They call me *MR* Newbie!

[frogbeastegg]

They call me MR Newbie!

Actually they call me Lady Frog but that is a different story…

A game (or twenty) of Vicky as played by an idiot, er newbie.

Predicted updates: seemingly random with no pattern at all. Depends when I have something to write about.
Difficulty level: will swap randomly.
Country: um, will change a lot maybe.
Pretty pictures: if I need them.
Historical accuracy of setting: not much, I don’t know much about the period and I have my hands full without researching
Predicted level of player competence: non-existent with maybe the occasional hint of total stupidity.
Predicted tone: either a comedy or a tragedy; depends how you view newbie bumbling…

I have CK and EU2 and like them rather a lot, now I have Vicky and life could get…interesting. You see I have no interest at all in the Vicky time period, I am a Classicist and medieval enthusiast, modern history is on my Not Fun list and Vicky is all too modern for me. Ok, if I am honest even EU2 after 1500 is a bit too modern and my interest wanes significantly. Guns are for pansies, be a real man and bludgeon your opponent to death with a bit of metal! Perhaps more (or less, depends on your viewpoint) entertainingly I am dyslexic, numbers are on my Not Friends list, so you can expect to see all kind of strange and wonderful confusions and errors as I grapple with the monster that is Vicky. You should have seen the mess I managed to make with EU2…

PS: To reduce the confusion; despite the title I’m a female gamer, it’s just that they hadn’t invented female prime ministers back then. No, Miss Trampard is not me either.

I usually do character driven, serious stuff with (I like to think) a strong plot, but this time I thought something utterly daft suited better. it’s not particularly great, it is only something I scribble down as I get my behind handed to me by the game

In The Beginning

Eddard Newbie looked about his new office with wonder in his eyes; gosh, what an expensive, plush place it was! “And this is all mine?” he asked Smythe, his long-suffering assistant.

“Yes sir.” Smythe’s moustache twitched, “You did win the election sir, you are now the prime minister, sir. This is the prime minister’s office, sir.”

“Weeeee!” Eddard ran over to the big leather chair and flung himself down on the seat, then began bouncing up and down like a particularly hyperactive child on a bouncy castle. Smythe stifled a groan; he was thirty-four, he had been in the civil service since his fourteenth birthday, and his reward for his loyal service was the care and education of this…Newbie chap.

There was a loud bang; Newbie had managed to split the seat of the chair – the expensive plush leather seat of a chair that cost upward of £14!! Now the fool sat on his damaged not-quite-a-throne and looked sheepish; his big, brown puppydog eyes begging for forgiveness rather than a newspaper to the nose. “Sorry.” he mumbled, “I didn’t think it would do that.”

“No problem, sir, I suspect the chair was…damaged to begin with. I shall get a chap in to patch it.” Smythe rolled his eyes; lucky he knew a man who knew a man in Paradox Patching Services PLC…

“What are we going to do now?” whined Newbie, “I’m the PM, that’s prime minister you know, and I should be doing things. I want to be a good PM.”
“I shall call for your secretary, sir.” Smythe went to the door, opened it and stuck his head through the gap, “Bendickt, over here if you please.” Bendickt ambled over; he was a tall, gangly youth with not exactly blonde hair and blue eyes. This was his first assignment; God help him. As Smythe stood out of the way holding the door open for him, they were both confronted with a sight neither man would forget for the rest of his days.

Newbie was sat at his desk with an ink stain spreading rapidly over his face; a fountain pen clutched in his hand. He had the grace to blush, “Sorry, it’s a new design; I don’t know how it stores the ink in the pen, and I only wondered what this little buttony thing here does…”

Smythe and Bendickt exchanged a look that spoke of pain, pure and unrefined pain. Here they were, two refined and upright Victorian citizens with suits, good posture and in one case a perfectly trimmed moustache, and they were stuck serving this…this…imbecile!

“I shall call the patching people, sir.” Smythe was thankful his polite, deferential attitude was so far ingrained it would take a nasty accident that turned him to soup combined with a sieve to remove it, “You can clean up while we wait.”



The man from Paradox came, the patch was installed (“It’s 1.3b, sir, our very best yet!”), and they began again.

“This is your manual, sir.” Bendickt pushed a book bound in fake leather at Eddard, “It will tell you everything you need to know.”

“Hold on a moment” Smythe pulled the book back, “These manual things are known to be a tad…unreliable.”

“Are you accusing me, sir, of giving out bad information?”

“Not at all, sir, I am merely saying that it may not be as useful as you have been lead to believe.”

“It is well known that you should read the instructions before doing anything with anything, otherwise who knows what could happen?” Bendickt’s eyes started to shine as he contemplated the dreadful possibilities of horrendous misunderstandings, “Why we could end up attaching the legs in the wrong order!”

“I am quite certain the PM already has his legs attached, Bendickt.”

“Excuse me?” both men looked at Eddard, “Excuse me but I heard reading manuals like this is a bad thing to do; one of my ancestors was a king, back in 1066, and he read the manual and we still have a quote of what he said in our family archives. He said ‘Holy Crap! None of this makes sense, Matilda! The manual said the peasants work, but here they’re revolting, damn their eyes!’” Newbie wriggled uncomfortably under the stony gazes of his two assistants, “Matilda was his wife, she had good stats I hear.” he explained lamely. “Oh, another of my ancestors, he was in the renaissance you know, well he read the manual too, but he found the world didn’t match the one in the instructions; they told him it was a different version and too many changes had been made.”

The sound of door opening interrupted the three men; a lady swept in and closed the door with a firmness that insisted that she was going nowhere. She was a steely matron; well you had to assume she was a matron because young maiden type things weren’t supposed to be steely. She did look rather young through, when you got past the glare, and the stare, and the feeling you were fours years old and you just had a small accident that would upset nanny. She was dressed immaculately in a simple yet tasteful dress with minimum accessories; the only concession to ornament was a silver broach with a peach coloured stone set in the middle. Her dark hair was trapped in a style best described as conservative; a simple bun that (many thought) you could break rocks on.

