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Funny. I'm gone for a week and eighty-seven new AARs come out of the woodwork.
Sorry, I've been in San Fran for the past week, and have had absolutely no time to work on this AAR. Fear not, though, for I shall remain firmly planted in the soil of Hawaii until maybe Christmas or something.
Sorry, I've been in San Fran for the past week, and have had absolutely no time to work on this AAR. Fear not, though, for I shall remain firmly planted in the soil of Hawaii until maybe Christmas or something.
Update 16
My Emperor! I hope this message finds you well.
I am sorry to report that during the past year, a series of unfortunate events have happened.
Empress Tewebach has fallen ill, and although we are praying for her health, her condition seems to be declining. Unfortunately, my Emperor, due to the awkwardness of having this letter take several months to reach you, by the time you read this, the Empress may have recovered. Or, may the Lord forbid, grown worse.
Tewodros prayed a silent prayer for the health of his wife before continuing, even though it may now be redundant, or worse, too late. He didn’t wish to think about that. He read on.
There is growing discontent at your rule. Many nobles have publicly declared their distaste for you and your regime, but none have taken action so far. I believe it is due to the fact that I have arranged Bugandan and Sidamo troops to garrison the most rebellious provinces, placing the soldiers under lieutenants that are most loyal to you and Ethiopia.
There has also been trouble in the province of Yebuti, which the British have formerly owned. We have completely lost contact with the garrison there. I have sent a small army through the Afar Desert to investigate, and they have reported that apparently several local clans of Afars and Issas had risen up and wiped out the old garrison. After crushing some minor clans, everything is back in order.
The Consul Walter Plowden has also broken his leg after a fall. This, combined with his declining health means that Consul Plowden may never use that leg again. He has sent letters to Massawa begging his British Empire to let him leave for London for medical treatment, but they replied quite coldly, saying that they will only let him return if, and I quote, “You make these savage Africans see some sense and arrange a peace”.
But through all of this, there is one piece of good news. Yohannes Bell has finally come out of his depression, and has declared in front of me that he renounced his mother country and will now regard himself as an Ethiopian! As I am writing this, he is preparing to leave for Namibia, but due to the peculiarities of distance and time, he might be arriving only a few days after this message reaches you. It is even entirely possible that he reaches you before this message arrives!
Your Most Obedient Servant
Regent Nejas Makonnen
Tewodros sighed, and said another prayer for his beleaguered kingdom. Well, at least the good news was good. His best friend and likquimandas would be arriving here soon.
“Emperor!”
Tewodros could hear him already. Wait...
“Emperor!” he heard again, with a peculiar British accent thrown in. He turned around, and there he was, in full Ethiopian dress, Yohannes Bell.
“Yohannes!”
The two men joyously greeted each other, Tewodros quick to tell of his victories against the British, and Bell regaling tales of travelling through the depths of Africa. There was more to the situation in Ethiopia than Makonnen’s letter, it turned out. Every European within Ethiopia had been either rounded up and imprisoned in Magdala or expelled entirely. Several nobles had also attempted rebellions, which had been defeated, but there was growing dissension from the ranks of the Bugandan mercenaries about holding guard over a land that was not their own. John had no more news about the fate of Tewebach, except that she was not in too bad of a condition.
The dinner that night was a special one, as Tewodros announced a feast in celebration of his guest, as well as the fact that more reinforcements would soon come to replace the losses that the Ethiopians had incurred in the fighting. The latest battle had been unusually calm, with relatively few losses. The Ethiopians were pushing west, and the British were beginning to falter.
Later that night, Bell was with Tewodros.
“Read me a story, Yohannes. From your ‘Bible‘.”
John smiled. It was an old joke of theirs. He drew a thick manuscript, well-worn from years of use. He asked, “Which would you like to hear?”
“The one about the...Dutch prince?”
“Danish,” John corrected. He thumbed the manuscript to the appropriate page and began to read.
“A desert place. Thunder and lighting. Enter three witches...”
Yeah, I know it says 'Green'. Get off my back. It's Scott, OK?
Yes, we won that battle. I was going to mention it in the story, but ran out of room. Bit awkward to squeeze it in there, anyways. Basically he's welcoming John while he's fighting this battle.
