by the time it occurs to them to do anything, the city will be invested. The claim of the Mandate is more-"
"Silence," the Emperor said sharply. "They already murdered Gang. My son and heir is in six pieces in the smoking ruin of his home, the soldiers we have mustered to defend the city have been beaten back to Zhengzhou by my own empress, and my children are now conspiring against me and one another."
"My lord... this is not the time for indecision," Zian said in a voice a little above a whisper. "We must-"
"I believe I asked for silence, Chancellor Chen." Datong rose and walked to the window, still chipped and scorched by the explosions that had shredded the building in the attack.

After a long moment, the Emperor turned back to face his cabinet. "Grand Marshal Qin, give me an idea of the forces moving beyond the immediate capital defense zone."
Qin Xian, the youngest grand marshal in the dynasty's history, elevated after Marshal Shang and three of his deputies had been killed or had defected in short order during the assault, was disturbingly collected for a man who only a day before had been on the front lines of an attack on the imperial capital.
"Gracious lord, military intelligence suggests that the Empress-"
"She is not the Empress. Her actions have made sure of that," the Emperor interjected. Xian bowed.
"As you say, radiance. Military intelligence suggests she possesses 150,000 to 200,000 men following the defection of Central Military District forces at Xuchang, Shangqiu, Zhoukou, Pingdingshan, and Luohe, as well as the draft of some thousands of peasant soldiers. Roughly 60,000 have been invested in Zhengzhou, with another 60,000 attempting to strike to the river at Heze, and we have recently got word of an assault on Ruzhou on the road to Luoyang by an unknown number of soldiers. As for the triplets, Jining, Linyi, Xuzhou, Huaibei, and Suqian are all known to be under their control, and apparent popular affection has swollen their forces, along with revenue from the civil apparatus under their control. The Hangzhou Military Region reports that enemy soldiers are beginning to gather north of Suzhou, but have sufficient forces to repulse them. The greater concern, in my opinion and the opinion of the Central Military Commission, is the two strikes on Zhengzhou and Heze. With the worries about security within our walls and around the capital, these threaten political and military control of the capital and your glorious personage, radiance, over the entire realm and our forces abroad. Combine this with the threats to Lianyungang and Luoyang and it seems China is at risk of being bisected entirely by rebels. I would suggest sending certain trusted persons south, to Hangzhou or Quanzhou or Guangzhou, to help ensure that our continued expedition against the southron barbarians goes smoothly."
Datong chewed his lip pensively, then tapped his hand against the side of his chair idly. "Grand Marshal, you will accompany the Precious Consort to Hangzhou, via Luoyang and then south to Xiangyang. You will depart with the Yinni Pacification Fleet's staff and relevant personnel for the Hangzhou and Guangdong Military Regions, as well as a detachment from the Censorate."
Lifen shot the Emperor a surprised look, but nodded along with the Grand Marshal.
"As you command, radiance," he said evenly. "Deputy Marshal Sima will be left in charge here, then, to coordinate the capital's defense?"
"Yes. Now go, prepare to leave. You will have to go quickly, with Zhengzhou invested and Luoyang under threat."


-Empress Yin launches a revolt, tries to seize the capital and fails, declares a new dynasty from Zhoukou.
-Triplets take advantage of the chaos of the failed attack on the capital to launch their own failed coup, murdering their brother Crown Prince Gang and wounding the Chancellor, but have to flee to Xuzhou.
-The Empress's Ming dynasty launches attacks of Heze and Zhengzhou to try and launch a pincer attack to surround Dongjing, as well as a westward prong to seize Luoyang.
-The triplets seem to be preparing for an attack southwards onto the Yangtze River Delta.
-Chinese forces have destroyed a large Nusantaran fleet at the Battle of Eretan Bay and are advancing on the Nusantaran capital, Trowulan.
-Mongol, Jurchen, Khitan, and Korean auxiliaries are beginning to march south to aid Chinese forces against the rebel armies.
Last edited by Senkaku on Sat Nov 07, 2015 5:31 pm, edited 24 times in total.

Athrax wrote:
Gauthier wrote:How many times a month did Kennedy visit Dallas?

Only once. He got a mindblowing reception though

The Nuclear Fist wrote:Just try and find a seat without getting your bollocks stuck in a light socket.

Lunas Legion wrote:That's NS for you. It has 2 speeds; a rape train with no brakes or brakes with no train.

Diopolis wrote:
Conserative Morality wrote:Sanders/Trump 2016

Mexico will pay for our universal healthcare!

The Empire of Pretantia wrote:
Dogmeat wrote:The strobe was a little much.

But then the beat dropped and it was just perfect.

User avatar
Posts: 9477
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Thu Oct 22, 2015 7:03 am

The United Kingdom of the Netherlands
The Wall of Neuhollande: Chapter Two - Neuhollande, Staking!

West Neuhollande, March 31, 1835

Report from the Army of Neu Zeelande

We have encountered no resistance from the natives, and settling in has been relatively peaceful.
Our most hostile encounter happened when Lady Zeema was bumped on her rear by a ram. I guess she got rammed.

Sorry Sir.


Army of Guinea Advances

We have successfully gained a foothold on the new provinces. A small settlement has been established with the help of the Fleet, and we are loading the guns onto the transports through our new landing beach. Supplies and effort is expected to allow us a new functioning port by the next month.

Light resistance was encountered, but our militia are able to handle most of the natives after our new tactics worked on those pigs who dared to stand against our advances. I guess our experimentation worked on those guinea pigs .

Sorry Sir.


The Dutch Army marched forward, with Nusantaran gunners firing at maximum range. A few troops took lucky hits and went down, but the main line kept moving forward. Artillery followed closely behind, and when everyone was in position, a platoon shifted forward, clearing a line of sight for the gunners to fire their shells. Musket and cannon fire blasted for the next few minutes, resulting in the Nusantarans retreating, about two fifths of them down. The fighting was fierce, and carried on throughout the day, but within a week, Dutch forces have advanced to the borders of the Nusantaran stronghold on Neuhollande.

"Stadholder Sir, our forces are primed to attack within 3 hours after daylight the next day. Weapons will have to be cleaned, rations and ammunition redistributed. We estimate an enemy force equal to our strength, and will need to double our offensive efforts in order to meet up with the Northern Fleet if we want to initiate a consolidated push." A Captain reported.
Last edited by Relikai on Tue Oct 27, 2015 1:18 am, edited 4 times in total.
NationStates reveals to all the delusional fantasies of a certain people. All for fun, joy and laughter of course.

And MeMeS

User avatar
Posts: 8963
Founded: Jan 05, 2014

Postby Elepis » Thu Oct 22, 2015 7:34 am

The Mameluke Caliphate of Egypt and the Levant
City of Aden


Chapter 3: “Had he not resembled, my father as he slept, I had done't"-Lady Macbeth

Sira fortress, City of Aden, United Emirates of Aden
March 28th, 1835 CE

"Who rules here?"

Thought Nur al-Dina as he looked over the white washed houses of Aden, the largest city and main port of of the area known as Yemen, officially the United Emirates of Aden. That name implied the entire region was ruled from this port city, this fishmongers city, this city of thieves. However it was not, while the Emir here, or rather his uncle the Vizier, had de jure power, the lord in Sanaa was just as powerful and the countryside of the vast land of desert and hills had its own leaders and its own laws. Officially Aden was the vassal and client of the Caliph-Sultan in Cairo, officially the ultimate authority in this land was the man they called Saladini, although his parents had not given him that name. However in actuality, the Caliph-Sultan has little power outside Aden, Nur al-Dina new this first hand, he was the Viceroy of the young Sultan, his eyes, ears and and his hand in this land of bandits.

In some ways these paradox was beneficial to the Caliph-Sultan, a disunited Aden was less likely to challenge his and Egypt's authority, also, whenever a new year came around, each Emir tried to outdo the other in gifts to the Sultan in Cairo, each of them trying to show off their own wealth and power in a hope the Caliph might favour them for some senior role. Also, Egypt and the Mamelukes were not completely powerless in Yemen. If needed, the Sultan on the Emerald Throne could reinstate his power over Yemen, he did after all have the largest and most effective fighting force in the Middle East, Africa and the Eastern Mediterranean at his beck and call. However, at the moment Cairo was willing to let the Emirs and petty kings of Yemen play their own Game of Thrones, a fact that made the life of Nur al-Dina all the more annoying.

The Viceroy sat in his office, on the landward side of Fort Sira and from his office, thanks to the volcanic hill the ancient castle was on, he could see the entirety of the city. At the moment his eyes were drawn to the causeway connecting the island of sira to the Yemeni mainland. Leaving the yellow stone gates were fifty mounted Dragoons, a part of the Yemen Corps of the Army of Egypt (YCAE), part of the Egyptian garrison/peacekeeping force in the metropolis. Most of the garrison were Dragoons, Mounted Infantry or Cavalry with a small amount of Marines from the Egyptian fleet as well, creating a total of a few thousand troops. All hours of the day they patrolled the city of Aden and the surrounding countryside, retreating to the fortress or the near by Garrison House at night.

However this was not the only line of defence that Egypt had in Yemen. The Viceroy controlled a large network of spies in the courts and palaces of the most powerful Emir's. At the high point of anti-Egypt activity around a century ago, the Viceroy Mohammed Bashir had been called the Universal Fox because of his vast network of spies. The network had declined very much since the 1700's, however Nur still had paid ears, and paid blades, across Yemen.

The Viceroy turned away from the window, looking at his desk as he gulped down a glass of water. He always seemed to have a sore throat, and water helped in treating it. Only two years ago, his office had been on the seaward facing side of the castle, and he could not deny, his throat was better when he lived on that side. However around two and a half years ago, his wife and daughter had drowned at sea in front of Nur as he looked out from his office, powerless to help. They had been on their way to Port Sudan in order to arrange a marriage for his daughter. That marriage had never came to anything and now Nur could not stand the sea.

He had been staring in to his water, remembering his wife and daughter. However, before he could shed tears, a sound below his window caught his attention. Hooves clattered on the stone below the gate house. It was too early for the Dragoons to return and thus, reluctantly, he got up out of his seat and walked over to the window. Lined up outside the gatehouse was a row of cavalrymen, not wearing the white and blue of Egypt, but a red, green and yellow, signifying them as household troopers of some native Emir. The flags were red at the top, green at the bottom. It took the Viceroy to recall the banner, but it came to him, the flags were those of the Emir of Sanaa, one of the major power players in Yemen. The Viceroy turned, picking up his crimson overcoat from his desk chair and began to walk downstairs, ready to receive the Emir.

Cairo Citadel, Imperial City of Cairo, Egypt
March 1st, 1835 CE

Talking to Persian emissary

From: The Mameluke Caliphate of Egypt and the Levant


May Allah Bless You,
Caliph of all Islam, Sultan of Egypt and the Levant, Caliph-Sultan al-Mansour Seif al-Din Qalawun Saladini.
Last edited by Elepis on Thu Oct 22, 2015 9:22 am, edited 3 times in total.
"Krugmar - Today at 10:00 PM
Not sure that'll work on Elepis considering he dislikes (from what I've observed):
A: Nationalism
B: Religion being taken seriously
C: The Irish"

User avatar
The Industrial States of Columbia
Posts: 3949
Founded: Feb 28, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Industrial States of Columbia » Fri Oct 23, 2015 7:54 am

April 1st, 1835


After disappearing a century ago, recreational divers have found the wreck of the Iberian treasure ship, San Miguel off the coast of Hesperia. Disputes about the ownership of the wreck between Iberian, Hesperian and British authorities have prevented salvage thus far. The ship is said to carry several fortunes worth of New World riches.

The Texan built ship “SS Royal William” has made
Disputes between the Empire of Brasil and the
Demonstrators in Paris gathered to
the first trip across the Atlantic entirely by steam.
Andeans over Amazon have lead to talks of war.
demand changes to the constitution.

Following the death of the previous king,
An Indian prince has recently proposed
Leading officials in the Kingdom of Joseon
an ambitious heir has taken rule of Siam.
to a visiting English noblewoman.
offered to mediate between Nusantara and the Song.

Two men in Palermo are in critical states
Members of the Russian nobility have recently
A man found wandering the desert was arrested
after dueling over a common love.
expressed interest in hosting a ball in Moscow.
following claims that he was the Messiah
Last edited by The Industrial States of Columbia on Fri Oct 23, 2015 12:08 pm, edited 10 times in total.
Cobalt Network Signups-|-Cobalt Network Main Page
A Fan of Type II alternate history
-Dom Pedro II
-Queen Elizabeth I
-Our Current Pope
-Teddy Roosevelt
-Joan of Arc
-Giovanni Belzoni
-Nikola Tesla
Great holy armies shall be gathered and trained to fight all who embrace evil. In the name of the Gods, ships shall be built to carry the warriors out among the stars and we will spread Origin to all the unbelievers. The power of the Ori will be felt far and wide and the wicked shall be vanquished.

User avatar
Posts: 2906
Founded: Mar 01, 2014

Postby Sveltlana » Sat Oct 24, 2015 7:41 am

Segunda República Mexicana
Second Mexican Empire/Second Mexican Republic



2. A Distant War
3 March 1835

California Oriental
The Frontier
3 March 1835

In the distant territory of California Oriental, in the northern Mexican frontier, several men rode on a dusty road. Its winding ways could only be perceived by the hoof-marks of previous riders, who had in the days of the past rode through the plains without any formal indicator of where they were to go, the natural way through the few cliffs that rose here and them unbeknownst to them.

