Sure the Austrians have 39 provinces, but they could never write an AAR about it 
Is Mtawa at least a decent province?
Is Mtawa at least a decent province?
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Received with thanks - one camel (slightly used).
That was a cruel thing to do to poor Piglet, but no doubt fun, and you have lots of Grand Mosques to atone in afterwards.
That was a cruel thing to do to poor Piglet, but no doubt fun, and you have lots of Grand Mosques to atone in afterwards.
Zachary: Hmm... Zimbabwe? I did try to get at them earlier. I knew their capital so I declared war and tried to march my armies to it - didn't work. Now, of course, there's only Dutch Niassa between me and all that pagan gold. Well, we'll see...
Rythin: Eek! You've discovered my secret - I'm hopeless at EU2 The trouble with this game is I finished it in too much of a hurry. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
jwolf: No doubt I could have tried to take on Egypt by myself but it would have been a lot tougher - I may not even have captured Nile before the fateful Khalifa event. Frankly, I imagined it would be a more equitable carve-up between the Turks and me. Wrong again! And only one more story to go I'm afraid.
stnylan: Poor Gamel? Well, you know the old EU2 saying - "You've got to be cruel to be a crazed province-hungry megalomaniac..."
Zenek: Ah now - sympathy for European very small creatures I won't tolerate - these are meddlesome colonialists who deserve what comes to them!
Zachary: Congratulations to you for the "noble six hundred" (posts not zebras!)
Troggle: Is Mtawa a decent province? Well, that kind of depends on whether you consider the slave trade to be "decent". I'm afraid it's not considered too politically correct these days, which is a shame for Mombasa, since it's frankly the mainstay of my economy...
Merrick: Oh yes, I can get atonement at any street corner in Mombasa these days. And sorry about the camel - you mean you wanted a nice camel in good condition? Oh, you should have said...
The final episode should be appearing soon. Will Mombasa dare to take on the Turk? Or will they try their hand at Dutch-bashing? Will they cross the Red Sea instead? Or just twiddle their thumbs and commission Grand Mosques till 1819??? Bets can be placed at Simba's Gambling Emporium, Zanzibar Island.
Rythin: Eek! You've discovered my secret - I'm hopeless at EU2
The trouble with this game is I finished it in too much of a hurry. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it! jwolf: No doubt I could have tried to take on Egypt by myself but it would have been a lot tougher - I may not even have captured Nile before the fateful Khalifa event. Frankly, I imagined it would be a more equitable carve-up between the Turks and me. Wrong again! And only one more story to go I'm afraid.
stnylan: Poor Gamel? Well, you know the old EU2 saying - "You've got to be cruel to be a crazed province-hungry megalomaniac..."
Zenek: Ah now - sympathy for European very small creatures I won't tolerate - these are meddlesome colonialists who deserve what comes to them!
Zachary: Congratulations to you for the "noble six hundred" (posts not zebras!)
Troggle: Is Mtawa a decent province? Well, that kind of depends on whether you consider the slave trade to be "decent". I'm afraid it's not considered too politically correct these days, which is a shame for Mombasa, since it's frankly the mainstay of my economy...
Merrick: Oh yes, I can get atonement at any street corner in Mombasa these days. And sorry about the camel - you mean you wanted a nice camel in good condition? Oh, you should have said...
The final episode should be appearing soon. Will Mombasa dare to take on the Turk? Or will they try their hand at Dutch-bashing? Will they cross the Red Sea instead? Or just twiddle their thumbs and commission Grand Mosques till 1819??? Bets can be placed at Simba's Gambling Emporium, Zanzibar Island.
Farquharson said:
The crowd at the gaming tables suddenly went quiet as a stranger entered. Nodding to Lord Cardigan and Simba himself, he spoke:
"The name is Jwolf. I've got 500 ducats that say the Great White Blob will attack the Arabian nations across the Red Sea. And these ducats have genuine value, unlike the inflation ridden half worthless stuff you guys use around here."
Farquharson[B said:Troggle:[/B] Is Mtawa a decent province? Well, that kind of depends on whether you consider the slave trade to be "decent". I'm afraid it's not considered too politically correct these days, which is a shame for Mombasa, since it's frankly the mainstay of my economy...
Slave trading is a completely honourable profession. My uncle was a Mombasan slave trader. Or used car salesman. Close enough.
btw, Dutch Niassa: trade post or fledgling colony?