“So you finally got here then.” her voice was the cooing of doves as they entered a food blender, the gentle tinkling of broken glass, the soft and educated tones of that schoolteacher who scares everyone including the parents. “You took your time, Ned.”

“Yes, Miss Trampard, I’m very sorry.” The PM had transformed from idiot with power to errant schoolboy in the space of one perfectly articulated syllable.

Miss Trampard turned here gaze on Bendickt and Smythe, and they too discovered their inner errant schoolboy, “Are you gentlemen helping Ned?”

“Yes, madam.” they chorused; they both found that they were shuffling their feet and looking at their shoes.

“Good.” Miss Trampard looked at the patched seat of the PM’s official plush chair, and sighed, “Oh Ned, did you do that?” Newbie nodded; she swatted him on the head with a ivory fan she had got from…actually I have no idea where the fan came form, but the clonk of dead elephant on skull was audible, “Be more careful in the future.”

“Yes, miss.”

“You should read the manual, Ned; read it but don’t take too much to heart, at least you will learn the basic things like how to tax the poor until they squeal. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me?” the question was more a very polite demand for the door to be opened for her, Smythe rushed to oblige and she swept out as dramatically as she had swept in. The three men breathed a sigh of relief.

“They call me Mr Newbie now.” muttered Eddard rebelliously, “MR Newbie, I don’t like Ned or Ed or Eddard, MR Newbie.”

[rafiki]

Hehe, this can be good

Also interesting to see how new people get acquainted with the game; that way, we can perhaps see what kind of stuff is missing from VickyWiki that could've been of help.

Rafiki

[Strategist]

Yes, it certainly is a good and interesting start.

[frogbeastegg]

Thanks, folks

So I read the manual and got inspired.

Erk!

Smythe and Bendickt watched Newbie with some concern; he was sat in his patched Pm’s chair, staring off into space and gently blowing bubbles as he breathed in panicked gasps.

“This was your idea, you know, and therefore your fault.” observed Smythe.

“How was I supposed to predict this?”

“You couldn’t, and that, my dear boy, is why you listen to your elders and betters.” Smythe puffed up, stroking his moustache with one finger.

Bendickt’s eyes bulged, “I may be rather young-”

“Extremely so, I would say, extremely so.”

“I am fifteen; to be promoted to this position at that young age is unheard of.”

“And now we see why.” Smythe looked significantly at the PM, who had begun to giggle.

“Talent!” replied Bendickt icily, “Talent – I was promoted on talent!”

“She’ll be back soon, you know.” said Smythe in a deadpan tone usually reserved for announcements like ”We’re all out of ammunition, the bayonets are blunt, our retreat is blocked, and there is a horde of 50,000 angry natives headed our way with all kinds of interesting plans for our painful and hideous deaths.”

“She said she would be gone for a couple of hours; she promised to be back before two o’clock.” Bendickt’s lip began to quiver, “Oh Dear Lord – what are we going to tell her?”

“That is your concern, not mine.” replied Smythe smugly, “You created this predicament, you fix it.”

“But, as you keep reminding me, you are the senior party here, so surely the privilege falls to you?”

“Ah, but as you so keenly claim you are very talented and able to do far more than take notes and fetch tea; I shall allow you the chance to prove yourself.”

“That is most kind, but in this case I feel I would benefit from watching your superior skills in action.”

“Nonsense, old bean, you’ll do fine!” Smythe cheerfully patted the younger man on the back, “The best way to learn is by doing, and I do hope you won’t get another chance like this again for a very long time.”

“I’m not telling her!” insisted Bendickt.

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I am not!”

“Someone has to tell her!”

“That someone is not me!”

“And it’s not going to be me either! There is no way I am telling Miss Trampard-”

“Tell me what, gentlemen?” both men leaped several feet in the air, Smythe turned around and forced a smile; Miss Trampard stood in the doorway, pinning him with a look of polite interest.

“Well.” started Bendickt resolutely, “You see Smythe here has something to tell you.”

“No!” Smythe’s panicked yelp would have caused pity in the hearts of all but the most evil, the most ruthless, the dastardliest, and the most inhuman of souls. Miss Trampard was not affected. Smythe had frozen in horror, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he said, “Erk…”

“My nephew, I presume?” she inquired. Somehow Smythe managed to nod.

“Nephew?” Bendickt couldn’t stop himself, curiosity had grabbed him by the unmentionables and was forcing him to ask a question probably best left safely at home in the cupboard under the stairs, “But you look…um.” he discovered that her eyes were hazel, and that when you looked into them time stopped, just as time stopped when someone placed the barrel of a gun to your temple. He made a heroic effort to stumble across the finish line, “Younger…than um, him.”

“Yes.” the corners of her mouth lifted into something that may have been a smile, or then again it may not; whatever it was it was…not nice, “But we don’t like to talk about that. Now, what has happened to my nephew?” Smythe and Bendickt stepped out of her way, treating her to a view of Ned, still staring off blankly into space.

“He read the manual.” mumbled Bendickt by way of explanation.

“I see.” Miss Trampard walked overt to Ned and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. She then leaned down and looked him in the eyes, before standing up and rubbing her chin in a business like, thoughtful manner. “Could I have a glass of water, please?” Smythe and Bendickt collided in their rush to leave the room; after an undignified struggle in the doorway Bendickt managed to escape. His youth afforded him a few advantages, namely as skinny build, flexibility and an exceptionally strong need to live.

His glee did not last long; he soon realised that while he had escaped for a short while he had to go back and give the water to her; an act that required him to not only be in the same room as Miss Trampard but also, horror of horrors, to get close enough to give her the glass without dropping it. Judging from the look on Smythe’s face as Bendickt passed him on the way back that thought had also occurred to him.

He handed the glass to her from the furthest distance he could manage without it being obvious he was looking at her and seeing a lion poised to eat his hand. She favoured him with a smile, this time a real smile that was almost friendly; Bendickt found his Adam’s apple was now repeating the same pogo stick inspired dance as Smythe’s had done earlier.

