Politics in Acheron

OOC: This is the first post concerning the nations of a world known as Acheron. I welcome anyone who would like to make and manage a nation of their own - that will allow the real fun to begin. Technologically, anything that happened by the end of the Napoleonic Wars is considered to be possible within this roleplay. For example, a nation can have a million man army, like Napoleon did - but their nation will have to explain how it meets the challenge of fielding and supplying such a force, in the roleplay, so that we don't have minor states of 2 million fielding a million man army and being the most successful industrialists and merchants in the game. In all cases, the roleplay must respect what really could have happened considering the time constraints. In this way, we can resolve wars that break out or trade disputes with a firm ruler, based on whether it ever happened. Once the roleplay gets going, I would like to make a map, complete with some minor npc states. Within each state every person has free reign over culture and history, as long as it is all possible. For the purpose of this RP, magic does not exist. Additionally, and most importantly, no nation's persons may be controlled by another nation. While this makes assassination next to impossible, it is the best way to secure the RP from conflict over control in my opinion.

The Federal Republic of West Manraugh

"Citizens of Manraugh, we are gathered... No, that won't do. This isn't a wedding, Broderick! Come on, do better. You have got to do better than that." Broderick Willoms, the Executive-General of Manraugh, shook his head. "Maybe..."

There came a knock on the door. "How's the speech coming, Broderick?" Joseph Dun Dannels new well enough, but he asked anyway. A single look at the tired man confirmed his suspicions of slow progress. "You'll think of something. Keep to the truth and I'm guaranteed good entertainment, at the very least."

Broderick snorted. "What is news?"

"Nothing particular. It appears you will be able to make your planned foreign policy moves without much trouble. And the internal reforms won't be hard to pass considering the victories the movement received in the last election. When the Common Assembly sits in two days, everything should be set for you to move. And after KinCabe's administration? Who can doubt that this country needs reform?" Indicating this wasn't about business, Joseph brought a bottle up from his side. "But that's not really why I am here. I figured you might need to relax a bit."

"Sit down, I am currently not too productive anyway. What year?" Broderick asked, clearing space on his desk.

" 1778. Wivin vintage," replied Joe, producing two glasses. "It came highly recommended." The red liquid glowed dimly in the candlelight.

Broderick took a sip of his glass. "Alright. We won. I won." He took another sip. "Now we need to turn the revolutionary momentum that carried us to electoral victory into steady and sustainable progress. Tell me what the great danger of all reform movements is?"

"Corruption. Unclear purposes," replied Joe.

"No, not really. Think of this another way; man shapes history in cycles like his own, birth and death, wealth and poverty, liberality and conservatism. True progress, permanent progress, must always wrestle with itself. Carry any revolution too far and you create counter revolution." He took another sip. "If we are to create steady, permanent, and realistic change, we must balance all the forces. We must moderate our own revolutionary tWe have to lead the counter revolution right back around again until we have accomplished our aims, until there is progress not for some but for all, equality not for some but for all, and dignity not for some, but for all. And in all of this, our great enemy, is ourselves. It is the nature of man."

Broderick continued, "Think about the fall of the Monarchy! In 1767, wracked by inflation, heavily in debt from foreign wars, and unable to cope with growing food shortages, the Kingdom is in slow motion collapse. But who could have predicted this would be the end of Monarchy in Manraugh? There were so many chances to reverse course and save that villainous institution. We are not a Republic now so much from the success of the revolutionaries as the failure of the monarchists! After all, there wouldn't have been a famine in 1771 if King Michael hadn't tried to manage the economy from the Ermine Throne!"

"You think about the course of events and you have to wonder at the King's wit. He convenes the Royal Assembly, he allows the merchants to open up the markets, and then he panics, arrests the very people most loyal to his office, turns the masses against the Monarchy, and brings th whole country down on his head!

"It's arrogance, it's overconfidence, it's the greatest threat we have to face. Think about Merrick KinCabe! Five years ago, he was heralded as the patron of the people! He was going to raise the tariffs, break the strength of the great landlords, spreading the fruits of industry across the Republic. His administration was wracked by cronyism. He had to be escorted out of office by the White Guard, by God!" Broderick took another sip of wine. "We will have to be careful."

=Imperial State of Moskva=

The Kremlin, the Heart of the Imperial State, the seat of power in all of Moskva; It is somewhere revered by the peasants, and hated by revolutionaries everywhere. It is the home of an unbroken lineage of Czars spanning over a thousand years into the past.

And it where our story begins.

Peter Fredvyrov, the 347th in this Royal Bloodline, sat on his Ornate Ivory throne, listening to his advisers tell him of the news. The light shone in from the windows and onto his ornate robes and crown, illuminating the many jewels embedded and sown on to his centuries old robes. They were another symbol of Moskva, robes, that like the crown, were passed down and added on to over time.

"Lord, the villages of Cascadine and Novak are rebelling again! There is nothing we could do to ease the populace, and they seem to be intent on declaring their sovereignty."

Peter sighed. The villages of Cascadine and Novak had always been an annoying thorn in side of the the the Indivisible State of Moskva, as per Charter One of the Organic Law. In fact, He had Co-Authored the Law in question during his time as a Prince, so he knew it's fine details quite well.

"They have had enough of my mercy, once they tried this, and we know that they have no chance against the Empire this time!"

The Democratic Kingdom Of Unitia

In a high room above Elark, the capital city of Unitia, Thomas Aaron Graham stood clutching a glass of the finest wine and staring out through the windows. He was currently in a state of shock. At twenty-five years of age, the boy who had been nicknamed 'Tag' by his schoolfriends and the sailors on board his first vessel, had just been elected the youngest ever Prime Minister of the Kingdom Of Unitia.

"I did it, Bolton," he said hoarsely. "The people - they chose me!" Bolton had been by his side since he was fourteen years old, serving on a ship as a basic handyman for all the sailors. Bolton had been with him then, another boy forced into the job, and had left with him when Thomas grasped politics and decided he wanted to change things.

"There are many problems to sort out, remember," Bolton said softly from the other side of the room. "Unitia has always been corrupt. The people are looking for immediate answers. And Olorsk is still in desperate need of troops to hold the western line against the ships of other natons. Three villages near Unst are filled with starving people. And more resources are required near the eastern border for the development of Arago. And remember that you are already doubted by some because of your youth."

"I will prove it to them," Thomas replied. "I will prove to them that I am the one who can help them. Tomorrow we will meet with the rest of the Unitian Parliament. We have many things to discuss. I also need to address the Unitian Public. It is no good to stay in this house whilst the peasants suffer. I must help them, Bolton, and it must be me who does it for them to gain my trust. I will not hide away. That is a mistake that too many have made. I have also been considering sending out embassies to other nations, extending the Unitian hand of friendship around the globe. That is something that must be discussed tomorrow."

OOC: To think ahead, do we all want to be in the same hemisphere, and then "discover" in like a month or two, that there are lands in the other hemisphere, so we can start wrestling with colonial development and territorial games? Remember that because of the time period travel takes a WHILE, so these would be long-term developments. Furthermore, if you can make a map of your nation in photoshop or give me a description of its shape and climate I can try and cobble together a world map. And most importantly, I am so glad to roleplay with you both!


