January 2, 1910
Tsuljin Khanate

A clear, bright day in the nation of the Tsuljin Khanate. Nary a cloud marred the sky as the squealing of train brakes sounded through the busy station. Several insectoids, each carrying two rifles, stepped off the train, clearing a path through the crowd. Once they had done so, another wasplike person stepped off the train. They surveyed the crowd, looking for their driver.

After a moment, the crowd parted with some scuffling and muttered swearing, to reveal a small column of three open topped cars, each with a contingent of six greenskins marching in stiff lockstep on either side. In two of the cars sat more greenskins, clad in crisp, starched uniforms and staring straight ahead, showing nary a trace of emotion. In the front car sat a Kudruni driver, similarly emotionless, and behind him sat the delegate of Tsuljin, smiling warmly. The soldiers standing by the sides of the second car parted, and two of them knelt, gesturing to the car.

Wilem, the prince of Rotteburg, son of the Kaiser, stepped off the platform, walking through the clearing in the crowd. He made his way to the motorcade, entering the second car, hesitating for a moment at the sight of the greenskinned driver. Wasn't his driver supposed to be Kudruni? Whatever the case, it would only hurt matters to make a fuss, so he kept quiet. The Kudruni soldiers that came with him piled into the cars surrounding him.

Making no sound, the drivers of the cars shifted their vehicles into gear, and ponderously set off. At first, things went normally, the column of soldiers walking in front clearing the gathered crowd with minimal difficulty, though shouts and jeers abounded. A mile passed in relative ease, the shouting eventually fading into a dull background roar. There were bigger concerns lying ahead - the imposing limestone fortifications of the central citadel, dating back three hundred years, loomed ahead. Within them lay the task of treaty enforcement - it was crucial for the stability of the region, the wellbeing of Rotteburg, that Tsuljin not unite with their neighbor, or be subsumed into the wider expanse of Uruk.

A decade ago, the Reich had intervened, their armies marching westwards and forcing the signing of the original treaty - Tsuljin and Ushro would swear not to seek unification, nor to be annexed or in any way controlled by the looming behemoth of the Uruk Empire. Today the treaty would be renegotiated, ensuring stability and peace in the region, and a chance for Rotteburg to continue to grow strong without greenskin threat to the we-

An abrupt, lurching jolt brought the middle car to a halt, a deafening crack echoing around the square, and the car sagged slightly, one of its wheels now rolling aimlessly about. The axle had snapped, somehow, and many of the soldiers guarding the vehicle tensed, almost imperceptibly. After a moment's pause, the driver sighed, hopping out from his seat and scurrying underneath the car. A stream of muttered curses followed, too fast and muffled to make out.

A minute passed with minimal movement from anyone, before an officer of Tsuljin stepped forward, inclining his head slightly towards Prince Wilem, and gesturing to the front car. "If it please your majesty, we will be continuing without this car." He bowed his head once more, and stepped aside.

Wilem simply nodded, allowing the door to his car to be opened. He stepped out, looking around.

A commotion stirred within the crowd, a few more muttered curses, and a single yell - out from the crowd burst a wild eyed troll, brandishing a large revolver. It happened in the blink of an eye - the troll's eyes locked onto the prince, and he grinned maniacally. "Death to tyrants!" He shouted in the dialect common throughout Tsuljin, and fired, one, twice, both bullets slamming home into the gut of the Prince. Immediately, over half of the greenskin guard turned, planting bayonets into the necks and stomachs of the Kudruni soldiers, and the crowd exploded in a cacophany of shrieking, shouting, and fighting. Many surged forwards, tackling the young assassin, but many more beat them down, rushing forwards in a wall of flesh, surrounding the prince and his entourage.

The Kudruni portion of the entourage -- what was left -- yelled warnings into the crowd, and when they did not back off, the officer in charge ordered the soldiers to fire at will. In the maelstrom of the mob, the soldiers opened fire without hesitation, each with both of their rifles. Bodies began to fall as the crowd attacked the entourage and was shot and stabbed in return.

The shots served only to enrage the crowd, and many of those who had tried to shield the wounded prince turned to flee, or joined the tidal wave of greenskins. Thousands poured in, where one fell dead, a hundred joined the throng, kicking, punching, clawing, goring with tusk and tearing with teeth. The prince, bleeding out his life's blood, was pulled from his guard by the mob, and they began to do the same, wholly out of control by this point. He was kicked, mauled, his stomach opened with the tusks of a troll, his arm shattered in the grip of five more. The crowd screamed and shouted, jeering at him - he would die here, there was no doubt of that.

Upon losing the prince, the officer ordered the remaining soldiers to throw their stick grenades into the crowd, in one last desperate attempt to disperse them. The soldiers obeyed, throwing the grenades into throngs of people in between their shooting and stabbing. The grenades went off, sending fragmentation into the greenskins.

Screaming, crying, and howls of pain rose from the crowd, the explosions tearing bloody swathes through their ranks and, for a moment, the crowd withdrew in shock, the Prince’s body nowhere to be seen - but their anger resurged, and they fell back on the soldiers with twice the fury of before.

Gradually, the shooting went silent as the Prince’s escort were overwhelmed. Silence fell upon the square as the magnitude of what had occurred seemed to sink in with all around. The eerie stillness blanketed the air, the sun shined on, the clouds dared not to marr what had before been a beautiful day.

Of the assassin there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps he had been trampled in the crush of bodies, perhaps spirited away by quick thinking countrymen. His work was done, in this life, or whatever next life there was, he would know that.

By the end of the day, news of the event would cascade around the world, and the die were cast.

January 3rd, 1910
Empyreapolis, the Kratorian Empyreum

The streets of Empyreapolis were crowded and chaotic on an average day as laborers, merchants, salarymen, musicians, preachers, performers, whores, cutpurses, and duelists went about their business and plied their trades. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh fruit and sizzling meat and the aroma of exotic perfumes and spices. The chill of the ocean collided with the heat of the crowds, peoples of all races and tribes mingling with curses, greetings, arguments, farewells, and well-wishes spoken in dozens of tongues. Empyreapolis was not the richest, most beautiful, most advanced, or oldest of the Empyreal poleis. But it was the largest, and its heart beat with an eclectic vitality that made it unique among any of the world’s great cities. The polis never slept, and there was always an air of liveliness in its atmosphere.

But today, the city thrummed with jubilation. One could always find vendors hawking their wares, fools and jugglers putting on a show, and preachers, poets, and philosophers all orating to an audience. But the streets of the city were absolutely crammed with pedestrians, as if it were a holiday. Stalls upon stalls of fruit sellers, pot shops, and desert makers provided food for a horde of Kratorians. An entire circus act was parading through the crowds, stilt-walkers walking through the crowds as acrobats tumbled and fire-eaters spewed flame to the sky. Elephants stomped past with their workers raining flowers on the citizens. Children ran screaming in packs, buying insects in cages from vendors to smash them against their feet a moment later. A cyclops in green paint mock shot a Myrmidon in fake princely raiment, before a gaggle of jesters in green motley came to “beat” the false prince to the cheer of the crowds.

Clearly, the Wilem’s death was not exactly an occasion to mourn for the Empyreum’s citizens. There was not one dreary face in the crowd, even those on their way to a job or an errand seemed to have more cheer in the step. Some of the rhetoric was less celebratory however. Many citizens held up signs such as “Stand with the Uruks!” or “Death to the Wasps!” and cried out for war and blood against the Reich. The Kaiser was held aloft in effigy and burned. A fire zealot roused up the crowd, reciting verses of flames and brimstone from his holy texts, calling for a cleansing fire to scour Rotteburg clean. And their allies as well, Etresna principal among them. The crowd tasted war in the air. And they had no fear of it.

Prince Saren, third-born son of King Alexander, watched all of this from his black horse as he rode through the streets with his knight companions and Praetorian Knight mounted around him and his attendants and guardsmen on foot. The princely procession was hailed as they passed through the streets, Empyreapolis Reeves holding back the crowds as people cheered.

“Kill those wasps Prince!”

“Give those gapers a kick in the bunghole Saren!”

“Glory to the House of Dragons! Fire to the heathens!”

Saren waved and smiled back at the crowd, but did not reply, as he rode through. He did a good job of hiding it, but inside he was just as excited as the commons. He had been waiting for a chance to prove his valor. And it seemed the ancestors would seem grace him with his chance.

The Prince had been hosting the rest of the royal family at the winter palace of Snowhearth, his own estate, when word came out of Wilem’s assassination. They returned early, and his father had charged Saren with riding out to gauge the mood of the people. He was to report to the Empyreal Council chamber once done. And all day, Saren had seen nothing but dry eyes. Where other cities in other nations might be going about their day with a sense of foreboding, Empyreapolis went about its business with a spring in its step. The Prince doubted it was much different in the other poleis.

Finally the king’s castle, Drakon, came into view. It dominated the city’s skyline on its position atop Olympian Hill at the mouth of Cerulean Bay. It was a dazzling construction of white marble, both fortress and palace, beautiful and formidable. A statue of a white dragon crowned its highest tower, roaring over the city. Saren was home.

The palace guardsmen let him in with no incident and Saren didn’t bother to change out of his riding clothes as he made his way flanked by Praetorians to the Empyreal Council Chamber. His father would want his report straight away, and he would not be late to the first meeting he was ever invited to. Saren found the council chamber, it’s entrance guarded by a squad of Praetorians and two marble statues, a likeness of the sky father and the queen of gods, before the carved wooden doors were opened for him.

He was the last to arrive. All of the Councillors were in attendance, as well as his mother and most of his siblings. Hektor had already been dispatched to the Empire and Ariel to Etresna. Iris was with her husband, the Sun Lord, but was due for the capital within the week. Saren nodded to his siblings, kissed his mother on the cheek, nodded to the Councillors and bowed his head to his father and king.

Alexander, a handsome and well-built man with hair as black as night and blue eyes bright as day, smiled at his son. The steel and ruby crown rested on his head, it’s dragon headpiece peering out with fiery gems. He spoke first, “What news from my people Saren?”

Saren stood at attention saying, “They cheer the death of Wilem. Hatred for the Reich and the Kaiser runs strong among the people. And many call for war. They want us to declare with the Uruks and march on Rotteburg. Their allies in Etresna and Cethos are not safe either.”

Alexander nodded, “It is as I thought. They have long memories and no fear of war, my people.”

The Lord Marshall, Areus Stratius, taller than any man in the room with a scar running down his face and blood-red eyes, leaned in, “As is only proper. For once I agree with the plebs. Rotteburg will strike at the Uruks. We must ready to strike ourselves to honor our alliance.”

Sophia Pallenis, the Lady Chancellor, with her chestnut hair and stormy grey eyes, interjected, “The folly of the mob should not hold great sway over us. We are entrusted to chart the best course for our nation. And war is not the best course. Rotteburg and their coalition are a doughty enemy. War would see great strain on our people.”

The Lord Treasurer Cato Mercurial, leaned in and said, “Not to mention our industries. All trade with Rotteburg, Etresna, Cethos, all ceased. Shipping to and forth from the eastern lands, disrupted. Custom with the greenskin lands and Pohae, greatly curtailed. We could trade with the Uruks, with the western lands. But the longer any war lasted, the greater the loss. Not to mention the drain on the royal treasuries. Taxes diverted to levies for the armies. Expenses. Austerity measures. If we did not achieve quick victory, the guilds will suffer and so will the people. Save for the war guilds of course.”

Areus slammed his fist on the table, “Watch your tongue Mercurial. I won’t have an usurer impugn my honor. Aye, the enemies we face are no weaklings or idiots. But we will have the Uruks on our side. We have beaten greater foes than they. We will beat them again. High Command has been formulating stratagems for such an eventuality for over a century. We will prevail. We just need resolve. If the Chancery can do its job, they can sway more to our side.”

Sophia sighed, “It was Queen Olympia’s life’s work to forge peace between our people with the Reich and Etresna. Would you have it undone so quickly? We must urge calm in the Uruks and the Kudruni both.”

Princess Celeste, the second daughter of Alexander, said, “And look what Etresna did! Long has there been suspicion that they were behind my grandmother’s death! Perhaps the time has come for those hill savages to be humbled for good and all. And Rotteburg too! We come to their defense and what do they do? They turn and throw in with those horned heathens. They pervert the worship of our gods. My blood cries out for retribution. We must simply be bold enough to bare our blades.” Several of those in attendance around the table banged their fists on the table, Areus loudest of all.

The Lord Justiciar, master of the King’s Laws, Tiberius Atlan, said, “That has never been proven. The Queenslayer was caught and executed. No conclusive evidence of a greater conspiracy has ever arisen.”

Lady Talia Black, the Lady Inquisitor and Alexander’s bastard sister, spoke up softly, “And what evidence has arisen has never been disproven. The Etremaden are clever in their own way after all.”

Sophia, exasperated, said, “I will not venture into this argument again, everything that has been said on the subject has been said and it is outside the scope of the discussion, if you pardon me my Princess. We talk of Wilem’s assassination and whether we will to war. And it is my firm belief, that war is not in our interest. We must do all we can to avert it.”

Areus replied, “Wilem’s death is a start. We should not rest until his father kneels at our feet and the Reich is laid low. Then we can have peace!”

Lord Cato asked, “I wish the advice of the Hierarch. Surely the gods have some word on this.”

They turned to the Hierarch Ariadne June, a woman with auburn hair and green eyes, she said, “We have still not received word from the Oracle. But many in the priesthood will soon take sides in the debate. The ancestors have not yet given me a conclusive portent one way or another.”