“I hear the Capital is finally getting ready to take the Indians seriously,” said a carpenter. “About time.”

“The Apaches must of taken at least six of mine cows,” said one farmhand. “Killed ‘em right on the spot. Didn’t even care for the meat.”

“Bastards,” said the carpenter.

“They kill for pleasure. Ravage and pillage the land ‘cause they can’t be assed to reap its benefits. The frontier’s dangerous with them around. About damn time if you ask me. The militia? Their flintlocks can’t compare with the proper rifles that those indians use. They import ‘em from the British. Sold like pencils, is how they’re sold. When our men take one of those fools down, boy, you should see the scuttle for the gun. Beautiful like a German needle.”

“If you ask me, it’s just that every cent gotten for the army here is used for those corps in the south. ‘Mexico City must be protected,’ they say. Well, from what must it be protected? Ain’t a revolution hit the capital in twenty years. Guards should be down south. The USCA, now there’s an enemy they’re forgetting. Smug idiots. Ain’t got nothin’. I’m still wondering what the actual hell is going on down there.”

As they spoke, a battalion of the 14th Saltillo came marching up the desert road. At their front was what appeared to be a man with the rank of Captain. Sitting was he on a tall and sable stallion. The reins were pulled and the black horse approached the travellers at a modest trot.

“Which way is it to Fénix?” cried the Captain in a thick southern accent.

“Fénix be just down the road, sah,” said the farmhand. “Ain’t more of a distance of ten kilometers. You’ll be there before this sun here sets. Can I getcha anythin’ else?”

“Thank you, good man,” answered the Captain, visibly ecstatic. “You have the gratitude of me and this regiment.”

“Spare the gratitude. Good luck with the Indian bastards. Send ‘em our regards when you catch up with ‘em. If you don’t get to town before nightfall, well, le’s just say they’ll be the ones doing the catchin’ up.”

The Captain’s face cleared itself of all expression. He muttered a stout “Fine, then,” and turned his horse around to signal his troops to continue. He returned back to the rank-and-file and continued riding along with his retinue, a squad of elite German-born Hussars which had been at first introduced into the Mexican army as veteran mercenaries.

The farmhand and the carpenter continued their slow march down to El Paso. In the way, they were ambushed by Apaches. After some information from the regiment was obtained by the indians, they were dealt with in a rather perpetual manner with a single shot to the head. Their corpses were never found.



To the Foreign Relations Office of Columbia:

It is with pleasure that I, on behalf of the Mexican people, agree with your proposal for a diplomatic conference.

I am of the belief that many of our interests in the Americas and in the regard of the European powers align, which would make cooperation between our two countries a reasonable and agreeable venture.

Although I will not be able to attend the conference due to the ongoing war in the north, I will send a few of my most trusted and respectful advisors that know perfectly well how to represent my person. They will be the Foreign Minister, and, of course, the Minister of the Economy.

I am sure we will be able to broker an agreement favourable to both of our situations in a way that shall ensure that the friendship of our people shall commence to grow in order that it, some day in the future, become an all-pervasive matter.


Maximiliano de Habsburgo
Presidente de los Estados Unidos Mexicanos

On behalf of the President,
José Carlos Nepomuceno Espiridión de Ruiz
Minister of Foreign Affairs

Fénix, California Oriental
The Frontier
8 March 1835

The Captain’s name was Baltasar Mendívil. Mendívil had been born in the south, as his accent and tanned skin colour indicated, and had enlisted with the army as his father had done before him, and his father before that—although he had been promoted to the rank of Captain, while both of his ancestors had been killed in action at the rank of private.

The town of Fénix rises above the hard, difficult ground. Its houses and trading posts and saloons are all built of wood. In the night, it is a depressing place. Lightless and desolate, the village is still one of the liveliest places in the frontier. On both sides of the road connecting the city to the country’s infrastructural mainframe, posts were manned by generous amounts of militiamen in small, makeshift forts.

The only permanent structure in the town was the city hall—a large, pompous, alien gift from the functionaries of central Mexico, who had in some lost October morning come with large amounts of materials and erected the building to serve as the place from which California Oriental would be governed. It had been seldom used since it was opened all those years ago, much too large to serve any practical purpose in the frontier.

However, it was adopted as the base from which the 1st battalion of the 14th Saltillo would defend the town, perhaps the most important settlement in the whole of the territory. Trees and brushes were hewn from its interior courtyard and thrown into the fire pit, and a large number of tents, compressed together in organized fashion. The officers established their headquarters at the vacant office of the governor in the building. The furniture of the auspicious building, cheap and of poor quality, was used to barricade the numerous windows. Around the single gate that allowed entry into the building, makeshift fortifications were erected.

Night fell uneventfully in the small city. Citizens closed the doors and ensured that the iron bars on their windows were secure. Most of the buildings were barricaded by their inhabitants. Rifles had been passed out over the day along with ammunition. Although the town was obscure and the shutters were mostly closed, watchful eyes, civilian and military, peered over the dark distance.

Around midnight, ears also began perceiving a low rumble—the steadfast trot of horses in the plains.


Mexico City, Mexico
Congress Hall
13 March 1835

--Discussion of the media’s response to the Battle of Fénix

Mexico City, Mexico
President’s Study
14 March 1835

--A private conversation between the Minister of War and the President

Now, mortal, you have made the mistake of opening Pandora's Box. What evils have you unleashed upon the Earth?

Me, Svet lol good one svet
Me, Svet
: ikr svet it was pretty good

-- Politics --
Fuck that.

Senka: [about me] "You are a deplorable reactionary fascist cockroach with no hope of redemption who should be condemned to burn with the rest of the plutocratic imperialist stooges in the cleansing atomic fire of the righteous."

User avatar
Post Czar
Posts: 42811
Founded: Dec 23, 2012
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Alleniana » Sun Oct 25, 2015 6:20 pm



DiplomacyP2 429

On a road leading into the west of Budapest, Grand Republic of Hungary
1st April, MDCCCXXXV Anno Domini

He left his head sitting on the sill, watching the plumes of dust go by. Most rose only to just below his line of sight, beneath the windowsill - he knew, because he had been sitting up earlier - but here and there, one would valiantly sweep up into his vision, a brown-grey vapour of rock that would bend up, keeping up for only a moment before rapidly falling back behind the side of the window.

Here another came up, a mighty feathered column, shaped like an s, twirling and dancing before its backbone was broken by the still air and then it was gone, scattered into little fragments and falling behind, out of sight.

That one was the Roman Empire. A few more little ones came up, striking high and then whittled into nothingness; Charlemagne's empire, the Huns, the Byzantines persisting for a little longer but being brushed aside by a greater Ottoman wisp. Here and there, France, Spain, England, each in their turn, whirling up high and being blown away.

And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

An interesting ditty, a well-written one for sure, dancing words dragging their feet across the pages of literature like the dying swan. But even as each little gust dismantled the formations of dust, there was something beautiful about them. They frolicked, they leapt, they wheeled their limbs and struck out about the air, before bowing away or vanishing as shades.

No, Ozymandias was dead and gone. His statue was struck, lying desecrated by the sands of time about it. But he'd sneered with wrinkled lip and built his works, and he'd had his day. Who could say he'd done any less than the poor serf whose toil would only perhaps produce a loaf of bread for the king's table one day? No, all, were mortal, true. But even as all, and all they do, are mortal, so too is every single person mortal. And the soul is not an automaton, some spinning top that goes around in circles until it falls, no. It has choice, it has free will, so to speak, it can collide with other spinning tops and topple them or else send them to places no spinning top had ever been. Death ends, but life begins. Let not the fact that it will end keep it from beginning, surely?

Though every nebula outside his window dissipated, it was only after they'd danced. Some, indeed, never left the ground. Others came up, and only then went. Who was Death to say that one could not rise in the lease of life? While it lasted, it was worth it; if it wasn't, what else could be?

Beauty exited the eye of this particular beholder, and flitted off with the dust devils. He, struck with boredom, sat up again. They'd served to amuse him for a while... he'd serve his country, his people, for a while. That was all it would last for, why not do what he could? What God had given him, he'd use - no use complaining once it was gone. Not that he could. He was a simple man, he'd last for however long he did, and that would be that, but while he lasted, he'd do what he would, and so there. Time immemorial be damned, he would never see it.

He looked over his papers again, rehearsing the scenario in his mind, planning his entrance and plucking his words. This was important not only to him, but to Switzerland. Doubly important, he redoubled his pace, skimming through the words. No, he'd memorised these things. All that was left was to freshen himself, brush up on appearances, and the rest was up to luck, or the whims of the Hungarian.

Knowing it was no use worrying, he checked the chronometer. Not long now. He gathered the documents into their case, and he sat back on the padded seats of the coach. The dust he'd watched was now no longer appearing at all, but instead replaced with more distant scenes of houses, travellers, the inhabitants and occupants of Grand Hungary's capital. He locked the clasps on the case, each clicking shut in their turn, and he straightened his posture, ready to descend from the carriage, whenever that might be. Soon.

"Mr. Schwartz, we'll be there in less than half an hour."
"Thank you, coachman."


Official Communication of the of the Government of the Swiss Republic
TO Stadtholder William I of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands
FROM Chancellor Hans Johann Schmitz of the Swiss Republic
SENT 30/3/1835

Greetings, friend. I write to you about the Pact of Freiburg im Breisgau, signed between your country of the Netherlands and mine of Switzerland, though for my own nation by my predecessor. It is due for renewal on the 29th of July, as you may know, and my newly elected government is eager to continue and strengthen it. The general mood of the assembly hopes that you feel the same way, and would be happy to receive you or your representatives in Freiburg im Bresigau, Breisgau Canton, to renegotiate it into a stronger bond. There are, in particular, plans in motion, that we, the Assembly, believe a more specific agreement with the Netherlands would be beneficial to, for both of our states, though it is more sensitive and should be discussed in person by diplomats. Considering our states' ties, as well, in terms of political systems, it would be also expedient publically. I await your response with regards to it, glad to either renew or improve upon its conditions, and thank you for your consideration in advance.

Official Communication of the of the Government of the Swiss Republic
TO King William IV of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland
FROM Chancellor Hans Johann Schmitz of the Swiss Republic
SENT 1/4/1835

Greetings. I write to you about the renewal of the Treaty of Zurich, signed between your United Kingdom and my own Switzerland, though for my own nation by my predecessor. It is due for renewal on the 1st of August, as you may know, and my newly elected government would like to continue it. We would be glad to host a resigning in Zurich, or, if you wish, a renegotiation of terms, either in Zurich or elsewhere in Switzerland or Great Britain and Ireland. I await your reply, and thank you for your consideration in advance.

Official Communication of the of the Government of the Swiss Republic
TO King Ignatius IV of the Kingdom of Tuscany
FROM Chancellor Hans Johann Schmitz of the Swiss Republic
SENT 1/4/1835

Greetings. I write to you about the renewal of the Treaty of Sitten, signed between your Tuscany and my own Switzerland, though for my own nation by my predecessor. It is due for renewal on the 21st of August, as you may know, and my newly elected government would like to continue it. We would be glad to host a resigning in Sitten, or, if you wish, a renegotiation of terms, either in Sitten or elsewhere in Switzerland or Tuscany. I await your reply, and thank you for your consideration in advance.

Official Communication of the of the Government of the Swiss Republic
TO Queen Alexandrine of the Kingdom of Hellas
FROM Chancellor Hans Johann Schmitz of the Swiss Republic
SENT 1/4/1835

Greetings. I write to you about the renewal of the Treaty of Chur, signed between your Hellas and my own Switzerland, though for my own nation by my predecessor. It is due for renewal on the 5th of June, as you may know, and my newly elected government would like to continue it. We would be glad to host a resigning in Chur, or, if you wish, a renegotiation of terms, either in Chur or elsewhere in Switzerland or Hellas. I await your reply, and thank you for your consideration in advance.

User avatar
The Holy Dominion of Inesea
Posts: 14608
Founded: Jun 08, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Holy Dominion of Inesea » Mon Oct 26, 2015 12:01 pm

Nagoya, Oda Empire
March 27th, 1835

Oda Tenno paced down the silk and wood paper corridors that lined the Imperial Chamber’s Inner Court. This area was only accessible by the Emperor and Shogun and their respective heir apparents. As Oda Shogun was off in Edo and Odas Oji were both out touring the Ainu lands in an effort to bolster support in Hokkaido, Oda Tenno was sure in his solitude. It was a pleasant solitude, when the only sound was that of rustling wind and his own thoughts. Nihon-koku was fast changing and Oda Tenno intended to guide that change. His predecessors had already wrested control of the country away from the Shogun, forcing the Shogun to become part of the Imperial Household and limiting his powers to that of the military. Oda Shogun was the third cousin of Oda Tenno, and they had taking a liking to each other. Both had married Daughters of the Tokugawa Clan and were the same age. Oda Tenno did not fear an uprising from the Shogun. Oda Tenno had a traditional Song education, but had studied in London in his twenties before he assumed the throne.

Nihon-koku was growing. The Imperial flag flew over Bicol in the Oda Islands(Philippines). Imperial Garrisons and Ports dotted the islands of Micronesia and the Southern Isle was slowly falling to the civilization of Japan. These colonies fueled a boom in Japan, and cities like Nagoya and Edo boasted industry on par with Beijing or London. Oda Tenno knew the growth of Japan rested on gaining more resources and more colonies. China was a growing beast and South Asia was her domain. But Melanesia and Micronesia were still vast untamed lands. The Southern Isle was only partially Dutch and the Kopeku(Solomon) Islands were reported to have prodigious amounts of metals. Resource poor Japan needed those resources.