The Flag of the Federal Republic of Manraugh

The Cafe looked out over Victory Park from where Grand Avenue met Galraughan Way. An unlikely spot for a conference of revolutionaries, but how many of the original Liberators had met in the cafes and taverns, hammering out plans and ideas over coffee or beer?

Two of the tables concern us. At one, two men sit in heated conversation - at another, a lone man quietly enjoys his meal. At least, so it seems. The conversation of the two reaches us in snatches.

".. too slow, too slow! The moderates... I fail to see... Yes, about time! How many.... Peasants, by the Gods! A little threat, a commitment of forces... Yes, I know the Assembly is against it, what of it? Action is demanded NOW. How long do you think our fellows should be asked to wait while the Republic smoothed ruffled feathers? No one can stop the spread... Liberty, I tell you! For all!" The one man has fire in his eyes.

"No, no! Too much... County Cordaine is too close, they would never grant sanction. Hell, the traders would fight tooth an.... I can see it now, 'Manraugh is free; these aren't our people... not all the same, after all! The Republic will..."

The lone man has heard enough, and with his breakfast done he rises, pays, and walks off in the direction of the government district.

The Flag of the Imperial State of Moskva.


In the cavernous and ornate halls of the Palace of Congresses, where the Emperor and heads of state of meet from all over the Empire, a debate is raging between the Moderate and Loyalists, with the Emperor watching on quietly, only a breath away from calling in the ranks of guards that flanked the room, and to put it kindly, "removing" the Moderates "Forcibly", from existence. The moderates had so far bowed to the will of the Emperor, and kept their arguments weak, and above all, harmless.

But he did not, sitting on his throne in the middle of the Great Semi-Circular room, and watching as the Moderate speaker, a man clothed and groomed like the aristocracy, but with the manners and skill of an enlightened peasant; Duly noted by the Emperor was his skill in debating, combined with his loathing of the Autocratic government and it's might. Peter smiled for a moment, and thought of this same man, adorning the Palace of Vlad Taupes as a head on a pole.

Now, on the debate itself.

The Moderate put rage into his speech, slamming his fist on the table and trying to enrage the people towards revolution. But not too much of a spark, or we would see the discerning raised eyebrows of the Empire, and remember just how close he was to being just another head on spike, rotting in the mountain valleys of Vlad's Dutchy.

Peoples of the Imperial State, Princes, Emperor! We must act to bring down the oppressive forces that bring down our nation, the Imperial Princes who work against the Sovereignty of his holiness! They squabble for power among themselves

The Moderate bowed as he said "Emperor", quickly tacking the words "By the Grace of God" to his sentence, in a voice too quite to hear over the din of the Palace of Congresses. He could have sworn that he felt the prickle of a chopping block on the back of neck as he did; His voice may have not been heard by the Emperor, and he was sure that many good reasons to dispose of himself were to be had.

They ignore the peasants, and they threaten the Organic Law that governs the Indivisible state! They must be brought down, a threat to the Imperial State!

At this, the Emperor gave a light clap, which was soon followed up by the the rest of the council, turning into a deafening wall of sound, whether they agreed with the Moderates' fiery speech, or not.

((How do I put in a picture that I've created myself? I know how to put in an Internet picture, but I need to insert one I've made...))

Arsenio: The Palace of the Golden Emperor:

"All rise in the presence of our lord and ruler, the Golden Emperor Kiedus XX," bellowed the Speaker to the crowded hall. It was time for the monarch to give his weekly audience to the commoners, and a fairly respectable portion of the city's population, probably close to a million men and a quarter of the total city population, had come out hoping to gain the blessing of their lord. Arsenio, and the entire Stylian Empire, focused a great portion of their day upon the Golden Rulers, who had ruled the country for as long anyone alive could remember, and it was only due to the few scribes that lived in the city that there was any written record of the reign of the Kiedus family, which had in truth lasted for over 500 years.

The family had come into power after a long civil war between the people of Stylia, which at the time had no name. The warring had taken place over two centuries, and had been a long, hard-fought war, that had destroyed millions of lives. When the factions had been whittled down to two, the houses of Kiedus and Ballazary, an agreement was forged, the first treaty in the long, bloody history of their people. The treaty was forged through the marriage of the Ballazary family's eldest daughter, with the leader of the Kiedus family's army, and they sired a dynasty that lasted for centuries.

It was nothing out of the ordinary, then, for such a multitude to have gathered in hopes of simply seeing the Golden Emperor Kiedus. The kingdom centered around them, revolved around the royal family, as it had for centuries. They strained, craned their necks trying to get a look at the proceedings. As usual, the crowds had gathered hours ahead of time, for the closer one was to the emperor, the greater a chance he would take notice of them and grant him his boon.

Servant girls scurried down the road that had been cleared out, guarded by thousands of the Elite Warriors of the Golden Palace. Their silver garments shimmered in the beating sun, lightly blowing in the wind; such a fine weave it was that they wore, a child could tear the woven silver skirts they wore. For these women, they lived for service to the emperor; as did the entire populace. As they made their way down the wide road, snaking between the buildings, they spread a bed of rose petals across the ground. The emperor would not be permitted to dirty his feet with the dust of commoners.

After them followed Kiedus himself. Clad from head to toe in the same ultra-light weave, only his was in gold, he glowed brightly in the sunlight, radiating with splendor. As he walked the street, he whispered instructions to servant girls one by one, handing them various objects ranging from written notes or prayer cards to baskets of food to sparkling gems. The girls made their way among the crowds. No one dared touch them unless they were acknowledged by the girls; they were protected by their service to Kiedus. The last time one of them had been touched, 45 years ago, the offender had been skinned alive and left in the beating sun.

He continued slowly through the streets until he came to the edge of the Royal lake, where a boat awaited him. He and the women that had accompanied him boarded it and slowly set off for the palace again. He smiled to himself; he did enjoy bringing these people the small happiness that his presence afforded them, and the small help his riches did. It was of so little consequence to him anyway. He laid back on the litter, reclining among several of the servant girls, and closed his eyes, hoping to get a bit of rest before the long day of dealing with the nobles that awaited him.

OOC: So I'm going for a very "New World Empire" thing here, the closest thing to the Stylians would be the ancient Incas or Aztecs, so use that as a guide. They have very little explorational ability or desire to do so, so if you wish to interact with them, you'll have to come find them.

((OOC: I can't make a world map and flag because I don't know how to upload my own pictures, and not pictures off the Internet, onto here.))

In the Conference Room of the Democratic Kingdom Of Unitia, Thomas sat in the seat of honour. He was facing his opposition, a much older man called Charles Smythe. Although Thomas had won the election, the results had been close and he knew that Smythe would be continually pushing in order to win the next one. But he was ready for that.

Smythe was talking now. "It is surely a disgrace that our Prime Minister is barely past childhood," he was saying. "There are many problems in Unitia and a boy cannot sort them out." He sat down to applause from his supporters. Thomas got to his feet.

"Does his honourable gentleman suggest that at twenty-five years of age a person is still a child?" he asked calmly. "Forgive me then, Mr Smythe - I was under the impression that childhood in Unitia ended at sixteen. Or perhaps you are suggesting that because I am young I lack experience. Well let me tell you this, Mr Smythe - I have been in the poverty of Unitia. I worked onboard a ship for much of my childhood - forced work, which I did not enjoy, because the Captain was cruel and took slaves. That is my first move for this country, Mr Smythe - slavery will be banned and I will set up Navy ships to patrol the oceans in order to ensure that no slavers slip past our grasp."