My Emperor! I hope this message finds you well.
I am sorry to report that during the past year, a series of unfortunate events have happened.
Empress Tewebach has fallen ill, and although we are praying for her health, her condition seems to be declining. Unfortunately, my Emperor, due to the awkwardness of having this letter take several months to reach you, by the time you read this, the Empress may have recovered. Or, may the Lord forbid, grown worse.
Tewodros prayed a silent prayer for the health of his wife before continuing, even though it may now be redundant, or worse, too late. He didn’t wish to think about that. He read on.
There is growing discontent at your rule. Many nobles have publicly declared their distaste for you and your regime, but none have taken action so far. I believe it is due to the fact that I have arranged Bugandan and Sidamo troops to garrison the most rebellious provinces, placing the soldiers under lieutenants that are most loyal to you and Ethiopia.
There has also been trouble in the province of Yebuti, which the British have formerly owned. We have completely lost contact with the garrison there. I have sent a small army through the Afar Desert to investigate, and they have reported that apparently several local clans of Afars and Issas had risen up and wiped out the old garrison. After crushing some minor clans, everything is back in order.
The Consul Walter Plowden has also broken his leg after a fall. This, combined with his declining health means that Consul Plowden may never use that leg again. He has sent letters to Massawa begging his British Empire to let him leave for London for medical treatment, but they replied quite coldly, saying that they will only let him return if, and I quote, “You make these savage Africans see some sense and arrange a peace”.
But through all of this, there is one piece of good news. Yohannes Bell has finally come out of his depression, and has declared in front of me that he renounced his mother country and will now regard himself as an Ethiopian! As I am writing this, he is preparing to leave for Namibia, but due to the peculiarities of distance and time, he might be arriving only a few days after this message reaches you. It is even entirely possible that he reaches you before this message arrives!
Your Most Obedient Servant
Regent Nejas Makonnen
Tewodros sighed, and said another prayer for his beleaguered kingdom. Well, at least the good news was good. His best friend and likquimandas would be arriving here soon.
“Emperor!”
Tewodros could hear him already. Wait...
“Emperor!” he heard again, with a peculiar British accent thrown in. He turned around, and there he was, in full Ethiopian dress, Yohannes Bell.
“Yohannes!”
The two men joyously greeted each other, Tewodros quick to tell of his victories against the British, and Bell regaling tales of travelling through the depths of Africa. There was more to the situation in Ethiopia than Makonnen’s letter, it turned out. Every European within Ethiopia had been either rounded up and imprisoned in Magdala or expelled entirely. Several nobles had also attempted rebellions, which had been defeated, but there was growing dissension from the ranks of the Bugandan mercenaries about holding guard over a land that was not their own. John had no more news about the fate of Tewebach, except that she was not in too bad of a condition.
The dinner that night was a special one, as Tewodros announced a feast in celebration of his guest, as well as the fact that more reinforcements would soon come to replace the losses that the Ethiopians had incurred in the fighting. The latest battle had been unusually calm, with relatively few losses. The Ethiopians were pushing west, and the British were beginning to falter.
Later that night, Bell was with Tewodros.
“Read me a story, Yohannes. From your ‘Bible‘.”
John smiled. It was an old joke of theirs. He drew a thick manuscript, well-worn from years of use. He asked, “Which would you like to hear?”
“The one about the...Dutch prince?”
“Danish,” John corrected. He thumbed the manuscript to the appropriate page and began to read.
“A desert place. Thunder and lighting. Enter three witches...”
Yeah, I know it says 'Green'. Get off my back. It's Scott, OK?
Yes, we won that battle. I was going to mention it in the story, but ran out of room. Bit awkward to squeeze it in there, anyways. Basically he's welcoming John while he's fighting this battle.
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Great stuff. I cant imagine taking on the UK like that. those 2 other wars showed up at a good time surely.
Update...
...Or Die!
Just kidding, If you are so EVIL to decide to post no more, feel free.
...Or Die!
Just kidding, If you are so EVIL to decide to post no more, feel free.
I am not that evil....