Miss Trampard upended the glass over newbie’s head; he jerked back to this reality from wherever he had been, spluttering and coughing like a half drowned swimmer. He looked about him with wild eyes, “It was horrible! Page upon page, never ending, so many things…” he began to sob, “I didn’t know where to begin, I see the concepts but when I’m ruling…I just can’t…there’s so much.”

“There, there.” Miss Trampard patted him on his head, then looked at her damp hand and wiped it surreptitiously on the skirt of her dress, “We’ll find somewhere to begin, don’t you worry about that. If need be we can pick an area at random, jab a pin into the table of contents and work from there. We can do that later.”

“Later?” Ned’s lip began to twitch, and he hiccoughed, “Later? You mean today? No, you can’t mean today, can you?”

“Oh yes I can; just remember you are the one who wanted to be PM, I am only the poor sap you convinced into helping you.” Smythe and Bendickt somehow doubted that very much. “We can choose an area to try out later, after we have read the secondary manual and other assorted helpful bundles of texts.”

“More?!” you could virtually hear Newbie’s heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces, “More!? There’s more!?”




So the manual wasn't quite that bad, but this way is funnier and Ned's problem is an all to real and familiar one - where to begin once you astart the game up. Been there, done that with both EU2 and CK; the worst part of the learning experience.

[frogbeastegg]

Pom Pom Pom-Pom Dadadaa! POM!!

Ned entered his office the next morning feeling so cheerfully light he was in danger of floating away like a balloon in the hands of a child who hasn’t figured out how to keep a good grip on the string yet. He shut the door behind himself, dancing slightly and humming a happy little tune; he waltzed over to his desk and sat down with a deeply satisfied sigh. Then he noticed the feet. They were poking out of the bottom of his curtains; there were four of them, all neatly dressed in well-polished black leather shoes. As he watched one of the feet twitched, as if the owner had cramp in his toes.

Ned stood up, went over to the window with the foot collection and tweaked the curtain back. Smythe and Bendickt gave him a pair of guilty grins.

“We were just…checking for damp.” improvised Smythe, “Damp can be very nasty, can’t it Bendickt?”

“That’s right, indeed it is.” Bendickt nodded so vigorously Newbie suspected his head might fly off.

“It’s alright chaps.” Eddard went back to his desk and sat down with another deeply satisfied sigh, propping his feet on the surface of his desk, “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” echoed Smythe and Bendickt. Small grins began to spread across their faces.

“Indeed she is; a shopping trip in London.” Newbie pulled out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth but didn’t light it, “She will be gone all day; gone as in not here at all. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and best of all Miss Trampard is not here; gentlemen it is a most beautiful day.”

“May I offer you a light, sir?” asked Smythe.

“No, thanks; I don’t actually smoke, but right now I feel the day calls for a cigar and perhaps, yes, why not? Smythe, be a splendid chap and go fetch us three glasses and some port, or whiskey if you prefer. No, we shall have both, we are celebrating, after all.”

“At once sir, it’d be my pleasure” Smythe bustled from the room, adjusting his assessment of Newbie; perhaps he did have some potential after all.

“How long will your aunt be gone for, sir?” asked Bendickt as he and Ned waited for Smythe to get back.

At the word ‘aunt’ Newbie bit through he end of his cigar; he spat out the end and scrapped bits of tobacco off his tongue, “Bendickt, never, ever call her that again in my hearing; we do not like to think about our relationship, it is a deep embarrassment to both of us.”

Bendickt discovered that yesterday’s encounter with curiosity had left a permanent mark on him, “Why, sir?” he hastily added, “If you don’t mind me asking.” as Newbie slowly turned to look at him with an indescribable expression.

“A gentleman does not hit below the belt, Bendickt.”

“Sorry, sir." Bendickt was glad when Smythe reappeared with a tray of drinks; as the junior he felt it his duty to pour and hand out the glasses. The three men raised their drinks in a toast, and then drank.

“Today I think I shall get started.” Ned threw his cigar up in the air and caught it again, “Yes, I have read the manual and now, today, this very morning I shall begin my PMship.”

“It may be best” suggested Smythe tacitly, “to begin as a simulation, to pretend to be ruling instead of really ruling, if you follow my drift.”

“Why not?” Eddard liked the idea; if – when – he made a mistake it wouldn’t destroy the entire empire and bring the world into uncivilised disorder.

“Which country would you like to be, sir?”

Ned looked at Smythe as if he had gone insane, “We are in the greatest empire ever built, we are more enlightened, more advanced, more powerful, and more…more British than any other nation on God’s earth! Why do you even ask, man? Rule Britannia!”

“Very true, sir, rule Britannia indeed, but it is by way of our own success and many virtues that I asked, sir, as the empire is very complex and-”

“Pish, tosh and nonsense!” Ned pounded his fist on the table, making the drinks rattle; he looked mildly embarrassed, this attempt to look decisive somehow just didn’t suit him, “I will rule the greatest empire ever, no questions about it; what is to be gained by playing with some lesser power? No, rule Britannia I shall!”

“As you wish, sir.”



It took nearly twenty minutes to set everything up; a large map of the world was laid out on the cleared desk in front of Ned. An assortment of counters and coloured filters were stacked on a second table hastily dragged in from another room. A huge pile of ledgers, bits of random paper and economic spreadsheets was scattered overt the floor. In one corner a collection of rather bewildered working class idiot type people stood looking all poor and working classy in their drab poor and working classish clothes. One woman even still clutched her mop as if it were a magic totem to save her from the mad excesses of the ruling elite.

“Sir, we are ready to begin.” reported Bendickt.

“Excellent, tally ho and away we go.” Newbie cracked his knuckles and looked expectant. Bendickt hurried to the door that led to the adjoining room and waved his hand; music began to play.

“What the deuce?” asked Newbie.

“An orchestra, sir.” explained Smythe, “We thought a little background music may be pleasant.”