Areus replied, “The gods favor the bold. This hesitation is craven. They will not favor our inaction.”

Sophia said, “Action does not mean blood. We must not rush headlong into battle when we have alternatives!”

A heated argument soon ensued, and Saren remained silent all through it as the Councillors took sides and strenuously debated. The Prince only watched his father, whose face was stone, until finally Alexander’s voice carried in a murmur that cut through the noise, “Silence.”

The chorus of voices stopped and they all straightened in their seats. Alexander was a charismatic, charming, and genial man but he knew how to command respect and attention. It was given to him by these proud and bright lords of the realm instantly. Alexander took his time speaking, the words flowing deliberately with no hurry and with great verve.

“We went to war together. We are kin by blood and law, but battle made us brothers and sisters. I was honored and blessed to ride beside you. But I remember the death and suffering that accompanied that valor and heroism. I will not recklessly plunge my people into that. But neither will I do nothing. We will hope for peace, but prepare for war.”

All eyes were on him, all were intent on what Alexander had to say, “I have already sent Hektor and Ariel to the Uruks and to Etresna. They will take a measure of the mood and try their best to keep the peace. I will put out a public proclamation condemning the attack. I will send a letter of condolence to the Kaiser. Sophia, please offer my and the Queen’s attendance at Wilem’s funeral. Tiberius, offer a reward for the capture of the Princeslayers. They will have no haven in my lands. Talia, I want your agents in the greenskin lands and the Reich to supply us with all the intelligence we can get. Reach out to the Thieve’s Guild and see if they know anything. Hierarch, the Prince shared our faith in his own fashion. And even if they are rivals, he did not deserve such an ignoble death. Have public prayers sung for his rest in the afterlife.”

Alexander stood, walking around the room as he continued planning, “I want all Kratorian nationals in the border provinces and the Reich withdrawn. Bring our people home. The lecturers, the artists, the doctors, the priests, all of them. Have the Chancery in those nations ready to evacuate if needed. Invite the Rotteburg ambassador to dinner. Furthermore, I want the ports secured. New defenses will be raised in case of attack. Custom to and from Rotteburg will continue but travel will be warned against and all outgoing and incoming cargo will be extensively searched. Merchants will be accompanied by corsairs or marines to ensure security. I don’t want the Reich press-ganging any of my countrymen into service. Get word to the Lord Governor on Poisedonis. Have his fleets ready and his men raised in case Cethos gets any ideas. I want the consuls in Sidara, Anvegad, and all other nations to intensify efforts to bring them into alliance with us. Even if they don’t side with us, if they remain neutral, that will aid us against Etresna’s coalition.”

“Areus, the same goes for our forces here at home. I want all lords of the realm to begin drilling their levies. Have the southern army marshall at the border. Not to invade but to secure our borders. We will advise citizens not to leave and new arrivals will be thoroughly questioned. Ready the fleets to protect our waters. I want the guilds and the houses to begin setting aside funds in case we need them to prosecute a war. Hire the Reavers on retainer, we’ll need their expertise and begin seeking experienced corsairs to augment our fleets.”

The lord of Kratoria finally settled back in his seat, exuding confidence and command, “Those Cethosi royals will come in handy I’m sure. I will consult them on how we can deal with the usurpers, politically and militarily. I want our Admirals to have as much insight into their seamanship as possible. We need every advantage we can get, for we face stiff competition.”

“I will not be caught unaware either. Ramp up production of warships, weapons, and material. Intensify the regimens for current training units. Every Legion will conduct exercises. I want a recruitment drive as well. No conscription, but I want this wave of patriotic fervor to be exploited. Even if we avoid war, it will not hurt us to have more soldiers. I want expanded trade to the western and eastern continents. They’ll be our principle partners should the continent erupt in war. It is time to finalize expansive trade deals with those nations. Get that done as soon as possible. That way if Cethos disrupts our trade, they will anger the East as well. I want construction on the grand canal re-doubled. It’ll be essential in our strategic plans.”

Saren was enthralled by what he saw. He had always known that his father was born to rule, but seeing it in action only further impressed upon him just how blessed Kratoria was to have such a King, “The propaganda will not be inflammatory but it will be patriotic. I want inspiring plays to be performed. Rousing songs to be played. Tales of heroism recited by our poets. I want our philosophers and lecturers waxing praise for the Empyreum. I want our priests to preach unity. This is no time for our familial squabbles and tribal disputes. We must all pull together now if we are to prevail. I want national pride to be high. I want centaurs and satyrs and cyclopes all drinking together to Kratoria’s prosperity.”

“I want missives sent to all the Primarchs and Archons to this effect. Tell the Lord Governor of Westerpolis to ready our cities there and raise their defenses and fleets. They will be useful as well. And send a message to Dis. Make sure the Lord Warden is able to convince the Demon of the East to set aside his disagreements with us and focus his hate on Etresna. Kratoria’s citizens must close ranks in every respect.”

Alexander turned to his beautiful Queen, the silver haired and violet eyed Andromeda Aidones and said, “Please write to your brother, personally. I want his support assured.”

Andromeda smiled, “Orcus has always been proud, but never disloyal. He will stand beside us, as House Aidones has stood beside the other houses since the dawn of the Empyreum.”

“I am glad to hear it. And furthermore, I will include invitations to all the Primarchs to be our guests at court. We will have much to discuss. They are all veterans in their own rights and I would be glad to consult with them.”

He started the Speaker of the Senate, Adonis Solaris, and said, “I want you to gauge the mood in the Senate. See where the tide is blowing, towards war or peace. Do your best to keep the rhetoric restrained. And do everything in your power to secure support so that we have a majority following us, whatever needs to be done. Though if our adversaries are fool enough to pre-emptively declare war on us, they will do our job for us.” Adonis nodded, confirmed he would do so.

Alexander turned to Artorias, his eldest son and heir, “And if we go to war, we can’t do so with the north in turmoil. Go North, with the Varingian Legion. Help our man achieve dominance over the other clans and secure his fealty. We’ll need their stout northern soldiers, and it’s time to make realm whole once more. He’s won some great victories, but it’s time to finish this. If it can be done peaceably, all the better. Do this for me Artorias.”

Artorias, who much resembled his father but with his mother’s silver hair and violet eyes nodded sagely, “By your will father.”

The King faced his youngest son now, “And you Saren, make sure our air cavalry is ready. They will be tested. Tell the Sky Marshall I will expect nothing less than excellence. From you and all the other pilots.”

Saren bowed his head, “I will not fail you father.”

Alexander smiled at his children, “I know you won’t.”

The King stood, “Areus, accompany me to the war room and summon the generals and admirals. We must review our strategies for any scenario. Make changes if necessary. Hierarch, please extend the invitation to the Lords Commander of the holy orders. Grand Sage, send us your most experienced warcraft scholars. Hercules, Talia, join me as well. We will relate this plans to the Primarchs once they arrive. Sophia, Tiberius, Cato, all of you, I will need your expert consultation in other matters. All my previous engagements are cancelled for today and tomorrow. I entrust those to you Viceroy. You will see to the day-to-day matters in my stead. My Queen, please keep our present guests occupied in my absence. I will be in council all through the night. Please attend me as well.” Talia and Andromeda nodded, as did the Lord Praetor Hercules and Viceroy Paris, who were Alexander’s trueborn brothers.

Alexander turned to two figures who had been entirely silent throughout the exchange. One cowled figure, a man whose hair was silver with age and who sported an impressive beard sat next to a comely man with platinum blonde hair. The Archmagus Hadrian Jovia, grand-uncle to the sky lord was one of the only men Alexander bowed his head to, though in respect and not deference. Archmagus Hadrian was over a thousand years old, one of the oldest living Aureates, and had seen much and more in his lifetime. He had been leader of the Magi for half a millenia and had been adviser to Alexander’s mother, her father, and his father.

“Archmagus, you have seen more of war than almost any other living. Your insight would be invaluable. I would be honored if you could attend these further meetings.”

Hadrian smiled slightly and said in his cultured sonorous voice, “The honor is mine young king. I will gladly join, and will ask along the greatest of the Knight Enchanters as well.” The man next to Hadrian was Lord Kieran Selunes. He had fae blood in him and was kin to the Lady of the Hunt. Though fair, he was infinitely mysterious. Saren supposed that came naturally to a Nemesis, a royal agent who had almost limitless power and authority to ensure the stability of Kratoria.

Alexander nodded as well to Kieran, “You are one of my best agents my lord. A strong right hand. You’ve fought the Etremaden. You’ve fought the Kudruni. You’ve done great things for the Empyreum. I will need you and all your compatriots in the days to come. I could use your advice.”

Kieran smiled, “Anything for the Empyreum your majesty. That is the oath I swore.”

Alexander replied, “And all the better for it. Very well. We all know what we must do. Let us not delay any further. Go with the gods. For the Empyreum.”

All in the room echoed, “For the Empyreum.”

Artorias was the first to leave, his helm under his arm as Praetorians fell in, making ready to depart for the North. The other councillors left as well, save those who would go with his father to the war room. Saren took one last look at his king and left, heart pounding with excitement. Already he could hear the crowds cheering his name.

January 8, 1910
Outskirts of Tresaii, Realm of Etresna

Ahead loomed the Forum. A tall, imposing building of pyramidal design endemic to Etremaden architecture, but adorned with the old Kratorian style of marble statues and engraved columns. The Forum had been erected well outside the city limits of Etremetoryy, and its ostentatious display had been a source of contention within the Realm when it was first laid out, seventy years prior. Yearly construction was underway, renovating the building with more modern conveniences and amenities. The building served not only as a neutral ground for secure diplomatic negotiation between the two rival powers, that was a new development. In its first days, the building had been designed as a space for Etremaden and Kratorian scholars and holy people to gather and exchange ideas, work together to solve pressing global issues, and to this day it was full of many of those same minds. Now though, a wing of the building had been set aside for diplomatic affairs, soundproofed and under heavy guard at all hours of the day.

Azhis sighed - rarely had she stepped foot in this building in the past few years for any good reasons, and this day was no exception. A dark cloud seemed cast over all she had seen, and nobody lounged outside, the shaded reflecting ponds were bereft of their usual inhabitants, older men and women debating, arguing, or reminiscing by the water. The guards had been doubled on all sides, Kratorian and Etremaden, and it was with great reluctance that she stepped from her vehicle, making her way into the structure. A convoy of Kratorian vehicles, with their elaborate decorations and ornately-attired attendants, was already there.

Great works of sculpting, pottery, and painting adorned the walls of the Forum. Exotic plants from every corner of both the Empyreum and Etresna graced its open-air garden. Artifacts such as suits of Empyreal armor or vintage Etremaden cannons were prominently displayed. Truly, the Forum was a place of art, history, and learning. A bastion of knowledge and understanding between two great world powers. And yet there were no hymns sung or poems recited in its normally inviting halls. No young scholars or groups of schoolchildren toured the exhibits. There was scant evidence of the priests and mystics, philosophers and scientists, artists and orators, that made the Forum their residence. Save for Kratorian and Etresnan soldiers staring each other down, the chambers and halls were empty. Sometimes a lone scholar would pass by, but only ever with their eyes downcast and in a hurry. One Kratorian nun seemed to be muttering a prayer.

It was in this foreboding atmosphere that Etresna’s military leader entered the council chamber. Unlike the rest of the Forum, the chamber had no natural lighting and relied on half electronic lights and half illumination crystals. Each half of the room was decorated in Etremaden and Empyreal style, from the floor beneath them to the ceiling above. Even the table was bisected in such a manner, horizontally arranged across the space with two head seats facing each other and several others in between. The Kratorian side of the table was hard black wood with intricate symbols. The head seat was carved into the likeness of a dragon. Praetorian Knights lined the walls in their white armor, swords at their side and pistols on thigh holsters. The Etresna side of the table was already mostly filled, Azhis having arrived last.

A handful Kratorian nobles sat alongside the table, those of greatest prominence seated next to the Empyreal at the head of the table. Ser Barris Paeston was present, a representative of the Empyreal blacksmithing guild and his cousin Primarch Phaeston, the Iron Lord. Archsage Demetrius Pallenis, the leader of the Kratorian scholars in residence at the Forum sat across from him. Chanter Cassandra, head cleric of the local Unitarian Convent was dressed in her priestly raiment. Lord Dekton, the Empyreal Ambassador to Etresna and decorated veteran, sat at the position of honor to the dragon-seat’s right. A Knight Praetor with a golden plume, a captain of the venerable order, stood just behind the seat. All of the Kratorians rose respectfully at Azhis’ entrance.

All except Princess Ariel, who bowed her head but did not rise. The Princess was Alexander’s youngest daughter, yet unmarried and one of the most celebrated beauties of the Empyreum. But also was she highly regarded in the art of diplomacy, and so served as the nation’s youngest Lady Herald at the age of eighty, though she looked like a girl who hadn’t yet reached her second decade. She was stunning in her dark red dress, her long black hair done in a traditional Kratorian braid. The Princess smiled slightly at Azhis, meeting her gaze with her golden eyes, and said, “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance once more my lady. Now that you are here we may begin in earnest. I won’t stand on ceremony, I have arrived fresh from Empyreapolis at my father’s command.”

She took in those around the table before saying, “If swift action, is not taken soon, our nations will once again clash. We must stop this violence before it starts. Or else this time, the whole world will bleed.”