At this Smythe leapt back to his feet. "But slavery is part of Unitia's trade!" he exclaimed.

"I thought his honourable gentleman wanted what was best for Unitia?" Thomas enquired. "Surely slavery is not something that our people desire. Out in the far-flung villages they have no control over what happens to them when slavers come. But I forgive your naiivety - until you have seen what happens, as I have, you cannot possibly imagine. I will create a document explaining my ideas on this matter, and you will consider it, my good Parliament, and we will decide together on the best course of action." He returned to his seat.

OOC:

St.Jimmy wrote:((How do I put in a picture that I've created myself? I know how to put in an Internet picture, but I need to insert one I've made...))

Upload the image to photobucket or imageshack, then use the Img tags.

Also, Stylia isn't a "modern" nation, it is a New World kingdom, so it doesn't have a flag.

"No flag, no country!" - Eddie Izzard

Flag Of The Democratic Kingdom Of Unitia



((OOC: Thanks spankypants!))

=The Villages of Cascadine and Novak=

The soldiers of the Imperial State came down upon the rebellious villagers with a vengeance, killing all in their path, and leaving many more to die on the battlefield from their wounds. The fields were salted and burned, and the revolutionaries beheaded, as was the style of the Imperial State.

This was not the first time Cascadine and Novak had rose against the Empire; They were a proud people, resistant to the change, and certainly opposed to the idea of a Autocratic state assuming control over them. They had tried rebellion many times in the past, almost always under new reigns and Empires that hovered over the borderline, and almost always, they were beaten, and grudgingly submitted to the Rule of another nation. This time, however, they had really tried to make it count, putting all their effort and manpower into the Rebellion, but they had failed once again, and the Imperial State was less merciful than the rest by a long run.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next!

Yelled a Soldier, gruesomely referring to the line of captured Rebels behind him. He was standing the village square, overseeing the beheading of captured rebel forces,

Two soldiers lifted the most most recent body off the chopping block, and nonchalantly tossed it in an overburdened cart to the left of them. They moved back to the line of rebels, grabbed a man, and forced his head over the block. There was a resounding "thunk" as the Axe came down, severing the rebel's head in a clean cut. The soldiers tossed this body on the cart, and continued their routine throughout the day, until the line had dwindled to nothing.

=The Imperial Palace=

A courier, carrying the latest news from the eastern Front, where the aforementioned villages were location, sprinted into the room. He was panting, and his uniform was rather mud splattered, but he managed to bow before the Emperor and do the necessary formalities before addressing him.

BytheGraceofGod, Emperor, I present you with joyous news. The villages of Novak and Cascadine, have been, purged of all rouge elements. Our troops were victorious against them, and the losses to believed to be under a hundred men, horses, and all.

The Emperor cracked a smile, this was going quite well. He dismissed the courier, and resumed his lengthly conversation that he had been having with his advisers.

Siciny in Five Acts


Act I

The hot cacao was bitter. Robert LaSalle made face, setting the mug back down on its saucer.

"They don't put enough sugar in it here, I'm afraid," said the man across the table, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Their coffee is far better."

"Many thanks," replied LaSalle, making a mental note to choose the location of the next meeting. "For such is the way of things."

"For such is the way of things," echoed the other man. "Now what is it you'd like to ask me?"

LaSalle shrugged, feigning indifference. "Whatever it is that would cause the personal secretary of the Queen of Saint Michel to choose an alleyside coffeehouse in the Foreign Quarter for a meeting with his favorite reporter."

The other man chuckled. "You know me too well, Robert LaSalle. You are indeed my favorite reporter. And the most generous," he added with a meaningful look.

LaSalle withdrew a fat purse from his coat pocket and placed it on the table with a promising jingle. "I do not forget to reward your friendship. Now let's hear it Raoul."
Raoul leaned forward. "You've heard the rumors, no?"

"That the Duc and the Queen are at each other's throats again?" The Duc of County Saint Michel and the Queen were like two ambitious dogs in a small room.

"Yes, that rumor." Raoul leaned back in his chair. "It's a lie. The Duc and the Queen are to hold a meeting in three days to resolve their differences and plan for the future."

LaSalle's eyes went wide. "You are not joking?"

The secretary snorted. "I wrote the invitations myself."

A pad of paper appeared as if by magic in LaSalle's hand. "Tell me exactly what is to happen?"

"I can do one better," replied Raoul, brandishing a sealed document. "This," he said, "is a pass to enter into the Queen's Retreat at Baindaza three days from now. You'll be able to find out what is to happen yourself."

Eyes shining, LaSalle took the proffered paper with trembling fingers. "For such is the way of things," he murmured.

"For such is the way of things."


Act II

Captain Edouard Alexandre studied the encampment through his field glass. "You certain it's them?" he asked.

"They've got the sheep with them," replied Asad Warnout, erstwhile brewer and currently a sergeant in the County Upper Detwick Irregular Regiment.

"Then it's them," decided Alexandre. He put away the field glass.

"Let's hope they still have Cassandra with them," replied Warnout, his face grim.

"The shepherd's daughter?" asked Alexandre.

"Aye, Bazid's girl." Warnout shook his head. "Pretty wee thing." His face grew ugly, "If they've touched her, I'll-"

"That'll be all from you, Sergeant," Alexandre said sharply."Brief your men on the plan."

Warnout gave Alexandre a dark look, muttering something about a "damn-high Household bastard" as he turned his horse around. Alexandre ignored him. Listening to Irregulars, to men who'd been shopkeepers and farmers before they went to play soldier? These citizen soldiers disliked the professional Households, at least until the foe appeared and their services were required. Then it was all false smiles.

Alexandre gave a private shrug. As long as they fought they could think what they like. He remembered a Michelais king who'd once said "Let them hate us as long as they fear us." Alexandre didn't think these brown-coated Irregulars hated him, but he hoped they feared him more than they did the raiders in the valley down there.

Wheeling his horse around, Alexandre returned to where the twenty men under his command waited under the shade of a cypress grove. "You all know the plan, lads," he said, inwardly noting the way these browncoats deferred to his authority. "Straight in, nice and easy, and then hit them hard." The men exchanged eager, hungry looks. "I know these County Troyes whoresons deserve what they get," Alexandre went on, "but I want prisoners! Prisoners, do you hear me?"

The men looked unhappy, but they all nodded. Alexandre drew his sword, the oiled blade glistening in the mottled sunlight. "Nice and easy."

***

The fight was over in moments. Alexandre and his men hit the camp from one side, while Sergeant Warnout's file struck from the other. It was dust and confusion and noise as the two forces struck the camp, crashing through campfires and trampling sleepy men as they stumbled out of tents. Some of the raiders tried to run for their horses, others knelt with their arms stretched high over their heads in the gesture of surrender. A few tried to fight, only to be shot or cut down by bayonets. Alexandre urged his horse toward one large man shouting at his men to rally and who wore a red coat nearly identical to Alexandre's.

Turning, the man narrowly avoided being skewered by Alexandre's sword as he passed. The man crouched into a fighting stance, all the while calling out for his men to rally. But they were no more to be seen, only the milling dust and Alexandre's mounted riders. With a disgusted look, the man straightened and reversed his sword.

