1890: Alternative Divergence [AH][IC-OPEN]

[Alt Div Admin]

1890 :Alternative Divergence IC THREAD [CURRENT ANNOUNCEMENTS] OOC//MAP – 02.12.2020 Main OP Tracian Empire CO-OP's Oscalantine Novacom The Ik Ka Ek Akai Axis Asteroid “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please.” – Karl Marx But for the sake of argument, what if we could? Be it a point of divergence or a whole new nation, what if we could make history EXACTLY at the point that we wish? Hello and welcome to Alternative Divergence, an AH/AW RP where the world is yours to do whatever you wish. For the sake of continuity, the time now is 1890 C.E., nd nations are expanding in a world slowly moving towards more and more violence. What would be your vision of a world shaped by a nation that you call your own? House rules for dispute settlement If it is not on the app or prior post, it isn’t real Don’t make wild assumptions if there wasn’t a prior “claim” to your fame. Uniqueness = strength Not saying that you should throw ducks at people and call it unique, but clever tactics would be awarded… and the Iranian style of a “million men army” or the American style of “I throw my money at problems and things go away” will not always work. We are here to roleplay, not play a game of Risk, right? Timeskips are announced by OP The OP will decide the CURRENT year of the IC posts. This will be updated in yearly intervals. Assume IRL unless otherwise We can have A LOT of historical paradoxes… don’t mind the elephant in the room. Unless it is mentioned in an accepted app all NPC nations will have IRL values unless mentioned otherwise by the OP Similarly, all histories are also follow IRL unless changed. Annexing Rule If no RP-nation exists, assume IRL history at earliest possible point (i.e. Since Ottomans did not exist, Egypt would have to follow post-Napoleon Mamulks or something of that nature). Further questions can be directed at the OP for more direction. When attacking a NPC nation without anyone's intervention, direct the OP or one of the CO-OPs to the post in question after 1 page of occupation. you can claim up to five (5) provinces at once in this way Should you be challenged before 1 page has passed, standard procedure for war and negotiations begins. RP Battles There are a few things that should be kept in mind when fighting with other players In all seriousness, battles should be planned rather than spontaneous. However, there is no reason to not have spontaneous battles. Tactics > Troop size. This applies regardless of size difference. Admitting defeat will stack in your favor. There is a list, and we check them twice. Firstly... unless it is a predetermined war over OOC as to who will win or lose... the OP will be deciding who wins and who loses That being said... there are factors that will influence who wins and who loses. This is in the order of significance... from the primary factor to less important factors. Diplomacy: An alliance = less attrition. Your supply lines are better established, your troops have higher morale due to there being an allly fighting on their side, and your navy isn't as overstretched covering all your colonies. Real life principles apply here, more participants means higher chances of victory. Military Strength/Weaknesses: We believe that everyone knows that this is important.. right? The OP and CO-OP's will be making a separate resource of everyone's military strengths and weaknesses from their apps. The system will work like this - the way in which you use your strength to your advantage and how you cover your weaknesses will work to your advantage. Previous Precedence: This is for fairness. If you lost a war/battle before, those points will be stacked towards your advantage. Therefore, a clever tactician can lose smaller battles to win points for a decisive battle that is to come. Similarly, a clever tactician can gobble up as much victory as possible, then make peace before "going bust." Quality of Post: As mentioned, quality will play an important role. Of course, quantity does not mean quality, so be careful not to overwrite when a few well-placed sentences would do. The quality that I am referring to is how clever your tactics are... how you use your terrain, alliances, your own military, etc. to your advantage. Current Events - Updated 29.09.2020 [url=####][EVENT #0] – Filler Space[/url] [Completed]

[Alt Div Admin]

Accepted Nations - Updated 26.11.2020

• Sao Nova Europa -Empire of the Euthydemids - (Βασιλεία των Ευθυδημιδών)
• Revlonia - Empire of Scandinavia - (Skandinaviens imperium)
• Remnants of Exilvania - Triple Monarchy - (Trojitá monarchie)
• The Traansval - United Republic of Great Britain and Ireland
• Theyra - Parthian Empire
• Tracian Empire - Empire of the Romans - (Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων)
• Intermountain States - United States of America
• The Hindustani State - Maratha Kingdom - (मराठी स्वराज्य)
• The Ik Ka Ek Akai - Holy Roman Empire - (Il Senato e il popolo romano)
• TENNOHEIKA BANZAI NIHON - Japan
• Axis Asteroid - Taiping Heavenly Kingdom - (太平天囯)
• Oscalantine - Most Serene Imperial States of Korea (대한제국)
• Kisinger - French Republic - (République française)
• Of Leben - Kingdom of Brazil - (Royaume du Brésil)
• Novacom - Aztek Ascendancy
• Draos - Kingdom of Iberia - (Reino de Iberia)

Current Treaties and Alliances - Updated 26.11.2020

[Alt Div Admin]

Current Events in Progress - Updated 29.09.2020

N//A

[The Traansval]

No.10 Downing Street, London. January, 1890
English Republic, United Republic of Britain and Ireland.

Two crisp knocks hit the door to Campbells study. The man looked up from his desk and uttered a low “Come In”. The door’s handle turned, admitting a young aide of Campbell’s office.

“Mister First Secretary, Mister Robinson is here for you.” The young man said.

Campbell nodded his head in understanding, “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute, let me just finish here”, here said as he shuffled around his papers. The aide nodded, quietly exiting as he went to inform the Colonial Secretary George Robinson of the First Secretary’s delay.

Robinson, ever the impatient Scotsman, tapped his foot outside, his tophat tucked under his arm. He scratched his beard and checked his watch, finally expelling a shout of joy as Campbell entered the main parlour of his residence. “Your Majesty graces our presence!” he joked, accepting Campbell’s offered hand. “The Congo Men are expecting us at Westminster, we shouldn’t delay.” Robinson said, ushering Campbell towards the door.

“We certainly shouldn’t, else they might scurry off back to Africa”, Campbell responded.

The two men were joined in their carriage by Richard Haldane, the War Secretary, Edward Majoribanks, the Admiralty Secretary, and Herbet Asquith, the Treasury Secretary. These three plus Campbell, Robinson, and the Foreign Secretary Edward Grey formed the “Senior Officers” of the Council and were the ones who mostly dealt with major business outside of cabinet meetings. They also formed the nucleus of Campbell’s coalition government; Robinson, Asquith, and Haldane were Republicans while Majoribanks and Grey were Liberals.

A ride through the streets of London ended at the gates of Westminster. The men would gather inside, just a few rooms over from the House of Commons where their colleagues were no doubt debating some issue, but they were here for a different purpose. An aide would open the door to a room broadly lit and cooled by windows thrown wide open, and containing within it a group of men in deep but low conversation. The entrance of the Secretaries would hush the room and a man would step forward to greet them.

“Gentlemen may I introduce Governor-General Francis de Winton, our man in the Congo.” Robinson said, gesturing his hand towards the smartly dressed, full bearded, and slightly rotund man.

“Thank you Mister Robinson. It's a pleasure to meet you all.” de Winton said, shaking hands with the Secretaries and exchanging pleasantries. “I’d like to also introduce you to Mister Henry Stanley, one of our foremost agents of exploration in the African interior.”

Stanley was standing behind a large conference table, next to a seated group of men from de Winton’s staff. The explorer gave a slight bow towards the parliament men and spoke an “At your service” in their direction.

“Gentlemen I believe it best we take our seats. I believe Misters Winton and Stanley have a presentation planned.” Campbell instructed, pointing towards a seat himself with his cane, marking it as his. As the men sat, Stanley moved towards the table end opposite the First Secretary and unrolled a map on a stand. Campbell reached into his pocket and held a pair of glasses up to his eyes and squinted at the map.

“This, gentlemen, is the basin of the Congo river. Said river,” Stanley jabbed his finger on the map, over an area of the African coastline, “Begins here, at what we call the mouth. We have established two ports in this area, Boma and Matadi, which have been the basis for our trade in the basin. The river then extends north,” Stanley traced his finger up the map, following the line of the river, “Up to a few lakes where we have our town of Livingstoneburg, where our administration under the Honorable Mister de Winton,” Stanley gestured towards de Winton, "Is based."

Eyes turned towards de Winton, who took this as a chance to speak, “This, currently, is the extent of our holdings in the Basin. We control the mouth of the river and with our ports we’re able to have regular trade with natives of the interior.”

Staley nodded, “But, we believe it to be in the best interests of the Commonwealth to expand our holdings. The Congo and its many tributary rivers extend deep into the interior, extending as far as near the interior Kingdoms of Rwanda,” Stanley pointed to a crude blob on the map, in the center-right of Africa. “I have taken multiple expeditions on behalf of our government into these areas and have found them deeply rich in resources. Africans approach us and our traders and give us Ivory, exotic spices and foods such as coffee, and material such as rubber in exchange for our guns and medicines. This is a very rich area that would only benefit our Commonwealth.”

“What of the Negroes in the area? Are they acceptable to us?” Inquired Majoribanks, his arms folded over his chest and his face scrunched up in inquisitive concentration.

“Most of the native Kingdoms of the upper river area,” Stanley spoke, gesturing with his hand over an area north of the British holdings, “Have accepted British protection. Those who haven’t generally due trade with us, although there are two notable hostile forces. Here,” Stanley pointed to an area in the Eastern area of the Congo, “There are many Muhammadan and Arab princes, kings and states in the area. They are sustained by the capture and sale of slaves. We have previously curbed this trade with the capture of the great Slave ports of Zanzibar and others, but now the trade moves north through the Horn.”

“Barbarians.” Campbell said, a look of disgust on his face. “These are also the men that massacred our troops a decade ago during our fighting on the eastern coast?”

“Indeed.” Stanley said, “They have been hostile to us, our merchants dare not travel far into the Congo interior so as to avoid them.”

“You said there were two notable forces, what's the other?” Robinson spoke up, leaning on his right armchair rather heavily in order to squint at the map.

The explorer pointed towards an area in the south of the outlined basin area on the map, “The Yete Kingdom, who control an area known as Katanga. The area is rich in mineral and rubber resources, and as such has made the Yete one of the more powerful states in the basin. We have had several embassies to the Yete court, most of which have ended in non-guaranetees and empty promises. The Yete King seems to want to play us and the Germans off each other, as he makes overtures at both our nations,” Stanley said.

The room fell silent for a moment as the men absorbed this information, and de Winton took this chance to speak again. “We’ve come to petition the Council for an armed expedition into the interior. The goal of this expedition would be to secure the allegiance of the Congo Kings, destroy the Arab slavers, and launch a final embassy to the Yete to gain their submission.”

Haldine spoke up, “What would this expedition look like?”.

“We’d start here,” Stanley took the lead, pointing towards Matadi, “our troops can then take the railroad up to Livingstoneburg. There, steamers can transport them about a thousand miles along the Congo until we hit a series of falls around here,” Staley circled an area in the north Congo, near a small town labeled Stanleyville. “From there, the men will proceed on foot, cutting a path through to the south. This path will take us through most of the areas that we wish to pacify, all the way until we reach Katanga.”

Campbell turned towards Haldine, “Well, do you think it's doable?”. The Secretary thought for a good bit, “I’ve read exploratory reports from the area, there’ll probably be between ten and twenty thousand Arab and African soldiers in the area. We currently have the African Rifles in the colony, but I’d estimate we’d need another two to three line battalions to provide an adequate force. Mister Stanley, have we the assurances of any allied forces?”

Stanley nodded, “The north congolese are receptive to the British, I’m certain we could receive perhaps between two and three hundred African irregulars to support our forces.”

Haldine turned to Campbell, “We can do it, the only question is if we want to.”

“A successful expansion of the Commonwealth would be a great boon for this administration, but if it's a failure it’ll be the end of your term…” Asquith said pointedly at Campbell. Everyone in the room remembered the bloody war in East africa.

“I’m aware of that, but this seems like a good opportunity for the Republic. Africa is the new frontier, we must be at the forefront of the campaign to civilize it. I feel the Congo will be the new Canada, South Africa, or Australia. I will address the House later and impress them with the need to authorize this. I dare say there is nary a man in that house who’ll vote against the end of the dreaded Arab slave trade.” Campbell said, slapping the table at the end of his little speech and rising from his chair.

“Mister de Winton, Mister Stanley, I want you to speak with Mister Haldine and Mister Robinson. Make the preparations while I speak with Parliament, I’m sure we’ll have this approved by supper.” He said, briskly turning around and striding out of the room.

Campbell stepped out into the fresh air of London, and looked around the courtyard in front of Parliament, taking in the sights. The gates were guarded by the red clad soldiers of the 1st Republican Guards, although their role was mostly ceremonial as any real security breach would be handled by the Bobbies of the Met who patrolled around. As Campbell’s secretaries climbed into the carriage, he grabbed Robinson by the arm and pulled him aside.

“I want you to speak to Grey. An expedition in the Congo will set off every alert this side of the world; no doubt the Germans will attempt to move in as well to prevent us claiming the interior. I want him to personally write to the French, German, American, Chinese, Nordic, Iberian, and Roman ambassadors; both Romans. Invite them to a convention in London in a months time. Have him call it a convention on the abolition of the Arab slave trade or something, actually have him send someone over to Downing I’ll come up with the title. Just have him get their diplomats here, we need resolve who works where or else it’ll start a world war.” Campbell said in hushed tones, his face dead serious.

Robinson nodded, “I’ll convey your words to him as quickly as possible.”

Campbell slapped Robinson on the upper arm in a gesture of brotherhood, “Good, have them get you a carriage to the Foreign Office.” With those words Campbell turned and climbed into the carriage; he looked into Robinsons eyes once more before the carriage door was shut by the driver.

The following would be delivered by diplomatic courier to the French, German, American, Nordic, Iberian, Chinese, and Roman embassies in London.