It'd been a good time since Cardigan moved to Zanzibar Island- good as in pleasant, not good as in long since time doesn't really pass for zebras and lions and migratory birds like it does for humans, best beloved. Lord Cardigan, veteran of the charge of the striped brigade, had cashed in his pension to start a small trading fleet and done quiet well funnelling goods from the Horn to the Cape and everywhere in between. In fact, Cardigan's Shipping had a saying: "When it absolutely, positively has to get there in time for the next income calculation."
At first Simba was bored. Trading just didn't have much appeal for him, and Zanzibar Island's DSL connection "suxxored." He was a gamer at heart. Simba had cut his teeth on Pac-Cat as a cub and never really stopped. Well, why couldn't he use that? And thus Simba's Gambling Emporium was born.
The only hard part was when a European piglet tried to make him an 'offer he couldn't refuse,' pointing to his bear muscleman. Well, Simba had put a stop to that by hiring the local tiggers to do a special job for him. Piglet lost heart shortly after that.
And so it was a good (pleasant) time later that Cardigan sought his friend out. "I say old boy," he smiled. "Business has been good for both of us!"
Simba nodded agreement. "Yes, especially once those migratory birds opened the hotel. Now anyone and everyone migrating knows Zanzibar's the place to be!"
"Yes," Cardigan agreed. "In fact, I hear tell there was a wolf in there earlier betting on Mombasa's last conquests."
"Oh, him! Yes, he bet five hundred ducats that.... What's wrong?" Simba paused, for Cardigan seemed troubled. Indeed, somewhere behind the eyes (and the monacle) for the first time Simba saw Cardigan for who he really was - a very old zebra. You must understand, best beloved, that even in Africa four hundred years is a long time.
Lord Cardigan had been a warrior and explorer all his life, and only now settled to his trading empire since fighting and exploring were "games for the young." His spirit said otherwise. Part of Cardigan longed to run the savannah, to find a new mountain, to do anything but sit here and wait for time to hunt him down. His spirit insisted he wasn't done just yet. The problem then, best beloved, is Cardigan believed it was lying.
"Oh, it's nothing old bean. Just a headache!" Cardigan loved his friend dearly, but he didn't really think Simba was that bright...or at least that perceptive. Simba, too, was four hundred years old but had avoided that one horrible trap older animals sometimes fall into. For, you see, the zebra had seen so much, done so much, he honestly believed there was nothing left to see or do - and that, best beloved, is lethal.
Simba watched his friend walk away, claiming stomach problems. He sat there for a long time, tail flicking away at the sandy beach over and over, turning a plan over in his mind. For you see, best beloved, Cardigan the zebra had seen much, done much, and rightly earned the titles of both experienced and wise. In some things he could still be surprised though, such as gravely underestimating the truth of his own spirit.
He was also very much mistaken about Simba.
(One more chapter here too)
At first Simba was bored. Trading just didn't have much appeal for him, and Zanzibar Island's DSL connection "suxxored." He was a gamer at heart. Simba had cut his teeth on Pac-Cat as a cub and never really stopped. Well, why couldn't he use that? And thus Simba's Gambling Emporium was born.
The only hard part was when a European piglet tried to make him an 'offer he couldn't refuse,' pointing to his bear muscleman. Well, Simba had put a stop to that by hiring the local tiggers to do a special job for him. Piglet lost heart shortly after that.
And so it was a good (pleasant) time later that Cardigan sought his friend out. "I say old boy," he smiled. "Business has been good for both of us!"
Simba nodded agreement. "Yes, especially once those migratory birds opened the hotel. Now anyone and everyone migrating knows Zanzibar's the place to be!"
"Yes," Cardigan agreed. "In fact, I hear tell there was a wolf in there earlier betting on Mombasa's last conquests."
"Oh, him! Yes, he bet five hundred ducats that.... What's wrong?" Simba paused, for Cardigan seemed troubled. Indeed, somewhere behind the eyes (and the monacle) for the first time Simba saw Cardigan for who he really was - a very old zebra. You must understand, best beloved, that even in Africa four hundred years is a long time.
Lord Cardigan had been a warrior and explorer all his life, and only now settled to his trading empire since fighting and exploring were "games for the young." His spirit said otherwise. Part of Cardigan longed to run the savannah, to find a new mountain, to do anything but sit here and wait for time to hunt him down. His spirit insisted he wasn't done just yet. The problem then, best beloved, is Cardigan believed it was lying.