Anukadi, who had given Azhis a look of dissatisfaction as the latter arrived late, once again, turned to the princess, nodding. “Yes. We have been leaning upon the Kaiser to be calm, and not to rush needlessly into war. Uruk has, of course, not been conciliatory in the actions of their… ally, and Tsuljin itself seems desperate to, if anything, provoke the Kudruni.” She sighed, drumming her fingers upon the silver inlaid wood of the table, images still clear in her mind of the carnage even decades ago, hundreds of thousands dead or wounded in the last conflict between the Realm and the Empire. She had not served on its front lines, but had been deployed to the region to oversee the engineering aspects of rear echelon supply and logistics within one of the theatres of operation. As with every other citizen of the realm, though, the grainy photography taken in the aftermath of the battles had seared a bloody brand into her memory, and as she considered the modern weapons they now held, the prospect of war terrified her.

Azhis spoke up, “Forgive my lateness, Princess, Raijen. I have been overseeing the deployment of more security to our embassies abroad, as well as other pressing matters, though I must apologize, for such does not excuse my lateness. With your permission, I would like to remind the Kaiser’s own military advisors of the importance the Realm plays in his own nation’s security and prosperity, and of the horrors a war would unleash not only upon his own nation, but uncountable lives across the world.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Anukadi gave her a tacit nod, before returning her attention to the Princess. “We are doing what we can to restrain the Kaiser, but I must implore you - your own nation must do what you can to keep Uruk - and by extension Tsuljin - in check. There is no time for keeping information behind closed doors, hoping to gain something from this crisis. The Prince’s assassination has thrown Rotteburg into an uproar not seen for four decades, and their army is mighty for sure. Were they to attack Tsuljin, Uruk, as we know, will retaliate. Such will draw both our nations into the fray, and those other allies of ours otherwise uninvolved. The dominoes are lined up, and I fear for the ramifications should they begin to fall. The world will bleed, yes, but bleeding may be the least of its concerns.”

The Princess took a sip from the chalice, pure Empyreal nectar, and replied, “There are many at home who share our concerns. My esteemed colleagues will no doubt testify that endless scores of clerics and sages both call for a cooling down of hostilities. Not to mention the trade guilds.” Ariel nodded at Ser Barris.

The broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man looked out of place in a business suit and his booming voice filled the whole room, “Yes. A war would disrupt the world economy immeasurably. We’ve come to welcome Etresnan iron in our foundries. Just as you’ve come to appreciate our custom, I’m sure. Violence is bad for the populace, but so is economic decline. Our people have not known shortages in supplies or jobs in many generations. Rest assured that the guilds will do everything in their power to see this peaceably resolved.”

The Archsage, a tall grey-eyed man with silver hair, interjected, “Not all I’m afraid. I’m sure the fletchers’ and armorer’s guilds would welcome a little blood-letting. Even if war did not break out, brinksmanship is in their best interest and they’ll be exercising their influence in the Senate. Speaking of which, there are more than a few Senators who fought Etresna and Rotteburg in wars past. Many jockey for glorious vengeance. Even the Chantry isn’t free of such influence.”

Chanter Cassandra, exuding virginal innocence and long-lived experience at the same time, nodded gravely, “This is true. I chant for peace and reconciliation. But there are wandering preachers and grand clerics both who call for justice to be paid to Rotteburg. They follow the Pantheon, but many see their customs of doing so as being heathenry. They wish for the Hierarch to call for exalted crusade against Rotteburg.” She paused and looked at the Etremaden, “And against Etresna. For the sacrileges of the past and offenses of the present, they say.”

Ariel grimly added, “Those voices are present on the Council as well. They wish for my father to throw in with the Uruks, not rein them in. Soon it will be a chorus. And as you well know, Alexander has no great love for either of your peoples. Avoiding this war will be a fight in itself and I welcome suggestions.”

Grim faced, Anukadi listened to the Kratorian delegation, their sentiments echoing many of her own advisors. “Seems we are not so different in yet another way. While many of my people oppose war - we too have many who remember the wars with Kratoria in the past, including myself - there are those who seek ‘glory on the field’, among other bellicose language. While we do not hold grudges as long, our memory stretches back far too, and some still champ at the bit to avenge Daskan’s defeat, over a century ago. We too live long lives - perhaps not as long, and even now some who fought in that war live on, angry at Kratoria.” She shook her head, sighing. “I am not a warrior, and I have no taste for it. It is an ugly matter, a view I have done my best to impress upon some of my colleagues. As for the concept of crusade - victory against Rotteburg might be feasible, but it would cost both sides dearly, and for what gain? Victory against the Realm…” she raised an eyebrow, “I do not mean to seem boastful, but I think we both know such a war between our two nations would result in naught but another stalemate, far bloodier than the last.”

Another voice joined, a small framed man with deep crimson eyes, a long beard woven into an intricate pattern of pleats and braids adorning his chin, and prominent horn rimmed glasses perched atop his nose. “Economically, many in the Realm would also benefit from war.” He nodded to the Archsage, “The Raijen and many of us have pushed for peace, and prosperity, and the Realm has devoted most of its spending to peaceful, domestic pursuits. It has borne fruits that have made our cities clean, safe, and prosperous - but many se’Khyur have been spurned by this trend. Some of our most ancient and venerable have their roots in martial pursuits, and they push for war - or at least, for greater military spending. I have promised to secure for them greater military contracts in the future, but they are not placated.”

Azhis, having taken her seat, nodded to the man. “Yes, you are correct, Iuvalle.” Turning to the Kratorians, she continued, “The death of the Prince has only inflamed such sentiments, though their bellicosity is aimed more at the Uruk than your own nation. All of our nations have, evidently, begun the mobilization process - but many se’Khyur have already begun to go further, as you are doubtlessly aware, and they have sunk funds into overhauling old munitions factories and spooling the modernized factories up. They expect war, with Uruk if nothing else, and it has been a gargantuan struggle to hold them back.”

“What all this means is that we are in no better shape than you, when it comes to averting catastrophe.” Anukadi groaned, “I am sadly bereft of solid suggestions. The most we can do, I think, is to exert what influence we can upon those nations directly involved in belligerent action - I beseech you, do all that you can to reign Uruk and their upstart puppet in. Perhaps threat of military abstention from their conflict will make them see reason. It is with the strength of both of our own nations that they rush headlong at each other, and should we threaten them with taking away that support they count on, and will desperately need… perhaps disaster can be avoided.” Her expression darkened, “But I do not know how much we can dangle the threat of our withdrawal from our alliances before compromising international standing, and undermining the integrity we depend on.”

“Both of our nations are host to proud peoples, and I do not think either of them would brook a peace solely for the benefit of other nations. No, speak to them of averting war of the sake of their children, their loved ones. A war would mean uncountable dead - many of them Kudruni for sure, but many Kratorian. I do not ask you openly declare any threat of withdrawal of support, such would be an absurd request, and I do not think there is anyone in this room who would urge such action. My intention is private pressure, a reminder to our allies that their strength has much to do with their association with our respective nations. Should we inform them in private that we may find it… ‘difficult to provide military aid for hawkish endeavors’ or however you might phrase it, they may yet see reason.”

Lord Dekton, to this point silent finally spoke. His sharp cheekbones and jaw and grey eyes, framed by deep brown hair, were a familiar sight to the Etremaden as the local Consul. His tone was measured, deliberate, “We will do everything within our power to curtail war. Priests will sing hymns of peace. Poets and artists will construct works of reconciliation. Orators and philosophers will talk of prosperity in calm and brotherhood. Writers and journalists will craft editorials in newspapers. Senators will debate on the floor for aversion of conflict. Mercenaries and toughs will beat rabble-rousers and firebrands. Lords and knights will send missives to their Archons asking for cool heads to prevail. We will cajole, beckon, beguile, bribe, threaten, deceive, entreat, and seduce anyone and everyone we have to and many we don’t in order to get this message heard.”

The lord, who looked no older than forty but whose eyes betrayed a century of politics and intrigue continued, “Make no mistake. Everything we will do, the Warlord and those of his mind will do to encourage war. I served in the last war between our nations, as did many of them. I witnessed the horrible slaughter. But whereas that made me wish to avert bloodshed, to build peace and even perhaps concord, it filled others hearts with fury and hate. We have been beaten, but true defeat is an alien concept to my people. However, the honor of battle is one of our most venerated ideals.”

Dekton looked Anukadi in the eyes, “Even if we did not win, if glory was won and heroism proved, than many Kratorians will have considered it a worthwhile enterprise. Especially the young who have not had their war, as every generation of our race has had one. They pray for immortalization through valor. This is the philosophy we contend with. Even without the considerations of politics.”

Ariel shook her head ruefully, “You must also make sure that Cethos or their lapdogs do not take advantage of the international chaos. The Lord Governor on Pandorum is already raising his levies in anticipation of raids. Many of the subjects of Uruk’s new empire are descended from those in our old one. We have political, religious, and cultural connections and we will exert them strenuously to avoid blood but tensions are high. We can’t let Cethos ignite them.”

Ariel took another sip of nectar, her expression pensive now, “And we must convince my father to listen to our voices and not those who call for action. He stands at a crossroads, equally liable to side with us and with the hounds of war. We must find a way to sway him to our way of thinking. He has no love for Rotteburg and he has always distrusted Etresna, since the death of my grandmother. Most of my siblings and other kin are also rather less sympathetic than I am to either of your peoples. I fear it may be far too easy for him to agree with war.”

“Yes, the Peacemaker.” Anukadi sighed, steepling her fingers. “I wish I could tell you more, but I can do naught but say again what has been said countless times before. The Realm had nothing to do with her death. A monument in her likeness stands outside this very building. I will not pretend all those in the Realm wished her well, but our concerns have lain with our immediate neighbor, and the Realm stood only to benefit from peace with Kratoria. I have tried time and again to explain this. But my words fall on deaf ears. His enmity with Rotteburg, however, is perfectly understandable. Many of my own people resent them, we lost many in the fields alongside their own dead, and our participation in their war with Kratoria cost the Realm no small amount of treasure. That Kratoria, and its ruler, hold even greater distaste for them is only to be expected.”

“Regardless, Cethos can be restrained with far greater ease than Rotteburg. They are in no direct involvement in this war, and the Cethosi are no fools, they are not blinded by rage as the Kudruni are.”

Before Anukadi could continue, there was an urgent knock at the door, and the Etremaden guards stiffened at the noise. Clad in considerably less aesthetic attire than their counterparts, they were outfitted with thick plates of hardened steel covering their chests, plain grey uniforms crisply starched beneath their equipment. Two of them hurried to the door, opening it after a brief exchange of hurried muttering.

In bustled a young man, a sheet of paper clutched in his hand as he made his way to the Raijen, inclining his head before offering her the paper, bowing out of the room just as quickly as he had come.

Anukadi scanned the paper, he expression darkening swiftly. “Grave news. A Rotteburger settlement on the border with Tsuljin has, according to this missive, been annihilated in a raid conducted by Uruk partisans alongside the Tsuljin greenskins themselves. One survivor claims to have seen a Kratorian, Argentum or Aeruca unknown, among them during the attack.” She looked up at them, “The Kudruni then, when sweeping the village, found the coat of Prince Wilem, bullet holes and all, planted in the village temple.”

She folded the paper, neatly setting it down. “The Kaiser wishes to inform me and the world at large that Rotteburg demands the execution of those soldiers involved in this raid, in addition to the previous demands for the execution of all involved in the assassination of his son.”

Ariel frowned at the news, as did all the other Kratorians, though they did not not seem particularly surprised at the news. The mood changed from one of cautious optimism to something far more bleak. Ariel replied, “Unconfirmed reports, but much sooner than even I anticipated. I’ll have the Inquisition get to the bottom of this. Though you must know in advance Raijen, that the chances of us acquiescing to the Kaiser’s request to be very remote, even if the rumors are true. A Kratorian, much less a noble, would never be extradited to Rotteburg. They would be tried by an Empyreal Magistrate if they are ever caught. I don’t suppose you could try to persuade the Kaiser to accept this?”

“I would expect nothing less, and would do nothing less myself, Princess. Were it Etremaden involved in this… act, no power in heaven or on earth could force myself, or the Realm, to accept the trial of one of our citizens by a foreign court. The Kaiser will know this too, I am sure. Whether I can convince him to accept this…” She grimaced, “I do not think so, no. He is outraged, rightly so it must be said, and in his anger he seems bereft of all reason.” She looked up to the Princess, “I do not think war can be averted at this rate. The Kudruni and Greenskins seem determined to tear each others’ throats out.”

Ariel sighed, “It is time like these one almost wishes for another Morghul Scourge to appear. At least then, we could compel the lands to unite. We face a sisyphean task but we must undertake it all the same.” The Princess looked around to her countrymen who nodded back, “No further time can be wasted. We must to our duties now. I leave for Pohae, to reassure the city that no harm will befall them from Kratorian arms so long as they maintain neutrality. You may not know our gods, but perhaps they will favor you with success in peacemaking all the same.”

The Kratorians stood, filing out of the room with respectful farewells, all save for Ariel and her Praetorians. The Princess waited until her and the Raijen’s parties were the only people present. Ariel curtsied the Etremaden ruler and said, “I believe you when you say the Realm was not behind my grandmother’s death. But… if you have some disgraced soldier or politician, some condemned traitor or seditious malcontent or a group of such that you would be better served without…. well, better you send us heads than we send each other armies. Consider it, my lady. I hope that the next time we meet, it will not be as enemies.”

With that the demigod princess stepped out of the room, her red dress flowing across the floor like a pool of blood.