Diplomatic Communique of the United Republic of Great Britain and Ireland
From the Office of the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs on behalf of the First Secretary of State

By right of the people, by the empowerment of Parliament, and by the confidence of the First Secretary of State, I am able to issue this communique. The United Republic of Great Britain and Ireland has invested itself with a duty to uphold the inalienable rights held by men as given to them by the creator Almighty God. It has outlawed and denounced the institution of slavery as it exists in any form and has encumbered upon itself the legal responsibility to act in a benevolent manner for those peoples under its Commonwealth. However, one nation alone cannot free all those held in bondage, or end the profitable trade which causes the enslavement of men. I am instructed by my government, my parliament, and my First Secretary, to contact governments which hold a stake in the continent of Africa and its peoples, including yours, and invite them to convene in the city of London in approximately one months time from the issue of this address, where my government shall host them for a term under which the representatives collective shall decide the future of Africa, endeavoring to create a balance which shall allow for a most optimal situation for the continent, her peoples, and our nations.

So signed this 18th Day of January 1890

Edward Grey
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs for Great Britain and Ireland

First Secretary of State for Great Britain and Ireland

---

Westminster, London. January, 1890.
Republic of England, Britain

The only thing to be heard over the sound of an entire room of men aggressively groaning their disapproval was the sharp bangs of the gavel.

“ORDER! ORDER! I CALL THIS HOUSE TO ORDER!” Called the Speaker of the House of Commons, Arthur Peel, as he violently hit the table with his gavel. “I CALL THIS HOUSE TO ORDER!” He said once more, a little less forceful this time. “The chair recognizes the honorable Member from Carnarvon.”

David George turned away from a group of fellow Liberal MPs, a smile stretching halfway across his face. “Mister Speaker, the honorable Member from Nottingham brings an air of lunacy to this House. He would have us believe that our women are second class citizens because they cannot vote for Members. I myself have a wife, as do many of our members, and I have not heard any woman claim that they are held in bondage because they do not live the same lives as their husbands. We do not ask our women to fight our wars or to engineer our warships, neither should we ask them to vote or hold office. It is plainly an upset to the natural order!”

The house echoed calls of “Hear Hear” and the great stamping of boots and canes. Across the aisle, the honorable Member from Nottingham, otherwise known in polite society as John Burns, stood. “Mister Speaker, the honorable Member from Carnarvon seeks to belittle the natural wants of our citizens who are disenfranchised to demand the vote. Our women are politically treated the same as a Indian or Negroe of the colonies; subjects but not voters. There is not a justification under the sun to consider women as nothing but breeding chattel for motherhood, although I would expect nothing more from a man such as the Honorable member with such a cow for a wife!”

George rose to his feet, his hands raised as if he meant to start a fist fight on the floor of the Commons. The house erupted in a chorus of “Hear Hear” and objective “Shame!”, a house truly divided. Speaker Peel banged his gavel and called for order, but even he was getting upset and tired. The House had spent nearly six hours now debating the Suffrage Bill, which would extend voting rights to women of or over the age of 21 and allow them to run in elections, and the time was soon approaching after dusk, with nothing moving. It was a pure deadlock, as the House was almost evenly split, surprisingly enough with much overlap as Liberals, Republicans, and Conservatives could be found on both sides.

Peel had to end this. “I motion to suspend this debate until tomorrow. For santities sake, let us retire to our bedchambers fellow Members.”

“Seconded!” Shouted one of the backbenchers.

The Speaker waited a moment to hear any objections, and hearing none slapped his bench with his hand, “So motioned! Good night gentlemen.” He said, quickly rising and joining the throng of members leaving parliament.

---

Otterburn Training Area, Northumbria. January, 1890.
Republic of England, United Republic

Theodore Atkinson had begun his career as an Engineer shortly after graduating from the military college at Sandhurst. It was perhaps this background in technical knowledge that had allowed him to rise through the ranks all the way up to Grand Marshal. Otterburn was no stranger to him, he knew the area well from his time with the Engineers, spending days at a time testing new improvements. Atkinson watched through the window of one of the base’s many offices as men huddled around three guns on carriage mounts. These weren’t the ordinary field guns, cannons to most, no they were a new bread of field implements; machine guns, and not the older Gatlings that saw colonial service or the newer Nordenfelts used on Navy ships, no these were a breed of Automatic guns designed by a man named Maxim.

Atkinson had seen the devastating power of the Gatling gun during his service in the Anglo-Zulu War. He recognized the potential of this new Automatic and had pushed the Army Council to appoint a special board to review the guns. That was nearly two years ago, the guns had gone through extensive testing alongside competitors like the Gardner gun, and Atkinson gave assent to issue a dozen to home units for field testing. These field tests had shown very promising results, the very results that Atkinson held in his hand, as he watched the guns themselves be fired by ordnance crews.

The door to the office opened, admitting a man in the fine red uniform of the General Staff. The general paused briefly, a bit surprised to see someone in his office, and then raised his right eyebrow in curiosity as he closed the door, striding into the room as it clicked into its lock. Atkinson had turned around from the sound of the door opening, and laid down the papers in his hand on the desk.

“Evelyn, I was hoping to find you here. I do hope I’m not interrupting any of your work.” Atkinson said, moving around the desk to meet Lieutenant-General Evelyn Wood, Quartermaster-General of the British Army, for a handshake.

“Not at all, I could use a respite from paperwork and folders. What brings you down to the firing range?” Wood said.

Atkinson turned around and picked up the paper he set down and handed them to Wood, “I wanted to speak about the new Automatic. Testing has been very promising, and I want to see it coming to a close soon.”

Wood accepted the papers, “Yes I’ve read the field reports, although I dare say that field use in the colonies will be a greater wear on these guns than putting them up in Sussex.”

“That's what I’ve come to talk to you about,” Atkinson said as he sat down on the edge of Wood’s desk, “I want you to place an order for some hundred and fifty odd guns from Maxim. I want them issued for Commonwealth service. Within a few months I’m sure we’ll have data to bring before the Council about adoption.”

Wood nodded, “I’ll call him up as soon as I can, and send you the bill,” he said, jabbing at Atkinson after the last part.

The Grand Marshal stood up, lifting his cap off the desk and tucking it under his arm. “How's the testing with those new Lee rifles coming?” Atkinson asked.

Now seated, Wood gave a great sigh, “Promising. Promising. The new rifling from Enfield gives the ball better trajectory based on our preliminary findings. I’m hoping to start some field trials in England to see if they wear as easily as the Metford barrels. Some of the lads in Ordnance bring up the idea of shortening it to help with accuracy.” He said.

Atkinson nodded, slipping his cap out from his arm and securing it on his head, “Novel idea cutting the rifle down though. I say look into it, it might be useful for your beloved Light Horse.”

---

Old Ripley Admiralty building at Whitehall, London. January, 1890.
Republic of England, United Republic

The usual grey overcast of the city had forced the men to resort to turn on the electric lamps in the middle of the day. The windows were shut tight to keep out the draft, creating a stuffy atmosphere suitable to most bureaucrats and administrators. They were assembled around the usual meeting table, a slab of oak on legs, with its surface worn down by centuries of use. First Admiral Richard Hamilton checked his watch and blew out a low and slow whistle. Second Admiral Frederick Richards chuckled, “You know how Hood gets, always takes his time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. Third Admiral John Fisher was leaning over the edge of his chair, deep in a low conversation with William White, one of the Admiralty’s civilian employees and Chief of Naval Construction. They were all flanked and surrounded by the rest of the members of the Admiralty Board, mostly bureaucrats like the Civil Director and assistants or deputys like the Second Secretary.

The main door opened, a young Marine stepped in and took his place beside the door. Behind him came Admiralty Secretary Edward Majoribanks and Grand Admiral Arthur Hood.

“Gentlemen you must excuse the delay, we were held up in the most terrible traffic on our way here.” Hood stated as he pulled out a chair to take his seat.

“Yes, quite dreadful indeed. By some great misfortune a bus was overturned and blocked the road. Our driver had to practically circumnavigate the borough to get us here.” Majoribanks said, chuckling at the end.

Hamilton slapped the table, “Well, onto business then. Firstly, our budget has been renewed this year by Parliament. It's of wide opinion that we should undertake construction to introduce new ships to the fleet. I believe Admiral Fisher has more on this.”

Fisher cleared his throat, “I’ve been working closely with Mister White and our colleagues at the national dockyards. We’ve come up with some designs for new ships to begin construction this year. These include three new classes of battleships with a planned order for twelve ships, two classes of first class cruisers for ten new ships, a new class of second class cruisers to introduce eight new ships, and an order of five new boats for use against torpedo craft.”

White passed a few papers around including design specifications and estimates on cost and production.

“Tell me about these battleship designs Mister White.” Hood asked.

The engineer flipped through a few papers before producing the ones he wanted, “Well sir there's two main classes, the Centurion and Renown classes, each of two ships, for colonial service. They feature less overall armor and smaller armament to better suit colonial needs, while also featuring new innovations in armor design which can make up for their reduced thickness. The third class, the Majestic, of which we’re proposing eight ships be built, features these same armor innovations along with the new 12-inch gun. Our estimates believe that we could have the Centurion and Renown commissioned as early as 1894, possibly 1895, while the Majestics will mostly likely see service in 1896.

Hamilton tapped on one of the design papers, “I’m curious about these “torpedo boat destroyers”. We’ve already built over a dozen torpedo gunboats to combat enemy boats, what assurances do we have that these destroyers will do any different?”

Fisher spoke up, cutting off White who had only just opened his mouth, “These new destroyers feature new boilers which allow them to maintain speeds able to compete effectively with the smaller boats. We’ve seen innovations from the Scandinavians, the Americans, even the Japanese, showing that the most effective way to combat torpedo craft is with small boats armed with quick firing guns like the 12 pounder featured on the destroyer designs. They’ll be highly more effective than the gunboats.”

Secretary Majoribanks took off his reading glasses and placed the paper he was reading down, “This is all within budget?” He asked.

Fisher shrugged, “With some cutbacks it will be. One way we could raise some revenue would be to sell off some of the older ships. We’ve compiled a list of older battleships and monitors, mostly those over a decade old, which are already laid up in ordinary. It'll mean on paper our battleship numbers won't change much, but numbers only matter to Parliament and I can hardly justify the tactical need to keep around ships long proven outdated for combat just to satiate the publics need to feel mighty."

Hamilton grunted, “We’ve gotten requests from the Canadians and the South Africans to sell them ships. It would help shore up our positions in America and the Cape coast to have our ships enter their service, and get some capital into our coffers.”

Hood nodded, “Sounds excellent. Fisher I want you in charge of the decommissioning; contact our trusted scrap yards and the colonials, see what offers you can get. Speak to the Australians too, I’ve heard their Federal Council is making progress; if they manage to Federate their next move will be to form a defense force, and a few monitors will do them some good. As for the new construction program, I think it's splendid, fine work from Mister White as usual.”

Majoribanks slapped the table, “Good. Well, now onto other business. Mister Hamilton…”

---

Tanjung Priok seaport, Jakarta. January, 1890.
British Governorate of Java, United Republic

Lance Corporal Sean Quinlan never much liked sailing; the salty sea air was dank and musty, and the rocking of the boat made him sick to his stomach. He’d just spent the last month or so in the hull of a navy transport with a couple hundred other men, all crammed together in bunks and quarters. When he finally set foot on dry land in Jakarta he said a silent prayer to Jesus and mother Mary, nearly knocking his helmet off crossing himself. He looked down the docks to see a line of men in the same khaki uniforms as him, all waiting to get to a man behind a desk. Quinlan jogged over and got in line, slipping out his travel papers and service record. He held them up to the light to see em clearly; a soldier’s papers were important, they were the only proof you hadn’t deserted or that you were even enlisted.

The line moved forward but Quinlan hadn’t noticed, so the guy behind him gave him a shove. Quinlan stumbled and a gust of wind came by, ripping the papers from Quinlans hands. The young Irishman looked shocked as the papers flew in the breeze, and he broke out in a sprint after them. The soldiers in line looked over in bemusement, some hollering at him to “Go get em soldier!” Quinlan didn’t even hear them, the only thing on his mind was those papers. His heart dropped as one of his papers took a dive, right off the pier. Thinking quickly, he swung his Martini rifle off his shoulder and dived on his belly by the piers edge and shoved his rifle down. He pulled the rifle up to reveal a damp but intact travel paper sheet; Quinlan quickly took out a piece of cloth from his sack and sandwiched the paper between the cloth and slid it into his sack.

Quinlan looked around his surroundings, desperately searching for his service record. The unmistakably lightly red rectangle of paper was nowhere to be seen. He made a mad dash off the pear and into the bustling market just at the base of the seaport, and was surrounded by a moving river of people and goods. He was thrown to the ground by a cart as it passed, hitting Quinlan on the shoulder; its owner shouted at Quinlan in Indonesian. The young soldier stood up quickly, dusting himself off, and looked up only to see his record nestled in the hay on the back of the cart. Quinlan tried to run for the cart but found the mass of people around him hampering him. Another cart would come clambering by, and Quinlan grabbed its side boarding and vaulted himself up onto it. Its driver would be absolutely lived until Quinlan would present a crumbled up wad of Pounds, afterwhich the driver was much more amenable as Quinlan pointed at the cart with his record, indicating that he wanted the driver to follow.

The two clarts clattered down the cobblestone streets of Jakarta’s port district, with Quinlan attempting his best to communicate with his driver in broken English. A few more pounds and the driver would whip his donkeys into a fervor, driving down the streets like a European automobile. When the two carts came to be close, Quinlan attempted to shout to the other cart driver, but he was oblivious. The street had become narrow, only space enough for one cart at a time plus the citizens on either side. With no other alternative, Quinlan pushed his helmet down tight on his head and stood up, holding onto the side boards for stability. The driver shouted something in Indonesian but the Lance Corporal paid it no mind. He placed a foot on the front board and pushed off, leaping forward. He saw himself coming up short and began to worry that he might soon meet his maker, but he just made it far enough to latch onto the backboard of the cart.

