The Medieval South [IC]

[SangMar]

Beaumont, Texas - Calm Once More, but Not Really

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“Ah. Gene Browster.” The Path member nodded quickly, “Well, my name’s Thomas Ouellet - my family came down from Quebec - back when it was New France anyway. They settled just outside New Orleans - in fellow Français territory. Though, at the moment, I happen to be living in Arkansas - just on the fringe of the Indian Territory.” The man did seem convincing, so the Path member felt there was little choice in giving him his name - there wasn’t much point going into specifics on where he was living though: he doubted Paradise Under-the-Sky was on any maps. “I’m just here on official business with a little, uh - organisation that I’m a part of. We’re just looking to set up some links down here for future planning; after all, it’s better that we’ve got a few friendly faces down here to look to-“

Suddenly, the Path member looked around - slowly however, so as not to alarm “Gene” and then realised something significant. “It’s getting quite late, wouldn’t you say? Well, I’m going off in search of a boarding house or place to put my head down for the night... Be seeing you.” After a quick farewell, Thomas walked on, soon finding a small boarding house that offered cheap rooms. So he paid the fee, which was scarcely a dollar or two and settled in, ready for the night...

The next morning, Thomas would awaken - planning on leaving the odd little town behind: there really wasn’t much here to justify staying - in goods or people, after all. After finding his horse - thankfully still tied up where he left it the previous night, he mounted it, and began a slow trot through the streets - eventually coming up the skirmish line of Beaumont Police and Texas Rangers, who were facing off apparently in some matter or other. Now, he didn’t want to intrude, but he did want to check in on “Gene” before he left - mainly to wish him well. So he rode up to one of the local policemen and spoke to him. “Good morning, would you know where I could find Gene? Gene - he’s a fellow who works for the town government, I believe? And, I’d quite like to see him - I just thought one of you would know...”

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

BILL MERCER

---

Biltmore Palace

"Tell 'em Jackson wants 'em manning a new line from Black Mountain to Weaverville, directly," Bill hissed in the young rider's ear. He was a private in the Roanoke Rifles, a bit jittery, but a right good horseman nonetheless. "The defense of the Emperor is in Virginia's hands, and we ain't gonna let 'em down." With that, Mercer lightly slapped the horse's rear and bellowed, "Now get!"

As the rider flew north toward Woodfin, a slave approached him, leading Highlander by the reins. Mercer swung onto his horse and, as he led him at a brisk trot through the palace gardens, made sure everything was in place. He had hastily shed his old Confederate uniform, replacing it his waxed cotton duster and nondescript civilian clothes so as to disguise himself from the partisans that he reckoned were crawling the hills— though his worn Jeff Davis hat still sat proudly on his head. His LeMat revolver rested comfortably in his holster, a Henry repeater secure in the rifle scabbard along Highlander's flank. The rest of his gear was the bare minimum— rations and water, mainly.

Mercer's plan was simple. He would make for Morganton— the nearest telegraph station he knew of that hadn't been impeded by the partisans, unless he found one closer— whence he would send a telegram to Lexington, mobilizing the Roanoke Rifles on Stonewall Jackson's authority. He would then complete the rest of his journey on horseback to Lexington, where he would ensure that Jackson's kin and holdings were secure, marshal the men, and await further orders. As he led Highlander through the rugged hills of the Appalachians, the refined civility of Biltmore growing more distant by the second, Bill only hoped that simple plan wouldn't be complicated by some partisans hiding in the brush all about him.

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Council Chambers, Biltmore Palace

As more and more nobles committed portions of their armies to the coming war zone in Appalachia Kelsey felt like he needed to contribute to the cause. During the war to separate from the Union South Carolina contributed some sixty thousand men to the fight. Kelsey had the means and the influence to raise just as many, even more if he sent word back to Charleston. However, sending thousands upon thousands of men into the mountains wasn't a feasible or intelligent strategy. He wanted to keep the casualties as low as he could. For all sides involved.

"I offer the assistance of my railways and rail cars to any Noble bringing troops up to meet this threat to the Confederacy. I will also bring the 10th South Carolina Infantry up to join us as soon as I can gather them. However, before we commit thousands of our people we must discuss strategy. We may outmatch them in sheer numbers, but in those mountains and forests that advantage will be limited. They'll be entrenched there. They know the terrain better than us. It will be a struggle of attrition in Appalachia, the same struggle we had with the North. And since our empire lived it should be noted that method of war can be highly effective."

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Near the Virginia border, January 1877

Newton Knight sipped his cup of pitch-black coffee, fixing his eyes on the figure in front of him, the man whom he could only assume was Thoth, the representative from the Underground Railroad.

Putting down his cup, he gave the African American gentleman a gentle smile.

"Guilty as charged, dear sir. It seems that my civilian outfit only goes that far when it comes to traveling incognito."

With a gesture of his hand, Knight invited the gentleman to sit down at his table.

"The journey has been fine, thanks for asking. I cherish every opportunity to breathe in some fresh countryside air and survey how the farms and homesteads are doing.
As for why I am here: I like to handle matters personally whenever I am able. There's something special about personal interaction that cannot be mimicked by messengers and representatives alone, in my opinion."

Knight realised suddenly that the man who spoke to him had not yet introduced himself. Knowing full-well that the delicate matter at hand required the necessary amount of discretion, Knight decided to ensure that he was indeed talking to the man only known as Thoth.

"You know who I am, sir. However, I still remain in the dark as to the name of the gentleman with whom I'm having the pleasure of conversation. Forgive me for prying as to what brings you to this fine establishment?"


Washington Carroll Tevis
Special Agent in service of Governor Knight
At the Hanging Tree Tavern
Wilkesboro, North Carolina
Early Evening, January 1877

Chewing down the roast lamb that he was finishing up, Tevis looked at the priest. He was expecting someone to reach out to him eventually, of course. That was the entire point of his trip here.

Yet nevertheless, he had not expected being greeted by the famous Quaker all the way out here in a tavern in what at least on paper was still a Confederate town. Tevis had, of course, learned a lot about the frontier area in his days as wartime Colonel of the US Cavalry, and more recently as the de facto spymaster of the State of Maryland. He knew of Reverend Endicott, the man of faith who was known and well liked through the Appalachian and beyond. Tevis knew him to be an known abolitionist, although this could basically be said about any Quaker by virtue of the very tenets of their faith.

What was more surprising however, is that Reverend Endicott, based on the way he introduced himself, seemed to know who Washington Tevis was. Could the peaceful looking cleric indeed be a member of the Partisans? Tevis decided that no matter what, it always pays to be cautious, considering the matter that he had come down to North Carolina for.

"Good evening, Reverend. It's an honour to make your acquaintance. And I must say the mountains have been a hospitable host indeed. Mountain air can do wonders for a man, I tell you.
But I digress. The name's Charles. Charles de Taillevis, at your service. To what do I owe the pleasure of being in a conversation with an esteemed member of the Society of Friends such as yourself? As much as this humble Catholic would love to engage in theological musings, I do have the impression that this is not the cause for our interaction, pleasant though it is."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Long ago, 1867
Outside Boone, North Carolina

A field victory. Anything for a field victory

As soon as the sergeants could see the outline of their hands against the dark blue sky, they had roused their troopers. Camped outside Boone was a Confederate brigade: two regiments of infantry, a regiment of supporting cavalry and some horse artillery. The core of what remained of Braxton Bragg’s two divisions. The units hadn’t so much been destroyed or routed, but entirely dislodged. Stuck, as it were, in invisible mud. A mud that ate baggage trains and murdered officers in their sleep, a mud that threatened a moving column from every side. Disease, lack of sleep and lack of supplies proved more murderous than enemy fire, which was plenty deadly in and of itself. What remained was about one full division, but most of it was tied up defending the roads and supply dumps. Anything less than a regiment could not protect depots, the partisans took care of that. This left only one brigade with room to maneuver, and that brigade was now marching out of Boone, down the road towards Independence.