UNITED DEMOCRATIC CHANGXA

January 10, 1910

Cheers were erupting outside. A woman had accused her neighbor of supporting the royalty during the war. An investigation was undertaken, a trial held, and the sentencing held in public. The verdict was out - the man was guilty of siding with the royalty during the war. Not only that, he had been an aristocrat and inherited vast sums of wealth. The sentence was obvious - death. In tears, the man was hauled by armed soldiers into a carriage amid the cheering, laughter, and of a crowd of hundreds - the fate of this noble had been sealed. No doubt such spectacles would continue for some time; the war was over but their nation would not recover for many more years.

These thoughts idly passed through her head as she glanced out of the window. She was in the government area of the capital, Han'ji. She had been called on by her superior and was on her way to his office. She felt pride in her job, working for the party and the people. Her uniform was a black jacket and trousers with a black visor cap and a red party badge to complete the look. The jacket she wore buttoned up to a smart-looking collar. She passed by multiple similarly dressed men and women in the hallway and greeted them all. Everyone had their hands full, but nobody complained. After all, the burden of building their nation was shared by everyone - it couldn't be called anything but fair.

She stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. She knocked on it twice and then stood back. After a few moments, the door opened to reveal a man in his late forties. He had a commanding air about him, but he wasn't intimidating or imposing. He was like a kind father and smiled as he welcomed her,

"Come in, Comrade Feng."

She greeted him and followed him inside,

"Good morning, Chairman."

They took their seats at either end of a simplistic desk. The room was neatly organized but there were few decorations to be seen. The only light in the room came from the window, although a candle sat at his desk unlit.

"Chairman Lan, what can I do for you today?"

She was eager to help out the Chairman whom she looked up to more than her actual parents. The Chairman leaned back,

"I've heard reports - there seems to be turmoil among the Monarchies."

She nodded, reading off of a notebook,

"The prince of Rotteburg has been shot and killed in the Tsuljin Khanate."

The Great Helmsman sighed and paused, taking a sip of water.

"And the consequences?"

She looked back at her notebook, reading off of it,

"Yes, well, our scouts report that there is talk of war with Uruk, our imperialist neighbor."

The chairman sighed once more, gazing out the window that overlooked the capital of their nation. Over the rooftops, the red flags of the revolution waved triumphantly still.

"We are still building our nation, we cannot afford war. We must conceal our strength and bide our time. With this said, we would be fools to ignore our imperialist neighbor. What progress has been made on our border with Uruk?"

Feng, his ever reliable assistant, nodded and spoke by memory alone,

"Our border guard along Uruk numbers 32,000, made up of 3 divisions. Fixed artillery batteries of ten guns between 120mm and 155mm are assigned to each regiment, mortars of 60mm size are assigned at company level, and our machine-guns number 600. We have built watchtowers at 1km intervals. Our railroads connect much of our military garrisons to the border. I estimate that in the first days of hostilities, we could mobilize up to 5 more divisions, and 10 more within a week. The rest of our borders are similarly defended, but to our west the railroads are still under construction."

She paused, looking at the chairman for confirmation. He nodded,

"And our rail-guns?"

She flipped through her notes once more,

"A howitzer of 270mm is undergoing trials, a howitzer of 380mm is being developed. Our engineers say the latter will be ready within two years."

"Have the 270mm ready by the end of the month. I want 10 produced and ready by the end of the year. And what of our air-craft?"

She nodded, taking notes. She looked up from her book, adjusting her cap,

"Our engineers say that the air-craft will be ready soon. The engine is powerful enough to push the vehicle to 126kph for 3 hours. When pilots are equipped with grenades, they can hit 10 square meter ground targets with 25% accuracy at 100m altitude. We have built 5 craft thus far."
The chairman nodded, pleased,

"Good. Well then, we must tell the soldiers to prepare themselves. Send word out, we must build more bunkers, higher watchtowers, and sturdier railroads."

She took notes, and then put her book down. The two looked out the window at the sprawling capital that had been built by the workers, for the workers. She took a sip of water, a feeling of apprehension coming over her at what was to come. This nation was proof to her that the workers and peasants needed no kings, emperors, or bosses. She wanted to protect this socialist nation, she wanted to protect the people who looked to the party for leadership, she wanted to see a world without masters. For this, she would dedicate her life.

As she finally stood to take her leave, she said,

"Chairman, we will follow your heroic leadership forever."

He smiled,

"You have devoted the best years of your life to building the party, nobody is more of a hero than you are."

She smiled, saluting her Chairman,

"Thank you, Chairman!"

Kingdom of Cethos

January 4th, 1910.

Letter of condemnation, declaration of support, and urging of caution by Gharn Lask.

The attack upon the Reich's prince was one of cowardice and treachery. Cethos and her people fully condemn such actions and offer the full support that can be given the Reich in this dark time. Such actions cannot be stood for. That being said, I urge my fellow rulers and the Kaiser himself to see through the fog of grief and rage and to think clearly about their own actions, and to proceed with caution. Our nations cannot afford to act rashly and must act with clear minds, lest we all suffer grave consequences.

Matra Prunak
January 6th, 1910.

Gharn Lashk, the Matra Prunak, sat around the table with his closest advisers, a large map of the world in front of them. His faded green fins pressed against the top of his head as he examined it. War was going to ignite. Everyone knew it, despite their public cries for peace and diplomacy. The Reich was not going to stand for the assassination, and the Uruks were not going to stand for any retribution the Reich might take. From there, old hatreds and alliances would force the various powers of the world into choosing a side, and chaos would reign.

He was counting on it. "Is everything in place for when war is declared?" His Military Commander, Shalan Gash spoke her dark blue fins standing proudly. She was tall, even for female Cethosi, and young. She had joined his rebellion in its final years, and rapidly risen through the ranks to the place she was now. It was years of her planning and preparation that set the kingdom up to grow in more power and might before anyone else could react. "Everything is ready to go at a moment's notice, Prunak. Our agents and allies in the islands are all prepared to act as soon as we give the word, and our armies are prepared to land and conquer at your demand. The Hyanids have offered no opposition to the change. I suspect that is because they are already ours in all but name, but nonetheless the transition will be smooth. They are ready to march at our order as well."

The Naval Commander, Ferez Paren spoke next, his faded blood red fins idle, as if bored. He had been with Gharn since the beginning and had always been a cooler head than Lashk. "The advance navy is prepping its 'war games' in the areas already. The rest are ready to deploy to defend our and our allies waters in a moment. We've practiced with the Etresnamaden endlessly and as such there should be no issues when we jointly defend the Rotteburg coast. The Kratorians are proud enough to attempt a seaborne invasion against such a force, and we predict high enemy casualties early on. It'll be just like old times, Gharn. " He ignored the Shalan's disproving look. He had known Gharn since well before he became the Prunak. That afforded him some familiarities.

Gharn nodded. "Good. Tell our diplomats in Sidara to secure the games to make them more friendly to Etresna, and to push for a non-aggression pact. I don't want to have their navy to contend with on our flank as well as the Kratorians. Use them as a platform to talk with the Sidaran and Anvegad coalition at large, and anyone they may draw in. Have our diplomats in Anvegad discuss stronger ties as well. Tell the agents we have in Faenaria to keep a close eye on the cowardly traitors as well. We don't want them finally finding their courage, centuries later, against us. And if they do, we want to slow them down."

"The markets were up today on news of Kratorium Mobilization," Liana said, striking a match and lighting her cigar. She paused, taking a long drag of the Sunrise Isles Tobacco, savoring the dark taste before exhaling through her gills. "We saw a thirteen percent rise in the primary Mercantile houses. The Reich's bond value dropped thirty pence past closing. Not much, but it continues the trend. He's looking at a five-percent decrease across the board by month's end."

Great Cacique Karaya, Speaker for the Human Tribes, had to pause in lighting their own cigar, then thought better of it and handed it back to one of the serving staff on the Faenar's terrace. "That's ludicrous. A prince of the crown is dead and no war has been declared! If the Kaiser will not go to war now, he won't at all and the bond market will be the least of his concerns. He'd need to mobilize just to keep the throne."

Lady Ayiti, Scion of Faenar, had to interrupt at that point, pouring herself a dram of Sidaran whiskey into a crystal glass. "But can you blame him, Karaya?" She moved from the table, allowing her sea silk gown to trail behind her as she took a seat at the terrace's cabinet table. "The continent has spent so long backstabbing and politicking, they stand on a house of cards. He doesn't want to start up a general war if he can't be sure to win. Pride is cold comfort to a corpse, as we well understand."

At that, Chancellor Liana had to intercede. "The old windbag is as proud as he is militaristic. He's going to go to war. Just maneuvering his pieces first. The coral market may be up, but we've had a number of requests for gold and mithril bouillon withdrawals from the Bank of Glass. Non-government accounts for now, regional bank reserves, but if they're pulling gold then that means they believe the peace is going to break. They want something to back up their currency with. It's done fine sitting in our vaults for this long, but this is fight or flight instinct. Better to have it on hand."

Karaya eyed the Chancellor carefully. "What sort of danger are we in if we honor the withdrawal requests?"

"At the moment?" Liana asked, drawing another breath of smoke. "None. Like I said, these are accounts held by banks. Market jitters. But if any of the Uruks or the Etresnans or even the Kaiser puts in for a withdrawal, then we will have cause for concern. Everyone is looking for mobilization to be the sign that starts war. The real sign? Cutting a check to pay for post-mobilization. That check will be big. The puffer fish can make itself look ten times its size, but it will die if it stays that size for too long."

"And when they ask for that check, we're looking at a breakdown of global trade." Admiral Ralay waved off another servant's approach, opting to remain sober for the moment. "We'll need every brick in the vaults to weather the storm til' war's end."

"We either sell to everyone or no one."

"Can't do either of those things," Ayiti said bitterly. "Anyone we sell to, they'll publicly accuse us of double-dealing- even as they privately buy from us. Business as usual can continue if the war breaks out, but we'll have no friends. And that says nothing for what the Cethosi will do."

Ayiti eyed her Chancellor of the Purse carefully. Potentially the most powerful person at the table. Their sword and shield before the military could ever be called upon. "Tell me you have a method of recourse, Liani?"

Liani shook her head, her scales taking on a pale blue color. "If the Continent consumes itself, the Cethosi will be able to do as they please. No one will stop them from realizing their ambitions. Gharn knows they haven't a leg to stand on domestically- if there's an economic disruption from war on the mainland, then the Cethosi economy will fall out from under them. The easiest way to retain control would be to either join the war or start their own. Ever since they returned to the global stage, the Cethosi papers have been filled with stories of how Faenaria is the root of all their economic woes. But it's their own laws that bar Corporations from investing in the Coral Market- we can't bankrupt them or buy them out. We've got a number of their oligarchs keeping black book accounts under pseudonyms. The rich will do as they please, after all. The most we can do to hurt them is put the squeeze on his supporting industry titans. But if Gharn wants war, they can only whine while he locks them up and nationalizes their industry. You can't look to me to stop the Cethosi."

Ayiti began massaging her temples. "Then we're looking at a full fledged war of the waves. The Pirate Age again. But with Dreadnoughts. Admiral?"

"Invasion of the Outer Isles would be required for any serious military operation against us to succeed. We may be of the same blood, but the barrier reefs are still infused with mithril ore- they'll rip any hull to pieces unless navigated with care. The Cethosi ships would need to land marines and conquer them as staging grounds. If Gharn lands there, we know it's more than a power play to give his people a distraction from their recession. The Kratorian offer of basing the Air Corps on the islands is still a real one- it would require significant effort to build the air bases quickly. Effort that will be apparent to anyone with eyes, including the Cethosi. Speaker Karaya?"

"The Rahuri can and will fight to defend the outer isles. But I need the support of the Caciques to declare general mobilization. That will require Cethosi aggression first. Without it, we're looking at a split government. You'll be dealing with a Liberty Party cabinet, Ayiti. As it is, the regular garrisons can put up enough of a fight long enough to recall the Privateers and arm them for war."

Ayiti Faenar called one of the serving staff forward, requesting that dinner be called in from the palace kitchens. Her cabinet knew this was part of her rituals of government. Discussion, then dinner while she made up her mind about a next course of action. A seaweed salad was followed by lobster bisque, and finally a cut of pork seasoned with Sunrise spices.

It was as the serving staff was serving post-dinner brandy that she returned to the topic of politics.

"We have limited engagements with Sidara, due for renegotiation in a few months time. Liana, I want a five-percent domestic cut drafted into the budget. Close schools, issue more bonds, cut the welfare budget- whatever you have to do. That's to be our war nest-egg. Sidara will need the money to keep the war going, and we'll need more guns to defend ourselves from the Cethosi. Karaya, I will need support from the Caciques to keep us afloat when the shooting starts. A Neutrality act of some kind needs to be passed through the Senate, but frame it as a defensive measure. Anyone who moves to declare war with Faenaria, or sides with an aggressor of Faenaria, will have all their bouillon in the Glass Bank seized and nationalized. Same with gems, hard currency, stocks, bonds, everything. I'm going to use executive power to declare any national withdrawals void unless claimed by diplomatic staff, and withdrawn aboard ships. Anyone who wants to claim their wealth needs to come here and get it themselves and run the risk of being sunk by enemy vessels. Dress it up. Beg, borrow, steal votes. However you get it done, do it.

"Finally, I want the Cethosi black book accounts locked up. If they make noise, let them know their money will be returned once we have a public declaration from their government that they do not intend to declare war."