He held on with dear life, his feet and legs dragging on the ground, scuffing up the nice polish he had spent hours getting right on the ship. His knees bumped over every cobble, wearing the cloth. He kicked fruitlessly to attempt to gain purchase before mustering up the strength and pulling himself up by his arms just enough to swing his legs underneath him and plant them on the bottom axile. He could hear the rubber of his soles grind against the spinning metal, causing them to smoke slightly and grind the cart down. Its driver, now aware that something was dragging his cart, turned around to see Quinlans head just peaking above. He pulled the reins on his donkeys and brought the cart to a halt while shouting loudly in Indonesian, uttering many obscenities that Quinlan didn’t understand. The Irishman paid him no mind and instead climbed into the back and snatched his service record up from the hay, jumping off with glee. He could still hear the driver shouting in the background but his attention was on his recovered record.

Quinlan felt an arm seize him and he turned around sharply. He found himself looking into the face of a man wearing a khaki uniform like his but with the notable inclusion of a black arm band with the letters “MP” written in stark white. The man had a thick mustache and mutton chops, and had a very stern look in his face. Quinlan was paralyzed with fear, stuck in a pose with both his hands on his service record, holding it out in front of him. The MP looked down and looked back up at Quinlan, raising his right eyebrow. He lifted a gloved hand and snatched the paper from Quinlans hand and raised it up to his eyes. He nodded and then handed it back to Quinlan, he quickly accepted it. The MP jabbed a thumb behind him and said, “1st Battalion is based in the west wing. Better hurry or you’ll miss lunch.”

His words confused Quinlan, until his eyes shifted from the MP to the building behind him, which featured a large emblem of the British Army. It was his barracks, Quinlan quickly realized, snapping him out of his fearful paralysis. He snapped a quick salute towards the MP and ran off into the open doors of the building, quickling coming into an internal courtyard where he saw many soldiers and staff moving around. He remembered the words of the MP and looked towards the west, seeing an open door with a wooden placard above it labeled “18th Irish Regiment” and made for it. He could smell the signature smell of gruel, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten much on the sail over made him hungry enough to lick his lips, even for something like army gruel.

[Sao Nova Europa]

History Journal
William Churchill
NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN THE FIELD OF HISTORIOGRAPHY IN THE INDIAN EMPIRE

Since the establishment of the Academy of Delhi during the generalship of Strategos Autokrator Bahadur Shah Zafar in 1847, India has seen a blooming of historiography that has largely been driven by a desire to showcase the ancient past of the Indian Empire to counter both European and Maratha narratives about India.

A seminal work in that mold has been Prashant Bakshi’s A History of the Basileis of India: A Study in Administration. Comprised of five long volumes, it recounts the history of the empire from its establishment in 183 BC to this day. It focuses less on biographies of the Basileis or the Strategoi Autokratores, as the title would suggest, and instead more on the evolution of Indian administration from the earlier times to the present. It shows how the Indian Empire, faced with external and internal crises, had to change in order to adapt and survive in new circumstances.

The Indian Literature from Doxiades to Adhya of Jaswant Devdhar is a cultural history that journeys us throughout Indian literature, from the foundations of the empire to the 1850s. Jaswant is concerned almost exclusively with the high – Greek that is – literature of India, and shows how the Indian Empire produced some of the greatest works of the Greek language. It also shows the remarkable continuity in high culture, as Indians have for over two thousand years retained Attic Greek as their cultural language.

A Study of Popular Literature of Shackcham Pandya is remarkable because it is one of the few books that concerns itself with the populace at large. The book focuses on non-Greek literature, long dismissed as ‘folkish’ and ‘uncouth’ by educated Indians. Shackcham shows that, contrary to such perceptions, the Indian Empire has a proud indigenous literature.

Bhrigu Ashtekar’s work The Indian Empire and the Greek Question isn’t so much a historical work as a philosophical and political one, arguing for the widespread education of the Indian populace in Greek. The author believes that Greek should cease to be privilege of educated Indians and that instead Indians of all classes should be educated in Greek, allowing for a new patriotism to emerge.

Mehmud Panja authored Warriors of the Steppe: How the People of the Horse Renewed the Empire, a seminal work on Scythian, Kushan, Seljuk and Timurid rule over India. The author traces the histories of those people in the steppes of the far north and showcases how their ‘conquering spirit imbued the empire with renewed energy’. He makes a compelling case that it were those nomadic people that allowed the empire to survive, as their martial skills safeguarded it from external and internal enemies.

Dhuleep Sabanis’ work The Indian Realm is a national history of the Indian Empire from 183 BC to the present date. It is a massive twenty volumes work that took two decades to be completed. It is widely considered the greatest Indian historical work, at least in modern times. Dhuleep not only recounts in great detail the history of the Indian Empire from 183 BC – not just of the rulers but also of philosophers, scholars and even of social trends – but he also presents a countering ideology to Maratha ideology. In Dhuleep’s work one can find an Indian nationalism whose pillars are the Euthydemid Dynasty, Greek language and Unity (Ενότητα), a concept that sees India as naturally unified under the Euthydemids. It ignores religion, instead presenting Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism as indigenous Indian traditions, and seeks to incorporate the Hindu majority into the national narrative.

Overall, one can see a trend of ‘nationalization’ of history as Indian scholars attempt to craft a truly majoritarian national narrative to counter Maratha propaganda. India, the Indian Empire and the Indian people are one and the same in this narrative, united by the royal dynasty and Greek language. This, I suspect, shall lead to political initiatives that might finally push the government into instituting widespread education in Attic Greek.

[The Traansval]

Cape Coast, Gold Coast Colony. January 1890.
Governorate of the Gold Coast, United Republic.

He lifted the tent flap up, his boots padding over the trampled brown grass underfoot. The first thing he registered was the heat; he felt as if he had traded the broiler of the African sun for an oven, baking him alive. The second thing he registered was the movement of people as men with their jacket uniforms off moved around in mad haste. The third thing he registered was a table in the middle of the tent surrounded by men wearing uniforms far finer than his standard one, with fine pipping and brass elements that glinted in the light. He stood in that entrance for a moment, stock-still as he took in the sight. He was stuck not by confusion, for he has seen plenty of that in his service, but by fear, or more accurately, by intimidation.

A man in a slightly wrinkled officers uniform standing stock still in a tent doorway does not go unnoticed. There was an officer at the table, he leaned against the table with one hand and stroked his considerable white mustache with his other as he listened to the others as they spoke. The movement at the tent entrance had not caught his attention, after all the tent was full of movement, but soon he felt something in the back of his mind. Finally, he took notice of a still figure in his peripheral and turned to look. He stood straight and strode around the table, catching the attention of the other officers. As he neared, the six-star cluster on his collar informed that this officer was a colonel and the only colonel in the Gold Coast was Francis Scott, Inspector-General, and commander of forces in the colony.

“Who are you, and what are you here for Lieutenant?” Scott asked, his hands behind his back as he looked down at the young officer.

The Lieutenant quickly came to attention with his boots snapping together and his hand coming up to salute faster than a comet across the night sky could fly. “Sir! Lieutenant Charles Porter, Republican Artillery! Reporting for Major Andrews!”

Scott returned Porter’s salute, “At ease. Where is Andrews, I sent for him over an hour ago.”

Porter allowed his arms to come to rest joined behind his back as he spaced his feet apart, “That’s why I’m here sir. Andrews has come down with the Yellow Fever, he’s on a medical ship as we speak.”

Curses unbecoming of a respectable audience of readers such as yourself emerged from Scott’s mouth, “Well then where his second? I need my artillery.”

“Captain Williams is also down with it. Most of Major Andrews’s staff have come down with it sir, there was a meeting last week and the doctors seem to believe it ripped through them there.” Porter said with a wince.

The colonel was silent for a moment, nodding to himself as he stroked his mustache, “So, then who is the ranking officer?” He inquired.

Porter held down the immense urge to gulp as he answered, “Uh, I am sir. I’m a battery officer and Andrews asked me to keep the men together until I came to talk to you.”

Scott was still for a moment, his face contracted in a look of concentration as his eyes were planted firmly on the chest of Porter. He was alone with his thoughts for that moment, a stillness was broken by his movement once he had reached a decision. He strode over to a desk placed against the canvas walls of the large command tent and drew open one of the top drawers. From it, he retrieved a small box made of paperboard, which he then tossed towards Porter after turning towards said lieutenant.

He caught the box in the nick of time, having to bend down to snatch it before it touched the brown grass underfoot. “You’re promoted to Captain, now come join us,” Scott said as Porter opened the box to reveal two sets of two stars and new stripes for his shoulder loops. He stuffed the box in his pocket and quickly shuffled over to the table, which he now saw had a large map of the Gold Coast laid out with various pieces, papers, and glasses on top of it. He came to stand next to a smiling Major who extended his gloved hand towards Porter.

“Names Robert friend.” He said.

Porter responded in kind, shaking the Major’s hand, “Charles.”

Scott rapped his knuckles on the table, “Major Baden-Powell, what is the status of our native forces?” The colonel asked as he picked up a glass half empty with a weakly colored liquor.

Robert Baden-Powell cleared his throat, “We’ve raised a levy of some seven hundred men from allied coast tribes and two regiments of Africans of the Colony. They have come under my command along with the Suriname Rifles; both are ready as ever for the expedition.”

The colonel took a long sip of his drink, coughing slightly as he placed it back down on the table. He nodded to himself as he picked up a small chess piece, a pawn, and placed it down on the map right by Cape Coast. He looked up, both his hands down on the edge of the table which he now leaned on, towards an officer right across from him.

“Hodgson, have our troops arrived in full as has been reported to me?” Scott asked.

Porter felt Baden-Powell nudge his arm as he turned in towards the lieutenant, dipping his head down to whisper, “Lieutenant-Colonel Vince Hodgson, adjutant and second in command.”

Hodgson nodded, “Yes Colonel, the last arrived earlier today. A battalion each from the Middlesex, Welsh, and London regiments. The good Commodore has also provided for a naval brigade as per your request.”

As Hodgson spoke, Scott placed two more chess pieces over Cape Coast; a knight and a bishop. The old colonel grunted as he considered the battlefield, “Captain Porter, what is the state of Republican Artillery?” He said without even looking up from his map, his eyes focused on concentration.

Porter felt eyes on him, causing his throat to suddenly dry to a point consistent with the Sahara. “Sir we’ve uh two batteries with 75’s, a battery of mortars, and an uh special battery from Home for two Maxim guns.” He answered as straight as he could.

Scott looked up swiftly at the end of Porter’s report, “The Maxims arrived?” Scott inquired. Porter nodded, “Yes sir, I saw them myself after Andrews sent me to assess the battery.”

The colonel let a smile creep onto his face as he looked once again towards the map. He reached his hand towards his chess pieces and plucked another, a rook, and placed it next to the others on Cape Coast. His hand then moved to tap over an area north of Cape Coast, one labeled “Ashanti”.

“This is the target gentlemen. We’ve fought two wars and an expedition against the Ashanti, and London wants this to be the last. Their King refuses to agree to a protectorate and refuses to recognize allegiance to Parliament. The Ashanti are known as savages; they practice human sacrifice, take slaves during their conflict, and have been to war against Britain and natives under our protection multiple times. Westminster wants the Ashanti pacified and an end to the fighting in the Gold Coast, it is the job of this expedition to do so.” Scott said as he paced, examining the map. He picked up a King piece and passed it between his fingers.

He stopped his pacing and moved the King piece between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it down onto the map in the Ashanti territory. “The prize is Coomassie, their capital and the seat of the King’s court,” Scott said. He placed his finger on the map above Cape Coast and dragged it slowly north towards the King piece, speaking “We will advance up this road that was constructed during the first expedition.”

Scott picked up another chess piece, a Queen this time, and placed it between Coomassie and Cape Coast, “Scouting reports state that the Ashanti host a garrison here, at Amoaful. We will need to defeat them in order to advance. According to all intelligence, a decisive victory at Amoaful, which we were unable to achieve in the last war, should open the road up to Coomassiem and victory,” he said.

The colonel looked up from the map, his hands behind his back. “Ready your men, we move at dawn tomorrow. Welsh 2nd battalion will take the vanguard and I want artillery ready behind. Porter, see about using that tractor we requisitioned”

[TENNOHEIKA BANZAI NIHON]

Yūbari, Japan
Hokutan Yūbari Coal Mine, Ishikari Coalfield
January 2, 1890

Hori Motori gave a bow, smiled, and waved as a small crowd of locals, reporters, and miners cheered for the opening day of the latest mine in Yubari, just one day after Ganjitsu. Tomorrow he would commence the grand opening of the mine in Utashinai, called the Sorachi Coal Mine. He was rather anxious as he politely greeted everyone who came up to him, speaking to them shortly before moving on.

As owner of the Hokkaido Colliery and Railway Company, he was a very busy man. He had bought the mines in the Ishikari Coalfield from the government in 1889 and now he was finally attempting to reap the rewards. The business was rather demanding; a focus on having the railroads ready to transport coal to ports, steamboats to transport the coal to the rest of Japan, and the coal mines themselves.

His business partner, Tomio Hashimura approached him as he stood, the two bowing before they seated themselves at a western style table as the small celebration occurred around them. For the locals, the new mine would mean more business in the area, and for the miners, a fair paying job. Tomio motioned towards the mine entrance, “How much coal did you say we could extract from the mine?”

Hori grinned. “If our experts are right, this mine will produce more coal than any other one in the whole coalfield! Around 2,000 tons a year. Better than our Sorachi mine, that only will produce around 1,500 tons a year. I just got word from local prison officials, they might be able to provide some labor.”