Lieutenant Hurst looked from horseback as the column of infantry marched past. Even in the dim morning light, their faces were easy to read. These men were angry. Frustrated. Most of them had not fired a single shot in battle, and yet the campaign already looked lost. It had been lost on the fringes, with small engagements at a time. A loss was not measured in miles of retreat or casualties, but felt directly by how little the soldiers had to eat. How little they had to wear. Their boots were worn incredibly thin, the only troopers with new boots being the ones disobedient enough to loot them. The fought an invisible enemy, and they were ready to give them a right kick where it hurt. So much firepower, and they lost from an inferior force without once firing a cannon. It hit them where it hurt, and they were ready to repay the partisans with a vengeance.

Hurst stood up in his stirrups and looked behind him. Behind himself and the colonel stood a large oak, which had been repurposed as a Hanging Tree. From it dangled corpses in varying states of decay. The branches were covered in crows, sleeping until first light to see what feast had been prepared for them today. The signs that hung from the hanged men’s necks were not legible with so little light, but Hurst knew what they said. ‘Deserter’ was a common one. ‘Anarchist’ another, a catch-all term for partisans of every creed. According to the laws of warfare, these were not combatants, but insurrectionists. What little members of the enemy they caught were unceremoniously hanged under Braxton’s orders. The partisans existed in a legal limbo: neither receiving the protections afforded by combatants nor those of a civilian court.

A third group was most common, though: ‘Sinners’. Another euphemism, this time for those who ‘violated the natural order of Men intended by God’. In other words, freed slaves. At the start of the campaign, Braxton had promised the free people of colour that they need not fear from his divisions. Back then, he was quite happy to be seen as some sort of magnanimous liberator. He expected to be welcomed like a hero. His welcome was lukewarm at best, and icy in all reality. The longer the campaign dragged on, the less Braxton was willing to hold back his troops. Until one night, there were no more free people of colour left in Boone, and the branches of the Hanging Tree were sagging with weight. After all, if you were a slave freed by the partisans, you were complicit in their crimes. You were, in person, their crime.

“How many blacks you reckon were freed here before the War?”

There had been many conflict in the South’s short history so far, but only one could truly be called ‘The War’. The colonel didn’t meet his gaze, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed he had been thinking about that too.

“Dunno” the colonel replied. Being the commanding officer of the White Knights, colonel Hamilton was a plantation owner himself, and no stranger to every form of brutality. It was probably why Braxton had taken them along on campaign in the first place, at least as a cavalry contingent.

“Best not to think about it, son” Hamilton replied to Hurst, still not looking back. “Whatever North Carolina’s law says, it’s an unnatural thing. Free blacks… An affront to God”

Hurst looked over his shoulder. The Hanging Tree, without the light of day, looked like a single dark mass. The trunk, branches, ropes and softly swaying bodies morphed into one entity, like a grasping hand. It had something biblical about it, something the Egyptians would do to their Jewish captives. Or what the Romans had done to Christ. Hurst wondered what the Lord would say, were he there with them. He was, of course. He Lord was always watching. Which made Hurst wonder why they were getting their asses handed to them all the time.

The back of the first regiment of infantry passed, filled with those who were just capable of walking. Between the end of the first regiment and head of the second rode the general staff. Braxton, sitting on his white horse, which almost seemed to shine in the dark. The man on it stood in sharp contrast with his horse. His shoulders were slouched, his face haggard and his hair and beard unkempt. He looked much like a boxer who had been shown all corners of the ring. He had been dragged to and fro through bad Appalachian winters, from shadow battle to shadow battle. Not once had the enemy engaged them in open battle. Even if they killed every single partisan by whittling them down, it would be no good. For political reasons, he needed a prestigious victory. Something the papers back home could write about. Something that would inspire fear. Something that would not cost him a division-and-a-half by attrition alone. Back home… as if they were in some foreign country here. Appalachians were Americans much like themselves.

“Are we going to win?” Hurst asked the colonel. Hamilton was a man who stood on ceremony, but who was not above a honest-to-god chat with the men under his command. He sometimes behaved like the poster child for the southern landowning class, with his white hat and uniform, a walking cane hanging besides his cavalry sabre. His big, white moustache bristled.

“If we can catch them in the open, with room for our cavalry to manoeuvre, and in range of our big guns, then we will win for sure” the colonel answered, and Hurst nodded. A moment of silence fell, punctuated by the sounds of marching boots and swinging rope.

“And… if we can’t? Catch them in the open, I mean?” Hurst said, breaking the silence. Hamilton considered.

“Better pray we do, son” was his only answer. “If the reports are correct, there is a big massing near Independence. Maybe they’ve gone cocky”

“God willing” Hurst answered, making the sign of the cross. Hamilton followed instinctively. You would never see him passing by an opportunity to do so. Just as they did, the end of the second infantry regiment had passed, and whatever part of the cavalry that was not screening ahead followed. Hurst and Hamilton fell in with them, preparing for a quick march to Independence.

One day later
Crossing the New River

“It’s always good to see the partisans make a mistake” Hamilton said, reading the short note handed to him by one of his riders. He saluted as the man rode off, relaying the information to the other colonels and the captains. “It reminds you they’re still human”

The partisans had failed to blow the bridge over the New River. Had they taken their time to destroy the flimsy wooden structure, as military doctrine dictated, then it would have taken the brigade far too long to cross. The partisans could have melted back into the mountains in time. As it stood, they would not have time. The column of Confederate soldiers powered on, elated that they had the bridge to cross. At this pace, they would give the rebels a good licking before the day was up. It was the moment they had been waiting for the whole campaign. As quiet as the start of the march had been, so jubilant were the troopers now. Songs carried down the column, and the men were laughing and joking as they went.

This made it all the more confusing when the column came to a sudden halt. The front of the second regiment had just crossed the river, and the trailing cavalry regiment could just spot the wooden structure of the small wooden bridge.

“What the devil…” Hamilton cursed, standing up in his stirrups to look further down the line. Hurst followed his example, but there was nothing to be seen. The soldiers started whispering among one another, some confused, others annoyed. A good, steady march was nothing to sneeze at, and when traffic jams like this started they would throw off the whole groove of a march.

Before long, a trooper came riding down the line, his face red with exertion, panting and sweating in the saddle. He quickly handed a short note, bearing the general’s handwriting, to Hamilton. He colonel took the note and quickly scanned it, cursing between his teeth.

“It’s the rebels” he said, spitting on the ground beside his horse. “The first regiment of infantry has been engaged on the other side of the river. Braxton has gone over, the rest of the brigade is to cross the river and engage them” he finished, folding the piece of paper and putting it in his pocket.

“But that’s insane” Hurst answered. “They cannot stand against two regiments, they will be slaughtered”

“Better for us” Hamilton answered shortly, but there was hesitation in his voice. “Let’s move out. Find a better spot to cross, it will take a while before the infantry clears the bridge”

“I don’t think there is another spot, colonel. We’ve already checked” one of the scouts said, but he couldn’t count on the colonel’s understanding.

“Then check again, I’m not waiting here for our boys to die out there” Hamilton bit back. The scout quickly saluted and rode off again, this time riding past the river at incredible speeds. Hamilton, meanwhile, gestured for the trailing horse artillery to move forward, and get across the bridge as soon as possible. They needed the heavy guns towards the front, where they could overpower the rebels. Soon, the scout came riding back.

“Sir, I’m happy to report we found a crossing. Must have missed it the first time” the scout said apologetically. Hamilton didn’t give it much attention.

“Good. Let’s get this rabble moving” he simply said, spurring his horse onward. The rest of the regiment followed at a gallop, following the scout closely.

It took only a few minutes hard riding to come at the crossing. It was hard to spot from the river bank, which made it logical that the scouts had missed it the first time. Hurst saw a tree trunk lying a bit to the side, with very recent trails where the branches had scraped across the ground. The scouts probably had had to pull it aside to allow the cavalry to pass, which made it even more clear why the scouts had not spotted it the first time.