"What of the Merchant Fleet?" Ralay paused only long enough to take a draw from his cigar. "Our merchant ships have strict armor requirements to haul valuables. That's three-hundred destroyers carrying cargo. Enough to bloody the Cethosi if they come for us. Potentially enough to take the war to them if we move the Second Flotilla back to the home islands."

"I'm not issuing a general return order for them or the Flotilla." Ayiti could see the Admiral's bluster rising, his chance to get more toys dashed by a single declaration- but his request had merit. "But I won't stop any captain that seeks voluntary armament from doing so in the docks. I'll reach out to the Kratorians and see what it would take to get the deployment of their Air Corps accelerated."

Ralay nodded, his usual grim smile returning as he considered it. "Less than enough, but better than nothing. There are some patriots afloat. I can probably wrangle up a good thirty or so ships immediately. That'll allow the Third Flotilla to take position in the Outer Isles, supplement the garrisons with naval guns. They were hit by a typhoon a week ago. Small thing, but damaging to the locals. We can sell it to the papers as a relief effort for the Rahuri peoples there. But Gharn will get the message. We've got our eye on him."

"Do it. But I don't want a hothead leading them. No gunboat diplomacy with the Cethosi."

Ralay smiled, stood from the table and donned his cap. "Madam, I know just the person!"

---

Late at night, as Ayiti Faenar sat at her home desk, listening to the lapping of waves far below the Autarch's Palace, she opened her writing scroll and dipped her quill in Orichalcum ink, preparing a document that, depending on how it was worded, could stave off the Cethosi invasion or tip the waves into war...



Ayiti gave the letter some consideration, pausing over every sentence to read and re-read them. But she kept coming back to the ending.

Haste, most especially.

While the continent was beginning to unravel there would be considerable chance that any quick movement on any continental power's part would begin shooting- even as far away as Faenaria. Still, the continent was a world away and Ayiti had her own problem to consider. The Cethosi were capable of overwhelming the Faenarians in a straight battle. Ayiti's mother had been careful to craft a web of alliances across the waves that might be called upon to help shield Faenaria.

The Luminarians would not answer any call to war- most likely they'd demand the two sides come together in a grand peace session. But a truce at gunpoint was no truce at all. The Shah of Kera-Bijan would be willing to join the war, but would require a hefty payment to renew their defense pact. The amount of money required would generate considerable antagonism among the Caciques.

As it was, Ayiti knew their closest allies in Kratoria would be the fastest to respond to any call for help. The Sidarid might be willing to answer as well.

Come the morning, Ayiti knew the situation would be out of her hands as the letter she'd written would be speeding toward the Empyreum aboard the frigate R.F.S. Mama Yaya, hopefully arriving before the shooting started...

A tall dark man stood on the balcony overlooking the seemingly translucent water below as small waves took their form close to the shores of Hieros. His loose dress cascaded over itself as it draped over one shoulder exposing his left breast and back. The man's hair lay long and straight reaching just between his traps, his neck bent back as his eyes were directed toward the sun but the lids shielding his pupils from the blinding rays. A deep inhalation as he slowly crossed his legs, lowering himself down onto a soft pillow in the middle of the balcony. The man made sure to erect his back to prevent any form of curvature that would create any discomfort. Posture was everything, his feet crossed in a "lotus" position, still his head cocked back to allow the sun's rays to transfer light through his eyes, awakening the senses. The warm embrace of the sun could be felt all across the exposed parts of his attire where the flesh was being kissed by its heat waves.

A breeze cut through the door way of the balcony rushing passed the man's ears, completely relaxed in his entirety, one more deep inhalation, pause, and exhale.

The sound of feet marched through the halls of what sounded to be behind the man's location. The sounds of these feet clicking against the stone floor as the vibrations bounced off the open halls of the palace. The man remained with his eyes closed in complete silence, his attention drawing on the wind, the sounds of birds, the crashing of waves, and...

"Oracle Naseri, we apologize for our interuption of your morning meditation, but we have come with considerably important news in regards to the Eastern powers." A young man knelt down on one knee behind Naseri with his hand extended to the floor while the other rested on his bent knee. Oracle Visent Naseri inhaled deeply once more as he listened to the young man make his claim to the news he brought with him, "proceed young one," the Oracle said.

The young man continued, "The Prince of Rotteburg is dead, he was said to have been assassinated in the Tsuljin Khanate, we've dispersed agents to confirm this claim, but from our understanding it is quite grounded information, and one being shared across the world." His tongue stopped, eyes gazing down on the floor as to keep himself in check within the Oracle's presence. It was not every day one interrupted the mindful practice of the Oracle's morning meditation.

Naseri dropped his head back to a level position and opened his eyes for the first time in the last half hour or so. His soul feeling rejuvinated, even though the news was unpleasant, "The beauty of the world is here for all to see, yet we busy ourselves complicating the beauty with our desires, is it not interwoven into our fate to settle as brother and sister? To continue the charade of shadow play, to pretend we are so different from the other? It seems so...at least in our gifted time of life." Naseri paused as his voice settled into a fade, "I wish to call upon The Psyche for ideas as to how we will respond to such an event, I am sure the world shifts as we speak in great movement as the waves grow and fall with haste before us, we are in an ocean of dominoes, and let it be that we find our fit into the great story ready to unfold before us." Naseri contemplated all of the powers across the globe, he knew of Rotteburg, their allies, and their enemies. A house of cards everyone built around them, now that the wind has blown harshly, the question of whether they fall or not remains.

The young man tried understanding all of what the Oracle said, but would need more than those moments to find the insight. He did however acknowledge the request of the Oracle Naseri and stood up clasping the palms of his hands. Bending at the waist to pay his respects of departure before turning his back on the Oracle who still remained seated in the direction of the Ydra river. The young man hastily walked out, which inevitably turned into a run once clear of the room. He was to gain the attention of the Psyche and report to them on the request of their Oracle.



The summons of the Psyche meant the Oracle's most trusted advisors would come together for proper counsel in responding appropriately to the recent assassination of the Prince in a foreign land. The world powers would be shifting their positions and to prepare accordingly was of the upmost importance, especially as trade would become effected, movement restricted, with the world on edge everywhere as to who brings what to the table in regards to "War".

Oracle Naseri stood in the center of the circle as the moon lit night shined down on the grounds. Each advisor in their respective places ready to provide their opinions on the matter, "Good evening to the Mindful, I hope good will has walked with all of you since our last summit, as I am sure you are all aware, we are here for the discussion of Rottenburg's previous loss in life, who would like to begin?" Naseri already knew each man and woman apart of this council had been thinking what they wished to bring up and wanted to let the gates of opportunity in voicing these thoughts immediately.

"I rise, Jeniva, the sixth finger of Baal, advisor to the Oracle of Luminaria, and priestess to the Geradamas." Jeniva was a slender beauty of perfect proportions, her hair shorter than that of her Oracle's, but she was a Geradamas by blood and they're style remained quite unique when compared to any other Luminarian. Everyone knew when they were in the presence of pure Geradamas, even if Geradamas typically concealed themselves a majority of the time. Reasons were because of the natural life span a Geradamas had, nearly 300 years worth to be exact. This out numbered vastly that of the ordinary citizen, and because of this life span the Geradamas always had great influence in Luminaria, but tried their best not to make too much noise as to exploit their natural advantage in the political stage.

"You may rise Jeniva, speak freely in considering our movements from here." The Oracle acknowledged Jeniva with respect and nodded.

"I believe it is our duty to remain neutral, to watch over our kin, to observe the powers directly afflicted by such an act of cowardice. No more, no less, if we react as they may do, we may find ourselves in a disorienting mess of politics and hate." Jeniva paused, "Let us tip toe around the issue, stay outside the sphere and when it is right, let us dip the toes into the water of the night." Her poetic remark resonated with the audience as each one nodded in response to her stance, she knelt as to signal her last remark as the closing one.

Another member stood as she knelt, "I rise, Kiyar, the fourth finger of Garato, advisor to the Oracle of Luminaria, and master of the Northern Borders." Naseri turned to Kiyar to acknowledge Kiyar.

"I believe we should increase agent activity in the lands that hold the most power, or open our eyes and ears to the words that sing their names, if we are to seize the appropriate moment then we must be proactive in our ability to gather information. If we can open up our networks across borders and remain online with the movements of those powers, we can readily take advantage of both sides through offering our production capabilities among other trade opportunities and services that will be required if a war is to be declared." Kiyar paused, "I agree with Jeniva, remain outside the issue, but play on its opportunities." Kiyar knelt to close his addition to the conversation.

Naseri nodded in acknowledgement to the idea of Kiyar but was uncertain at how that may play out. If they were to touch the side of one nation over another would it automatically reel them into conflict with the other? As it always would, depend on the scale of war being unpacked among the sides. If it were a great scale, then every nation would be criticized for any movement within it or outside of it. There was virtually no way of staying out of complete conflict with one side over the other. Although Luminaria is positioned far from the stage, it’s neighbors may have their own agendas as to who’d they support. It would be interesting waters to navigate.

One more advisor stood up from her position, “I rise, Bella, the ninth finger of Khal, advisor to the Oracle of the Luminaria.” Before she continued, Naseri was already gazing into her eyes, her soul always full of life, a pair of blue iris’ that were difficult to disconnect from. She shifted her gaze away from him in respect which prompted him to do so as well as the trance had almost drew him completely in.

“We offer aid for those impacted by the war…we do not pick sides, we do not capitalize on the destruction, instead we support the people who will be caught in the crossfire. These people will be forced to look for new homes and a place worthy of security. I find it is fitting with our principles that we offer a safe haven for these people, whoever they may be.” Naseri looked back to Bella as she had already been looking at Naseri, the two smiled, and she placed her gaze back down to kneel once more.

Naseri announced, “Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?”

The group of advisors clenched their fists and with the meaty part of their hand stamped the ground three times to signal their readiness to be finished.

“Ok, thank you everyone for coming, as expected there is much to think on. I do not believe I will have any answer as to what we will do until the events continue unfolding. We are in no position to declare or side with anyone and we are far enough away for now to take our time in these matters. I will declare to our people and any of those who wish to listen that we do not condone the acts of the cowards. Otherwise, this concludes matters, each of you will be meeting with me separately as the days continue and I look forward to all of your counsel.” Naseri stretched his hands toward the sky and clapped them together bringing them down to heart center, the clapping sound echoed off the stone walls telling the others to rise.

Each advisor stood up to perform the same action as Naseri, bowing forward and exiting the Grounds.

Speaker - Rhig Ruaidhri of Clan Rhiglaird Esher







Speaker - Rhig Ruaidhri Uothaein of Clan Rhiglaird Esher





Speaker - Chief Gealle-Chriosid Gealle-Meargie of Clan Guinn





Speaker - Chief Aenric Soamus of Clan MgGrregah o' Galams-Stand





Speaker - Chief Dhomas Fiagh of Clan ap-Filigan





Speaker - Chief Somhairle Aenoich of Clan ap-Fhinnan





Speaker - Chief Ruathan Muhrdhaenn of Clan Rosaec





Speaker - Chief Chu-Mhaedha of Clan Aujvint o' th'Marshes





Speaker - Chief Aenric Soamus of Clan MgGrregah o' Galams-Stand





Speaker - Chief Chu-Mhaedha of Clan Aujvint o' th'Marshes

The Republic of Anvegad
The House of Sovereigns, Executive Office
Jan 10th, 1910

"The damn powderkeg isn't being defused." The praetor executive of the Anvegad Republic Kurt Malone sighed as he tossed the daily political newspaper on his desk, with a large bold headline of THE BRINK OF WAR? putting his heart so-much at ease. "Etresna and Kratoria are stepping into the brink of war, and Uruk and Cethos are following. And I just got another memo from Cethos inquiring about potential alliance again considering our common Etresnan contact."

"If it happens, it happens Kurt. The hotzone is half the world away from us in Rotteburg and the Tsuljin Khanate, and Etresna is dealing with this itself." President Degurechev said, looking out the window with a lit cigar in hand. "Even if we wanted to intervene, the distances are too great and we have no influence in that region. It simply isn't our problem besides staying out of the way and not doing anything on our end to make that bad situation become worse. We will reiterate as in the past that we do not wish to become part of any military alliances and that our ports will remain open under the terms of neutrality."

Kurt quietly suppressed a growl at his superior's offhandedly detached statement, mostly because the vice-president was out sick and he was stuck being the President's sounding board for the evening after finishing the last of the executive business of the day. Not our problem? The world wasn't governed by wind and weather anymore, steam and mana-powered warships and railroads and telephone lines crisscrossed the world now, bringing everyone together so they could share in mutual property as much as their mutual threats and grudges. Like it or not, Anvegad was entangled in this coming storm regardless if it knew or cared because of where it was located strategically between Etresna and Uruk, how much manastone it possessed in mines seemingly without limits to their depths or content, and how much of a grand army it had present and standing even as it proclaimed a wish for peace. But he dared not state so out loud in front of his nominal superior and head of state. There was only so much even the "hatchetman" of the president could say to his face. especially as president was a strawman of the Centrist party and the current Queen Roland and nominal (figure)head of Anvegad was a young girl whose executive authority extended to what dress she wore and what she'd have for lunch, more or less controlled by the Royalists she was supposedly leader of. Moderation and compromise was the rule of Anvegad in this day and age, and though it might have sufficed in peacetime it certainly wasn't enough for wartime when it would come rolling around to Anvegad in due time.