I am afraid that the true villain is real life, for you see, the fall term starts in five days...
But I should be writing soon. I actually have a few updates ready, but they're not chronologically right.
I am afraid that the true villain is real life, for you see, the fall term starts in five days...
But I should be writing soon. I actually have a few updates ready, but they're not chronologically right.
anonymous4401 said:
Well I'm sure you'll get something in order, or you can do like I did when I couldn't update and have somebody do a filler update for you
Sorry everyone. My classes started today. Also, I've patched to 1.03b and began playing again, so that's taking up my free time, too.
Good job 
I read through all 7 pages of posts in one sitting. . .whew, my eyes are tired! lol
Keep it up, your stories give me fond memories of my EU2 experience with Ethiopia ;-)
I read through all 7 pages of posts in one sitting. . .whew, my eyes are tired! lol
Keep it up, your stories give me fond memories of my EU2 experience with Ethiopia ;-)
Hey there,
I got the game not long ago, only signed up on these forums a few days ago, and being a writer myself this was one good story.
I got the game not long ago, only signed up on these forums a few days ago, and being a writer myself this was one good story.
Hello everyone.
I realize that I have not visited these boards in the past two months. For that I apologize.
I realize that I have missed many things during my absence, and my heart is torn to see that many things have changed without my knowing.
For this, I apologize, for I have let you all down. I vow to continue writing again.
EDIT: I have picked this post to insert my second Livingstone Update...
“Doctor Livingstone, I presume?” A plainly-dressed middle-aged man approached David Livingstone. He looked like any other man in the busy Aksum street. Unlike most, he spoke flawless English, with only a hint of an accent. It was a fortunate thing, as Livingstone’s own Amharic had not yet reached conversational levels.
“Yes, I happen to be Dr. Livingstone, my good man. May I inquire to whom I have the pleasure of conversing with?” It was doubly odd, of course, that this Ethiopian knew his name. He did stand out as the only white man in the entire town, as far as he could figure, and a foreigner as well. But he had been able to make the trip from Massaua to Aksum unmolested. Things must have improved greatly from what Ethiopia had been described as, a dozen provincial lords warring constantly with each other for dominance.
“You may,” he replied. “I am Nejas Makonnen, Regent of Ethiopia.” He stated it simply, without a flourish, with neither ashamedness nor pride. As if he had just declared himself to be a brick maker rather than the effective ruler of all that lay before him.
“Regent of Ethiopia?” Livingstone asked. “So you are the man that I am seeking?” He had certainly not expected to run into him at Aksum. Or run into him at all. He was supposed to travel to Gondar to present himself to the Imperial Court. Even then, he had certainly not expected such an important man to dress so simply, no different from the average peasant.
As if Makonnen had read his mind, he spoke, “I simply run the country. I am not the Emperor. Technically, I’m not even a noble. I do not need a commanding presence or ornate decorations to do my job, Dr. Livingstone. It also allows me to walk amongst a crowd and not even be noticed. I enjoy that very much.”
“But enough with the pleasantries, Dr. Livingstone. Come, walk with me.” Makonnen began walking, and Livingstone uneasily followed suit. Makonnen continued, “Even though you declare yourself to not come as a representative of the British Empire, you must be seeking something. What is it?”
David Livingstone laid it all out. His proposal of peace between the two empires, a process that should be started by the Ethiopians. His dream of cooperation between Ethiopia and Britain, to bring civilization into the interior of Africa. But that was for the future, and they both understood that. More immediately, the halting of the policy of expelling all Europeans of any sort in the lands that the Ethiopians had conquered. When he was done, Makonnen shook his head.
“We are at war with Britain, Dr. Livingstone. Seeing this, we simply cannot allow British citizens to remain in the lands we conquer, possibly inciting rebellions among the natives with their influence.”
Up until this statement, Makonnen seemed to be a surprisingly well-educated, intelligent man. Livingstone was clearly confused by this sudden change. “That is preposterous! These men are missionaries, they hold their allegiance first with the Lord, not the British Crown! Many are not even British citizens. You have been expelling German missionaries too, from Namibia. Furthermore, I cannot possibly imagine that a handful of British citizens, even if they tried their best to, could whip up the natives to rebel against your armies.”