Oda Tenno sat down at a western style table and grabbed a stylus. He wrote three edicts. The first he addressed to the Lord Governor of Southern Island, Miyamoto Masamichi. He ordered him to dispatch three ships and a hundred men to the unclaimed side of the island. The second was sent to Admiral Josei. He was to dispatch several ships to the Kopeku Islands and establish a way station there. Hopefully, in time that station would grow into a sizable colony. Oda Tenno had commissioned a survey of the islands last year and Governor Miyamoto Masamichi had selected a strip of land he called Honiara for the waystation. His third was to Admiral Masaki and concerned the creation of more naval vessels. Oda Tenno had always favored the navy and even a simple farmer could tell that Japan needed a strong navy to survive. Masaki-kaigun was in charge of the Nippon Naval Yards in Nagoya and was tasked with building and maintaining the Home Fleets of Oda. Oda Tenno ordered the creation of more Ronguzairās, ships that were a cross between British frigates and Song fuchuans. The number of ships he left up to Masaki, as while he knew much about navies, numbers were not his to command.

Oda Imperial Embassy
Dongjing, Empire of the Great Song
March 31, 1835

The Oda Embassy in Dongjing was located near the Imperial Palace, occupying a whole city block. The embassy, called the Dongfang Zhijia by the residents and staffers, was a traditional Oda padagoa surrounded by a garden and walls. Lord Ambassador Tokugawa Rinjin was often seen walking through the sakura trees, in conversation with either Song officials or foreign dignitaries. Despite being the Embassy to the Song, the Dongfang Zhijia was where most of the deals involving Song tributaries like Korea and Siam were made. The posting was very important and the Ambassador was a very powerful man. Currently, Lord Tokugawa and the Consul General of the Dai Viet were walking and debating the merits of a meritocratic nobility.

“Tokugawa-dono!” cried out a young man’s voice. A man dressed in traditional karuta armor appeared around a tree and stopped. He saw the Lord Ambassador was not alone and bowed. “My humblest apologies Tokugawa-san for interrupting. I thought you were alone. My apologies Consul Luong Duc Hai. I do not mean to interrupt. But I bear news of the gravest importance.”

Tokugawa thought for a moment. The young man, Hata Akihito, was a junior member of a powerful family, the Hata Clan which controlled Hiroshima. Not as powerful as the Tokugawa of Edo, but strong enough politically he couldn’t ignore a member out of turn. And more importantly, Akihito had served on the Ceremonial Guard for over a decade and was a member of the Chrysanthemum Corp, the Oda Intelligence and Secret Police. What he had to say would be heard. He eyed the Consul and Akihito nodded. THe Consul could hear this. “Go ahead, Hata-san.”

“Tokugawa-dono, We did not predict this. The Corp was caught unawares. I only just learned from an informant in the service of the Empress. The Empress has committed High Treason. She has seized Tongxu and is marching on the city as we speak. The Song have entered a state of Civil War. And at no worse a time. Their war with the Southern Islanders is at a climax. I am not sure they can hold this city.”

Tokugawa was shocked. The mighty Song had stood stoic for centuries. No one in the Oda had expected a Civil War. He knew his actions know would have a major impact on the future of Oda-Song relations. He also knew Oda Tenno was in favor of peace and was a supporter of the Datong Emperor. It was in the best interests of the Oda Empire he remain on the throne. Who knew if the nest Emperor would be as lenient on Oda expansionism.

“Akihito, have a detachment of the Guard escort the Consul to the Dai Viet Consulate. How many men do we have? Also, call in the Ceremonial Guard. This isn’t time for Kurata and Kabuto. Pass out the firearms and have the men dress in battle dress. If the rebels breach the walls of the city, the walls of Dongfang won’t stop them” commanded Tokugawa.

“We have one hundred and two men in the Guard. It is infinitesimal compared to the armies of the Empress or those of the Emperor” replied Akihito.

“Take ninety of them and place yourself under the command of the Captain of the Wall. I shall go to the Datong Emperor and personally pledge the support of the Oda to him. Also, send a rider out of the city, now. Full Oda Regalia. The Empress would be foolish to kill him. Inform the Oda Tenno of this. May the Ancestors prevent it, but the Southern Army may be requested by the Datong Emperor.”

/During the Siege/

Akihito left ten men in Dongfang Zhijia and reported to the Wall. He was redirected to guard the Oda Quarter, a district of the city with many Oda businesses and residents. His men guarded against looters and skirmished with rebels of both sides. Tokugawa went to the Imperial Palace and learned the Emperor had gone out to sally against rebels. Tokugawa is currently in whatever the waiting room for the Emperor is. He lost two men to rioters and rebels.
Last edited by The Holy Dominion of Inesea on Mon Nov 02, 2015 2:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I'm really tired

User avatar
Posts: 9477
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Tue Oct 27, 2015 1:41 am

The United Kingdom of the Netherlands
The Wall of Neuhollande: Chapter Two - Neuhollande, Staking!

West Neuhollande, March 31, 1835

TO Chancellor Hans Johann Schmitz of the Swiss Republic
FROM Stadtholder William I of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands
SENT 4/4/1835

Greetings Chancellor of the honourable Swiss Republic.
We gladly accept, as we believe you would too, the proposal of renewal of the Pact of Frieburg m Breisgau. I will personally be present on the 29th of July itself, earlier by a day or two should my court allow me to take time off to travel your nation before business. My assembly has always sought a stable friendship with European powers, and Switzerland seemed poised to turn into something greater than she seems. Thank you again for this proposition, we shall meet in the Summer.

Sealing the letter, William I sent it straight to the Royal Post. Receiving the proposal from the Swiss a day ago has actually convinced the Assembly that William I was doing a decent job of upholding the country's prestige. Many immediately agreed, while others also proposed new additions to the Treaty. With the Guard still sailing towards Neuhollande, the Dutch are in need of assurances and allies in Europe, especially for it's foreign trade.
Last edited by Relikai on Mon Nov 02, 2015 4:36 am, edited 1 time in total.
NationStates reveals to all the delusional fantasies of a certain people. All for fun, joy and laughter of course.

And MeMeS

User avatar
Yaana Noore
Posts: 1241
Founded: Mar 01, 2015

Postby Yaana Noore » Tue Oct 27, 2015 4:27 am


27th March 1835, Columbian Capitol, Manhattan D.C, Columbian Federation

Joseph Bonaparte had left for the Columbian capital from New Orleans as soon as he received word of the territory's possible sale. The city had been founded over one hundred years ago, by the Company of the Indies. Named after Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, great-great grandfather of the King he now served. The natives were known as the Chitimacha, who at first warred with the French before being allowed to move north into the less densely populated areas, or live in the city among the rest of the civilised population. Combined with the Company of the Indies' encouragement for Germans to immigrate here, the brief period of Spanish control, settlement by freedmen from Hispaniola, and the small but steady influx of French migrants, meant that this was not just a French city (and soon it would not be). Joseph often thought to himself that New Orleans' population reflected that of France under his brother's rule. It was the only thought he gave to that period, preferring not to think of such things. Despite having been King of Naples and then of Spain, he had come to prefer the sunny optimism and Republican traditions of the New World. Something which he had heard Mexico very recently embraced itself.

A drawing by Charlotte Bonaparte
The New World was where his new life had begun. Having taken jewels and riches from his time as King of Spain, he sold them in France and America. With this money he was able to buy property. Estates in Philadelphia, Manhattan D.C., and a mansion in New Jersey. Now his focus was on his five children (though only two were legitimate, sired with his wife Julie Clary), who he hoped to support until his end days. His eldest daughter, Zénaïde, was married her cousin Charles Lucien, eldest son of Joseph's deceased brother Lucien. Charles Lucien was a learned man, a biologist and ornithologist, who had named a genus of dove after his wife, the Zenaida doves. The two traveled frequently, currently settled in Rome as Charles Lucien studied the birds of Italy. His second daughter, Charlotte, was an artist. She shared a passion for art with her husband, Napoléon-Louis, and later studied engraving and lithography in Paris with the artist Louis Léopold Robert, as well as attending and exhibiting her art at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Now a widow, she lacked issue. However Joseph had plans for her to remarry appropriately.

While Zénaïde and Charlotte would be his heirs, he had fathered more children. A son, Giulio, and a daughter, Teresa, with the Countess of Atri. And a daughter, Catherine, by his mistress in New Jersey, who he hoped to find a husband for in the New World, where his family would now be based.

He gone to Manhattan D.C. by sea, the trip in a Baltimore Clipper taking a number of days compared to the potential of weeks on the road. As he entered the harbour, he found the port bustling with life, packed with workers and migrants. Those who had already found the better life in the New World, or those who had come seeking it. He himself was one of them. this was not yet one of the world's greatest cities, like Paris or London, but it would be in time. Joseph took a stagecoach to the Capitol, getting unusual looks when he said he surname was 'Bonaparte', along with an unwanted quip about his height.

He was swiftly directed to meet the President, and his cabinet. "Good day President von Johansen," he introduced, shaking the man's hand. He noted a few of the men also present, those he recognised. There was the Secretary of State, Secretary of War, and the Vice President, among others. "I am Joseph Bonaparte, current - and hopefully last, if our deal is successful - Governor of New France. Shall we begin?" He was eager to conclude this, as were, it appeared, the Columbians.

A portrait of Charlotte Bonaparte
"As His Majesty King Louis Philippe expressed, he wishes for all French citizens born in the territory prior to the acquisition of it be given Columbian citizenship, and that the Columbian Federation agree to have no role in the colonising, or assisting another nation colonising the regions of North and Western Africa unless permission is granted by the French government. This was agreed to by your Secretary of State, no doubt following discussion with yourself and others. It is required that these be terms as part of the treaty transferring Louisiana over to the Columbian Federation. In addition I would like make a request on the behalf of my family. It is my wish that my wife, children, and myself forge a new life here in your nation. I implore you to grant us citizenship. In return... I propose a marriage between my daughter, Charlotte Napoléone Bonaparte, and George Jefferson von Johansen." There was some controversy, but he did not allow himself to be fazed. He assumed those who opposed were either playing along, or had not yet realised that this was the President's idea.

"My daughter is a widow, albeit a wealthy one. And an artist with a desire to move to the New World. In fact she has already exhibited her works at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. She is a cultivated and intelligent young woman, the perfect match for such an important man." He saw no opposition from the President, but to secure the deal, he thought to add. "This, is a requirement if the deal is to go through."

"Now, as to the price. Those at the French court give estimate a dear price. However, as this sale would be to our allies we are willing to lower the price somewhat. Please," Joseph invited. "Make your offer."

"Alongside the agreed stipulations in place, we would be willing to offer ten million dollars." Bonaparte was told.

He had not expected such a low initial offer. They expected at least fifteen. "Twenty million."

"In return for assurances on Africa and an entente between us, we would be willing to offer seventeen and a half million, or one of the two for eighteen."

France had priorities. "Nineteen million alongside assurances on Africa."


Between the Columbian Federation and the French Kingdom

From the day marked 3rd April, 1835. The French Kingdom agrees to the sale of the territory of Louisiana for the fee of nineteen million dollars to The Columbian Federation. The Columbian Federation recognises French dominion over the regions of North and Western Africa, and will not colonise nor play a role in another nation colonising the regions. All citizens born in the Louisiana territory prior to its acquisition will be granted Columbian citizenship, as well as Joseph Bonaparte and his wife and issue. In addition a marriage is to be conducted between George Jefferson von Johansen and Charlotte Napoléone Bonaparte. Any violation of the terms of the treaty will render it null and void.

2nd April 1835, Portoferraio, Elba

"May I see the Emperor?" Asked a young man. He wore the uniform of the army of Elba, but appeared to be off-duty. She recognised him as one of the recruits in training to become an officer. It was not the first time he had sought to speak with Napoléon, however it would be the first time he was turned away.
"I am afraid Emperor Napoléon has fallen ill, and cannot see you on this day."
"His secretary said I could..." He protested feebly.
Marie Louise shook her head. Her wife says you cannot. She would have said, if she did not know how much that would enrage her husband. "He will see you another time..." She assured. Eventually he was shooed away, and the Princess of Austria retreated to Napoléon's study. The Emperor was inside, at his desk slumped against the chair.

"Who was it?" He asked.
"One of the officers in training, I believe he wished for advice."
"And you... Told him I was ill." Napoléon looked at her with disapproval. "Do not tell them that." He ordered, looking at her sternly.
"Why not? It is the truth."
"People do not want the truth." Napoléon spat. "They want me to come out to them all smiles and pleasantries. They worry I cannot remember them, I tell them I never forget a face. They are a memorable individual, important. You must inspire them, dear wife. Morale is not just something for the battlefield. Without morale one does not function." A rare smile formed, as he recalled the period from thirty years ago, his glory days. "I remember when--" he stopped abruptly, vomiting into the chamberpot beside his chair.

"Elba was in a poor state when I arrived. The allies I
presume sent me there to mock me, imagining I would
allow myself to retire in such squalor. However
it has always been my mind that is my greatest
asset, not my body. These people welcomed me
as if I were an Emperor (a title which the allies
still allowed me to use, as if it was a dishonour),
and I treated them like my greatest subjects. I
built infrastructure in Portoferraio, the centre of
my authority, and took advantage of the new iron
mills in Rio Marina. The city grew quickly. Like
with France my greatness merely complemented
its own, albeit on a much smaller scale." - An
extract from the writings of Napoléon Bonaparte.

