I'm in Asia for the trade; and I didn't attack Egypt, he attacked me. And refuses to talk peace. So it looks to me like I'll be getting some bits of Egypt whether I like it or not.
I've tried, thanks.
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I'm in Asia for the trade; and I didn't attack Egypt, he attacked me. And refuses to talk peace. So it looks to me like I'll be getting some bits of Egypt whether I like it or not.
I've tried, thanks.
You obviously spent insufficient amounts of time plotting that one.
Well, why don't you join the game as the Templar Republic and help me with the next one? (We currently have open spots in Africa and Vietnam.)
Pharaoh hardened his heart
VII - Your agony is my triumph
VII - Your agony is my triumph
Egypt, 1562
Once we were Gods in this land. Masters, revered and feared. Men served us. Multitudes toiled in our name, built monuments to our glory, laid feasts before our hunger, preserved us for the eternal life we stole from them.
And then it ended. Men stopped worshipping us and started serving others. They believed in other gods, then other gods, then other gods yet, and finally one other god.
So we let them believe. And yet they still serve us.
Every child in the womb is only fodder to our morbid hunger, ripening. Every fortress they dot the land with is an altar to our ancient, silent shadow. And still, they feast us.
Thousands and thousands dead, unburied, born here or sailed here from farther than even our empire stretches. White men, brown men, yellow men, children, elders, their bellies opened in battle, their parched mouths opened in a silent scream, their bone-thin hands clutching the sand to keep crawling a few meters after their legs fail them.
Always we loom above, like the north wind whistling down the sky and blowing the sails of the Italian fleets with their cargo of dead men walking.
Few battles in this war, in the sense men mean the word. Men die of thirst and heat and starvation and exhaustion and disease and madness. Egypt is a cruel land even to its children. To the invader, everything is death: the land they tread, the water they drink, the air they breathe. And they die, thousand upon thousand, an immense feast strewn across the land.
It is a good time for us, the vultures.
As of the end of last war our border with King of Men did not look very good. There was one province that completely protruded into my stuff. Really ruined the whole feng shui of south Africa.
I offered him to cede me this province but he declined and started a war with me. Me! Who never hurt anyone.
Luckily and unrelatedly, I was prepared to fight a defensive war, with lots of well-placed fortresses, good ideas, bad terrain and sheer skill:
Unluckily, my mobile troops are too weak to deal with the Italian oppressor and his Persian goons. So I fell back and started bleeding them over the sands of Egypt. Attrition sucked their manpower dry in less than a year, but they were able to make up for it by fielding lots and lots of mercenaries. Eventually the Japanese who, again coincidentally, were at war with Egypt at the time came to my help to try and hold a line in the Ethiopian highlands.
And now we wait for who gives up.
Before that I also pressured Byzantium/Blayne for Alexandria back.
Anyways let's look at my final ideas:
Got other engagements for the remainder of the month. Also I'm not dumb enough to again fall into the trap of taking up a slot someone just ragequit from.
Before They Died
Before they died, they lived.
They were born; each of them
brought through the narrow passage
at a price in blood and pain.
Is that not enough, already?
Yet there is more.
How long to raise a child?
Give him each day his daily bread,
drive away the bogeys under the bed,
keep him warm and dry and not too wild.
All the long years, freely given
that he may sail towards the sunrise
- it is our power and our pride -
and leave his bones among angry strangers.
Unexpendable, they were expended
golden bezants thrown in azure seas;
the children of the back streets
made the currency of diplomacy.
Do you feel the waste of it?
They can afford waste,
in the palaces, in the silken rooms;
they have children to spare.
We are not so wealthy,
in the back streets.
We waste nothing;
not even grief.
Not even anger.
There will come a day
- but why speak of it?
Even a mother cannot
think of it always.
Pack it away in salt,
all your work,
all your memories.
Save it against the day
when it is needed.
It is not waste
to store grief
against the future:
Before they died, they lived.
--From Songs of the Weaver Women, by Elisabetta Mare, "Il Povero Poeta". Not written down in her own lifetime, her poems and songs lived mouth to mouth in the alleys of Venice for a generation before being collected and published in 1631. This blank-verse English translation loses the strong rhyme and meter that enabled them to survive as a purely oral tradition, but retains, unlike more formal versions, the elegiac bitterness of the original. There is a Venetian tradition that two sons of Elisabetta Mare died in the disastrous battle of the Straits of Hormuz; even if it is not true, she surely knew many women who did lose sons and brothers, since there was hardly a family in Venice untouched by the tragedy.
Last week I reported that we had fought the Egyptians to an attritional standstill, and were advancing inch by inch down the Nile Valley; that we had driven off the Japanese invasion, and sunk half its fleet in the Aegean. It was, I thought, only a question of time before we were in a position to dictate terms, and retake what was lost in the Nile Delta War and the Indian Ocean War. That was before the Indian powers, seeing a kidney conveniently exposed, decided to stick a knife in it. We ended up signing over a lot of Persian territory to opportunistic Peshawar, and accepting white peaces with the Egyptians and Japanese who had been fighting us for twenty years. I don't think anyone except, presumably, Ragatokk (playing Peshawar) was pleased with this outcome; let that be a lesson for those who think of calling in additional allies in games that have warscore limitations on separate wars.
I had just about rebuilt my army when Peshawar came around for a second helping in the Oxus River War. This time I just gave Egypt the damn province when he threatened me, thus enabling us to concentrate on one front; it looked good, too, until Fandango joined their northern ally. It was then I learned that light ships do actually matter in EU4 naval combat, in that they absorb the damage your heavies deal out, and make it possible to win even when outnumbered in ships of the line. An expensive lesson, 2000 ducats' worth of ships in the learning; next war I will be better prepared.
The addition of Fandango, however, gave Peshawar little comfort in the end, since it brought in England on our side. England apparently has an agreement with Peshawar, and would not fight their troops; but did agree to crush the Fandangese army and roll back their gains, thus restoring the status quo - basically a stalemate, in other words.
There's a war in Europe too, Germany trying to take another bite out of the German-Uzbek Demilitarised Zone, and Uzbekistan and Byantium defending their client. I could not follow this in detail, being busy ordering my armies around; but no doubt many thousands of pixel mothers grieve for their pixel sons, and perhaps a province or two has changed masters. Meanwhile the Jackal waits patiently, defended by its deserts; maneuvering its enemies, who do not yet know they are at war with a foe worse than any merely human nation, against each other. Taking a city here, a strategic fortress there. Waiting for the day when its puppets are strong enough to rise against all the world, and proclaim again its rule of the Red Lands and the Black.
Although the Nile Valley Front was mainly an affair of siegework and trenches, there were occasional spectacular slaughters when the Egyptian army came out to fight. Five-to-one kill ratios with even odds are, indeed, an excellent reason for hiding behind your fortifications; let nobody say the Egyptians don't know their capabilities and tailor their tactics accordingly.
Some similar results, if not quite so onesided, in the Oxus River War. Go on, push your invasion through that lot.
The epic battle of Basra, still ongoing when the session ended.
Eurasia, 1588.
Before they died, they lived.
They were born; each of them
brought through the narrow passage
at a price in blood and pain.
Is that not enough, already?
Yet there is more.
How long to raise a child?
Give him each day his daily bread,
drive away the bogeys under the bed,
keep him warm and dry and not too wild.
All the long years, freely given
that he may sail towards the sunrise
- it is our power and our pride -
and leave his bones among angry strangers.
Unexpendable, they were expended
golden bezants thrown in azure seas;
the children of the back streets
made the currency of diplomacy.
Do you feel the waste of it?
They can afford waste,
in the palaces, in the silken rooms;
they have children to spare.
We are not so wealthy,
in the back streets.
We waste nothing;
not even grief.
Not even anger.
There will come a day
- but why speak of it?
Even a mother cannot
think of it always.
Pack it away in salt,
all your work,
all your memories.
Save it against the day
when it is needed.
It is not waste
to store grief
against the future:
Before they died, they lived.
--From Songs of the Weaver Women, by Elisabetta Mare, "Il Povero Poeta". Not written down in her own lifetime, her poems and songs lived mouth to mouth in the alleys of Venice for a generation before being collected and published in 1631. This blank-verse English translation loses the strong rhyme and meter that enabled them to survive as a purely oral tradition, but retains, unlike more formal versions, the elegiac bitterness of the original. There is a Venetian tradition that two sons of Elisabetta Mare died in the disastrous battle of the Straits of Hormuz; even if it is not true, she surely knew many women who did lose sons and brothers, since there was hardly a family in Venice untouched by the tragedy.
Last week I reported that we had fought the Egyptians to an attritional standstill, and were advancing inch by inch down the Nile Valley; that we had driven off the Japanese invasion, and sunk half its fleet in the Aegean. It was, I thought, only a question of time before we were in a position to dictate terms, and retake what was lost in the Nile Delta War and the Indian Ocean War. That was before the Indian powers, seeing a kidney conveniently exposed, decided to stick a knife in it. We ended up signing over a lot of Persian territory to opportunistic Peshawar, and accepting white peaces with the Egyptians and Japanese who had been fighting us for twenty years. I don't think anyone except, presumably, Ragatokk (playing Peshawar) was pleased with this outcome; let that be a lesson for those who think of calling in additional allies in games that have warscore limitations on separate wars.
I had just about rebuilt my army when Peshawar came around for a second helping in the Oxus River War. This time I just gave Egypt the damn province when he threatened me, thus enabling us to concentrate on one front; it looked good, too, until Fandango joined their northern ally. It was then I learned that light ships do actually matter in EU4 naval combat, in that they absorb the damage your heavies deal out, and make it possible to win even when outnumbered in ships of the line. An expensive lesson, 2000 ducats' worth of ships in the learning; next war I will be better prepared.
The addition of Fandango, however, gave Peshawar little comfort in the end, since it brought in England on our side. England apparently has an agreement with Peshawar, and would not fight their troops; but did agree to crush the Fandangese army and roll back their gains, thus restoring the status quo - basically a stalemate, in other words.
There's a war in Europe too, Germany trying to take another bite out of the German-Uzbek Demilitarised Zone, and Uzbekistan and Byantium defending their client. I could not follow this in detail, being busy ordering my armies around; but no doubt many thousands of pixel mothers grieve for their pixel sons, and perhaps a province or two has changed masters. Meanwhile the Jackal waits patiently, defended by its deserts; maneuvering its enemies, who do not yet know they are at war with a foe worse than any merely human nation, against each other. Taking a city here, a strategic fortress there. Waiting for the day when its puppets are strong enough to rise against all the world, and proclaim again its rule of the Red Lands and the Black.
Although the Nile Valley Front was mainly an affair of siegework and trenches, there were occasional spectacular slaughters when the Egyptian army came out to fight. Five-to-one kill ratios with even odds are, indeed, an excellent reason for hiding behind your fortifications; let nobody say the Egyptians don't know their capabilities and tailor their tactics accordingly.