“Good idea, old bean.” Newbie beamed, sitting back in his big chair, “I recognise that tune, now what’s it called? Ieda or somesuch, right? From that opera thingy with all the Egyptians running about. I’m not so fond of trumpets, but it’ll do.”

“Sir, here’s your status report.” Bendickt handed Ned a pile of paper so big he had to hold it in both hands.

Newbie began to flick through, skim reading, “So this factory thing says we have less efficiency then we should, at only 56% in Sussex? Or does that mean we have only used 56% of our total, or perhaps we want to reduce it to 0%? Is a larger number always better?”

“Yes, sir.” Smythe pointed to the label, “If you look, sir, it does say efficiency, and being more efficient is a good thing.”

“Quite so!” Newbie looked pleased with himself, “Being efficient is very British and so it’s obviously one of the greatest possible things to be. Now, how to make this factory more efficient?”

“Sir, America has sent you this small token of their esteem.” Bendickt shoved a pen into Ned’s hand, “We don’t like them much, but now we like them a tiny bit more.”

“But it’s a nice pen.” protested Ned, examining it, “I should say we like them a lot more.”

“No, sir, you see that is a very poor gift, and so we are almost insulted.” Bendickt took the pen back and waved to one of the working class people.

A man stepped forward, turning his flat cap about nervously in his hands, and began to relate a carefully rehearsed speech, “Sir, what do you want to research? We can offer an assortment of items, you can find them listed on sheet ‘research B’.”

Ned began to search through the paper, after a few frantic minutes he found sheet research B, “Fire control systems, never know when you might accidentally set your house on fire, right?”

Bendickt came forward and gave Newbie the pen back, “Sir, our relations with Belgium have decreased slightly, they gave us this nasty pen so we hate them.”

“But the pen was good when it came from America!” Ned scratched his head, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a random variable, sir, I think.” Bendickt looked to Smythe for confirmation; the other man shrugged. “Anyway, we don’t like Belgium as much now.” he stepped back out of the way.

A working class peon stepped forward, “Sir, our factories are still inefficient and we are losing money.”

“Then do something.” begged Ned, “Fix it!”

“I can’t, sir, it has to be you.”

“What do we need?” Eddard sifted through the paper and had found something on limited supplies of materials that almost sounded useful when he was interrupted by Peon 3, “Sir, Egypt has begun to mobilise troops.”

“Are they attacking us?” asked Ned, his heart skipping a beat.

“No, sir, they are just giving men some new uniforms.”

“Then why are you telling me?!”

“It’s my job, sir, it’s what Mr. Smythe told me to say.”

“Sir.” interrupted Bendickt; “France just gave us this wonderful pen, now we like them a lot more.”

“Sir,” Smythe pushed forward with a pile of tokens, “We have run out of money and have taken a loan.”

“Sir.” this time it was Peon 1, “Our factories are still inefficient and you have only looked at one small province; there’s still a quarter of the world under our control and needing inspection.”

Overload! Ned clutched his head, “Enough! One at a time, ONE AT A TIME!!!”

In the background the music changed, the new tune was a loud brass band march; a particularly enthusiastic ‘pom’ took Ned by surprise and he nearly leapt out of his seat, “Shut them up.” he implored, “I hate that tune.” Smythe headed to the band room, but the band ‘pom pom pom-pomed’ on.

“Sir, they report they can’t shut up.” Smythe looked uncomfortable, “They play the music that is on the sheets in front of them, they can’t just skip a tune or the union would go crazy.”

“Sir.” ventured Peon 2, “We have invented fire control systems.”

“Not yet.” snapped Smythe, “I told you to wait a year of simulated time; it’s only been a day so far.”

“Enough!” Ned slumped down into his seat, “Enough, I give up.”

“Yes sir,” Bendickt offered him a sheet of paper with scores written on it, “You lasted one day, sir, and you came in second place behind Russia.”

The band used this opportunity to break out into another bout of loud ‘pom pom pom’ing. Ned began to cry.




I should have heeded the warnings on the forums; I should never have started as the UK. Ouch. I did actually last just over a year in the game, but that was mostly because I just turned pause off and clicked 'ok' on all the messages that popped up on a regular basis. Apparently I invented queen Victoria, but that is another story...

[rafiki]

Great writing

I really hurt for you, tho'. I have to admit, even now, after having played a fair share of games, I'm still not comfortable playing the UK. Hang in there! Things will get better!

Rafiki

[coz1]

Yes eggy, I would have suggested another country myself. Do you plan on sticking with the UK or beginning again with a new one? If so, I hear Belgium is quite good to begin with. And the US, though large, is removed enough from Europe to make some mistakes.

Nice little set up regardless. Newbie sounds like a real drip to me. I knew he would never last as PM of the UK - not for one minute.

[JoshWeber]

I'm enjoying this one so far.

[Nightcap]

'tis most entertaining. You were a lot braver than I was in my first game. I started nice and slow.

[frogbeastegg]

Thanks, everyone it's always nice to know when I entertain, especially when I am posting unpolished ramblings jotted down in quarter of an hour.

As Miss Trampard would say, "If you are going to mess up a country make sure it belongs to someone else!". I am leaving GB until I know what I am doing; I think I shall try Belgium next, I have seen it recommended for newbies quite a few times.

But first, before I summon the working class type people and drag all those bits of paper and counters of of the attic, I am going to do something about that brass band; I have removed the worst tracks alreayd, I am just fine tuning my custom playlist. Ho boy, I can already picture the scene where Ned meets the band...

[Blitzkrieg]

May I suggest Brazil?

Brazil may be a good choice for several reasons.

1. There's a detailed, good step by step newbie guide to Brazil so you can learn as you go along.

2. Brazil is far away from Europe so you can learn about economy and practice a bit of military if you wish as well as diplomacy.

Brazil's more boring than Belgium but easier in my opinion.

[G-Klav]

Originally Posted by frogbeastegg

Thanks, everyone it's always nice to know when I entertain, especially when I am posting unpolished ramblings jotted down in quarter of an hour.