"Damn fine work," he said to Alexandre when the young captain had dismounted and accepted the proffered sword. "Well played. I'm just sorry I fell for it."

"I daresay some of your men are as well," replied Alexandre. "Sergeant Warnout, what's the butcher's bill?"

"None of ours hurt sir. Four of their dead, five wounded," replied Warnout, wiping his blood-smeared blade. Brewer or not, the man could fight. "Sixteen prisoners, though I can't say for certain. We found Cassandra, you see." Sure enough, a dazed and bedraggled looking girl was visible amidst a throng of browncoats.

Seeing the look on Warnout's face, Alexandre sighed. "Have her look through the prisoners and identify those that used her, then kill them."

"She wanted to come with us, you know," replied the red-coated man, shaking his head.

Alexandre shrugged. "That may be. But you killed her father and someone has to uphold her honor. The rest of you will be ransomed, of course. We're all civilized here, no?" With that he returned the man's sword.

"Many thanks," replied the man, sheathing his weapon. "I've heard good things about you, Captain Alexandre. You'll go far, they say." He brushed down his coat. "If you're ever in Troyes just ask for Lieutenant Graberre of the Households and I'll buy you a drink."

Alexandre smiled. "I'll take you up on that if ever I'm captured. I don't plan on that happening, though."

"Neither did I," replied Lieutenant Graberre with a rueful smile, "Neither did I."

Alexandre watched the rival Household being led off, then breathed a satisfied sigh. An entire Troyes raiding party captured and a flock of sheep and a daughter of Detwick returned. The Comte would certainly be pleased, and his pleasure almost always came with a reward. Life was good.


Act III

"...And I want the header to be twice as large as the copy," finished the customer, tapping the line in question with a meaty forefinger.

"That'll be an extra farthing per character," replied the clerk behind the counter, making a note on the printer's guide in front of him.

"An extra farthing?" the customer spluttered, "Per character? That's robbery!" His expression grew calculating. "I'll give you a quarter farthing per."

"I'm sorry," said the clerk, sounding anything but, "But all our prices are final. It's the standard fee for printers here in Alphonse, and if you doubt our honesty then by all means take your leave of Laroux Brothers and try any of our competitors. They'll tell you the same thing."

The customer opened his mouth to argue, but faltered under the gaze of those cold grey eyes. A clerk in a printshop this man might be, but everything from his poise to his broken nose and scarred face spoke of an intimacy with violence that frightened the customer.

"All right then," he said at last, taking a blank promissory note from his pocket. "How much in total?"

"Four couronne, six sou, three farthings," the clerk answered without a pause. He offered his pen.

The customer took it with ill grace, scribbling the sum and his autograph on the note. "Take this to Crowley's countinghouse on Southgate Street. But I expect my ads to be on the Sixth and not a moment later." Without another word he strode out of the shop.

Throwing a dark look toward the customer's rapidly retreating back, the clerk picked up the printer's guide and took through the open doorway to the rear of the shop. Guided by the unique odor of lampblack, linseed oil, grease, and sweat he made his way to where two large presses stood like idle beasts waiting to be fed. There were two others in the room: a lanky youth hurriedly compositing sorts in words and an older man applying ink to a type block with exacting care.

He looked up now as the clerk walked in. "I heard Monsieur Ziradi yelling out out there. What was that about?"

The clerk sighed and leaned against the wall. "He through a fit over the typesize fee, but it's all sorted out now."

The printer chuckled drily. "You always did have an intimidating look about you, Adrian. I'm glad to see that ugly face of your yours still scares the clients." Wiping his ink-stained hands on his apron, he took the printer's guide from Adrian's hand and tacked it to the wall.

"Well it's a good thing you're back here Emile," replied Adrian with a ghost of a smile, the happiest expression he'd ever allow, "Else with one look at your mug and they'd drop dead."

"Ha." Emile rolled his eyes, then turned toward the boy. "Ben, will you be a good lad and fetch me and your Uncle Adrian something to drink?"

The boy nodded. "Course, father. Be but a moment." He raced out the door.

"Well, I hope he takes longer than that," said Emile to his brother, "For I need to show what I've finished."

He reached under the table and brought out another type block. Adrian was at his side in a moment, his grim face suddenly flushed with excitement. "You've finished it?"

Emile smiled. "See for yourself."

PEOPLE OF SICINY: AWAKE!
For too long have the free peoples of Siciny suffered at the hands of those who would see us forever divided! For too long have we been but pawns in the ambitions of petty men, each jealously hoarding a scrap of earth that belongs not to him, but to the people! Through their efforts we have remained a divided people, we have lost sight of our commonness in the heated poison of invented differences. But the time is coming when the common peoples of Siciny will join together and rise up against those who divide us, and cast them aside in favor of one nation of free Sicinians!

Thus it must be, for such is the way of all things.

"You truly have an amazing way with words, brother," said Emile in admiration. "If you can keep arguing like that, who knows what can happen?"

"Oh, I know what can happen," replied Adrian, his eyes glowing, "A single nation. Sicinia."


Act IV

James Olmestead winced as he scanned the paper that had just been handed to him. The Martinique and Bausin markets were staggering, and both Herrold’s and Ronjeau were making worried noises. When the leading bank and the leading assurance firm were both concerned, a man had to be a fool to ignore it. And James Olmestead was no fool.

“I want you to keep me informed,” he told his secretary, “The next shares listing that comes in I want it right away.” He retrieved his hat, asharag, and coat from the arms of a servant. “I’ll be at Black Michael’s, send a man with the listing there, faswa?”

Olmestead didn’t way for his secretary’s reply but instead strode down the stairs and out the door into bright morning sunlight. Blinking in the glare, he wrapped the asharag about his head and put on his hat and coat. It was the dry season, and the traffic along Chanaud’s streets churned up a fine brown dust from even cobblestone pavement.

“You there, man,” he called, hailing down a carriage, “Take me to Black Michael’s. And hurry, there’s an extra dinar in it for you if I’m there in ten minutes.”

“Right ho, Mister,” said the driver with sudden enthusiasm, “Won’t take but a moment.”
Black Michael’s coffeehouse on the corner of Pierce and King’s was the nerve center of commerce in Chanaud, if not all eastern Siciny. All the most important men from the largest and most powerful firms did their business here over countless cups of Michael’s best Markalian bean. Deals were made and syndicates formed amongst the tables packed into the cramped main space. Private salons in the rear were often commandeered as private meeting places and offices, which was where Olmestead headed, presenting his card to a young man in a clean white shirt and tie who stood in front of the entrance to the back of the building.

“Good morrow to you, Mister Olmestead,” said the young man brightly, “You’ll be wanting the fifth door on the right.”

Olmestead walked down the hall to the indicated door, upon which he tapped lightly. “Come in,” called a female voice from inside.

Rachel d’Ravalon, Comtessine and Princess of Chanaud, sat lightly upon a divan in the center of the room, examining a stack of papers on the table in front of her. She looked up now, and smiled sweetly.

“Oh hello James,” she said, “Do have a seat.” She gestured to an empty chair, which Olmestead sank into gratefully.

“Now,” she went on, “Knowing you, I’m guessing you’ve come here to make dire warnings and divine ill omens from this downturn of the listings. So what do you have to say, my ever-gloomy colleague?”

