Sun Never Sets (Steampunk Victorian/Fictional World NRP-IC)

[Serpentine8]

Act 1: The Republic Is Marching On

Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.
-Napoleon Bonaparte

Collab by Serpentine8, Wernher and The Captain

17 years ago...

Late Autumn 936AA On the fields of Ponemagique. Where it all was going to end. Thirty three years it took... Thirty three years worth of sacrifices for nothing. Sabino lamented silently as everything came crashing down. Sabino looked over the battlefield and he knew his long campaign was at an end. He promised the Continental Republic a victory at the beginning of their impossible war... Now he knew he was not going to be able to keep it. The armies of the Coalition outnumbered him six to one with yet more imperials coming. Even his usual advantage of superior quantity of cannons was no more. The Tiberian Republican Fusiliers and Grenadiers of the first army that had already been engaged were being pushed back towards where the Republican Guard and Sabino himself was located, the Republican-ESK flank would also soon fall. With that damn bastard Melissanides betraying democracy, not even Sabino's backup plan was viable. Bringing back from his hopeless brooding, Marshal Boliver approached on horse back. "Lord-Protector, Our reinforcements from the capital... They are not coming. The Senate has already surrendered and given your title over to Helicon" the man said with a resigned face just as the rest of the commanders wore. Now even the republic had betrayed democracy Sabino thought.

"The royalists will be arriving at this battle in the event we actually defeat Crown Prince Karl then"? Sabino asked. The marshal nodded solemnly.
"Alexander will be leading the charge himself... They will be here shortly". This was it then. Sabino knew he was fighting an unwinnable battle. Even if the Cornadians at his flank (which had arrived from their camp in time to witness the retreat of the first army) proved to continue their seemingly untarnished reputation of victory today, even if he once again performed another 'miracle' for the republic and win the battle... They have lost this war.

"Boliver, we have lost this war. I need you to follow through with the instructions I put forward in the event of my defeat. Move to Cromwell. Send the excess you can't take or don't need to the communists in Zakat. Make sure my fellow Sabino brethren don't try and install a monarchy in what little our republic has left... Do not allow our sacrifice to be in vain". Sabino stated as if reading off his will.

"Lord-Protector, we can sti---" Sabino suddenly glared at the Marshal and putting up his hand as a sign of silence.

"Marshal, I am not going to flee this battle. I have failed Tiberia too greatly to do so. Perhaps martyrdom will absolve me of my failures to Tiberia and liberty, perhaps history may remember me as something else than a coward". Though the Marshal looked like he was going to protest further accepted what was a near certain fate and turned to leave.

"Long live the republic Lord-Protector, I will see you in Zaic's realm" The marshal said upon finally parting ways, leaving the battle entirely to continue the revolution even after the deaths of Sabino and the Republic.

"Now then.... The Cornadians..." Sabino muttered to himself as he saw a Cornadian officer dismount and approach him, obviously sending word from General MacHugh.

~~~

Republican Army Flank, Cornadian Foreign Army... Moments before the final clash

The camp was emptied. The soldiers of Cornade, as soon as the missives had been received, filed out to the earthwork-lined perimeter to the disharmonic chorus of shouting officers and signal horns. Despite the energy of last night, and all the cocksure machismo of those eager Cornadian souls, today's atmosphere was entirely different. Many had woken up to the reality of the whole situation; to the truth that more than a few of them weren't going to be making out of this scrape alive. Rumblings of defeat and total withdrawal had filtered down the chain of command despite the eerie calm that many in the Cornadian upper echelons had maintained. They were entirely committed, funnily enough. They had millions back home rooting for them, and perhaps that was why. Rooting for the dawn of a new day under the republican world that so many writers and politicians had waxed on over on the pulpit, in the novel, or in the legislative assembly.

Besides, Cornade didn't raise no cowards. They were a different, stronger breed than these northern monarchist bastards, or so General MacHugh had told them the night before in a heartfelt, brutally honest, and brutally irreverent address to all the assembled companies. And, even despite the grim tidings from the returning scouts and bushwhackers, his words had stuck with many of them. No one had deserted. Not yet. No one had decided to call the war off. Even despite the full knowledge that this may be some grisly last stand to be romanticized by future generations, the Cornadians had stuck with it. They assembled at stoic attention, under the dim gray pall of that overcast morning, out facing the field that, presumably, they'd be fighting and dying on later.

Solid blocks of blue and gray uniforms, worn by men and women of so many different colors and creeds, standing shoulder to shoulder as far as one could see in either direction. That's what Major General Machugh rode out to, once he and his staff had been informed that all forces were assembled and prepared. They, MacHugh and his closest officers and advisors, proceeded out on horseback, coiling around the right flank of those assembled forces to ride down the line and perform a cursory survey of the troops. Even despite himself and his reputation as an undefeatable, iron-willed bastard, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending defeat crushing down onto his shoulders, and he looked all the grimmer for it.

He and his command group came to a halt before the heart of their line, and he drew his saber from the sheath affixed to his saddle. He looked left and right at those assembled ranks of Cornadians, and then yelled out, "Zaic damn those crown-loving sons of bitches, am I right?!"

"Zaic damn them, sir!" A roaring wave of assent came back his way, and more than a few of those assembled soldiers grinned, despite themselves.

MacHugh took a moment. He was gathering his thoughts. He couldn't send them off without giving them a few more words first. His horse canted side to side underneath him, shifting and ambling restlessly. Then, he said, "Our scouts, and Sabino's scouts, they tell us that we're outnumbered six to one. Six. To one. Pretty damned alarming, now isn't that?" He looked them over again, and was pleased enough when none of them quailed at that number. None of them moved to agree. "Well," he continued, "here's a little secret I'll let you in on, boys and girls. They forgot that every Cornadian I have out here, whether it be with a rifle, a pike, or a saber, is worth at least five of those soft tools over across the way!" He turned, his horse wheeling under him, and pointed with his gleaming blade across no-man's-land, to where the enemy was presumably waiting. He turned back to his troops, and then finished off strong, "Take that into account! Now, for all you who know arithmetic, consider that we also have these Tiberians on our left over there, ready to help us out. I say the odds are even, or, hell, in our favor! So don't for a Zaic damned second think that this is hopeless! Don't you cower! Don't you stop shooting! I will personally drag you forward into the enemy line myself if you even think about it! We're going to give them hell, and we're going to show them the big mistake they're making, fighting for one man at the top! We'll show them how the working man gets his hands dirty! We'll show them how liberating a bayonet in the gut can be, when a free man's wielding it!"

At the height of his speech, the army forces broke into elated cheering and yelling. They took off their caps and waved them, they jabbed their blades and guns into the air. And, as they did, McHugh grinned and turned to one of his staff and shouted, "Send the word to Sabino! I think they're ready to go."

~~~

Central Republican Army, Sabino's Republican Guard

With Marshal Boliver gone, and with the news that the Cornadian Army was fully prepared to fight to the end, Sabino turned back to the battle. This was going to be his final stand he thought. He had his horse move from the command area towards where the men were preparing for the Imperial advance. If he was going to become a martyr so that in the future, perhaps centuries from now, the world will be liberated... He was going to going to go out in blazing glory. A battle that will not soon be forgotten.

"Men! Soldiers of our most GLORIOUS REPUBLIC!" Sabino yelled, believing perhaps a speech now would motivate the men to fight a battle they knew they could not win. "Today and no other day in the history of Halvalla has the worlds future hinged on one battle! This is the battle we have all known would come. Victory in this battle will mean the absolute liberation of the world! If we break the tyrants here, the republic of virtue, our free world awaits..." Sabino then brought his horse to the front of the infantry, who started to march upon hearing trumpets and drums beginning to play. "There can be no defeat today! The enslavement of humanity ENDS HERE, ON THIS DAY!!" Sabino then draw his sword in the most dramatic way possible, encouraging his troops with whatever theatrics he could. "Brothers! Zaic's truth shall always march on! By his righteous light, long live the revolution!" He shouted, ending his speech.

"Long live the revolution!" the soldiers shouted in unison. The soldiers marched forward seemingly fearless. The line infantry under Sabino's personal command were coming to reinforce the retreating republican soldiers who now upon seeing their revolutionary leader coming himself were already reforming again. A final push to end the Sabinoist Wars once and for all, the combined strength of Sabino's own Republican Guard and Cornade's army on the flank would have to make the decisive blow, now. After marching for some time, the two opposing armies were nearing firing range, they could hear each other's music now.

The cannons were exchanging fire and launching dirt and body parts into the air. Suddenly, when the lines finally reached firing range of each other, the music and even cannons stopped. A great ominous wind blew past, and the tension amongst the men could almost be felt. In a massed clutter of sounds, the infantry brought done their muskets to form an unbroken wall of guns. The drummers begun playing again. "FIRE!" was shouted by officers before the sound was quickly drowned in the wave of musket fire. Whole lines of enemies dropped, before being reformed by more men. Once the smoke started to clear, the opposing infantry brought down their muskets to aim at the Republicans. In that instant, one thought passed through the Republicans minds.

"We are all going to die". The Republicans were then pelted with the furious counter attack. The Tiberian Army held fast, returning another volley into the royalists. Sabino was taking in the battle in depth, his thoughts and calculations working at incredible levels, desperation driving him on to think of some genius tactic to give them a victory in this battle. Before giving up completely, a great wave of inspiration came upon him. He had found it, a way to victory, just like that. Sabino grinned and was given a new burst of hope on his realization. He would reinforce the rapidly collapsing ESK flank, and then order them to retreat in a purposely disorganized manner. He knew that the Coalition would fall for it. The Coalition already knew the ESK lines were collapsing and that the ESK soldiers were hardly as loyal to the cause as Tiberia's or Cornade's. Yes... It would work. The Coalition was also confidant in their numerical superiority. They WOULD send forces to crush the ESK flank and then come around in a pincer. Sabino looked towards the battle at where he supposed Karl was. Once they did that... Sabino would charge his soldiers directly down the central line, capturing the coalitions leaders and cutting off the head of the snake. With Karl and Salduador out of the picture, Sabino would break the royalists and deal with the isolated Tiberian royalist army after. Sabino begun laughing at this new chance, a path that would lead to victory for democracy.

"Karl... I wi-" Sabino's announcement of victory was cut short and the triumphant smirk wiped off his face in an instant as a shot from a royalist cannon fired directly towards him, blasting a hole directly beside where his horse was located. It was like some malicious force of fate or chance had decided that of all the place's a poorly aimed cannon shell could land, it was right upon the leader of the enemies entire nation. Sabino was launched off his horse by the blast wave and a bloody mist filled the air as the bloodied gore of Sabino's guards and aides was scattered from the blast. By some twisted miracle, Sabino survived... To watch as his entire army panicked witnessing their great leader being struck down. Through the pain(Unaware of how badly he was injured) and the disorientation, Sabino cursed inwardly at Zaic and his own twisted fortune.

Though the effects were not immediate, Sabino knew that this would cost him dearly. Before more guards arrived doubtfully hoping to find him alive, the soldiers would now already begin hesitating. He would not be able to continue commanding in his condition and many will think he is already dead. And now the course of the battle and perhaps fate of the world was decided by a single cannon ball.

With no great leader to guide them, the Republican army slowly lost its morale and fighting ability. As the overwhelming numbers of the coalition overcame and isolated parts of the army, segments surrendered or routed from the battle, further launching the Republican Army into disarray was the arrival of the Tiberian Royalist Army, its appearance in battle behind the Republican ESK caused the entire flank to fall once and for all. To the other flank, the Cornadian's were finally beset by the true force of the Imperial Coalition, and those brave souls would continue the fight long after most of the army had already fallen...

~~~

Republican Army Flank, Cornadian Foreign Army... The end has come.

MacHugh struck a match, and it flared up, a little pinprick of gentle orange light against the gray and brown backdrop of the smoke and mud choked hell that the battlefield had become. He brought the match up to the end of the cigar he held firmly between his lips, and it caught, and he inhaled deeply, sucking in the aromatic fumes. For all the whizzing of rounds all about him and his men, and for all the screams of the wounded, the dying, and those about to become one of the two, he was eerily calm. He was entirely unshaken. And so too, were those last brave few who had rallied around him. The Cornadian lines had collapsed under the sheer weight of the Imperial Coalition's numbers, and so now they drew back to hastily dug earthworks and prepared to repel the eventual final advance of the enemy.

They were now almost entirely surrounded, and an orderly, safe retreat had become an impossible. Any movement, lateral or backwards, would simply expose them to the brutality of Imperial gunfire. Any movement forward would be tantamount to suicide. And so, they waited, with what artillery they were still in possession of, and exchanged ineffectual fire back and forth. All of Cornade's supposed superiority on the field of battle, and for all the gung-ho crowd-rousing theatrics MacHugh had shown had back before the bloody business had begun, had amounted to little. The battle was all but decided. All the doom and gloom amongst the Tiberians that Machugh had mocked so eagerly days before was finally catching up to him and his men.

He may as well accept that fact that he'd been beaten with a sort of Cornadian dignity, though. He'd give those crown-loving sons of bitches a fight to remember before he had his men prop up that white flag.

Already the staccato crackle of the revolving guns, emplaced on high ground, at the heart of the Cornadian redoubt, filled the air. Darts of fiery, lead death weaved back and forth across the field. Surely, the devastation they can, and already had, wreaked on those traditional line-fighting Imperial forces would give them pause about making that final push. Those and the few field artillery pieces, a motley assortment of cannons and mortars, kept the enemy at bay while the troops braced themselves. They were out there, though, vaguely visible beyond the haze of gun smoke. They were waiting for the order, or maybe they were in disarray out there. MacHugh couldn't be sure from where he stood. The whiplash crack of the bushwhacker long rifles, which had been employed with deadly effect against enemy officers and flanks already, continued to reach his ears even despite the constant roar of the big guns just up the hill from him.

Then there also came the sounding of horns. Drummers drumming. Fifers fifing. That was it. There they came, right into the line of fire. They could afford it though, with all those damn soldiers they had.

"Sir," a lieutenant called, marching over in tattered uniform and throwing up a haphazard salute, "The Imperial forces are on the move."

"That they are. I've got ears too son," he muttered back, "Give the order to be ready. Coordinate fire on a squad level. Fight until I say otherwise," he marched over and clapped a hand on the young commissioned officer's shoulder, "There's no turning back now. You make sure they understand that."

The lieutenant, though clearly shaken by what he supposed was imminent death for him and his comrades, nodded, and saluted again. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, before turning to rush off and distribute the order to make ready.

And so, as the monarchist armies descended upon them, the soldiers of Cornade unleashed a stubborn, furious hell onto them. Fear was swiftly replaced with fury, and a resignation to what they supposed were their fates. Mumblings of defeatism and fear were spontaneously, from end to end, replaced by a low murmur of another kind. Somewhere in the formation, some folk had begun to sing, and it spread like patriotic wildfire. It could be heard even over the roar of gunfire and the screaming of those who were victim to it. A final cry of defiance from the soldiers of Cornade.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord .."

Enemy artillery brought forth its own equal vengeance upon them.

"He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored .."

Revolving guns jammed. Whole stacks of cannonballs were depleted.

"He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword .. His truth is marching on!"

The enemy was in a full advance, aiming to assault the Cornadian fortifications and end the fight. Volley after volley from the stubborn, zeal-filled defenders felled rank after rank of charging foe, but it was not enough, and soon the fight came to such means as blade and bayonet and pike. The first line was soon to fall, but the will of those defenders did not falter. The second line continued its volleys even as the first was beleagured and swamped by masses of gaudily uniformed enemy troops. And so the first rank was forced into retreat, and then the second, and line by line they were pushed back or defeated, with the line behind them providing deadly and furious fusillades to stymie the tide of enemy forces.

All the while, they screamed that furious hymn to Zaic.

"Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on!"

By the end of it, MacHugh had the white flag flown. The defense was as stubborn as could be, but he knew it was doomed to failure.

He would not waste the lives of his men just to make a statement. At least some of them had to come home.