As Miss Trampard would say, "If you are going to mess up a country make sure it belongs to someone else!". I am leaving GB until I know what I am doing; I think I shall try Belgium next, I have seen it recommended for newbies quite a few times.

But first, before I summon the working class type people and drag all those bits of paper and counters of of the attic, I am going to do something about that brass band; I have removed the worst tracks alreayd, I am just fine tuning my custom playlist. Ho boy, I can already picture the scene where Ned meets the band...

Which tune to you hate?
Is it the really long one that never ends? I removed that one as well
I think it's called Händel's Rule Britannia *shrugs*

As for countries, Belgium and Brazil is good, as previously mentioned.

[frogbeastegg]

Trombones are Deadly Weapons

Five days, five whole days, that is how long Ned was confined to bed by his doctor; five days in bed in a darkened room with orders not to move so much as an eyebrow. Trying to rule the British Empire had been an exhausting, draining, soul crushing experience; one he was not keen to repeat any time soon, which was a problem since he had been elected as PM for a term of four years and sooner or later people would notice the country was running itself.

On his first day back he called Smythe and Bendickt in for a ‘serious discussion on policy and methods’. “He wants to sack us.” Smythe informed his colleague rather morbidly, “That’s what serious discussions on policy and method usually mean, he’s going to sack us. You know I have a family to support, Bendickt? This Newbie chap is going to sack us, then my family will starve.”

Bendickt could stand no more, “We don’t know that yet, old thing; don’t worry, stiff upper lip and all.”

They walked the rest of the way to the PM’s office in silence; when they walked through the door they found Newbie sat at his desk holding a pen in his hand and trying to look professional. “Gentlemen, so kind of you to join me.” he put the pen down and shuffled his papers, “I am afraid someone is going to have to go.” Smythe emitted a choking noise, Ned didn’t pay it any attention, “I found trying to make important executive decisions without the necessary support to be truly gruelling, beyond any man’s capabilities even! Something will have to be done.” his eyes settled on Bendickt, “I shall remove the root cause of the problem.”

“No, sir.” whimpered Bendickt, “I’m sorry, sir, please give me one more chance-”

“What are you blathering about man!?” Newbie examined Bendickt closely, “Not taken ill, are you?”

“You’re…you’re going to sack me, sir; I would ask for one more chance-”

“No, no, no! You’ve got it all wrong, old bean! I’m going to find that chap with the trumpet and get rid of him. I’m also going to find the sheet music for anything that goes ‘pom’ at any point and have it burned on the fire!”

“Oh.” both Bendickt and Smythe sagged with relief.

“Have the band brought in, get them to play through all their music one tune after another; we shall see just what features a ‘pom’ and what does not, and then” Newbie’s eyes gleamed, “there shall be a reckoning.”



The band had enough music to play for nearly three continuous hours; as they began to play Ned prowled up and down like a caged tiger waiting for some particularly stupid person to stick a hand through the bars and say “Who’s a cute pussy then?”.



Over forty minutes in and the band were still playing violin and other quiet, gentle melodies; nothing interesting, but it was not unpleasant. Ned was beginning to get tired feet.



An hour and a half, Ned’s feet were protesting and the band was still playing music he described as “Tolerable, quite tolerable; I’m not sure I’d play it at home or go to a concert with it, but I can put up with it at work.”



One hour and forty-five minutes; Newbie’s feet demanded he sit down. The band played on; still no sign of a single ‘pom’.



Two hours; Ned was gently dozing off to sleep. Then it happened: POM! Pom-pom-pom pom dananana, pom POM. Ned flew several feet in the air, clutching his ears and screaming in reflexive terror.

He landed feet first, and his legs were already walking before they touched the ground; he shot off to the conductor, stood next to him and yelled into his ear, “Shut than infernal racket up!”

The conductor didn’t even break his baton waving, “The union, sir, will not like it.”

“The union be damned! Shut up or else!”

The band tootled into silence, except for one particularly enthusiastic chap with a trombone, who presumably couldn’t hear the sudden lack of orchestra over the blare of his own instrument. When it became quite apparent he was never going to stop of his own accord Ned felt obliged to utilise more drastic methods; he went over to his desk and grabbed a paperweight, ran back over to the trombone player and stuffed the paperweight into the end of the instrument. Several interesting events fought to happen at the same time; firstly the sound coming from the trombone changed from trombone like noises to a squealing racket that resembled nothing so much as a pig slowly dissolving in a vat of powerful acid. Secondly the paperweight was fired across the room as the musician gave a particularly strong blow; the missile sailed across the room until it hit a pot plant, the plant…well, we shall not mention what happened to the poor plant as it may upset readers with a nervous disposition. Thirdly a significant quantity of air was forced back into the musician’s lungs, causing him to nearly explode. To Eddard’s eternal gratitude the trombone player took the hint and stopped playing to see what was happening.

“Right! I have had enough of this!” bellowed Ned, “I demand that you” he glared at the conductor, “give me all the sheet music for every single tune that features a ‘pom’, loudness, unexpected trumpets or any form of brass band type shenanigans and hand them over to me. Now. This very instant. If you don’t I shall have the lot of you fired – from a cannon!”

“Can he do that?” asked Bendickt very quietly.

“You wouldn’t normally think so, but I have this strange feeling this PM would manage it.” replied Smythe equally cautiously.

The conductor decided to play things safe; being fired from a cannon may be unlikely but he had no wish to find out if it was possible or not, at least not finding out through personal experience…if it were someone else being used as ammunition, say his landlord, well then he might be interested in seeing if it was possible, but not himself personally. He slowly gathered up the requested music and began dumping it in the centre of the room at Ned’s feet. By the time he had collected all the music from all the orchestra members the pile was rather mountainous.

“Smythe.” Newbie smiled at his underling, “A bonfire I think, perhaps with potatoes wrapped in foil and other traditional bonfire treats; see to it.”

“Yes, sir.” Smythe’s moustache twitched, now he was catering for a children’s party, “Do you want toffee apples, sir?” He almost asked if Newbie wanted some clowns provided too.