“This is exactly what I’ve been saying all along,” exclaimed Olmestead, “There's talk of banning the slave trade in Unitia makes the market worried, and that's just talk. Imagine what would happen if talk turns into action?”

“I daresay we’ll manage,” replied Rachel in a mild voice. “Many counties in Siciny have likewise abolished their own peculiar institutions.”

“Those two are incomparable,” said Olmestead stiffly, “A few counties are a nuisance. A free Unitia that actively combats the trade means complete disruption of our business. Even those concerns that have no affiliation with the trade will the effects.”

“So what would you do?” Rachel asked, fixing Olmestead with the same intelligent green eyes she’d inherited from her father.

“I’d force those Unitians to see reason, and be prepared to defend our trade however possible.”

Rachel shook her head in amused reproof. “James, you were meant to be a warrior, I think, not a businessman. You should know that commerce more readily starts war than does war start commerce. Trade at the point of a sword is no good trade at all, faswa?”

“You must have the stick as well as the carrot,” began Olmestead, his color rising, “You must show strength along with-”

“If anything, your career seems to have disproved that,” said Rachel, cutting him off. “When I purchased your shipping company, you’d succeeded in making enemies with near the entire Sea of Semantaria. You have a fine head for figures and a good feel for futures, but,” she went on with a shake of her head, “You’ve no skill in the diplomacy of business.”

Olmestead rose to his feet, his worn face set like stone. “So you won’t follow my advice?”

Rachel stared steadily back at her futures manager. “I’ll put it before the Company board.”

The tone of her voice made it clear that the idea would go no further than that. Olmestead shook his head sadly, though his eyes still flashed anger. “I hope you and the Company don’t regret this.”

Rachel smiled, returning her attention to her work. “I’m sure I can live with myself, faswa?”


Act V

Azariah Perkins leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting the cool breeze that came down off the hills over the river to blow through his hair. He breathed deep the crisp morning hair, a breath that became a choking cough as the wind shifted and his lungs suddenly filled with noxious black smoke.

"We nearly to Old Bantam, skipper."

Azariah opened his eyes to find young Danny Mason, the new man he'd signed on at Alphonse, standing at his side with a concerned look.

"Thank you, M'sieur Mason," he replied in a distracted voice. "See that we're made ready."

"What was that, skipper?" asked Mason, not hearing because the great engine that squatted amidships let out a deafening roar as it made ready for the final sprint into Old Bantam.

"I said," repeated Azariah in a shout, "See that we're made ready!"

"Oh, of course skipper!"

Mason hurried off, and Azariah closed his eyes, trying to recapture that moment of rapture. But that moment was lost and with a sigh he returned his attention to the scene before him. The Chelsea was not the largest boat on the River Salis, nor the prettiest. With her stubby smokestack and slab-sided hull, she was a homely duckling swimming among swans, her twin paddlewheels churning up the water with all the grace of a swimmer in distress. And yet there was not a faster vessel on the Upriver, and Azariah loved his Chelsea. Some skippers mocked the reciprocator as a passing novelty, but he knew better. Reciprocators were the future.

Mason had not lied, and in half an hour they rounded a bend to confront Old Bantam, whose buildings hugged the river that was their lifeblood. A little work with the tiller saw the Chelsea cosy with the wharf, and as lines were thrown and made fast Azariah sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment, listening as the engine coughed once and then died. The breeze returned.

***

"Right on time, as usual!" cried the man standing in front of the large warehouse proclaiming itself as "Benjamin Butherford, Shipping & Wholesale".

"You know me, Ben," replied Azariah with a tired grin, "I'd hate to be for one of the missus's suppers."

The two men shook hands. "You have all my cargo?" asked Benjamin.

"The first shipment is present and accounted for," Azariah said. "I can't promise when I'll get your second shipment up here though."

Something in his tone made Benjamin Butherford take notice. "How bad is the news from Saint Michel?"

Azariah shook his head. "Bad. There's talk that the call for levies might happen in as little as a week."

Benjamin sighed. "I was hoping this whole bad blood twixt Saint Michel and the Headwater Counties wouldn't come to anything." He looked askance at the skipper. "Why can't you southerners just leave us to live in peace?"

"Don't ask me." Azariah threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I just muck about on the river. File a complaint with the Queen if you've got a grievance."

His comment drew a chuckle from Benjamin. "I just might, you know. What'll you do after this?"

Azariah shrugged. "Go downriver, as usual."

"If the call goes out, they'll probably dragoon you and Chelsea both."

Another shrug. "I always have to take my chances. Rather be dragooned by my own people than thrown in the gaol by yours." He put a hand on the other man's forearm. "But once this is over I'll get your second shipment, faswa?"

Benjamin nodded. "Course mate, you're always welcome doing business with me." He nodded toward the center of town. "Now let's see about getting you supper."

"Favorite thing about this place," said Azariah appreciatively. Benjamin just laughed.

"Executive-General, we have to move quickly on this. Not too quickly; we don't want to make the Siciny states too suspicious. But as soon as fighting starts, we should move against the monarchy in East Manraugh. Without Siciny support, they should be easy to liberate - and then we can bring to an end the Dun Brenn dynasty's power once and for all." The High Command had put this plan together in a hurry. It hadn't been part of the original plan, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

"How many men are we talking about here?" Broderick was excited, but he tried hard to suppress it. Overconfidence had lost more wars than it had won. "And can we mobilize for war without attracting too much attention?"

"It is the position of High Command that we treat this like we would treat a full war against both East Manraugh and a Siciny coalition. It's better to overestimate the required force than to discover mid-campaign that there are too few Greencoats on the front." The messenger went on, "High Command asked the General Secretariat to determine if this is an executable plan. The report should be in tomorrow morning. Grand Marshal Kin Calghan will be ready with a report after your address to the Common Assembly tomorrow."

"Tell the Grand Marshal I am most pleased with the possibility of a United Manraugh. I will look forward to a personal briefing tomorrow." Broderick rose from his desk, indicating for the messenger to depart.

After a moment, Broderick called out, "Joseph! Come in and talk about this with me. I want the personal opinion of the Director of the Common Secretariat."

Joseph entered and moved to sit. "How lucky for me to be so easily reachable."

"Well? What do you think? What am I missing here? You know there's always something." Broderick put his feet up on his desk.

"I suggest you push forward with diplomatic offers to Unitia and Moskva quickly. After your speech to the Assembly and your meeting with High Command, but before you move any troops, make sure that Unitia is neutral at least, and that Moskva is distracted. Moskva and Siciny will not want to see continued unification of Manraugh; as it is we are a powerful and large nation with a troublesome ideology, especially for the Moskva brand of absolutists. You can't move on East Manraugh without an ally, either Unitia or some of the Siciny Counties more friendly with us. You must wait for matters in Siciny to come to a head; they will not want a strong neighbor of dubious sympathies to replace a friendly, weak one.

"Also, while this will be a popular move, it has drawbacks. It will be expensive. And it will fuel the more radical factions of the Republic, the factions that would prefer to see republics across the continent. They might be hard to control after this. Especially if East Manraugh is decisively beaten early. Then they will want us to capitalize on the momentum.