"That would have gone all over him." She giggled, before taking a seat until her husband had recovered. "You want the truth."
"Ah," she led him into that, humouring him. "But, I am not like most people." He reminded playfully. "The Emperor of the French-- First, Emperor of the French." He corrected himself, having omitted his eldest son from his mind. It was not something they spoke about. "But there will be more. A long and great line of French Emperors."
"You said you wanted the truth from your wife, unlike with Josephine." Marie Louise said meekly, not daring to look straight at him. The Emperor had been wounded by a woman's lies before. His first wife, Josephine, who cheated on him and broke his heart. "I... Cannot say I am confident of this. We have been on this island so long."

Napoléon was not dismayed. And, with one hand over his stomach and the other on his desk, forced himself to stand. He circled the desk. "You lack confidence in me?" He asked rhetorically. "That I would do it? Or do you believe if I were to leave I would be unsuccessful?" On his desk lay a map of Europe. A pin had been pressed onto Elba, reminding him of its location, and how small it was. France was outlined in ink. "It has been twenty-one long and hard years. Not only for myself, but the French people. Under the rule of these kings has only made their lives worse and pushed France further into obscurity. However there has been no ideal time. I... Tried, of course. Fifteen years ago. However it was because of something they expected. By now I imagine they think I have accepted my role." He rubbed his chin, contemplating as he observed the map. "I often wonder what would have happened if I had left twenty years ago. The people were crying out for me. Louis XVIII was not what France wanted nor needed, that person was me. They would have welcomed me, restored me to the throne. But could I have defeated that coalition again? They were still in Congress, it was why I chose not to. It would have been far too easy for them to organise another attack upon France. Yet there has been seldom an opportunity since..." The Emperor went quiet, thinking. This happened on the occasion, and he became almost unresponsive, usually locking himself away in a room when he did.

"You must invite your relatives around sometime." He changed the subject. "It can be dreadfully dull without new faces now and then. How are your brothers?"
"Ferdinand is unwell as usual. He is said to suffer many seizures. However his mind is still strong. Franz Karl has recently had a son, Karl Ludwig."
"May he and his line forever be remembered."
"What of your own family, though? We do not hear enough of them. Our children should see their cousins more."
"I hear little of them." He admitted.

2nd April 1835, Switzerland

"Fire!" A dramatic boom filled the air and the cannon recoiled. Over one thousand metres away the ground exploded, spraying grass and dirt all over. Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte watched the shot with intensity, waiting for its distance to be measured.
"Gehret," he called for the young officer, his effective protege despite the fact there was not even ten years between them. "The distance looked well over one thousand two hundred. If so, the average is most impressive." He pressed his hand on the cannon, taking out a small notebook. "Cannons are typically fired a handful of times before they are declared ready for use in battle. Yet this would be our tenth..." He explained. "Get me the distance."
"Yes, General." The green officer nodded, running over to the converse with the staff further down the field. The boy had said general, however that was only somewhat the truth. Louis-Napoléon officially had the authority to command a division. However as the majority of his time was spent studying equipment and tactics rather than employing them, he was Division General at-Large. It was an impressive position, for one only twenty-seven. Yet he knew the uncle he so admired was already commander of armies by this stage. Louis-Napoléon had more to do, in a lesser nation.
"One thousand four hundred and twelve." Gehret told him.
"Hmm..." Bonaparte recorded this. "Add all those distances up. Divide it by ten." He told the Swiss.
"Almost one thousand three hundred and fifty."
"That does seem to be the average. A very impressive average." He smiled to himself, looking at his book. "An average of one thousand three hundred and fifty. One thousand six hundred-odd at most." He was eager to record this. His study on cannons was coming up with some interesting information. It was not the distance which was his focus, but the weight. With a weight of one thousand two hundred kilograms, one could fire a cannon shot with just as much power and range, yet the new weight meant it would be was light enough to be moved rapidly on the battlefield by horses. A rapid improvement on the cannon was coming, he knew it. And he was just the man to innovate it.


To: The Office of His Royal Highness King Joseph III de Tarragona
From: The Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs


The French claim on the territory of Algeria is well known, having been pressed by the King of France Charles X back in 1830. This claim encompasses area which is currently under Aragonese control. This cannot be allowed to continue. We request that all Aragonese provinces in the territory of Algeria be transferred over to the French. In return the French would be willing to offer possible military assistance in favour of Aragonese interests outside of the regions of North and Western Africa, as well as a marriage between a daughter of King Louis Philippe and King Joseph.

Yours sincerely,

Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs, acting on the behalf of His Majesty, King of the French Louis Philippe I d'Orléans and the French people


To: The Office of José Carlos Nepomuceno Espiridión de Ruiz, Minister of Foreign Affairs
From: The Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs


It is with great sadness that we receive such news. His Majesty Louis Philippe is said to have wept upon hearing of the end of yet another monarchy. Our own country has experienced such terrors under the rule of Republicans, and would implore you to reconsider. However as you appear to be set on this decision, the French agree to recognise the government under Maximilian Hapsburg and as a token of friendship His Majesty the King has offered his support to yourself and your family in times of need or if one seeks re-election.

Yours sincerely,

Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs, acting on the behalf of His Majesty, King of the French Louis Philippe I d'Orléans and the French people


To: The Office of Foreign Secretary Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston
From: The Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs


The French people find it a great shame that the British believe an extended mutual cooperation untenable. We urge this to be reconsidered, for the French still believe it viable. However this can be seen in practice soon, upon our convention over the state of Africa and Asia, as well as the transfer of the French Establishment in India to the British. Which we propose be convened by our respective diplomatic parties on 22nd April at the port town of Calais.

His Majesty is delighted at hearing that the British royal family will soon to be visiting Paris, and eagerly awaits their arrival.

Yours sincerely,

Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs, acting on the behalf of His Majesty, King of the French Louis Philippe I d'Orléans and the French people


To: The Office of Chancellor Aleksander Bajrami
From: The Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs


The Grand Duchy of Epirus' role in defending Christendom against the Mohammedan Horde has not been forgotten. However the long suffering French people are currently in no position to fight a war. Military intervention cannot be guaranteed, though rest assured that the French will not tolerate any attempted aggressive expansion by the Sicilians. We hope to see the existence of your prestigious and most noble Duchy forevermore.

Yours sincerely,

Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs, acting on the behalf of His Majesty, King of the French Louis Philippe I d'Orléans and the French people
Last edited by Yaana Noore on Wed Oct 28, 2015 7:00 am, edited 2 times in total.

User avatar
Posts: 1488
Founded: Nov 22, 2013

Postby Conwy-Shire » Tue Oct 27, 2015 10:31 pm

Kingdom of the Two Sicilies
Regno d'e Ddoje Sicilie
Regnu dî Dui Sicili


Chapter 2 - "Let slip the dogs of war..."

Royal Missive
of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies
as Signed and Sealed by Ferdinand II de Bourbon, King of the Two Sicilies

Herein is detailed the direct declaration of the undersigned, His Majesty Ferdinand II de Bourbon, King of the two Sicilies and of the Albanians, Duke of Noto and Calabria, Commander of the Order of Saint Ferdinand de Merite and Deputy-Generale of the Sicilian people.

Let it be known, in heaven and earth, that a state of war now exists between the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and the Rogue State named 'Epirus'. These hostilities have erupted over the failure to submit in free will to the Two Sicilies, the King of whom also holds the title 'King of the Albanians' and has since the Thirteenth Century, Seventy-Second Anno Domini.

In the name of brevity the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies demands the recognition and submission of these 'Epirote' peoples - many of whom freely identify as Albanian and Italian - to the Crown of Sicily, a demand now to be enforced by fire and sword due to the tardiness of the Greek Usurpers in Albania in swearing allegiance to their rightful Crown.

The Crown of Sicily wishes safe tidings upon its long-lost children, of whom shall soon be returned to the paternal fold of the Sicilian Crown lands - to those who will resist, his majesty all but hopes you regain the rationale to submit peacefully.

In Rightful Majesty,
Ferdinand II de Bourbon,

Armata di Divisione Uno - Joseph
Aulon (24th Mar)

"Mars! dans les navires"

The General call cut through Joseph's reprieve, calling him forwards to the ships. behind him, the 2nd Line Infantry Regiment marched double-time, a sea of purple uniforms three-thousand strong. For perhaps the first time in Joseph's life, pride swelled and cut through his cynical veil, punctuated by the fluttering of the Regimental Standard overhead.

The sun had some time yet to rise, but the Balkan Army Group was on the move. Left and right, forward and behind - all around Joseph a behemoth awoke, almost 35,000 strong. Rifles and muskets bobbed in time with the cadence of polished boots, all sweeping towards the ships in port. The warships had already left harbour, scouring the mouth of the Adriatic for Epirote ships and securing the transport lanes of the upcoming invasion. Some, being specially outfitted, were being sent into Epirote ports, there to seize and force-scuttle - but they were still a way away.

The merchantman Joseph's forward line marched towards was relatively young - to the officer's appreciation. Few scratches marked its hull, something that couldn't be said about the other vessels appropriated from Sicilian ports. Pulled up on the beach like a viking longboat of old, the flat hull and curled prow reminded Joseph of a furled swan, ready to soar. There was such an elegance to all of this - something didn't feel right, but it was only when the crowded ship was set upon the sea that Joseph realised the issue.

As the decks rose and fell with the unusually calm morning swell, a single memory flooded his mind, followed by the most violent discomfort known to man.

He had seasickness.

Aulon, hours later
A cry arose from the topmast, "Destination sighted! Aulon is near, prepare yourselves!" Joseph's head snapped up from the railing where it had rested throughout the journey, only coming up before to eject more bile and foul humors. Colour returned to his eyes in a split moment, realising that the moment of action was rushing towards him. From the rear deck where Joseph had made his journey, the structures of Aulon became more visible with each tug of wind in the sails. A veritable cacophony of noise rose from the city, wafting toward Joseph and his 2nd Line Infantry Regiment, from cries to shouts, alarums and bugle-horns, the inhabitants of Aulon were called to arms; not knowing that the city had fallen before it rose.

Fixing sword-bayonets and loosening sabres from their scabbards, Joseph's Regiment slipped into Aulon-port, before being treated by a truly stunning sight. Row-upon-row of warships - some mere galleys, others close to naval rates - lay unmanned and de-masted at dock, their spars and oars lying scattered on the lifeless decks and surrounding water. There was a glaring exception, however, crowded protectively around an isolated pier by the southern breakwater, low-lying ships flying the Angevin Flag of Naples stood patiently, their handiwork occupying the remains of the Epirote fleet-at-anchor.

A single shot cracked through the general noise of the milling populace, sending Neapolitan and Epirote alike towards cover. "Off the ships, prepare for rank-by-rank fire!" the command rang out from the Platoon commander beside Joseph. Hurrying towards the bow and off a hastily-laid plank, joseph's boots fell heavily onto the pier before he was off, sabre rattling in his scabbard and musket gripped tightly in sweating-hands. Down the pier, a dual-file of men marched double time, only to be confronted by a militia of burly townsfolk.

The Neapolitan land-variant musket allowed for shot-storage, and whilst most of the men of the 2nd Regiment were carrying loaded guns they slid, ducked and weaved into cover all the same, executing an uncoordinated maneuver akin to that of a skirmisher Corps. Confined as they were on the pier, most men found themselves sharing the most meagre of barriers with five or more men. The baskets Joseph found himself behind reeked of fish - gutted and fly ridden - and the smell only encouraged Joseph to stand and take a shot. Bringing the musket up to standing position, and in an act akin to self-preservation he took a flying shot, aiming at a disheveled Greek trying to ram powder down his old musket.

The shot missed... partially, instead slamming into the head of the Greeks' neighbour, connecting solidly and sending the man down to the cobbles of the dock-side road. Not afforded the luxury to gag at the sickening sight, Joseph bent back down to re-arm his smoking musket, focusing on the small paper cartridge in an attempt to block out the rolling barrage his platoon unleashed on the militia. They, without landing a single reply to the Neapolitan infantry, fell before Joseph could fire off a second lead-shot.

On the move once more, her dual-files re-assembled and re-loaded, the forward platoon of the 2nd Line Infantry Regiment ran, splitting off in partitions to cover the various roads and alleys fronting this section of the harbour. His officer status finally recognised for the first time since the landing, Joseph heard his name being called, back towards the pier. It was the platoon commander, Joseph's only senior, no doubt with an order fit for a footman or other orderly. Situated as he was at the end of the pier Joseph had just cleared, his figure was already silhouetted against the transport of the second platoon as it drew into harbour.

Hailing Joseph in the outlandish uniform favoured by the military board, the platoon commander was the most colourful man dockside of the city; and so when the cracking of a hunter's rifle resounded in Joseph's ears, he wasn't surprised to see his superior fall to the briny floor, clutching at a growing stain in the middle of his chest. Return fire from the docking transport, this one an oar-propelled Trabacollo, quickly disengaged the dissident, peppering the balcony he presumably occupied moments earlier with musket fire, before the second platoon made their way to support the first. The harbour had fallen, and soon her city would follow.

As the platoon blithely marched past the dying commander, Joseph fought to remember the poor man's name, it was something like Anthony or Antoine;

but what did it matter? The first Neapolitan casualty of the war - his name already forgotten.