Some similar results, if not quite so onesided, in the Oxus River War. Go on, push your invasion through that lot.
The epic battle of Basra, still ongoing when the session ended.
Eurasia, 1588.
I think I do
I do believe I hold the rather pointless record of having the largest expanse of wasteland painted my color at the moment.
Anyway is your poem a riff on the Song of La Palice ? Cause that first verse.
I do believe I hold the rather pointless record of having the largest expanse of wasteland painted my color at the moment.
Anyway is your poem a riff on the Song of La Palice ? Cause that first verse.
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Pharaoh hardened his heart
VIII - Like broetry, it rhymes
VIII - Like broetry, it rhymes
Zanzibar City, 1567
It was one of those lazy days in mid-July when the air itself seemed sluggish, suffocatingly hot, and the big Egyptian ship moved slowly into the harbor, like a great wary beast. There it stopped, without docking to the stone quay, without sending a message. So after a while they sent a boat with Usain on board, as a negotiator.
As soon as they docked the ship, two Egyptian soldiers in garish livery went over the railing and down with them, standing uneasily in the swaying boat.
"Greetings," Usain said, conscious of how foolish he sounded. Then Pharaoh followed, with the bundle he always kept by him. Instinctively Usain held his hand up to help him; the conqueror's hand was big and strong yet its contact felt cold and strange.
"He made us feel naked, observed," his grandfather had told him, almost a whole lifetime ago. The captain he used to serve under had been some sort of spirit, he had grown sure in dotage.
"Did he ever actually do magic?"
"No, not that I could see. He was the one who saw. Right through you."
Maybe it was something people with authority made those under them feel, but Usain was a leader too, supposedly, and yet he certainly did not have that commanding stare. Once, years ago in Kilwa, in the heat of rebellion against D.R.A.G.O. oppressors, he had let his wife talk him into claiming a seat in the Provisory council, as a respected trader. Afterwards he had found, although no one else seemed to notice, that he had no aptitude for politics, and wore abrupt confidence on his face like a mask over complete helplessness.
But now the armies were crushed, and someone had to deal with their victors. Usain did not like his chances.
"To the shore," Pharaoh ordered, as if Usain had only been a pilot.
When they reached the quay he added: "We're going to the Council."
On their way, the crowd parted before them, but not much, and they walked a gauntlet of dark women and children, sullen, desperate, staring in fear and hatred. Most of Zanzibar's population, as of late.
"They are the families," the old merchant thought he had to explain, "Of the men that sailed against you."
Not a line moved in Pharaoh Ali's handsome and terrible face.
When they came to the Palace the Pharaoh walked in without a word. Sheikh Umar was standing in front of the other councilmen, in plain military dress, running his hard fingers through his trimmed grey beard. In the last months he had become their leader in all but name, as he had been the strongest opponent to the disastrous expedition to the mainland. Some back then had even called him a coward, but it took courage to stand as he did in front of the Crocodile, one head taller than him.
Hey little stack come to the mainland! Come on it's cool I'm not gonna hurt you.
"I have come to receive your surrender. I crushed your militia on the banks of the Rufiji. You Persian friends, your Venitian masters, they lay dead by the hundreds of thousands in the sands of Egypt. I am the master of Africa now."
"Venitians are not my masters, Pharaoh," sheikh Umar said, his voice failing a little. "But neither are you. I dare hope there is still a chance for our freedom, after all the blood we have shed for it."
"And yet here I stand." They all looked on, as if there was a chance yet.
"Here you stand. Not everyone on this council was as discerning as I was. Not all of them assented to my plan to make our stand here against the true enemy. But as of now, yes, he stands before me, and the stand on Zanzibar is mine to take. Did you come to grant me that?"
Usain noticed a frightened boy at sheikh Umar's side, listening to his words carefully, with two spears in hand. He should have supported him back then, he thought; he had known all along the expedition was a bad idea, but he had been too frightened, too indecisive to argue.
And now it was going to happen, now that he stood no chance, now that all could bring was more misery and harsher terms on the rest of them, whether Umar won or not.
"Change your mind, Umar, my old friend, I beg you," Usain said. "The Ocean is for the big fish. Trust me, I wish we in the Swahili coast could remain independent, but we can't. We have no choice. Surrender."
"Then why did we fight Venice?"
"Because we could win. And win we did. But Egypt is stronger and wilier. And win they did too, over Venice and over us. They are winners, and we are losers."
"For now."
"For now, yes. Have you heard how that man came to be known as the Crocodile? I know you do. It's ugly. It's horrible. All these men dead while he bid his time, waited for the moment to clench his jaws on Italian and Persian… These jaws will clench on us, too. These boots will tread on us, no matter what we do today. He's our master. Do not make our fate worse, do not throw your life away. Please!..."
"You only live once," Pharaoh said, having stayed silent during Usain's plea, with a cruel, taunting accent on the 'you'.
"Not if you never live. And there are worse fates. My grandchildren will know a free Kilwa, or nothing. They won't grow up as subjects of a kafir half a world away, or a Druze Pharaoh. I do it for them." Sheikh Umar snatched one of the spears, tossed it at the Crocodile who caught it effortlessly, and then raised the other one. "And for MY SON!"
He lunged, thrust, swung his weapon with the savagery of a cornered lion, while Pharaoh avoided and blocked his attacks with contemptuous ease, like an adult humoring a little child's tantrum. Then he ran him through the thigh, pulled his spear out and thrust it again in the staggering man's gut. Umar fell, noisily, in a gurgle of gore.
And then the most horrible thing happened:
Until the last moment the sheikh had kept his defiance, but in the throes of agony, in the grasp of pain and despair he changed his mind, begging.
"Please, no. I will… Serve… You…"
Usain was crying; he would have believed possible to hold one's beliefs to the end, even if he himself did not have what it took, that there was something ideal and free in the soul of man that Pharaoh somehow could not utterly conquer.
But the crocodile stood in absolute triumph over his victim, pulling the spear free again. Then he stabbed Umar again, in the throat, looking straight at Usain.
"Others will serve me better."
The uttermost Venetian advance, including my poor capital, and the Egyptian-Korean counterattack. Note the Egyptian peasant insurgency in the North, their megastack did some very effective freedomfighting and was rewarded with a mercifully quick death
The peace between King of Men and me was technically a white one, but there was still something in it for me. Most of King of Men's colonies in east Africa broke free from his imperialist occupation, which meant he had a truce with the new country. Guess who did not?
And that's how Kilwa and co joined the Greater East Africa Co-Prosperity Sphere. They stood no chance, of course. The hardest part was to bait their main stack off the Island province of Zanzibar so I did not lose too much manpower attacking across the sea.
And then I threatened my way into a couple more provinces and developed.
Overall a good session.
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Mad Dogs and Courts Martial
Federico Morosini (presiding judge): Please state for the record your name and rank.
Abramo Aiello (accused): My name is Abramo Aiello; my permanent rank is Grand Captain. Until last week I was additionally commissioned Ammiraglio dell'Este, commanding the naval forces of the City east of Suez.
Federico: Thank you. Trial counsel may now question the accused.
Girolamo Ziani (trial counsel): What was the position and condition of the fleet under your command, our power and our pride, on the twenty-first of June, 1602?
Abramo: We were then in Basra harbour, refitting after the battle in the Straits of Hormuz. Our strength was thirty-five ships of the line, with supporting elements. We -
Girolamo: Hold. Give the details of the supporting elements.
Abramo: We had twenty frigates, and the supply ships; and enough assorted merchantmen to carry -
Girolamo: I meant their complements. How many men and guns?
Abramo: Something over twenty thousand men, all told. The exact number would vary from day to day. Two thousand, one hundred, and thirty-six guns, not counting the swivels and mankillers - only the serpentines and bigger.
Girolamo: Thank you. And for each gun the State may have paid, let us say, a thousand ducats?
Abramo: Roughly, yes. Taking one with another.
Girolamo: To which we may add so many thousand square yards of sailcloth, at perhaps a ducat the ten square yards; rope and rigging, a ducat for a hundred yards, the timber alone in the hulls -
Federico: I think all here understand that fleets are expensive, counselor. Please come to your point.
Girolamo: Yes, Your Honour. I would like the witness to state for the record the position and condition of this same fleet a week later, on the twenty-eighth of June.
Abramo (looks pained): We were then in port in Basra harbour, refitting. We had eight ships of the line. Eight frigates. Supporting elements in proportion.
Girolamo: And the condition of these few ships?
Abramo: It was... not good.
Girolamo: Would "shot to pieces" be an adequate description?
Abramo: It is not without merit.
Girolamo: Thank you. And this transition, from two thousand guns in fifty-five well-found hulls, to... (consults notes) five hundred guns, not all adequately manned, in sixteen hulls; costing the Serene Republic something on the order of twenty million ducats to replace, not to mention the loss of twelve thousand valuable sailors... this occurred under your command?
Abramo: That is true.
Girolamo: Thank you. Your Honour, the prosecution rests.
Federico: Very well. Defense counsel?
Salomone Aiello (counsel for the defence): Thank you, Your Honour. I would like to point out that, although the prosecution has done a salutary job of establishing the physical facts of the case, which were all known to us and indeed to the whole city, since that's why we're here in the first place - they have done nothing towards demonstrating negligence, malice, or cowardice, one of which is required for a conviction.
Girolamo: Your Honour, in this case, I think the physical facts alone suffice to demonstrate active treason, which I notice my learned colleague does not mention as one of the causes to convict; what exactly, besides treason, is supposed to cause such a disastrous loss? Mere negligence would not do it; for my part I absolve the accused entirely of that. On the contrary I believe he has done an excellent and painstaking job for his paymasters; I only wish those paymasters were the Senate and People of the Serene Republic.
Salomone: Indeed, that is what this court is convened to find out. (To the accused) Please describe the events of Signore Ziani's famous 'transition'. What exactly happened out there?
Abramo: We sailed... (clears throat) We sailed from Basra on the twenty-second, with the morning tide. We had easterly winds; our mission was to find and destroy the Indian squadron blockading the Strait, and then to maintain our own blockade of Muscat. On the third day we encountered - our scouts reported sails ahead, at least a hundred. We knew the Indians couldn't be present in such strength; they didn't have such strength... according to the reports.
Salomone: So what did you do?
Abramo: We beat to battle stations, of course; reports have been known to be incorrect. Then the lookouts reported the ships flew the White Ensign.
Salomone: An allied flag, co-belligerents in the Red Sea War.
Abramo: Precisely.
Salomone: Were you aware, at that time, that England was also at war with the Republic, in the Aleppo Conflict?
Abramo: Yes, we knew. Everyone knew that was pro forma! Of course we had to 'defend' our ally; of course we weren't going to actually fight England.