Tomio smiled back. “Hokkaido coal is some of the best quality in Japan. I’m glad we bought these mines when we did.”

“I know, I have heard from a friend in the Imperial Court that there have been whispers from the Shogunate of the creation of some sort of coal reserve. Damned Manchurians making claims over Karafuto and Koreans holding Takeshima, I think the military is getting ready for a conflict. In which case we might have a buyer very soon.” said Hori.

Tomio just chuckled. “I doubt we will go to war, but this program by the Shogunate could mean good money. We should look into that before anyone else does. I hear Mitsubishi just bought Hashima.”

Hori reached for a glass of sake as Tomio did the same when a server came by. In one swing he downed the small shot as he stood. “I best get going, I am closing an agreement to buy a steamship today and I cannot afford for it to slip though.” He paused bowing, “Sayonara my friend. I will see you tomorrow in Utashinai.”

“Sayonara.”

Tokyo, Japan
Bafuku Palace
January 2, 1890

Shogun Yoshinobu paced across the war room, seating himself at the head of the table as his advisors and top commanders rose and bowed. Returning with a slight bow, Yoshinobu was straight and to the point. He motioned to the map. “Of late, we have been facing several threats, most critical, from Korea. Our infrastructure projects have so far been successful. We have more railroads laid, more trains, and more paved roads. Our domestic supply lines are strong enough to fight a major war. What are issues are our naval trade routes.” He waved to Admiral Ito Toshiyoshi to continue.

Toshiyoshi bowed and motioned to the map. “As per our plans for war with any hostile power, we will devote our entire fleet to one goal; the complete destruction of the enemy fleet. Domination of the sea is our first priority. However doing so creates an issue regarding our trade routes. We are dependent on foreign resources to supply our military, simply put, what we produce domestically, while useful, is not enough.”

Toshiyoshi paced around the map and pointed towards the East Taiping Sea. “At Imperial Navy General Headquarters, we always plan for the worst case scenario. We will be bottled up here in the East Taiping Sea should war arise. It is possible, rather highly likely, Taiping may continue trade with us, however for our simulations we assume that they refuse.”

Walking over to the area on the map of the Kurils, Toshiyoshi continued, “We must assume in our simulation we face a direct attack from a combined Korean and Manchurian force. Manchurians attacking Karafuto and Koreans battling our Combined Fleet. This means should we trade with Russia, we may be forced to take a longer route, near the protection of onshore batteries. We are lucky our merchant ships are armed, however for this simulation, we assume either complete blockade in the north or a Russia unwilling to trade.”

Now walking over to several charts, “This in any situation would be very, very bad. The Army’s infantry would be able to continue the fighting and should not become an immediate issue, ammunition and other equipment can be produced domestically without too many issues for at least a year. What the biggest concern is coal and metals. Coal is needed for our ships, our trains, and energy. Currently we only have a reserve of around 6 months coal spread out in our ports. If all goes according to our war plans, we will need another 18 months worth of coal in a war.”

Lieutenant General Motoharu Yamaji, arms crossed against his chest interrupted, “No war plan survives the battlefield. I say we should make reserves that will last 3 years.”

Toshiyoshi gave an icy smile, his dislike for the Army evident. “Of course, that would mean we must create a reserve of roughly 29,700,000 tons coal. Such would be impossible for us to do alone, but we should take advantage of peacetime and purchase the coal now. Secondary to coal reserves will be munition reserves, and tertiary to that will be precious metals, which we can use to purchase said coal and munitions during wartime.”

Picking up two pieces of coal, “This piece of coal in my left hand is from Kyushu. This one in my right hand is from Hokkaido. As I am sure you already know, Kyushu coal is of poor quality. There is no need to buy poor quality coal when we are at peace. Our reserves must be made up of the best coal possible, there is no room to cut costs. Remember gentlemen, these preparations are not to give us an advantage, these are to give us a fighting chance.”

Yoshinobu nodded. He looked to three of his aides. “You! Write up a decree to establish the Imperial Strategic Energy Reserve.” He looked towards the other two as the other man bowed and exited the room. “You two, arrange for orders to be placed within our domestic companies. I want 3,000 tons of coal to be acquired by the end of this month, and I want you to look into acquiring coal from Taiping and Russia! Get word to the local government in Papua, the Misima Island gold mines are to be bought up by the Shogunate.”

As the aides hurried out, Yoshinobu turned to his commanders. “I want you to ensure readiness, but do not provoke the Koreans. I fear our greatest threat is Manchuria. Deterrence against the Koreans should be our utmost focus, so should the Manchurians make a move, they do not follow. Within next week, I want the Imperial Navy drilling defensive operations in the Ryukyu. I want plans for a massive joint Army-Navy drill sent to my palace within three weeks. Dismissed.”

As commanders and advisors filed out, talking among themselves about different plans or reforms, Yoshinobu sat back down, staring at the map, planning. A storm was coming, and it was his duty to ensure its outcome was favorable.

[Theyra]

Parthian Empire, Rhages, Royal Palace
January 1890

Shahanshah Ararad Askari had a tired look on his face as he retired to his study. It was a large study with a complete collection of books on each side of the walls, a large globe in the middle of the room, and an ornate desk near the back. Araradchose to sit down at his desk and take some time to relax. It has been a long day even if and Ararad always felt relax whenever he was in the palace's study. Ararad himself has selected its books. He always liked books and the purpose of knowledge. Ever since he was going up, he always took the time to study what he could from the palace's library, which has been growing for centuries under his family's care. Even has some books dating back to the previous dynasty's rule. It almost seemed like he would have been better suited to be a scholar than a leader of a nation at times.

Still, he was chosen by the Council of Seven to be the next Shahanshah of the empire, and it is a duty that he has taken seriously since his coronation years ago. So far, he thinks he has done a good job, the land is stable, and the economy is growing thanks to the abundance of oil in the empire's land. But, there is always something wrong, it seems, and the most concerning of it to him is the Council of Seven clans. Sure, the growing amount of citizens wanting a more democratic government, and some have started to protest in the streets is concerning. Which they had been dealt with peacefully since peacefully protesting is covered in the Basic Laws of the Empire. It is the Council of Seven that has been on his mind.

For centuries, it has been a balance of power between the clans and the Shahanshah. It is a delicate balance to ensure that while the clans have power in the empire, they do not overshadow or grow more powerful than the Shahanshah. That balance seems to be slowly but surely tipping in the scale of the Seven. While the growing economy thanks to oil has been a boon in general for the empire. The Seven have capitalized on the growing oil industry. Growing more wealthy than before and have started to expand their influence in the empire. Beyond what could be considered normal and Ararad is troubled by it. He does not want a conflict with the Seven, but he does not balance power to slip from his control. Before it is too late, and only aggressive actions can rectify the situation. So far, he has taken some measures to keep the Seven's influence in check, and they are predictively showing signs that they are not happy about it.

Then while Ararad was deep in his thoughts, he heard a knock at the door. He tiredly sighed as he said out loud, "Yes, come in." To his surprise, instead of another advisor or official, it was his wife, Mirna, who was knocking.

Opening the door and sticking her head out. "Greetings, husband, I thought that after your meeting that we should talk, or are you preoccupied with something?

"Uh, no, I am not busy, please come in." Ararad quickly collecting himself.

Mirna quietly entered the room and closed the door behind her. "I know you have been stressed lately, and I wanted to see if I could help with it." She walked to the edge of his desk.

"That... that would be nice right now, I would like that". Ararad sighed with relief as he relaxed in his chair. "So, where should we start?

"Probably with what is ails you the most."

Ararad felt a little uneasy at the thought of talking about the Seven with her. Mainly because it deals with her family, the Mihrans, who are apart of the Seven Clans. He knows that she loves him, and he loves her back. But, having to go against family, that is hard. Ararad would rather not have his wife have to deal with this but, he knows her. Mirna is not the one to shy away from trouble, especially from family matters. So with a long sigh, he spoke up. "What ails me the most is the Seven Clans, the balance is slowly shifting, and I do not want to lose control of the situation." Slowly getting up from his char, "I know this deals with your family, and I promise I will try to solve it peacefully if I can."

"I see, and I know you keep your promises. But, you should not have to worry about my family Ararad". Speaking softly, "our families are allies, our marriage cement that."

"Yes, but that is one versus six, and you know how House Suren has been acting lately. "The "leader" of the Council of Seven, using their newfound money to increase their influence in the Empire beyond what is allowed. Something must be done sooner or later, and I prefer sooner while things are small".

"Okay, okay, I see, and I will help you with this if you let me. We can find how to remedy this situation".

Ararad gave a big smile, "Of course you can help me with this, and we will find a way to handle the Council of Seven. I know it before things can escalate, and how about we go to the garden? To relax for a bit and take advantage of the nice day.

A small smile appeared on her face, "I would like that Ararad, and maybe we can check on Zaven and Vana on the way."

"Zaven and Vana? I guess we can check up on our youngsters. They could use the fresh air if he is not sparring with each".

Without another word, the pair departed the study and went on their business. Ararad felt relief now that his wife would be helping him with the Seven. Still, he has to be careful. He does not want to make the situation worse. Balance must be maintained if the empire wishes to stay its course and prosper. Or stand united against a foreign threat, and time will tell how things will go.

[Kisinger]

Paris, France
January 1st, 1890

The bright and colorful explosions from outside echoed through the house to Jules Guesde who sat comfortably in his study watching the festivities through a window, his own personal party had ended several hours ago. The beautiful Republic, his republic he thought to himself, was nearing its hundred year mark and was at its most pivotal moment in its own history.

Despite the cheers and partying in Paris there was an underlying feeling of fear and resentment brewing from the people. Everyday monarchists and his fellow socialists butchered each other in the streets in the name of the cause. It was bringing the nation to the brink of civil war. Jules in deep thought didn’t hear the door to his study open and several men quickly walked up to him.

By the time he noticed and stood to turn to face them the rifles in their hands had already leveled. An officer standing amongst them was from Jules’s own guard assigned from the Presidents Guard, Émile Driant who promptly leveled his own pistol.

“Fire!” Was the sole word that was spoken as the bark of the rifles

Émile walked over to the now dead Premier's body gently checking for a pulse. Swiftly after moving his hand away three quick shots from his revolver resonated through the room.

Stepping away he simply said. “Long Live the King.” Swiftly echoed by the gunmen with him. He motioned for the gunmen to leave as he walked out with them.

January 2nd
Geraud made his way through the crowd now surrounding the Premier’s residence as policemen and guards stood outside keeping the crowd from closing in.

Geraud calmly slipped past nodding at the officers as he flashed his badge at them before walking into the Residence proper.

As he made his way through the house he quickly found the room the body was in along with several of his associates.

A tall dark haired man stood up smiling, “Glad to see you have arrived Geraud.”

“Time of death?” Geraud spoke, seeming to ignore the greeting.

“Late last night shot to death.” The man said.

“It’s nice to see you Jean.” Geraud said before kneeling down inspecting the body.

[Tracian Empire]

Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων
Basileia tōn Rhōmaiōn
The Empire of the Romans

Βασιλεία Ῥωμαίων
Basileía Rhōmaíōn
The Roman Empire

Η βασιλεύς Σύγκλητος και ο Λαός της Ρώμης
I Basileus Sýnklitos kai o Laós tis Rómis
The Emperor, Senate and People of Rome

Σταυρὲ βασιλέως βασιλέων βασιλεύων βασίλευε
Staurè Basileùs Basiléon Basileúon Basíleue
Cross of the King of Kings, rule in reigning

---

Viminákio, on the Roman side of the Danube, near the Roman-Bohemian border

It was a quiet night for the squad garrisoning one of the many small Roman fronts near the city of Viminákio, forming the northern akron. Tensions had been rising between the two nations for quite some time now, mainly due to the aggressive Bohemian rhetoric and their large standing army, and of course, the Romans were not ones to ever ignore the thread of invasions from the north ever again. How many generations of limitanei and akritai and stood and died on the banks of the Danube? How many of them had guarded the river at night, waiting, listening for sounds, for anything that could warn them of what could happen? How many soldiers had died, from the reign of Justinian to that of Basil II, just to ensure that akritai could still guard the river, with the Balkans behind them, secure and under imperial control?

It was a humbling task for Chirstoforos Dematos, the Pentekontarches in charge of the small fort. It wasn't that difficult most of the time, as with the exception of regular provocations, the biggest issue on the Danube border was represented by smugglers, and the unwritten rule in that regard was that each side took care of the smugglers aiming for their respective shores. Nothing in particular had happened during that night, and already half of the guard duty of his men had gone by, the silence only being ocassionally interrupted by the whispering of passwords and the sounds of men moving. The Pentekontarches himself was up on the wall, enjoying a late night cigarette, when he heard some steps behind him. Turning around, he saw one of the younger soldiers assigned to his pentekentarchia. "Pentekontarches, sir", the soldier saluted in a low voice. "We believe that someone is preparing to cross the river on the other side." Chirstoforos exhaled some smoke. "Smugglers, probably. Send a kontoubernion to wait for them on the other side.", he ordered in a similarly low tone. "Sir.. we think that there might be several boats involved."

A moment of silence followed, as the commander took his binoculars and looked over the river himself. Indeed, it looked as if there were some shapes moving around the river, nearing its middle, and there were multiple of them - multiple boats. But before he was even able to react, a shot was heard - from the boats. "Call all men to the walls. Permission to open fire.", he ordered in quick succession, as the soldier left running. The bells that served as the alarm of the fort quickly started to ring, and the Roman unit mobilized. Less than a minute later, the first shots were fired at the boats, once they were certain that they had crossed onto the Roman side of the river. A few shots seemed to respond from the boats, but it was difficult to say - the bells, the orders shouted, and the screams. It didn't take long for the Bohemian fort on the other side of the river to also sound the alarm, and not that much afterwards to also start firing, as the boats seemed to return.