Armata di Divisione Due - Vittorio
Dyrrachium (25th Mar)

Next task, Vittorio's thoughts began to wander. Bent double scooping dirt as he was, the Tripolitanian Fusilier almost collapsed as a salvo of emplaced guns roared behind the trench he was excavating. The last memory Vittorio had was of the gunners taking leave for their noon-time rations, but now they were back, already unappreciative of the ditch and defences Vittorio had helped erect before the Mortars in the meantime. All around much the same was occurring, and the 2nd Army Division turned itself into a satellite-city of Dyrrachium, although this town had been erected to defeat the latter.

Near on 18,000 men would come to call this 'town' home, wedged between the defenders of Dyrrachium and the Katundi river like a sliver of purple between two much better entrenched entities. Indiscriminate fire erupted from the camp, falling upon the houses and structures of Dyrrachium in a seemingly haphazard blanket. Out to sea a blockade was enforced, coming into effect after naval agents failed to secure entry in the pre-dawn darkness.

But it was coming up on the evening now, and Vittorio had more tasks to complete. The siege of Dyrrachium began.

Armata di Divisione Tre - Armand
Lezhe (24th Mar)

Water sloshed and churned around Armand's legs as he pulled himself out of the crowded dinghy. Only turning back to collect his kit, rifle and pack; the naturalised Sicilian gladly put his back between himself and the barely sea-worthy piece of junk he had spent his time sailing to war in. Her payload delivered, the old Merchantman transport turned her bow South, eager to collect the state compensation promised before her requisitioning.

Already drawn out into marching rank, the Sicilian Foreign Legion was the last to leave the beaches, forced to stop and await the final landing craft. In all a thousand men served in the Legion, nationals from all around the Mediterranean - and in some cases from further abroad - came together in this legion, retaining personal independence for disciplined military service. Armand was one of ~300 Frenchmen serving in the legion, a demographic only surpassed by Italians from the north of the peninsula.

The infantryman fell in line with the ranks, being subjected to the back row for the bad luck of being on the last transport. The Legion came to attention as their captain, who until that point had been sitting under the shade of a nearby tree, strode back to his position; the regimental drummer took up his instrument, bringing the hushed voices of the Legion to a halt as they turned from their nervous chatter towards the front. Pulling his sabre out of its scabbard and raising it high to catch the attention of his men, the captain addressed his men in his booming and authoritative voice,

"Soldats, nous avance à Balldre, hissent le drapeau - en avant!"

The legion moved out, and no one spoke, but askance looks and worried faces affirmed all Armand knew. Instead of capturing the district, they would have to march through the hostile town of Lezhe itself, one of the recruitment offices for the Skodra reserves; and from there onward they would be marching blind through hostile territory. On Armand's left, a young Wallonian (by Armand's reckoning) marched in time with the cadence, only his unsettled eyes giving away the slightest misgivings - this was the boys' first war, and it was just as likely to be his last.

1st Army Division
- 2nd Line Infantry Regiment (3,000 men),
1st Winged Lancers Regiment (2,500 men),
1st Sicilian emplacement Corps (2,000 men),
1st Apulian Volunteer Regiment (1,500 men),
1st Sicilian Engineer Corps (500 men)
Total: 9,500 men
2nd Army Division
- The 1st Coastal Division (2,400 men),
The 1st Foot Guard (2,000 men),
The Neapolitan Fusiliers (3,000 men),
The 3rd Line Infantry Division (3,000 men),
The Tripolitanian Fusiliers (3,000 men),
The 1st Sicilian Harquebus Corps (2,000 men),
The 2nd Apulian Volunteer Regiment (1,500 men),
The 3rd Sicilian Battle-Engineers Corps. (1,000 men)
Total: 17,900 men
3rd Army Division
- 2nd Foot Guard (2,000 men),
The Sicilian Foreign Legion (1,000 men),
1st Sicilian Hussar Regiment (2,000 men),
1st Apulian Volunteer Artillery Regiment (1,500 men),
2nd Sicilian Engineer Corps (500 men)
Total: 7,000 men
- post made in collaboration with Jaslandia
- Naples has invaded Epirus
- Aulon has fallen with minimal resistance
- Dyrrachium is besieged and blockaded, with the 2nd Army Division positioned between the city defences and the Katundi river, where they have drawn up defences against possible relief forces
- The 3rd Army Division has landed in Lezhe, but the General has decided to sacrifice security for a forced march towards Skodra, resupplying at Balldre
Last edited by Conwy-Shire on Sat Nov 07, 2015 8:33 pm, edited 8 times in total.
Aurelian Stoicist
Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.

The Real MVP

User avatar
Posts: 8116
Founded: Oct 26, 2012

Postby Kryskov » Sat Oct 31, 2015 4:42 pm

El Regne d'Aragó
Part 1: A Weary Peacetime

Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia
Barcelona, County of Barcelona
March 27, 1835

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.


The Lord be with you.

"And with you." The great halls of the cathedral echoed with the creaking of pews as the congregation took their seats.

I confess to almighty God... The collection of the faithful continued through the Penitential Rite, guided by the Bishop of Barcelona, while a young, dark haired and dark eyed man (though you could barely call him that) remained quiet and seated in his humble wooden slabs. But on his chest, in contrast, shone the large stellar honors of noble orders prestigious and worldwide, including Aragon's own Order of the Victory of Saint George. A large golden sash with four vertical crimson stripes bounced the glow of the eavesdropping sunlight generously with its silken substance, a bright flash running over the subtle, dark blue military coat of the Boy-King Joseph III. Behind Josep, as he was
known in his native tongue, was a man with a similar uniform but much more of an elderly appearance from either experience or weariness, or both, through the years. This was the Heir Presumptive Charles, the Count of Girona, but who was known to Josep and Uncle Carlos, as he was the younger brother of the late King Michael. And, as the mass of the faithful continued on with the Rite, the Duke leaned in to his young nephew's ear and whispered during the proclamations of the followers.

"Your situation is untenable," the elder said, without courtesy nor complexity. "To have reigned for nearly two years and remain a bachelor is quite damaging to the position of the monarchy."

"But to have one queen at my disposal instead of a dozen infidelitous noblewomen seems..." the King mused, "quite disadvantageous." The Count of Girona made a stern face that showed he had little patience for the ignorance and frivolity of the young Josep.

"It would not matter if you had a hundred mistresses; any children they bear cannot inherit the throne. As the only son of your honorable father, it is your duty to continue his line. To not only permit but to also encourage it to cease would be a grave disrespect on your ancestors," barked the wrinkled brigadier, noticeably interrupting the attention of the more pious Catholics around. "I am all in favor of sowing your royal oates while you are young, but now it is time that you realize you aren't an...'impassioned' cadet at the military academy anymore."

As we commemorate on this day the life and trials of Saint Lazarus, friend of Jesus who was risen from the dead, let us read from the eleventh chapter of the Book of John.

"My 'passions' run deep my dear uncle, but I do and have seen your point. I agree that my romantic position is untenable, but that is because our diplomatic situation is untenable," replied the King in a sparse moment of humility and honesty.

"I understand that the Catholic nation which neighbors us is seeking our compliance. I understand that the Catholic nations that gaze at Sardinia lustfully likely won't agree to any sort of an arrangements. I understand that maybe the best approach to avoid a total subjugation under the banners of a Great Power maybe to seek relations with the Protestants, or the Iberians. This marriage, perhaps, needs to come with very little strings attached. I will write to the King in Berlin to see if he can be of assistance. If no Prussian bride is presentable, they can likely refer us to another German state more liberated from their objections."

We believe in one God, the Father...

"This will surely," the Count continued, "protect ourselves from the hungry eyes of France. Let us not forget that you were born on a ship to England while the Frenchmen invaded our nation, and that they still have Bonapartes, including the former Spanish Pretender, within their government." The King winced at the memories of his father's continuous paranoia and his mother's tales of their flee to London. "If we secure relations with Britain and Prussia, we may yet sway them to our support in the case of another bout of discord in France." The two turned attention to the Bishop, who was glaring at the royals disapprovingly as he prepared the usual Communion.

"Lord I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." And as both men, and indeed the entirety of the attendance at the cathedral, stood up from their benches, the organ sounded the melodies of worship. The King and Count, in traditional fashion, received their Communion first before awaiting the Bishop's blessing and departing the Cathedral.

To the Office of Victor de Broglie, President of the Council and Minister for Foreign Affairs:

Esteemed sir,

It is unfortunate that the King of the French does not agree with our current missions in Tunisia. The Bey of Tunisia has been under the protection of the Kingdom of Aragon for years before France's interventions in Algeria. As such, it is unfortunate that any French claims are not and cannot be recognized by His Royal Highness. Furthermore, the proposed offer of "possible" military assistance is simply unreliable, as is the proposed offer of a royal marriage to His Royal Highness, particularly considering the dynastic turmoil that has plagued the French people for nearly four decades now.

It would be most regrettable if France holds Aragonese Tunisia with particular hatred. Our nations are both chosen by God to present Our Lord Jesus Christ's Gospels to those who have turned from them. Aragon is a proud nation but it is no use hiding that our colonial ambitions are quite small. For the lands not yet civilized in Africa, the government of Aragon can promise that it will not interfere in French ambitions. If you wish to further inquire into Aragon's colonial plans, we invite you to ask for a diplomatic meeting in the location of your choice.

The Honorable Jordi Anceras
Vice-Minister of the State for His Royal Highness King Joseph III

To the Office of His Majesty King Friedrich Wilhelm III, King of Prussia:

Venerable ruler,

Good day and good health! It is, admittedly, known across the courts of Europe that my nephew, HRH the King of Aragon, ascended to the throne nearly two years ago but has yet to find a compatible and agreeable wife, let alone produce an heir. In order to improve the mutual standing of our nations against possible intrigues by those who neighbor us, and promote good relations on the continent, I write to you personally to request your help in finding a future Queen Consort of Aragon. Among the numerous ladies of your most noble family, or of those in your allied German States, there must be one suitable for this honorable role. If it may help, we only recquire that the potential bride be willing to convert to Roman Catholicism and not raised in the faith herself. If you know of a suitable lady, we request that she attend the Springtime Ball on April 10th in Barcelona as a special diplomatic envoy on behalf of your embassy. If we are successful in finding a compatible pairing, Aragon only requests that you agree to a mutual decrease in tariffs on trade between our nation and a general spirit of amicability between our nations.

A thousand years to your family,
His Grace the Count of Girona
Minister of the State for His Royal Highness King Joseph III

To the Office of The Right Honorable Viscount Melbourne:

Dear noble leader,

It has recently come to the attention of the Ministry of the State for the Kingdom of Aragon that the French have designs on the Aragonese colony of Tunisia. While their misguided and, frankly, confusing claims on the land have been known for nearly five years, it is only recently that France has directly contacted His Royal Highness' government with the assertion that our continue mission to Christianize and civilize those in Tunisia, and I quote, "cannot be allowed to continue." I feel comfort in confiding to you that His Royal Highness the King of Aragon has no further colonial ambitions, and that we view this attack on the stability of Europe as useless and alarming, especially coming from a nation which has changed its government four times within our lives and wrecked endless havoc on Europe, including the brutal occupation of Aragon. I beg the Government of St. George, who is the mutual patron saint of our nations, to back the Kingdom of Aragon on the matter of Tunisia and persuade France to reconsider their options.

Most humbly,
His Grace the Count of Girona
Minister of the State for His Royal Highness King Joseph III

User avatar
The Kingdom of Glitter
Posts: 12106
Founded: Jan 08, 2014
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby The Kingdom of Glitter » Sun Nov 01, 2015 2:03 pm

The Columbian Federation


Chapter 3 - A White House Divided

17 April 1835
Manhattan D.C.
White House

"So the Committee has recommended the creation of five territories as a whole, four organized and one unorganized?" von Johansen inquired while staring at a map.

"Quite so." the Secretary of the Interior replied. "They believe it will be easier for us to sell the land and encourage migration if we create several border territories."

"I have no reason to doubt their recommendation then. The plan has my approval, now it just has to pass the Congress - which it shall." the president said. "Now, Martin. how does the proposed Homestead Act? How has the Senate reacted?"

"Our supporters are behind it, even a few Whigs are expected to defect." the Vice President replied.

"Wonderful. Now. Onto official business matters. Levi, are we ready to send our first payment to the French?"

"Yes we are. The Treasury has been preparing and we have the first payment assembled. It is scheduled to leave Manhattan tonight."

"Wonderful." von Johansen said as he walked over to his desk, starting at this map once more.

"Tell me, Silas. Did the committee have any reason for making the Jefferson Territory so long?" he said with a devilish idea in mind.

"Straight lines most likely." the Secretary responded with a chuckle.

von Johansen laughed himself. "Gentlemen, it is no secret our western states have been looking for a way to remove the troublesome savages from their borders. The Jefferson Territory has the ability to house them." He pointed to the western portion of the proposed territory. "If we move the savages here and create the Indian Territory, we not only remove the violent monsters from our borders but we also allow expansion into their lands."

Van Buren interjected almost instantly. "No. That will not do."

von Johansen's face shot up from the map and his eyes starred directly at this Vice President's. "Excuse me?" he growled.

"We are not going to walk thousands of people across this continent. Congress would collapse before they allowed that." the Vice President replied.

"And you think I need Congress. I find that quite funny Martin. I have the military, I do not need those fools." said with a smirk.

"You do not have my approval either, Sir." Van Buren told his President.