Salomone: Move that the accused's words be stricken from the record.
Federico: So ordered. Please confine yourself to answering the questions as asked, and not speculating on the foreign policy of the Republic.
Abramo: Yes, Your Honour. We, ah - did not expect to fight. All things considered in their fullness.
Salomone: Yet you remained at battle stations?
Abramo: Certainly. Why not? It was good training for the crews.
Salomone: What happened then?
Abramo (animatedly): The damn Englishmen shot at us! That admiral, a Shrewsbury - everyone knows there's madness in the family that runs along with their genius. He's a mad dog; or he'd been out in the tropical sun too long. He gave us full broadsides! No warning shots, no parley. He meant to have a fight. Against the fleet of an ally, in waters we were both defending against the Indians!
Salomone: But you fought them.
Abramo: Well, they had fired on ships of the Serene Republic; what were we going to do, strike our flags? Anyway, what we were chiefly fighting for was a way out of there and back into a fortified harbour. We were too badly outnumbered to win.
Salomone: And you escaped with sixteen ships; the rest sunk or taken.
Abramo: Yes. And I defy any man here to have done better.
Salomone: Thank you. (To the court) The learned counsel for the trial has kindly dismissed negligence; I think, also, we may discard cowardice and malice. As for treason, our esteemed English allies have disavowed the actions of their admiral, and sent us compensation to the tune of - odd coincidence, this - twenty million ducats, to replace our lost timbers and guns and sailcloth. If this action was part of some diabolical plan, it is a very long con indeed; if it is a plot it would almost have to span centuries. Your Honour, the defense rests.
Abramo Aiello was acquitted of all charges, but never served again in any capacity. He spent the rest of his life drinking his Grand Captain's half-pay; and when that ran out, cadging drinks in exchange for stories of fighting the Royal Navy in the Strait of Hormuz. By his death in 1632 he was something of an institution in his favourite bar in Santa Croce, although his stories had become increasingly incoherent, with frequent references to "the One behind it all" and claims that "I know what mad dog was in charge that day, don't I just? But will they listen to me, oh no they won't."
Muscat changed hands twice during the Red Sea War; the second time was a shattering defeat for Venice's armies, sending broken regiments marching for cover behind the fortresses of Damascus and Al Karak.
The Venetian fleet was rebuilt with English money. But it was never the same again.
I write somewhat hurriedly to meet the deadline of "post before the session starts"; my free time has been a little limited this week, with the birth of the Prince of Men - my second child, the first being the Crown Princess of Men. (He is not, however, "an heir at last", since my laws are set to Cognatic Gavelkind.) So I will just quickly note that I got into a war with the Indian powers, again; this time together with Egypt (quite unplanned; we were scheming to kill Indians when they very kindly declared war on Egypt and split their armies in two), Japan (subbed by Clone, and the instigator of the anti-Indian plot) and England (who dislikes anyone other than himself building navies). In spite of this seemingly overwhelming superiority, it did not go well. The Indian armies are large and have a brutal 120% discipline, and in Arabia were also operating on interior lines - every time I attacked Muscat they would shift north from their siege lines in Egyptian Aden and beat me back; every time Egypt tried to take advantage they would go right back south and beat him up. You'd think that, with England on-side, it would be relatively easy to acquire and retain naval superiority; instead, the fleet he sent to the Indian Ocean ended up sinking most of mine, because he was simultaneously at war with my ally Persia over Aleppo. (England was a bit annoyed that Persia ended the massive war of last week in a wimpy concession of two provinces; it looked pretty winnable to me, too, and England likes his wars.) Yes, it was my fault for completely forgetting the pro-forma war. No, I'm not going to take the blame when there are all these handy Shrewsburys with the hereditary mad genius around that it can conveniently fall on.
Eurasia, 1604. Note the new colonial nation of Venetian Australia.
Federico Morosini (presiding judge): Please state for the record your name and rank.
Abramo Aiello (accused): My name is Abramo Aiello; my permanent rank is Grand Captain. Until last week I was additionally commissioned Ammiraglio dell'Este, commanding the naval forces of the City east of Suez.
Federico: Thank you. Trial counsel may now question the accused.
Girolamo Ziani (trial counsel): What was the position and condition of the fleet under your command, our power and our pride, on the twenty-first of June, 1602?
Abramo: We were then in Basra harbour, refitting after the battle in the Straits of Hormuz. Our strength was thirty-five ships of the line, with supporting elements. We -
Girolamo: Hold. Give the details of the supporting elements.
Abramo: We had twenty frigates, and the supply ships; and enough assorted merchantmen to carry -
Girolamo: I meant their complements. How many men and guns?
Abramo: Something over twenty thousand men, all told. The exact number would vary from day to day. Two thousand, one hundred, and thirty-six guns, not counting the swivels and mankillers - only the serpentines and bigger.
Girolamo: Thank you. And for each gun the State may have paid, let us say, a thousand ducats?
Abramo: Roughly, yes. Taking one with another.
Girolamo: To which we may add so many thousand square yards of sailcloth, at perhaps a ducat the ten square yards; rope and rigging, a ducat for a hundred yards, the timber alone in the hulls -
Federico: I think all here understand that fleets are expensive, counselor. Please come to your point.
Girolamo: Yes, Your Honour. I would like the witness to state for the record the position and condition of this same fleet a week later, on the twenty-eighth of June.
Abramo (looks pained): We were then in port in Basra harbour, refitting. We had eight ships of the line. Eight frigates. Supporting elements in proportion.
Girolamo: And the condition of these few ships?
Abramo: It was... not good.
Girolamo: Would "shot to pieces" be an adequate description?
Abramo: It is not without merit.
Girolamo: Thank you. And this transition, from two thousand guns in fifty-five well-found hulls, to... (consults notes) five hundred guns, not all adequately manned, in sixteen hulls; costing the Serene Republic something on the order of twenty million ducats to replace, not to mention the loss of twelve thousand valuable sailors... this occurred under your command?
Abramo: That is true.
Girolamo: Thank you. Your Honour, the prosecution rests.
Federico: Very well. Defense counsel?
Salomone Aiello (counsel for the defence): Thank you, Your Honour. I would like to point out that, although the prosecution has done a salutary job of establishing the physical facts of the case, which were all known to us and indeed to the whole city, since that's why we're here in the first place - they have done nothing towards demonstrating negligence, malice, or cowardice, one of which is required for a conviction.
Girolamo: Your Honour, in this case, I think the physical facts alone suffice to demonstrate active treason, which I notice my learned colleague does not mention as one of the causes to convict; what exactly, besides treason, is supposed to cause such a disastrous loss? Mere negligence would not do it; for my part I absolve the accused entirely of that. On the contrary I believe he has done an excellent and painstaking job for his paymasters; I only wish those paymasters were the Senate and People of the Serene Republic.
Salomone: Indeed, that is what this court is convened to find out. (To the accused) Please describe the events of Signore Ziani's famous 'transition'. What exactly happened out there?
Abramo: We sailed... (clears throat) We sailed from Basra on the twenty-second, with the morning tide. We had easterly winds; our mission was to find and destroy the Indian squadron blockading the Strait, and then to maintain our own blockade of Muscat. On the third day we encountered - our scouts reported sails ahead, at least a hundred. We knew the Indians couldn't be present in such strength; they didn't have such strength... according to the reports.
Salomone: So what did you do?
Abramo: We beat to battle stations, of course; reports have been known to be incorrect. Then the lookouts reported the ships flew the White Ensign.
Salomone: An allied flag, co-belligerents in the Red Sea War.
Abramo: Precisely.
Salomone: Were you aware, at that time, that England was also at war with the Republic, in the Aleppo Conflict?
Abramo: Yes, we knew. Everyone knew that was pro forma! Of course we had to 'defend' our ally; of course we weren't going to actually fight England.
Salomone: Move that the accused's words be stricken from the record.
Federico: So ordered. Please confine yourself to answering the questions as asked, and not speculating on the foreign policy of the Republic.
Abramo: Yes, Your Honour. We, ah - did not expect to fight. All things considered in their fullness.
Salomone: Yet you remained at battle stations?
Abramo: Certainly. Why not? It was good training for the crews.
Salomone: What happened then?
Abramo (animatedly): The damn Englishmen shot at us! That admiral, a Shrewsbury - everyone knows there's madness in the family that runs along with their genius. He's a mad dog; or he'd been out in the tropical sun too long. He gave us full broadsides! No warning shots, no parley. He meant to have a fight. Against the fleet of an ally, in waters we were both defending against the Indians!
Salomone: But you fought them.
Abramo: Well, they had fired on ships of the Serene Republic; what were we going to do, strike our flags? Anyway, what we were chiefly fighting for was a way out of there and back into a fortified harbour. We were too badly outnumbered to win.
Salomone: And you escaped with sixteen ships; the rest sunk or taken.
Abramo: Yes. And I defy any man here to have done better.
Salomone: Thank you. (To the court) The learned counsel for the trial has kindly dismissed negligence; I think, also, we may discard cowardice and malice. As for treason, our esteemed English allies have disavowed the actions of their admiral, and sent us compensation to the tune of - odd coincidence, this - twenty million ducats, to replace our lost timbers and guns and sailcloth. If this action was part of some diabolical plan, it is a very long con indeed; if it is a plot it would almost have to span centuries. Your Honour, the defense rests.
Abramo Aiello was acquitted of all charges, but never served again in any capacity. He spent the rest of his life drinking his Grand Captain's half-pay; and when that ran out, cadging drinks in exchange for stories of fighting the Royal Navy in the Strait of Hormuz. By his death in 1632 he was something of an institution in his favourite bar in Santa Croce, although his stories had become increasingly incoherent, with frequent references to "the One behind it all" and claims that "I know what mad dog was in charge that day, don't I just? But will they listen to me, oh no they won't."
Muscat changed hands twice during the Red Sea War; the second time was a shattering defeat for Venice's armies, sending broken regiments marching for cover behind the fortresses of Damascus and Al Karak.
The Venetian fleet was rebuilt with English money. But it was never the same again.
I write somewhat hurriedly to meet the deadline of "post before the session starts"; my free time has been a little limited this week, with the birth of the Prince of Men - my second child, the first being the Crown Princess of Men. (He is not, however, "an heir at last", since my laws are set to Cognatic Gavelkind.) So I will just quickly note that I got into a war with the Indian powers, again; this time together with Egypt (quite unplanned; we were scheming to kill Indians when they very kindly declared war on Egypt and split their armies in two), Japan (subbed by Clone, and the instigator of the anti-Indian plot) and England (who dislikes anyone other than himself building navies). In spite of this seemingly overwhelming superiority, it did not go well. The Indian armies are large and have a brutal 120% discipline, and in Arabia were also operating on interior lines - every time I attacked Muscat they would shift north from their siege lines in Egyptian Aden and beat me back; every time Egypt tried to take advantage they would go right back south and beat him up. You'd think that, with England on-side, it would be relatively easy to acquire and retain naval superiority; instead, the fleet he sent to the Indian Ocean ended up sinking most of mine, because he was simultaneously at war with my ally Persia over Aleppo. (England was a bit annoyed that Persia ended the massive war of last week in a wimpy concession of two provinces; it looked pretty winnable to me, too, and England likes his wars.) Yes, it was my fault for completely forgetting the pro-forma war. No, I'm not going to take the blame when there are all these handy Shrewsburys with the hereditary mad genius around that it can conveniently fall on.