~~~

A few days later...

The sea was in storm. It had been 3 days since the Coalition troops had won the battle, although vast parts of Sabino's armies had surrendered, a core of loyal veteran had fought to the last men in the battle, the few survivors being those to gravely wounded to continue fighting. Sabino had been captured, tried and then executed to be buried in an unmarked grave so no future republican may use his grave as a shrine... Such was the official word at least. In the cabin, only Crown Prince Karl and some of his loyal guards around a man tied to a chair, an execution hood on his head. A guard removed the hood, revealing the face of Sabino. He had been taken care of by Karl's personal doctors, he didn't want him to die either, not now, not before a very long time.

Karl walked to him. Sabino was looking toward the outside, only a feint light visibly in the distance. As he came from behind him, Karl waited for a moment before proceeding with slow steps, turning around Sabino to be in front of him. "I'm probably a bad Avonian for what I'm about to do... You know what I'm about to do. This is the Island of No man's Rock and it will host you, for the remainder of your life on this earth before you are to be judged by Zaic."

Again, more silence. "... You tried to overthrow the order of things, caused the death of countless men, noble to commoner, among them my own brother on the battlefield and another that couldn't survive your Tiberian winter. You ruined countless nations, your own included and the scars of this war will still be seen for generations, the echoes of its cannons will be in the hearts and the minds of the people for centuries. What says you!?" Sabino stared at what seemed to be nothing, almost aimlessly. Quietly muttered "I did what had to be done".