What happened afterwards was a mystery. Was one of the bullets fired from one of the remaining boats fired in a way which convinced a soldier that the fort on the other side of the river was firing at them? Who opened fire first? Regardless of that, a few minutes afterwards the soldiers in the two forts were firing at each other, or at the very least were convinced that the boats had been an enemy attempt at a raid, and were attempting to. The shots slowly died off as the sunrise grew ever nearer, with neither of the commanders willing to be the first to open fire with a canon, but the damage had already been done - a border skirmish had taken place.

Βασιλεία τῶν Ῥωμαίων
Basileia tōn Rhōmaiōn
The Empire of the Romans

Βασιλεία Ῥωμαίων
Basileía Rhōmaíōn
The Roman Empire

Η βασιλεύς Σύγκλητος και ο Λαός της Ρώμης
I Basileus Sýnklitos kai o Laós tis Rómis
The Emperor, Senate and People of Rome

Βασιλεύς Βασιλέων Βασιλεύων Βασιλευόντων
Basiléus Basiléon Basilévon Basilevónton
Emperor of Emperors, Ruling Over Those Who Rule

To His Imperial Majesty, Ararad Askari, Shahanshah of Parthia

The Emperor of the Romans salutes the Emperor of the Persians! Much blood was spilled between our people in the past, but this never before heard period of peace between our two ancient and mighty empires has led to never before seen prosperity for our subjects. With the era when Romans and Persians would fight and kill each other in the deserts in pointless battles long gone, we believe that the time has come for more cooperation, and more friendship. The Silk Road might not be what it had once been, but Persia still stands in between the riches of Asia and the riches of Europe. For the benefit of trade and travel, we would like to propose the joint construction of a railway from Daras to Shahr-e Rey, with an extension from Daras to the Persian ports in southern Mesopotamia. The Empire of the Romans is ready and willing to contribute to the construction with funds, experts, and workers, and the final railway would of course be under the control of Persia, being built in the realm of the Shahanshah, and the Romans would only require that the railroad be kept open for trade and transport between the two countries. For this purpose, the Empire of the Romans would also want to send Georgios Kantakouzenos as the ambassador and representative of the Basileus Basileōn to the court of the Shahanshah, and would be more than honoured to receive a representative of the Shahanshah to the court in Constantinople.

Ioannes Batatzes, Logothete of the Drome of the Empire of the Romans, in the name of:

His Imperial Majesty, Mikhael Palaiologos, in Christ Basileus and Autokrator of the Romans, Kaisar, Kyrios and Despot of the New Rome, Forever Sebastos and Sotiras, Sebastokrator and Nobelissimos, Hypatos, Arkhistrategos and Arkhiexarkhos, Porphyrogennetos, Viceroy of Our Lord Jesus Christ on Earth, the Pious and the Blessed, Defender of the One True Orthodox Faith, Great Protector of the Holy Cities of Constantinople, Rome, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria, Protector of the Holy Council Cities of Nikaea and Chalkedon, Despot of All Moesia and All Anatolia, of Greece, Macedonia and Dacia, Scythia and Taurica, of Thrace, of Armenia, Syria, Libya and Palestine, of the Oriental Islands, Protector of the Cities of Thessaloniki, Perhabinon, and Berytos, Kyrios of All Egypt, Sovereign of the Holy Order of the True Cross, Grand Master of the Order of Saint Andrew, of the Order of Constantine the Great and of the Order of Justinian the Great, King of Kings, Ruling Over Those Who Rule

[Revlona]

January 1890
Just north of the Jutland Peninsula
Aboard the HMS Ironside

Jarl Joki Illithson,Lord of Denmark and a member of the Royal council, stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he stared out towards the setting sun. To his left at a distance of 220 meters was a battleship of the Royal Navy, much like the one he was on himself. To his right was another. In front and behind of the Ironside were the several cruisers and destroyers that topped of his escort.

"Admiral Finrison, what is your opinion on the slave trade and on slavery itself?" Jarl Joki said, turning his head towards the man to the left of him. Admiral Larn Finrison was what any person would think of when they imagined a Norse Admiral. Tall, Blonde, and fair skinned, he fit his uniform well and had his beard trimmed finely.

"His majesty speaks with the voice of Odin and has constantly spoken against enforced servitude and bondage as being barbaric, as such the gods must feel the same way. Slavery is abhorrent and the slave trade is equally unworthy of our good regards Jarl," The admiral said.

"Good, those sentiments are the same I shall speak to this african conference, though I feel we shall see more than just talks of slavery at this conference. In truth I, and his majesty, feel that the British and other African powers may use this conference as a means of expanding their base of powers in the region, Scandinavia intends to do the same." He said.

Admiral Finrison said nothing, merely nodding in complete acceptance and agreement.

Constantinople

"Ah, Constantinople, the City of Cities. Such a marvelous place," Commander Alfred Linson said as he gazed at the city from the Royal Navy cruiser he had sailed there on. It was slowly slipping into dock in the early hours of the day.

Commander Linson was the newly appointed Ambassador to the Roman Empire, or the Eastern Roman Empire since the both liked to be called the Roman Empire. The previous Ambassador had died in his sleep some months past and Linson had been selected as the new ambassador, thanks in no small part to his families service the Varangian guard.

The Guard, it was the highest honor any person could have the chance of achieving, to serve in the guard all but assured a person their spot in Valhalla forever. Linson himself had served for 4 years, as had his father, both uncles, eldest son, and youngest son who was currently a captain in the guard. Linson smiled as he once again looked onto the city of heroes.

Several minutes later he walked swiftly down the gangplank towards the honor guard of blue clad Imperial Guard, these men being the guardians of the Imperial Palace and Imperial property, embassies being included in this list.

"Ambassador, welcome to Constantinople, I am Laurence Markath, chief of staff at the Embassy, and at your service," A small and unhealthy looking man said as he bowed low to Linson.

The ambassadors eyes flitted briefly over the Chief of Staff before settling on the man beside him dressed in the light blue of the Imperial Guard, the man was saluting him with his eyes fixed several miles behind the Ambassadors left shoulder.

"At ease Captain," the Ambassador said, noting the captain markings on his shoulder. "Your name?"

"Captain Eric Makson at your service Lord Ambassador," The young captain said, his voice unwavering as he dropped the salute and spoke.

"Very good, Captain let us get a move on to the Embassy, form the guard up and move out," The Ambassador said before switching his gaze to the Chief of staff, "Mr. Markath, when we get back to the Embassy I intend to rest myself, send my regards to the proper people and have a list of undone duties and current events by importance on my desk by tomorrow morning," he said

[Theyra]

Parthian Empire, Rhages

Shahanshah Ararad was just finishing a meeting with his advisors when an aide came with the Eastern Romans' message. Handing it directly to Ararad before leaving. Taking a moment to read the letter, "Hmm, so the Eastern Romans want to build railroads for trade between our nations."

"Railroads, my Shahanshah?" How many are they planning on building? Asked curiously by advisor Shahram Meskini.

Rather than say it, Ararad simply passed the letter to Shahram.

"Ah, I see, multiple railroads for trade, and they are willing to help pay for it. Along with sending a representative to your court".

"This would certainly help with relations with the Eastern Romans, and we have been looking for possible allies for the empire." Spoke up advisor Arakel Raeisi. "Perhaps this can lead to a possible alliance if handled correctly."

"Do we even want an alliance with the Romans? Advisor Vram Kardan rebuffed, "good relations and trade sure but, we could benefit more from an alliance with the Indians."

"But, with these railroads, it will help trade and transport within the empire. Not just with the Romans", add Arakel. Turning his gaze to Ararad, "What do you think my Shahanshah?

Ararad looked at his advisors and waited a moment to speak. "Personally, I think that we should go along with the Romans' proposal." Ararad crossed his arms, "Trade would benefit from the railroads, and it would not hurt be on the Romans' good side. So I will accept their offer".

"So who will you send to be the empire's representative? Asked Arakel.

"I know the perfect candidate, and we will begin preparation for this joint-endeavor immediately."

"Yes, my Shahanshah," all of the advisors said in unison and quickly dispersed. Going on to their duties and Ararad went on to retire to his quarters to write up a letter to the Romans. Some good news is just what he wanted to hear right now. Surely this project with the Romans will be a good thing for the empire. But, time will tell if he is right and right now. He needs to focus on the Council situation and the growing unrest. But, he is confident that these troubles will pass. They just need the right response before it gets out of hand.

To Ioannes Batatzes, Logothete of the Drome of the Empire of the Romans


After thinking about it and discussing it with my advisors, I have decided to agree with your proposal. Our empires have indeed fought with each other for decades in the past. But, that is in the past, and with With these new railroads. This will show that peace can exist between our empires with this joint venture. I am looking forward to this and surely Trade, and hopefully, friendship will grow between our empires once these railroads are done. I will be sending Hovnan Khalili as my representative, and you can expect him soon. We will begin preparations for this joint endeavor and will start as soon as you are ready to begin. May our empires grow and prosper towards a better future.

Shahanshah Ararad Askari of the Parthian Empire

[Intermountain States]

Executive Mansion, Monrovia
Republic of Liberia
January, 1890

"Mr. President, due to the passing of the National Military Creation Act by the Liberian Congress and after careful considerations at the American Legation, I have approved of sending Marine officers to train Liberia's first standing army," The American ambassador Ezekiel Ezra Smith said to President Hilary Richard Wright Johnson of Liberia.

"Thank you for the news," The Liberian President said. "Since its founding, Liberia never had a standing army, only a militia force and a US military detachment to get support from. Finally, this country shall have a proper army to call its own."

"Indeed," the American ambassador said before moving onto a different topic. "Before I leave back to the legation, I have been instructed by my superiors at the Department of States to let you know about a conference in London in regards to the fate of Africa and the Arab slave trade."

"Because the United States holds a presence in Liberia even though this is an independent nation, America is invited to take part of the conference," Smith continued. "The Harrison Administration also extends his hand for your government to send some of your people to join with the American delegation to the upcoming conference."

"I see," Johnson said. "Very well, I would let you know who in my administration would lead the Liberian envoys as part of the American delegation. We are neighboring colonies of other powers. I hope that the Americans would advocate on keeping this nation independent from other powers wishing to extend their empires."

"America has stood with Liberia ever since Congress recognized this country's independence," Smith assured to President Johnson. "We have stationed warships in the region at the behest of the American Colonization Society pre-independence and your country's government post-independence. Although the prior Cleveland Administration did little to help the country during an internal uprising, I can assure you that the current Harris Administration sees Liberia as a nation to support due to our strong heritage in safeguarding liberty and justice. America will stand by Liberia to the end, that is the promise of President Harrison."

Governor's Mansion, Madison, Hong Kong Territory
United States of America
January, 1890

Madison, named after the third President of the United States, became the capital city of the Hong Kong Territory. American control over Hong Kong started in the late 1840s under the Qing Dynasty when the island was leased to the United States, becoming a base of operation for the East Indian (and later Asiatic) Squadron. Madison City was constructed with western style infrastructures and housing to accommodate American nationals.

During the Taiping Rebellion, the East Indian Squadron was placed on high alert and protected American nationals in China under orders from President Millard Fillmore and later Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan. While American officials saw Qing as being preferable to Taiping for business, observers knew that Taiping was gaining strength throughout the conflict while the Qings were losing momentum. American Hong Kong was to not get involved in the war concerning the fate of the Middle Kingdom, although it did allow refugees from the war to settle into the island, including many wealthy merchants and skilled laborers that attracted commerce. When Taiping's victory over Qing was assured in 1857, the United States government began a process of recognizing the new imperial dynasty to not put the sovereignty of the Hong Kong territory into limbo.

Relations between the United States and Taiping steadily improved in the Seventies during the Warlord period when the Grant Administration sent a military detachment lead by General George Armstrong Custer to assist Taiping forces against warlords in the country. In thanks for American assistance, the empress Hong Xuanjiao leased the Kowloon Peninsula and the New Territories to the United States to accommodate the growing population of Hong Kong. Custer, now a popular figure in both China and America, was made governor of Hong Kong in 1880 before retiring in 88 when he was replaced by General Charles Griffin who is currently the incumbent governor.

Theodore Roosevelt waited in front of the office of the Governor in the Governor's Mansion, dressed in full officer's garb. When he heard the news from his superiors that he and his units would be assigned to Hong Kong two years back, he wasn't too happy about staying residence in a foreign land instead of staying stateside. However, he found the Chinese island to be quite beautiful and relaxing.

The door opened and Governor Charles Griffin stepped out of the office to greet Roosevelt. "Major Theodore Roosevelt, welcome to my office."

"Thank you, Mr. Governor," Roosevelt answered, saluting the governor. "I was told by my superiors that you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Indeed, Major," Griffin nodded. "Care to step inside the office?" he asked, pointing at an empty chair in front of the officer's desk. As the two men made themselves comfortable, the Governor begins to speak.

"During the height of the Taiping Rebellion, refugees have fled to the Hong Kong Territory and there were fears by officials that Taiping would try to take back the island from the United States," Griffin said. "Although the equipment of either the Qing or Taiping were inferior to what we have, the United States Forces Hong Kong doesn't have the numbers to face a massive, experienced army of Taiping, even with the full backing of the East Indian Squadron.

"To mitigate this, Governor George Meade ordered the creation of the Hong Kong National Militia, consisting of Chinese volunteers lead by American officers. Fortunately, war with Taiping never occurred and President James Buchanan made the move to recognize Taiping as the new dynasty of China. The Hong Kong National Militia was disbanded and never raised again.

"However, President Benjamin Harrison and Commanding General John Schofield wanted to bring back the Hong Kong Militia," Griffin continued. "It appears that the Harrison Administration is worried about our positioning in the Pacific with other major Pacific powers in play. Since you have experience in training recruits and raising posses in your early service in the military, I'm asking you if you're open to commanding the newly revived Hong Kong National Militia."