“There’s a hunting trail beyond, where we can ride single file” the scout said, pointing across the river.

“We can probably get the jump on the rebs, then” The colonel said. He drew his sabre and went over first, the rest of the regiment following suit. It was tough riding across the hunting trail, with the thick undergrowth scraping past their legs. They had to duck away from a few branches too. From where they were, they could hear the report of firearms, the staccato cracks of the rebel lever actions as well as the full volleys from Confederate rifles. From the sound of it, the trail took them past the fighting, which meant they could use it to fall onto the rebels from behind.

“Looks like we got them, boys!” the colonel shouted. The regiment drove on single-file, now nearing a rocky outcrop. Behind the rocks, they could see the forest getting thinner. They would enter an open field there, and that would give them room to manoeuvre. The rebels were finished. Hurst smiled and turned his head, shouting at one of the scouts.

“Good thing you found this trail, soldier! Even with the log in the way!”

The shout smiled back, but then gave him a strange look, himself looking back.

“What log?” he shouted back. Hurst looked back puzzled, and a few moments later realised what they were riding into. He turned forward, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting for the colonel.

“WE HAVE TO STOP, SIR” he yelled out. “IT’S A TR…”

At that moment, the first partisan shots were fired. Their heads popped up from behind the rocks on both sides of the trail. The colonel saw, but too late. He tried to halt his horse, as did Hurst, but a galloping horse was not quick to stop. It took a few yards, and even then, there was no room to manoeuvre.

“DISMOUNT” the colonel yelled, dragging his carbine from his holster and jumping off his horse. Hurst quickly followed, and so did the scout, but the latter was caught by a round on his way down and fell to the ground screaming. The rebels used lever-action rifles. Extremely high rates of fire, which was the reason Confederate generals had not given them to ordinary infantry. In the hands of irregulars, however, they were deadly tools. A consistent stream of fire rained down on them, shattering on the rock like a persistent hail. With the difference that, when one of the rounds found flesh, it would slam them to the floor.

There was no cover to speak of here. The rebels had chosen their position well, giving them a full view of all approaches. The horses ran off when they could, but some were caught in the crossfire, their corpses providing some of the only cover available to them. Soldiers began hiding behind the slopes of the environment or sturdy tree trunks, but the overlapping fields of fire meant that the partisans had a clear shot at everyone. Hamilton realised his all too soon. He began waving at his troops to fall back, and shouted hasty orders to everyone following.

“Get back, quickly! Fall…” he tried, but before he could finish a round found his waving hand, shattering it into a bloody mess. The colonel screamed with pain, but only for a moment. The next round found his shoulder, and half a second later, another found his head, cracking his skull in passing. He went suddenly silent, falling limply to the forest floor.

The next in command was captain Betty, who saw that retreat would just open them up to be picked off. He rallied the men and gave the order to charge the rocks, but he had not taken three steps before his chest was perforated. He had been moving forward, but the force of the bullets threw him backwards. From that point, the whole movement turned into chaos. Some used their carbines to shoot back. A group of riders tried to push through, but they were either picked off or ran onto stakes, hidden beneath the low growth brambles.

Hurst had discharged his carbine. He tried to reload his piece, but his shaking hand, covered by the blood of some compatriot, could not get the ramrod in. He fumbled with the percussion caps, but he could only drop them. After three tries, he silently cursed himself. He was not looking at a battle, but at a slaughter. The rear of the regiment was still intact, but they had elected to ride back to where they came from. However, in the distance, Hurst could see rebels rise from behind rocks and tree trunks. They had been cut off there as well. He cursed again.

By some work of miracle, Hurst managed to grab hold of a panicked horse that had gotten itself stuck behind a tree. He gave it a few hefty kicks, spurring the horse into motion. He could not go forward, and he could not go back. So, he moved the horse off the path, riding towards where he heard the battle take place. The infantry had probably had more luck against their partisan opponents, and if he could warn them that their flank was compromised, he could perhaps save the day still. After a few seconds of riding, Hurst felt a stinging pain in his upper right leg. He looked down, and saw a piece of bone sticking out. One of the riflemen had scored a hit, apparently. As soon as Hurst saw it, pain shot through his body, and it took all his power not to scream at the top of his lungs.

When he arrived at the main road, his ideas were shattered. The infantry had not carried through. The first Hurst saw was that the formations were falling back. As he entered into the open, he could see why. The rebels had brought up cannon of their own, and cannister shot had tore open the Confederate lines. From the amount of casualties, it must have been from very close quarters. The guns had probably been hidden behind the bushes, gone off as the Confederates had charged with bayonets. The charge had been turned back, and in half-order the troopers were falling back towards the river. Hurst rode towards the river, keeping his head low. There, a large body of men was trying to cross the small bridge, but a broken artillery train made that almost impossible. The bridge was absolutely packed.

Then, the hidden gunpowder charge beneath the bridge went off. The bridge was at once reduced to shrapnel, burning men flying here and there. Half-torn corpses hung from trees, and even closer, Confederate soldiers were perforated by pinwheeling pieces of burning wood. Hurst was kicked from his horse by the blast. For a moment, the forest was silent. Only a few seconds. Then, a cacophony of voices rose up. All cohesion was lost, then and there. Men left their rifles behind and started sprinting towards where the bridge had been, running over their wounded comrades without care. Hurst tried to get up, but his leg gave up under him, and he started dragging himself into the bushes. Right on his trail came the banshee wails of the partisans, either with swords, bayonets or large knives, cutting down who they could find in their path. The rattle of their gunfire was constant, firing from point-black at the grey mass of confederate soldiers. Blood sprayed with every hit, and men pushed over one another to get to the river. Hurst, too, when he finally got to the river’s edge, let himself tip over the edge into the water. The cold water felt like he was shot a second time, but as the water carried him down towards the plains, he closed his eyes, and passed into unconsciousness.

Biltmore Palace
Council Chamber
1877

Colonel Charles Hurst was decked out in full regalia for the coronation. His uniform was a pristine white, his sabre was almost gleaming silver, and his head adorned by a ridiculously white-feathered helmet, which marked him as a Grand Master of the White Knights of Christ. That, and the incredible amount of Christian symbols on his chest. He was there in two roles: protecting the person of the Emperor against external enemies (notably, not protecting him from himself), and representing the Order in the Imperial Council. Usually, this meant he was there in a household role, predicting what part of the emperor’s transport would be safe at any given time. However, now, he felt like he had a bigger role to play.

“With all due respect, gentlemen” he began, carefully. He took a few steps forward, his old war wound turning his steadfast stride into a limp.

“You won’t defeat the partisans by pouring more forces into the Appalachians. The more forces you put against them, the easier it will be for them to dislodge our supplies. If you march five divisions into the Appalachians, four divisions will die of starvation before you have brought them to bear”

He raised his chin.

“Allow me to handle this operation” he said, carefully judging the responses of the men involved.

“Give me the White Knights and the Texas Rangers, and some form of local North Carolinian militia, and I will beat the partisans at their own game.” He said boldly.

“With… your agreement, of course”

[Dentali]

Biltmore Palace
Council Chamber
1877

Colonel Charles Hurst was decked out in full regalia for the coronation. His uniform was a pristine white, his sabre was almost gleaming silver, and his head adorned by a ridiculously white-feathered helmet, which marked him as a Grand Master of the White Knights of Christ. That, and the incredible amount of Christian symbols on his chest. He was there in two roles: protecting the person of the Emperor against external enemies (notably, not protecting him from himself), and representing the Order in the Imperial Council. Usually, this meant he was there in a household role, predicting what part of the emperor’s transport would be safe at any given time. However, now, he felt like he had a bigger role to play.

“With all due respect, gentlemen” he began, carefully. He took a few steps forward, his old war wound turning his steadfast stride into a limp.