Eurasia, 1604. Note the new colonial nation of Venetian Australia.
Pharaoh hardened his heart
IX- Professional courtesy: a cultural appropriation of the Aiello's origin story
IX- Professional courtesy: a cultural appropriation of the Aiello's origin story
Seiyun, deep in Egyptian Yemen, 1599
Corpses upon corpses covered the plain in lines and clusters, dead men besieging a dead city. After the first few battles everyone had deserted Seiyun, except Khalid and a dozen other wretches like him. Even if they had not, the tiny city in the midst of the desert could not have supported the kind of armies Egypt and Fandango fielded; in a few days ten forty thousand soldiers would have drunk its wells dry, eaten its stores clean. So every so often they came here and fought, and the victor claimed the abandoned city, very official like, while Khalid hid in a cellar or an attic. And then both armies hurried away, leaving a new layer of dead of dead on the ground.
Sixty thousand men figting in a province than can not even support fifteen
There were too many to bury, too many for the vultures and jackals and crows and hyena and dogs and a few desert lions to eat, although they feasted like never before in their lifetime. In most other places, it would have become a reeking charnel ground, but here, so deep in the desert, the bodies did not rot. The wind dried them, the sun baked them, the sand tanned them. First they turned to roasted meat, and when Khalid stalked among the fresher ones, sometimes it smelt like he was sitting with his friend in a kebab shop, enjoying the smell of cooked lamb fat, Allah forgive him! Then they became brown and finally black, like ancient heathen mummies, their shriveled lips retracting over gleaming, sand-bleached teeth. They silently mocked Khalid while he was robbing them; he had got used to it.
The harvest was so good that after a few days he had stopped taking even the good weapons, and even the worst bullion. Now he only took gold coin and jewelry, leaving silver and coper in the dust. That would be some wealth someday, if he lived. All he would need was a better story than the truth to be accepted in the good society. Whether he died and lived a rich man, now, one thing was sure, nobody would look down at him again! He almost wept with joy, at night, when he thought of how happy he would live in Aydhab or Alexandria or Axum, with a secure roof over his head, and a pretty wife, and fresh fruit every day. Inch'allah!
As soon as his colleagues took off with angry croaks he dived to the ground he covered his face with his mantle, one corpse among a hundred thousand. He lifted it a little and peeked at the riders come closer. There was no real danger, especially now that he could hear them speak Arabic. The real question was whether they were mere outriders or scouts for a bigger force, in which case he could have to hide in his cistern again for a few days.
"… miss it. This place gives me the creeps," one rider said to another.
"Yeah, me too. All these dead men, grinning, it's not natural."
"I know. Sometimes it feels one of them will rise and have at us."
Khalid stifled a chuckle, prudently.
"So yeah, as I said, I won't miss this place. Let the Talian kafirs fight the Indian kafirs for whatever it is they want."
"Well, coin, probably. Italians are whores; they would anything for a quick dinar, no matter how terrible or demeaning."
"That's for sure. Speaking of, do you have an idea how you will spend your pay in Zeila? I have a cousin there and, you know, he tells me there is this…"
Then again the riders were out of hearing. Khalid waited until he was sure they were would not come back, thinking. If the Egyptian army fell back behind the strait, the Indians might come back, for good this time.
He already had more loot than he could reasonably carry. That night, in his cistern hideout, he sifted through it, took the best, enough to make him a reasonably rich man, and he made for Zeila on the heels of the Egyptians army. The vultures had grown accustomed to him and he to them. They did not take off as he walked away from the town for the last time.
"Farewell, colleagues." He had grown as fond of the birds as a man like him could grow fond of something. It had been a lonely task robbing the dead, and there had been more than enough bodies for all the them. And the vultures would warn him of riders by taking off, as a professional courtesy.
Maybe he should call himself the Vulture, Khalid al-Nasr. It would be a joke only he would get. Well. He turned and watched the abandoned city one last time, still in the morning sun, then started westward without looking back, one more bloke to escape Seiyun, one less man to walk in its haunted streets. It would be a long road.
Falador from India invaded me in Yemen, and the Uropian powers jumped to my help. Fierce and indecisive fighting in Arabia, I figure time is in my favor. Maybe.
Hot Darn. Frosty that is a blast from the past!!
Gah you should have taken Templar Republic; it was about #4 in game and its main problem was the previous player. Hope ya have been doing well.
So for a bit of background in case KOM didn't give you a full picture. I was in the process of forcing him out of Europe if he didn't agree to head to Asia session 1 of EU4. It was a survival play for KOM in return for me not annexing him session 1. That said my logic for shipping him that way was via giving him a bunch of Syria (I took it session 1) he would be able to build the canal and have a very viable trade empire (merc build) if he invaded India.
KOM had difficulty staying friends with his blobbing neighbours.. he flips sides ... often. When I started eating Templar Republic he could have ended up with quite a bit of Spain; but before he could get any loot he flipped to the losing side.
Ok Going to do one big dump of AAR's for EU4. Enjoy.
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14th Century Renaissance
To say that England was a liberal influence on the world would be untrue. 400 years of constant victory and the spoils of war returning to England had resulted in an unflinching faith in God and his benevolent love for England. English culture in fact was associated with the only proper way to commune with the Divine and as such had spread into the far reaches of Africa, Cyprus even the Holy City Jerusalem. In fact the Catholic faith had become so Anglicized via control of her Holy Orders and often Papacy Crusades had never bothered to be called. The English Empire simply destroyed any vestige of foreign worship wherever it sprang up. Muslim Empires deriving from Persia that had challenged this accepted world order were still reeling from the effects of fully mustered British legions to the point many regions in Persia were now trying to grow asparagus since rumour had told it could grow in fields recently salted. While traders, captives and wives from the campaign trail often found their way back to Britain whatever social or technological innovation they may have offered was simply derided and ignored as savage, after all had they anything to offer they would not have been bested by the Order of the Bob.
The end result was that while militarily England remained dominant, her peoples had grown decadent and complacent. Against this backdrop in 1421 Amalberga of Shrewsberry was born the 2nd daughter to a frivolous English Prince. Destined to be married off for a bride price to some wealthy Duke, a bout of instability had resulted in many of the ruling Shrewsbury line being assassinated by nefarious blades. Her father being the last unlucky direct Shrewsbury alive to take the crown ascended and proceeded to be swayed in whatever direction his advisors best thought fit. Expand the chancellors castle to repel Saracen invaders, he agreed. Purchase a new gold plate armour set for his marshal for parade duty, why not order two. This went on for years while Amalberga prepared for the fact she would now more likely be married to a foreign prince held hostage in the English Imperial Court. The steward, Macdougal, however was an outlier amongst the court. Married to a Shrewsbury from a destitute Scottish holding to placate the locals, rumour was he was a great great grandson of the last King of Scotland. While lesser men may have taken opportunity to seek increased fortune or autonomy for his estate Macdougal often tasked with teaching basic numbers to Amalberga realized she was cut from the same vein that had seen England triumphant for centuries. Head strong, determined, strong as an ox and genius she chaffed at the inconsequential affairs of court and her lot.
Macdougal probably would have made spymaster in another realm, but England was not known for stewardship. While organizing the construction of the world's tallest tower at the behest of the Emperor Macdougal had him stamp the royal seal upon papers that the frivolous Emperor thought an order for Carrera Marble. Instead it was a Royal Writ designating Amalberga the official heir, breaking with 400 years of tradition. Macdougal however was not naïve, when the papers were signed nodding to his aid, signals quickly went up and every last true male heir of the Shrewsbury line except for one bastard were cut down. The marshal and Chancellor met a similar fate face down in a bathhouse known for providing rich nobles access to young slave boys from Songhai. The Emperor in a slightly more dignified fashion was drowned in his favourite pond which had been constructed to house 1000 swans. Legand has it courtiers nearby were so drunk they laughed and giggled thinking it a joke as the Emperor breathed his last.
Summoning court to session and Amalberga to attendance, Macdougal admitted to orchestrating the coup but held close the information that his hand had been involved in the forgery of the Writ, the shocked court reeled unable to act. Before crying could cease and order restored Amalberga climbed the dias and simply took the Imperial Crown from it's velvet cushion. Holding it in one hand and raising her voice she declared,
"Behold the Empire's crown, it is mine by right of birth as a descendant of Bob the Builder, yet I have no need of a trinket."
Casting the crown to the ground and placing it beneath her heel in slow fashion she examined every last noble as if to dare them to speak their contempt for a woman.
"I am anointed by God. He is my only father, and I his only daughter. As long as I rule, his light shall continue to shine upon the Empire of England. Guards take the traitor in hand."
Amalberga did not pardon Macdougal for his crimes even though she had no love for a father who preferred the company of swans to her. Instead she publically executed him swinging the blade herself. It turned out the one Shrewsbury 'bastard' left alive had been Macdougal's child who for unknown reasons Amalberga adopted as her own. Many wished the boy had been King as Amalberga immediately began a campaign of terror. Across every Imperial City bathhouses were razed, decadent monasteries emptied of monks grown fat, homosexuals (often Greek) drawn and quartered. While the Imperial court and elite quailed in terror at the change in tenor, the Order of the Bob mysteriously swore unconditional fealty and assigned an honour guard not seen since it had been lead by Bobbi. The truth was far more fantastic than the mystery. Amalberga had traveled to the highlands as every new Monarch must visit Castle Bobbi. The grandmaster Edward known for his young Greek squires and lax rules met her in the courtyard. Without offering refreshment or greeting he loudly declared for all his soldiers that he would never swear a woman into the order to give validity to this farce and began to spit on the ground at Amalberga's feet. Before he could fully accumulate his spittle, her sword had pierced his neck. Taking the order's chain off his falling corpse she casually tossed it to her new son granting him the title of Imperial Grandmaster. He was 11 after all and ready to become a man. She demanded every last man who had witnessed her act without flinching assigned to her guard. One Lord-Commander asked to gather his things before they left to which Amalberga declared that the Order's only sustenance would be from her succor. Overnight the rich warrior elite of society were administered vows of poverty, abdicating their worldly possessions to the crown.