Exacerbating the problem ontop of that was that it was a election year for Anvegad, and his Centrist party did not have a decisive lead for the vote coming in six months. Or indeed even a significant lead judging by the most recent polls and speeches in the beer halls and coffee houses and the subtle cracks between the coalition lines. Recent economic shakeups and unease caused by the political situation in the North were bad enough, but the Collectivists were stirring up trouble on a regular basis lately. Rallies and protests against "foreign manipulators and agents", strikes for better working conditions or simply to spite the industrial elites, and there was chatter in the backrooms and coffee houses that the Unity and Nationalist parties were doing some shakeups as well besides their regular open campaigning and callouts against Centrist "impotence".

"-not to mention we have problems at home of our own." Kurt discarded his line of thinking as the President started speaking again. "I just received a note from the diplomatic office that Miana and Venucci in the west had a brewup over some land inheritance issue as a pretext to some saber rattling. No gunshots yet, but the Successor States are getting antsy now that it seems Etresna and Uruk's attention will be elsewhere and not present to loom over their heads, to say nothing about the Segon Dynasty and what they might be up to. And you know what the Collectivists will say in regards to that."

"Intervention in the name of liberation." Kurt conceded a nod to his president, where he faltered in foreign policy in regards to the great powers he at least had some idea of what was going on in Anvegad's backyard. Once Anvegad's borders stretched across much of the southern peninsula and into the interior of the continent, but most of those lands broke off during or after the revolution that made Anvegad a republic into a multitude of lesser kingdoms and states in the name of freeing themselves from the stain of the bloody empire, though many did so just to escape the debts of the revolution or hold onto their own traditional rule, shortsighted moves that crippled their economies and governments and led to chronic border squabbles and feuds without anyone to moderate them as the then-nascent Republic was more focused on licking its own wounds. But now..... "The Collectivists have been crowing about how the polls supposedly say the people are behind a reunification effort. Nobody wants to get involved in a continental war with the great powers, but there's a basis of support for a regional campaign."

"Which would only be a step on the road to repeating the mistakes of the past. Nothing is solved by military adventurism." The president said with absolute conviction. "I'm considering offering to host a diplomatic conference to resolve the situation and make sure we don't end up with a flashpoint conflict in our backyard like the north. I'd like you to take point on that."

"You have my full agreement on that sir, we really don't need this....distraction. Any preliminary thoughts on my marching orders?"

"Keep the peace, keep the borders, and when in doubt back Miana, they have the right in this dispute. We should also do something to assuage the rest of the Successor States in the face of all the fears about this upcoming war and prevent any other fires from popping up. We'll need to sit down with the rest of the cabinet to figure out how we can avoid being too much exposure, but if we present a common front and keep our ports and railroads open I bet we can keep our economies stable even if the rest of the North decides to dogpile into this war they are bent on getting into. That ought to be reason enough for them to come to the table and stay there with us."

Not a bad plan as a start and sweetener, and credit to your wishes to reduce exposure with Etresna even if you don't have the courage to say it even to me in private. But no closure mister president. This isn't a era of conservative moves, and the luster of independence isn't holding sway over them as much anymore. Kurt wanted to say, but instead- "Very good sir. As you said, we need to convene the cabinet and figure out what we can afford to offer. Personally I think we should crank up some pressure on Venucci first to show we mean business. General Crowe is certain to call for moving troops to the border but we can get the point across in other ways. Perhaps some selective tariffs on Venucci's energy exports, that's a rap on the teeth they can't ignore-"

Fortunately, he knew of other ways to get the job done. That why he was the Praetor afterall, and why the President kept him around despite his hidden dissent and youth in office. Appearances had to be kept afterall, and a Praetor was given a wide means to get the job done.

* * * * * *

Jan 11th
8:45 PM
Private Telephone line

M: .....

X: It's your friend in the high castle.

M: Report.

X: President has called for a diplomatic conference to resolve the Miana-Venucci dispute. He's sending the Praetor, no formal orders yet but I can guess it's conciliatory and limited.

M: Of course it will be. He's doing his best to stave off the inevitable. Where will it be held?

X: Preliminary talks are placing it at Vernazza, Condottieri Castle bordering the disputed territory to the west.

M: How historic, and protected. Suits us just fine. What will the president be doing?

X: Staying home drafting more letters asking for diplomacy and consulting with the Queen for guidance......which really means Earl Tigre. Don't count on much from them.

M: Of course not. Besides the new young Praetor they only look out for their own skins and pocketbooks. Keep observing this conference and the local unions, depending on how things go someone else might provide a spark before us, but if we need to move....

X: I know what to look for. Don't worry, I got the scent of what we're looking for. Even if we have to make it ourselves.

M: Goodnight then comrade.

X: Goodnight.

Maria Farrell put down the phone handset and took in a deep breath. The leporikin leader of the Collectivist party of Anvegad knew that war was coming, but actually having the sparks and hints of fire so close at hand was another experience entirely. And put far more urgency into her actions to prepare Anvegad. The Centrists had their day, but their ideals were crumbling in the face of the grudges of antiquity given a excuse to be unleashed again and the machinations of the elitists that infested so much of the old powers. The Successor States had to be reunited and the people brought under one Collective banner for mutual defense.

Fortunately a good reason to do so was right in Anvegad's backyard and looking to ignite with or without her. And if it happened, the Collective Union of Anvegad would be there to stand for the people of all Anvegad and not just for the elites who thought themselves above the people and thought lines on a map were enough to divide the poor against eachother.

But first she had to make a few phone calls to the Collectivists in Vernazza. There was a big conference to be had, and everyone had to do their part to dress up for the occasion, including her handy comrades on the streets and in the janitorial staff of the castle in case the worst happened, like someone bombing the conference or the Venucci delegate shooting the Mianan one (or stabbing, they did stick to that antiquated dueling law). Or if it needed to happen for that matter.

* * * * * * *

Summary

- Anvegad sends diplomatic notes calling for negotiation and peaceful resolution, while doing its best to present itself as a neutral party in regards to initial overtures to bring Anvegad into alliances. Though the reliability of such statements is in question due to Anvegad closing on a major election with a looming internal political shakeup.
- Diplomatic messages are sent to the Successor States (local NPC nations around Anvegad) to set up a conference to resolve a regional disputes as well as confront the probable shakeups of a Etresnan-Kratoria war with a regional economic treaty instead of dependence on trans-oceanic trade routes.
- Anvegad Collectivists are on the prowl and in tight observance of the diplomatic conference and the President of Anvegad for their own agenda.

Her Grace's Aeroflight Society avails itself of this opportunity

The formal, full name of the Rahuri Ambassador to Sidara was "Yabisi, Diplomat at Glenmagar." When in the presence of Vercin Gator, he dropped the formalities and opted to simply go by "Yabisi" or even "ya daft, seabrained cockel" when the situation called for it. Vercin was likewise simply "Vercin" or "skirt-scampering bone brain." Oftentimes work between the two was done at the Foreign Affairs office as much as it was done at Vercin's ranch when more sensitive discussions were being had. As was the case today.

Highland cattle had an especially good taste at the dinner table, but as the dusk-skinned Rahuri human carefully stepped among the fields, he had to remind himself that raising such animals came with an unfortunate smell. And he'd only just bought these Kera-Bijan leather shoes.

"Vercin," he said, trying to choose his words with about as much care as was normal for his interactions with the tough-skinned Sidaran, "this document I received last night, your Aeronauts want to request a loan from the Glass Bank when the entire continent is arming for war, calling up their reserves, and we haven't a clue when the first shots will be fired- all with the Cethosi poised to take advantage of the chaos to launch a war of conquest that will turn the seas to blood. And this loan will divert enough funds for a dozen dreadnoughts to build what amounts to flying boats? The Bank of Glass is a government institution. A loan of this size requires substantial oversight from the Caciques."

Yabisi couldn't tell what stunk more- the bull shit or the bullshit of the proposal. He removed his cigarette case from a back pocket and struck a match, trying to mask the smell of what was likely be their dinners' final leavings on this mortal plane.

"Have you gone completely mad?"

Leaning on his shepherding stick, a pipe smoking gently in his mouth, the Cynghyrd of Foreign Affairs gestured for his Faenarian counterpart to hand him the letter. In the distance a prancing border collie barked frantically as it now dashed to keep a flock of sheep together and now paused and sat down to watch their next move.
Scanning the relatively short and nigh indecipherable letter, Vercin Gator frowned. ‘Well now ye brine-chewing rascal, how’d ye get yer hands on this eh? Those gold-sucking bankers passing everything onto you now are they?’ he paused for some moments, releasing a few puffs of smoke as his pale eyes read the letter more carefully. ‘And I can see why they would on this occasion - does seem to be a tad mistimed this venture of the Aeroflight Society’s. But look here now - this may be Her Grace’s Aeroflight Society, but it has little to do with the government or with me. It’s a civilian organisation - sure it has some links with the Aerial Warfare Corps, but neither I nor anyone in government has much of a say in its activities. And to be completely honest, maybe this venture isn’t too bad - the Cethosi presence on the sea is a real thorn in Faenaria’s side, perhaps looking heavenward would rid us of that thorn once and for all. Imagine that - flying boats. The Cethosi naval presence would never trouble us again.’ Vercin passed the letter back to Yabisi and began to stroll towards the rather simple farmhouse and the waiting dinner table.

Yabisi took a long draw on his cigarette, willing the tobacco to overcome the stink of the farmlands, following behind Vercin. The place had a rustic charm to it, as only a wealthy farmholder in this cold and rocky place would. For his part, Yabisi preferred the warmth of his own home in Loa Ghara, overlooking the sugar fields and ocean waves from the high hills.

“You know how this game works, Vercin. Your people- government, clan company, or private club- send a letter to the Bank, the Bank sends it to the Autocrat for consideration, she sends it back to me and asks me if you’re out of your damned minds before she cuts a check. That’s her decision to make, not mine. But I’m very closely aligned with her on this. Flying ships. Ha!”

Yabisi took a moment on the porch to draw on the cigarette again, measuring how to phrase his proposal with the literal builders of the modern Faenarian navy. In the end, as he flicked the spent cigarette onto the lawn, he opted for blunt honesty.

“The proposal requires a vote from the Caciques, and I must inform you that our government has been put into a difficult position by the escalating tensions on the mainland. Even if things were all rainbows and griffons, the Caciques would make inquiries, the bureaucrats would demand a working prototype, and the whole thing would flounder for years. The likelihood that we can run this through the Caciques without endangering the stability of the Autocrat’s government is next to zero.

“However, there may be a way around this.” Yabisi opened his own jacket, producing a folded note and offering it to Vercin. “Just came in from the embassy wire from Coral City. The real reason we can’t accept the proposal is we’ve just rammed a budget cut through with our party’s Caciques. Final vote was yesterday. 18 tribes for, 7 against. Spent a lot of political capital to get this vote as fast as we did, but we now have a nest egg for a war chest set aside. And as part of the use of that war chest, I’m to formally request an increase in our arms agreement by at least 40%. And let’s just say we do expect a markup in price for the last minute request. The Clan Companies may bid for the contract increases under the oversight of the Bhaenrhig and the clans, but we’ll make special clause for this ‘Aeroflight Society’ to be contracted to move some of the product to the isles with a working prototype. If they can get us the guns in a timely manner ahead of shipping by boat, it would go a long way to approving full funding of the project and setting up the factories.”

Vercin considered the note that had been handed to him as the two walked into the house and made themselves comfortable around the table. Laid before them was a homely meal of freshly baked bread, soup, cheese, and two pieces of Highland cattle steak. Vercin’s was well-done as meat was meant to be. Placing the note down Vercin looked away for a few moments, his eyes thoughtful.

‘What you propose involves a far more serious commitment from our government than the Aeroflight Society’s letter entails. The Society’s letter comes across as no more than a call for financial investment into research and development by a private group - there are certainly both professionals and amateurs involved in it, and it is no doubt connected to various clan-companies, but it is ultimately its own organisation. It is one thing for it to go about its theoretical research with investment from the Glass Bank, as the letter implies... but attempting to involve it in the active development and production of aircraft, in active and direct collaboration with clan-companies and investors, is something else entirely. I do not say that it cannot happen,’ Vercin tore some bread and dipped it into his bowl of soup before placing the moist morsel into his mouth, ‘I am just saying it will require a greater degree of attention, commitment, and support from the government, as well as the clan-companies involved. We are speaking of making all kinds of resources available to the Society so that it may not only develop theories and experiment on a small scale, but also actually produce functional prototypes which then may be used for transportation purposes and be produced on a massive scale - if, and ‘tis a big if, the Society succeeds. It is a great gamble for so untested an organisation as the Aeroflight Society.’ He paused as he cut into his steak, ‘but then again. no great thing ever happened without a great gamble. If you are still of the view that this can work, I will write to the Society on the matter, and I will make known to the clan-companies Faenaria’s desire for increased supply of arms. I am sure they will leap at the prospect.’

Yabisis spoke. “Still, if I handed them the keys to the vaults tomorrow, there is the question of ‘when’ they will have a prototype. Money makes things possible but not always inevitable.” Yabisi considered this over dinner, trying to come to a decision that could be reasonably promised. He saw the potential in what was being proposed. But the problem was that there would be other needs in the coming war. Bombs, bullets and bandages would take precedence over toys. But the shooting hadn’t started yet…

“I have some friends in the Bank. Arms I can twist and levers I can pull without the Caciques getting involved. I can get them approval for a conditional loan. Roughly one-tenth the requested amount. Hear me out- low interest and paid in full upon receipt and approval of the application. The other nine-tenths can be pushed through with the Caciques once that prototype lands at Coral City and offloads cargo for all the gods and newspapers to see. They’ll owe a working prototype within 12 months, and the bank will implement a penny tax on cargo flights made between Sidara and Faenaria. If they fail, the bank will demand its money and all blueprints and theories produced by the Society for the project.”