"You're offering me command to a fighting force?" Roosevelt asked, slightly skeptical of the words of his superior. "How big are we expecting the new Militia to be?"

"We can expect around 500 men at most," the Governor answered. "You will be responsible for the raising of the HKNM, however you will be given a choice of which officers in the USFHK to help with the training. Are you open to this new role, Major?"

After much deliberation, Theodore nodded. "I am honored by the offer and I will humbly accept the role to lead the newly reformed indigenous fighting force of Hong Kong. When do I begin?"

[Remnants of Exilvania]

Kingdom of Hungary
Principality of Transylvania
Brassó

"Your perseverenace is commendable Mr. Culcer but wouldn't you too agree that it is time to drop the charade?"

The hungarian policeman looked tired. Very, very tired, with deep eyerings under his eyes and his glorious moustache and hair all disheveled. Licking his dried lips once, he sighed and took his cup of tea, not caring that it had become cold a long time ago and instead just looking into it for a moment to see if there was any left in there. Which there was, albeit just a very small rest at the bottom of the cup, one he greedily drank before setting the cup down again. The prisoner tied to the chair on the other side of the table didn't say anything or even act as though he had noticed what had just gone on, merely limply hanging in his restraints and making the policeman wonder if he had passed out from lack of sleep. That wouldn't be no good.

He stumbled slightly when he tried to stand up, his legs apparently having fallen somewhat asleep during the long time he had spent sitting in that damnable chair. Luckily the table was still there so he managed to quickly catch himself, keeping himself on his feet as he slowly made his way around the table towards his prisoner, taking his cup with him. When he finally reached the slumped over figure, he leaned down a little to see what was up and was greeted by the sound of some rather silent snoring, a sound that made the hungarian policeman livid as his arm trembled and his grip around his cup's handle tightened.

Unacceptable. How could this filthy, roman-loving, romanian, spying scum go and sleep while he was here trying to do his work! Of course he completely blended out the much worse time the romanian had had during the interrogation, what with the lack of food or water as well as the beatings since all of that didn't matter to the policeman's righteous rage.

In one quick swing the policeman had the cup in his hands shattered, shards of porcellain jumping across the table as he brutally pulled the romanian's head up by his hair, bringing the shattered, sharp remains of the cup down on one of the romanian's bound hands, the white cup digging into the skin and flesh and producing hot, red blood that poured out of the wound. The romanian awoke startled and with a scream of pain, music in the ears of the policeman as he bent down and hissed into his ear:

"Wakey, wakey, scum. Who told you that you could take your time off?!?"

He let go off the romanian's hair, letting him slump into the chair again as he pulled a few documents strewn over the table closer, leaving the remnants of the cup lodged into the poor man's hand. Once he had the documents he needed, he grabbed onto the hair again, pulling the romanian's head forward as he pointed at one document after another, forcing the romanian to look at them too.

"Eremia Culcer, born 1870 in Brassó, having finished your apprenticeship as a carpenter in 1889 and having been designated unfit for military service during your physical evaluation in the same year, suffering from a severe case of asthma, making extended physical exercises impossible."

"On the 17th of September 1886 you were sent to Bukarest by your master, Ioan Grigorescu, to acquire some rarer woods from Africa which he had purchased via a wallachian confidante of his, circumventing the trade embargo imposed upon Rome."

"You stayed in Bukarest for 3 days, leaving by train on the 20th of September and returning to Brassó on the 21st, handing the forbidden goods to your master."

"On the 23rd of December 1886 you returned to Bukarest, staying there for the duration of the holidays that our grand monarch so graciously provided for this sacred time. You returned to Brassó on the 27th."

"On the 4th of March 1887 you returned to Bukarest yet again, officially for a vacation. We, having briefly monitored your moves and planning to charge you for assistance in the criminam smuggling actions of Ioan Grigorescu, took note of these frequent visits to Bukarest, even without your masters orders."

"Between the 17th of September 1886 and today, you visited Bukarest more than 15 times. We noticed that during your time there, you once were in the same cafe as a certain Mr. Liviu Prezan, a known ringleader for roman subversive activities in Wallachia. Suddenly it all makes sense, doesn't it Mr. Culcer? So many visits to Bukarest and we had no idea why while you acted like you were in love with that local wench! But then, then it all made sense! Prezan had recruited you for his little spy ring, yes? Gouging the morale of the stationed Royal Polish Troops, gouging the fortress works in the Carpathians, gouging the general war readiness of the population, inciting discontent with the Triple Monarchy, gouging troops movements towards the Carpathians?"

The prisoner suddenly gurgled, it taking a while for the police officer to register that the man was trying to laugh. The fact that he had lost multiple teeth over the course of the interrogation and had just in general taken a pretty harsh beating had not improved his ability to express himself.

"Y-y-youuu fugginnnnn' hungarian morons...you had the fuggin' answer before you...and instead grasp at the first straw you can find that leads to Rome? No wonder this country is soooo fugged..."

The policeman brutally backhanded the romanian, whose head snapped around with the strike. Still he didn't stop chuckling, yet a certain sense of sadness seemed to permeate that chuckling. Not that the policeman cared, masssaging his hand as he gathered up the documents and prepared to leave, saying over his shoulder:

"You will find no fertile ground for your traitorous talk and insults towards the monarchy here, spy. I am sure you have realized by now that the crimes you are charged with are lending assistance to a smuggler, high treason and espionage against the Triple Monarchy. The sentence is death and with evidence as clear cut as this, you will be seeing the firing squad soon enough. You'll be taken to your cell shortly. Enjoy your life while it still lasts."

The romanian still chuckled, yet tears fell from his weary eyes as he murmured:

"I am so sorry Elena. Looks like I won't be able to attend the wedding afterall..."

[Sao Nova Europa]

Delhi
Palace of Strategos-Autokrator Farrukhsiyar
Private Quarters

Farrukhsiyar was ruling over what was arguably the most ancient empire in the history of the world - and the most populous one too. Even though Basileus Eratosthenes IV was the de jure ruler, Farrukhsiyar was the de facto wielder of power in the vast Indian empire. Farrukhsiyar was a bookworm, studying for hours in his office books on the history of the empire he ruled over. 'My ancestors would be scoffing at me if they saw me like that,' he often thought. He was a descendant of Timur and Babur, fierce nomadic warlords who through their martial prowess had wrestled control of the Indo-Greek Realm. He... he was soft spoken, more interested in the books than in the arrow and had inherited his position.

He was Strategos-Autokrator, General-Emperor; Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. Yet he did little fighting. The last time the Empire of the Euthydemids was on war footing was almost a century ago, when a numerically inferior British army humiliated the imperial armed forces and struck a devastating blow to the prestige of the empire. Since then, aside from putting down some local revolts, the empire hadn't been at conflict with an external power.

'Except for the Maratha...' Farrukhsiyar thought. But truth be told, he did not consider them a legitimate foreign power. To him, they were rebels who had momentarily seceded from the empire. 'A bunch of brutes and madmen!' he liked to call them. Just like his predecessors, he had taken action to safeguard his southern provinces from them. He had ordered the construction of new fortifications and the expansion of garrisons. He had also brought to the frontier 10,000 Ahadis; armed with modern British weaponry and trained by the best Indian officers, they were the elite of the imperial military. With them guarding the frontier - along with some 150,000 poorly equipped but still useful in their vast numbers Guard Battalions - he felt safe.

"Industrial policy..." he murmured. His ancestors had heard of no such thing. Industry grew on its own. They just conquered land, put down revolts and collected taxes. Now, though, Farrukhsiyar had to deal with a whole bunch of technical issues; 'railroads, factories, investors, capitalism'. He had allowed British corporations to construct railroads across India; they would keep the profits from tickets and have control of possibly the greatest railway network in Asia, and he would get his 'modernization' and the prestige that came with it.

"If I reigned in the past," Farrukhsiyar exclaimed to a young eunuch listening to his rantings, "I would have been directing armies and ravaging kingdoms. In the past, all the kings of the universe would have to bow before me. Now... now I am ruling an empire that has to play nice with uncivilized barbarians. Barbarians who have surpassed us!"

---

Delhi
Imperial Palace
Private Quarters of Basileus Eratosthenes IV

The young woman was smiling as she was dressing up Basileus Eratosthenes IV. Being a maid of the emperor of all India was a great honor - she was given far more respect than any other servant in the palace; and a greater salary too. The fact that the Basileus was handsome was an added bonus to her. Yet the Basileus was cold-faced, sharing little of the joyous mood of the maid. 'Dressing up in this ancient costume,' he thought, 'and participating in arcane rituals. Again.'

He had been Basileus for years but he never quite gotten used to all those ceremonies and regulations. Being Basileus of the Empire of the Euthydemids was a tough job; all theatrics and ceremonies, and almost no power to shape national policy. "I reign but I do not rule," he liked to say. And it was true. With all powers held by the Strategos-Autokrator, the Basileus was nothing more than a puppet. But a puppet with an ancient heritage and so great a symbolic value that for the two thousand years none of the Strategoi-Autokratores had dared to usurp the throne.

Eratosthenes was perhaps the greatest symbol of Hellenism in an empire largely Islamic and Indian. Dressed in ancient Greek garment, speaking fluently Greek and participating in ceremonies dating back to the age of Alexander the Great, he was a throwback to another era. If someone from the West had been unwittingly brought to one of the imperial ceremonies without having a clue of where he was, he would have assumed he had somehow traveled back in time to ancient Greece. Yet this was 1890, and it was Delhi, not Athens.

"Thank you," Eratosthenes said to the maid as he walked out of his private quarters and headed for the imperial garden. Surrounded by flowers of all colors and peach trees standing tall and proud, he fell on his knees and before a number of imperial officials he recited an ancient Greek prayer to the Gods for the well-being of the empire. The Gods had long been discarded; the Basileus and his officials were pious Muslims, aside from a couple of Hindus. But the prayers had been preserved and honored, recited for centuries. The Hellenic heritage of the empire wasn't going to fade away.

'The barbarians have their technology, we have the wisdom of the ancients' was a popular saying in the imperial court. And despite his misgivings about bothersome regulations and ceremonies, Eratosthenes shared that saying. 'The wisdom of the ancients...'

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

L'impero romano d'Occidente

"Auribus teneo lupum"

Roma

She let Michael's words infiltrate her mind, worming their way past their ears and penetrating into her deepest thoughts. Everything he spoke of, another flash in her mind, another neuron fired, jolting her to life and to action from her moment of stunned silence.

She thought to her coronation under the cruel emperor Andronicus. As she approached his throne in her regal gown, feeling the eyes of an entire city fall upon her, she dared to look him in the eye. Father had never condoned such behavior, she thought, yet he did not disapprove of it either. If anyone could look Andronicus in the eye, it was the Cesare, or now the Cesara. It was her duty to the Latin people to do so - to look at him, and know that the West would not submit, would not kneel before the East. To know that the heartland, the home and hearth of Rome itself, still stood as proud as it always had, as it had even in Constantine's day. She had to let Andronicus know that, no matter how lordly he was, he had to put up with her now - just as she had to with him. But, of course, she could not. She averted her eyes, she knelt and accepted her regalia from the Greek with the fires in her heart dimmed, slow-burning through the ceremony.

She thought to the stories of the barbarians at the gates that she'd been told all her life. Unlike the firm, but respectable and brilliant, Carthaginians, the Germans cared little for anything civilized. The rampaging hordes, the Vandals, the Goths, the Lombards, all that her distant ancestor fought against. The pretenders of a later time who claimed civilization but nonetheless sought Rome's downfall. Even splitting off their own church! Blasphemy against all that was good, that's all they were. She knew that they'd strike again whenever they were given the chance, whenever Rome's guard fell - when that famous Alpine wall had only a lapse of a guard, they'd descend from the Alps as they'd done a hundred times before.

As willing as Michael was to kiss the ring - to put Rome before Rivalry, she almost had no choice but to believe him. He presented incorruptible fact and put her in an impossible situation. On one hand, she might disgrace everything that had been fought for over the centuries. Everything the West had done to survive, to consolidate, to establish itself. To take pride in her Latin heritage. On the other hand, she might be casting to the winds the safety of her people, and of Rome as a whole. She remembered the last few times the two could not reconcile in the face of a greater threat - and it was always disastrous. Always.

She sighed, and closed her eyes, reviewing all the evidence, and finally sputtering out - "Alright."

That's it. Just... 'alright'.

"We can try."

[Bluepillar]

The Overview,
February, 1890

It is approaching a century now since the Stuarts were forced from their homeland in the rise of the Republican scourge in Europe, after the happenings of the French revolution would inevitably encourage an uprising in Great Britain just as it would elsewhere. That revolution stole away the Crown’s control of a great power that was now spread across the world, the mightiest nation of them all, and the Argentine struggled for a time - cut off from the French and British economies - but they had found their footing. The Kingdom of the Argentine was the preeminent power on the continent, despite the modern nation of the Azteks to the north of the southernmost America who maintained control of territory that the Argentines would rather be theirs, and had a fleet that could rival even some European powers.

In some way, it was a blessing in disguise. Without the Stuarts being driven from their ancestral home, without them being ruined, there lie the possibility that the Kingdom of the Argentine would be a mere colony, the people there would have sought independence by now, and the Stuart king would not exist. What the world would be like, we will never know. And in other ways? It forever tainted the Stuart name, alongside that of the Kings of Brazil, as something that was associated with the loss of the homeland, the loss of the empire but, unlike many other dynasties that have lost such things, the Stuarts remained. They flourished against all odds, and with them their Kingdom.