While Amalberga's ascent was viewed with terror by the decadent in England, as they were put to the sword the Imperial Coffers began to overflow. Instead of building monuments or Palaces styled as castles, Amalberga invested in infrastructure and networks of educational institutions. Titles handed out by the Queen were no longer hereditary but awarded on merit and service to the crown. Previous vassals and supplicant Kings were given their independence and forced to pay tribute instead for British protection. The end result a much more compact center of rich influence in England and the coasts of France. Imperial Islands also remained within the Empire as Amalberga's education program had born fruit. A magnetic compass.
The first modern English Ship. HUMMERS Amalberga. Designated Her Utmost Maiden Mother Rex's Ship Amalberga. Built in secret at a Castle Harbour in Cyprus with the coordination of captive Syrian Shipwrights from Antioch it launched 1441. On her maiden voyage rounding the Straits of Gibralter and setting sail out to sea, testing the magnetic compass, it floundered. Amalberga decrying the ship as ruining her name as only good for going down, deemed HUMMERS unlucky and shortened the designation to IBN. Never again were HUMMERS seen in England, or Syrian shipwrights who were sentenced to the same fate as their creation.
To say that England was a liberal influence on the world would be untrue. 400 years of constant victory and the spoils of war returning to England had resulted in an unflinching faith in God and his benevolent love for England. English culture in fact was associated with the only proper way to commune with the Divine and as such had spread into the far reaches of Africa, Cyprus even the Holy City Jerusalem. In fact the Catholic faith had become so Anglicized via control of her Holy Orders and often Papacy Crusades had never bothered to be called. The English Empire simply destroyed any vestige of foreign worship wherever it sprang up. Muslim Empires deriving from Persia that had challenged this accepted world order were still reeling from the effects of fully mustered British legions to the point many regions in Persia were now trying to grow asparagus since rumour had told it could grow in fields recently salted. While traders, captives and wives from the campaign trail often found their way back to Britain whatever social or technological innovation they may have offered was simply derided and ignored as savage, after all had they anything to offer they would not have been bested by the Order of the Bob.
The end result was that while militarily England remained dominant, her peoples had grown decadent and complacent. Against this backdrop in 1421 Amalberga of Shrewsberry was born the 2nd daughter to a frivolous English Prince. Destined to be married off for a bride price to some wealthy Duke, a bout of instability had resulted in many of the ruling Shrewsbury line being assassinated by nefarious blades. Her father being the last unlucky direct Shrewsbury alive to take the crown ascended and proceeded to be swayed in whatever direction his advisors best thought fit. Expand the chancellors castle to repel Saracen invaders, he agreed. Purchase a new gold plate armour set for his marshal for parade duty, why not order two. This went on for years while Amalberga prepared for the fact she would now more likely be married to a foreign prince held hostage in the English Imperial Court. The steward, Macdougal, however was an outlier amongst the court. Married to a Shrewsbury from a destitute Scottish holding to placate the locals, rumour was he was a great great grandson of the last King of Scotland. While lesser men may have taken opportunity to seek increased fortune or autonomy for his estate Macdougal often tasked with teaching basic numbers to Amalberga realized she was cut from the same vein that had seen England triumphant for centuries. Head strong, determined, strong as an ox and genius she chaffed at the inconsequential affairs of court and her lot.
Macdougal probably would have made spymaster in another realm, but England was not known for stewardship. While organizing the construction of the world's tallest tower at the behest of the Emperor Macdougal had him stamp the royal seal upon papers that the frivolous Emperor thought an order for Carrera Marble. Instead it was a Royal Writ designating Amalberga the official heir, breaking with 400 years of tradition. Macdougal however was not naïve, when the papers were signed nodding to his aid, signals quickly went up and every last true male heir of the Shrewsbury line except for one bastard were cut down. The marshal and Chancellor met a similar fate face down in a bathhouse known for providing rich nobles access to young slave boys from Songhai. The Emperor in a slightly more dignified fashion was drowned in his favourite pond which had been constructed to house 1000 swans. Legand has it courtiers nearby were so drunk they laughed and giggled thinking it a joke as the Emperor breathed his last.
Summoning court to session and Amalberga to attendance, Macdougal admitted to orchestrating the coup but held close the information that his hand had been involved in the forgery of the Writ, the shocked court reeled unable to act. Before crying could cease and order restored Amalberga climbed the dias and simply took the Imperial Crown from it's velvet cushion. Holding it in one hand and raising her voice she declared,
"Behold the Empire's crown, it is mine by right of birth as a descendant of Bob the Builder, yet I have no need of a trinket."
Casting the crown to the ground and placing it beneath her heel in slow fashion she examined every last noble as if to dare them to speak their contempt for a woman.
"I am anointed by God. He is my only father, and I his only daughter. As long as I rule, his light shall continue to shine upon the Empire of England. Guards take the traitor in hand."
Amalberga did not pardon Macdougal for his crimes even though she had no love for a father who preferred the company of swans to her. Instead she publically executed him swinging the blade herself. It turned out the one Shrewsbury 'bastard' left alive had been Macdougal's child who for unknown reasons Amalberga adopted as her own. Many wished the boy had been King as Amalberga immediately began a campaign of terror. Across every Imperial City bathhouses were razed, decadent monasteries emptied of monks grown fat, homosexuals (often Greek) drawn and quartered. While the Imperial court and elite quailed in terror at the change in tenor, the Order of the Bob mysteriously swore unconditional fealty and assigned an honour guard not seen since it had been lead by Bobbi. The truth was far more fantastic than the mystery. Amalberga had traveled to the highlands as every new Monarch must visit Castle Bobbi. The grandmaster Edward known for his young Greek squires and lax rules met her in the courtyard. Without offering refreshment or greeting he loudly declared for all his soldiers that he would never swear a woman into the order to give validity to this farce and began to spit on the ground at Amalberga's feet. Before he could fully accumulate his spittle, her sword had pierced his neck. Taking the order's chain off his falling corpse she casually tossed it to her new son granting him the title of Imperial Grandmaster. He was 11 after all and ready to become a man. She demanded every last man who had witnessed her act without flinching assigned to her guard. One Lord-Commander asked to gather his things before they left to which Amalberga declared that the Order's only sustenance would be from her succor. Overnight the rich warrior elite of society were administered vows of poverty, abdicating their worldly possessions to the crown.
While Amalberga's ascent was viewed with terror by the decadent in England, as they were put to the sword the Imperial Coffers began to overflow. Instead of building monuments or Palaces styled as castles, Amalberga invested in infrastructure and networks of educational institutions. Titles handed out by the Queen were no longer hereditary but awarded on merit and service to the crown. Previous vassals and supplicant Kings were given their independence and forced to pay tribute instead for British protection. The end result a much more compact center of rich influence in England and the coasts of France. Imperial Islands also remained within the Empire as Amalberga's education program had born fruit. A magnetic compass.
The first modern English Ship. HUMMERS Amalberga. Designated Her Utmost Maiden Mother Rex's Ship Amalberga. Built in secret at a Castle Harbour in Cyprus with the coordination of captive Syrian Shipwrights from Antioch it launched 1441. On her maiden voyage rounding the Straits of Gibralter and setting sail out to sea, testing the magnetic compass, it floundered. Amalberga decrying the ship as ruining her name as only good for going down, deemed HUMMERS unlucky and shortened the designation to IBN. Never again were HUMMERS seen in England, or Syrian shipwrights who were sentenced to the same fate as their creation.
- 1
1444 - Amalberga's Wrath
1444 was a bad year for Syrian shipwrights. Long held masters of galley design, upon the floundering of the Imperial Flagship Amalberga summoned the Council of Bob. Recently appointed without any consideration for inherited influence the council was set to replace the outdated system of chancellors and spymasters. Deeming the antiquated system quaint and not even remotely useful, the new system was comprised of men Amalberga deemed trustworthy. Architects, bankers, the odd Clergy though rarely a papist and most especially Admirals of the New Imperial Navy. One such man was Ernest Byron. Although he displayed a taste for Greek antiquities and often said his family would own statues from the Parthenon if he had his way, Amalberga enjoyed his vision. Byron believed strongly that the future of England lay not in the tradition of the Order of the Bobbis but in dominating trade. With Greece and Denmark now independent states and a recently proclaimed republic in Africa determined to rival Imperial Glory it was abundantly clear to Byron that survival and expansion lay in ensuring shipping lanes secure. While the flagship Amalberga was floundering to the bottom of the sea, Lord Byron had commissioned 3 small vessels deemed blue water ships operating off the shores of Ireland. Dubbing the new vessels Carracks with each mounting the newest technology in swivel cannons, Lord Byron had amassed an impressive amount of whale heads as trophies. So against this backdrop, confident that Lord Byron had the right design idea's for England's naval future, Amalberga ordered the execution o every Syrian shipwright.
The occupation of Syria was long and hard faught. At first England didn't take it seriously and sent a backwater army commander known for his skill at dice. Wanting out of reach of his creditors and from the old Plantagenet line, Richard volunteered to go to Syria and carry out the extermination orders of Amalberga. Instead upon arrival and landing in Gaza, Richard lost every single one of the 40000 English men at arms under his command. Not having the good grace to simply vanish upon returning to the capital with the news, Amalberga removed his head hereslf and had it sent to be mounted upon Castle Bobbi. While many viewed it as an omen and bad luck, Amalberga's response was mild. "English armies havn't lost on the field of battle since my fore bearers destroyed the vile King John, it only makes sense a Plantagenet would suffer the same fate."
Mercenaries contracts were drafted from Cyprus and Crete, and before long English Gold had amassed well over 60000 men for hire. Dumping them upon the shores of Syria with only a single Legion compliment they ravaged the countrside. Syria accounted itself well and also raised a retaliatory force of 45000 men, but outside the old walls of Al Karak were broken completely. Occupation commenced and shipwrights crucified. Persia and Byzantium like jackals both joined the war enjoying fruit from the boughs of English labour. In the end some of Syria became for the 3rd time an English vassal, but most went to Persian and Egyptian hands. The English War against Persian Shipwrights should be considered the first in a modernizing world. Employing naval tactics on a scale not seen before and coordination of professional army corps it would go down in history as one of the most brutal occupations and an example of just how much warfare was set to change.