“Of course, and some of those little sausages on sticks, and bits of cheese and pineapple on sticks, oh and maybe a nice coleslaw salad, and some larger sausages not on sticks, and a fish or two in foil would be nice too. You’d best add some extra fuel to the blaze, Smythe, that little pile will never provide enough heat!”

Newbie started to rummage around in the draws of his desk, he found what he was looking for, a bundle of sheet music, and wandered back over to the conductor, “Play this, it’s a lovely tune called ‘Across the Stars’ from a play I once saw, ‘Attack of the Clones’; a most peculiar name and not a very good plot, but this one bit of music was rather smashing.”

As Smythe and Bendickt started to carry the doomed music out in bundles to the garden the orchestra struck up their new tune; Ned sighed in contented satisfaction and sank down into the luxurious depths of his big PM’s chair. Ruling the country could wait until tomorrow.



Thanks for the recommendation, Blitzkrieg. Now, how to decide between Brazil and Belgium? I shall flip a coin.

G-Klav, I got rid of every single tune with the words 'march' or 'royal artillery band' in them, as the story suggests I prefer something quieter.

[rafiki]

You know, some people just turn off the music in-game and listen to a media player of their own choice

Rafiki

[frogbeastegg]

The Bother With Books

Eddard sat on his big, posh PM’s bed in his big, posh PM’s bedroom, still in his PM standard issue silk pinstripe pyjamas. He was worrying; nothing new there, then. A quiet knock at the door heralded the arrival of his PM silver dinner tray with a five course breakfast in bed, as the two maids struggled to carry the heavily laden trays through the door Ned saw the ideal solution to his dilemma; he leapt out of bed and ran across to his extra large wardrobe and began digging around in the pockets of his suits. Nothing.

The maids set about making a polite but hurried exit, trying to put as much distance between themselves and whatever the PM’s latest crazy idea was; they were too slow. Just as they were opening the door Ned called out, “I say, could either of you lend me a penny?”

The two maids conferred quietly, while technically they did actually have a few pennies between them (helpfully cleaned up from where they had carelessly been left [inside Ned’s pockets] because they were very good maids and didn’t like clutter) they were rather reluctant to loan the PM any money if they could avoid it; they doubted they would ever get it back. Such concerns were soon dismissed as they realised the sooner they gave the PM the money the sooner they would be able to retreat to a safe distance; a small squabble broke out over who should lose the money, before they agreed that one should give him a penny, then the other would give her a halfpenny so as to split the cost.

As soon as he had his penny Ned ignored the maids, “Now, Brazil or Belgium? Belgium or Brazil? Heads for Belgium, tails for Brazil.” he flicked the coin into the air, and caught it on the way down; well to be truthful he tried to catch it but his hand smacked the edge of the coin and sent it flying across the room. It landed under the shoe rack with a subtle clattering noise that indicated damaged woodwork.

Ned got down on his hands and knees and began fishing around under the shoe rack, sadly it was a very large and ornate model (PM posh etc, blah blah) and too heavy to simply lift up out of the way. After several minutes of blind groping, in which he discovered a fluffy teddy bear and a pair of ladies silk stockings presumably left by previous incumbents, he found the coin; he pulled it out, carefully so as not to alter which side it had landed with. Holding his breath he peeked through his fingers as soon as the coin was clear. Tails.



After eating his breakfast and dressing properly Eddard rushed over to his office; he flung the doors open and minced in, announcing in a strangely exuberant voice, “Today, Smythe, I am going to be Brazil!”

The three people in the office turned and stared at him. Bendickt, Smythe and Miss Trampard; they all looked as though someone had hit them in the face with a wet kipper. Miss Trampard was the first to recover her voice, “What the Dickens are you blathering about now?”

“Brazil, I shall rule Brazil instead of our great, glorious and mighty complicated empire. Should be a damn sight easier, and I might even get a nice suntan too.”

“You mean to say” Smythe sincerely hoped he did not, “that we are all moving to Brazil, sir?”

“Good God, no!” Newbie looked horrified, “Why ever do you say that?”

“Your comment about a suntan, sir, it led me to think that you meant to move to a country where a suntan is possible, rather than remaining here.”

“It was a joke, Smythe.” Ned couldn’t help but feel he was the only sane man in this room, er Miss Trampard was, of course, safe from such a categorisation because she was rather patently not a man; Ned didn’t even stop to wonder why he was carefully making excuses to save himself from her wrath even though she never could have overheard his thoughts in the first place. “A joke, you must be aware of them? Funny things that make folk laugh? Hahahah?”

Once again everyone in the room not called Ned Newbie looked highly embarrassed; that fake laughter was the final straw for Miss Trampard, “Enough of this, be Brazil if you must, I am sure these fine gentlemen” Bendickt and Smythe quaked in their boots, “can find the relevant information and figures to begin a simulation.” She picked up a brown paper parcel from the desk next to her, it was suspiciously books shaped, “I had this printed for you; read it, learn from it and it may even help if you refer to it while playing your game.”

Ned took the parcel, it was just like Christmas he thought; with that perennial Christmas spirit he looked at the book shaped parcel and hoped it was something different to a book, like a set of toy soldiers. He tore the paper off, tossing the discarded bits onto the floor; he stared at the revealed object. It was a book, a rather fine one with a gold embossed title on both front cover and spine, slender at only 52 pages but very nicely bound and on top quality paper. “Oh. Thank you. Very kind.” he muttered, the strained thanks of a disappointed child at Christmas.

“You haven’t even looked at the title.” snapped Miss Trampard.

Ned obliged reluctantly, “The New Victoria Manual and Strategy Guide Second Edition by Mr. Memnon. Thank you, I am sure it will be very…um, nice. I hear it has a very good plot.”

“It has no plot you great daft pudding!” Miss Trampard threw her hands up in the air, despairing, “It will tell you the basics of ruling, it explains those nice little things like how to destroy other nations!”

“Oh.” mumbled Ned, “So it doesn’t even have a story?”

