I, Nicholas II, of Russia am enjoying a stately dinner with my family in Kiev. I was here to look at some troublesome matter of the state and the family was here for a change of view and atmosphere, Moscow was getting darker, more restless. It was a fine meal, better than I'd had in some time actually, since my kitchen staff was always short due to someone running off to join a revolution somewhere. What did these people want, life isn't easy for anyone, just because our difficulties are different and our pleasures more apparent, doesn't mean that we have it any better off. I find myself wishing sometimes that I were a minor noble, one who could enjoy his family, and not constantly have to fend off some disaster or another. Oh bother, I should have chewed that bit of mutton more. I pound a fist to my chest, trying to dislodge the bit of meat stuck in my wind pipe, to no avail. The steward rushes forward, offer wine to clear it out, I gulp the the wine but still cannot breath. I lean forward trying to cough it out, the steward pounds my back, trying to dislodge it... again to no avail.
What terrible way to day, could it possibly be any worse? The Emperor of Russia slain by a bit of ill chewed dinner of all things, I almost wish I had died to those blasted revolutionaries instead. I continue to choke, my eyes seeing floating black spots, I look to my wife, and try to smile... though it probably looks more akin to a grimace. I take her hand and squeeze it once, as my world fades to black, the panicked voices around me drifting away down a well... wait that wasn't right, I was the one drifting not they. Little did it matter, for all is silent blackness now and I Nicholas the II of Russia have died.
I am Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, of Russia, and I have just learned of the Emperor's death. I consult with my advisers and it seems the only way to avoid a revolution in this time of political upheaval is declare him assassinated by some country and go to war, hoping to distract the people from revolution with a bloody conquest. But who would assassinate the Emperor? Japan? maybe, but no one wanted anything more to do with Japan, not after the last war. The Ottomans? Perhaps, though it seemed unlikely that they would have the necessary resources to do so... who then might they blame for this death that Russia could rally together again? Unless, it was simply time for a new Russia to be born. That would never work, it would only get lost in the bureaucracy and lead to revolution, though a new Russia was needed today. I send my advisers out to find the most competent men in the nation, in the world if necessary, and bring them to St. Petersburg. I order troops Marshaled for inspection, and to display the strength of a mourning empire. I mostly wanted to know just how weak we really were today. I stand as Regent of the Empire of Russia, until Nicholas II's son, Alexi was of an age to rule. I order the press to announce the mysterious death of our beloved Emperor to the world, and that the investigation was ongoing, perhaps someone would be foolish enough to claim responsibility for the act of treason.
The week passes slowly, the world is shocked by the sudden unexpected loss of one it's greatest leaders, and I struggle to keep the nation from being torn apart at the seams. I have for my own sanity's sake had several incompetent fools discretely removed from their positions of influence and power, Rasputin being one of them. He now works with the army in Siberia, near the Manchurian lines, or what was left of them. Competent administrators and leaders are persuaded to fill their empty boots and begin bringing Russia back to her former glory. It's still far to soon to tell how any of this will end, but perhaps... perhaps, we will survive the embers of bitter revolution.
What terrible way to day, could it possibly be any worse? The Emperor of Russia slain by a bit of ill chewed dinner of all things, I almost wish I had died to those blasted revolutionaries instead. I continue to choke, my eyes seeing floating black spots, I look to my wife, and try to smile... though it probably looks more akin to a grimace. I take her hand and squeeze it once, as my world fades to black, the panicked voices around me drifting away down a well... wait that wasn't right, I was the one drifting not they. Little did it matter, for all is silent blackness now and I Nicholas the II of Russia have died.
I am Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, of Russia, and I have just learned of the Emperor's death. I consult with my advisers and it seems the only way to avoid a revolution in this time of political upheaval is declare him assassinated by some country and go to war, hoping to distract the people from revolution with a bloody conquest. But who would assassinate the Emperor? Japan? maybe, but no one wanted anything more to do with Japan, not after the last war. The Ottomans? Perhaps, though it seemed unlikely that they would have the necessary resources to do so... who then might they blame for this death that Russia could rally together again? Unless, it was simply time for a new Russia to be born. That would never work, it would only get lost in the bureaucracy and lead to revolution, though a new Russia was needed today. I send my advisers out to find the most competent men in the nation, in the world if necessary, and bring them to St. Petersburg. I order troops Marshaled for inspection, and to display the strength of a mourning empire. I mostly wanted to know just how weak we really were today. I stand as Regent of the Empire of Russia, until Nicholas II's son, Alexi was of an age to rule. I order the press to announce the mysterious death of our beloved Emperor to the world, and that the investigation was ongoing, perhaps someone would be foolish enough to claim responsibility for the act of treason.
The week passes slowly, the world is shocked by the sudden unexpected loss of one it's greatest leaders, and I struggle to keep the nation from being torn apart at the seams. I have for my own sanity's sake had several incompetent fools discretely removed from their positions of influence and power, Rasputin being one of them. He now works with the army in Siberia, near the Manchurian lines, or what was left of them. Competent administrators and leaders are persuaded to fill their empty boots and begin bringing Russia back to her former glory. It's still far to soon to tell how any of this will end, but perhaps... perhaps, we will survive the embers of bitter revolution.