“Is it preposterous, Doctor?” Of course, that wasn’t a question, so Livingstone didn’t answer. “Three. Our armies missed three men, boys really, in the campaign in Tadjoura, while rounding up British citizens for Magdala. A year later, three became two thousand, as the Afars and the Issas joined together to attack our soldiers in Tadjoura.” He shook his head in sadness. “They won, and we lost thousands. So of course we had to send another army after them. We lost many on the journey there, through the harsh Denakil. We had to fight them again, sustain more losses...”
Livingstone could see the pain in his eyes, and once again remembered why he was here.
“I can understand your apprehensions, then, Regent Makonnen. But surely you can see the unreasonableness of this policy. We are both Christians, are we not? How can we let the multitudes in the interior fade away into the darkness?”
“Not the same kind, Doctor. Not at all.” But Nejas thought for a while. “But even your brand of Christianity would be far preferable to the pagan beliefs of the native tribes. The Ethiopian Church does not have men like you, Doctor, who go out into the wilderness, beyond the rim of civilization for the sole purpose of winning converts. Thus, the Church’s spread into the interior will be slow.” He thought for a bit more, and continued. “Yes, I can see how this will help us consolidate our empire.”
It wasn’t going exactly in the direction Livingstone had originally planned. But that didn’t matter. The mission in Africa had to continue. After all, he served Christ first, before he served the interests of mere worldly concepts, such as the British Empire.
“But I am not even in a position to accept it,” Makonnen continued. “The British Empire must officially offer peace to us, and recognize our rightful claims on Tigray before any concessions are to be made. That is what Tewodros has said, and while he is still alive he is still the Emperor. I am afraid that if you wish to change his policies in Bechuanaland, you will have to go there.”
“Thank you, Regent Makonnen. I suppose I have another long journey ahead of me.” They were out of the busy streets now, and Livingstone was surprised to find himself on the path back to the inn that he had been staying in. Makonnen did seem to know everything that went on in his nation.
“Well, there is another matter,” Regent Makonnen continued in a more sombre tone. “Empress Tewebach has been ailing for many months. It is a credit to her spirit that she has not passed away yet, still stubbornly clinging to life. But I fear that she will not be clinging for long. Is there anything you can do to help her, Doctor Livingstone?”
So God was still smiling upon him. If he had arrived a few weeks later, he may have been to late for this opportunity to save a life, and an important one at that.
“I will try my very best, Regent Makonnen.”
I realize that I have not visited these boards in the past two months. For that I apologize.
I realize that I have missed many things during my absence, and my heart is torn to see that many things have changed without my knowing.
For this, I apologize, for I have let you all down. I vow to continue writing again.
EDIT: I have picked this post to insert my second Livingstone Update...
In the December of 1857, David Livingstone arrived in the port of Massaua, one step closer to his goal of opening up Africa to civilization. David Livingstone’s journey to fame, and in some people’s eyes, infamy, would begin in Aksum...
Forgotten Hero: A Biography of Dr. David Livingstone
“Doctor Livingstone, I presume?” A plainly-dressed middle-aged man approached David Livingstone. He looked like any other man in the busy Aksum street. Unlike most, he spoke flawless English, with only a hint of an accent. It was a fortunate thing, as Livingstone’s own Amharic had not yet reached conversational levels.
“Yes, I happen to be Dr. Livingstone, my good man. May I inquire to whom I have the pleasure of conversing with?” It was doubly odd, of course, that this Ethiopian knew his name. He did stand out as the only white man in the entire town, as far as he could figure, and a foreigner as well. But he had been able to make the trip from Massaua to Aksum unmolested. Things must have improved greatly from what Ethiopia had been described as, a dozen provincial lords warring constantly with each other for dominance.
“You may,” he replied. “I am Nejas Makonnen, Regent of Ethiopia.” He stated it simply, without a flourish, with neither ashamedness nor pride. As if he had just declared himself to be a brick maker rather than the effective ruler of all that lay before him.