Karl didn't reply immediately, in many ways, he had expected more. "And you failed, your plans were thwarted and monarchy lives on. Please, as if it ever came close to death, you led your people like an emperor and I'll be the first to admit that your 'Senate' made our job far more easier than it would've been. You can't trust a million people with no idea of what they're doing and each with conflicting ideologies to actually make good decisions if make one at all. Democracy is a weakness to both the country and its people and in times, people will come to realize this... I will leave you to your thoughts and when the storm clears out, we will land. Enjoy this chair, it shall be the most comfortable thing you will experience for the remainder of your life time. Guards." The men circled around Sabino and gagged him so he may not bite out his own tongue and kill himself.

~~~

Current time, No Man's Rock Dungeon

A loud 'CLUNG' was heard throughout the prison as the door to this facility's now only prisoner opened. A tall blond figure dressed of white appeared. "My, my, my... the legends are true. Good day, you may not know of me, but I know of you, Sabino..." Serclaes took a few steps toward what used to be a man. The figure was anorexic, scared, its face was caste in iron so no one may look properly at it. "Yes, good day, I am Alexander Serclaes, Hochbachen Citizen, industrialist, business man, count, patron of the arts and science and all around philanthropist, or so I'm told." Visibly, Serclaes couldn't hold his excitation of encountering a man such as Sabino, his gloved hands twisting around. "I was told they sometimes do what I am about to do, on the new year generally, the Imperial Post's year in review. I own that journal now, you know? And countless others, but I must admit it is my finest, even if the Daily Press sells more, which I own too, funny... Cat's got your tongue? Haha, oh no, the torturer got it, I remember now."

Serclaes took a sit on a small bench in the cell. Sabino, chained to the wall, didn't bother turning his head, but Serclaes knew he was still there, inside his mind. He opened his journal. "On the first page of course, news of the happy couple that is Prince Karl Junior and Princess Veronica De Astra of Veluca. I even got an invitation, haha. Haaaa, there will always be this charm of knights and princesses to royalty, that I think even you must admit. We could argue it is more charming even than freedom, 'tis why you were defeated after all. Other than that, Waldeck and Muler are at it again, some fear parties of the extreme right leaving the conservative coalition could threaten Waldeck's hold of the parliament." He had a smirk while turning the page. "Some of us, of course, know better. I'm sure even your republic had its good old 'invisible hand' around, no?"

Serclaes went through the paper. Finance, Serclaes marches on, international news in Cromwell sending another diplomatic insult to the ICA's office in Chaleroi, General Armquist laughing in public about it, miscellaneous events and sports, giving particular attention on the polo teams of Praven and Tour University that faced themselves, the Tiberians winning only by a few points at the end of the match. 'To be fair, it was the home team, very little crowd for Hochbach in Tiberia these days, Basil really invested his money well in that team. You know of Basil?'. A few hours went by as Serclaes closed on the comics in the journal, placing the journal in front of Sabino so he may see the characters in funny little situations, a banging came on the door, it was time.

Serclaes bowed slightly toward Sabino, a mocking smirk on his face. "You know, I have great admiration for you and what you were trying to achieve. It is noble on paper, buuut then again, I tend to agree with the consensus of the world's strong men by saying that the populace can't be trusted in thinking on the long term and do what must be done, rather than what is easy... At least it's my opinion, can you believe 12 years after the republican menace is defeated Hochbach would become a, haha, constitutional monarchy? Funny, now Hochbach is more democratic than Tiberia is today! Helicon with his iron fist, Aurelius and his parties. Ever heard of prince Aurelius? Oh he would have been such a tool for propaganda, If there is something closer to the out of touch noble image of monarchy, it must be him... You know, I don't even know why they keep you here, what good could you do anyways. Cromwell's an island with no hope, Cornade moved on and prefers to export stuff and get money rather than... export democracy and get an ass kicking, hahaha! ...Yes, we should probably just let you go..." The door opened and Serclaes slowly moved to it, leaving the journal in the cell. "...We should..." As the door was closing behind Serclaes, he stopped it and looked back for but a moment. "But not today... 'Lord protector'". The door slammed shut.

[Red Beret]

The City of Rotan, in Terinthia - Avenall Duran, Clerk to Lord Bertrand Rousseau
Avenall Duran had spent all his life in the shadow of the Sovereign Palace, a place as foreign to the people of Terinthia as it was well-known by them. Guests, mostly military and nobility, could be seen coming and going at all hours, but it had been awhile since the Sovereign had shown his own face. Rumors of poor health and decline abounded, but Lord Rousseau, for whom Duran worked as a clerk of sorts, liked to assure people that the rumors weren't true. Duran had picked up little snippets from Rousseau without the lord's knowledge, but fully meaning to. The political gossip was maddening, but Rousseau was one to get the facts before running his mouth. The things Duran heard while eavesdropping painted a rather unpleasant picture of events in the near future.

The conflict in the neighboring country of Ankhora was, of course, the top concern for Lord Rousseau. Duran had accompanied him to Morova to negotiate preventative terms, but to no avail. The Morovans simply weren't happy with being able to use an Ankhoran port... they wanted one of their own and saw the Ankhorans as impertinent serfs who refused to recognize their betters. The Morovans had invaded the country soon after that--summer was a prime season to do it, but they hadn't counted on Ostburg. Duran had only heard stories of what had happened at Ostburg... the conflict had not yet gone long enough for the soldiers involved there to have been rotated out, so there were no veterans' tales or anything, but the Morovans had apparently not been expecting the town to put up such a fight.

Hochbach had bristled at the Terinthian involvement, and after Terinthia had refused to convince the Ankhorans to simply cede the conflicted land to Morova, they'd ejected Mssr. Renard, his staff, and any other Terinthian citizens they could find. Though it was an affront to good international policy, Rousseau had taken it in stride. The Landers Trade Company was informed of the situation, and word was spread to the merchants and the navy to steer clear of any vessels of Hochbach origin. Trade with Hochbach hadn't out completely, but with Hochbach's navy stopping and searching Terinthian ships under the guise of "searching for armaments," it had been severely reduced, as the grossly illegal searches and seizures were having a negative impact on Terinthia's commercial trade. Dark days indeed.

The Confederacy, formed out of the ruins of Rasputian Khanate in Zakat in the east, had taken an interest in the conflict as well, though it was mostly a mediatory interest. It was supposed that the Confederates were worried about a war going on in such close proximity to their border, though their populist approach could very well have motivated them to try and protect the people of Ankhora themselves. Some people thought that the Confederates were just power-hungry, looking for a way to get more land for themselves... they'd "liberated" Nokumba, after all, from Hochbach only two years prior.

"Avenall."

Duran started. While he'd been thinking, he hadn't noticed Lord Rousseau's approach.

"Yes, milord."

"Put your coat on, boy, we're going out."

"Out?"

"Out."

Winter was setting in, and while Rotan didn't have a harsh winter compared to, say, Northgate or the regions north, the cold was still bitter and it was uncomfortable to go outside without a heavy coat. Not that they were outside for long... Rousseau had a carriage waiting, and while it wasn't as warm as the office Duran inhabited, it wasn't as cold as the world outside. Duran sat across from Rousseau, and as the carriage started to move, he looked up as if to ask where they were going. Rousseau simply shook his head, having correctly anticipated his young clerk's question, and the two of them made the ride in silence.

When he emerged from the carriage, Duran immediately knew exactly where he was. The Sovereign Palace loomed above them, sitting on its rocky hill like an ivory king. Rousseau led on as they made their way past the guards posted at the bottom of a steep set of stairs, which would take them up to the castle itself, and gave Duran a short lesson on the sort of etiquette he was expected to follow in the presence of his superiors.

"And keep your eyes to yourself," Rousseau concluded, noticing that Duran was currently looking over at a group of men in overalls. They were surveying a point along the wall, all the while being watched by uneasy-looking guards, "There are secrets contained here that need not find their way out."

"Yes, milord."

They were bowed into the castle's main hall, a long, high, open chamber that looked as if it might once have been regal... now it just looked empty, dead, devoid of life. There were two thrones at the end of the hall, long unused. Grey light cascaded down through large, open windows, completing the feeling... it was as though the Sovereign bloodline was already no more.

"Ah, Bertrand, so nice to see you."

A man in a brown waistcoat appeared through one of the doorways, and Rousseau forced Duran to bow, "My Sovereign."

As they straightened, Duran couldn't help but stare. He had expected the Sovereign of Terinthia to be a white-bearded, regally-dressed king, but here he stood, no older than his mid-thirties, if that, looking like one of the common people. His face was clean-shaven, his hair was neatly parted, and the spectacles perched upon his nose made him look more like a prosecutor than the ruler of a nation. He was dressed so drably, too, there was nothing about him that outright smacked of royalty. Still, as his eyes met Duran's, there was something there, and Duran averted his gaze.

"And who is this?"

"My clerk, Avenall. Since Mathias is ill, I thought that maybe he could transcribe the meeting for us."

"Ah, I see... very proactive. How is his hand?"

"Very legible, my Sovereign. It's why I took him in in the first place."

"Good, good... Marshal DuPont is already waiting in the Blue Room. I shall return shortly."

"Thank you, Sovereign."

Rousseau led the way to the "Blue Room," which Duran was slightly disappointed to find painted in a shade of blue. An older man, presumably Marshal DuPont, sat at a table, looking slightly uncomfortable. An aide in a Lieutenant's uniform stood behind him, almost matching his expression. Rousseau and DuPont locked eyes for a moment.

"He asked to be a part of it," DuPont said suddenly. Rousseau nodded, and Duran wondered what the lieutenant's relationship was to DuPont, if he could so easily persuade the Grand Marshal of the Terinthian Sovereign Army into bringing him along to meet the Sovereign.

"I figured as much," Rousseau answered, "He's so... interested in what's going on. I should have liked this to be a bit more discreet."

Did Rousseau know the lieutenant? Duran looked from one man to the next, then to the third. He was obviously missing something here...

"Still, he is our Sovereign... who are we to tell him no?"

So that's what it was.

"Indeed... though he needs to realize that this isn't a tea party... this is a waste of time... all this formality, we could have had our meeting and been done with it. I've got urgent matters to attend to..."

"It's a Council meeting, what do you expect?"

"A little less... involvement."

DuPont's eyes flickered briefly to the door, and Duran's head turned to follow. Two men had just entered the room, one dressed in a naval uniform, the other dressed in expensive-looking civilian clothing. Duran knew the former by sight, he was the Grand Admiral of the Terinthian Sovereign Navy, better-known in Tirin but well-recognized throughout the Commonwealth. It was equally true of the latter, who could be none other than John Landers, who had inherited the Landers Trade Company from his father. There was an awkward exchange of greetings, but it was clear to anyone who paid attention that they all knew what they were here for. Soon after, the Sovereign returned.

"All right, gentlemen, now that we're assembled..."


The Town of Ostburg, in Ankhora - Lieutenant Henri Lefte, Terinthian Sovereign Army
The second Morovan push had been less effective than the first, but that was like saying that a punch in the gut would be less effective than a club to the head. The important thing was that the line had held, and the Morovans had retreated far enough that the people of Ostburg could start reclaiming their town. Lefte, who'd been trained to fight defensive battles in trenches with proper fortifications, had found fighting from behind makeshift barricades unpleasant, but at least the Morovans hadn't brought air support in this time around. The first attack had been hell until the navy had gotten their airships in place. The Morovan bombing had done extensive damage behind the lines, but had not been effective in breaking them. The Terinthians and the people of Ostburg had remained in control of most of the city.

Even though the Morovans were on the retreat, there was no time to relax. Thanks to the death of Capitaine Lassange during the first attack, Lefte had assumed command of the battle for Ostburg on the ground. The citizens of the town, the men and women who had refused to evacuate, were proving to be a great supplement to Lefte's men, and they worked quickly at securing the town and moving forward to construct a network of defenses in the shadow of Terinthia's air fleet. They had worked side-by-side to start digging trenches... Lefte was not the kind of officer to stand over his men as they worked, and could be found with a shovel in hand, developing his own calluses.

It was not a good time of year to be digging... winter was coming on and despite the cold, the Lieutenant and his men were sweating like dogs. The day was bright, though, and the sun warm. At least Lefte and his men weren't stuck in the bitter cold, where their sweat would freeze or cause other complications. Small things to be thankful for, Lefte thought as he stabbed into the earth, bringing up the hard, rocky soil of the region with each shovel full.

"You look tired."

Lefte looked up to see a shadow standing over him, hand outstretched with a water skin. He had known the bastard for months, the one-eyed, crazy old man who had become the de facto leader of the townspeople. He hadn't gotten along well with the Lassange, who had ordered all civilians evacuated despite the fact that most of them wanted to fight, but Lefte thought he was a respectable enough sort of person.

"Who isn't tired? The only thing we've done so far is ensure that the Morovans won't have to dig the mass grave themselves."

"A realist! I like that."

Lefte took the water skin gratefully, and the old man sat down on the edge of the trench.

"I would come down and help you, but I'm afraid I'd never come out. Never tempt the earth when she's already looking to swallow you whole."

"I wouldn't worry about that too much... you could probably take on any god that came for you."

"Ha!"

Lefte was aware that the old man was examining him as he took a long pull from the skin. Though the water was refreshing, it tasted earthy. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, just something that Lefte wasn't used to. He passed the skin to the man beside him, then stabbed his shovel into the earth beside him and sat down with his back against the shallow wall of the trench. The old man looked down at him.

"You are a strange sort, Lieutenant," he said, "But I like you. You fight with honor and dignity. You fight for those who cannot fight for themselves."

"Don't discount yourself so readily," Lefte replied, "If you and the others hadn't been around, the Morovans would have flanked us during the first attack. We weren't nearly as organized as we were for the second."

"I would never discount myself, Lieutenant," the old man replied with a grin. Lefte closed his eyes for a moment, but he could still feel the old man's gaze upon him. He was being studied, probably for any signs of weakness. Did the Ankhorans expect the Terinthians to betray them after Morova was gone?

Not wanting to pursue that line of thought, Lefte stood and took up his shovel again. He had only worked for a small time when the old man interrupted him again.

"You know, Lieutenant, we've known each other for two seasons."

"We have."

"I just find it funny... not once have you asked me my name."

Lefte couldn't find an answer for that, nor could he find an answer for why he had never gotten the old man's name. Perhaps it was because everyone knew who he spoke of when he asked for the old man, maybe it was because he felt a close connection to the old bastard, one that didn't require names to be spoken, or even known. It gave him pause for a moment, but then he kept working. He couldn't give the old man an answer. This didn't seem to bother him... on the contrary, the old man seemed delighted to have made Lefte uncomfortable, if only for a moment.

"It's Raskav."

"It's a fitting name," Lefte answered, after a brief hesitation.

"Thank you," the old man said, standing again, "I will bring you and your men more water. Then, perhaps, we can discuss what we are to do about the third attack."

The Lieutenant nodded, and was about to get back to work again when he saw a group moving up the line. He didn't have to look hard to tell that it was that odd little man from Zakat, with his odd little filming device and his entourage. Lefte didn't mind the Zakatians moving around too much, they had yet to interrupt or sabotage the defensive effort, and they managed to stay out of the way. They'd been with the initial Confederate party, when they came during the first lull in the fighting to attempt to mediate, but they'd left soon after. Lefte wouldn't have been surprised if they'd made their way north to the Morovan camp to get their side of the story, and then they'd come back out of the northeast after the second attack had broken.

The Zakatian wasn't getting too much response from the soldiers he seemed to be attempting to interview, though Lefte doubted it was a language barrier issue... the soldiers were just focused on getting the task at hand completed before the Morovans decided to turn around. There wasn't really much filming to be done here, they were just trying to get stories now. Let them... they weren't hurting anyone. Lefte stabbed his shovel back into the earth.


North of Ostburg, in Ankhora - Milo Brecic, Commander of the Morovan Invasion Force