“You won’t defeat the partisans by pouring more forces into the Appalachians. The more forces you put against them, the easier it will be for them to dislodge our supplies. If you march five divisions into the Appalachians, four divisions will die of starvation before you have brought them to bear”

He raised his chin.

“Allow me to handle this operation” he said, carefully judging the responses of the men involved.

“Give me the White Knights and the Texas Rangers, and some form of local North Carolinian militia, and I will beat the partisans at their own game.” He said boldly.

“With… your agreement, of course”

"Right..." Longstreet said inspecting the man dressed like a bleached peacock "We aren't going to do that.... You want to march the Texas Rangers on the other side of the empire to North Carolina? Problem is a bit more immediate than that, not to mention the Rangers have their own problems. Furthermore, Jackson has no intention of just marching 4 divisions blindly into the woods and letting them starve to death. Having them available and spread across the Appalachians is not the same thing."

"My troops are veterans, growing up in the same kinds of backwoods and mountains these rebels did. I can't speak for the other divisions but i'd imagine they are more than capable. Besides I doubt these are the same unarmed women and children your knights are used to fighting."

Longstreet turned back to the table at large, "I shall ride to the nearest intact rail station and then return to Georgia, you may expect Georgian troops arriving as soon as possible. When they do they will be placed under the command of Jackson to root out the rebels however he sees fit."

[Union Princes]

Nate Jones: Chief of the Rangers

---

Nate slowly shook his head at that. “I’m afraid not, this port ain’t what I’d call prime ship making port in the south. Any ships of real gumption in the Navy were produced elsewhere in the Confederacy, or in Europe. Now I’m sure you’re aware that producing those ships takes time and money, and with your ship here, we could save some time and perhaps even money.” He took some time to pause, looking at the ship once more, before looking back to the Industrialist. “We all got bills to pay Mr. Colt, so why not let Texas pay yours? I’m confident your ship would make a fine addition to the fleet, and I’m even more confident the pay would be worth the endeavor for you and your men. Before you dismiss the offer, the least you could do is think over a contract. Throw some numbers around. A service of a year perhaps? Perhaps more? Nothing too inconvenient.”

Captain Colt thought long and hard on his offer. It's not every day a kingdom in the Confederacy would offer to subsidize his armories. Even less so that a kingdom would want the CSS Texas as part of their fleet. Colt's business side of his mind steadily approved of this arrangement. Texas was the biggest kingdom and it had plenty of untamed lands for settlers to live on. And those settlers would be potential buyers for his companies products. The profit grows larger when considering the inevitable expansion of the Texas army, especially with the US casting its shadow over the continent.

However, the naval officer side of Colt believed that his loyalty to the Confederacy should be above the kings and queens of the Deep South. It was no secret that the individual kingdoms had their own ambitions in the making and Colt knew by swearing fealty to the Texan King, he may be forced to renounce his oath to the Emperor. Ironic, a civil war within a country that fought a civil war to become a country.

"You strike a hard bargain, Mr. Jones." Colt replied politely, "You have my curiosity but I would like to speak to King Boykin directly to discuss the matter."

[Vienna Eliot]

Biltmore Palace

Was there a way to reclaim his dignity? A nurse fanned him as he came to in his bed. No explanation needed — he remembered what happened. After that? Andrew arrived shortly after George woke up. The Emperor greeted him with a toothy grin, but he didn't return one. Jackson had gathered the Council, Andrew explained to the Emperor, and nobles were offering up their forces. Last Andrew had heard before leaving to speak to the Emperor, the White Knights proposed a different course of action.

"Thankfully Colonel Hurst is talking sense into them as we speak," Andrew went on. "And since the Chancellor has taken command of the situation, you have time to rest. None of the court can blame you, of course. Your father passed only weeks ago. And now you are Emperor of the South, and at such a young age. Embrace their sympathy, your Majesty, and in a few days' time—"

"A few days!" George spat, sitting up in bed. "I am the Emperor! I am the King of the South!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and threw himself off, stumbling and feeling faint. Andrew went to steady him, but George slapped him away.

"George!" Andrew shouted, grabbing the Emperor by his shoulders. "If you are the Emperor, now is the time to act it!" George pulled away and marched back to his bed, sitting down in a huff.

"Tell the Council that we shall overwhelm them with force. We will crush them. All the men we can muster. They will... who are we fighting? Who attacked us?"

"Partisans, your Majesty. An irregular army of Union loyalists."

"How many men can we send after them?"

Andrew stared at the Emperor. He had been raised in Appalachia, true, but he had certainly never fought in it except against deer and small game. He knew nothing of military tactics or strategy. He surely had some skills. He was a talented poet and an expert horseman. He could appreciate certain luxuries and host raucous parties. And true, though he had yet to be tested in politics, he had time to learn. But war? That was no matter to learn on the job.

George grew impatient. "Send every able man we can, regardless. Instruct the Chancellor of my orders. Perhaps you are right... I ought to rest..."

"Of course. Your Majesty." Andrew bowed and exited. Walking through the halls of Biltmore, he grew worried, unsure. Should he convey the message? It would be his head if he didn't. And if it all failed? Whose head would it be then?

Andrew entered the Council chamber and approached Jackson, kneeling beside him and whispering: "The Emperor has ordered the full might of our forces to retaliate with haste." He was tempted to add: His order, not mine.

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Somewhere Near the Virginia Border

"What brings me here? This the only tavern in the county that doesn't water down its liquor," Robert Astor said returning the Governor's smile. "My name, the one I used to contact you, is Thoth. I represent the Ferryman and his network through the southern states. I apologize that the Ferryman couldn't come meet you in person today, as personal interaction you hold in high regard Governor. For his safety as well as for all those that rely on the network I first vet all new contacts."

Just then the waitress returned from the backroom with a cup of water for Robert. He thanked her before taking a long sip. Astor had been on the move almost nonstop the last several days. Mostly on account of Vanderbilt's passing and everyone being unsure how the new emperor would handle the reigns of leadership. Before Kelsey left for the coronation Astor had presented reports to the Duke showing a considerate increase of network traffic heading north out of the Confederacy. A few white folk, but mostly runaway slaves risking their lives to escape. Many in the South realized the landscape would be in flames fairly soon, people wanted out before the embers burn any brighter. Having an ally across the border would help expedite the process.

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Near the border with Virginia, January 1877

An honour to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thoth. You must forgive my careful attitude. Even now, we can not be too safe this close to the border of the Rogue Provinces down south. I trust you understand I needed to ensure that I was speaking to the right person."

Knight shook the hand of the Underground representative with a firm, friendly grip.

"Now, as for the matter at hand that I requested an audience with your esteemed organisation. Times are changing, sir. The imposter of Asheville lies dead, and in his stead a drunken fool had taken over. If there was ever a chance to overthrow the pompous buffoons that have turned Dixie into an emulation of the British aristocratic regime of yore, it is now."

Knight finished his coffee, his eyes fixed firmly on Thoth.

"Naturally, military strategy and warfare is not the main goal of the organisation you represent. Yet if I were to guess the general mindset of our enslaved Negro compatriots south of the Potomac, I would hazard to say that they feel the system crumbling down around them just as I believe we both know it is. And that would make these days seem like one hell of a chance to escape from bondage."

Leaning over, the governor folded his hands together and continued in a slightly hushed tone.

"The Maryland National Guard has been put on increased alert already ever since Vanderbilt kicked the bucket. What I propose is we use the deployments alongside the Potomac for a shared purpose between your organisation and ours. If you could provide us with intel on the when and where of river crossings by runaway slaves, I can have state troopers at the ready at their point of entry into Maryland."

Leaning backwards again, Newton Knight smiled and poured himself another cup from the coffee can at the table.

" Of course, this is but a suggestion. I am more than interested in hearing any other ideas."