“Regent of Ethiopia?” Livingstone asked. “So you are the man that I am seeking?” He had certainly not expected to run into him at Aksum. Or run into him at all. He was supposed to travel to Gondar to present himself to the Imperial Court. Even then, he had certainly not expected such an important man to dress so simply, no different from the average peasant.
As if Makonnen had read his mind, he spoke, “I simply run the country. I am not the Emperor. Technically, I’m not even a noble. I do not need a commanding presence or ornate decorations to do my job, Dr. Livingstone. It also allows me to walk amongst a crowd and not even be noticed. I enjoy that very much.”
“But enough with the pleasantries, Dr. Livingstone. Come, walk with me.” Makonnen began walking, and Livingstone uneasily followed suit. Makonnen continued, “Even though you declare yourself to not come as a representative of the British Empire, you must be seeking something. What is it?”
David Livingstone laid it all out. His proposal of peace between the two empires, a process that should be started by the Ethiopians. His dream of cooperation between Ethiopia and Britain, to bring civilization into the interior of Africa. But that was for the future, and they both understood that. More immediately, the halting of the policy of expelling all Europeans of any sort in the lands that the Ethiopians had conquered. When he was done, Makonnen shook his head.
“We are at war with Britain, Dr. Livingstone. Seeing this, we simply cannot allow British citizens to remain in the lands we conquer, possibly inciting rebellions among the natives with their influence.”
Up until this statement, Makonnen seemed to be a surprisingly well-educated, intelligent man. Livingstone was clearly confused by this sudden change. “That is preposterous! These men are missionaries, they hold their allegiance first with the Lord, not the British Crown! Many are not even British citizens. You have been expelling German missionaries too, from Namibia. Furthermore, I cannot possibly imagine that a handful of British citizens, even if they tried their best to, could whip up the natives to rebel against your armies.”
“Is it preposterous, Doctor?” Of course, that wasn’t a question, so Livingstone didn’t answer. “Three. Our armies missed three men, boys really, in the campaign in Tadjoura, while rounding up British citizens for Magdala. A year later, three became two thousand, as the Afars and the Issas joined together to attack our soldiers in Tadjoura.” He shook his head in sadness. “They won, and we lost thousands. So of course we had to send another army after them. We lost many on the journey there, through the harsh Denakil. We had to fight them again, sustain more losses...”
Livingstone could see the pain in his eyes, and once again remembered why he was here.
“I can understand your apprehensions, then, Regent Makonnen. But surely you can see the unreasonableness of this policy. We are both Christians, are we not? How can we let the multitudes in the interior fade away into the darkness?”
“Not the same kind, Doctor. Not at all.” But Nejas thought for a while. “But even your brand of Christianity would be far preferable to the pagan beliefs of the native tribes. The Ethiopian Church does not have men like you, Doctor, who go out into the wilderness, beyond the rim of civilization for the sole purpose of winning converts. Thus, the Church’s spread into the interior will be slow.” He thought for a bit more, and continued. “Yes, I can see how this will help us consolidate our empire.”
It wasn’t going exactly in the direction Livingstone had originally planned. But that didn’t matter. The mission in Africa had to continue. After all, he served Christ first, before he served the interests of mere worldly concepts, such as the British Empire.
“But I am not even in a position to accept it,” Makonnen continued. “The British Empire must officially offer peace to us, and recognize our rightful claims on Tigray before any concessions are to be made. That is what Tewodros has said, and while he is still alive he is still the Emperor. I am afraid that if you wish to change his policies in Bechuanaland, you will have to go there.”
“Thank you, Regent Makonnen. I suppose I have another long journey ahead of me.” They were out of the busy streets now, and Livingstone was surprised to find himself on the path back to the inn that he had been staying in. Makonnen did seem to know everything that went on in his nation.
“Well, there is another matter,” Regent Makonnen continued in a more sombre tone. “Empress Tewebach has been ailing for many months. It is a credit to her spirit that she has not passed away yet, still stubbornly clinging to life. But I fear that she will not be clinging for long. Is there anything you can do to help her, Doctor Livingstone?”
So God was still smiling upon him. If he had arrived a few weeks later, he may have been to late for this opportunity to save a life, and an important one at that.
“I will try my very best, Regent Makonnen.”