The Kingdom of the Argentine forced the Stuarts to reassess their place in the world, to reassess how they were doing things, to cultivate a society that would be loyal to them, to the Crown, and now as other authoritarian monarchies might face the threat of Republicans hoping to topple their empire - the threat of Republicans to the Argentine? It is external. Internally, the people are mustering a cultural revolution, in which women claim increasing equality with men, the former slave caste musters their wealth, and the potential end of the aristocratic officers corps looms near - the latter orchestrated by the ideological enemies of many, but not all, within the Old Aristocracy - while the larger issue of Queen Mother Gregoria di Canossa’s position as one of the most powerful women in the world pits the pro-Gregorianists and anti-Gregorianists against each other.

Now, the Kingdom of the Argentine takes on an increasing role in the hopes of defending the continent, their trade, and a major role in positioning the citizens of the southernmost America to take their place on the global stage.

All, however, is not well within the Kingdom of the Argentine. After a heated debate in parliament between pro-Gregorianists and anti-Gregorianists, the Argentinean ironclad battleship Margarite, named after the Queen Mother’s mother (rather than herself, as was originally suggested by others) was bombed in port in protest by a group of anti-Gregorianists who believe that the King should rule without interference from her. The perpetrators are arrested and a handful of members of parliament step down. Handled cautiously, various high profile individuals are placed under house arrest and/or are executed for treason after being connected to the incident - oftentimes having their families stripped entirely of wealth, land, and title, with said wealth, land, and title being given to pro-Gregorianists. In the aftermath, things are significantly more muted, but lines have been drawn between those who see no problem with the Queen Mother living out the remainder of her life by the side of the King and traditionalists that thought she would step aside more completely.

This has ushered in a new age for the battle of the culture - with tradition and those that rely on it for their power facing off the coming of a new, more progressive age without necessarily targeting the most traditional body of all in the kingdom: the monarchy. And now that anti-Gregorianist leaders have been thoroughly punished and now the movement as a whole is viewed with suspicion, the tradition is falling behind. The end goal for the pro-Gregorianists and anti-Gregorianists both? The support of a king, who is now more friendly to the new, progressive ideals found in some of the most powerful people within the Kingdom.

House of Commons

The Speaker of the Crown of the House of Commons stood before the lower house, ready to introduce an act on behalf of the King for advisement and voting. A role dating back only to the fleeing of the monarchy to the Argentine and their gathering of power and influence in their new country, the Kingdom of the Argentine established speakers for each of the houses of Parliament to fulfill direct royal involvement within the actions of Parliament. If Parliament has become the rubber stamp, then the Speaker has become the voice telling them the rubber stamp should go. Recently, discussions between the Privy Council and the Queen Mother, a Counsellor of State present at said Privy Council - now that the number of royals able to be present is reduced to 1 for the most senior - have resulted in the creation of numerous acts.

Inti Amaru, the Speaker, stood as quiet filled the walls of the palace.

”The consolidation of ship construction and the development of the navy under a new plan must be introduced to the Kingdom so that we might, through the Act for the Glory and Production of the Argentine fleet, have the capacity to develop and construct all of the vessels needed by the Argentine navy domestically by the close of the century as well as supply our own, native steel for use in said ships.” The Speaker said.

”We have already reached out to the mighty nation of Rome - Western Rome - and our neighbors in Brazil.” The Speaker said. As enumerated under the bill, the supplies necessary for ship construction would also need to be developed locally. The act laid out the necessity of developing a strong, domestic steel and metallurgy industry, and foundries necessary for the construction of modern naval armaments. The construction capacity to construct over 80% of a fleet matching the current one in size, but instead of completely modern vessels, was something wanted by the end of the century - as well as a steel industry that could not only supply the necessary material, but also to export said material in commercially viable numbers. The mineral wealth of the nation needed to be tapped into.

“Then, we have the Affirmation for the Defense of South America. We shall vote and advise on acknowledging the Argentine Kingdom’s dedication to defending the southern Americas from encroachment by foreign powers, a dedication to a mutual protection of the trade of southern Americas, and additionally affirm the Kingdom’s natural claim to South Georgia island.” The last one gathered murmurs, and many looked like they had something to say. The potential for a war with Germany was not a popular one.

”Then, we have the Bill for the Naval Defense of the Territories of the Crown of the Argentine.” The Speaker continued.

”This bill calls for the creation of a Cameroon Defense Fleet, which will be split off from vessels from His Majesty’s Royal Navy already stationed in Cameroon, and the establishment of a shipyard and naval academy there by the end of the year.” The Speaker said, though the bill mentioned that only those with ‘loyalties’ to the Kingdom would likely be recruited into the naval academy, implying that as many people with families originating in the Kingdom of the Argentine would be prioritized as possible.

”And then, furthermore, we have the Agricultural Self-Sustenance Act, in which the creation of a native industry in which agricultural chemicals - such as potassium-based fertilizer - will be created as a commercially viable export industry by the end of the century…” The Speaker continued. Though there were things that people wanted to say about the South Georgia island, the reading off of the session’s schedule took priority.

”... and the Chemical Industries Act, which will, like the former act, encourage the development of a native non-agricultural chemical industry, including, specifically, a development of an industry making synthetic dyes for use in our textile and other industries.” The Speaker continued.

”Both acts, as such, have been copied over to our Rome and Brazil, and we will, additionally, reach out to the Western Roman Empire and Brazilian Empire for investment, involvement, and construction options.” The Speaker said.

”And, the establishment for the Army Native Supplies Act, in which a domestic arms industry to produce native or licensed weaponry, artillery, and equipment for the army will be created by the close of the century.” The Speaker continued.

All of these were likely to involve external assistance from the Western Roman Empire, or another industrialized or industrializing power they might hope to encourage to become involved in their economy.

”Lastly, we have the Act for the Exploration of Mines. Our nation is aware of vast resources, and hopes to explore further our vast resources - coal, gold, and silver in particular.” The Speaker said. Of course, the Speaker knew that however it went that the group of businessmen of all types of origins throughout the nation that Gabriel Baker encouraged to approach the King would certainly have a price of the pie. They hoped, of course, that the coal would support the steel industry they wanted.

”Advisement may now begin.” Once the Speaker confirmed he was done speaking, the Honorable Member elected from New London stood, and raised a paper.

”I call for immediate advice on the matter of South Georgia island.” Frederick Perry stood.

”The Honorable Member of the Greater New London Area is acknowledged.” The Premier Counsel said.

”This Honorable Member finds it foolish to invite conflict with the German government over some largely irrelevant island. We advise that the claim not take precedence over friendly relations with the Germans. We already do not have access to the British or French economies. I do not wish for our nation to lose access to German trade as well.” Frederick said. Many murmured in agreement, but another member of the parliament stood. This one, from the southernmost point of the country, spoke as they shook their head.

”Perhaps we should not affirm the claim at all. The Germans are already aware of our claim. Why would we ever put ourselves at risk of the German fleet coming to say hello? Which among us genuinely think they would stop by asking for tea?” Someone else piped in.

”What German fleet?.” A third member stood, his statement inciting laughter from some.

”We do not want to risk a confrontation from the Germans, nonetheless. Their trade may very well prove very valuable, and we may be able to negotiate the South Georgia island away from them.” The member said.

”Perhaps we should put it to a vote.” Someone shouted from the left of the Premier Counsel, without rising.

”Seconded.” Someone from the right said.

”A vote then.” The premier counsel said, banging the gavel.

”All who advise not affirming the claim?’ The majority of the hands went up.

”All for?” There were not many. The Premier Counsel nodded.

”So be it. The Crown will be made aware of our advice after the session, and then we shall vote on the act following advice.” The Crown would, in the end, acknowledge this particular advice given and not affirm the Argentine claim to the South Georgia island.

”Any other advice?” The Premier Counsel asked.

”Yes.” The Honorable Member from the Greater Lima Area stood.

”Whatever are we going to do with an aristocratic officer corps in a war?!” Murmurs turned into shouting, and the Honorable Member only spoke louder as the Premier Counsel banged a gavel. Others would begin quieting, but not enough where he could avoid yelling just to be heard.

”We recommend, to the Crown, the dissolution of the aristocratic officers corps and its replacement with a modern, meritocratic establishment to bring our hopelessly outdated officers corps into the modern era!” The Honorable Member said.

”Seconded!” A voice yelled out amongst shouts increasing.

”There will be no such thing in this kingdom as long as I stand here. I have friends in that officers corps! Why ever would we remove people who have dedicated decades of their life from serving simply becau-”[b] Another member speaking was cut off by someone the Premier couldn’t quite hear, and no one could tell who the next “seconded” was agreeing with.

[b]”Order! Order! I said Order!” The Premier said, and the Speaker began shouting as well, with the both of them resulting in a quieting house.

”Now… there will be no such advice given to the Crown or Privy Council at this current date. You will be allowed to offer this advice in a later session. We will amend an agenda for such a discussion. There will be no further speaking of this while this particular session is ongoing.” He said.

”Additionally, after the incident I encourage all to think of the good of the nation. We have lost the Margarite because of uncivil bickering. We are a civil nation, and this will be a civil parliament.” The Premier, Isaiah Moruga, said.

”Now, shall there be any further advice on the matters scheduled for this session?” The Premier said. No one speaks.

”There shall be none?” The premier asked again.

”Then I motion for the giving of advice to the crown.” The premier said.

”Seconded.” A member from the east of the country said.

”And now I motion for voting.” The Premier said.

The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, also from the east of the country, spoke up.

”Seconded, Honorable Premier.” The man said, while making a mark on a document he had been reading.

All before the House of Commons would pass with a supermajority, save for the piece sent for advice. The investment for all within would remain at 51%, giving a majority of control to the state, and goals for the future privatization or public offerings of parts of the state-owned companies that would be created by the year 1905 were also positioned within in the hopes that said companies would contribute to the economy. Additional money, however, was set aside for private funding of various components of the plans.

The House of Lords

Dear Journal,

It’s been some time since that particular session, and we have much to catch up on within the goings on of the Kingdom. I’ve set aside the next few nights to talk to you, my dear journal, and go over the happenings that have had me so distracted recently as I contemplate preparing my friends* for a women’s strike over a point brought up by one of our opponents in the House of Lords. We haven’t the vote, and this failure of society must be so corrected.

The House of Lords would meet simultaneously that day. Odd, I know, but both houses had missed sessions after the sinking of the Margarite by terrorists that were punished quite quickly by Q&K*. They wouldn’t be aware of the talk of dissolving the aristocratic officers corps until later, however, and that is a story for another time. The government budget had already been decided.

On a somewhat unrelated note, but connected to the government budget nonetheless, my friends* in the group of businessmen that will be funding some of the mineral exploration in the country now count me amongst their numbers. I convinced my brother to allow me to acquire a stake in Gabriel Baker’s business. Now, there will be a woman involved in that group - as if I wouldn’t be involved with my friends*, anyway. We are all more or less progressive, I suppose.

The House of Lords would vote on the things that the House of Commons had discussed around the same time they started their own votes, but at a later session, of course, as they were some sessions behind.

Most didn’t dare speak about the sinking of the Margarite, or the pitiful, jealous men scared of losing their place in the world - which will never happen in a Western society - that committed terrorism against my family because of my mother. I would say that made me feel better, but even in this polite society I knew that they were talking about those things behind doors closed in rooms smoky. It was exhausting to hear men speak sometimes, however, so the less they talked about it today the better. I was already cross by the time I was done with my morning tea as I read a letter from a friend about the horrible man her family wanted to marry her off to. She was panicking, and Princess I did did need a new handmaiden. I would write and send a letter. There was not yet an engagement, and in rapid pace I had a new handmaiden by my side.

Now, back to the issue of the House of Lords. Someone had the wonderful idea of having the agenda start off with a discussion as to women earning the right to serve in the House of Lords. One could even say that wonderful idea was mine, even if I now state that it was, in fact, wonderful with sarcasm. I was witness to it, with the privileges now available to my female ancestors. Inevitably, it devolved into arguments, yelling, and the discernible lack of civility that one became aware men possessed when they were infuriated. I was absolutely devastated by it after how hard I had worked to get my ideas before the government, but it is to be expected from men, isn’t it?

I rushed into things too hard perhaps, but, admittedly, they were already discussing the women’s vote and had remained undecided on their advice since before the incident and even after they still hadn’t decided. I thought mother would have intervened by now, but mother so far had decided not to tempt fate. They discussed women having the right to serve in the House of Lords, which many said that we, in fact, had no right to, an unfortunate occurrence as, due to one of my many titles, I would be fit to serve in the House of Lords. Thankfully, my 21st birthday has already passed, and I have earned the right to serve as a Counsellor of State - so my power is not insignificant. Perhaps, though, I dread little brother’s twenty-first birthday. He is more conservative than I would ever want Q&K to be, but not to the point I wish to stab him as I did the man that some might say insulted mother.


The arguments, yes? There were many. I’ve already written about my frustration about some of the men that made them in my other notebook*.

“They haven’t even the vote, yet. How can we expect them to help run a government?” He said. I was thinking the obvious. Lord Webb was hardly a genius, but with how long he had been in government I expected him to remember when Q ran the nation as regent. Perhaps that was too much to ask of Lord Webb, but a potential friend to our cause - and one of the so-called Gregorianists (do Queen Mothers have fans? Apparently they do in the Argentine) - Lord Marshall accused the foolish Webb of insulting the Queen Mother, a poor idea, a mother I might add was regent in front of her child, me - another poor idea - and you haven’t any idea what would follow. Lord Webb apologized! Yes! I was even more shocked than when he “forgot” my mother had been Regent right in front of me.

Perhaps things had changed since the incident. It is not, after all, coincidental that Lord Webb had not committed treason. I do believe he loves this country, and the Crown. I just so happen to dread the day he runs for Premier Counsel against Isaiah Moruga, and dread even more the possibility that he might even have a chance of winning. That man… he is so exhausting.