Yabisi drummed his fingers on the table, trying to come up with the best way to follow the proposal.

“It’s a steep price to pay in the event of failure. It may shutter the society if they fail. And the deadline won’t be forgiving. But it’s what I can promise without muddying the process up with politicians.”

Leaning back in his chair Vercin Gator rubbed his forehead gently, his eyebrows furrowed. Aeroflight in Sidara was considered a pleasurable pastime, nothing more. Aircraft could generally carry one or two people in his experience. Some clansfolk he was in constant contact with declared to him that there were planes now that could fly nonstop for over a thousand miles. If that was true - and he had no reason to doubt it - then that was in itself an encouraging milestone. But it remained the case that such planes were built for a driver and, at most, one passenger. They were not built to carry cargo.

And yet the fact could not be ignored that long-distance flight was in every way possible. Surely increased capacity on such long-distance flights was a natural next step - surely even now some innovative Sidarid mind was contemplating it and charting the possibilities… he allowed his eyes to wander to the window and out to the rolling hills and fields which were bathed in the glow of a wintry sunset. Glenmagar was not so far off from here, yet the hills and fields ran uninterrupted for miles. No factories here, no smoke and darkness...

And the Rahuri at his table. It was funny to think that one of the only foreigners permitted to set foot on the island proper was sat under his roof. All the ambassadors and diplomats and foreign dignitaries had to stay on Isle Taobh-Amuigh, except for Faenarians. It was an honour bestowed on that nation as a monument to the special relationship it shared with Sidara. That Yabisi was more of a friend to Vercin Gator than Sidarid diplomatic procedure strictly instructed was a testament to that also. It was only a shame that he did not share Vercin’s love for the earthy Sidarid ways; no matter how high in government or business they happened to be Sidarids were Sidarid still. Your cattle ‘n’ sheep, your family, your clan, and the big old rolling earth.

‘You strike a hard deal, but a fair one. I will have it conveyed to the Society at the soonest possible opportunity and relay their response to you.’ The Cynghyrd said at last. ‘If something comes of this… well, think of the possibilities. We will be paving the path ahead in aeroflight technology, no doubt about it.’ And he called out for Maehra, whom he employed to care for the ranch during his long absences, and told her to bring them some dessert. One of her boys, barely four or five years old, ran in after her and she attempted to shoo him away. He dodged his mother and dashed for the door to the great outdoors, but Vercin only laughed and caught the boy before he could realise an escape. ‘Yaeh l’il wee rascal ye.’ He muttered as he rubbed the little one’s head and, kicking him lightly on the bottom, sent him back the way he came. Maehra went after him, scolding and berating, and was soon back with two small plates of Carrageen Moss Pudding. ‘Cheers lassie. Hae th' wee ones sloch some tae.’

Yabisi carefully stirred his pudding, toying with the dessert to pass the time while waiting for the children and Maehra to leave the dinner table. Even then, knowing that they were surrounded by friends, family, and common cattle, he shifted his chair closer to Vercin, leaned in close, and lowered his voice many octaves to a whisper.

“There is one additional thing, Vercin. Something of a sensitive nature, but related to this proposal of your Society. The Kratorian Empyreum has long proposed the establishment of air bases within the isles to protect their shipping interests from piracy. The Caciques have resisted these proposals, fearing encroachment on our sovereignty. They’re not wrong. The Empire wanted a twenty-year lease on the land and we can’t just foreclose on a military base if the nation doesn’t want to leave. Recent events have forced a re-evaluation of this thinking.

“We’ll be accepting the Empire’s proposal in the coming weeks. If my sources are correct, air bases are already being built in the Outer Isles. A destroyer flotilla is also steaming there to lend its support to the effort. The Society’s prototype will have a landing pad roughly two-thirds the way across the ocean. If it can get that far, they’ll be home free.

“I know I don’t need to tell you this, but I must say it for my own peace of mind. This cannot be communicated to the Society before it becomes public knowledge. I don’t know if that’ll be in two days or ten months. But if the Cethosi find out before those bases are crewed, the ramifications will be upsetting to the balance of power on the seas. It may even be enough for them to start shooting.”

Sighing, Vercin nodded in understanding and thanked the other man for his trust. ‘But remember this always: the Krators are an imperialistic folk. They do not see other nations as sovereign equals, only upstart states that - if they had the power they wielded of old - they would subjugate and rule once more. Let your people be wary that, in their fear of the Cethosi shark, they do not let into their home the Kratori basiliskos.’ Vercin paused and, reaching for his pipe, began to fill the bowl with a mixture of quality Faenarian tobacco and various herbs long used in Sidara for their medicinal and relaxing qualities. Bringing the bit to his mouth he took a few test draws. Satisfied that air was flowing smoothly, he struck a match and applied it to the chamber. The aroma immediately filled the space around the two of them as he sat back. Striking another match, he applied it to the chamber once more.

‘I have been discussing a certain matter with my colleagues in the Priyetcyn for some time now, and it appears that it has begun to enjoy enough approval to warrant proposing it. This matter of the Cethosis targeting your shipping will not be offset - certainly not in the short-term at least - by aircraft. Their piracy against your ships has to be addressed. I have of late been in close communications with our Cethosi counterpart and it seems like some kind of reconciliation is on the table - but I cannot say when. Until then, however, it is our view that Faenarian trading vessels should be permitted to fly the Sidarid flag. Our clan-company ships making their way to and from Faenarian ports have never been targeted. And so we think this an intelligent way of counteracting this issue for the time being. What do you think?’

Yabisi was a bit taken aback by this offer, but it made a certain amount of sense. The modern Faenarian navy was built in the dockyards of the Sidarids, then armed and crewed by the Merfolk. At a distance it would be impossible to tell the difference between their two crews. It was an open secret that the Cethos was attempting to crack the relationship between Faenaria and the Sdarid Isles. He wouldn’t dare start sinking Sidarid ships though- especially if he couldn’t prove conclusively they were not Faenarians.

“I think the Autarch is a fool to accept the proposal from Kratoria without so much as a counter-offer. I also think that if Cethos went to war with us tomorrow, they’d win the war and plunge the global economy into depression and ruin- they can shoot better than any of us, but they can’t figure out heads or tails of a copper, much less international monetary policy. But I don’t make the decisions- I advise and communicate on behalf of my people. Be that as it may, we can make your proposal work… though there may need to be some representation from the clans aboard the ships that fly the flag. A fig leaf to provide some cover for the papers. I’m sure the merchant compacts in the Coral Exchange would happily provide hazard pay to any clan-company workers that consent to travel on these ships.” Vercin nodded in agreement, his pale eyes betraying his excitement at the prospect that a strategy he had had thought up and now engineered would come to see fruition.

Yabisi smiled and picked up his glass of uisge which had sat untouched for most of the dinner. “Vercin, I think we’re about to begin a wonderful new chapter in world history together.” The Sidarid grinned and reached for his own.
‘Ah kin aye 'n' dram tae that!’

The fire burned strong and bright in the hearth, and outside the sun disappeared beyond the hills and skies.

Borealis House, outside the capital city of Zanateyin
1910 January 17

The hall was too loud and too hot. The debates, as they were apparently still regarded as, had gone on for much of the entire day, as satraps from all across the shahdom glare at each other in either grim silence or eruptions of shouting. Who was on the side of who was a question perhaps nobody in the room knew the answer to. The faint stench of corruption hung over the room, the smell of sweat and musk and evil. Shah Tivaz had an arm propped on his knee, with his face resting upon his palm. The throne, while magnificent, hurt to sit on, especially after twelve solid hours of impure feeling.

"Perhaps you had misunderstood me. I am making perfect sense, yet the camel's nose you call your brain seems to have mixed up my words," growled Satrap Oramush. His hand had not left the hilt of his sword in the last hour. "It is the unholy peoples in Etresna that seek the destruction of our harmony with the gods and their world. They offend the very essence of the universe with their great buildings of metal, and invite corruption into their hearts by partaking in their intoxicants. I will not tolerate it! This is our universe we are talking about! We will join arms with Kratoria, and smash their decadence to the ground, else we all pay for it when the reckoning comes."

"Your old donkey eyes may not see more than three years behind you, but we the people of merit have within our lives picked up a book and read about the past," responded Satrap Kazosh. His hand clutched his own beard so tightly that hairs were beginning to peel off of his face. "Kratoria is the enemy, you will find. Hundreds of years past, they have stormed our shores and killed our ancestors. Estresna has given us nothing but good will, and you expect us to return honor with hate? How can you all yourself a man from gods if you treat neighbors the way you treat fiends?"

"Were you to pull your head from your own anus, you would finally see the world around you," shouted Satrap Bahar, her eyes boring into Satrap Kazosh's face. "It would take any of our ships many days to reach either of those nations, and thus would be true for theirs to reach us. To seek a fight on far shores makes us no better than the warmongering Qaroitn heretics, and unless you have taken leave of good sense, you would turn your armies towards them. Furthermore, you son of a rabbit, the-"

"Enough!" shouted Shah Tivaz, speaking for the first time since the sun passed over noon. "I've heard enough! You all have been saying the exact same thing since the early morning, and nobody's mind has changed!" The entire room went silent. Nobody dared to interrupt when the shah spoke, even a young one such as he. He pointed an accusing finger at each satrap as he continued. "It is you who are bringing impurity into this world, not the foreigners! You and your anger and your hate! Begone! Get out of my palace!" Quietly, each satrap bowed before the king and exited with nary a word. When the room was empty and silent once more, Shah Tivaz stood up, rubbing his aching buttocks.

"The stupid rat," grumbled Satrap Bahar, as she strode out of the throne room. With the wave of a hand, two guards detached themselves from the walls and followed her, spears in hand. She continued to rant about the shah, as she descended the many flights of stairs that separated the meeting room with the front gates. All the while, the guards kept perfect step with the pace of her own feet. " . . . hardly a Kehmeyid. That is my throne by the rights of the gods. I bear the same name. I am as much Kehmeyid as . . . what?" She stopped, realizing for the first time that her guards were gone. She tried to turn, reaching for the sword at her hip, but it was too late. A blade plunged into the back of her neck, cutting off her ability to scream.

"Satrap Oramush has heard enough of your treason," whispered a voice in her ear. Satrap Bahar tried to reply, but all that came out was a low gurgle. She collapsed in the halls, and bled to death upon the red carpeting. Her killer removed the sword, and began hacking her corpse into small pieces, filling a shoulder bag with the recognizable features. He opened a window, and threw the rest out. The stray cats will have them be rid of by the end of the day. He turned, and quickly descended the remainder of the stairs. It is time to report back to his master, and make ready for war across the seas.

January 18. Kera-Bijan.

“Through fire are you redeemed,” intoned the priest, voice somber and monotone. It carried across the humble room, echoing and traveling along the walls, until the entire room was a symphony of his voice.

“Through fire am I redeemed,” said Satrap Kazosh, in a whisper. The priest removed a leather pouch from his robes, and from it produced a pinch of blue dust, that of crushed magic crystals. He flung it into the brazier in front of him, and the fire blazed up, spewing from it sparks of red and blue and yellow.

“Through water are you cleansed,” said the priest, pulling out another pinch. However, he stopped, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. “Let us finish this another time, Honored,” he said. Satrap Kazosh’s hand went to his beard, as it tends to do, and the priest went to the door. “Ah, ambassador. I welcome you in. Please, no consumption of substances within the temple room.”

Ambassador Tofku, a tall woman of formidable build, inclined her head, “My deepest apologies, Satrap. I would not intrude upon you in your personal time if I did not think it necessary. The matter can wait, should you need to finish, but please - this is not something that can go unaddressed.” She nodded too, at the priest, “My apologies to you too, herbad.”

“I shall leave you two alone,” said the priest, nodding his head and exiting. The door thumped, and like the priest’s voice, carried itself to all the corners of the chamber. Satrap Kazosh stood up, and scratched at his hairy chin.

“You interrupt nothing. This is more for me than it is for the gods. Perhaps you had not heard, but relations within the Excellency's council is a bit . . . strained. I can ask their forgiveness on my own time. What, may I ask, is this matter that is so pressing?”

“I had heard, and it to some extent the reason for my being here. I trust you know of the assassination of Satrap Bahar, yes?” She asked, taking no time to slow, assuming him to already be informed of the matter, “I have been given information that indicates there may be more to her death than… well, I apologize in advance, it would seem there is more to it than the usual backstabbing amongst the Kehmeyids. Obviously, you know of her opposition to involvement in the West - something that, informally, I can completely understand - my sources tell me this, rather than any jockeying for power or wealth is the motivation behind her death. It is my concern that you too, Satrap, may be at risk.”

She frowned, “My source cannot tell me much, but claims to have been present during Bahar’s assassination - I cannot divulge his identity, I fear, but he claims to have overheard her killer speaking to her, and mention of Bahar’s ‘treason’. I am afraid I do not have much more than that, and I waited as long as I could stand, for the reliability of his memory was somewhat in doubt. I have had a doctor examine him, and she tells me he is of sound mind.”