1444 was a bad year for Syrian shipwrights. Long held masters of galley design, upon the floundering of the Imperial Flagship Amalberga summoned the Council of Bob. Recently appointed without any consideration for inherited influence the council was set to replace the outdated system of chancellors and spymasters. Deeming the antiquated system quaint and not even remotely useful, the new system was comprised of men Amalberga deemed trustworthy. Architects, bankers, the odd Clergy though rarely a papist and most especially Admirals of the New Imperial Navy. One such man was Ernest Byron. Although he displayed a taste for Greek antiquities and often said his family would own statues from the Parthenon if he had his way, Amalberga enjoyed his vision. Byron believed strongly that the future of England lay not in the tradition of the Order of the Bobbis but in dominating trade. With Greece and Denmark now independent states and a recently proclaimed republic in Africa determined to rival Imperial Glory it was abundantly clear to Byron that survival and expansion lay in ensuring shipping lanes secure. While the flagship Amalberga was floundering to the bottom of the sea, Lord Byron had commissioned 3 small vessels deemed blue water ships operating off the shores of Ireland. Dubbing the new vessels Carracks with each mounting the newest technology in swivel cannons, Lord Byron had amassed an impressive amount of whale heads as trophies. So against this backdrop, confident that Lord Byron had the right design idea's for England's naval future, Amalberga ordered the execution o every Syrian shipwright.
The occupation of Syria was long and hard faught. At first England didn't take it seriously and sent a backwater army commander known for his skill at dice. Wanting out of reach of his creditors and from the old Plantagenet line, Richard volunteered to go to Syria and carry out the extermination orders of Amalberga. Instead upon arrival and landing in Gaza, Richard lost every single one of the 40000 English men at arms under his command. Not having the good grace to simply vanish upon returning to the capital with the news, Amalberga removed his head hereslf and had it sent to be mounted upon Castle Bobbi. While many viewed it as an omen and bad luck, Amalberga's response was mild. "English armies havn't lost on the field of battle since my fore bearers destroyed the vile King John, it only makes sense a Plantagenet would suffer the same fate."
Mercenaries contracts were drafted from Cyprus and Crete, and before long English Gold had amassed well over 60000 men for hire. Dumping them upon the shores of Syria with only a single Legion compliment they ravaged the countrside. Syria accounted itself well and also raised a retaliatory force of 45000 men, but outside the old walls of Al Karak were broken completely. Occupation commenced and shipwrights crucified. Persia and Byzantium like jackals both joined the war enjoying fruit from the boughs of English labour. In the end some of Syria became for the 3rd time an English vassal, but most went to Persian and Egyptian hands. The English War against Persian Shipwrights should be considered the first in a modernizing world. Employing naval tactics on a scale not seen before and coordination of professional army corps it would go down in history as one of the most brutal occupations and an example of just how much warfare was set to change.
One strange development had occurred within the confines of the backward provinces of France in the Empire. Long considered good for only militia, bread and raising taxes generally through history the French levies were never drawn upon. In deed when Legions marched only the rare French farmhand who had fled home in search of glory would ever be included. Over the years while no standing regiment drawn from France existed, almost organically a core of seasoned Veterans (survival rates amongst the Order of Bob were significantly higher than the rest of Europe) brought back wealth and settled in French Villas. Since many campaigns had been fought in Persia and on the Steppes of Mongolia rare breeds of horse were acquired by many but of special note a French baronet Jacques. As his family bred them and enjoyed commercial success Jaques formed an unofficial militia and deemed it the Calvaire D'Orleans.
Originally content with lynching suspected Witches the invasion of Syria presented new opportunity as mercenary contracts were put forth. Jacques decided unlike the rest of France he and his men would seek fortune in the Holy Land, as it had been ruled long generations ago by his ancestors even under Imperial rule. Raising 500 trained men with their retainers and presenting themselves in Cyprus, they were quickly organized into the 2nd Mercenary Legion. Hardly a Legion by any standards and more a rabble, Jaques found himself respected and in command after their local commander took a knife to the testes in a Greek knife fight.
In the battle for Al Karak, Jaque's men found themselves center line with little support. Breaking traditional tactics and charging headlong at a preparing enemy line, they broke the Syrian footmen and proceeded to turn upon the exposed baggage and command tents. Upon his return to England to see the Queen, Amalberga knighted Jaques and bestowed the title Master of Horse upon him for life. Granted vast tracts of land off the coast of Adyghe, the first professional Imperial Calvary was formed.
Unexpected Discovery
During the beginning of English exploration Amalberga dedicated great portions of the English treasury to building proper harbor chains. Previously the furthest reaches of the Empire lay at the heavily fortified Island of Madeira, but a mere weeks travel south revealed a completely unpopulated Island chain. Named Cape Vedre, local Portugese traders displaced during the zealous emergence of the Templar Republic had told English Captains of its existence. Devoid of population, trees and water and proper farmland Amalberga was not deterred. Sending a former legionnaire turned trader from Normandy Rolo to assume command, Amalberga devised a formal system of Governors appointed by the crown. Granted vast tracts of land in generally unwanted French or Continental territory the incomes derived from the holdings were expected to be poured into the expansion of English interests on the frontier. Rolo proved an able administrator setting up a Burgher town in Caux to funnel tax and trade to the new Island chain a large harbor was fashioned. Renaming the Island Chain to Rollo's Bay without consulting the crown expeditions were sent along the African coast. At first Rollo's ships traded for supplies, food and luxuries like Ivory to export back to England, but eventually the natives near Cayor realized the English demand for labour was insatiable. Soon the trade changed from simple goods to entire families as indentured servants. As settlers arrived from England and intermingled with indentured African servants a bustling colony began to take shape. Before long Rollo found the trade generating from Rollo's Bay was more than enough to fund the minor expansion projects required by the Island.
With the excess capital Rollo built a private fleet of 5 Carracks (considering at the time the Imperial Navy only boasted 20 new Carracks it was quite a feat) and set sail along the African coast. Marking territory along the trade routes employed in Cayor the ships were tasked with finding a route to the rich Indian lands thus allowing Rollo to bypass Cyprus as the main harbor for exotic goods. Rollo always enterprising as his ships left the safety of Rollo's Bay and the shores of Cayor ordered the complete subjugation of Cayor and the African tribes of Mali. Dispatching a courier back to London with the news, the rest of the fleet continued onwards.
After months of sailing it became clear they were nowhere close to India. Having explored African coast as far as the eye could see turning back Rollo was prepared to content himself with what was becoming known as the Ivory Coast trade. By fluke a storm blew the 4 remaining Carracks off course as they attempted to return to port. Stranded and low on supplies as the storm cleared after days of wind and downpour, strange shores were seen. Unlike Cape Verde these shores were populated by men practically naked. Short and of limited intelligence, Rollo determined to discover what resources this strange foreign land held. Deeming the newest addition to the English trade territories Rio a single Carrack was again sent back short crewed to relay news to England. Taking his remaining three ships, Rollo began a voyage of discovery the English Empire could never have foretold.
Upon realizing the potential of the New Discoveries, Amalberga inducted Rollo into the Order of the Bobbi and bestowed the honourary title of Ivory Coast Viceroy upon him. This granted him full license to do as he saw fit with anything along the African Coast. Rollo emulated the success of his first Burgher village in Caux and instead of establishing aristocratic norms in the new territory, Rollo created free towns dedicated to trade and profit. Before ten years had passed as Rollo's fortieth birthday was celebrated with abandon in Rollo's Bay a full 10 new provinces had been added to the Empire in Africa.
During the beginning of English exploration Amalberga dedicated great portions of the English treasury to building proper harbor chains. Previously the furthest reaches of the Empire lay at the heavily fortified Island of Madeira, but a mere weeks travel south revealed a completely unpopulated Island chain. Named Cape Vedre, local Portugese traders displaced during the zealous emergence of the Templar Republic had told English Captains of its existence. Devoid of population, trees and water and proper farmland Amalberga was not deterred. Sending a former legionnaire turned trader from Normandy Rolo to assume command, Amalberga devised a formal system of Governors appointed by the crown. Granted vast tracts of land in generally unwanted French or Continental territory the incomes derived from the holdings were expected to be poured into the expansion of English interests on the frontier. Rolo proved an able administrator setting up a Burgher town in Caux to funnel tax and trade to the new Island chain a large harbor was fashioned. Renaming the Island Chain to Rollo's Bay without consulting the crown expeditions were sent along the African coast. At first Rollo's ships traded for supplies, food and luxuries like Ivory to export back to England, but eventually the natives near Cayor realized the English demand for labour was insatiable. Soon the trade changed from simple goods to entire families as indentured servants. As settlers arrived from England and intermingled with indentured African servants a bustling colony began to take shape. Before long Rollo found the trade generating from Rollo's Bay was more than enough to fund the minor expansion projects required by the Island.
With the excess capital Rollo built a private fleet of 5 Carracks (considering at the time the Imperial Navy only boasted 20 new Carracks it was quite a feat) and set sail along the African coast. Marking territory along the trade routes employed in Cayor the ships were tasked with finding a route to the rich Indian lands thus allowing Rollo to bypass Cyprus as the main harbor for exotic goods. Rollo always enterprising as his ships left the safety of Rollo's Bay and the shores of Cayor ordered the complete subjugation of Cayor and the African tribes of Mali. Dispatching a courier back to London with the news, the rest of the fleet continued onwards.
After months of sailing it became clear they were nowhere close to India. Having explored African coast as far as the eye could see turning back Rollo was prepared to content himself with what was becoming known as the Ivory Coast trade. By fluke a storm blew the 4 remaining Carracks off course as they attempted to return to port. Stranded and low on supplies as the storm cleared after days of wind and downpour, strange shores were seen. Unlike Cape Verde these shores were populated by men practically naked. Short and of limited intelligence, Rollo determined to discover what resources this strange foreign land held. Deeming the newest addition to the English trade territories Rio a single Carrack was again sent back short crewed to relay news to England. Taking his remaining three ships, Rollo began a voyage of discovery the English Empire could never have foretold.
Upon realizing the potential of the New Discoveries, Amalberga inducted Rollo into the Order of the Bobbi and bestowed the honourary title of Ivory Coast Viceroy upon him. This granted him full license to do as he saw fit with anything along the African Coast. Rollo emulated the success of his first Burgher village in Caux and instead of establishing aristocratic norms in the new territory, Rollo created free towns dedicated to trade and profit. Before ten years had passed as Rollo's fortieth birthday was celebrated with abandon in Rollo's Bay a full 10 new provinces had been added to the Empire in Africa.
Templar Relations
Imperial England had always enjoyed good relations with her former subjects in Spain. During the peak of Empire as the Crusading Orders brought much of Spain to heel it had become Anglicized. The D'Martagne family ruling over Spain often intermingled with the Imperial Court and indeed intermarried prominent Imperial family members. While Danish and Greek subjects in many ways stayed within the Empire's political system longer, geography and culture meant they stood further apart than Spain.
In 1444 a change in regime probably encouraged by the new form of republican government caused the old dynasties of Spain to shift towards a more religious zealotry. Renaming themselves the Templar Republic, blood ties with the Imperial Court were curtailed and relations cooled. Indeed it was as if the former subjects had determined their course would be the polar opposite of England. Instead of separation between Crown and Clergy, English traders brought back stories of elaborate ceremonies in Spanish cities overseen by the new rulers of the Republic. While some were simple processions and veneration of relics rumours of violence and human sacrifice reached the Imperial Court.