[Sarderia]

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT

The police was, surprisingly, not French in this predominantly French town. In fact he has a very thick Southern accent that one could mistake him as a man from Alabama or Mississipi. He gave Thomas Ouellet a confused look. "Eh, good morning too, feller. What was his name again? Gene?" He scratched his head. "Never heard of someone named Gene 'round these parts. Then again, I don't patrol around the town office very much. But our Mayor's also a Gene. Eugene, the old man's called, God bless his soul. Man's a Frenchie and one of them Catholics, but he always went to my church and he spoke good of us. Ah! There he is! Howdy!" He pointed at Eugene, who has just crossed the same road, albeit at the other end of the street. Both the police and Ouellet could not see his face clearly, but his physical features - shoulder-length hair, fine clothes, and his cowboy hat could still be seen. Apparently, the police shouted loud enough that Eugene could hear him, and he started walking away from the street at a faster pace.

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE COUNCIL CHAMBER

Truth be told, Arthur was a bit confused on why Charles Hurst wanted to chase the partisans with only just his Knights - and even importing Texas Rangers into North Carolina. Why wouldn't they use the present forces to at least hold them off? But then the Emperor's steward - or baby-sitter more appropriately, appeared and gave command to attack the partisans with their whole army. Understandable, the new Emperor is mad because the partisans destroyed his only link to go outside North Carolina, and one so close to his palace moreso. But to muster the whole Army? The partisans are going to slaughter them all. He knew he must do something, lest the partisans have a mind to blow up more of his railroads. But with the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia railroad to Asheville severely damaged, there is very little he could do to fight them. Arthur could only wait for Hurst and Jackson's actions to commande Imperial forces now. Unless...

Arthur slipped out of the council room, unnoticed by the others as they're having a fierce debate about who should send who. He gave a small piece of paper to his butler outside. "The Asheville station should be full of the Emperor's troops patrolling around now. There's usually a telegram booth at every station - I want this sent to Petersburg. Notify the other commanders as well, including the Count of Lynchburg, and we should have a dozen regiments out of Virginia marching towards here. Oh, and another thing. If, and I say strictly if, this turned to be a major confrontation, and we're holed up enough as we currently are, someone from the Virginia Bank should go north. Just in case. We don't want any more raids if the partisans decided Virginia's a better hunting ground for them." He returned to the Council Room, still unnoticed by the nobles. Powerful men fought for the glory and the first blood, but more content ones watched and waited.

[SangMar]

Beaumont, Texas - A Surprising Morning

---

At that point, Thomas didn’t make the connection - he’d been lied too. Gene Browster was none other than Eugéne Broussard - the mayor of Beaumont. After all, he didn’t know his last name - to him, the mayor could’ve easily been called Eugéne Browster - which really wasn’t that different at all. Though, he didn’t know why he was walking away at such pace: the mayor certainly hadn’t been moving like that before. It did raise a few questions. So the Path member did the only logical thing - he followed Eugéne - leaving the rowdy mass of Texas Rangers and local police behind him. Eventually, he got to the man: having had to run in order to catch up. When he finally reached him, Eugéne didn’t look like he’d stop...

...So Thomas Ouellet walked and talked, not entirely sure whether or not the commotion behind him had something to do with the mayor. “Eugéne, was it?” He began, “I just wanted to check in on you today, before I left town, that is. What’s with the commotion down that street there, anyway?” He added, finishing up with a question.

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Somewhere Near the Virginia Border

"I believe that's a proposal the Ferryman would be willing to accept. Having your guardsmen at the ready will help our traffic into the north immensely. Were expecting the Confederacy to heighten its alert and increase the number of troops along the northern states in the coming days. I'm sure you've heard news on whats happening near Biltmore. The partisans in Appalachia? I'm unsure what the nobles plan to do, but I'm sure its gonna be bloody and prolonged. The affects of this conflict will no doubt spill over into the rest of the continent."

Astor took another long sip from his cup as he pondered bringing up another idea. Kelsey had spoken to Astor about adding more trains and rails heading into the north. Publicly his reasoning would be to cut tension and normalize relations with the Union. Something the south would eventually need unless it wanted to live in fear of an invasion for the rest of its existence. Secretly it would be to help bring runaways and defecting southerners through the Confederacy in greater volume.

"I'll set up a face to face talk between the Ferryman and you. We'll let you choose the meeting spot for this negotiation. When you see him ask about the trains. It's an idea he's been pondering for sometime. Maybe something you'd be interested in."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Biltmore Palace
Council Chamber
1877

James Longstreet. Hurst huffed as he looked the man in the eyes. A native carpetbagger, if there ever was such a thing. A lover of the Black Man, against all laws of God, to the point that he espoused views to the liberation of Blacks in the Empire. A traitor of the ideals of the South, who took a ride along with its glorious army to his personal benefit. Not a Knight in White, but a war profiteer in the purest sense of the word. Someone whose views were so antithetical to the existence of the Empire that he might as well sit with the other carpetbaggers up in Washington.

And yet… His existence was an affirmation of one great truth, in the eyes of Hurst. That as long as the Empire existed, slavery would never be abolished. Georgia was wealthy. Georgia was modernised. Longstreet, despite Hurst’s objections, was a war hero. And even he, who could have been Consul like Napoleon if he’d wanted to, could even so much as budge the institution of slavery. That was the sole linchpin of the existence of this country. Any southerner who opposed slavery might as well be a Unionist, since what other differences remained there? As long as the Empire existed, slavery would exist. And as long as slavery existed, the Empire would exist.

Hurst swallowed. What he had thought was his mental fortitude, his protection against Longstreet, was also his weakness. The Empire could never elect to end slavery. As soon as slavery was abolished, the reason for a border between Virginia and Maryland disappeared. The reason for all the fortifications along that line vanished. The Empire had freed itself from northern factories, from its ports, to Lake Earie and the Western Coast, the gold in California, for the institution of slavery. Thus, the Empire could conquer the world, and yet, for its own pride and existence, it would not be able to end slavery. And as the world progressed, as men and women around the world became increasingly agitated, Hurst wondered what would give in first.

“Why, sir…” Hurst started, his face slowly going red. “You impugn the honour of my Order. I will give you this one and only warning, sir, because if you question the honour of the White Knights of Christ again, I will be forced to challenge you to a duel”

The practice of duelling had regained popularity during the reconstruction of the south as an empire. The New Nobility, seeking to establish itself as equals to their old world counterparts, had taken on various antiquated habits. Duelling was one of them.

“If you won’t take my advice, then I am under no obligation to follow. The White Knights will stay here, to guard the emperor, while all other army units go north, if that is how the emperor commands us”

He said the words before he had thought about them properly. Why was he being recalcitrant? If the emperor commanded, then indeed, it was their duty. Then, it mattered little what Hurst himself thought about the matter. In fact, he was wondering if the emperor would send the White Knights as well. However, with the new emperor only recently taking the reins, it would be better to keep the Order in reserve to defend the capital, should any noble get some stupid idea in their head about a coup. Or, for that matter, Unionists. Hurst thought about the idea, of the capital being occupied by only his White Knights, with all forces capable of resistance in the north. He put the thought away in the back of his mind.

“But, my lords, perhaps if it is indeed your wish to march a sizable force up to North Carolina, it would be wise to inform the Union about our peaceful intentions”

[Sanabel]

Stonewall Jackson

---

Coronation Banquet, Biltmore Palace

Jackson listened stoically, as was his habit. He listened the men debating, watched as the flamboyant colonel entered the room, and carefully mulled over the situation. Part of him wanted to abandon his post in the Court right then and there, and take control of the Imperial forces directly as field marshal. He knew, however, that if he abandoned the Court he may never regain his position, leaving the Empire to wreck and ruin.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully. On the one hand, a great show of force from Georgia and South Carolina would prevent another partisan attack, at least in the short term. Ok the other, it could take the appearance of a foreign occupation in the Blue Ridge foothills. Moreover, the Union could not be given any casus belli- and a marshaling of forces from across the South’s duchies and principalities could be perceived as exactly that.

Suddenly, the old general’s thoughts were interrupted by a court usher relying a message from the Emperor himself. It seemed the young drunkard had come to. He listened carefully, just as he had with the members of the Council. It appeared the fool wanted a scorched-earth show of force.

