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

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Alt Div Admin
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Founded: Dec 15, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

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

Postby Alt Div Admin » Mon Sep 28, 2020 2:56 pm

1890 :Alternative Divergence

IC THREAD


[CURRENT ANNOUNCEMENTS]





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“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.
  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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."
  4. 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]
Last edited by Alt Div Admin on Wed Oct 21, 2020 2:32 pm, edited 5 times in total.


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Alt Div Admin
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Posts: 130
Founded: Dec 15, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Alt Div Admin » Mon Sep 28, 2020 2:56 pm

Current Events in Progress - Updated 29.09.2020

N//A
Last edited by Alt Div Admin on Mon Sep 28, 2020 2:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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The Traansval
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Founded: Jun 26, 2016
Left-wing Utopia

Postby The Traansval » Mon Sep 28, 2020 6:48 pm

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
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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


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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.
Last edited by The Traansval on Mon Sep 28, 2020 7:01 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Sao Nova Europa
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Posts: 977
Founded: Apr 20, 2019
New York Times Democracy

Postby Sao Nova Europa » Tue Sep 29, 2020 4:19 pm

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.
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- Guo Jing ‘The Brave Archer’.

“In war, to keep the upper hand, you have to think two or three moves ahead of the enemy.”
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The Traansval
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Founded: Jun 26, 2016
Left-wing Utopia

Postby The Traansval » Sun Oct 04, 2020 12:03 am

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”
Last edited by The Traansval on Thu Oct 08, 2020 4:18 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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TENNOHEIKA BANZAI NIHON
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Posts: 621
Founded: Feb 19, 2019
Corporate Police State

Postby TENNOHEIKA BANZAI NIHON » Mon Oct 12, 2020 6:35 pm

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.
A proud Conservative.
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Theyra
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5429
Founded: Aug 29, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Theyra » Tue Oct 20, 2020 7:57 pm

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.


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