"That I do not need either. I am the President, not you. I know you are running next year, that is no secret. Do not be a fool." the President growled back. The various cabinet members in the room exchanged glances, but remained silent.

"You do not need my approval, but you need a Vice President." Van Buren said.

"Get out of my office soon, before I kick you out of my administration!" von Johansen shouted as he reached for a book he kept on his desk, hurling it towards the door. "OUT!" he shrieked.

Van Buren hurried out of the office, and the President began to regain his composure. "Now, moving on from that. It is time to reclaim Franklin."

29 April 1835
Cloquet, Sud de l'Ontario, Nova Gallia

The sun had just began to rise over the provincial seat of Cloquet. It was a quiet morning and for the nearly two thousand citizens nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The provincial governor sat in his residence, a modest one in comparison to his counterparts but for the small town it was quite grand. He sat sipping his morning tea and browsing an outdated newspaper from his nation's capital, slowly scanning each page for the headlines. As he continued to read, 500 Columbian Dragoons from the 13th Dragoon Regiment journeyed towards the town, just as hundreds of other Dragoons had done before them across the province. The citizens peaked through their windows, starring at the occupying forces as they walked down the town's main road towards the governor's residence. Confused murmurs filled the streets as the residents tried to understand what was going on: Nova Gallia was not at war, or so they thought. They did not think wrong. Nova Gallia was not at war, and either was Columbia. von Johansen had ordered an occupation of what Columbia claimed as the Franklin Territory, but no motion for war was ever put forth. "We do not need one if we are occupying our own land" he declared to his administration.

A servant had rushed into the governor's dining room to inform him of the Columbian presence and he hurried out to his porch. He watched as the Dragoons processed down the street towards him. Upon their arrival their commander began to address the governor as well as the citizenry as a whole. "Governor, we have been sent to ensure Columbian sovereignty over this land is maintained" he said in a broken French. "This land is Columbian, and you have no authority here. We are willing to discuss the terms of a peaceful exodus with you. If you refuse to leave, you will be taken into custody for crimes against the Columbian government."

The governor glared at him. Cloquet had surrendered without a shot being fired, just as dozens of settlements across Sud de l'Ontario had done and would continue to do. So far von Johansen's campaign had been bloodless, but that did not mean it would remain so.

29 April 1835
Fort Ely, Sud de l'Ontario, Nova Gallia

A detachment of 750 Dragoons from the 17th Dragoon Regiment arrived at the single Nova Gallian fort in the province. Slowly the began to surround the fort, preparing for what was assumed to be the only conflict in the campaign to establish Columbian control over Franklin. The men were ready to fight, but their commander hoped conflict could be avoided. A call to surrender was issued to the fort's command, and it seemed that Fort Ely would bleed red.
Last edited by The Kingdom of Glitter on Sun Nov 01, 2015 6:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.

User avatar
Posts: 9477
Founded: Feb 11, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Relikai » Mon Nov 02, 2015 4:39 am

The United Kingdom of the Netherlands
The Wall of Neuhollande: Chapter Three - Neuhollande, Overwinning!

West Neuhollande, April 21, 1835

3 weeks of advances on Nusantara and SouthEast Asian Advances

Holland's proposals on defence and improvements on infrastructure

NationStates reveals to all the delusional fantasies of a certain people. All for fun, joy and laughter of course.

And MeMeS

User avatar
Posts: 12551
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Mon Nov 02, 2015 5:47 am

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland


Dieu et Mon Droit

Chapter 4: Tea for Two

A Portrait of Henry Archibald

Calais, France, April 22nd.
Henry Archibald sighed greatly. France was a remarkable place, but that didn't mean he liked it. Diplomatic talks with the French, he found, were a bore and doubled with the fact that his Royal Sovereign William IV didn't hold the French in a high regard rendered him in a sticky position. Lord Palmerston had demanded that he secure the deal of French India with the French as soon as possible, and so he had begun his journey to Calais - the arranged meeting for the talks - at post haste. As the diplomat dusted down his top hat, tugged on his navy blue coat and spun his ornate cane he began to descend the flight of stairs towards the building, he believed it was a Consulate, that these talks would take place in. His walk was filled with vigour and swagger, so much so it earned him the gaze of many of the residents of Calais. The pastry chefs looked on, the bakers stared in awe and the children that roamed the streets halted and pointed as this man alleviated the mood of the city with his rather, as he called it swag, relatively new style of moving.

He pressed his hands against the oaken doors, pushing them open with little more than a nudge. The room was adorned most pleasantly, with a fine scarlet red carpet covering most of the width and breadth of the imposing corridor. Portraits hung left and right, and multiple chandeliers descended from the arched ceiling. Archibald put his cane into the crook of his arm and began to walk along, smiling at the men standing guard. Soon enough, he had himself seated in the circular room for the diplomatic talks and raised an eyebrow at the maps across the table; India, Africa and one of Europe. The French envoy too, walked in and he turned to the man with determination in his eye.

"Lets begin, shall we?"

Banda Aceh, Nusantaran Empire, April 25th
The Waterloo roared tremendously, the entire ship tilting to one side as her broadside of roughly 60 guns fired upon the area of Banda Aceh. The British Bengal Fleet had arrived at the initial staging area for the British Invasion of Sumatra, and the call was given by the Waterloo's opening bombardment. Other ships soon followed, giant behemoths upon the waters that roared and growled like beasts from beneath the wave coming for their vengeance. It was not British intention, in any shape of form, to flatten or heavily destroy Banda Aceh. It was merely a mixture of a show of force and a 'softening up', as Admiral Pigot had remarked, to allow the British Marines a much easier time when they assaulted the city in the next few hours.

And so the Heavens trembled as the cannon fire continued. Shot whizzed across the sky, fatal whistles of terror as the missiles impacted stone and wood and sand and grass, creating a musical masterpiece of war and death. The fleet the Nusantarans had stationed at Banda Aceh was trapped, but by no means unable. Pigot had noted that in the counter-fire enacted by these moored vessels, one of the British Frigates - Hastings - had had its ammunition storage hit, and the ship promptly exploded in a storm of fire, fury and smoke upon the water. In response, the British admiral had commanded that his second rates fire upon the largest of the Nusantaran vessels as a form of retribution. When the mighty vessel's mast came crashing down through her decks, he knew that had been achieved.

All in all, the British invasion of Sumatra was underway.

Katra, Sikh Empire, May 1st.
Nasir-ud-Daula, Asaf Jah IV, Nizam of Hyderabad, sighed contently as he sat cross legged atop his war elephant, in the ornate howdah that had been crafted atop the beast. His mahout nodded at the command he gave, one of 'March, continue', and the elephant trekked onwards. Behind it, multiple rank and file of Sepoys marched onwards. The Princely States' armies were vast and numerous, and Jah had personally suggested that he could lead - alongside Company Officials - the troops into an offensive against the Sikh Empire. Katra was the target, and it was merely just out of view. That mattered not, as the thunderous hooves of Jah's cavalry reserve galloped forward to scout out Katra and its nearby areas.

Lahore, British India, May 9th
"This is a dreadful city."

"Whatever you say, Governor. But you must note, many British lives fell to take this."

"I'm disappointed - I would have assumed your command over the armies was a smart idea, Prince."

"Command does naught when your enemy has cannon. How did the Sikh get cannon? You sell it to them?"

"No, not I." Bentnick laughed, sipping the tea placed in front of him. "Perhaps some European power did, aiming to curb the influence of His Majesty, the Company and Britain in India. It failed. Now with Jah marching further into Sikh Territory, we'll have them suing for assimilation by June. I see it coming."

"Yes, yes, Governor."

Lahore was a shadow of its former self. Many of the civilians had been evacuated, moved out and spread across India to keep the ideas of rebellion out. 'Loyal' Princely State subjects had been moved in, filling in the vacancies of the previous owners. Bentnick was a hard man to amuse, really. The moment he had stepped into Lahore, he pushed the nearest soldier out of his way and stormed to the makeshift command centre. After intercepting Colonel General he had berated the man for several hours and demanded to institute his reforms on the barbaric practices of the Indian People and bring about proper Western Ideals of morality. The Colonel had obliged.

"Good. Now, are you plans going ahead?"

"Yes." the Prince replied, crossing one leg over the other as he played with a small dagger. "The Army here in Lahore will be split, 50;30;20. The largest portion will strike North, under the Command of Colonel General. I will take command of the second largest force, and the other - under the command of, the recently promoted Percival Morrison, I believe? He will maintain the garrison here, to keep Lahore secure."

"Excellent, Prince Jaya. Keep up the work."

"The wishes of the state of Britain are the wishes of the Princely States."

Theatre Royal, Norwich, May 10th
The hallowed halls of the Theatre Royal were both appealing and welcoming. Fine rugs adorned the floors, impressive chandeliers and lamps hung from the ceilings and the strong walls of plenty of colour. Tapestries; old and new, historic and fable, art and beauty, hung upon the walls. Paintings too, busts aplenty and even the odd statue. One Victoria could notice was that of the patron of the fine theatre, one of the previous mayors of Norwich; a Henry Birkbeck. It mattered little really and as she and Frederick walked along she allowed herself a little smile as the taller German remarked something about their friendship. It was as if a million fireworks had gone off inside her stomach.

She snorted slightly at his comment. "You're such a gentleman."

"And you a fine lady."

She had to admit, the compliments were great. Frankly however, she was just finally pleased to breathe. Holkham Hall, for all its grace and recently fond memories could only entertain one so much. It had hunting ground aplenty, and rooms for more 'womanly' endeavours but stepping into those rooms almost guaranteed that she'd be ambushed by her mother. So she had taken to joining Frederick, William and their entourages on their hunting trips. She had learnt, so far, that all her uncle could successful hunt was a duck.

And it took a giant fucking gun to do it.

"I'm very happy we're doing something that isn't hunting, really." she quipped, rubbing her gloved hands together as the two individuals graciously strode down the corridor.

"I agree. Hunting here in England... hasn't been as great, if I may say, as compared to the trips we have in Germany. This Norwich and its surroundings, I have seen not many of what we hunt on the continent. What happened to your deer?"

"Our deer? Well, I suppose Scotland still has a lot." she brought a hand to her chin in thought. "I wouldn't be able to tell you, really. I don't hunt. I watch."

"Well, yes. At least we both enjoy theatre. What play are we going to watch?"

"The Tragedy of Othello; The Moor of Venice. I hear its quite the romantic tragedy."

"Wonderful." A small, mischievous smile spread across the German Prince's face. Victoria was pleased - seeing him happy was a great improvement over his mood recently, after having heard the news of the passing of his grandfather.

Tonight was going to be marvellous.

From: The Office of Foreign Secretary Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston
To: Aleksander Bajrami, Chancellor of Epirus

I'm afraid to inform you that Britain, at this moment, has no outlying interest in halting the expansion of the Greek State as we assisted in its formation in the first place. We are sorry, but Britain will not be acting in favour for or against Epirus at this time.

May God Bless You,
Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston, Acting in the Interests of His Majesty, King William IV.

From: The Office of Foreign Secretary Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston
To: The Count of Girona, Minister of the State for His Royal Highness King Joseph III

It has indeed come to our attention of such matters as well. The only solution that the British Government could be able to reply to such matters would be for Britannia to host a conference to void the bloodshed of Europeans that may erupt from such a conflict between France and Aragon. There is currently a British delegation in Calais, speaking to the French on matters of India, so it may be brought up at the table of a general conference with Britain as the mediator.

May God Bless You,
Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston, Acting in the Interests of His Majesty, King William IV.
Last edited by Liecthenbourg on Wed Nov 04, 2015 4:32 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Impeach Kerensky Legalise Autocracy Soviets are Fucking Stupid Pyotr Wrangle, 1936
Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
"At age 13 the internet should be used for porn and club penguin " - The Kingdom of Glitter
Consider Kylaris, peasant. The Greatest Collab Post. Ever. Of All Time.
TNL (NWH): to conclude my earlier message considering that none of us give enough of a shit about your misplaced nationalism to ever create an rp where spain is even remotely fucking relevant i don't think we're ever going to call you, ever

NS' self-declared most humble Catholic.

User avatar
Post Marshal
Posts: 16626
Founded: Sep 01, 2012
Father Knows Best State

Postby Senkaku » Tue Nov 03, 2015 7:51 am

Ten Thousand Years, Chapter Five: Sea of Fire


The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves...

The Imperial Palace
Hall of Infinite Splendor

-Ming forces encircle Dongjing, Army of the Purple Frontier begins marching south from fortifications on the Great Wall with Mongol, Jurchen, and Khitan auxiliaries to relieve the imperial capital
-emperor meets with Tokugawa
-Ming forces seize and sack Luoyang and Zhengzhou, the Empress moves her capital to Luoyang (renamed Zhongjing, Central Capital)
-The Triumvirate's armies march on the Yangtze River Delta and besiege Suzhou, also attack Jinan to try and break into Shandong
-China requests soldiers from Japan, orders all of its vassals to begin sending soldiers to help crush the "Sibei" (literally "Fourfold") Rebellion
-Trowulan is razed to the ground after Nusantaran forces are shattered outside the city, Nusantaran king sent in chains back to Guangzhou, royal family completely annihilated, Chinese control over Borneo cemented at a decisive battle near Banjarmasin, Southern Sumatra surrenders to the Chinese they're already fighting vainly rather than face the British
-China sends letters to Britain and Holland to formally divide the wreckage of Nusantara at a conference in Quanzhou
Last edited by Senkaku on Sun Dec 20, 2015 10:31 pm, edited 4 times in total.