Commander Brecic had been having a rather bad time of it so far. Ankhora should have been a cakewalk with the fast war tactics the Morovan Royal Army was used to using, and indeed they had been able to roll through the first several towns they'd come across. The Ankhorans in the northeast seemed content to let them through without trouble, but then they'd hit Ostburg. Bloody Ostburg. The citizens had somehow received word of the invasion force and had time to barricade the main roads, and refused to allow the Morovans to pass. They'd managed to break through, of course, only to find themselves up against a company of Terinthians, who'd dug into the town center and put up enough of a fight to force the invasion force to halt.

Initially, the Morovans were able to hold the north half of the town. The Terinthians were cautious and didn't advance much, preferring to sit behind their barricades and wait for an attack. The conscripts had been hesitant, at first, to attack the fortifications, and it only grew worse when the Terinthians received their damned support. The main roads were soon covered by gatling guns, and the fighting was contained in the back roads and alleyways that made up the town. Brecic had fought a long and stagnant battle while waiting for his air support, but when it came, it came in hard.

The Terinthians had been forced to retreat after several of their barricades were shattered by the aerial bombardment, but that didn't stop them from fighting. Brecic's army had been able to move through and capture the town center, but then the Terinthian air support had shown up, and everything had gone to hell. The Morovan balloons were adequate for their purpose, but they weren't equipped with effective air-to-air weapons, and the Terinthian airships picked them off easily. Tanks had shown up, too, small, lightly-armored things, but the Morovan muskets didn't do much to them. They were essentially mobile, armored gatling guns, and the only thing Brecic could do was order his men to retreat and surrender the city.

The Terinthians had moved up past the town center and started constructing barricades at a reasonable distance from the Morovan line. Brecic had withdrawn a good bit of his men to set up an HQ in the north, and sent riders back to Morova to request additional resources. The damned Confederates had shown up at that point, proposing to mediate. Brecic had sent them away... if mediation worked against these stubborn assholes, then the war need not have ever been fought. It wasn't as though the Ankhorans were truly using their resources to their full potential.... what did they care about a tiny sliver of land in the east?

Brecic's army had made its second attack shortly after the attempted mediation, and had been driven back by the Terinthians and the Ostburgers. A Zakatian journalist had shown up about then, with a little posse of assistants and armed guards. They'd apparently hired a local to guide them around, and the fact that they were just so... indifferent to the whole thing, acting as though they hadn't been a part of the Morovan's downward spiral, infuriated Brecic to the point where he would not see the journalist, and had him sent out of the camp. His runner had returned, there were reinforcements on the way, with artillery. Brecic knew that he could simply go around the town if he wanted to make it to Graummel, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. The entire operation would fail if there was no way to get goods and supplies from Graummel to Morova. Without Osburg squarely in their grip, the operation would fail, and Brecic's men would have died in vain.

It already seemed like a vain attempt, though... the Terinthian air fleet was formidable, to say the least. Even if the ground force was defeated, that still left the airships, which were well-suited to air-to-air combat, though they didn't seem to be very effective for air-to-ground. There was an advantage there, at least... Brecic was certain that if he could get artillery in, he had the strength to push the Terinthians out of Ostburg and ride them all the way down to Graummel if he wished to do so.

Let them have this victory... they won't last much longer.

[JarlWolf]

(Small bit of collab with Red done for first segment.)

Ankhora, Ostburg.

Pietor was a small man indeed, with a trimmed mustache, bald head and small circular glasses he looked like a mole. He had a black waistcoat with a loose, white shirt he somehow managed to keep clean throughout all this mess. Wearing the great longcoat issued to him unbuttoned, he walked towards what seemed to be a ragged looking Terinthian officer digging more trenchline with his men.
Pietor raised his hand energetically and rushed his short legs towards the Lieutenant, "Sir! sir! " he exclaimed. He stopped, catching his breathe for a moment, and he looked at the Lieutenant who looked at him with a manner of oddity. Pietor then shifted his glassed up his nose, looking up at the man and said, "I'm Mr. Pietor Okvanpinsky, and im here on behalf of the Crimson Courier's. No doubt you've heard of our newspaper and the new industry of film sir?"
The Lieutenant looked at the little man and replied, "I've heard of both, yes... though I'm not familiar with the former," then the Lieutenant answered shortly, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Pietor nodded, and stated, "The Crimson Courier's is the Confederacy's most reliable newspaper, and is quite popular amongst people outside Zakat too. Me and my crew had just recently witnessed the battle from afar and were doing a report for the public back home and our readers abroad, would you care to answer some questions? I promise not to tarry with your time too long sir."
The Lieutenant thought about it for a moment, and then said, "I suppose it couldn't hurt," the Lieutenant leaned on his shovel, "Fire away, Mssr. Pietor."

"How has the recent fighting been, and in particular, the recent battle? Where does the Terinthians and Ankhorans stand thus far?"
The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment, pausing. "The fighting has been... intense," the Lieutenant replied carefully, "I would say that we stand rather firmly, and that we're hoping our enemy will see that this is all completely unnecessary. The sooner the better."

Pietor nodded and pointed to one of his group, and they started scribbling down what he had said. The man finished and nodded to Pietor, and Pietor looked to the Lieutenant again and asked, "What do you feel is the most important duty now, with this battle being over?"
"We're here to protect our neighbors, Mssr. Pietor. Our goal is to prevent as much damage as possible, to the town, to the people, and to the nation."
Quickly was his words wrote down, Pietor nodded to his coworkers, and they stopped writing down things, and then he asked, "Off the record, how do you feel of the recent push by the Morovans? Do you feel confident the Terinthian airforce, which is mainly designed to counter enemy air forces, and the ground forces can deal with the threat of Morovan forces, if they were to be reinforced by artillery?"
The Lieutenant suddenly looked troubled, "Are they being reinforced by artillery?"
Pietor merely looked to him an said, " I believe that answers my question. As for my knowledge of that, I am not sure. Only rumours, Mr. Lefte."
Pietor then snapped his fingers, and the crew raised their heads in attention, and then he asked politely, "Would it be fine if you allowed us to film here? We just want to obtain some footage of the brave Ankhoran's and their Terinthian allies working for the defence of Ostburg."
"Go ahead." With that, the Lieutenant climbed out of the trench, headed for the Terinthian command post...

Pietor smiled, and yelled after him, "Thank you sir!"
He got his crew to work, setting up the camera and adjusting it. Pietor smirked to himself and thought, * That'd ought to teach the Morovans to not turn away a humble reporter such as myself and letting him see their ammunition crates...*

The Crimson Confederacy, Kievusk, Krasnavich Urban Districts, Kievusk State Security Department.

Marshal Margot sat in her desk, with music playing on the gramaphone in her office. She sat there, overlooking papers. A knock on her door came, and she looked up. Two guards were standing outside of her door, and she stated loudly, "Let him in." A man came in. It was Lezvid Valkiff, famous film and media director of the Crimson Courier's. He walked over to her desk, his hand cupping on the top of the chair. She merely looked back to her papers, shuffling them into an organized pile. As she shoved them to the middle of her desk, Lezvid grinned, looking down at his pocket watch and said, " Time is such an odd thing is it not? Something you can't control, you can always record it and be punctual, but you will never control it."
He laughed a little, and Margot looked at him. She let out an annoyed sigh. She looked at him with a stern look and replied, "You told the secretary that you'd be coming in today Valkiff. Do you have anything of importance to say to me, or are you just here to waste my time?"

Lezvid looked at her and gave her that wide grin he is famous for, chuckling.
"I've come across some information you may be interested in." He dug into his coat pocket and withdrew an envelope. Placing it on her desk, at an angle. Margot was highly irritated, and she moved her hand to correct the envelopes placement, then slid it next to her folder.
She then stared an looked at him, "And what is this you've given me?"
He looked at his pocket watch again, and merely said, "Open it. I'm just the courier after all."
She furrowed her brow a bit, then calmed her expression. She opened it as cleanly and efficiently as she could, and she slid out the letter, out of the envelope held firmly by her own hand.
She read past the trivial information, and reached the actual message.
"... To you of it may concern there has been alarming reports of Black Army activity in the Northern border with Astraea in the last few months. Only rumours persist but it is within our suspicion the Black Army may be planning an attack on Confederacy soil. We would like you to authorize a dispatch to investigate this matter, and see if we can find out more and if possible prevent any terrorist action."

She placed the note down, and looked at Lezvid. "And how did you come across this exactly?"
Lezvid downed his grin and looked at her with a straight face.
"Tunguska found the agent slaughtered, presumably by Black Army operatives in northern Amur. The brute contacted me and I made sure it got to you. It may be too late at this point, but its better delivered now then never."

She looked at the letter again, examining each and every word with analytical zeal.
"Thank you, Valkiff. I believe we are done, I have business to attend to."

Lezvid nodded, and moved out of her office.

Poskogaba gave a long hard stare, and thought-
*By Zaic... this isn't good. I'm going to have to double the security of the whole Northern border at this rate, if agents are being assassinated by those bastards....*
She looked out the window. Through the fog she could see the snow blowing and past her music the winds shrieking. More then snow is being carried on the wind, and she knew that a storm is approaching.

The Crimson Confederacy, Rostovia, the town of Minshkava

Andrei Ulyavik was sitting at the train station, wearing his army uniform and his gun strap over his shoulder. The uniform, brilliant with buttons polished, his uniform had been taken great care of and prepared for by his mother, who sat with him. His father also sat there, his father missing a leg and having a crutch by his side on the rustic wooden bench. The train rolled into the station, and a few people came out, mainly just other civilians and peasant folk. There was a few other young men like Andrei sitting at the station, waiting for the train. As soon as the last passengers exited, the conductor yelled, "ALL ABOARD!"

Andrei got up, and his folks did as well, even his father. His mother clutched him, tears in her eyes with a wide smile of pride on her face and said, "By Zaic boy im going to miss you. Take care please!"
He retorted, "I will mum, don't worry, I know what I've signed up for-"

After being hugged by his mother Andrei's father looked at him sternly and said, "Andrei, know that whatever happens im proud of you. But remember this; when the going gets rough, don't forget about home. Don't throw yourself away, understand?"

Andrei nodded slowly, and he hugged his father. His mother yelled after him, but the train horn blurred her out. He walked onto the train and tried to wave to her, but the other young recruits forced him to walk forward. Their officer and a few experienced soldiers walked behind them, and guided them to their posting on the train.
The conductor made his last call, and everyone was in the train, and the engine started, the whistle blowing.
Andrei looked out the windows, seeing the great mountains and forest of Rostovia as the train chugged forward. He reached a train cart where it had a crowd of people in it, some families going to Amur to find jobs in the factories. Hay was scattered throughout the floor, and the great sliding steel doors were locked shut, and only slits offered light to them.
Andrei and his comrades were going somewhere else entirely, a place he had only heard stories about. Astraea. And not every story he heard of Astraea was pleasant at all.

Some of his mates had begun to sing to pass the time, but Andrei just wanted to secure a spot in the train to sit and he found a place to lean his back. He tried to close his eyes, and drift off to sleep...

[Sigma]

(Collab post between me and Jarl)
Kurosawa, Capital of the Sokoku Shogunate

The room was relatively silent, inside the Shogun's hall in his stronghold at Kurosawa. The Shogun had part of his face bandaged up, blood stains upon the linen, which contrasted strangely with his professional, if somewhat to foreigner's at least, traditional Sokokan armour and garb. He sat upon his throne with guards standing mechanically on either side of the hall, 12 in total, clutching naginata's with rifles strapped on their back. The Shogun had his head down the entire time. The sun was shining outside with the sounds of seagulls in the nearby harbour, and he looked up.
"Approach. Discuss terms."

The Ambassador stepped forward from the now opened doors, nervously approaching the Shogun as sweat begun creeping down his face. He took a pause as he was a few feet away from the man, sitting down in a Sokokan fashion as he sat upon his bended knees. He bowed before the Shogun to show his respect. "Thank for your time, sir." He spoke elegantly. "I have come on behalf of the Velldon Imperium with an offer for aid." He paused, scanning the room of the rather intimidating guards. "My Emperor has an offer for you. In exchange for training and military arms. We request that we have the privilege of harvesting your mineral fields, sharing the profit that is to come from what we find."

The Shogun looked at him, his eyes penetrating, seeming to burn right through his guest. The Shogun raised his hand, and with a subtle motion, he called over the guard to his right. The guard came in and bowed, and in Sokokan he whispered to him. The guard backed away a few steps, and bowed respectfully, and returned to his post.

The Shogun then stated in a clear voice, " What amount of profit do you seek, Which minerals, and which mines? What do you offer me, when competitors offer the same for less?"

""Well...we seek to unearth the many precious Gems and crystals that litter the landscape. We expect to make millions in currency from our discoveries. And to guarantee our partnership, whatever we make, Sokoku will receive half of it. Both our countries will benefit from this, I can assure you that." He gulped, awaiting a response. The Shogun looked at him, his expression as solid as stone. He paused, letting the silence speak for itself.

"Your country wishes, to make half profit from our resources. They offer guns and training to my forces, of which they also recieve from nation, such as Tiberian Empire, for lesser agreements. Half of income is to be shared with my faction. I ask you this; why would I let you harvest our resources, when we can do it ourselves and retain more profit and have more benefit to ourself, and train more men and field more gun? If we are to reach a deal, it must entice me. I concur, the deal must also benefit your party. But the Shogunate also has other options. Do you counter offer?"

"Honorable Shogun, with respect. I believe our many eager companies overseas are more....how should I say? More well-equipped, to handle such operations... with more efficiency to be precise." He gulped once more, feeling a bit of regret for what possible is an insult to the Shogun and hs entire people, but there was some truth to hi word, as with Velldon's techological advances, Velldonian workers and gear would indeed be more benefitial, and in some ways, safer.
The Shogun had thought on it, and he looked down, then up at him again in a more calm expression.

"You claim your mining operation is more efficient. Done faster, better." The Shogun re-adjusted himself, "Here is my offer; I will allow one mine to be commissioned under my sigil, with equivalent worth of gun and services to my forces. With this one mine you will prove to me over 6 fortnights time of what you say is true. If it is, then I will concur on the condition we receive 6 tenths of profit from that point on, with possible oppurtunity in future. Do you concur?"

The Ambassador nodded to him. "That is most agreeable, yes, I concur." He bowed once more to the Shogun. "My Emperor will indeed be pleased with such progress, and I say again, thank for your time, this will surely be a first step in our relations."
The Shogun looked at him, and nodded, closing his eyes merely saying, "Mhm."
He then stood up, and looked to the man.
"Rise."

He nodded once more to his wishes and rose to his feet. Standing at attention.

The Shogun then looked at him, then lowered his head and bowed at a 90 degree angle and held, lifting his head slightly to see the ambassador.
"If I am no longer needed. I shall make my leave. It was a pleasure doing business with you, and I wish you and your people success as you endure in these hard times of conflict. Good day to you ." He bowed his head as he turned away.

The Shogun slowly rose up, and he noted that the foreigner was not only tense, but also ignorant of proper salutations of his kingdom. He wouldn't hold it against him though, as most of the foreigners had seemed to lack proper edicate. He sat back down, and spoke to his guard.

[Red Beret]

The Town of Ostburg, in Ankhora - Lieutenant Henri Lefte, Terinthian Sovereign Army
The rail station had been converted into the Ostburg garrison's headquarters, since it was the only building in town equipped to send telegraphs. It was a painfully obvious building for a headquarters, and Lefte hated to use it, but some things you just had to do. He had no doubt that the sergeants could oversee the men digging the trenches while he made a quick correspondence. If the Morovans were bringing artillery to the front as the little Confederate journalist had suggested, then the situation was worse than he'd thought, but still manageable.

Only rumors, Mr. Lefte.

Terinthia had the advantage of rails on her side, while the Morovans would have to use their horse-drawn carts to maneuver through the rocky hills. The Zakatian civil war had done quite a number on them, and while Left could empathize with them as a man, as an officer of the Terinthian Sovereign Army, the only thing he felt for them was disgust. Invading a defenseless nation of farmers... well, not completely defenseless. The people of Ostburg would have put up a good fight against the invaders, and possibly a few people to the south, as well, but they were farmers, fighting a battle with what little they had against a well-equipped army of shock troops.