"But its an opportunity that might not come again for a long time. And we do have local support in East Manraugh, which could do most of the work for us if we begin preparing the more disaffected for our coming. I'll have a report in a couple days on what kind of support it would take to get a rebellion going. Not a well-trained rebellion, but enough farmers with guns to keep the Royal Army running about like a headless chicken.

"It's not something we can rush into. And winter isn't too far off. The militia can't be deployed abroad until the harvest is in, at the very least. But we need time to strengthen our position. I think it is risky, but within our capabilites. And the General Secretariat will have a full plan for logistical support at the earliest possible time."

Robert LaSalle took his place at the table nearest the door. The pass Raoul had given him marked him as a stenographer, and so he sat next to two other secretaries and set his pencil and notebook out on the table.

The Duc and Queen arrived at half past eight, entering through opposite door and meeting in the center of the room, where a special table had been set with two chairs. Their entourages each had separate tables, from which they could sit and glare at each other.

The two great leaders of Saint Michel sat in silence for a minute, eyeing each other like... Robert LaSalle paused, thinking. He wanted to say "like two large dogs in a small room," but he'd used that turn of phrase already. Then the Queen spoke.

"I'm sure you understand why I called this meeting," she said, "So if you don't mind I would prefer we move straightaway to business." She was a striking woman; tall and slender with a hard face that would have been considered attractive if it hadn't been so intimidating.

"I see no objection to that," replied the Duc. He was an old man these days, approaching his seventieth birthday, but his eyes were still aglow with keen intelligence. Seeing them seated together now, LaSalle could understand why the two had fought so long and hard against one another without either gaining a significant advantage. He made a note of that thought in his pad.

"As you know, our constant struggle has not only failed to accomplish either of our objectives, it has also weakened our authority in the rest of Siciny." The Queen began.

But before she could continue, the Duc cut her off. "I thought we were to discuss business. What exactly do you propose?"

The Queen bridled at the man's tone, but finally nodded. "Here is my proposal. I will cease attempting to assert Royal control over your County and form a coalition in parliament with your faction."

The Duc stroked his neatly trimmed beard. "I like those ideas." His eyes narrowed. "And what do you ask in return?"

"Your support in a campaign against Mont Remy," she replied smoothly.

The duc's eyes widened. "A campaign against Mont Remy? That is quite an ambitious undertaking, and given how few weeks we have left before winter, one that smacks of folly."

"Mont Remy has long been a thorn in our side," the Queen insisted. "They choose to ignore their fealty to us when they see fit, which is often. We cannot seek to push back Chenaudine influence AND keep Mont Remy in line. They must be brought into the fold, completely and totally, and soon. Other nations have sensed our weakness, and we must move fast to secure our strength in western Siciny before its too late."

"And yet if the war drags on, we could see the loss of whatever strength we still possess in favor of Chanaud." But the Duc sighed. "Yet you do make good points, and I wish to see an end to this struggle between yourself and I." He extended his hand. "I accept your proposal."

The Queen shook his hand. "Then we are agreed." She rose to her feet. "Come, let us dine."

As the two former rivals left the table together hand in hand Robert LaSalle, who had been scribbling furiously, shut his notebook with a bang. The story he had found here had literally been worth its weight in gold.

The Democratic Kingdom Of Unitia

That night, sitting in his parlour, Thomas was aware of Bolton's footsteps. His loyal adviser entered the room.

"There is discord in Siciny," he said.

Thomas looked up. "In case you have forgotten, Bolton, Siciny is not my country," he said jokingly.

Bolton shook his head. "The discord is about Unitia, Tom."

Thomas sat forwards. "What do you mean?"

"They don't like your talk of banning slavery of the Unitian people. They would like it less if your talk turned to action."

"My talk will turn to action."

"Then I suggest you be aware of raids to forcefully take slaves. Maybe even an outright war."

Thomas frowned. "Is there not trouble with West Manraugh and Siciny?"

"I suggest you send out embassies at once to West Manraugh, Tom. You are young and new to the job and even if you were an experienced general this country could not currently win any wars. You have to find friends. We cannot stand alone if Siciny turns against us."

Thomas nodded. "I trust your words. I will do as you say."



Throughout Unitia, there was great mutterings when it was discovered that their new leader was banning slavery. Amongst the people there was immediate relief, but businesses and sailors frowned - part of the Unitian economy was firmly grounded in the slave business. But Thomas did not back out of his words and shortly the act was passed. All slavery of any Unitian people was completely banned. A Unitian found to have sold another of his kinsmen was punished by imprisonment, seeing as another thing that Thomas wanted to be rid of was the death sentence. If a Unitian was enslaved by someone from another country, it was grounds for war.

So it was that a ship bearing the Unitian banner sailed to the harbour at West Manrough, begging an audience with the Executive-General of Manraugh. The ship carried two young men named Harry Colt and Simon Mire, along with Bolton's own nephew, Adrian Brown. Adrian was twenty years old and was sent to show confidence in Manraugh, as he was close to the leader of Unitia and would be a sore loss if anything happened to him. Colt and Mire carried the official seal and a letter from Thomas requesting diplomatic talks and the hand of friendship. Also with them was Peter Daniels, a representative from the Unitian Parliament.

OOC: I realized I never really described my country -- or rather, countries (see below).

It is 1476 Year of the City and a man lies dying before the walls of Chanaud. Every breath is a choked gasp as a trickle of red runs down his cheek. His hands clutch at the deep puncture wound in his chest, trying to staunch the flow of blood that wells up from beneath his gilded armor. A knot of retainers stand about him, shocked into silence. One has removed the crossbow quarrel from the man's chest, but even the youngest amongst them can see it is no use. The man's mouth moves slightly, as if trying to form words. His squire, trying hard to blink back tears, leans in close to hear.

"Too...soon," the man whispers. He coughs once, his mouth full of red foam, then he is still, his eyes frozen in anger and disbelief. Robert, last Priest-king of Saint Michel, lies dead.

And yet it is too soon. This is March of 1476, and his promise to capture Chanaud and unify the Sicinii under one banner remains unfulfilled. In March the men of Chanaud are still defiant and their walls stand proud, while now the army that intended to have reduced them to ruin is without its leader; its inspiration. The men of Saint Michel are lost, and their new commander the Duc of Saint Michel is despondent and unsure. He maintains the siege for another month, but after continued failure is forced to make peace with Chanaud and return with his army to their own lands.

And so the Sicinii remain a divided people, provoking the speculation of historians to this day. What might have happened had Robert successfully united all of Siciny into a single. What might that powerful and undivided nation look like? Alas, this is mere conjecture.What does happen is Robert's nephew Damien, who was suppressing a rebellion in Mont Remy in March of 1476, abandons the campaign in order to Saint Michel and take the crown. The subject counties of Saint Michel maintain nearly all their independence, and in the east Chanaud and her allies remain defiantly free. An alliance brokered amongst the counties at Amatais in 1593 in the face of an onslaught of foreign invaders brought the Sicinii together, but in a tenuous alliance that could not halt the regional and inter-county wars that had been present for centuries.