“NO!”

Ned flicked through the pages, “There aren’t even any pictures; how can it be a proper book if it doesn’t have any pictures?”

Bendickt cleared his throat, thinking it best to intervene, as Miss Trampard was slowly turning purple, a colour that clashed with the deep burgundy of her dress. “Sir, not all books have pictures in them, in fact the ones that do are usually intended for…children.”

“What? You mean ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ isn’t a taunt political thriller?” Ned was utterly dumbfounded, “How about ‘The Little Mermaid’? ‘The Three Little Pigs’? Come on, man – even the bible has pictures in it; my favourite is the one of Jonah inside the whale.”

“No, sir, all those books are for” Bendickt swallowed, he now wished he had left Miss Trampard to continue turning purple, “children, sir. A children’s edition of the bible has pictures, sir.”

“Oh.” Eddard looked very puzzled, “But the clerk in the bookshop said they were very suitable for me.”

Miss Trampard returned the favour and rescued Bendickt, “He probably thought you were buying for a child, Ned.”

“Oh. I rather liked them. And the pictures. And the rhyming bits. They were very funny. I used to read them in the bath.”

“Oh, Ned” Miss Trampard shook her head.

Smythe began to steer the ship away from the rocks, “Shall I begin setting everything up for you to rule Brazil, sir?”

“Yes.” replied Ned, perking up slightly at this reminder of his incredible position of power, trust and responsibility; he was the PM after all and the PM couldn’t waste time on books about pigs with mermaids inside whales! “Yes, I am determined to try Brazil today, make the necessary preparations.”





rafiki, I tried using media player to do a custom soundtrack for CK; every time the track changed the title popped up in the middle of the game screen and began flickering. I found replacing tracks with my own choices to be a more trouble free path.

And now I shall begin my Brazil game, as chosen by a tossed coin, but without Ned's bumbling.

[Blitzkrieg]

You may wana to try to read this

http://victoria.nsen.ch/wiki/index.p...ng_New_Players

I've listed my reasons why you may want to choose Brazil, that guide is very newbie friendly.

[frogbeastegg]

How To Lose A Small Banana Republic

“Sir.” Bendickt looked rather sheepish, “Sir, we have lost Brazil.”

“What the deuce do you mean by that?” demanded Newbie, who was damned if he could think up an explanation; it was not as if you could lose a banana republic down the back of your sofa like you could with money, buttons and small pet dogs.

“Sir, well you see there are these countries that are ready set up, the ones that are set up for easy access and all, um, like Britain and France. Er, and then there are the others, sir, they don’t have the easy selection, you have to do a bit more work to play as them, sir. The fact of the matter is…um well, you see…”

“They can’t remember how you access Brazil.” interrupted Miss Trampard, striding into the PM’s office. Bendickt’s knees began to knock together as his legs trembled; Miss Trampard ignored him and continued talking, “If you want to play as Brazil you will have to wait until we find out how to enable them.”

“I can’t do that!” exclaimed Ned, “I have a strict schedule here – I need to run this country sometime before my four years in office are up!”

Miss Trampard took a deep breath, “You could always try another country, you said something about Belgium before; they are on the easy access list.”

“Fine. Belgium I am, er, I rule, that is it is we are, er, thing?”

If anyone except Ned understood that last sentence they weren’t letting on.




The orchestra began to play, a nice quiet and relaxing bit of music; the working class peons were lined up ready to do their duty for Belgium or Britain or wherever it was they were working for this week, the maps, sheets and documents were spread out, Smythe, Bendickt and Miss Trampard were standing by. It was time to begin.

Newbie sat down in his big posh PM’s chair (with the patched seat and a new coffee stain) and took a deep breath, “Ok, we shall begin. Now, one at a time, anyone talking when someone else is speaking will be thrown out of the window, and I shall do the throwing myself; I feel I should remind you all that we are on the third floor here, so the fall is potentially rather nasty. Now, let’s see about our taxes and stuff first, shall we?”

Smythe stepped forward with a bundle of documents, “Here you are, sir, everything you need to know about our current situation.”

Ned glanced through the pages, “But, but this is no good, no good at all, Smythe! Look here, it says ‘projected profits: 0 projected expenditure: 0’, in fact it says that about every dashed thing!”

“You have to let the simulation run for a few days to gather data, sir.” explained Smythe.

“Then we shall do just that, unpause.” Ned drummed his fingers on the desk and watched the peon with the day to day calendar flip several pages over; when he reached January 5th Ned yelled, “Pause! Now, our economics, if you please.” Smythe took the outdated bundle of reports away and spent several minutes working furiously at his desk, adding and subtracting, multiplying and dividing so quickly his pencil was a blur. Shortly he returned with the amended details and Ned began to look at them, “Well one thing is quite plain – we are losing money, rather a lot of money. I hear steel is a great thing, so build steel factories everywhere as soon as we have the resources. Close down those factories not making a profit, their workers can be unemployed for a year, then move into our new steel factories.” That had been easy enough, Ned thought, and he was unable to repress a happy smile.

He waved to Bendickt who had the reports on trade; Bendickt delivered the reports, Eddard looked at them, his eyes glazed over and he tittered nervously, “Er, Bendickt, old chap, old bean, you take care of trade for me, ok?”

“Yes, sir, don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Now, anything else I should look at?”

A peon nervously stepped forward, “Sir, um, you should…here.” the peon dumped a piece of paper on the desk; it was called ‘research options’ and had a collection of potential research projects listed on it.

Ned scanned the list, “Er, this is all straight forward enough, but what do these technologies actually do? I mean I know it tells you that researching medicine leads to the invention of the steam engine, but what in the name of apple pie does that mean anyway!? Medicine is about bandages and the like, not industry! How am I supposed to chose which is the most beneficial?”

“I’m just a peon, sir.” mumbled the peon, “I don’t know nuffin’ about nuffin’.”