The fighting had happened through the northern part of town, and the evidence was all around. The Morovans hadn't been gentle with their liberal use of bombardment. Already, some of the townspeople were picking up the pieces, making stacks of brick and clearing the streets of rubble so that they might be easier to pass through. They had had months to mourn their losses while Morovan and Terinthian soldiers alike violated the sanctity of their homes, now all that was left was an efficient drive to clean up, to rebuild, to move on with their lives.

The southern end of town was better cared for, but aerial bombardments can be far-reaching, and there was still evidence of the fight here, just not as much. The rail station stood intact, and as Lefte approached it, he was greeted by the sight of more reinforcements, bloody late but thankfully here at last. There would be supplies with them, too, hopefully enough that some could be shared with the townspeople. It seemed that a new group had arrived as well, armed with shovels, axes, hoes, and even the odd musket. They were Ankhoran,s, all right, but not Ostburgers. Two of the men approached Lefte and rendered an awkward salute.

"Citizen Militia of the townships of Wichton and Goldenfield, to aid Ostburg in the defense!"

Lefte marvelled at them--he had never once thought that any of the local townspeople might show up to help. The Ankhorans were notoriously apathetic when it came to events outside their own communities, and Lefte knew for a fact that the town of Goldenfield lay far and away to the south. It must've taken the rag-tag group quite awhile to trudge their way up to Ostburg, but there was some hope in their spirit.

"Good to see you," Lefte said distractedly, "The line is being formed to the north, if you're feeling up to an assignment."

"Right."

As Lefte ascended onto the platform where the reinforcements were assembling, the citizen soldiers that had come all this way trudged on, north, to find something to do. It was a good sign for the country, Lefte felt.

"Richter, Richter!"

"Lieutenant!"

Richter, the telegraph operator, poked his head out.

"I need a message sent to Ostheim."

"Right, sir, what is it?"

"We might be dealing with artillery. Tell them to send something to respond as soon as they can."

"Right, sir, on it, sir!"

Left moved on to greet the reinforcements, glad to have some more men to defend with but feeling that he may have too much to deal with... he'd never been in charge of this many men before, and this was the first war he'd ever fought. He was feeling rather overwhelmed, and part of him hoped that they'd send a higher-ranking officer along with the artillery... but then, he'd been doing a good job so far, they might as well send a promotion in an officer's stead.


Aboard the LTCS Meridian, Confederate Waters near Vostovyia - Ingrid Stoltz, Captain
(In collaboration with JarlWolf)

It wasn't the thickest fog Captain Stoltz had seen, but it was fairly thick. The War in Ankhora, particularly the action at Ostburg, had shut down the rails to Zakat, and only the army were using the rails now, to deploy along the line. The rails were vital, if the Morovans destroyed even one section of the tracks, it could unbalance the war effort. That's what they said, anyway, the people who talked. One could glean all sorts of information when one worked on the waterfront. The war had been on for a few months now, with little headway... Stoltz wasn't an expert in military doctrine (though with two older brothers, both serving in the army, she had some idea), but she had always thought of Terinthia as a great, slow, lumbering tortoise, half afraid to come out of its shell.

It was her first time navigating the waters near Vostovyia, and the fact that Terinthian vessels were being held up by the Hochbachen navy was on her mind. The Meridian had yet to encounter such a scenario, but the Landers Trade Company had provided the "necessary security" to "keep them safe." The security came in the form of black-coated mercenaries, which made Stoltz uneasy enough without the prospect of a maritime firefight. The leader was a man named Renalt, and he seemed like a snake at the best of times. The Landers mercenaries mostly spent their time lolling about the deck or ambling aimlessly about the hold, and they were generally respectful enough to stay out of the crew's way as they went about. They didn't cause trouble, but they made the crew uneasy all the same.

The early morning fog encapsulated the boat. Stoltz had absolutely no idea where she was... the waters around the Rostovian bulge had been difficult, and the current and unnecessarily rough waters had disoriented both captain and crew, and though they knew that they were still somewhere on the Confederate side of the Dead Channel, they weren't quite in agreement as to exactly where. Renalt had been rather excited at the prospect of danger, but Stoltz made note of the less-than-enthusiastic expressions on the faces of his men. If they drifted into Hochbach-controlled waters, there could be trouble when the fog cleared.

"I don't like this."

Stoltz, who had just finished assisting with putting the lanterns out (to discourage other ships from colliding with the uselessly-drifting Meridian) turned to see Errol Thorn, her second mate, wringing his hands nervously. He often reminded Stoltz of a large, shaved rat, but he was a decent fellow and a damn good navigator. She hated to see him looking so lost.

"I don't like it either," she admitted, looking around for Renalt, for whom she didn't want to display any weakness.

"I won't be able to find our position until the fog clears."

"We'll get through it, we always have before."

"We didn't have to worry about Hochbach before."

Stoltz furrowed her brow. No doubt the rest of the crew was feeling the same sort of apprehension. One couldn't be a sailor for long without hearing the stories. Boarding parties were never fun, and had it that the Hochbach boarding parties did literally everything but disassemble the boat. Of course, the rumors of seafaring folk had a tendency to grow far out of proportion... that's how things like merfolk and silly superstitions (that they all followed regardless) came to exist, and it probably wasn't going to stop anytime soon. At any rate, the Landers mercenaries were well-armed to defeat a boarding party. She'd never seen such weapons before, but she had seen a revolver, and these looked like larger versions of those. They were known as the Landers Special, at least that's what Renalt claimed, and they fired a spray of shot that could tear a man to ribbons while tearing an arm off the person wielding it. The men were armed with more conventional weapons, of course, but whatever power existed beyond the world would be the only thing that could help someone facing the Landers Special.

"We'll be fine," Stoltz repeated. She didn't need her own officers looking lost and spreading some feeling of dread and doom. Thorn nodded nervously, then left her side. For a time there was silence, other than the sound of the rough water crashing angrily against the Meridian's hull and the footsteps of the patroling mercenaries. It felt as though her boat was sitting in a boiling kettle, she could almost hear it whistling. Time for tea.

She felt a slight grin creep up her face despite her circumstances, and honestly felt that it would be all right. Vostoviya couldn't be too far away, and the people would be grateful enough for the supplies the Meridian was carrying. Medical supplies and other things that Landers didn't want to put into an airship over Ankhora, even with the Navy lending air support to the war effort. Stoltz doubted that the Morovan air fleet was that impressive, but Landers still didn't want to risk it. Why in the name of all that was holy he'd risk losing all of this cargo to Hochbach, however...

A shout from one of the crew brought her out of her thoughts. Apparently something had materialized in the fog, and it was big. Stoltz rushed to the gunwal, accompanied by several blackcoats, who were wielding their weapons with uncertainty.

"Weapons down," Stoltz ordered, and the mercenaries looked at her with some misgivings. She drew herself up to her full height (not very impressive in itself, but the stare she laid on them afterward could make the strongest man quiver in fear), "I said weapons down. If that's a Hochbach warship, you're not going to be able to do anything against it. Let them come, if they try to board forcibly, then I just might give you my permission to fire."

The ship loomed closer, and from the fog its image was delivered; It was unmistakeably The Red Tide, the flagship of the Confederacy's navy. The Crimson, 5 star banners of the Crimson Confederacy flew on various parts of it, and the ships mighty guns were in full view. On the bow (front) of the ship upon the deck was a man wearing a black cap, wearing a long grey Confederate coat. He had his arms behind his back, holding his wrist and staring at the tensed crew and mercenaries on the Terinthian ship. He pulled from his pocket a speaking horn, his voice echoing out, "This is Kapitan Dmitri Slavezch of the Crimson Confederacy. Lay down your arms, we have noted your situation and are here to help. We will be boarding your ship shortly."

He lifted his hand, signaling some men to come up to the front of the stern (side) and prepare for boarding their ship. The massive ship slowly maneuvered into position, and boarding ramps were placed upon the ship. Dmitri walked briskly, a grim smile upon his face. A group of his marines walked with him, rifles in hands, but not aimed at the Terinthians. He approached Captain Stoltz and looked at her, and gave her a slow, rigid salute.

"It appears your ship has seemed to veer off its course to be all the way out here. You were dangerously close to Hochbachian waters. Your lucky my ship found you before you entered their territory."

The mercenaries had dispersed by the time Captain Stoltz found herself returning Slavezch's salute. She didn't have much experience saluting, being a civilian, but it wasn't as easy as the military men made it seem.

"Lucky indeed," she replied, "I would gladly have burned the ship before surrendering any of the supplies in the hold to those bastards... Ingrid Stoltz, captain of the LTCS Meridian. I appreciate your assistance."

Slavezch whistled, and some men from his ship came on board.

"These men are some fresh recruits, navigators. I believe we can help each other out by me providing them to your ship and you giving them the experience they need." He motioned them towards Captain Stoltz, and they all clamped their feet together and raised their arms in salute in unison.

"Awaiting orders Captain Stoltz!" said one of the navigators, his face clean shaven.

Slavezch then took out his pipe from his pocket, and then took out a box of matches. He prepared the pipe and flicked a match, with a small douse of flame appearing. He lit his pipe and puffed some smoke into the air, then removed it from his lips.

"I will be returning to my patrol route now Kapitan. I bid you good luck upon the sea's."
"Thank you, and I bid you the same," Captain Stoltz replied, "If there's anything we can do for you before you go, don't hesitate to ask..."

Kapitan Dmitri Slavezch merely looked up, giving her his ghost like stare. Then he said, "Just make sure your ship reaches a Confederate port before anywhere else." And with that, Slavezch gave a final salute, and walked off the ship, his marines following him. They boarded their ship, withdrawing from their ship. The Red Tide motioned away from Stoltz ship, Dmitri looking at them as his ship slowly disappeared into the fog.


The Town of Hirscham, in Ankhora - "Pike" Hecht
In the past, there had usually been a good cheer when the Ankhoran Moot dispersed, but as the representatives came trudging down from the old castle, Pike could tell that something hadn't gone so well. Some of the representatives wore stone faces, but the overwhelming majority just looked exhausted or strained. There wasn't a hint of good cheer at all, but Pike hadn't really expected there to be with Terinthian troops occupying the area. It wasn't known whether the Morovan invasion was going to extend to central or western Ankhora, and there were mixed feelings on the entire situation.

Pike wasn't politically inclined, and the Terinthian soldiers he'd met so far didn't seem so bad, even if some of them could be a little... aloof in their dealings with the townspeople. At least, Pike thought that "aloof" was the proper term for it, but that wasn't the real issue. It depended on which group you listened to, but some thought that Ankhora ought to just give Morova the land and keep the peace. Others, mostly those who came in from the east or had family out that way, could tell you that eastern Ankhorans weren't exactly eager to return to serfdom. Pike hadn't been around when Ankhora had been part of Ostheim (in fact, you'd be hard-pressed to find an Ankhoran who had been), but he knew that he wouldn't want some foreign governer to come in and sit in the castle where the Moot was held and take all of his profits or possessions (the few that he had) because he felt like it.

The biggest problem with the Terinthian troops was that the people of Ankhora expected they might try to stay if they turned back Morova. Pike couldn't imagine it, but again, he wasn't politically inclined. Apparently people who fought wars usually demanded some sort of compensation for the fact that they'd fought a war, and wars could be expensive. Pike didn't know why someone would bother throwing a war if they were so damned expensive, but there you go.

Pike felt as if there was a rift growing in Ankhora, and he didn't like it because he didn't know what was causing it. The issue had to run deeper than whether troops were stationed in the country, and it probably had something to do with the way the country was being run. What Pike didn't know is that this particular Moot had been less of a Moot and more of a battle of the same viciousness as the battle of Ostburg, but with less death and bloodshed. The larger communities and a few of the smaller ones were calling for some sort of centralization, while those communities who had suffered most during the Ostheim days were staunchly against it. The Moot, they said, was centralization enough to carry them through, and a lot of yelling and shouting and some minor physical altercations hadn't been enough to change anybody's mind. The Moot had dispersed to meet again on a later date, when tempers had cooled and the people had had some time to think about what they truly wanted.

[Sigma]

(Collab Between Me and Darkspleen)
Capital City of Zevrus

The Capital of Velldon was ablaze with life as the morning came. Merchants and Traders from all corners of the world gather around the old city, to of course, trade, barter, and auction, all in the name of commerce. But the city was particularly alive today, as a Zeppelin under the banner of the House of Alraic, flew over the cityscape, carrying a special guest from the Otnemarcas Empire.

Crowds gathered a rumors begun to spread as to the passenger's identiy. And many of them were indeed true. "Hear ye, hear ye!" One of the Town Criers announced rather loudly. "His Royal Majesty, the Emperor has opened the Palace's gates for gret celebration! The Marriage of Prince William and Princess Arlana Severin is to commence by the afternoon. All citizens are welcome to attend!" He ended his message to the nearby folk as he folded the piece of paper and made his exit.

As the town criers made the news known, the zeppelin made two circuits around the city before finally setting down on a landing pad near the palace. Princess Arlana, decked out in her full formal dress, slowly descended the ramp, a pair of Otnemarcasan imperial guards, carrying a large wooden box, two steps behind her. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, the Otnemarcasan princess took a moment to look over the small crowd that had begun to form. The more notable members of which included the royal family.

She took two small steps forward, knelt on the ground and placed her hands before her in a V, pointing towards the Velldonian emperor. "I thank you for allowing me to enter your household" She said, bowing until her forehead rested on the backs of her hand.

"The Pleasure is all mine, Princess." He said with a warm smile. "Let this be the first step in healing old wounds of the past between our nations." He paused as he moved aside as Willam stepped forward, raising his fiancée's hand to his lips as he kissed them. "And A pleasure to meet you, Arlana. I was rather nervous at first...but such a fine lady such as youself is worthy to be my wife." He certianly was quite the flatter.

"And I have been blessed by a husband who is both polite and handsome" Arlana smiled as he kissed her hand. "My lord," She continued, "I thank you for taking one such as myself to be your wife. I have brought something with me that I made for this occasion. Please think of it as but a small part of my dowry." The faces of the two imperial guards behind her started to turn red as they struggled to hold the box.

William approached one of the guards as he passed over the box to the prince, he was certainly puzzled as to what was inside, it was something quite heavy that was for sure. William looked to Arlana with a question. "What is in this, exactly?" He asked.

"A clockwork mechanism that performs a shadow play" Arlana answered. "I took the liberty of setting it up to perform a legend from Velldon's unification."

"That's very generous of you, my dear." he said with a bright smile. He looked to one of the accompanying servants, the servant nodded in agreement of his wishes and took the box, bowing to him and walked off with the device. "I will enjoy it much later, but for now, I shall have it displayed among my collection of valuables. For we must prepare for the ceremony."

"I fear that I am ignorant as to what the traditional customs for marriages are in this land. Could I bother you for an explanation?"

"We must first part our ways as the Bride and Groom are to chose their Wedding Clothing. "The Emperor interjected. "His Brother and I will take him for his choice of wear." He paused as he looked to his Daughter. "Ruth and a number of our maids will take you for your choice of dress."

"I am in your care, Lady Alaric" Arlana said before giving the other woman a warm smile.

[JarlWolf]

27 Kilometers off the Vostrovyian Shore.

As Slavezch's ship left, there was a brief silence between the fresh Navigators and the Terinthian crew. The Navigators, who were all fairly young men of 16-20 years of age, all looked at attention to Stoltz.

"Well, then," Stoltz said, somewhat put on the spot, "Let's get this ship moving, shall we?"

The navigators nodded, and then one of them asked, "Where is your Second Mate currently? We will assist with the current ship's navigator."
"He's in the cabin, attempting to find our current position... I expect he's failing, as well. Hard to find much of anything in these conditions."