The world changed as it moved on. Gordain d'Yseult made his name as a master of strategy and responsible for reorganizing the Army of Chanaud after its successful conquest of Aristiden. Mont Remy built up its own local power base in the Headwaters of the River Salis, holding back the ambitions of Manraugh while keeping itself free of Michelais domination. The works of Alphonsard thinker Montreaux on free and democratic government were viewed first with suspicion by other counties, followed by outright fear and hatred after Henri Rechamp overthrew Saint Michel king Reynarde III and instituted a socialist state. A coalition of eastern counties, championed by King Peter du Chanaud, soon overthrew Rechamp's government, with Saint Michel captured in a daring seaborne assault by Martinique Navy captain Jean Francois.

It is now 1740 YoC (1815 C.E.) and Siciny is at peace, its counties conservative, well-armed, and mistrustful of outsiders. The only upset is the Culottes Rouges, a multicounty group devoted to Sicinian nationalism and unification, and led by an ex-Saint Michel soldier Adrian Laroux.

Regional Powers of Siciny

Saint Michel
Adjective: Michelais
Power base: Saint Michel
Vassal counties: 57
Allied or Affiliated counties: 18
Population: 12.5 million
Standing Army: 45,000
Total County forces: unknown

Even after the failure of Robert the Priest-King to unify Siciny, Saint Michel remained the dominant power in the west. Rising to its zenith in the mid-1500s under Henri I, Saint Michel now has in its bloc more than sixty counties, and control of the richest farmland in Siciny.
However, despite its apparent size and power, Saint Michel remains embroiled in political turmoil and rivalry. Many of its subject counties pay vassalage unwillingly or opportunistically, and more than once Saint Michel has found itself at war with both 'friends' and enemies. Led chiefly by County Mont Remy, the northern counties of Saint Michel have banded together in a league of preservation, using their vassalage or alliance with Saint Michel to good advantage when need be and opposing her when the situation calls for it. Only in the face of outside assault by a foreign power do the counties come together in anything resembling full solidarity, and even then its not unknown for one county to withhold support to a rival until forced into action by Saint Michel.


Chanaud
Adjective: Chanaudine/Chenaudine
Power base: Chanaud
Vassal counties: 40
Allied or Affiliated counties: 21
Population: 7 million
Standing Army: 37,000
Total County forces: unknown

Chanaud began her own pursuit of domination at roughly the same time as Saint Michel, starting with the Chanaudine conquest of Bouroue by King Charles IV in 1468 YoC. Following their narrow victory over Saint Michel at the siege of Chanaud, the young Chenaudine king Anthony the Great embarked on building a coalition to rival Saint Michel. It was not to be a coalition built on conquest and domination, however, but on friendship and cooperation.
The result of which is a Chanaudine bloc which is far closer and more cooperative than Saint Michel's. Combined with a series of military reforms by renowned Generalismo Gordain d'Yseult and strong state army, Chanaud is more than a match for its western rival. For those few counties uncomfortable working with Chanaud (Aristiden being chief among them) the fearsome secret police the Montre Noire keeps unrest to a minimum.

Modern ethnographic map of Siciny


Note: key is as follows-
Children of Sicinius
-BLUE: dar al-Sicine (House of Sicinius; modern d'Sicine), Children of Sicinius
-CYAN: dar al-Qalab (House of the Heart; modern d'Ceour), Children of Raymond
-GREEN: dar al-Hassan (House of the Horse; modern d'Cheval), Children of Hassan
-ORANGE: dar as-Sayiif (House of the Sword; modern d'Faux, Dafoe, d'Espade), Children of Rumi
-RED: dar ad-Din (House of the Faith; modern d'Adieu, Aden, Dien), Children of Gabriel

Second Sons
-VIOLET: Children of d'Yseult
-CRIMSON: Children of Robert

Strangers
-YELLOW: Al-Aynassan
-BROWN: Gharzis

What is known is that until 1800 years ago, the ancestors of modern ethnic Sicinians lived in the region near modern-day Chanaud. A series of droughts possibly combined with decreasing soil fertility eventually resulted in widespread starvation, and four of the five Sicinii tribes abandoned their homes in search of a more promising land.

Over the next forty to fifty years they would travel west along the Cote d'Sur, conquering territory and killing or displacing the former inhabitants. In the year 2 B.O.C. the last of these tribes the Addinii reached the River Salis, and halted. Further expansion and conquest over the next several hundred years would extend Siciny north along the Salis and over onto the West Bank, as well as far along the Windy Coast to Aristiden.

What follows are summaries of the various ethnicities and cultures within Siciny.

Children of Sicinius
As the tribe that remained behind, the people of the original Sicinii still consider themselves to be the only 'true' Sicinians. They refer to themselves as the 'First' and all others as 'Second Sons' [Not to be confused with the Second Sons of the Sicinian frontiers]. This attitude toward other Sicinians has brought the Sicinii-dominated counties of the Chanaud bloc closer together but has also driven them further apart from the rest of the counties. The Chanaudine administration has worked hard to discourage such dislike of non-Sicinii, with mixed results.

The Sicinii look similar to the rest of the pure Sicinian peoples: slightly small of stature, olive-skinned, and dark-haired. They retain many traditions long since abandoned in the rest of Siciny, such as the continuous veiling of women, and many of their counties still employ serfdom. There is also a distinctive Sicinii accent, which most clearly manifests itself in old-fashioned pronunciations and spellings of names [i.e. Henry as opposed to Henri.]

Children of Raymond
Blessed with good farmland, the Qalabi have long been the main producers of food in central and eastern Siciny. Their good soil and adjacency to the Sicinii have forced them to become formidable warriors as well as farmers. Indeed, in the past they have been so skilled that for a time they controlled a large empire along the Cote d'Sur, before a series of disasters culminating in a disastrous defeat to Saint Michel's King Robert lowered them to second-rate at best. The counties of Qalabiyya [modern Coeuria, Couery] now maintain a balance between their political foes the Michelais and their cultural foes the Chanaudine, playing one off against the other, and trying to pick a winner each conflict.

The Children of Raymond have never stopped thinking of themselves as imperial, however, and the opulence of their ethnic center at Artenford is a striking contrast to the humble villages that fill the rest of the region. At the confluence of eastern and western Siciny, the Qalabi culture is a hybrid between the two, resulting in a somewhat looser version of Sicinii traditionalism. A slight Sicinii accent is the rule, with many of the western Qalabi pronouncing the soft "s" sound as a hard "z" sound [i.e. Ziciny].

Children of Hassan
Occupying the strategic crossroads between east and west, the lands of the Hassani have been fought over for generations. The Children of Hassan have compensated by trying to remain friends with everyone, and only in the lands of the Hassani are there counties in which mortal enemies may meet as friends.

Living in Hassaniyya [modern Housany] some of the poorest land in Siciny but with some of the finest harbors, the Hassani traditionally make their living as traders and vintners. They are on the whole reported to be a friendly, but quite frequently avaricious people, though they usually obey the usual rules of hospitality. They pride themselves on their education - they boast some of the finest universities in Siciny - and on their clear and easy Sicinian, which is used as a common dialect amongst merchants and politicians. Women enjoy some of the greatest freedoms here.

Children of Rumi
The thorn in the Michelais side, the Rumii are the chief reason Saint Michel expanded west rather than east. Still proudly referring to themselves by the archaic dar as-Sayiif, the Rumii were renowned in former times for their fighting skill and the constant aggravation to their neighbors. It took a brutal generation-long campaign by Michelais king Lorant II and finished by his son Robert to bring the Rumii firmly to heel. Although uneasy with each other, the counties of Rumiyya [modern Rumany] usually loyally follow their liege Saint Michel.