“Andrew,” said Jackson in a hushed voice, turning in his seat toward the younger man. “Tell the Emperor we will crush the rebellion by all means necessary. Tell him that I also strongly recommend as his father’s counselor and Chancellor of the Imperial Council that he ride to Weaverville come dawn, which,” he squinted at one of the stained glass windows, “should be in a few hours, judging by the light, that he and a contingent of his life guard ride for the Weaverville encampment to assist with the field command of his Imperial forces. He can rendezvous with the Lord Commander of the Roanoke Rifles who should be there around the same time. Tell His Majesty that it would be wise to enter the vocation of warfare, to inspire his people and bring valor to his name. Put it in terms that will appeal to him.”

Jackson was somewhat hesitant to pass such an order to the young court servant, but it was important. He could not have the young man asserting command of the Council and destroying relations with the Union, let alone the powerful Southern realms such as Texas. In the field he wouldn’t know his hat from his glove, and the Lord Commander of the Roanoke Rifles could keep him in line. They had plenty of experience combating partisan threats north of the North Carolina-Virginia line, and would be able bodied in the fight. Following that exchange, he rose from his seat and pounded his fist on the table.

“Gentlemen,” Jackson finally addressed the crowd. “Speaking for His Majesty- the Imperial Court greatly appreciates offers of support and goodwill from the noblemen gathered on this harrowing evening. By all means- begin marching your men north. Levy your troops. My instincts as a man who has studied and practiced the art of warfare are telling my weary mind that this could turn into another war with the Union. This is something we should avoid, and we must build goodwill based on past treaties and relations which were conducted in good faith. In the meantime, we must neutralize this partisan threat. Colonel Hurst, your support would be much appreciated. We are not butchers like Ulysses Grant. We must attack these partisans on their terms with their methods. That is why I believe the best course of action would be to utilize skills and expertise of the Roanoke Rifles and the White Knights, two renown and experienced forces of skilled fighting men, to carry out this task. Colonel Hurst, if you and your men could rendezvous with the Roanoke Rifles at dawn, His Majesty would be greatly obliged.”

Jackson stopped for a moment, ensuring all of the Council was listening.

“In short order, here is what must occur: our forces must be mobilized, and small detachments should be sent from Georgia and South Carolina to bolster our broken Asheville-Salisbury and Asheville-Nashville lines, as Imperial forces regroup. We must send a representative to meet with a northern delegation, perhaps in Maryland. Finally, and most immediately, we are to have the Roanoke Rifles, local militias, and the White Knights seek out these ruffian dissidents and put a stop to their cowardly acts. I hope I make myself clear.”

[Cylarn]

Reverend Thomas Endicott
Society of Friends/Watauga Council
Hanging Tree Tavern, Wilkesboro, North Carolina
Evening, January 1877

Tevis, from the point of view of the Quaker minister, was increduled but polite. He gave few pleasantries, and wanted to jump straight to the point, and know why the Quaker was sitting across from him. Good, Endicott thought. Tevis didn't intend to waste his time in a tavern; by all accounts that Endicott had read of the man's adventures, he hardly stopped moving. Just before the Quaker opened his mouth, a serving girl approached, carrying a bowl of steaming-hot vegetable stew, and a mug of coffee in her other hand.

"The usual, Reverend," she said as she placed the meal before the Reverend, also tossing down two spoons atop the wooden table. "Anything else?"

Endicott shook his head politely and withdrew a single gold coin from his pocket, handing it off to the young woman with a warm smile. She reciprocated the nod, smiled equally as warm as the Quaker minister, and took her leave. Endicott took hold of his spoon, and quickly scooped up an offered of broth and meat and green beans. He took a bite, and sat the spoon down. His face was blank.

"That's the same pig from yesterday," he said, giving a sigh afterwards. "Oh well, that's the manner of this place, and why I treasure these people here. They make my work worth it; we do our best with what we have, and what we have is better than what we think."

Endicott cleared his throat, and leaned in close. "In any case, I am not here to ramble to you. Before I continue further, know that we are safe to speak freely here. This is a close-knit town, and everyone remembers '67."

Endicott remembered the hostilities greatly. It was during this period, when the White Knights were stringing up freedmen and Confederate troops raided the surrounding towns for food and boots and women, that Endicott first met the Partisans along the shores of Wilson Creek. The Partisan and a small band had rescued the minister from execution at the hands of a Confederate patrol. There were similar stories all throughout the region; Confederate troops, pillaging villages in order to avert death by starvation, were stopped by mobile bands of fighters. Ten years had passed, and the survival of the Appalachian Partisan Rifles was thanks for the support they enjoyed from the local people.

"I know you from the papers, and that much I will say in regards to your personal self. I can only surmise what has brought you to the backwood frontier of North Carolina, and that purpose is to take part in the upcoming hostilities. You see, I am a member of a political body active in this region, and if I may guess your benefactors correctly, then there would be much for us to discuss."

"In an hour, I intend to depart for a meeting of this body. I would much appreciate your company. There is much that you may contribute, if you are indeed here for the reasons that I do suspect."

A Union war hero and mercenary, right in the Appalachian Mountains. Ben would be in Wilkesboro soon, and Endicott figured that the two men - Church and Tevis - had plenty to discuss.

[Sarderia]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

"My apologizes to bother you, my Lord," Arthur said, finally standing up from his seat after watching the whole room debating throughout the day. "If you are pleased, I volunteer to lead the Imperial delegation to negotiate with the Union Governor in Maryland, and his associates from the United States Army. My lands are the nearest to the Union territory in Maryland, and the portion of East Tennessee, Virginia, and Georgia railroad going to the north - my property - is still intact. With your permission, I could assemble a small detachment of the Virginia Cavalry I brought here to escort me into Cranberry, in Avery County. There is a railroad station which I believe is still free from partisan attack. If you agree, though, I would like to bring a diplomat with me."

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT

"Well, well, well. Okay, I am Eugene. I am the Mayor of Beaumont, like I said - worker in the Town Hall, eh. I see you have met with the fine and gallant Texas Rangers down the road, sent by the most honorable gentlemen in Austin." He pointed at the mess of policemen and Rangers. "The thing is, those men are under His Majesty King Boykin's payroll. You see, when the citizens rather forced me to lynch his railroad workers - well, I have to do it, lest they lynch me instead - Boykin got mad. He claims his workers were innocent, when in reality, they almost burned my city whole. Look at that..." Eugene pointed at a small tavern. The walls are charred and the wooden pillars are broken. "Damned folks stole the supplies coming down the railroads and tried to arson the buildings here. Don't know what made 'em do it, I swear. Some folks are just... strange. Now a good mayor would keep his citizens from chaos-ing the entire city, so I told them, folks got demons inside of them. And I wasn't lying either. Them workers were laughing, screaming, kicking when we tied 'em up. But now I got Rangers on my ass tryin' to handcuff me for letting them folks die. Good Lord, what else could I do? They'd kill me instead..."

[Sanabel]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

"My apologizes to bother you, my Lord," Arthur said, finally standing up from his seat after watching the whole room debating throughout the day. "If you are pleased, I volunteer to lead the Imperial delegation to negotiate with the Union Governor in Maryland, and his associates from the United States Army. My lands are the nearest to the Union territory in Maryland, and the portion of East Tennessee, Virginia, and Georgia railroad going to the north - my property - is still intact. With your permission, I could assemble a small detachment of the Virginia Cavalry I brought here to escort me into Cranberry, in Avery County. There is a railroad station which I believe is still free from partisan attack. If you agree, though, I would like to bring a diplomat with me."