The one nodded, and they all gave a salute before they went to the cabin. A few of them were a little tense, as while they had trained for this, it was entirely new to them to be on a Terinthian ship. They had learned the langauge as is required all specialists in the Crimson Navy have to do, but some things were still foreign to them. None the less they went into the cabin where the Second mate resided, himself trying to plot the charts. There was a frustrated expression on his face, and it was obvious the man was worried over the current situation the ship was in.

Errol Thorn gave a start and looked up from the charts he'd been poring over. He seemed uncertain for a moment, then shook his head, "Do you have any idea where we are? That's the important bit..."

One of them nodded, the others looking at the map. The clean shaven one introduced himself. "You can call me Oleg. We are currently a bit beyond the Northeastern fringes of Confederate waters in international territory, about 23 kilometers off the south Vostrovyian coast. We'll need to make some adjustments to the course of the ship to make sure goes in proper course."

"Have at it, then," Thorn said, relieved at the opportunity to let someone else do the job.
Oleg nodded, and then the group of them got to work.

Over time the ship adjusted its course, and after a few hours the lighthouse of Volstok was in sight, with the fog starting to dissipate. The harbour came into view, and the ship moved closer to dock. Oleg looked at her, and then said, "Buying us some grog could always do." With that he grinned slightly, but the others looked at him, a little bit more conservative with talking to the Captain.

"Well, I'm not sure how much the Sovereign is valued here," Stoltz said, furnishing a small wad of bills, "But this ought to be enough to buy a round at least."
The Confederates looked at the Sovereigns given to them and a bright expression shot at their faces. They shook the hands of the Captain and gave a final salute. The rest of them walked off, but Oleg stayed for a moment.
"I think that if I signed a notice I could be assigned to your ship, purely for training purposes of course as a mutual agreement. Would you find that satisfactory Captain?"

"Well..." Stoltz hesitated, then looked at him, "If the war in Ankhora keeps on like it is, I'll need someone who can navigate the waters here a bit better than Thorn... he's a decent navigator in his own right, but most of our crew has never been through the channel before."

"Excellent. I'll make my way to the Naval registration offices here in Volstok and get myself a drink and I'll meet you here in the evening."
With that Oleg nodded and left, going off to get liquored up.

The Confederate Railroad on board CrimsonRail 15, Northern Amur.

It had been near 4 days since Andrei had left home to be deployed in Astraea. The train hadn't yet reached the Northern Amur-Astraean border, but Andrei was was both anxious and a little nervous. He hadn't been this far from home before, let alone to Amur. The train had stopped a few times, and there was only two more stops left. Most of the civilians on the train would be disembarking in a bustling little mining town called Chyrnora to seek jobs in the towns coal mines. The train was rumbling along and it was nighttime, and Andrei could see the moonlight seeping through the slits. People were huddled together to keep warm, the frigid mountain air spiteful of what little comfort the passengers in the cart had. Andrei had his long coat draped over him, and some of his comrades were smoking a few cigarettes, the orange glow unmistakeable in the dark surroundings of the crowded cart. Andrei could hear some people snoring, and in the distant part of the train a baby was crying, it's mother trying to calm it to sleep.

Andrei couldn't sleep either. His mind was so full of thought and questions and sheer anxiety he couldn't rest. Sleep eluded him like a clever fox. He merely stared at the slits, looking at the beams of pale blue light shining through, the whispers of moonlight that barely illuminated even a pinch of the cart. Those lights were dimmed and completely blackened as the train presumably entered a tunnel. As it exited, the light shone through the slits again, the rumbling of the train a constant like a beating heart.
Andrei re-adjusted himself to get more comfortable, but then he heard a sudden noise.

Hearing a number of sudden thuds, with following footsteps on the train. Some of the other passengers looked up at the roof of the cart, and some of Andrei's comrades noticed it and grabbed their guns, which had been leaning on the walls. 2 of them got up, and Andrei just grabbed his when suddenly the door was kicked open and in comes 5 Black Army insurgents!

The Black Army operatives immediately fired their bolt action rifles at Andrei' comrades, sudden flashes of light signifying 3 of them who were in the cart with him were shot dead, blood splattered on the train cart's walls. Andrei scrambled to his feet and tried to aim his gun but one of the operatives shot a revolver at him, and it blasted into the top of his abdomen. Andrei clutched himself in pain, dropping his rifle and stumbled backwards to the wall of the train. He slid down the wall to a sitting position and fell over on his side, and he passed out from the pain. The Black Army operatives secured the train cart, and people were screaming in terror. One of them tried to flee, opening the train door, and accidentally knocked Andrei out of the train. The Black Army shot him and a few other people who were panicking, heavy thud's hitting the floor, the one man falling out and getting pinned underneath the moving train wheels being mashed in half. Andrei had luckily slid down the rocky mound the train tracks were upon and the train began to pass him.

On board the train the passengers were now reduced to whimpering, and the Black Army operatives exclaimed, " IF ANYONE MOVES WE WILL SHOOT YOU WITHOUT QUESTION. LIE DOWN ON YOUR STOMACHS AND DO NOT MOVE!"

The mother's baby was crying extraneously now, and she tried to get into position without harming her baby. However, one of the Black Army operatives, tired of listening to the panicked cries of the infant kicked the woman in the gut and yanked the baby from her. The infant was screaming in agony, and the man threw the baby on the ground and crushed its head under his boot. The woman shrieked in horror and collapsed to the ground in grief, and then the man shot her with his revolver.

Meanwhile in the front of the train at the engine cart the train engineer's were dead, their red striped shirts and brown overalls stained with blood, their throats slit. Some Black Army operatives were standing guard as one of them was tinkering with a packet of dynamite. He positioned it, lodging it in a nook near the train's engine. He then lit the long fuse, and he made the train whistle blow 3 times. All of the Black Army men withdrawed from the carts, barring the doors shut from the outside. People were screaming and panicking, trying to get out. Some Black Army personnel were riding horses and all 15 operatives clambered onto the backs of them hastily, and they all scattered away in different directions. The fuse was nearly out, and it reached the end. The resulting explosion blew up the entire Engine cart, and the entire train skidded uncontrollably, the cart behind it shifting upwards and the entire train veered to the side. The train had detonated right near a slope, and it skidded off the side, the train like a link of chains falling into an abyss. The horror inside the train was unimaginable as people were thrown around and crushed, and the train carts slammed into the snowy valley below. A huge cloud of upthrown snow was the result of the disaster, and the length of the train lay mangled and destroyed on the ground.

Andrei had awoken at the noise of the explosion, and he saw a Black Army soldier riding near him, away from the rising pillars of smoke. In immense pain, but fueled by the desire to merely live Andrei got up onto his knee's. He saw his rifle, which had also fell off the train with him. He crawled to his rifle and with the most strength he could muster, he grabbed his rifle and braced it against his shoulder, on one kneecap, and he steadied his aim as best he could. He pulled the trigger, and the bastard on horseback flew off, his horse panicking and slowing down, rearing up as his body was thrown raggedly by his stirrups. Andrei scrambled over with great pain to the horse and as the horse's rearing threw the dead man out of his stirrup. He calmed the horse, brushing it and whispering in it's ear. The horse with heavy breathing and puffs slowly calmed down, and with his back arched from the pain of his wound, he rose himself and lifted his leg over the horse. He was in near agonizing pain, close to passing out, but Andrei fought against the feeling as pure adrenaline fueled his desire to live. Andrei mounted the horse, and leaning on it he rode towards the direction of Chyrnora, hoping to reach the guard's outpost there and inform them of whats happened, and get himself patched up before it's too late.

Onward through the snow he rode in the jagged mountains of Amur as the wind blew. He finally reached Chyrnora, the scanty little mining town full of scaffolds and rustic wooden cabins and bunkhouses. Andrei passed out on his horse and the guards on patrol immediately stalled his horse, and took him to the local town infirmary. Andrei could not hear anything they were saying, but his blurry vision started to dim as he saw the blurred face of the surgeon...



The Crimson Courier's main printing press, Kievusk, Krasnavich.

The next day the press was printing the latest issue of the The Crimson Courier. The paper's headline was "Terrorist attack in Northern Amur! 400 Killed!"
which detailed the horrid atrocity of the attack, as described by soldiers posted at Chyrnora and a survivor of the attack, a young man by the name of Andrei Ulyavik. Lezvid Valkiff was reading it, standing on a metal balcony over viewing the entire operation of the newspaper's printing press. On the paper also read of the Ankhorans defence of Ostburg and their Terinthian allies of how they put up a brave defence of the town against a more well trained Morovan force. To Lezvid it seemed that more news will come of the bombing, and he feared this may be the spark to ignite fighting in Astraea once again...

[Darkspleen]

Otnemarcas Empire, Capital City of Ainac

"It is a pleasure to you princess, as always" Llyr's smile didn't quite reach his eyes which followed the young woman as she entered the luxurious dinning room. The room was dominated by a long, oak table that could have seated no less than twenty comfortably. At the moment only Llyr sat at it, watching from the head of the table. "I have to admit," He continued, "That I was quite surprised when you asked to join me for dinner."

"Let us dispense with the pleasantries duke." The princess finally spoke up.

"Ah yes, I know how you hate me so. I'm sure you'd relish seeing me in an early grave."

The princess shook her head. "I don't wish you dead, only that you would disappear. That discussion, however, can wait until a later date. For now I'd like to discuss a more imminent issue." She waited until Llyr made a gesture for her to continue before doing so. "Si vis pacem, para bellum."

"If you want peace, prepare for war?" Llyr translated. "My dear princess, I believe that phrase doesn't apply to our current situation. We are already at war and will stay as such for some time. Si vis pacem fac bellum is more appropriate. If you want peace wage war. And we will continue to wage war until we gain access to the cost once again."

The princess hesitantly nodded in agreement. "I will ensure we have access to the coast, one way or another, during the up coming peace talks. And should it seem impossible to accomplish through diplomacy... I shall grant you the opportunity to complete your work."

"Then we are in agreement princess. Now, how about we eat while the night is still young."

The next day the princess departed Ainac with her brother and sister. Their destination Alexandras.

Siphonia, Alexandras
((Collab with Jarl and Wernher))

Hector Liatos had not started the war. He hadn't fought in the war. He hadn't even supported the war. But as he sat at the far end of the conference table, he gathered the resolve he knew would be necessary to end the war. The Argathian War had been a long, drawn out affair that, while surprisingly mild along Siphonia's borders, had been brutal in the south. Astraea had served as the main battleground for Otnemarcasan, Confederacy, and Siphonese-Astraean troops for the duration of the war and it had suffered because of it. Melissanides would not allow peace to come easily, especially after wrecking his country's economy building up its weapons stockpiles.

Hector rose from his seat to great the delegates from various states as the conference room's doors opened.

The Crimson Confederacy's representatives walked to the table, but before doing so came to Hector and shook his hand, as well as the others, and departed with a respectful salute, raising their right arm up at 90 degree's with fist clenched. Among them with their two guards/escorts was Fiedor Suhkov the elected of Ugograd and famous civil war hero, and Mikhail Dhukoskvy, one of the commanders in the Astraean front. They walked near their seats and awaited permission to be seated.

"Introducing her highness, Erika Erbach, Princess of Hochbach!" That had been told a little louder than Erika would've liked and eyes turned toward her. Of course they would, she was the peace maker in the room, the neutral entity supervising the debate and above all, she bothered to stay here despite the marriage of her brother the crown prince back in the mainland, which 'told long about Hochbach's concern in the matter', even if in truth, Erika merely didn't care about the whole marriage business. She moved toward her seat, giving handshakes as she went with much formality, Suhkov giving a small bow, even to the the other Confederate representative despite him not bowing to her, bothering turning around to look at the photo machine with him for a few seconds, flashes of magnesium capturing the moment. After giving a brief nod to Suhkov, she stood behind her seat.

Behind her as an advisor, Brigadier Artois stood, whispering something in her ear and after a brief nod, he went to a Hochbachen soldier waiting by the door and whispered some more, a salute and he was off, the Brigadier going back to his place before leaving the Otnemarcan delegates to enter.

Next entered Archduke Caerwyn of Otnemarcas, flanked by Princess Zara on his right and Princess Nicia on his left. The three imperials paused after stepping through the portal, checking to see where the other delegates had seated themselves. Locating Erika, the three gave her a very formal bow, all three of their faces being parallel to the ground as their bows reached their deepest points. They then turned to Hector and paused momentarily. Zara shot Nicia a quick glance, not quite sure how to react to an elected official. Finally the three bowed in a significantly shallower, but still formal bow. They treated the Confederacy representatives to a similar, if even slightly shallower bow.

Caerwyn and Zara then proceeded directly to their seats. Nicia, however walked over to Erika and offered her her hand and a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you" She said in Hochbachian.

Erika was rather surprised, although she didn't show it. She distributed handshakes because she knew the people in front of her, she was the first Hochbachen to make an official diplomatic contact with the Confederacy and as she went to back up the Siphonian-Astraean alliance, she had the ocasion to meet with them before. Nicia... was new. Never the less, after almost hesitating, she gave the handshake back. "Likewise, Princess. I am pleased that Otnemarcas bothered to send an equal to this meeting, I have great hope for your Empire's will to see this summit bare results."

"Let us hope that we all benefit from what occurs here" Nicia responded. She turned and walked away from Erika, her eyes narrowing as Astraea's representative finally made his appearance. General Iasion Borbokis was not known for his finesse in either battle or politics. True to his reputation, the general shot a sneer at the Confederate representatives, of which they returned as a shallow salute. As he walked towards his seat, intentionally placing himself in Nicia's way. The Otnemarcasan princess appeared to be calm as she sidestepped the Astraean, despite a mildly uncomfortable look on her face. Of course those who were more observant noticed that her hand drifted towards her hip, where a military saber would usually have rested. Caerwyn and Zara gave the man a curt nod before promptly ignoring him as he seated himself. The Confederate representatives stood politely, backs firm and eyes upon Hector.

Erika too, gazed uppon the General. She was sent here to defend this man's country's independence and it were as if he made everything he could to jeopardize the meeting already. She took a deep breath, calming herself, and turned toward the journalists waiting for a speech. "Gentlemen..." Her voice sounded much deeper than in private, as Artois and probably a certain Confederate in the room knew her, people always had something against women in politics and thus in speeches, Erika tended to have a speech more pleasing to the conservative ear while in public. "... it is the pleasure of my father, the Emperor of Hochbach and supreme commander of the Imperial Coalition, that his call to diplomacy in the turmoil of war reflecting the nations which's representatives stand-" She glared at Borbokis. "-in this room. With hope to find a peaceful resolution to this conflict, we will now retreat in discussion. May the heavens watch over us and guide us in these trying times."

Some more pictures and the journalists were driven out by Hochbachen guards before closing the large doors, the Crimson Couriers half waving/saluting Suhkov as they were pushed out. The representatives began to sit the main table having seats for the negotiators of all side. The square had one side for the Siphonians and Astreans, one for the Confederacy and one for Otnemarcas. Erika stood alone on her end of the table in front of the Otnemarcasan delegation, Artois standing behind her slightly to her right. "Right then... Let us begin. I will skip the formalities and the reasons of the war, we all know them and have our opinions about them, but this is not the point. The point is to walk out of here with a deal that will satisfy us all. Now, perhaps one of you would like to speak?"

Erika's eye couldn't help but slide toward Borbokis, her exasperation still contained at the moment for the man's attitude.

"I demand" Borbokis' deep voice seemed to boom "that Otnemarcas and the Confederacy pay reparations to Astraea and Siphonia!" No sooner had the words left his mouth then Nicia had jumped to her feet and looked like she was about to end the negotiations then and there. A raised hand by Zara prevented such an outburst.

"General", Zara spoke softly, "do not forget that the Otnemarcas Empire has a rightful claim to the lands you refer to as Astraea." For his part, Hector looked ready to dive under the table.

"And," Suhkov calmly stated after she was done, "The Confederacy was forced into this war by atrocities committed on our northern borders and the massive influxes of refugee's escaping from Astraea into our territory, from a war that originally wasn't of the Confederacy's business." The other commander, also looked up with a stone cold stare, "Then there is also the fact Astraea supported the Black Army insurgents, of which I remind you bombed an train full of innocent civilians. There's over 400 killed or injured from that attack..." The commander was a little stressed after saying that, one could tell he had emotional attachment to the incident.