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Brigadier General Robert Barnes ruminated on the events past as he rode furiously towards his destination. The events of Goxas were still fresh on his mind, though they had occurred a full month before. The 2nd Regiment’s delaying tactics had worked, stopping the Ethiopians from pushing the beleaguered British forces out of Bechuanaland long enough for Scott’s 22nd, as well as the 39th and 52nd regiments to retreat and regroup. Unfortunately, that meant that the Ethiopians had pushed the British forces out of Bechuanaland. To make matters worse, Colonel Scott had made an ill-advised attempt to regain the lost ground with the three regiments under his command shortly after the 22nd’s retreat, resulting in further loss of life and strategic position. This had resulted in the 2nd and 22nd Regiments being cut off from the 39th and 52nd, and being driven east and south. Barnes had lost contact with the 2nd during that fateful battle, and now Colonel Scott had trekked a full month and one-hundred-fifty miles south in an attempt to break back through Ethiopian lines and get back to Namibia. They had been resting and receiving aid in a missionary station named Kuruman when the Ethiopians reached them. Now the 22nd was on the move, west this time, conducting a fighting retreat. Though they tried their best, the British boys just could not put a dent in the Ethiopian advance.
Until now. If what the messenger had told him was true, the entire Ethiopian army would suffer a blow it would never recover from. It may even disintegrate altogether, and the army, which was at present little more than an organized mob of peasant recruits, would turn into a morass of deserters whose only goal would be to find a way back home.
There was a small crowd of soldiers around the spectacle. It was, after all, a spectacle. But Barnes had no problem riding to the centre of it, though several soldiers had to dive out of the way of his beast. He quickly dismounted and began to survey the situation.
There were two figures in the middle of the crowd, one lying prone and obviously injured, and the other crouched before him, medical bag nearby. The one that was crouched was one of the field surgeons attached to the 22nd. The one that was prone was an Ethiopian, if skin coloration were anything to go by. He was dressed plainly, almost like every other soldier in the Ethiopian army was dressed. But this man was different. His elaborate hair and a thin band of gold that somehow stubbornly clung to his forehead meant that he could be only one person. Emperor Tewodros II.
So the messenger was telling the truth. This was undoubtedly the Emperor, lying right in front of him! The Ethiopian army would crumble without their Emperor, who was by now apparently the only thing keeping it together. The war, which he had been fighting for a little over a year, would be over within weeks.
“How is he, Doctor?” Barnes asked the surgeon, concerned, though the concern was more for strategic reasons than humanitarian. If the Emperor were simply missing, the generals of his army could simply claim him to be out of contact for some reason. They may even believe it themselves. With elements of the Ethiopian army still operating hundreds of miles away from the Emperor, such an illusion could be kept for months. But if the Emperor were alive and well, and had publicly surrendered his army to the British, the polyglot Ethiopian army would have little reason for keeping together.
“Not well, I’m afraid.” The surgeon wiped his forehead with a rag, and continued. “If we were in London, with a team of the best surgeons in the Empire, perhaps, just perhaps, he might survive. But not here. He is unconscious now, and has little chance of regaining consciousness before he dies.” The surgeon paused, his face showing that he was unsure of how to say his next words. “I will also ask for an explanation for this-” With that, he wiped his already black palm on the Emperor’s forehead. Barnes noticed that his palm was now blacker and the Emperor’s forehead was now lighter, which could only mean-
That the Emperor was a white man. A thousand explanations spun through Barnes’s mind, none of them making sense. What in the devil was going on?
There was an unnatural quiet in the air, and in only such a quiet could Barnes have heard what happened next. The Emperor was trying to say something! He must have regained consciousness after all. He stepped up to the supposed Emperor, knelt down, and struggled to listen. The surgeon stepped out of the way.
“Jonathan Bell, at your service, General Barnes,” the man strained, barely above a whisper. Even at such quietness, Barnes could tell that he spoke English perfectly, without an accent except for a hint of Scot.
“Brigadier General Robert Barnes, at yours,” Barnes replied nearly as quietly. It was very clear to him now. This man was a decoy, and a very good one at that. Every single one of the Emperor’s features was mirrored on this man, through the art of disguise. Right down to the three braided pleats that ran down his upper back. But why?