EUGÉNE THIERRY BROUSSARD
MAYOR OF BEAUMONT

---

BEAUMONT

"Well, well, well. Okay, I am Eugene. I am the Mayor of Beaumont, like I said - worker in the Town Hall, eh. I see you have met with the fine and gallant Texas Rangers down the road, sent by the most honorable gentlemen in Austin." He pointed at the mess of policemen and Rangers. "The thing is, those men are under His Majesty King Boykin's payroll. You see, when the citizens rather forced me to lynch his railroad workers - well, I have to do it, lest they lynch me instead - Boykin got mad. He claims his workers were innocent, when in reality, they almost burned my city whole. Look at that..." Eugene pointed at a small tavern. The walls are charred and the wooden pillars are broken. "Damned folks stole the supplies coming down the railroads and tried to arson the buildings here. Don't know what made 'em do it, I swear. Some folks are just... strange. Now a good mayor would keep his citizens from chaos-ing the entire city, so I told them, folks got demons inside of them. And I wasn't lying either. Them workers were laughing, screaming, kicking when we tied 'em up. But now I got Rangers on my ass tryin' to handcuff me for letting them folks die. Good Lord, what else could I do? They'd kill me instead..."

"Splendid," Jackson replied to the Viscount. "I will assign a court diplomat to make the journey with you, and I would also advise that you send a rider in advance to inform the Union government in Maryland of your arrival and of your intentions." Jackson did not quite trust someone so eager, but he did not have time for deliberation under the circumstances. He would have no choice but to accept the offer, and to send a trusted lieutenant along with the Virginian on his diplomatic mission.

[Inis Eagla]

Ciudad Victoria, Marquesado del Río Bravo, Imperio Mexicano
El Tigre de Tacubaya, Marqués Márquez.
Office of the Marquis

This place, it haunts me with paperwork - reports and reports of meaningless stuff. Without all the insurgents and banditry, there's not a whole lot of things to do except maybe help arrest this drunkard I was told about or help rebuild a Church - I think the locals can handle a drunkard though since they asked, i'll have to send a patrol that way. I can send money to that Church too. Suddenly, breaking my thoughts I got some knocks on the door. "Come in." I said. A darker man addressed me as "Señor", bowed and then spoke his speak "We think we've found your spy.". Without me saying anything, he moved to the side and presented a relatively well dressed man with excellent sideburns. "Ah, it is him. Have your men drink." and from that the soldier left and the spy bowed. "Forgive my English, Marquis. My Spanish isn't developed in the slightest." he said while sitting down. "Fine, just not too many big words." I told him, replied with a nod. "It appears that in Appalachia there has been some trouble, as well as more direct trouble in little town over a lynching. I don't think it'll be the end of their troubles either. The Emperor allegedly fainted when told about the rebels, I could imagine the Empire straight out falling flat and dying if Mexico invaded Texas!" he began to laugh at the end there. "A fair amount of info, but too bad not enough. Agustin not letting it happen, not even if it were on my own." disappointing news, but it is promising. Maybe I could add to the pyre myself somehow, discreetly though. "Anyway, thank you good man!" I stood up to shake his and and walked to the door, looking back to make sure he got the que to follow and he had. After walking out of the office I got the man paid and made sure he went on his doomed trip to Mexico City, I already knew he'd tell someone since he didn't seem very pleased after the amount of pay. His news was lackluster after all, but his scoop on myself was a little more than lackluster.

However, that last bit of conversation gave an idea; bandits. Suppose it's due time I send some men, this will be our white horse. I gather some cavalrymen that used to be of los Diablos Rojos under the late Colonel Dupin and send them on their merry way with promises of not only keeping what they take from the towns they raze but a hefty reward when they make it back. A small amount of men at the moment though, after all don't want to risk 20 men on something that might not work - especially with those Rangers. Plus with these guys, if they get caught we could probably get away with saying they're deserters, they practically were bandits during the war anyway! And so, coyotes were sent to kill men, rape women, and murder children - exterminating the scum by fire, by steel and by blood!

[The United Empire of Exucular]

Council Chambers, Biltmore Palace

Stonewall Jackson

---

Coronation Banquet, Biltmore Palace

“In short order, here is what must occur: our forces must be mobilized, and small detachments should be sent from Georgia and South Carolina to bolster our broken Asheville-Salisbury and Asheville-Nashville lines, as Imperial forces regroup. We must send a representative to meet with a northern delegation, perhaps in Maryland. Finally, and most immediately, we are to have the Roanoke Rifles, local militias, and the White Knights seek out these ruffian dissidents and put a stop to their cowardly acts. I hope I make myself clear.”

Council Chambers, Biltmore Palace

Duke Kelsey nodded in agreement with the Chancellors words. As soon as the gathering in the council chambers concluded he would make his way back to Charleston and gather the 10th Infantry of South Carolina. Most likely travel by horseback until he can find a train station that could get him back to the coast sooner.

While he wouldn't call the whole of South Carolina's troops to arms he would put them on alert. Tell them to take note of their guns and to practice their aim. In case more had to be gathered to protect the rail lines surrounding Biltmore.

The meeting with the Maryland governor interested Kelsey. In fact, he considered asking to come along with the delegation. Kelsey was one of the very few southerners who had any kind of dealings with the northern states due to his railroad and shipping background. A chance to increase the limited trade going back and forth over the border interested him, for more than one reason.

[Sarderia]

ARTHUR HENRY ROTSCHILD LEE
VISCOUNT OF PETERSBURG

---

BILTMORE PALACE

Arthur walked outside of the Biltmore Palace's doors, intending on leaving the Emperor's estate as soon as possible. Outside, an assortment of guards are present - from Colonel Hurst's White Knights, his own 9th Virginia Cavalry, and the guardsmen of other nobles. If Stonewall Jackson are going to fight the partisans with this force, then God save the King. There would be no way to just put all of them together in one group, march to the Imperial stronghold and hope to destroy the partisans, not with this much diversity in force. Luckily half of the Virginia Cavalry would be coming back to Petersburg with him.

"Lieutenant," he addressed the captain of his guards. Lieutenant Curtis Stephenson is an old Civil War veteran who had seen battle first with General Robert Lee, in Manassas with General Joseph E. Johnston, and finally serving as the household guards of Petersburg under Arthur's uncle, William "Rooney" Lee. While not as famous as Johnston and not much a war hero as Rooney Lee, Stephenson was an able officer, and he was always the one to conduct covert operations for the Cavalry. But Arthur knew him well, and if there is anyone in the entire Southern armed forces he could trust, it's Stephenson. "The Chancellor has commanded us. We are to move north and call upon the reinforcements from Virginia. My uncle's troops, Johston's troops, and who knows, maybe Jubal Early is still back in the Old Dominion. And we're also to go to Maryland. The nobles are scared shitless them Yankees gonna march down south and burn Dixie to the ground, all the while they're holed up with the partisans."

The other man smiled back at him. "Stonewall Jackson, leading the Confederate States Army into the war, once again." They both chuckled. "Though this time it's a lot less glorious than Manassas. Well then, we shouldn't take too much of a time if we're going north again. Damn it, we're marching to Manassas! God willing some Yankees crossed down our path and then we'll stonewall them like Jackson while he's pinned down here." Stephenson mounted his horse and signalled for the rest of the Cavalry to follow him. Arthur mounted his own horse and addressed the brigade.

"Gentlemen, what we are doing is much less suicide. We're going to cross these Goddamned mountains into Cranberry, where we'll board a train there back home to Petersburg. The honourable Chancellor has given us the permission to call Virginian brigades down here to assist him in fighting the partisans, and we have a much, more important mission; making sure ain't no Yankee gonna backstab us and burn Richmond to the ground." Arthur had been there when he saw troops, Confederate forces, burned the city, supposedly to save President Davis from Ulysses Grant's invading forces. The event was what disillusioned him from his earlier views - that the Confederacy were fighting for freedom and states rights - while in reality greed and contempt for blacks were what drove them against the Union. And those same people get to be fucking Kings.