“I hadn’t even realized Satrap Bahar was dead,” Kazosh said. “Your informant got lucky. Very lucky, to have both seen and heard such a murder taking place. The orchestrator must be either very stupid or very desperate.” He looked over at the fire, as it continued to burn on the brazier, and an expression of relief washed over his face. “There was a time, during the wars with Qaroitn, when a satrap passed at the hand of another as quickly as Shah Sannes could appoint them. We have taught ourselves as a people too well to kill without hating, to disassociate the action of taking life with the action of seeking vengeance. The killer did not hate his victim. He had something to gain. That would be . . . a half or more of every satrap in Zanateyin and the provinces of the shahdom. You’ll need more than petty hearsay for the Storm Guard to take any of your words for truth.”

“Then, satrap, I ask your assistance in finding the identity of her murder. That my source heard mention of treason tells me this is no minor disagreement over some small economic policy. That her death came so soon after leaving the council, and… the em, manner of her death. If what my source says is correct, she was rather violently dismembered, much of her body thrown for alley cats and dogs to devour. I may not be of Kera-Bijan myself, but such an extreme action tells me this either runs deep between them, or is a matter of considerable severity.” She frowned, “I have told my eyes and ears to listen and watch extra closely, but I nevertheless advise you, and perhaps I, take care where we step. Perhaps the killer may yet give themselves away.”

“Perhaps. Only the gods may know,” Kazosh sighed. He tugged at the loose strings of his beard with an idle hand, combing a hand through them. “Might I say, your Bijani is very good. Few westerners would honor us by learning our tongue, and thus we for the most part have taken to learning Rahuri ourselves.”

“Perhaps indeed, I shall keep my ears open, and I humbly ask you do the same. And please, take care where you step. I was not well acquainted with Bahar, but I did not know her to be one to take unnecessary risk.”

At his compliment, Tofku inclined her head, a small smile playing at her lips, “It is expected of any ambassador to know the native tongue of the people with whom they treat. Additionally, any ambassador is required to have a basic knowledge of the tongues of Kratoria, Cethos, Rotteburg, Anvegad, and Uruk. I have hired one of your own as a personal tutor as a matter of fact, to ensure my accent and pronunciation are as close as possible to that of the capital. I have also been studying the major regional dialects, just in case. It is in poor taste, after all, to come to a country ignorant of their language and customs.”

Her smile turned into a broad grin, “I thank you, though. I and dare I say, the Realm as a whole, pride ourselves on learning, and that extends to language - I know many at home who study Bijani, and are quite fluent in it. If there is a known language, I assure you, someone in the Realm has made it their task to write down everything about it.” Smiling wider, she continued, “That said, there is something to Bijani that makes it a delightful language to speak. I would be happy to show you my practice on Bijani calligraphy sometime, satrap.”

“I’d be honored,” Kazosh said. He bowed to the ambassador. “Thank you for the offer, as well as the warning. I will consider them both deeply. Now, if you would excuse me, I must make my peace with the gods. No doubt they are disappointed in me for my giving in to anger.”

TL:DR:
Etremaden Ambassador informs Satrap Kazosh of Bahar's death, they discuss the matter, and calligraphy

UNITED DEMOCRATIC CHANGXA

January 19, 1910

Somewhere near the capital

An explosion rocked a neighborhood in the outskirts of the capital. In any other country, a cause for major concern. However, this had been a near weekly occurrence for the past year, and before that was even more commonplace. Unexploded ordnance was practically everywhere and new construction and infrastructure projects inevitably unearthed anything from shells to mines. This time, nobody had been killed, but others hadn't been so lucky. It would likely be many years before the land was clear of explosives.

Somewhere near the border

The black-clad party cadre peered over the side of the automobile. It was one of the rare trucks that had managed to be either smuggled in or outright stolen in the war. Without many spare parts, their use was far from commonplace, highlighting the importance of the mission. In total, there were three trucks, each bearing the insignia of the armed forces. To the front and rear of the convoy were four members of the People's Armed Police on horseback and further back along the road were two more trucks and four more armed police officers. They were guarding a delegation consisting of party officials, army officers, engineers, and of course the uniformed woman glancing curiously at the automobile behind her own. She was designated as a liaison to the Central Office of the United People's Government, effectively the representative for the Chairman himself. All told, the delegation itself numbered just over a dozen officials from the government and military.

In addition to the delegation itself there were 48 soldiers from the army and 36 sailors, 24 of whom were from the People's Armed Police and 12 of whom belonged to the Ministry of Hunting and Fishing. The destination of the convoy was a port along the river Yanu which connected UDC to the ocean. The intention was to meet a flotilla that was reportedly being sent from a foreign nation. Already, police units near the border had been put on alert and travel by river was being heavily restricted. The port was close to the border, so the plan was to intercept the flotilla with police vessels near the border and keep the foreigners at arm's length until they could be met by the government delegation.

However, all of this hinged on the convoy actually reaching the port. At this point, the convoy had been delayed three times by mechanical breakdowns and bad weather and the poor condition of the roads was making itself apparent. At this rate, there would not be much time before the described January 25 deadline. Police units ahead of the convoy were clearing out any obstacles they could and preparing checkpoints to push the convoy through as quickly as possible. The foreign delegation could not know this - but their sudden arrival had created somewhat of an emergency for the government.

With the rebuilding of national infrastructure still an ongoing project, it was a miracle that the message even got to the government itself. Apparently the messenger bird had been found by a soldier outside of the capital and fortunately the message made its way up the chain of command until an officer sent the message to a party official who passed it on to the police who passed it on to the government. By the time the necessary people had read the message, several days had gone by and a delegation was quickly scrapped together. They were sent out as soon as possible, with some of the assigned sailors being hastily brought in from the Ministry of Hunting and Fishing and given police uniforms to look a bit more professional. The situation was far from ideal, and making a good impression was likely a matter of national importance.

Through conversation with the officers sitting alongside her, the black uniformed liaison had gathered that pretty much nobody in the delegation knew much about the nation they were apparently being sent to greet. If shown a map, perhaps only one or two of the high ranking military men would find it possible to locate Seidhara on a map. The liaison smoothed out the wrinkles on her jacket. She only owned two sets of suits, neither of which could be considered appropriate for the occasion. She sighed as she glanced over the side of the truck again, pondering the specifics of this meeting apprehensively.

Near the border of UDC's territorial waters - Yanu River

Several patrol boats chugged lazily across the river, waiting for the first sighting of the expected foreign vessels.

January 20, Etremetoryy

Tafun looked up at the embassy of Rotteburg, his gaze darkening at the sight of the structure. He had no fond memories of this building, and it seemed every time he was summoned to it it was under inauspicious circumstances. Never had he come here for celebration or even to send out a letter to the wider world, solidifying the peace. No. The last time he had been summoned as he had, war had broken out between the Realm and Kratoria as the latter sought to prevent the unification of the Kudruni states. And now he was here in the aftermath of the brutal assassination of Rotteburg’s prince. He dreaded to think what the next summons might entail.

Nodding to his driver, he and his guards disembarked from the motorcade, making their way into the structure. After a moment, the Kudruni guards ahead let him pass, and as he made his way under the marble columns he could not help but feel a chill go down his spine.

It was a relatively short trip through the embassy, and only a few minutes elapsed before his arrival outside the room in question. “I am here to meet with Ambassador Ernst.” Tafun said to the guards outside his door, “Foreign Minister Tafun, I have been told it is urgent.”

The guards nodded to him and let him through, revealing the office of the ambassador. A heavily marked map sat on one wall, with several blackboards of notes scattered throughout the room. On the desk of the ambassador, sat a variety of folders and papers, and the Kudruni himself sat in a chair behind that desk. He had a cigar in his mouth, and at the time of Tafun’s entrance, he had been flipping through one of said folders.

He looked up gravely, looking over Tafun before saying, “I am sure you have heard of the assassination, so I will spare you the details. I summoned you due to certain circumstances outside of my control,” he paused, puffing on his cigar, before continuing, “the Kaiser has given the military a blank check to wage war. Heinrich’s general staff has chosen War Plan XXVI for this eventuality.”

He slid a folder across the desk, puffing on his cigar again before saying, “Heinrich the Junior is not his old man. I fear this war. But, at the same time, as long as Kratoria has entered mobilization, there is nothing I may do to help end this war before it begins.”

Another puff. “If we were to halt mobilization, we would be hopelessly behind. We would be subjugated by Kratoria without a fight. I cannot abide by this. Heinrich has granted a week for the ministry to draft an ultimatum, but after that -- and I have no doubt of this -- War Plan XXVI will be enacted. Have a read for yourself.”

“I know of War Plan XXVI, and War Plan XXVI is unacceptable. Invading Pohae, one of the Realm’s biggest trade partners - and a longstanding neutral nation - would be disastrous for foreign relations and popular support for the war. Perhaps the Reich’s general staff thinks such action is required, but doing so will alienate all but the most determined allies of our respective nations, and much of the population of the Realm.” Tafun frowned, “I wish to impress upon your general staff - things are different in Etresna, the people do not meekly go along with what the leadership demands. If we are drawn into an offensive war to defend the honor of a foreign nation, we will be just as swiftly drawn out of it. Raijen Zhami is dead and gone, and her successor does not have her charisma or military inclinations. Zhami was able to convince the Realm to engage in a foreign war for little apparent gain, Anukadi cannot and will not bring her nation into a war as an aggressor against neutral powers on behalf of another country. The Reich’s army is mighty, it is true - against Uruk alone you would certainly prevail - against Kratoria as well your defeat would be inevitable without the aid of the Realm. Neither of our alliances is yet capable of defeating the other outright. I am confident that we can hold them at bay, but we will still need the support, or at bare minimum the neutrality, of the other powers to survive. Should the Realm join the Reich in invading neutral powers, it will certainly align Anvegad against us, Faenaria will wonder as to the safety of their interests and the profitability of trade with a nation that so readily violates a neutral nation, decades of diplomacy and hard work would be undermined in a fortnight. Does your general staff not see all of this?”

The ambassador pointed insistently at the folder. “War Plan XXVI has changed since the last time you have read it. I do not know how often Etremaden general staff revises their military plans -- but, if the complete lack of thought that it could’ve changed in a decade is a testament to your general staff’s ability to account for our changing world, I fear woefully for you.”

“The general staff of the Realm tends to give new names for new plans, ambassador.” Tafun replied, raising an eyebrow, “It is not our custom to use the same names for different plans.”

The ambassador puffed again. “It is not a new plan. We do not take to filling our archives with thousands of new plans that are merely revisions of old ones. Let me remind you that Rotteburg, under Heinrich the Senior, was the first to maintain a dedicated general staff for the purpose of war provisions and plans. We do know what we are doing.”

Tafun sighed, “Would you like to lay out the ‘new’ contents of XXVI, then?” He reached out, taking the folder in hand and quickly skimming through its contents. “I will give this to our own general staff later for their appraisal. Can you please summarize it, for this meeting?”

He nodded. “The northern fronts remain the same -- we will have to preemptively strike before their regular army can fully mobilize to the Kratorian southern border. The south, however, will focus on a looser front line, dictated mainly by smaller skirmishes and raiding parties on Uruk soil. To back them up will be a more dedicated frontline in the petty states between Rotteburg and Uruk, minus Pohae -- under the condition they do not permit enemy troop movements through their borders.”

Tafun nodded, “Yes… the Realm and Pohae are close trade partners, I will do what I can to ensure neutrality from them. The standing army of the Realm has already been alerted to take up defensive positions, and the Raijen is in talks with the militias to begin the process of preparing for war. The people will not stand for the Realm undertaking operations in offense, I do hope you understand this?” Sighing, he gently closed the folder, “Strange as it is, as things are now the only way for the Realm to maintain a war is to fight it defensively. The populace will fight tooth and nail in defense of their homes, but the wars with the other powers were only forty years ago, much of our populace bear scars mental and physical. We will support you, but… in the beginning at least, we cannot send much in the way of direct support. Material, money, these we can do.”

The ambassador simply responded, “Then do so. The fate of the world hangs in the balance, and should the machinations of the diplomatic state fail us, then the loser loses everything. We cannot afford to fail.”

“Indeed…” Tafun mumbled, steepling his fingers, “I hope deeply it is not yet too late, but the realist in me says otherwise. I do not know how this war will go, but you are correct. Failure is not something we can afford.” He sighed again, deeper, “Fools the lot of them.”

“History will remember us all as unequal to our forebears should war break out. In the eyes of history, failure marks us all the fools,” the ambassador simply responded gravely.

Tafun stood, stretching his arms, as he looked out the window on the busy city, “Unfortunately my forebears were some of the more warlike persuasion. There is a time when war is necessary, but that is not now. It saddens me that the world may rush headlong into war when it could be avoided. But every day that seems more and more likely.”

He simply responded, “Our forebears used war effectively, without collapsing our global hegemony and peace. I fear our generation will not live up to that.”

“Our generation has the blessing and curse of a world more connected, more advanced than ever before. A hundred years ago, we could have scarce imagined the world as it is today - I can board a ship and be on the other side of the world in under a month. I can step outside and buy goods from every corner of the globe. And I can send a message to any corner of the world in but an instant. A train can send a battalion of soldiers to the front in less time than it would have taken a single rider to cover half the distance. The era of a small, localized war is gone, I am afraid. It is no failing of our morals or intellect that any war will surely spiral out of control - it is a direct result of our intellect connecting us like never before.” Turning back to the ambassador, Tafun shook his head, “The challenge of our generation, faced with this, is something we have never had to confront before.”

“Then let us hope we are ready to meet this modern world,” is all he said.