“I was,” Jonathan stopped to cough, and it almost seemed as if he would die right there. But he kept going. “I was the Emperor’s likquimandas for ten years. I suppose there is no English equivalent except best friend, trusted servant, and a man willing to give his life for the Emperor. Of course, I didn’t really expect that to come true. Life, eh?” Bell tried to chuckle, but ended up coughing again. Blood. They both knew that he wouldn’t live but a few minutes longer. These were this peculiar man’s last words on this Earth. Barnes just solemnly nodded.
“Here, take these,” Bell reached inside his simple robes and weakly produced two envelopes. “For my wife. Tell her that even as I died for Ethiopia, I was thinking of her.”
Barnes took them, and promised, “I will.” Even though his wife was undoubtedly a thousand miles away, maybe more, he would try to fulfil this dying man’s wish. He looked towards the surgeon, who shook his head sadly. It was confirmed. There was nothing more he could do.
Bell laid his head back on the ground, his eyes staring towards the heavens. Summoning unnatural strength, he declared, “Now I rest.” And so he did. For the final time.
Notice Colonel Scott. His traits are 'hated' and 'audacious'. Surprised? Sorry for the WideVision mode. I'll try to crop pics horizontally in the future. Actually the past. The past and the future. Read back, you'll see. Or forward.
You know what's funny? With these pictures, I have to change my story now, as apparently the Ethiopians are attacking. In writing it says that Ethiopians are defending, so I assumed that Scott was trying to outflank me by going south. But he was instead defending himself against the aggressor, me! So the story is re-written. Well, not the whole thing. Just the thinking back to Goxas.
Until now. If what the messenger had told him was true, the entire Ethiopian army would suffer a blow it would never recover from. It may even disintegrate altogether, and the army, which was at present little more than an organized mob of peasant recruits, would turn into a morass of deserters whose only goal would be to find a way back home.
There was a small crowd of soldiers around the spectacle. It was, after all, a spectacle. But Barnes had no problem riding to the centre of it, though several soldiers had to dive out of the way of his beast. He quickly dismounted and began to survey the situation.
There were two figures in the middle of the crowd, one lying prone and obviously injured, and the other crouched before him, medical bag nearby. The one that was crouched was one of the field surgeons attached to the 22nd. The one that was prone was an Ethiopian, if skin coloration were anything to go by. He was dressed plainly, almost like every other soldier in the Ethiopian army was dressed. But this man was different. His elaborate hair and a thin band of gold that somehow stubbornly clung to his forehead meant that he could be only one person. Emperor Tewodros II.
So the messenger was telling the truth. This was undoubtedly the Emperor, lying right in front of him! The Ethiopian army would crumble without their Emperor, who was by now apparently the only thing keeping it together. The war, which he had been fighting for a little over a year, would be over within weeks.
“How is he, Doctor?” Barnes asked the surgeon, concerned, though the concern was more for strategic reasons than humanitarian. If the Emperor were simply missing, the generals of his army could simply claim him to be out of contact for some reason. They may even believe it themselves. With elements of the Ethiopian army still operating hundreds of miles away from the Emperor, such an illusion could be kept for months. But if the Emperor were alive and well, and had publicly surrendered his army to the British, the polyglot Ethiopian army would have little reason for keeping together.
“Not well, I’m afraid.” The surgeon wiped his forehead with a rag, and continued. “If we were in London, with a team of the best surgeons in the Empire, perhaps, just perhaps, he might survive. But not here. He is unconscious now, and has little chance of regaining consciousness before he dies.” The surgeon paused, his face showing that he was unsure of how to say his next words. “I will also ask for an explanation for this-” With that, he wiped his already black palm on the Emperor’s forehead. Barnes noticed that his palm was now blacker and the Emperor’s forehead was now lighter, which could only mean-
That the Emperor was a white man. A thousand explanations spun through Barnes’s mind, none of them making sense. What in the devil was going on?
There was an unnatural quiet in the air, and in only such a quiet could Barnes have heard what happened next. The Emperor was trying to say something! He must have regained consciousness after all. He stepped up to the supposed Emperor, knelt down, and struggled to listen. The surgeon stepped out of the way.