"However! I would only request half of you to escort me north. It would be much more dangerous for y'all to stay here and join the Chancellor's forces, but if you die, at least you'd die serving your country." Neither their country or my country, but sacrifices must to be done. About three dozen men of the Cavalry raised their hand as volunteers. Arthur responded with a salute, and a cordial, sincere smile. "I cannot be grateful enough for your service, gentlemen. We ride at night. Change your clothes and wear the poorest rags you can find, and leave all the jewelry. We will leave in a caravan of merchants, and I will ready our supplies and the letters from the Emperor. Sic semper tyrannis."

After the cavalrymen returned to the stables, Arthur approached Lieutenant Stephenson before they made their ride. "Do you know Bernard Kelsey?"

"The baron from South Carolina? Yes, I've seen him, but I'm afraid I don't know him," the lieutenant answered.

"Offer him if he wanted to hitch a ride with us. I think he's eager to go north as well. But no force at all, if he doesn't want to go, well, just bid him good bye." Arthur covered himself with a rugged coat, having changed his attire to better disguise himself as a commoner. Stephenson at least looked a proper rich merchant, befitting of the carriage they would use to Cranberry. He entered the Palace again to ask Kelsey, and Arthur waited.

[Dentali]

Stonewall Jackson

---

Coronation Banquet, Biltmore Palace



“In short order, here is what must occur: our forces must be mobilized, and small detachments should be sent from Georgia and South Carolina to bolster our broken Asheville-Salisbury and Asheville-Nashville lines, as Imperial forces regroup. We must send a representative to meet with a northern delegation, perhaps in Maryland. Finally, and most immediately, we are to have the Roanoke Rifles, local militias, and the White Knights seek out these ruffian dissidents and put a stop to their cowardly acts. I hope I make myself clear.”

Longstreet nodded and gave a sharp salute, "Understood. My troops will primarily be patrolling and guarding rail lines. With your leave I shall head off to organize them." With that Longstreet saluted the room and left the palace, eager to put himself to work.

[Dahyan]

Newton Knight
Governor of Maryland
Near the Virginia Border, January 1877

Newton Knight had listened with increasing interest. A chance to meet the enigmatic and mysterious Ferryman of the Underground Railroad is definitely an opportunity no sane Union man would ever pass up. And this talk about trains? Looks like the Railroad might be planning to take their name a tad more literally than is usual, and above ground at that.

Truth be told, Knight had never liked the fact that the Federal government allowed Confederate freight trains inside Union territory. The war may have been over, but to go as far as trade with the rogue slave-owners down south always seemed like a bridge too far for him. Even though the railroad baron Bernard Kelsey was apparently quite the open-minded figure, as far as Knight's sources reported.

But, if he understood Thoth well enough, there could be something good coming from them iron horses in the future. Anyone saved from the clutches of Imperial Dixie was worth the effort, in the minds of the exiled Mississippian.

"Indeed, we have our eyes and ears open at all times for whatever is happening South of the Potomac. I am certain it does not surprise you that the recent partisan attack was cause for great joy amongst loyal citizens of the Union. But if my experience as a guerilla leader in the Mississippi bogs has taught me anything, it's that the Greycoats are merciless sons-of-bitches, excuse my language. An Imperial nobleman is likely to drown the land in blood rather than see any of his so-called subjects, Black or White for that matter, free from shackles. Which is why I believed it necessary to organise this meeting in the first place.

I would be more than honoured to meet with the Ferryman. I believe we could have much to discuss. And this matter of trains, as you indicate, is of utmost interest to me. Would it be at all possible for the Ferryman to make his way to Annapolis?"


Washington Carroll Tevis
Special Agent in service of Governor Knight
Hanging Tree Tavern
Wilkesboro, North Carolina
January 1877

Reverend Endicott was every bit the clergyman as anyone would ever desire. Having a calm and friendly demeanour, a gentle smile and a joyful sound in his voice. But Tevis knew, looking in the Quaker minister's eyes, that this was a man who had had his share of sorrow, who had seen death, destruction and carnage perhaps as much as any normal uniformed soldier had.

Washington Tevis conjured up the warmest smile he could muster and extended his arm, shaking the hand of Reverend Endicott.

"I must say, Reverend, you know how to cut the chase and get straight to the point."

Looking around the tavern patrons, he added. "And how to put a man at ease. I count my blessings that I was not recognised in a town of Confederate sympathizers, or by someone of Imperial inclinations.

No need for further obscuring of truths then. Washington Tevis is my name, as you probably knew already. Here on behalf of Newton Knight, Governor of Maryland and formerly fellow anti-Confederate guerilla leader."

Tevis took a swill from his cup and fondled his mustache, ensuring the tips were still well styled.

"As for what brings me here: let's just say that Maryland, and indeed the entire Union, has been abuzz with news of the deeds of the Partisans of Appalachia. And Governor Knight has made it a matter of honour to remain updated on the goings-on across the South. Eyes and ears, that's my job down here in the outback. And, God be praised, it seems that my path has guided me to the right place.
This... Political body of which you speak. It has greatly peaked my interest. The honour would be all mine if I could accompany you to its meeting."

[SangMar]

Beaumont, Texas - A Random Suggestion

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They’d kill him - so because of the need to appease a scared populace, the railroad workers were killed? Furthermore, did Eugéne say that the men were possessed? Thomas looked down at his feet upon hearing what the mayor had to say for himself: it was certainly a severe turn of events, worst still, it could turn Texas into an absolute battleground. “So, that’s why the rangers are after you?” Thomas questioned, looking over his shoulder at the rangers who were far down the street now. What could be done here to remedy this? He clutched onto his chin with his fingers, thinking deeply. Then, he had an idea. It was ridiculous, and of course, Eugéne would quite easily say no. But...

“Eugéne, I have a suggestion: but first, if you want to hear it, why not ask that the rangers leave town for today and come back for you tomorrow? Then if they agree, tell them you’ll be willing go with them to Austin - and face whatever trial or investigation they wish.”

After that, Thomas cleared his throat.

“Should they go - then bring out the townsfolk - and tell them that the due to the Godless Texas Rangers, you’re being persecuted for protecting your town and its citizens. Therefore, you’ll be appointing a deputy mayor and then leaving for a few days to let everything return to normality. After that, and before the rangers can return, you get on a horse and come with me to my town in Arkansas for a few days. We’ll keep you safe, and you can return back here once everything’s died down a little bit.”

It was a plan, not great, but Thomas couldn’t see what else could be done. Plus, he could favours from the mayor later too.

[Khasinkonia]

Ernestine, par la grâce de Dieu, Reine de Louisiane, Princesse de Nouvelle-Orléans, et Duchesse d’Angoulême
La Salle du Conseil du Château de Biltmore
Arrangements des Appalaches

Although I was privy to the disconcerting news of the attacks on the railroads, I found it sufficient to grate my teeth and remain silent. The news of being stuck away from my palace was stressful, and the jolt of rage that I had in that first moment had nearly compelled me to smash the plate I held in my hand, but alas, such a thing would be uncouth. There were many ideas floated by various older men, and news of the Emperor’s opinions were disconcerting, but it was all of little concern to me. After all, my own state had long consolidated loyalty from those who would otherwise be the most difficult to pacify, the Cajuns, who indeed welcomed a return of French education with open arms. The north of the state, meanwhile, begrudgingly accepted our even-handed rule, for it provided them the benefit of the status quo. This would naturally have to change, but for the time being, stability was paramount.

It was best to leave war to the men, as far as I was concerned, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do something to address the dreadful state of affairs. I had intended to remain at Biltmore for a day or so after the coronation so as to speak with the new Emperor. We were in similar positions, being that we had ascended to the throne at young ages. Perhaps, if nothing else, one could provide him console. Clearly, he was not as conditioned to be as stolid as I was, but of course, he had yet less pressure to conceal the more difficult aspects of his personality, but if I could subdue my incredible urge to smash a plate at the news of revolutionaries, then surely he could begin to suppress his faint yet aggressive sensibilities. I approached Andrew, the attendant to the Emperor who was currently present.

“Pray tell, is the Emperor decent? We should like to speak with him,” I quietly said to him.