The Rumii remember their history well. Although now but simple farmers and shepherds, they instill their children with the military values of their ancestors, and the Rumian counties provide some of Saint Michel's steadiest soldiers. Unlike the rest of Siciny Rumii men cultivate their beards and Rumii women cut their hair short. Long years of Michelais domination have left them with no distinguishable accent, although certain old dialect words occasionally appear in conversation.

Children of Gabriel
By far the largest of the ethnicities of Siciny, the Addinii look to Saint Michel as their chief cultural center. Long regarded as mere frontier guards, the rest of Siciny was shocked and appalled by the Michelais onslaught east, regarded as something akin to a barbarian invasion. Many in the east still view the Addinii as semi-Sicinian, although Saint Michel's military and political preeminence keeps talk quiet.

The Addinii are also distinguished by their peculiar brand of Atakaranism, which focuses on the near god-worship of legendary priest king Michael. Other sectarian differences occur within Atakaranism, but the Addinii brand is characterized by its call for aggressive expansion in the name of promoting the faith. The Addinii are perhaps the most in favor of a unified Sicinii nation, so long as they control it.


Second Sons
These following groups are not true ethnic groups like the above, but convenient ethnographic groups for discussion.

Children of d'Yseult
Following Chenaudine conquest of much of the north, a massive immigration of Sicinians began, especially after an open invitation for settlers by the new baron of Aristiden, Gordain d'Yseult. Mostly 'First' Sicinii but with substantial minorities of other tribes, these settlers came north and started a new life. Many married with local Al-Aynassan, producing a cross cultural exchange that left the Windy Coast of northern Siciny a place unique from the rest of the country.

With the exception of the counties and plantations around Aristiden, the Children of d'Yseult are a mixed lot with a frontier mentality of freedom and individualism. It is quite frequently the haunt of rebellious Sicinii youths or those purely on the run.

Children of Robert
Also known as 'border Addinii' the children of Robert are not so much a separate ethnicity as simply Addinii so far removed from the tribal center of Saint Michel that local peculiarities emerge. Long years of interaction with foreigners have led to distinct dialects and a physical appearance different from that of the 'normal' Sicinii. Pragmatism has for the most part replaced any old Sicinian traditions.

Constant border struggle and life along the frontier have hardened the Children of Robert, so that they are usually viewed askance by pure Addinii. The Children of Robert [so called because Robert is responsible for their incorporation into the Michelais bloc] have developed a cultural and ethnic inferiority complex, with a clear Addinii lineage worth its weight in gold.


Strangers
These represent groups not culturally Sicinian but nevertheless part of greater Siciny.

Al-Aynassan
Their name meaning 'The Horsepeople', the people of the great wastes of central Siciny are linguistically and ethnically related to the Sicinii, but clearly distinct. With the loss of their coastal cities and the absorption of their populations into Chenaudine counties, the remaining al-Aynassan are primarily nomadic shepherds, keeping to themselves aside from trading and occasional raiding. Most foreigners are not allowed within the vast steppes of Central Siciny, and what little do are usually merchants running along the mysterious caravan route from Mont Remy to Aristiden.

Gharzis
Unrelated culturally to either Sicinians or al-Aynassan, the Gharzis live in the mountainous region of upper Siciny. Legendary as warriors, both Saint Michel and Chanaud maintain Gharzi regiments, while to have a Gharzi as a bodyguard is a status symbol and a good security investment.

Little is known of Gharzi culture, due to the remoteness of their homeland and their distrust of outsiders. They are mortal enemies of the al-Aynassan, and the two groups constantly clash in brutal warfare. The Gharzis have recently fallen under the attention of Chanaud and Saint Michel, who both hope to align the Gharzis within their own bloc. Their quarry however, remains uninterested, preferring for the moment to use the situation for their own benefit.

The Unitian diplomatic mission, received with fanfare at the docks, arrived shortly thereafter at the Executive Manor in Octarion with a full honorary compliment of the White Guard in tow.

Executive-General Broderick Willoms stood in the main hall himself, with Joseph Dun Dannels, Director of the General Secretariat, and the Under-Directors of various Ministries.

"Gentlemen, neighbors, let me offer the congratulations of West Manraugh for the recent cessation of the slave trade in Unitia! It is refreshing to see the deeds of good men in a world largely still governed by tyrants and despots.

"In the spirit of friendship, before we discuss further diplomatic initiatives, I am announcing the unilateral reduction of tariffs on trade with Unitia from the absurd levels of the KinCabe administration to the resonable five per cent.

"As the freest states of Acheron, our nations must cooperate for security and prosperity. Under my administration, West Manraugh is more than willing to work for our mutual betterment.

"I have ordered the guest rooms prepared for you here, and I encourage you to rest until this evening, when we can welcome you with food and fine company."

The Democratic Kingdom Of Unitia

It was with some relief that Daniels noted their warm welcome. Thomas had chosen him because he was the member of Parliament that most supported his opinions and indeed, all Daniels wanted was peace in Unitia. Granted, the young Prime Minister's rash actions made this hard, but Daniels had been campaigning for an end to slavery for his entire career and he found Thomas to be forward-thinking and constructive, even if he was not particularly good at knowing how to gently bring new laws into action and talk people round, rather than just immediately making big changes. However, there was time to learn.

Thomas had wanted to come himself and greet with Broderick Willoms, but both Bolton and Peter Daniels had instantly advised against this. If Willoms wasn't prepared to be friendly, Thomas could be in danger. Even if this wasn't a possibility, his coming would look like he had already decided that Willoms would accept the offer, and this could cause offence. But he had requested to come out quickly if Willoms did welcome the Unitian proposal, so Daniels approached the Executive-General.

"May I speak with you quickly?" he asked. "Our Prime Minister is young and new to the job and is rather eager. He has requested note to be sent to him so he may come and visit you immediately if you are willing to accept our hand of friendship. He wishes to take a personal approach in all things he does - making speeches himself to the people of Unitia to discuss new laws and changes, visiting our poverty stricken parts of the country to see what needs to be done, and now meeting you himself, at once. I realize that this may not be decorum, but he is rather eager to meet you and discuss his proposals so I wonder if I might be permitted to send Adrian Brown down to the harbour to send one of our ships back to Unitia bringing your blessing? The journey is not much more than a week and you can be assured that no troops will arrive as young Adrian Brown is Mr Thomas Graham's advisor's nephew. Adrian is very close to our Prime Minister and the adviser is his closest friend and supporter. If anything happened to him it would be a sore loss to Mr Graham, so you may have confidence that no attacks will be launched whilst he is in your care - or ever, for that matter, as Mr Graham is keen to build up a strong alliance."

To an outsider, Peter Daniels's speech may have seemed blustering and unneccessary, but both he and Willoms would remember the occasion between two countries a few years ago, where an embassy was sent to collect the King and bring him to the shores of a neighbouring kingdom. He came bringing peace talks but, the Emperor of the country he was visiting fearing an attack, he was slain at the shore along with his sailors. Since then, it was customary for leaders to send a close friend or relative to their destination in order to show good faith. If Thomas came with troops, Willoms would be able to slay his best friend's nephew. Therefore, Willoms may be assured that Thomas came in good faith.