“Can anyone here explain?” Ned looked about the room; everyone pretended to be busy, he sighed, “No, ok I shall choose one at random.” Ned laid the piece of paper down on the desk, closed his eyes and stabbed his finger down, “We will research ‘Pwose and Sons LTD’.” Ned frowned, that didn’t sound right. He took a closer look at the paper, “Sorry, everyone, that’s who made this particular sheet of paper.”

“Twit.” muttered Miss Trampard.

“I say we will research ‘mechanical production’ because that sounds quite nice and useful, although God alone knows what it does. Now, who else?”

“Sir.” a female peon stepped forward, “Do you want to build a railway, sir?”

“Oh yes, splendid idea, quite splendid! Build one everywhere as soon as possible, let me know when the whole country has one.”

“Yes sir.” The peon stood poised with a black pen; ready to begin drawing railways all over the map the moment the sim was unpaused.

“There are other matters, Ned.” said Miss Trampard, “Education, RGO expansion, the small war we have going on as we try to gain independence from those evil Dutch people-”

“Yes, yes, yes.” interrupted Ned impatiently; he rubbed his temples, that list had sparked a small headache. “You see to it, win our war, expand our RGOs, whatever they are, educate the people.”

“As you wish, Ned, but I should warn you that will be very expensive.”

Eddard dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, “We have money. Now, unpause!”




The calendar went from the 5th to the 6th, immediately Smythe reported, “Sir, we have run out of money and have been forced to take a substantial loan.”

“Oh.” Ned rubbed the back of his head, utterly embarrassed, “Oh, um, keep going as we were, um, I suppose that now we have paid for our new factories and so on we will be making money.”

“No, sir.” reported Smythe, “While we will be losing less we will still be losing. There is no way, so far as I know, to make a profit right now.”

“Oh.” said Ned again, “Carry on then.”




And so it continued, every third day they were forced to take a new loan of £100 to cover the cost of just whatever was taking up huge piles on money. Several months into the game, Miss Trampard reported, “Ned, we have just won our war, or rather the UK has won it for us. We are now independent and Britain is offering us an alliance.”

“Smashing work, old girl.” if Ned noticed how Miss Trampard winced at ‘old girl’ he didn’t show it, “Ally with them and cut our defence spending right down to the minimum, I remember that’s what our ancestors in the renaissance used to do to save cash. Cut spending on the navy too, right down to minimal. We should turn a profit now, surely?”

Hiding her misgivings Miss Trampard did as he requested; the game was unpaused once again.




The next game day Smythe reported, “Sir, we are still losing money, and now our loans are growing rather big.”

“Well what can I do?” demanded Ned, “I’m not spending on the militarily, in fact I am not spending on much at all, Bendickt keeps reporting good sales on exports and we barely import anything, so what more can I do?”

“I don’t know, sir.” admitted Smythe.

“Keep going.” Ned waved his hand at the calendar peon, “Keep going, when our steel factories are operational we will have more money coming in.”




It was nearly December; the loans of £100 were now taken every second day instead of every third.




On the 26th of January the factory building peon announced the new steel factories were up and running with the staff from the closed small arms and clothing factories.




On the 27th January Ned checked his outstanding loan total: £70100. There was only one thing to say, and so he said it, “Bloody hell! Where’d all that money go?” He reached for the bottle of whiskey he kept in his desk draw and took a heft swig straight from the bottle, to the disgust of Miss Trampard. “Gentlemen, I think I shall now officially retire as the leader of Belgium.” Ned’s hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t put the lid back on his whiskey bottle, “There’s no way I shall ever pay that lot back, and I am adding to it at the rate of £100 every other day, as we are still losing nearly £50 every day – this situation is hopeless. End the simulation; I give up. Again.”





Um, well :shuffles feet: I didn't do quite so badly, all things considered, sort of, in a disasterous kind of way. I was going to play Brazil, but it wasn't on the selectable nations list at the start of the grand camapign, and I couldn't remember how exactly you play as a country not on that list; something about right clicking a flag while loading a savegame or something. Impatient froggy, I couldn't be bothered to quit the game and look it up.

I shall go and look that up now, it's a common enough topic over in Vicky general.

Thanks for that link, Blitzkrieg. I have printed a copy of that guide out now, ready for my next game.

[rafiki]

Too bad Froggy; getting the economy running seems to be the big threshold into Vicky.

If I may suggest some resources that may be of help:

• The Semi-Official Victoria General Discussion FAQ - a nice companion to Memnon's manual, it is more to-the-point answers to specific questions you may (or may not) have asked.
• The Techtionary - provides an overview of all the techs and inventions in the game. There's still a lot of them, but it hopefully makes it a bit easier.
• How to get an economy running - A small walkthrough as to what you can do to turn red money into black money.

Rafiki

[coz1]

A fascinating way to read about a newbie's experience, I must say. And quite entertaining. To access Brazil, all you need do is right click on one of the flags that are suggested before clicking start (i.e. right click on the flag for Belgium). It will present you with a list of other playable nations and away you go.

I still say the US may very well be a good starting point for you. It allows for many mistakes and has plenty of opportunity to practice all of the little ins and outs of the game. And the guides Rafiki has pointed out should also help in that endeavor.

Keep at it, eggy. If anything, this running commentary of your troubles is quite enjoyable.

[Blitzkrieg]

Originally Posted by coz1

A fascinating way to read about a newbie's experience, I must say. And quite entertaining. To access Brazil, all you need do is right click on one of the flags that are suggested before clicking start (i.e. right click on the flag for Belgium). It will present you with a list of other playable nations and away you go.

I still say the US may very well be a good starting point for you. It allows for many mistakes and has plenty of opportunity to practice all of the little ins and outs of the game. And the guides Rafiki has pointed out should also help in that endeavor.

Keep at it, eggy. If anything, this running commentary of your troubles is quite enjoyable.

Ahem...well....

my very first vicky game, ever, was USA...

let's just say columbia, desert, new england, everyone left the union after I was done with USA and capital moved too I believe......so....if Ned has the same tendency...it sure will make another interesting tale...Disentegrate States of America