“Jonathan Bell, at your service, General Barnes,” the man strained, barely above a whisper. Even at such quietness, Barnes could tell that he spoke English perfectly, without an accent except for a hint of Scot.
“Brigadier General Robert Barnes, at yours,” Barnes replied nearly as quietly. It was very clear to him now. This man was a decoy, and a very good one at that. Every single one of the Emperor’s features was mirrored on this man, through the art of disguise. Right down to the three braided pleats that ran down his upper back. But why?
“I was,” Jonathan stopped to cough, and it almost seemed as if he would die right there. But he kept going. “I was the Emperor’s likquimandas for ten years. I suppose there is no English equivalent except best friend, trusted servant, and a man willing to give his life for the Emperor. Of course, I didn’t really expect that to come true. Life, eh?” Bell tried to chuckle, but ended up coughing again. Blood. They both knew that he wouldn’t live but a few minutes longer. These were this peculiar man’s last words on this Earth. Barnes just solemnly nodded.
“Here, take these,” Bell reached inside his simple robes and weakly produced two envelopes. “For my wife. Tell her that even as I died for Ethiopia, I was thinking of her.”
Barnes took them, and promised, “I will.” Even though his wife was undoubtedly a thousand miles away, maybe more, he would try to fulfil this dying man’s wish. He looked towards the surgeon, who shook his head sadly. It was confirmed. There was nothing more he could do.
Bell laid his head back on the ground, his eyes staring towards the heavens. Summoning unnatural strength, he declared, “Now I rest.” And so he did. For the final time.
Notice Colonel Scott. His traits are 'hated' and 'audacious'. Surprised? Sorry for the WideVision mode. I'll try to crop pics horizontally in the future. Actually the past. The past and the future. Read back, you'll see. Or forward.
You know what's funny? With these pictures, I have to change my story now, as apparently the Ethiopians are attacking. In writing it says that Ethiopians are defending, so I assumed that Scott was trying to outflank me by going south. But he was instead defending himself against the aggressor, me! So the story is re-written. Well, not the whole thing. Just the thinking back to Goxas.
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I've delivered!
Clarification: This update is the First Battle of Frasersburg, which happened on the January of 1858. The First Battle of Goxas happened in November 1857, where the 2nd Regiment covered the retreat of the 22nd, 39th, and 52nd regiments. In the Second Battle of Goxas, the very same regiments that retreated attacked Goxas, now in Ethiopian hands in December 1857. Scott's 22nd retreated all the way to Springbokfontein, then attacked Frasersburg the next month, while the rest I assume retreated to Windhoek. The next battle depicted will be in June 1858.
EDIT: Two things happen on June 1, 1858 that I would like to share.
We claim the Upper Congo! Hooray!
General Mangasha is awesome. Extra points to the first person to point out where he is first mentioned in the story.
Clarification: This update is the First Battle of Frasersburg, which happened on the January of 1858. The First Battle of Goxas happened in November 1857, where the 2nd Regiment covered the retreat of the 22nd, 39th, and 52nd regiments. In the Second Battle of Goxas, the very same regiments that retreated attacked Goxas, now in Ethiopian hands in December 1857. Scott's 22nd retreated all the way to Springbokfontein, then attacked Frasersburg the next month, while the rest I assume retreated to Windhoek. The next battle depicted will be in June 1858.
EDIT: Two things happen on June 1, 1858 that I would like to share.
We claim the Upper Congo! Hooray!
General Mangasha is awesome. Extra points to the first person to point out where he is first mentioned in the story.
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oooh,
a disguise!
What a relief - does this mean that the REAL emperor is elsewhere, and alive and well?
Also, anonymous4401, don't worry about taking a break from the forum, the beauty of the AAR is that it builds up over time - and your readers will certainly wait for quality such as this.
Heretic
a disguise!
What a relief - does this mean that the REAL emperor is elsewhere, and alive and well?
Also, anonymous4401, don't worry about taking a break from the forum, the beauty of the AAR is that it builds up over time - and your readers will certainly wait for quality such as this.
Heretic
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