"Good sir, that is exactly why the Confederacy should have stayed neutral during the conflict" Zara stated. "Your entrance into the war served only to expand the damage, despite your best intentions."

Suhkov nodded to Zara, and then stated, "Your Excellency, I beg pardon, but the Astraeans directly attacked numerous settlements within our borders. The towns of Smivensk, Ustralig and Zhatov were all ransacked and many of it's citizens killed. Any self respecting nation will not allow it's own people to be murdered without reaction."

Blushing slightly Zara slowly said "I should be the one begging your pardon. I was mistaken to speak up when I didn't know all of the relevant facts. Please forgive me." She gave the man a short bow from her seat before continuing "Even so I feel that the Confederacy should have supported Otnemarcas, not worked against it."
Suhkov merely nodded in consideration of respect, but not necessarily in agreeance, and did not reply to her statement.

As the discussion went, a servant approached Erika with a bottle of wine and glasses. Although she doubted alcohol would do much good, she felt she'd need it soon... And she hoped a little wine wouldn't make a man of Borbokis's constitution lose even more inhibitions. As the glass was poured in front of her, she raised a hand to interrupt the talking. "We are here to compromise, need I remind you all, gentlemen... We will not get anywhere if we deal in absolutes. While there are indeed historic claims to be had on the ownership of the Astraean lands, it is also an historical fact that, 17 years ago, Astraea became independent. It is my government's opinion that any business following Sabino's demise to be had, should have been resolved sooner than a decade after the war. I do not speak with the I.C.A.'s authority on this, of course, as Otnemarcas decided to leave the war before it ended."

These last words had been said with some sting, although Erika didn't directly look at the Otnemarcan delegates. "In any case, while General Borbokis is in the right to claim his nation's right to exist, fact remain that terrorism is inexcusable for one thing and an investigation in the matter by a neutral entity should be led and, as for the matter of reparation, my military advisor, Brigadier Artois here beside me, judges that the status of the war is undecided still, as such, I would suggest white peace."

She took a sip of wine to punctuate her speech. "Which now brings us to negotiating actual terms of peace to this conflict. I would bring on the table the possibility of white peace, as I stated. An investigation in the matter of terrorism would be led by I.C.A. agents, neutral and competent in the matter of international diplomacy as to find those responsible for the bombing, should they be present in Astraea. Further more, peace between Astraea, Siphonia and Otnemarcas, without damage reparation, would end the matters of both the carnage and the refugees fleeing the war."

Again, some more wine, as Erika braced herself to the inevitable counter arguments.

"I-" Caerwyn began, but paused as Zara leaned over to whisper into his ear. After a moment he continued. "We would be willing to make peace with Siphonia: forfeiting all rights to reparations for guilt, factual or otherwise, in the cause of the war or damages resulting from it." Hector smiled broadly, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"However" Nicia interjected, "Astraea is a separate matter."

"Ha!" Borbokis jumped to his feet. "So you damned Otnemarcasans show your true colors!" He pointed an accusing finger at Caerwyn as he said "You can't fool me. You're obviously trying to split us apart so we'll be easier to invade the moment these talks are through!"

The Confederate officials looked at Borbokis, Mikhail looking at him with cold eyes, and Suhkov whispered to him. Mikhail fixed his wrist collar and spoke, ignoring Borbokis' outburst, "The Confederacy in hopes to resolve this conflict," the commander paused a little bit, obvious he is repressing his stress of the situation, "would like to come to an agreement with the various parties." He pulled out a sheet, and from his pocket he withdrawed his glasses out.
"The Confederacy wishes to make peace with all parties, but requires the Otnemarcasan empire to overturn the individuals Arno Hebert and Louis Langelier, and Fyrsil Tudor to answer for warcrimes, primarily the looting and pillaging of towns in Amur. The Confederacy requires Astraea to pay a sum of 10 million Zakons, and overturn all ... Black Army... soldiers.. to the proper Confederate authorities to answer for their war crimes, which includes but is not limited to: Mass execution of prisoners via being burned alive, hangings of entire Zakatian families, torture and brutality against Confederate personnel and other acts of terrorism, the use of child soldiers and field executions of Confederate Army non combatant personnel."

The commander took a moment and then stated, reading off the sheet, " In return the Confederacy will withdraw all troops from Astraea and not interefere with its politics or decisionmaking. And it will honour a peace agreement until otherwise provoked."

Hector stroked his chin for a moment before commenting "Personally I find those terms agreeable." He held up a hand to forestall Borbokis' imminent tantrum. "Siphonia would be willing to adopt a portion of this debt and provide Astraea with low interest, long term loans in the interest of peace."
Suhkov and Mikhail talked amongst each other in Zakatian, Commander Dhukovsky nodding to Suhkov with Suhkov replying, "On behalf of the Crimson Confederacy of Zakat, we accept these terms."

Erika's fist had been clenching her fists for the entire duration of the interruption but finally relaxed, giving a small nod of recognition to Hector. "Hochbach would be pleased as well to loan the money at an interest and payment rate to be determined as per the convenience of the Astraean government."

"Otnemarcas is willing to make peace with the Confederacy on these terms" Caerwyn said.

"Astraea is a seperate matter" Nicia spoke up. "We are willing to compromise a bit and allow Astraea to continue to exist as a satelitte of Otnemarcas. Obviously Otnemarcas would help to pay off its debt."

Erika raised a hand, as to interrupt. "Astraea is not a separate matter, I am sorry to say. Separate peace is not an option." Not when Hochbach can lose almost all of its leverage and risk being left alone in the open, the remark was more vicious than intended toward Otnemarcas, which after all, had its entire Hochbachen reputation as 'the guys that left us to fight alone', due to the Sabinoist war.. "As is the vassalage of Astraea to any foreign state, should it not wish to, as I assume it does not, General Borbokis?"

"Of course not" The general replied. He then mumbled in Siphonese "So the Tigress shows herself to be in heat." He chuckled at his own joke for a moment.

"Good general" Nicia spoke up, "I fear that if you were trying to call me a bitch you are somewhat mistaken. That term only applies to female dogs in heat, not felines." Nicia had revealed that Hochbachen was not the only foreign language she spoke. From the looks on her companions' faces, however, it was evident that they hadn't understood a word that Borbokis had spoken.

"If you will not act civilly" Caerwyn rose to his feet, "then I am afraid I'll have to ask that you remove yourself from the negotiation table and seek a replacement."

"I believe his Eminance Archduke Caerwyn makes my will as a mediator quite clear. Please general, civilities are what separate us from animals..." Erika's look, which seemed to be high and dominating despite her inferior size to that of the General seemed to add 'And Hochbach has no interest in preserving the existance of mere animals'.

Borbokis' face blanched slightly as he gave Erika a slight nod of his head. Caerwyn stayed standing for a moment, staring at the general with narrowed eyes, before seating himself again.

Erika turned her gaze to the rest of the table... "Now." ...and focused it on the Otnemarcasan negotiators, Nicia in particular. "I believe we are making progress. There is still however the matter of your claim of vassalage of Astraea to your Emperor. However, as the Astraeans are kingless at the moment, this is not possible. I am sure however, a compromise of some sort can be reached... Perhaps Astraea could allow the use of their ports for commercial purpose without tarrifs? I am sure the economical activity and side effects of increased trade would be beneficial for both nations in the long term..."

Erika had been careful to add 'for commercial purpose', her look at Nicia almost dared her to claim Otnemarcas wished to use the ports for military purposes, which would of course admit hostile intent and in general be a blunder to say in such a situation.

The room was quiet as the Otnemarcasans and General Borbokis considered the proposal. Finally Caerwyn leaned forward and said "We... can make this work." The words were spoken as much to convince himself as to convey his acceptance of the concept.

Erika couldn't contain a small smirk, get all of these guys to work together, now if only... "General Borbokis?"

"Only so long as Otnemarcas agrees to a mutual demilitarized zone." Borbokis stated. A consenting nod from Caerwyn all but sealed the deal.

The Hochbachen princess looked around for objections and as there were none, she got up from her seat. "Well then ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we have an agreement!"

"Let today be remembered as the day peace prevailed" Zara spoke up, not entirely containing her excitement.

But it seemed Zara spoke too soon, as a few moments after her elated expression three soldiers, one from Otnemarcas, Siphonia and a Hochbachen soldier bursted through the doors in an excited manner, stress evident upon their faces.

The Hochbachen as well as the Otnemarcasan soldier rushed to their own superiors in the room, the Siphonian however was much more direct. "Sir! Otnemarcas has assaulted an Astraean position 20 minutes ago!"

Erika slowly looked at the wine bottle next to her, took it, and began to empty the content in the glass in front of her. Her expression was almost serene, as she realized how the situation went from perfect to worst than it was from those simple words. "Well then..." So she said, not following on that, just waiting for the torrent of words that those in front of her would probably unleash in mere seconds.

Earlier in the Day, Somewhere Along the Astraean-Otnemarcasan Border

Fyrsil's breath billowed out in a small plum of white as he advanced forward. Gavin, his loyal dog, was beside him with the beginnings of a growl forming in his throat. A look to either side showed that Fyrsil was moving at the same pace as the others in his unit. The men, in their mud brown outfits, would have blended in had they laid on the ground. As it was the few remaining trees provided little cover as the company of provincial soldiers moved forwards.

Hearing something strike his helmet, Fyrsil looked up as the dark clouds above began to dispense their contents. A fat, cold raindrop landed on his cheek causing him to jump a bit. He, and the others in his company, drew their thick coats about them tighter, but continued marching forward.

"Those bastards think they have outsmarted us" Fyrsil heard someone, probably a noble, yell from further down the line. "They have not! We know they are digging a tunnel. If we don't stop them here and now there is no telling what they will do! They could be preparing to set up explosives under our feet or smuggle weapons to rebels within our borders! Will we let them?!" A ragged chorus of 'nays' and 'noes' answered the noble's question. "Then have at them!" The man said, before presumably slowing his pace as not to get shot.

Despite the speech the Otnemarcasans went some time without seeing a single Astraean. The rain fell harder, turning hard dirt into thick mud. The terrain before the soldiers started to become vertical and Fyrsil soon found himself gasping for air despite simply marching. He was beginning to think that there were no Astraeans nearby when Gavin let out two sharp barks.

Two sharp cracks could be heard from the front and left of the Otnemarcasans as if in response to Gavin's barks. Fyrsil flinched as the soldier to his right dropped to the ground, the bullet blasting a hole into his abdomen, the man clutching himself in pain as blood seeped out of the wound with cries of agony through gritted teeth. There was a moment of silence before all hell let loose. A hail of gunfire erupted from the top of a nearby hill, dropping Otnemarcasans left and right. The Otnemarcasans responded in kind as they advanced. Despite having more numbers, the Otnemarcasan counter barrage proved ineffective thanks to the Astraeans' superior cover atop the hill.

After shouldering his Talvir rifle and firing a single round Fyrsil looked at his surroundings for some sort of cover. There was none. Worse yet there was a second hill to the right of the Otnemarcasan troops. They had walked right into a kill zone. His hands shook as he reloaded his rifle, making the breech-loader infinitely harder to operate. The Otnemarcasans had at least one advantage. For whatever reason, either due to equipment or training, it was taking the Astraeans over a minute to reload their weapons. Perhaps...

The Astreans on the left hill opened fire again, shortly followed by a second group on the hill to the right, proving Fyrsil's suspicions to be correct. He, and many of his comrades, knew the time for a counter attack had arrived.

"Charge!" Someone screamed, bounding towards the hill on the left. Others echoed his call and followed in his wake. An entire platoon Otnemarcasan soldiers charged towards the Astraeans, slowing only to fix bayonets to the ends of their rifles. Fyrsil struggled to breath evenly as he followed his comrades, Gavin loyally remaining at his side. The Astraeans on the hill unleashed another volley, with bullets veering all over the place, dropping Otnemarcasan soldiers all around Fyrsil. However, the Otnemarcasans managed to close in on the Astraean's position on the hill and entered melee.

Fyrsil thrust his rifle at a young Astraean soldier, more of a boy than a man, fumbled his own bayonet. His face contorted in dismay as Fyrsil's bayonet slid through his ribs, puncturing his lung. Fyrsil yanked his rifle free, the boy drowning in his own blood, and turned to engage the next soldier. The Astraean was a tad faster, thrusting his own bayonet-fixed rifle at Fyrsil before he could react. Luckily Fyrsil wasn't alone; the Astraean fell to the ground before the blade of the bayonet could impale through Fyrsil's guts, as Gavin jumped on him. His screams were cut short as the dog ripped his throat out, vocal cords gnawed in its teeth and muzzle stained black red. The Otnemarcasans had taken the hill, but the battle was far from over. Below them the rest of the company was taking massive losses from the Astraeans on the other hill.

The Otnemarcasans took a moment to regroup as they observed the battle below them. They were down to twenty men in the platoon and less than sixty in the entire company. At this rate they would be wiped out entirely. Many of the Otnemarcasan soldiers looked about ready to flee. The Otnemarcasans on the hill quickly lost the opportunity to do so.

A hail of gunfire stuck the weakened platoon just as it had caught its breath. Ten soldiers fell instantly, those who weren't killed immediately groaning in agony in the mud, clutching their wounds. Fyrsil had just enough time to turn before a cavalry saber descended upon him.


Siphonia, Alexandras
((Continuation of the Collab))

"What is the meaning of this!" Borbokis all but screamed as he jumped to his feet. Nicia was too her feet a tad quicker and intercepted the Otnemarcasan soldier, listening as the man quickly whispered into her ear, as if the news was still secret. Her expression went from neutral to stern, and she shot Borbokis a look akin to barbed wire as the man advanced on the Otnemarcasans.

"Did you truly believe we would simply watch as you laid the groundwork for an assault on Otnemarcasan soil?" She demanded. Caerwyn rose to his feet as Borbokis continued to approach. Zara for her part simply hid her face in her hands, shaking her head slightly.

The two men from the Confederacy, who were at once satisfied and humble with the proceedings now had darkened tones. The Commander's face was stone cold, without emotion. The chance to end the conflict that took his son was ended, and he just stared straight at the commotion unfurling, speechless. Suhkov looked down for a moment. He took his hat off, wiping the sweat from is brow.

Nicia started to side step the Brigadier, but then seemed to think better of it and tried to catch him. The end result was both collapsing over each other in a loud and rather un-regal mess on the floor.

The Confederate party got up from their seats and Suhkov wiped the blood from his coat. He walked over to the tangled mess and Mikhail finally got up, a grim expression on his face. Suhkov offered his hand to help Nicia up, Mikhail solemnly walking over to help lift the Brigadier to his feet.

Erika got up and noticed a flash. Oh of course. She raised her head and noted that the door were still wide open and the journalists were having a field day. What a picture, Hector, his hairs in his hands, Borbokis walking to Caerwyn, fist ready to strike, Zara, simply being there, almost with the same desperation as Hector, and the Confederates simply offering to help. Ohhh and of course, Erika right in the middle, standing up and observing the whole mess while the Brigadier was all over Princess Nicia. No caricaturist would be needed today.

The brigadier took a second to notice his situation and tried to stand up with his left hand, his right hand on his face and nose, trying to contain the bleeding, he ignored the Confederate hands, mumbling he was alright. He noticed his hand didn't land on the floor to push himself and looked down, as he was gropping the breast of Nicia. His face became bright red and another flow of blood his hand could only try to contain overcame him. Still, he quickly removed his hand, trying to get up with his feets alone. He of course noticed the Princess had noticed, as they were looking right in each other's eyes at this point. "Your majesty! I am, ahh, extremely sorry, allow me!" He reached, almost took forcefully Nicia's hand, at first offering her bloodied hand but then revising to take the one that had just gropped her and then pulled her up.

Behind him, Hochbach soldiers were now interposing between Borbokis and the Archduke. In all the mess, Erika spoke softly. "Perhaps a small pause in the negotiations would be welcome..." She took the glass of wine and turned from the scene, taking in the full thing in mere seconds without bothering to breath, just chugging.

"You need not apologize" Nicia said as she was helped to her feet. "I have been sullied, but not by your hands." She shot Borbokis a look that would have shaved years off of his life had he been looking at her.