An English Naval squadron taking supplies in Gibraltar on their way to Genoa were greeted to a town erupting in hysterical violence. Spurred by processions of monks and warrior priests, the peasants sought out women and men deemed servants of something they called "the Goat". As supplies were loaded dusk greeted the English sailors with the smell of burning human flesh. By the time the ships had left port the pyres burned with such ferocity a rational mind would think the only miracle in Spain was that entire towns didn't catch flame.
Amalberga upon hearing news of the changing culture of Spain combined with concern over news of Templar-Germanic treaties to contain English interests sent Captain Dylan D'Martagne of the Order of Bob to investigate. It was not that she objected to brutality, as the English cleansing of Syrian Shipwrights remained fresh in everyone's memory, but that she did object to the oppression of women. Upon the return of Captain D'Martagne reporting that entire communities of women were being burned at the stake, English forward harbours near Spanish interests were ordered closed to all but English ships. Disguising the new policy as a crime fighting initiative, these closed harbours began to send frequent patrols along Spanish coasts. Landing covert squads led by Decurion officers from the newly formed Imperial Calvary, many English dissidents in Spain were secreted out of communities turned mad. Many fearing a return to Spain, settled in faraway Rio or the newly emerging center of Gold Coast. Others often in gratitude to the men who rescued them found themselves wives of Calvary officers in Poitou. Previously a Occitan province that had resisted English influence, the influx of English refugees began to change the dominant culture of Poitou and created a flourishing center of arts and trade.
Imperial England had always enjoyed good relations with her former subjects in Spain. During the peak of Empire as the Crusading Orders brought much of Spain to heel it had become Anglicized. The D'Martagne family ruling over Spain often intermingled with the Imperial Court and indeed intermarried prominent Imperial family members. While Danish and Greek subjects in many ways stayed within the Empire's political system longer, geography and culture meant they stood further apart than Spain.
In 1444 a change in regime probably encouraged by the new form of republican government caused the old dynasties of Spain to shift towards a more religious zealotry. Renaming themselves the Templar Republic, blood ties with the Imperial Court were curtailed and relations cooled. Indeed it was as if the former subjects had determined their course would be the polar opposite of England. Instead of separation between Crown and Clergy, English traders brought back stories of elaborate ceremonies in Spanish cities overseen by the new rulers of the Republic. While some were simple processions and veneration of relics rumours of violence and human sacrifice reached the Imperial Court.
An English Naval squadron taking supplies in Gibraltar on their way to Genoa were greeted to a town erupting in hysterical violence. Spurred by processions of monks and warrior priests, the peasants sought out women and men deemed servants of something they called "the Goat". As supplies were loaded dusk greeted the English sailors with the smell of burning human flesh. By the time the ships had left port the pyres burned with such ferocity a rational mind would think the only miracle in Spain was that entire towns didn't catch flame.
Amalberga upon hearing news of the changing culture of Spain combined with concern over news of Templar-Germanic treaties to contain English interests sent Captain Dylan D'Martagne of the Order of Bob to investigate. It was not that she objected to brutality, as the English cleansing of Syrian Shipwrights remained fresh in everyone's memory, but that she did object to the oppression of women. Upon the return of Captain D'Martagne reporting that entire communities of women were being burned at the stake, English forward harbours near Spanish interests were ordered closed to all but English ships. Disguising the new policy as a crime fighting initiative, these closed harbours began to send frequent patrols along Spanish coasts. Landing covert squads led by Decurion officers from the newly formed Imperial Calvary, many English dissidents in Spain were secreted out of communities turned mad. Many fearing a return to Spain, settled in faraway Rio or the newly emerging center of Gold Coast. Others often in gratitude to the men who rescued them found themselves wives of Calvary officers in Poitou. Previously a Occitan province that had resisted English influence, the influx of English refugees began to change the dominant culture of Poitou and created a flourishing center of arts and trade.
It had been a bad week, in fact not merely bad but dreadful. Harper of Kent had never planned on joining the Imperial Navy, in fact upon reflection she wasn't sure women were even allowed in the Imperial Navy. Upon reflection the ill luck had been running much longer than a week. If Harper had to pin point where things went wrong it would probably have to be traced to her 16th birthday over a month ago. After settling her father's accounts at family Tobacco import store she had met up with friends near the wharf. Planning on celebrating with a new imported cocktail called Jenever, her friends had planned on finding her a place to go dancing. Studious and not very outgoing the night promised to be the first time she might meet an eligible and enterprising man. Things had gone wrong. Harper had no recollection of meeting any young men, her only memory was the disquieting taste of Janever and then waking up aboard a ship.
The Barque was called Countess's Pride. After waking the next morning and finding herself at sea, investigation which involved talking to leering men and a disgusting Captain called Hognose revealed a story where the crew maintained she had insisted on accompanying them on a trading Voyage to Rollo's Land. Citing the fact that the crew was abnormal in the fact their ship was partial to women and that she had convinced them that she wanted to see Tobacco first hand for her family's business, with horror it dawned on Harper she may not have been abducted, but the creator of her own misfortune. Days later rounding the coast of Spain having fought Hognose's advances off multiple times reality had set in. Fortune had not revealed her last trick because apparently a perilous Voyage to Rollo's Land wasn't dreadful enough. Upon reaching Cape Verde military dispatches awaited and Countess's Pride was pressed into service. The Empire was at war with a foreign race in mostly unknown lands in the orient. Joined by 2 other Barques, they were to explore past the Horn of Africa charting a course to legendary Spice Islands to render whatever assistance possible to a heathen Empire called Malaya.
Harper had the worst of luck, the voyage was choppy and sleeping in close quarters with so many men often lead her to believe the eventual day the sea swallowed them whole would be preferable to one more day of climbing masts. Maybe because she was young, or use to tiny writing, or maybe simply because she couldn't do much else, the crew had assigned her to the Crow's nest as lookout. Responsible for scanning the horizon for land or foreign ships. After months of death from illness the crew was down to a quarter compliment and Harper found herself in charge of the helm at least one shift a day. Half way through the voyage the Countess came upon previously unknown land claimed by familiar Europeans. Diego Garcia the Island was called and filled with Venetians. While initial surprise at seeing three Imperial Ships almost caused international incident, Harper found herself talking to a Venetian merchant commanding a skiff sent from the port to establish the intent. Upon reflection it was no surprise she was the one negotiating with the Venetians, as Hognose had died, his teeth displaced and body drained of fluid days earlier. Come to think of it out of a compliment of 7 officers not one was still on their feet hale and hearty.
After arranging for supplies, which involved negotiating a future shipment of Tobacco (relatively unknown to the Venetians) and replenishing the crew with whatever few dissatisfied Venetians were willing to enlist a course was set for Fandango. Nominally the Empire had contact with Fandango, a relatively new nation state. Apparently eager to prove their mettle they had agreed to allow Imperial ships harbour and maps to the conflict. Of course Harper's luck would hold and the Countess would be the first Imperial ship in a formation of strange Indian craft. Damn that Jenever, she had wanted to dance with a boy not end up at war, certainly not being called the Countess by illiterate goons. Events had moved quickly and the largest fleet ever assembled in history arrived a mere week behind the Countess. Rumour had it well over 40 Imperial Carracks were operating within the theater.
"Sails HO" Cried the lookout causing the crew to turn and look to Harper upon the forecastle.
"For Amalberga's sake you incompetent louts, I've never seen a foreign... Pox man your blasted stations, launch a flare."
At least she had been practicing with a miniature crossbow and dirk. These fools looking to her a 16 year old girl not yet bedded let alone blooded in combat. If things went wrong, and they would, the first strange round face near the forecastle would certainly take a bolt through the eye. Her first time would be with the ocean before one of these sailors or some strange heathen race.
Upon launching the flare the disorganized rabble of Indian ships began rowing straight towards the opposing fleet at full speed. In slight disbelief Harper watched them stream past cheering and mounting Christian flags in some form of strange tribute. Due to a lull in wind or perhaps simply the crew having no real officers or anyone of competence, the Countess found herself behind the lines of engagement. This turned out to be for the best as the strange heathen fleet promptly began sinking the disorganized Indian light ships. It was a slaughter. Turning to the crew Harper yelled
"Turn this blasted splinter around, get us back to England, fuck the Empress and certainly fuck dying to some round faced savage because of Hindu folly. "
(The battle of Hindu's Folly was a complete route. 52 Hindu ships were lost with no recorded losses to the Tosan fleet.)
The Barque was called Countess's Pride. After waking the next morning and finding herself at sea, investigation which involved talking to leering men and a disgusting Captain called Hognose revealed a story where the crew maintained she had insisted on accompanying them on a trading Voyage to Rollo's Land. Citing the fact that the crew was abnormal in the fact their ship was partial to women and that she had convinced them that she wanted to see Tobacco first hand for her family's business, with horror it dawned on Harper she may not have been abducted, but the creator of her own misfortune. Days later rounding the coast of Spain having fought Hognose's advances off multiple times reality had set in. Fortune had not revealed her last trick because apparently a perilous Voyage to Rollo's Land wasn't dreadful enough. Upon reaching Cape Verde military dispatches awaited and Countess's Pride was pressed into service. The Empire was at war with a foreign race in mostly unknown lands in the orient. Joined by 2 other Barques, they were to explore past the Horn of Africa charting a course to legendary Spice Islands to render whatever assistance possible to a heathen Empire called Malaya.
Harper had the worst of luck, the voyage was choppy and sleeping in close quarters with so many men often lead her to believe the eventual day the sea swallowed them whole would be preferable to one more day of climbing masts. Maybe because she was young, or use to tiny writing, or maybe simply because she couldn't do much else, the crew had assigned her to the Crow's nest as lookout. Responsible for scanning the horizon for land or foreign ships. After months of death from illness the crew was down to a quarter compliment and Harper found herself in charge of the helm at least one shift a day. Half way through the voyage the Countess came upon previously unknown land claimed by familiar Europeans. Diego Garcia the Island was called and filled with Venetians. While initial surprise at seeing three Imperial Ships almost caused international incident, Harper found herself talking to a Venetian merchant commanding a skiff sent from the port to establish the intent. Upon reflection it was no surprise she was the one negotiating with the Venetians, as Hognose had died, his teeth displaced and body drained of fluid days earlier. Come to think of it out of a compliment of 7 officers not one was still on their feet hale and hearty.
After arranging for supplies, which involved negotiating a future shipment of Tobacco (relatively unknown to the Venetians) and replenishing the crew with whatever few dissatisfied Venetians were willing to enlist a course was set for Fandango. Nominally the Empire had contact with Fandango, a relatively new nation state. Apparently eager to prove their mettle they had agreed to allow Imperial ships harbour and maps to the conflict. Of course Harper's luck would hold and the Countess would be the first Imperial ship in a formation of strange Indian craft. Damn that Jenever, she had wanted to dance with a boy not end up at war, certainly not being called the Countess by illiterate goons. Events had moved quickly and the largest fleet ever assembled in history arrived a mere week behind the Countess. Rumour had it well over 40 Imperial Carracks were operating within the theater.