(OOC: Q&K - Queen Mother & King | Other Notebook - the black book | Friends - her network of associates)

Letter to the Embassy of the (Western) Roman Empire

To Our Friends in the Embassy of Rome,

Since the establishment of this Kingdom, far from our home, the Romans have been our friends, our supporters. The Romans have watched us grow, yet we find ourselves in a new age of industry far behind the Western power from which our Kingdom hails. We reach out to the Embassy of the Roman Empire. We have included copies of our Act for the Glory and the Production of the Argentine Fleet, the Agricultural Self-Sustenance Act, the Chemical Industries Act, and the Army Native Supplies Act. We are hoping for 15% to 35% of investment in the steel and shipbuilding industries to be made up by monies from Rome, which will be transformed into stocks from the corporations that are founded - public or private - allowing for Rome to exact a profit. We additionally hope for additional investment, or other assistance in the other industries enumerated within these Acts.

Seal of the King of the Majestic Kingdom of the Argentine

Letter to the Embassy of the Brazilian Empire

When we were forced to flee from our homes, we established nations that should by now be brothers, and we hope to establish these brotherly relations and discuss the entanglement of our nations in person. I hope to have a convention at which we will hope to forge an alliance, going far past an agreement of non-aggression, in which will, amongst other things, invite you to engage in the investment of endeavors in the Argentine - something I hope to be returned in equal measure by the grand Kingdom of Brazil. There lies the truths of the world in our nation and abroad, and I believe our nations might better withstand these truths by standing together.

Seal of the King of the Majestic Kingdom of the Argentine

(OOC: Please imagine there is, in fact, a seal and that the letters don’t just say “Seal of the King of the Majestic Kingdom of the Argentine”. I haven’t found one yet ;-;)

[Kisinger]

Brest, France
Colonel Phillippe Pétain sat silently in his carriage as he was being taken into Brest passing by many small bakeries, butchers, restaurants and cafes, eventually passing by the City Hall, “Place de la Liberté”, as his carriage took him to the Harbor itself before following along the river towards the Château de Brest passing by the naval guns batteries overlooking the river and harbor itself.

The carriage soon pulled in front of the imposing stone castle as Petain’s driver opened the door allowing him to collect himself and put on his cap and began walking towards the entrance pondering the reason why he had been summoned from his garrison at Cherbourg by the Admiral. Two marine guards standing in their double breasted bright blue coats and ornate kepis came to attention and quickly saluted, which Petain promptly returned, outside opened the door for him.

Upon entering the castle he was greeted by the great hall which had been transformed to the Headquarters of the Atlantic Fleet of the French Navy and was bustling with the taps of typewriters and the coming and going of telegrams following throughout the hall along with the low roar of the three hundred or so staff working diligently and communicating in their eye pleasing solid white dress uniforms.

He was soon grabbed by a standing attendant and ushered through towards a back hallway leaving the great hall, “This way monsieur, the first door you’ll encounter.” The attendant said directing up a grand flight of wooden stairs into a tower before rushing off to carry out some other menial task assigned to them for that day.

Petain soon began climbing up the stairs, walking up them passing by beautifully decorated walls ordained with priceless paintings broken up by even betters views through the slits in the castle walls showcasing astounding views of the city, harbor, and the open waves themself. Climbing the stairs proved an easy task but one that caused Petain’s knees to ache as he finally reached the first door.

Leaning into to hear as he heard several voices streaming in from the room though unable to discern he briskly knocked on the door as the voices fell silent. Waiting a moment a tall young lieutenant opened the door, “Afternoon Colonel,” the officer looked to the Admiral.

“If you will excuse me gentleman we can carry this on after this very important meeting.” Admiral Louis Napoleon Bonoparte, an aging man of nearly seventy with silver hair and thick tufts of hair under his nose with sagging eyes sat in his chair and watched as the Lieutenant and his two fellow Marine officers left and began walking downstairs.

“Colonel Petain, welcome to Brest!” The Admiral smiled, opening and reaching into a drawer in his desk as Petain looked around the room, decorated just as outside with the exception of innumerable books on shelves and stacked in corners with an aging writing station sat in a corner in a disorganized mess. The sound of wine was poured into two simple but elegant wine glasses. “This is a Breton red wine from the year of the grand revolution, seventeen-eightynine.” The Admiral held up one of the glasses to Petain, “Please take a seat, would you like anything to eat?”

“Gladly, the road from Cherbourg wasn’t long but it was tiring,” Petain forced a laugh but the Admiral seemed to genuinely chuckle. Before tapping a button underneath his buzz emitting two sharp buzzes.

“Dinner will be served shortly, however there is a very pressing matter that I brought you here to discuss Colonel.” The Admiral sipped on his wine as his entire body language and facial expression seemed to change.

“Ah yes I was wondering why you did indeed invite me here for Admiral, especially under such calls for the utmost speed.” Petain lightly swirled before sipping at the wine, sipping at the wine rather enjoying the taste of the aged Breton wine.

“Colonel, where do the loyalties of you and your men lie?” The Admiral and Colonel both sat down their wine glasses. “As I’m sure you are aware, the Premier was shot in his chateau in Paris and now both the conservatives and socialists have taken back to the streets rioting and looting and murdering each other dividing France again, there is certain elements in the military that would like to see this status quo ended and a return brought on by the military.”

“I see,” Petain nodded, “my men and my own loyalties lie with France, not to any ideology but France itself.” Answering briskly as a swift knock was heard at the door.

The Admiral called out “Come in please.” Two attendants rushed in bringing in two covered silver platters, setting one in front of the Admiral and the other in front of Petain before nodding to both the officers and leaving just as quickly as they came. Underneath the silver platters was a simple meal of tender roasted duck with fried thinly sliced potatoes topped with cheese.

“I’m glad to hear the Colonel, as do mine. However, can I count on your support in the event the military steps in, which as of now is not a matter of if, it is a matter of when.” The Admiral sliced off a piece of duck and began eating it as he looked at Petain.

Smiling, Petain simply replied, “Of course.”

[Draos]

Madrid Palace of Zarzuela
Rey Daniel, the first King of the Iberians sat stoically at his desk when he heard a knock upon the door to his office looking up from the document he was reading he replied with "enter" in a polite but firm tone wondering who was disturbing him at ten-thirty at night. A few seconds later the doorknob turned and entered his foreign minister Raul Morena-Pera with a letter panting and sweating indicating he had run here from his office. The Young King greeted the minister in a polite tone "Hello Raul what brings you here so late in the evening should you not be with your family for it is your daughter's birthday tomorrow? Take a breath before you speak you seem to have gotten here in a hurry my friend." The older gentleman nodded as he took a second to regain his composure "Your majesty we have a message from the British"

Daniel sighed whatever it was it couldn't be good as the two peoples had a long and sustained history of hatred and mistrust between them fighting numerous wars over petty and sometimes insignificant reasons. "What do the Tea gulpers want?" he asked quite clearly annoyed at the thought. This brought a brief second nervous look over the minister as he adjusted his collar "Well your majesty they invite us to a conference on the division of the African continent and the end of the slave trade. Stroking his chin the Youthful Monarch pondered this development what was their end goals and how can we prepare for them he wondered it was clear they had an ulterior motive but the Iberians were by the throat they could not afford to lose out on this new colonial race as they did with the western continents of the Americas. He sighed again "Send their ambassador our response we shall attend their conference but we will not tolerate any forms of backstabs or shenanigans they like to pull to get their grubby republican mitts on power." how is this or should it be longer?

Waking up early the next morning the King walked to the palace of the Cortes in Madrid to announce the news. Being greeted by the usual lively debate typical of Iberian politics he braced himself for the potentially hostile reaction he'd meet from the more conservative members of the parliament. Knowing full well they would most certainly refuse any deal with the British even if it meant advancing Iberian prestige and power on the world stage he sighed as he entered the chambers and cleared his throat as the room went silent. Hoping to win over the liberals and moderates he began his thirty-minute long speech advocating for Iberian colonies in Africa pointing out the plentiful resources on the continent and the influx of pride and prestige for the Iberian realm to be seen as a global colonial power a chance that succession war in the 1500s had robbed them of. The vote was tight with the Ayes narrowly edging out the nays by a count of 132-128 Iberia would become an Empire.

The Next week Pablo Almeida would stand on a dock in the city of Vigo in the region of Galicia readying for his mission to gain as much territory for the Kingdom as Possible. He sighed as he stepped onto the ship readying to depart on the day-long journey to England he made his way to his cabin and began studying for this summit researching anything he could use to gain an upper hand in these multiparty negotiations as the ship set sail to its destination. Going to bed and waking up promptly as the coast of Cornwall was close but the view was covered by a heavy fog until the vessel shook and he fell over the ships bell began ringing and an hour later crew members ran around telling passengers to get to the lifeboats the ship was sinking from a collision with a rock off the coast of lizard point. Grumbling at his luck he got into one of the lifeboats after letting the women and children board first of course as it was rowed to the shore by members of the crew a week later he was finally on his way to London for the conference.

[Remnants of Exilvania]

Kingdom of Hungary
City of Budapest
Ludovica Academy

István's mind was in stuck in another time as he walked the halls of the Ludovica Academy, his fingers lightly tracing along the walls and his boots thumping onto the floor as he walked absentmindedly. The young man remembered his time within these hallowed halls well, a time that seemed so much simpler than the present time. A time spent laughing, playing tricks on the lecturers with his fellow students, going out into town to have some fun. Now? Now he was the head of the Ecsed branch of House Bathory, a position of great responsibility and prestige. Fun or any real freedom had been striken from his life the day his father died.

Which made visiting this place which held so many fond memories just so comforting. It was easy to loose himself in the memories.

A memory flashed before his eyes as he passed a lecture room, a memory of him as well as a bunch of his friends getting disciplined in front of the entire class. Despite the memory of the pain a smile came unto István's face as he wondered how his old lecturer was doing now. Professor Horthy had been a staunch old man and had always tried to keep his students on the right track, despite his failing body. Of course he had cursed the Professor back then but now, in hindsight, he knew he had had only the best intentions for them.

"...and I still can't believe they actually dared to name her Erzsebet. Erzsebet of all names! Like, do they want her to be some mass murderer?"

A voice ripped him out of his nostalgic dream, his head quickly whipping around to locate where it had come from. A group of students by the look of it, male, upperclassmen and incredibly reminiscent of him and his friends back in their youth. The comparison made István sick as he knew he had been anything but a good person back in those days. A bully and womanizer with rich and influential parents to help him out of trouble, that was what he had been. Not even a particularly good student, which was why he had not pursued a military career any further. These days he didn't have time for that anyways.

He decided to follow the group of students, curious but ultimately knowing where they would lead him. Right where he wanted to go.

It didn't take long for them to find and corner their target. A female student clad in the rarely issued female version of the school uniform as well as wearing a wide brimmed hat, gloves and sunglasses. She had been sitting on a windowsill, reading a book with the help of the sun's rays when the students came upon her quickly surrounding her and starting to taunt her:

"What's this Erzsebet? Reading again? What is it about this time? Forbidden love? Or torture methods?"

"Oooooh, maybe she is reading about black magic again?"

"Well, let's see for ourselves what she is reading this time!"

One of the students ripped the book straight out of the girl's hands, holding it high in the air and taunting her with it, keeping it out of her reach. The girl almost didn't react though, her arms simply falling into her lap, where the book had been before. She didn't even look up, instead just quietly saying:

"Give it back, Miklós."

"Oh? And why should I? What'cha gonna do about it? Curse me? Kiss me? Go crying to the professors? Or maybe mommy and daddy? Oh sorry, I forgot, they're dead!"

They hadn't heard István approaching behind them, hadn't noticed him following them. And now he stood behind the offender, towering over him and easily grabbing hold of the book which the student held high in the air with one hand. When Miklós turned around to see why there suddenly was some resistance to the book, almost wrenching it from his hands, he was greeted by a fist connecting with his nose and sending the young man flying backwards, past his comrades and onto the floor before Erzsebet. She didn't waste a single second, one of her feet coming down from the side, kicking Miklós in the temple which knocked the man out cold.

The other students just stared at István with open mouths, quickly realizing who was standing before them. Good. Atleast they still recognized authority when it stood before them, he thought before saying with a dangerously calm voice:

"I suggest you take your friend there to the infirmary to treat his broken nose. Now."

He didn't need to tell the students twice, them hastily gathering their fallen companion and leaving, leaving behind only mumbled apologies. Meanwhile István stared down at the girl who in turn didn't looked back through her sunglasses before sighing and taking them off, revealing her pink eyes.

"I had that under control."

He decided not to reply to that and rub it in, instead giving the book he had rescued a look, raising a brow as he read the title:

"The long War by Albrecht Václav Eusebius z Valdštejna...I see you are taking your studies seriously. As usual."

He handed the book back to her, Erzsebet practically ripping it out of his hands before stuffing it into a small bag she had with her, mumbling about:

"Yes, unlike you I do intend to graduate from this academy as the best student it has ever seen."

István chuckled lightly before offering his hand to Erzsebet, helping her onto her feet and then walking next to her as she led him to...somewhere. He really had no idea.

"I see. I suppose that is how you intend to get back at others like that Miklós fellow?"

Her laughter was eerie, cold and yet pure and light. Others were repulsed by it but István had grown used to it. She had grown colder ever since she had started to visit schools rather than be homeschooled. He could only assume ridicule and bullying were the reasons why she was developing like this.

"Ahahaha, no, of course not! They won't be getting away that lightly. No, that's just my way of stepping out of your shadow."

István laughed with her before quickly taking her hat off and playfully ruffling her long, white hair which earned him a growl of protest from her.

"And yet you keep yourself wrapped in shadows."

She was quick to retrieve her hat, roughly placing it on her head again before replying with a grunt:

"It is not like I have a choice..."

They continued to catch up for the remainder of the afternoon, István taking Erzsebet out to a cafe in Budapest, before parting ways again in the evening, Erzsebet returning to her dorms on faculty property while István had a train back to Transylvania to catch.