Caerwyn sadly shook his head as he turned and started walking towards the door, Zara closing in behind him. "Perhaps we will have better luck when we have had the chance to calm ourselves so that cool heads may prevail."

"We should have done things my way" Nicia commented.

"Your way is wrong" Was all Caerwyn said as he left the room.

Suhkov looked at the whole situation and spoke to Mikhail, "It seems as us bears have treaded into the swarm's nest again like fools..."

Mikhail merely looked at him, then looked at the door.
Suhkov then looked to Hector, approaching him.
"My sincerest apologies Prime Minister, but it seems the meeting has reached an unfortunate end. We wish to take our leave, though our government will contact yours in the future. President Vazheli Voroshilov has shown considerate interest in discussing in the future."

"You'll know where to find me" Hector responded. Suhkov saluted him, if not for respect, out of sympathy. He felt numb. Thoughts of the end of democracy in Slavryia swirled about his head. Finally he sighed and rose to his feet. Giving those still gathered a simple nod of the head before taking his leave, his shoulders slouched in apparent defeat.

Suhkov and Mikhail proceeded to leave the rabbled confusion, Mikhail advancing with haste out of the room. Before Suhkov left, he walked over to Erika, and he whispered something to her. "30 minutes." Was her answer.

Suhkov nodded, and proceeded to walk out the door.
"Farewell everyone, I hope you all do not have sleepless nights, as it appears a storm has started."

"Perhaps" Nicia said as she approached Erika. "It is time for the two of us to take matters into our own hands." She spoke slowly in Hochbachen, taking extra care to ensure that what she said wasn't misinterpreted.

Erika, who was now holding the upper bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb, retook her composure in a second, back in business. "Of course. I have some time now for... preliminaries to any discussions. I'd prefer to get into it now, I will have other appointments today and tomorrow as I am sure you will as well. If this is alright with you, of course?"

"Most certainly."

Minutes later in silence, they were in a large room, the 'Royal Suit' of the hotel. "Can I offer you anything, cousin?" Erika refered to Nicia in the familiar royal term of familly, and who knows, there were probably literal cousins due to the marriages at some point in their blood lines. Erika got herself a glass of water, the Brigadier went over the window and watched outside. It was dark, some snow was falling already.

"I'm fine, thank you" Nicia declined the offer for a drink. She remained silent for a moment before turning and looking at the Brigadier. "Is our valiant groper someone worthy of trust?" Her tone and facial expression were that of someone talking about the weather.

Artois turned around, his face managed to remain serious in features, but its color told alot about what he thought. "Your highness, there is no words to appologise for what I did and I will accept whatever punishment---" Erika spoke without looking. "Contain your desire to be punished, Brigadier, sometimes the best thing to say is nothing, you'd do well to learn this..." The ghost of a smile snuck onto Nicia's face as she listened to Erika chide Artois." And yes, mostly, although he is probably the eyes and ears of my brother while he is marrying, but then again, we both work for the same Emperor and same country. As I have no intention of betraying either, yes, he is worthy of trust." Erika made her way to a large sofa and made sign for Nicia to sit in front of her.

"Let me get straight to the point" Nicia took the offered seat. "I feel that it would be in Hochbach's best interest to cease its attempts to preserve Astraea's independence and..." She seemed to struggle for a moment to find the correct word in Hochbachen. "select a new course of action."

Erika was now entirely focused on Nicia, her gaze evaluating her words and body language. "Which would involve leaving Astraea to Otnemarcas... To leave a coastal access to fresh, ice-less water all year long to a country with the means and I probably expect, the desire to build Dreadnaughts, for what purposes I can only guess."

Nicia nodded at every point Erika made, the ghost of a smile never quite disappearing. "What can I say? A soul with no friends remembers every favor and boon it receives. Could you imagine what Hochbach and Otnemarcas could achieve through mutual friendship and cooperation?"

There was a silence. Artois walked slowly to Erika and as he was about to bow to whisper in her ear, she rised a hand to stop him. He went back up. "May I be blunt with you Nicia?" Nicia nodded her consent. "...There are concerns back home that, lets say in a situation where Tiberia would, for example, decide to walk on Dauldrey and declare war on Hochbach, then Otnemarcas would do like the last time Tiberia walked on Dauldrey and declaired war, meaning decide that despite said mutual friendship, it was better to walk alone. Funny, in many ways, I think the current situation and war are because of loose ends, which could have been dealt with 17 years ago, if Otnemarcas had showed a little more... solidarity." Funny indeed, but Erika was extremely serious without the hint of a smile.

"Funny? Yes. What is also funny is that a display of solidarity is why this war will continue. Or perhaps stubbornness is a more accurate term. Either way I fear we will soon have the opportunity to prove that Otnemarcas has the solidarity that is being questioned."

"But with whom I wonder, solidarity with Tiberia, then again, is not something I would wish for you to have, I'd say it would not be possible with what is happening in Siphonia, but stranger things have happened. But lets say we let Astraea be without poisoning your life for the next 10 decades for it, what will happen of Siphonia? What will happen of the confederacy, and of Tiberia, to a lesser level."

"I have little doubt that Astraea will fall to Otnemarcas sooner, rather than later. What happens to the others you mentioned... Well that depends on Hochbach. Perhaps a combination of my brother's rule and a friendship with a foreign power will be enough to control the more... warmongering elements in Otnemarcasan society. If nothing else these elements could surely be steered to benefit us both."

Erika nodded slowly after a slight delay. "An official alliance, continuation of the hostilities with the Confederacy over whatever matter that may please you to call upon as well as an official warning against war on Tiberia and neutrality in the matter of Sukoku. In case of war with Tiberia, my government would expect at least 3 million men within the first 3 months to go walk through Siphonia. If it were to disagree, you would be allowed to walk on Siphonia, the fallout would be delt with later and would not certainly be 'annexion'. This is my ultimatum reguarding this, I'll leave you to consider it with your hierarchy and expect an answer tomorrow. Nothing less from your Empire and consider these off-the-table negotiations closed. Brigadier, if you would escort the Princess out to her own quarters and send in my next apointment."

Artois nodded and walked to the door, opening it. "Your majesty, if you would."

"I thank you for your time your highness" Nicia said as she rose to her feet and offered her counterpart a deep bow. She then turned to Artois and offered him her arm as she said "My valiant groper, please try to control yourself. At least for the rest of the evening." She gave him the most charming smile she could manage, considering what she had just said.

Again, some red on his cheeks. "Again, I am very sorry and..." He turned toward Erika, still thinking and observing the couch in front of her, he remembered what she told him. "...It would be my pleasure... no, I... Nevermind my lady. Please, let me guide you." He offered his own arm, like a gentleman, stressed of the physical contact with the princess, his mind racing. He then left with the Princess to his arm.

The hotel was guarded by the 'Neutral' entity of the conflict, Hochbach. As head of security, the Brigadier had quite a few looks given unto him due to the person, the princess, to his arm, to which he returned commanding glares, ordering the soldiers to return to their business without speaking a word. As they reached the elevator, he removed the piece of cloth he had in his right nostril due to General Borbokis's ourburst. It made him feel ridiculous and the bleeding had stopped anyways.

"I do hope your stay here is pleasant your majesty, despite the most recent... setbacks in the last meeting." Small talk, of course, something proper to break the dreadful silence. Although Artois was more of the silent watcher type, it was mostly common courtesy toward people he knew generally didn't like long silences. "Although..."

And this was curiosity. "I must say you strike me as the kind of person that would rather do than talk, if I may say those words, your majesty."

"Oh?" She tilted her head ever so slightly to the left as she looked at him. "What gives you that vibe?"

He had a feint smile. "Please, it is my job to know my opponents, as Hochbach is not at war at the moment, my potential opponents. Your reputation proceeds you your majesty."

Artois tried to find confidence in his military discourse and analysis, rather than on the woman on his arm, leaning toward him. "There would only be two ways to find out if the stories of your battlefield might hold your majesty, but I do hope we can look at each other's talents... and not test them against ourselves." He reflected on his statement. "Actually, I should probably argue it would be best if we didn't have to show anything of these skills, as per my nation's reason to be here in the first place." Peace, of course, and here they were, speaking of war.

"You are, of course, right on both accounts. One should never talk of war while trying to make peace." She looked up at Artois, a mischievous grin suddenly spread across her face. "Ah my valiant groper," She began, "would you mind telling me the story behind Princess Erika's rise to power? If I recall correctly she is the commander of your nation's air force..."

He stopped at the elevator and pressed the down button, as to go on the Otnemarcan occupied floor. "But although she shows talent in trainings, she is unproven to battle. As is the newer generation of Hochbach commanders and soldiers I suppose. We after all didn't have anything worthy of being called a war on our hands since Sabino was defeated. I like to think we won't ever again, but... Well, Tiberia is Tiberia."

"Hmmm...." The sound was drawn out and disappointed sounding. "Not exactly what I was expecting" Nicia admitted as the elevator descended. A frown replaced her mischievous grin as she mused "I suppose its a difference in cultures." The elevator doors opened, revealing two imperial guards at attention on either side of the elevator.

Artois had a slight frown. "It is not a Princess's caprice, I assure you if such is what you are thinking your Majesty. Hochbach most certainly doesn't go as often into war as Otnemarcas, but still, it is in our blood. We didn't get to be Eurocentria and the World's dominant power for nothing. After all, while Solis Ordus tends to brag about its numbers and technologies, only Hochbach backed its words in a Great War. Our own Emperor, Karl III, was made commander of all the Imperial Coalition forces when he had only had such a 'prestige office' without much actual involvement in conflict and, well... He defeated the slayer of emperors. Erika is not to be under estimated, of this I am certain."

"Why, it would be my pleasure my lady." He thought of adding something, but the words didn't seem to quite follow. Something about the weather maybe? He followed Nicia silently, seemingly reviewing the Otnemarcan soldiers along the way.

"I'm glad to have your continued presence." She drew closer to him then before, leaning in closer than one might consider to be proper in public as she whispered "My valiant groper." The two imperial guards pretended not to notice the exchange. Nicia led the brigadier down the mostly empty hall. The few people present were either servants, who quickly adverted their gaze as one would normally do to nobility, and the imperial guards who lined the hallways, their eyes staying directly ahead of them. As Nicia and Artois navigated the hallways, the uniforms of the imperial guards began to change from bright colors to more drab blacks and dark greens. Finally Nicia stopped before one of the doors and said "If you would be so kind."

Artois was taking notes of the soldiers he examined. He had plenty of comments coming to his mind. He for one, had never been a fan of the colorful uniforms, preferring camo patterns and efficiency. When they stopped, he was himself about to take another pace but restrained himself at the last second. It took him one to execute himself and open the door for the Princess. "Your majesty, if you would excuse my cavalier attitude, perhaps we are not at a point where we should call ourselves pet names?" He was himself probably the most concerned about this little joke, hoping he didn't overstep his bound. He had a small, slightly nervous, grin.

"I'm merely calling you what you are" She stepped through the doorway and made her way to a nearby seat. "You are valiant. Are you not?" She didn't wait long enough for Artois to respond. "And you did grope me. I suppose I could call you the valiant groper, but then people would think you just groped any person you saw. We wouldn't want that. Now would we?" The room was rather sparse considering a member of royalty was staying in it. A large bed dominated the far side of the room, on which rested a military saber that Nicia would have loved to have worn to the peace talks. On the other side of the room was the chair in which she sat, with a second chair besides it and a couch opposite. She vaguely gestured for Artois to find a seat.

"While on this alternative, I merely groped Princess Nicia of Otnemarcas. While I do like the qualification of valiant, 'accidental' may be more fitting... Although I am grateful for your understanding in this... matter. I like my head on my shoulders." He closed the door and looked around before sitting on the chair opposed to the Princess, his polished jackboots making a squeaking sound as he flexed his knees.

"Yes, well, I'll make sure to ask the Emperor to not demand your head." Her tone wasn't quite joking. "Now tell me..." She leaned forward, her voice lowering to a near whisper as if to prevent any eavesdroppers from overhearing what she had to say. She remained silent for a moment before continuing "Which of the guards' uniforms did you prefer? The bright red and whites or the dark black and greens?"

Artois was taken kind of offguard by the conpiracist looks of Nicia followed by this particular question. Although he had made his ideas on the matter extremely clear on the short stroll he had in the corridor, it took him a few seconds to assemble his words. "...While I am sure the agencements of colors are aesthetically pleasant, I myself am not a, ah, man of fashion as per the parade uniform side of things. Dark is good, green goes well in forest, red has a psychological effect, the soldiers don't notice the blood, but then again the white considerably diminishes this strategical value. I am going to go with the second one, although I still find the pattern to be recognizable to the eye and..." Artois slowed down as he realized he was rambling. "I will have to go with the second one, as my favorite."

"I'm so glad" Nicia slowly crossed her legs. "The amount of effort I had to expend to have my personal guard outfitted as such was... phenomenal." She slowly uncrossed her legs as she asked "What do your soldiers usually wear on the field?"

"Fascinating" Nicia's eyes were locked on his as he spoke. "I have to admit that Otnemarcas has... lagged behind your fair country a bit in a number of departments." She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs again as she did so. "I find myself feeling a little parched. How about you?"

Artois found himself leaning forward, putting his elbows on his legs and crossing his fists in front of his mouth, thinking. "I think every country in the world is struggling to enter the new era of war. Many in Hochbach see the tactics developed against Sabino as proven and are reluctant to change, but I think the entire point is that those tactics are futile. Hochbach doesn't have an infinite manpower pool, and while Otnemarcas's is greater, neither does it. The cost of modern war, if we lead it like we always did, is astronomical and completely unsustainable. If we aim at slowly grinding the enemy to the ground, then so are we ourselves. Its not about having more resources than the enemy and more number, its about cutting the head of the dragon before it can unleash its full power, speed and mobility and most of all, personal initiative. If an officer takes any initiative, he may be killed for insubordination. Discipline and order is one thing, but it is not incompatible with flexibility. I think this is the word on what a new army in a new era needs, flexibility..." He paused for a moment, his eyes down on the floor, considering, he rised them on the Princess. "But what about you, may I ask? Even if traditionalists prefer to look at the good old days, time still marches on. Again, as Serclaes said, Progress is absolute and waits for no one."

She remained thoughtful for a moment before responding. "I feel the same. Gone are the days when a country could isolate itself and rely on the tactics of old and superior numbers to win the field." She winced, realizing she had just stated Otnemarcas's doctrine. "Now is the time," She said after regathering herself, "for allies to work together and develop new tactics before the next war begins." She rose from her seat and looked at the saber resting on her bed. "Though not all of the old traditions of war are dead. Not yet at least." She walked over to the bed and picked up the saber, swiftly pulling it from its sheath. The blade was equal parts ornament and weapon. Its blade was entirely made of steel, with a phrase in Otnemarcasan engraved on one side. The hilt was silver leafed, though a noticeable amount of the leafing had been scrapped off where one might expect the blade of a foe to make repeated contact.

The Brigadier got his back up from his thinking position, surprised. "I... am not worthy your majesty." He reached for the sword and took it. "Shiny..." He stopped for a second a looked at the princess with a feint smile. "I am sorry, this is always the first thing I notice. In many ways, I think this swords represents perfectly this 'relic of the past' feeling I have about the current state of military affairs. Proven, reliable, but... Well, I only ever fired a gun or the cannon of a tank my lady, and I never quite managed to get in a situation where my rifle wasn't preferable to a saber."

He examined the item with visibly amateur eyes. "Perhaps this is symbolic of a new era for your Empire, your majesty. I can only hope I will come to bless it rather than curse it. I do hope you will take Princess Erika's offer. I could... perhaps help curve the ultimatum more to your liking. To be honest, while Siphonia and Astraea fight admirably, I would much rather fight by the side of Otnemarcas."

"Just imagine" Nicia adopted a husky tone, "the Northern Tiger and Owl working together as if it were a single entity. Though if things work out between Princess Erika and I you may not have to imagine it soon."