"Sails HO" Cried the lookout causing the crew to turn and look to Harper upon the forecastle.
"For Amalberga's sake you incompetent louts, I've never seen a foreign... Pox man your blasted stations, launch a flare."
At least she had been practicing with a miniature crossbow and dirk. These fools looking to her a 16 year old girl not yet bedded let alone blooded in combat. If things went wrong, and they would, the first strange round face near the forecastle would certainly take a bolt through the eye. Her first time would be with the ocean before one of these sailors or some strange heathen race.
Upon launching the flare the disorganized rabble of Indian ships began rowing straight towards the opposing fleet at full speed. In slight disbelief Harper watched them stream past cheering and mounting Christian flags in some form of strange tribute. Due to a lull in wind or perhaps simply the crew having no real officers or anyone of competence, the Countess found herself behind the lines of engagement. This turned out to be for the best as the strange heathen fleet promptly began sinking the disorganized Indian light ships. It was a slaughter. Turning to the crew Harper yelled
"Turn this blasted splinter around, get us back to England, fuck the Empress and certainly fuck dying to some round faced savage because of Hindu folly. "
(The battle of Hindu's Folly was a complete route. 52 Hindu ships were lost with no recorded losses to the Tosan fleet.)
Luck wasn't done with Harper. Fleeing simply didn't work. How could it, the blasted Tsoan ships pursuing the Countess had sail designs never seen before. They certainly moved faster than any of the crew thought possible. Lowering the colours did nothing either, the godless curs kept firing shots. Overtaking the Countess throwing grappling hooks and dropping boards it was clear the savages meant to take the ship captive. As the crew of the opposing ship streamed over a man in a strange tunic like outfit hustled over and began yelling what appeared to be commands.
"DING DONG WING SHHUUUUUUU"
Pulling his sword and pointing it at the crew slowly it seemed as if the savage was demanding to know who was in charge. The largest deck hand named Scalp, after his disgusting tendancy of distributing flakes from his scalp all over everyone's food in a gale, began to step forward and claim command (probably thinking he would get better treatment) when instantly the foreign commander's sword leapt out of its scabbard and into Scalp's belly.
Realizing a sword to the gut was preferable to rape, Harper stepped forward and in clear English, sure to be lost upon mongrels announced
"I am the commander of Her Imperial Majesty's ship, and you will remove yourself from her deck this instant you Pagan."
Maybe understanding the defiance, or maybe deciding rape was preferable to murder, the foreign commander began to saunter towards Harper spinning his sword in complex motions. Before he could get there her bolt took him in the eye. Dead.
As the crew in rambunctious fashion took advantage of the milling Orientals, what had been surrender and death before quickly turned into a counter boarding operation. Seizing the ship and throwing surviving Orientals overboard, the Countess found herself in possession of two ships and a fucking giraffe. Before they could determine which ship would be best to flee in, English flags arrived on the horizon. The full Imperial Squadron , streaming standards in the wind had arrived.
"These Pagans will rue the day they crossed England men!! But for now quick take this ship as prize and let's sail the opposite direction!!" Harper wasn't sure, but maybe luck had decided enough is enough and maybe just maybe she would see England's shores again.
"DING DONG WING SHHUUUUUUU"
Pulling his sword and pointing it at the crew slowly it seemed as if the savage was demanding to know who was in charge. The largest deck hand named Scalp, after his disgusting tendancy of distributing flakes from his scalp all over everyone's food in a gale, began to step forward and claim command (probably thinking he would get better treatment) when instantly the foreign commander's sword leapt out of its scabbard and into Scalp's belly.
Realizing a sword to the gut was preferable to rape, Harper stepped forward and in clear English, sure to be lost upon mongrels announced
"I am the commander of Her Imperial Majesty's ship, and you will remove yourself from her deck this instant you Pagan."
Maybe understanding the defiance, or maybe deciding rape was preferable to murder, the foreign commander began to saunter towards Harper spinning his sword in complex motions. Before he could get there her bolt took him in the eye. Dead.
As the crew in rambunctious fashion took advantage of the milling Orientals, what had been surrender and death before quickly turned into a counter boarding operation. Seizing the ship and throwing surviving Orientals overboard, the Countess found herself in possession of two ships and a fucking giraffe. Before they could determine which ship would be best to flee in, English flags arrived on the horizon. The full Imperial Squadron , streaming standards in the wind had arrived.
"These Pagans will rue the day they crossed England men!! But for now quick take this ship as prize and let's sail the opposite direction!!" Harper wasn't sure, but maybe luck had decided enough is enough and maybe just maybe she would see England's shores again.
Mors Reginae
Amalberga occupied the same reverence in the British Psyche as legendary figures such as Bob the Builder or legendary King Arthur. Unlike Bob who was celebrated for his vision and the founding of what would become the only legitimate Empire in the world, Amalberga would be known for her steely determination to solidify and modernize the Empire like no Monarch had before. Best known for her sponsoring of far flung colonies and exploration of the world, internally she modernized the bureaucracy, separated the state from religion, created a professional navy and modernized the army to fit. Often the arbitrator of difficult peace's or local demands, she was fair to those she deemed worthy of mercy and useful to the Empire and ruthless to turncoats and undesired agitators. One common theme through her rule was her unflinching resolve to dispense justice herself. In the early years of her reign in the 1440s she set the precedent that any subject of the Empire could petition the Queen for final judgement in any case, and at first many did. While her staff was diligent in assessing guilt and overturning politically motivated injustice, the Queen often enacted harsher punishment for those found guilty. Executions more often than not carried out by her own hand. In her later years, she would force Bobbi to administer beheadings at least once a month insisting a Queen or a King must always be willing to bear the weight of the crown.
By all accounts her personal life was a loveless one. While indiscretions of her youth were many, by middle age she ignored suitors often joking the only "prick" big enough for her was England. With no children of her own she often doted on orphans, adopting them into the Imperial Court, in fact her heir Bobbi was such a case. Insisting that being an Empress was not a mandate from heaven but a calling to work, until her death it was never certain Bobbi would remain the official heir. Any of her adopted children were said to be considered for the crown, many put to work in remote areas of Empire learning the intricacies of rule. In fact one of her final acts as Empress was to force Bobbi to take a bride. Upon the completion of the Khoisan Malayan War of Aggression a young woman Captaining a captured exotic ship had made her way back to Cornwall. Sweeping down to see the new ship design, to personally determine if Imperial Warships would need adaption, Amalberga determined the young folk hero Harper was exactly the type of metal a mature Bobbi could benefit from. Thirty years her senior, it is said Bobbi was comfortable with the arrangement and found Harper an active aid in administration.
Amalberga passed in the year of our lord 1499. The 15th century was one of her making, under her rule the Glory of Empire was fully restored. The Germans, Aztecs, Japanese, Lithuanians and even Mongol Hordes had all challenged the Empire valiantly and tasted death and defeat even in unison. The cowardly and fanatical Templar had also been humiliated when to the surprise of the world they had declared war upon the Empire while sending out false diplomatic missives to their 'allies' painting England as the aggressor. While the other wars were all glorified across the Empire, Amalberga to her dying day insisted the operation in Spain was less hassle than putting down religious rebels. As her final command to Bobbi she is rumoured to have said "You don't go to war or treaty with rats, nor expect a rat to stay out of your refuse. Rats are vermin Bobbi, you simply exterminate them."
The funeral procession lasted weeks, with the body finally laying in state at Castle Bobbi. Amalberga was given the title the Great, an honour only shared with Alfred and Bobbi's first act as King was to declare the construction of a monument in his adopted mother's honour.
Amalberga occupied the same reverence in the British Psyche as legendary figures such as Bob the Builder or legendary King Arthur. Unlike Bob who was celebrated for his vision and the founding of what would become the only legitimate Empire in the world, Amalberga would be known for her steely determination to solidify and modernize the Empire like no Monarch had before. Best known for her sponsoring of far flung colonies and exploration of the world, internally she modernized the bureaucracy, separated the state from religion, created a professional navy and modernized the army to fit. Often the arbitrator of difficult peace's or local demands, she was fair to those she deemed worthy of mercy and useful to the Empire and ruthless to turncoats and undesired agitators. One common theme through her rule was her unflinching resolve to dispense justice herself. In the early years of her reign in the 1440s she set the precedent that any subject of the Empire could petition the Queen for final judgement in any case, and at first many did. While her staff was diligent in assessing guilt and overturning politically motivated injustice, the Queen often enacted harsher punishment for those found guilty. Executions more often than not carried out by her own hand. In her later years, she would force Bobbi to administer beheadings at least once a month insisting a Queen or a King must always be willing to bear the weight of the crown.
By all accounts her personal life was a loveless one. While indiscretions of her youth were many, by middle age she ignored suitors often joking the only "prick" big enough for her was England. With no children of her own she often doted on orphans, adopting them into the Imperial Court, in fact her heir Bobbi was such a case. Insisting that being an Empress was not a mandate from heaven but a calling to work, until her death it was never certain Bobbi would remain the official heir. Any of her adopted children were said to be considered for the crown, many put to work in remote areas of Empire learning the intricacies of rule. In fact one of her final acts as Empress was to force Bobbi to take a bride. Upon the completion of the Khoisan Malayan War of Aggression a young woman Captaining a captured exotic ship had made her way back to Cornwall. Sweeping down to see the new ship design, to personally determine if Imperial Warships would need adaption, Amalberga determined the young folk hero Harper was exactly the type of metal a mature Bobbi could benefit from. Thirty years her senior, it is said Bobbi was comfortable with the arrangement and found Harper an active aid in administration.
Amalberga passed in the year of our lord 1499. The 15th century was one of her making, under her rule the Glory of Empire was fully restored. The Germans, Aztecs, Japanese, Lithuanians and even Mongol Hordes had all challenged the Empire valiantly and tasted death and defeat even in unison. The cowardly and fanatical Templar had also been humiliated when to the surprise of the world they had declared war upon the Empire while sending out false diplomatic missives to their 'allies' painting England as the aggressor. While the other wars were all glorified across the Empire, Amalberga to her dying day insisted the operation in Spain was less hassle than putting down religious rebels. As her final command to Bobbi she is rumoured to have said "You don't go to war or treaty with rats, nor expect a rat to stay out of your refuse. Rats are vermin Bobbi, you simply exterminate them."
The funeral procession lasted weeks, with the body finally laying in state at Castle Bobbi. Amalberga was given the title the Great, an honour only shared with Alfred and Bobbi's first act as King was to declare the construction of a monument in his adopted mother's honour.