Athrax wrote:
Gauthier wrote:How many times a month did Kennedy visit Dallas?

Only once. He got a mindblowing reception though

The Nuclear Fist wrote:Just try and find a seat without getting your bollocks stuck in a light socket.

Lunas Legion wrote:That's NS for you. It has 2 speeds; a rape train with no brakes or brakes with no train.

Diopolis wrote:
Conserative Morality wrote:Sanders/Trump 2016

Mexico will pay for our universal healthcare!

The Empire of Pretantia wrote:
Dogmeat wrote:The strobe was a little much.

But then the beat dropped and it was just perfect.

User avatar
The Jonathanian States
Posts: 13692
Founded: Nov 29, 2012

Postby The Jonathanian States » Tue Nov 03, 2015 8:07 am

__________________KÖNIGREICH PREUSSEN__________________

Stadtschloss, Berlin, Königreich PreußenMarch 31st - 1835
The heavy curtains were closed nearly to their fullest extent, seemingly holding a dim layer over the room; it's only illumination coming from a partially lit chandelier and a handful of candles spread throughout the room.
In between large portraits of Prussian kings long dead stood a grand bed, an elderly occupant lying almost perfectly straight, mostly covered by the dark-red blanket that covered most of the bed as well as its sides.
To the bed's left side, adjacent to the baroque nightstand stood two chairs. On the left of those two sat a man wearing a white coat. The other was empty, the person that previously sat on it having stood up and stepped towards bed.
"Shall I give you a minute, your majesty?", asked the doctor, already standing up as well. "Don't leave the room just yet, I need a bit more time", came the Prince's reply to the court physician, after which he turned back towards the man on the bad and shouted, "I NEEDED MORE TIME!". The doctor approached the prince, who moved away by sitting down at the bed's side. "Yes, I was the one ruling, but in your name. And when I needed you to help you were there. You always were there.", tears now were seeping from Friedrich Wilhelm's eyes, "Damnit, why now?".

"My lie...", started the doctor only to receive a bark of "Don't call me that!". "Your majesty", he calmly corrected, "I believe it is best for you to have some privacy. If you would most graciously permit it to be so....".
"Leave me.", replied the crown prince of Prussia, ignoring the doctor's bow and except for the clicking of the door first when opened and then when closed not noticing his exit.
As the door closed again, puffing out a few candles as it went, only silence remained. Silence and darkness; Silence for the single man in the room that was alive, darkness for the one that was not.
This cloud, or a fog rather, filling the room undisturbed except for the occasional clamoring of a son struck with the grief, the curses of a man who has become faith's victim.


The doctor of the court having exited first, Friedrich was fully aware that the officers and nobles, assembled in the living room outside of his door, knew the fate of his late father. Deep within he somehow hoped that he would be stepping into an empty room, that he could be alone. Or even better, that across the great wooden door, oak perchance?, stood his healthy father waiting.
But he knew it not to be, and so applying a strong force on the doors he opened both and stepped through.

The unfiltered sunlight stung in his eyes and smelling fresh air he suddenly understood how much his father's bedroom hadn't been vented. Taking a deep breath he regained his concentration, and looked around the expensively furnished living room in the residential parts of the palace. All around him were the high and mighty men of Prussia, or at least all that had come towards Berlin as the previous king's... (he swallowed some spit at noticing he already thought of his father as the previous king, for where did that place him) ...bouts of madness turned into a more serious illness.
They must have heard and seen the door open, for they all started standing up if they were seated and bowing down on one knee regardless of if they were.
Friedrich wanted to speak. So many options for things he could say flew through his head, whizzing by one after the other. But he was preempted by a herald in Hohenzollern liveries that had been standing to his right. "The king is dead!", the servant proclaimed, "Long live the king!". And in unison was chanted the response, by all of the attending, "Long live the king! Long live Friedrich Wilhelm the fourth!" He saw the glistering of metal and heard the sound of many a sabre being unsheathed,"Hail to the king! Hail to the king of Prussia!"

Stadtschloss, Berlin, Königreich PreußenApril 1st - 1835
A knock was heard on the door to the Crown prince's private rooms. Ignoring the knocking with a shrug Friedrich Wilhelm continued his work at the drafting table.
Once more, whoever it was outside, knocked. After a second futile attempt at keeping his solitude the new monarch gave the visitor permission to enter, clearly rather annoyed at being disturbed.
The man entering was none other than his own new minister-president, the honorable Carl, count of Wylich and Lottum. "It is good to see you at least have not isolated yourself in darkness", exclaimed Carl at the sight of open and revealed windows, "though I must wonder where dear Elisabeth is, your maj...". "Don't.", interrupted him the king of Prussia, "Not yet. Anyway, I asked her for the privacy I shall miss, for some quiet and serenity in order to be able to draft. A request that was addressed at you just as much, but clearly you have decided not to heed it, count.". The count clearly took note of the stab at his rank and the implications that might be behind it, but revealed no explicit reaction and instead stepped forward and around Friedrich, allowing himself to watch him at work. The monarch reluctantly continued working, ignoring his visitor as good as he could. Slowly bits of pieces marked on the paper stopped being those and instead turned into gardens, springs, windows and walls, a palace of paper. "Is it possible that we have been blessed with a monarch to rival old Fritz, or is it merely in architecture and landscaping that you intend to fill his footsteps?", asked Carl, hoping in vain to receive the king's attention. "But to answer the question you did not ask, I came because the State Council wished to know of your well-being. Because I wished to know of your well-being.".
The count stopped speaking, and for a while the two powerful men remained there, in silence, the only noise being that of Friedrich drawing on his paper. Finally the Hohenzollern did reply, "Will there be an autopsy?". And after receiving a positive answer he looked Carl in the face, and then nodded at the door. When the count stood at the door, Friedrich asked once more, "Wait! Did you already have someone inform my son and sister1?". The count of Wylich and Lottum, Minister-President to his second king, only nodded. And as the door closed he moved aside his draft of a palace and worked on a different project instead.

April 7th

"I don't quite know how he got word of me, but he did. We agreed on a meeting in the Botanic Garden, on the 16th of March. We agreed to meet at 13:00, but you see, I am a careful man... so I arrived half an hour early. Clearly I was not the more careful one of us, as it seems he had been there before me. He hadn't recognized me yet, but I could see him standing at the agreed spot. The sun shown high at its zenith, its golden rays illuminating the park and its surroundings.
And yet a serene quiet hung over the garden like a veil, only a handful of people walking through the park. I had considered that mayhaps it just was another monday and...
So, he probably had been standing there for quite a while, as I saw him pull out a pocket-watch from, well, one of the pockets on his long coat. I continued walking, while attempting to keep an eye on him, as I did not want him suspecting that I had come earlier than agreed. At times I got close, and he actually seemed nervous. I originally had been surprised to see such a powerful and influential man visibly so nervous, but then I considered how I myself wasn't quite calm either.
When my own watch showed me that time was finally getting close to the agreed-upon meeting's, I finished my other pass and finally stepped in his direction. He was wearing a top hat and a grey coat, while holding a wooden cane under his right arm. He asked me of my reputation, and when I confirmed he cut to the chase and asked me whether I would be willing to do a service to the Prussian realm. I informed him that I could not, would not, work with the establishment lest I be revealed, that I was scared of operating on a potentially high-profile target. He threatened that my identity was already known to him, so that he would do what he wanted to do regardless of my cooperation and hold me to blame if I would not help him. At that point he started walking, visibly uncomfortable discussing such a risky matter while remaining stationary in public. Being motioned to follow, I did. He assured me that once the job was done he would forget my name.

Stadtschloss, Berlin, Königreich PreußenApril 8th - 1835
Friedrich sighed as he saw the work stacked up. He had allowed himself to do only minimal work in the last few days. But he knew that now things could not wait anymore, and got to work.

Königreich Preußen

To Aleksander Bajrami, Chancellor of Epirus

Greetings, you of which tales of misdeeds are told from the Americas to Nippon.
How dare thee besmirch the queen of Greece, Alexandrine von Hohenzollern, as a woman that may cause a war that would not be just in its entirety.
No, good sir, the grand Kingdom of Prussia shall and will not aid the Grand Duchy of Epirus, be it diplomatically or otherwise, for to do so would be to break the great and eternal bond of trust we share with the government of the Hellenic Kingdom, which we not only have aided militarily in the past and shall aid it so in the future, but to which we personally have dispatched a group of our best troops.
Therefore we assume that should war erupt it will have been at the behest of your government and act as we see appropriate to the situation of our allies in athens.

his majesty, the King of Prussia, Head of of house Hohenzollern, eldest brother of a young queen known as Alexandrine,
Friedrich Wilhelm, the fourth to his name.

Königreich Preußen

To His Grace the Count of Girona, Minister of the State for His Royal Highness King Joseph III

It saddens me to inform you that a mere 8 days ago my father, none other than Friedrich Wilhelm III took his last breath.
But as far as your request goes, there should surely be an available lady or multiple, amongst others of the two Catholic cadet lines to our own house, which could be considered for a such a potential arrangement.
Alternatively, a potential queen might be found in our main line, in which case though she would currently be Protestant and a conversion would have to be discussed first.

his majesty, the King of Prussia,
Friedrich Wilhelm IV of house Hohenzollern


To My dearest sister, Alexy

I have trouble writing this letter, but I did not want you to hear the news from anybody but myself and neither did I want to have you remain in the dark longer than you must.
A mere few hours again, at nightfall on the 31st of March our beloved father after a period of illness died, may he rest in peace.
I would write more, but at this point in time I do not see much to say except for what is necessary.

Yours, always,
Last edited by The Jonathanian States on Tue Nov 03, 2015 11:49 am, edited 1 time in total.
Returned Nationstater -- You can leave Nationstates but Nationstates won't leave you.
Call me Jon, John, or Johnny, Jonathan or Jonnyboy, tJS and Jonathanian, with "states" or without.
This nation doesn't really represent my views and sarcasm is awesome.

User avatar
Posts: 8963
Founded: Jan 05, 2014

Postby Elepis » Tue Nov 03, 2015 9:39 am

Reserved for the Caliph of all Islam
"Krugmar - Today at 10:00 PM
Not sure that'll work on Elepis considering he dislikes (from what I've observed):
A: Nationalism
B: Religion being taken seriously
C: The Irish"

User avatar
Terminus Alpha
Posts: 1626
Founded: Jan 10, 2015

Postby Terminus Alpha » Tue Nov 03, 2015 12:49 pm

Reserved for Hersperia.
RP Interests: Alt-Hist, Space, 20th Century onward.
In the process of becoming a History teacher.
Center-Left-Libertarian | "Dirty filthy hippie"
Agnostic Atheist

User avatar
Posts: 2649
Founded: Aug 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Jaslandia » Tue Nov 03, 2015 7:20 pm

Doukas Palace, Dyrrachium, Grand Duchy of Epirus
April 20, 1835

It had begun. After much waiting and prayers that it would not come to pass, Naples had invaded Epirus. A Cabinet meeting with the Grand Duke and Duchess, the Ducal Cabinet, and the Consul had been called for the purpose of war planning.

“At this point,” War Minister Athanasios Metaxas began, “Aulon and much of the south of the country has fallen to Neapolitan forces. Dyrrachium is under siege, an army is marching through the north near Lezhe, and much of our navy is either blockaded in Dyrrachium or fell into Neapolitan hands when Aulon fell.”

“What’s the current status of our navy, them?” Grand Duchess Theodora asked.

“Currently, we have 2 Ships of the Line, 3 frigates, 2 sloops, and 11 galleys. Of those ships, two galleys and one sloop are currently in Venice.”

“Call them back to Dyrrachium,” the Grand Duchess ordered. “Once the ships arrive, we’ll stage a two-way break-out: the ships trapped in the port on one side, and the ships from Venice on the other side. It’s a long-short, but it’s worth a try.”

“Very well,” the War Minister replied. “And what of the situation on land?”

Blockade of Dyrrachium

“Send the 4,150 men Northern Army after the northern Neapolitan force,” Chancellor Aleksander Bajrami said. “We shall intercept them near Balldre. Also, we already mobilized 25% of our forces, so now mobilize the rest of them! That should bring us to around 29,000 men.”

“Of course, sir.”

“What is the status of the Southern Army?” Grand Duke Michael asked.

“Most of them retreated, Your Majesty,” War Minister Metaxas responded. “About 3,750 managed to escape before Aulon fell, and they are now marching toward Tirana to regroup.”

“The Central Army is already in Tirana,” Chancellor Bajrami stated. “We can easily make Tirana our new base of operations, now that Dyrrachium is insecure. Still, we many need to take some troops away from Tirana in order to lift the siege of Dyrrachium. How much longer can Dyrrachium hold out, Athanasios?”

“The city is well-supplied,” the War Minister began, “we have determined forces. I’d wager a couple more weeks at least. Maybe even a month or two.”

“We have some time, then. Send word to General Christoforos Demetriou at Tirana. Tell him that as soon as General Dorotheos Marinos and his Southern Army arrive from Aulon, I want the Central Army to move out to reinforce Dyrrachium and lift the siege. And, if we’re lucky, General James Derby’s Northern Army might be able to deal with the northern Neapolitan army quick enough to allow Derby’s force to come to Dyrrachium to lift the siege.”

“It seems a lot of our plans rely on luck, Aleksander,” Grand Duchess Theodora remarked.

“It’s the best we can do,” the Chancellor replied. “We’re gonna need a bit of luck if we’re going to even survive this war. Now then, is there anything else that needs to be said?”

“Indeed there is,” the War Minister replied. “As you may know, there are some pro-Neapolitan partisans based in southern Epirus that are causing some trouble for the Southern Army. I suggest we discreetly arm our own partisans. They would easily outnumber Naples’s partisans, and we could use the guerrilla forces to control the roads and harass enemy forces.”

“A very sound plan,” Grand Duchess Theodora agreed. “I give it my full approval. Issue the order at once. Now, if that is all, I suppose we can call this meeting adjourned.”

“Actually, there is one more thing,” the Chancellor interrupted. “Theodora, Dyrrachium is under siege. If things go wrong and the city falls, we’ll all be prisoners of the Neapolitans.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Aleksander. Myself and Michael will stay here to rally the troops. You and the rest of the government must relocate to Tirana until it is safe to return.”

“No!” Bajrami cried. “You and your husband are symbols of the Epirote nation and national unity! You being captured would be a devastating blow to morale. You must flee with the government to Tirana. Me and Deputy War Minister Vasil Dibra shall stay behind to rally the troops.”


“I insist, Your Majesty!”

Theodora sighed. Bajrami had made up his mind, and she could do nothing to persuade him. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Just outside of Dyrrachium, Dyrrachium, Epirus
April 21, 1835

The next evening, the ducal family gathered with the War Minister, the Foreign Minister, and the Interior Minister. The Grand Duke and Duchess shed their royal attire, in favor of a cloak and the simple clothes of a middle-class merchant. Carrying a set of forged papers in a trunk, Grand Duke Michael took the name 'Marcello Castro'; his was traveling with his wife 'Alfonsina', their children 'Giacomo' and 'Maria', and their family servants 'Benito', 'Luigi', and 'Lorenzo'. The royals also carried a few gold coins each, in case of emergencies.

The group some supplies onto a cart pulled by two donkeys. 'Marcello' and 'Alfonsina' each rode a mule, while the 'servants' and children walked beside the mules. The group walked through the empty streets of the market district; with supplies being limited, most preferred to hoard what they had left rather than trade, and what was for sale had long been sold. At last, the group went through the city walls, and walked toward the Neapolitan camp outside the city. The royals were just about to pass the camp, when they were spotted.

"Stop!" yelled a guard. "Halt your ass right there! State your business!"

"I'm a merchant, sir," 'Marcello' explained. "This is my wife, my children, and my servants. I have my papers right here! I must get to Tirana at once!" The Grand Duke pulled out a stack of papers from his trunk and handed them to the first guard. The two guards looked over the papers.

"Looks real to me," the second guard said as he handed back the papers. "Why are you going to Tirana? We have orders not to let anyone get to Epirote-controlled territory."

"We're trying to preserve our wealth," 'Marcello' responded. "Dyrrachium is under siege. We'll be safer in Tirana."

"I hope you realize that you won't be safe in Tirana for long, even if we did let you through; our army is going to get to Tirana and besiege it eventually, and you'll be in danger again."

"We realize that, sir," the Grand Duchess stated. "However, with the way the war is going, we figured the Epirotes would surrender before the Neapolitan army even got to Tirana."

The first guard nodded. "Makes sense to me, but I'm not fully convinced," he said deviously. "Perhaps there's some way you could change my mind?" The guard held out the palm of his hand.

'Marcello' quickly obliged. He reached into his cloak pocket, pulled out a gold coin, and handed it to the guard.

"Very convincing," the devilish guard said with a smirk, "but not convincing enough."

"I gave you money," the Grand Duke said firmly. "Now let us through."

The smirk stayed on the first guard's face. "You have a very fine ass," the guard said. No one was sure if he was referring to the donkey, or the Grand Duchess. Regardless, the Grand Duke understood the intent. He turned to his wife. Loudly grumbling, 'Alfonsina' took a gold coin out of her cloak pocket and handed it to the first guard.

"Thank you for your patronage," the guard said as gestured for the group to move along. "You are free to leave. Safe travels!" The ducal family and their entourage rode past the camp and away from Dyrrachium, with the guards returning to the encampment. The royals were now free, as they continued their journey to safety.

General James Derby’s headquarters, Skordra, Epirus
April 23, 1835

At a two-story brick house that served as the HQ for the Northern Army, General James Derby of the Epirote Army sat at a table, sipping tea. Originally an officer in the British Army, the adventurous Derby longed to see action, and when the Greeks declared independence, Derby rushed to Athens to fight for the Greeks. Derby served in Greece for a year-and-a-half, rising to become a colonel, before he became disgusted with the Greek leadership and joined the Epirote Army. Again, Derby rose through the ranks, and two years ago, was appointed General of the Northern Army.

General James Derby

As Derby was sitting in his office, an Epirote scout walked in. “The Neapolitans are marching north,” the scout reported. “They are on the road to Balldre.”

“I see,” Derby said. “Why would they go there?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but by avoiding Skodra, they have given us a valuable opportunity.”

The swashbuckling Derby smiled. “Indeed you are right, my boy. Send word to the troops! We’re moving out to Balldre to intercept the Neapolitans.”

The scout saluted the English general. “Yes, sir!” The young scout replied, as he rushed out to spread the word.

Port of Venice, Venice, Republic of Venice
April 25, 1835

Meanwhile, Venice was abuzz as the Venetian citizenry and government found out how dire Epirus’s situation was. Among those who was worried was Amerigo Selvaggio, an Epirote naval commander who had been ordered to keep his three ships in Venice for safekeeping. Now that Epirus was under attack, Selvaggio had been ordered to return to Dyrrachium to assist in lifting the siege of the capital.

“Prepare yourselves, men!” Selvaggio yelled to his sailors as they prepared to depart. “Whether we win or lose, we are about to become heroes!” The sails went up, and the ships drifted out of the harbor, bound for Dyrrachium. However, before he left, Selvaggio delivered an urgent message from the Grand Duchess herself.

To: The Doge of Venice
From: Theodora I, Grand Duchess of Epirus

Greetings, my dear friend!

I write to you today in dire times. Naples has declared war on my humble dominion, and your support is urgently required.

As we speak, the Neapolitan navy and army are besieging Dyrrachium. My armies shall do their best to combat the Neapolitan menace, but with my navy being trapped and its only hope of survival being a risky break-out, I fear my options are limited. Please, I beg for you to help!

I would like to propose that you send your finest ships to aid the Epirote cause. When your ships join up with mine, we shall form a strong force that will destroy the Neapolitan blockade and force them to lift the siege. With the capital secured, Venetian troops can help Epirote partisans to retake southern Epirus, while my own forces sweep out the remaining Neapolitan forces in the north and center. My hope is that we shall inflict enough casualties on the Neapolitans to force to sue for peace and agree to terms favorable to Epirus.

I pray that your Republic shall aid our cause, and may God preserve the Most Serene Republic!

Signed, Grand Duchess Theodora

Post summary:

- Ships in Venice being recalled to Dyrrachium to assist in breaking the siege
- General James Derby's Northern Army sent to intercept Neapolitan 3rd Division near Balldre
- Rest of Epirote reserves begin mobilization
- Remainder of General Dorotheos Marinos's Southern Army retreating from Aulon toward Tirana
- General Christoforos Demetriou's Central Army ordered to reinforce Dyrrachium upon arrival of the Southern Army
- Epirote government begins arming partisans and guerrilla fighters
- Royal family and a few ministers flee Dyrrachium; Chancellor and Deputy War Minister stay behind to coordinate defense of the capital
- Theodora pleads for help from Venice

Northern Army
Commander: General James Derby
4,150 men (reserves incoming)

Central Army
Commander: General Christofores Demetriou
4,149 men (reserves incoming)

Southern Army
Commander: General Dorotheos Marinos
3,750 men (reserves incoming)
Last edited by Jaslandia on Wed Nov 11, 2015 2:40 pm, edited 5 times in total.
Call me Jaslandia or Jas, either one works
This nation (mostly) represents my political views.
Puppets: Partrica, New Jaslandia, Kasbahan
Pro: Regulated Capitalism, Two-state solution, nice people, Nerdfighteria, democracy, science, public education, rationalism, reason, logic, politeness, LGBT rights, feminism, UN, Democratic Party

Anti: Religious extremism/fundamentalism, terrorism, dictatorship, oppression, hatred, bigotry, racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, conspiracy theories, Stalinism, theocracy, social conservatism, corruption, Nazism, Vladimir Putin, Republican Party

In-between: Religion, socialism, Barack Obama

RP Population: 675,000,000

User avatar
The Holy Dominion of Inesea
Posts: 14608
Founded: Jun 08, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Holy Dominion of Inesea » Wed Nov 04, 2015 10:27 am

Port Shinji, Ninko Island, Kopeku Islands, Empire of Oda(Guadalcanal)
Week of April 15th

Commander Sawaya Unkei was the first official Oda official to step foot on the island. He accepted an Oda flag and thrust it into the soil. “I claim this Island to be Ninko and this settlement to be Port Shinji. Tenno Heika Banzai!” On the coast, three ships from the Oda Bicol Colony, were offloading men and material in a string of rowboats. Paid Song explorers had given this location to Sawaya’s men. Under the mandate of the Emperor, Sawaya was ordered to establish a refueling and refurbishment port here. He had three hundred soldiers and one hundred porters under his command. One of the ships, the twenty two gun Kaze no Saji, would complete the 2,000 kilometer roundtrip every week or so, bringing food and supplies from New Hokkaido. The thirty four gun Imjin, would remain and stand guard over the fledgling colony. The final ship, a thirty gun frigate, returned to Bicol. Sawaya sent out thirty men to explore the immediate vicinity while the porters unloaded the gear and his soldiers began to dig berms. Fortifications came first in the mind of Sawaya. The settlement was a semicircle around a peninsula, with berms rising along the perimeter. Porters rigged tents and makeshift shelters.

On the third day, when the thirty man expedition was due to return, a series of gunshots rang out from the jungle west of the berm. Soldiers dropped what they were doing and grabbed their firearms. The sentry on the still in construction berm sounded off one long blow of the trumpet. Allies returning. Another blow. Allies returning under fire. From the forest emerged the men of the expedition. They were retreating under fire. Arrows and slingshots rained down on the men. Some were dragging wounded comrades. Others fell under the torrent of missiles. The soldiers on the berm opened fire into the woods. Using the cover of the new barrage, the soldiers made it back into the fort. Eleven dead, five wounded, and fourteen unharmed. The leader and his assistant had been killed on the second day. The party had retreated under heavy fire from the natives. They had attacked without any warning and often in ambush. The only thing the soldiers had learned was the village was located on the coast. Sawaya dispatched the Imjin to destroy the village in retribution.

Ginji, West New Guinea

-An expedition explores the wilds of the Island
-2,000 men from the Home Islands arrive to assist in the colonial operations
-A private venture obtains a charter to build and port on Manokwari

Nagoya, Oda Empire

-News from Song and Ambassador Tokugawa
-Sakura Home Army(65,000 men) dispatched to Song, to meet up with Joseon Army and march on Donjing
I'm really tired

User avatar
Fascist Republic Of Bermuda
Posts: 1954
Founded: Apr 28, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Fascist Republic Of Bermuda » Wed Nov 04, 2015 9:48 pm

République de Nouvelle Gallia
Chapter 1: Up North

Quebec City, New France, Nova Gallia
April 18th, 1835

"The Columbians have done what?!" The cry rang throughout the room. Every head was turned towards the center of the room, on the messenger who had delivered the news to the members of the National Assembly.

"Erm... The Columbians have reportedly violated our territory in . We have reports from the border, but those are from March. They could be near Cloquet by now!"

Then the entire room broke into argument. "War!" Screamed Loïc De Villepin of Acadia."We can't!" Raged Jean-Yves Beaulne of New France, "The Columbians will surely beat us!"

President Pierre-Louis Castex's mouth was dry. Every military mind in the entire nation had feared this day would come. The day when the Columbians would decide to get rid of Nova Gallia, as it were. Endless plans had been drawn up of every sort: diplomatic, military, even a few economic plans had been proposed. The Army was trained to defend, citizens had the right to own and use firearms. Yet, despite every plan, every contingency, Nova Gallia's prospects were not looking good.

Fort Bourbon, Rupertsland, Nova Gallia
April 7th, 1835

-force of 500 dispatched to reclaim Haute-Louisiane

Fort Ely, Haute-Louisiane, Nova Gallia
May 12th, 1835

-garrison of 250 attempts sortie, fails.

Official Communiqué of the Republic of Nova Gallia
To: President Andreas von Johansen of the Columbian Federation
From: Foreign Minister Léon Bordeaux of the Republic of Nova Gallia
Monsieur President von Johansen-

On the 17th of March, in the year of our Lord 1835, Columbian troops violated Nova Gallian soverign territory in the region of Haute-Louisiane. Our sources indicate that your forces have seized the region's capital without so much as a statement. We demand to know why you are violating our territory, followed by a public apology and complete withdrawal of all Columbian troops from the region of Haute-Louisiane. May God have mercy on your soul.

Sincerely, Léon Bordeaux, Foreign Minister, Rep. of Nova Gallia.
Last edited by Fascist Republic Of Bermuda on Wed Nov 04, 2015 9:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
N U T S !



Remove ads

Return to Portal to the Multiverse

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Aidannadia, Bortslovakia, Britanania, Demorvian, Imperialisium, Ormata, Ralnis, Union Princes


Remove ads