"Oh, it's nothing old bean. Just a headache!" Cardigan loved his friend dearly, but he didn't really think Simba was that bright...or at least that perceptive. Simba, too, was four hundred years old but had avoided that one horrible trap older animals sometimes fall into. For, you see, the zebra had seen so much, done so much, he honestly believed there was nothing left to see or do - and that, best beloved, is lethal.
Simba watched his friend walk away, claiming stomach problems. He sat there for a long time, tail flicking away at the sandy beach over and over, turning a plan over in his mind. For you see, best beloved, Cardigan the zebra had seen much, done much, and rightly earned the titles of both experienced and wise. In some things he could still be surprised though, such as gravely underestimating the truth of his own spirit.
He was also very much mistaken about Simba.
(One more chapter here too
)
Well, it happens to hopeless FrenchFarquharson said:Rythin: Eek! You've discovered my secret - I'm hopeless at EU2
BTW, will you take care of me when I will be in Marseille?Or will they conquer British Isles?Farquharson said:
There comes a time in the life of every bird when the mating dance loses its appeal and an avian finds little inclination or desire to migrate. Most of these birds merely go and nest somehwere, but our intrepid two, at the end of their last migration, settled down on Zanzibar island, taking up with their friend Lord Cardigan, with whom they held long, rambling, conversations about the good old days and complained ceaselessly of the shortcomings of the younger generation.
They lived at their friend's house only a few short months before the Second Bird won an entire hotel at poker from its proprietor, a drunken baboon who had hit the skids shortly after the zebra invasion and never truly recovered. Since then, the 2 birds had been running a hotel known as the Waystation which played host annually to migrators, smugglers, traders, and ordinary people who happened to pass through Zanzibar. Thanks to the Second Bird's skills the Waystation had Zanzibar's most famous casino and no sooner had the Internet been invented than the Second Bird opened up an offshore gambling fund for animals whose governments discouraged gaming. The network of old friends did a roaring trade, as Cardigan recommended the Waystation to his business contacts, the birds promoted Simba's gaming Emporium to all their patrons, and a few rooms at the back of the Waystation could be always be had for Simba's overexuberant customers who had lost their traveling money at Simba's tables.
Surveying their hospitality empire one day, the First Bird turned to the Second Bird and intoned, "things are good here, I believe my migrating days are over."
"I couldn't agree more," retunred the Second Bird while fondly looking at pictures of his great-grandchildren (and believe me, Best Beloved, 400 years of mating dances leads to a great many great-grandchildren).
"What do you think those ever-inventive Sultans of Mombasa are up to?" the First Bird asked curiously.
"Knowing them, they've probably built another great mosque somwhere," said the Second Bird, who had acquired religion in his declining years and commissioned a large mosque in Zanzibar.
"probably," answered the First Bird, "do you really think the Mombasan dyansty is planning to retire from the throne?"
"Mere speculation," returned the Second Bird, who had 750 golden ducats riding on December 30, 1819 as the stepping-down date over at Simba's.
They lived at their friend's house only a few short months before the Second Bird won an entire hotel at poker from its proprietor, a drunken baboon who had hit the skids shortly after the zebra invasion and never truly recovered. Since then, the 2 birds had been running a hotel known as the Waystation which played host annually to migrators, smugglers, traders, and ordinary people who happened to pass through Zanzibar. Thanks to the Second Bird's skills the Waystation had Zanzibar's most famous casino and no sooner had the Internet been invented than the Second Bird opened up an offshore gambling fund for animals whose governments discouraged gaming. The network of old friends did a roaring trade, as Cardigan recommended the Waystation to his business contacts, the birds promoted Simba's gaming Emporium to all their patrons, and a few rooms at the back of the Waystation could be always be had for Simba's overexuberant customers who had lost their traveling money at Simba's tables.
Surveying their hospitality empire one day, the First Bird turned to the Second Bird and intoned, "things are good here, I believe my migrating days are over."
"I couldn't agree more," retunred the Second Bird while fondly looking at pictures of his great-grandchildren (and believe me, Best Beloved, 400 years of mating dances leads to a great many great-grandchildren).
"What do you think those ever-inventive Sultans of Mombasa are up to?" the First Bird asked curiously.
"Knowing them, they've probably built another great mosque somwhere," said the Second Bird, who had acquired religion in his declining years and commissioned a large mosque in Zanzibar.
"probably," answered the First Bird, "do you really think the Mombasan dyansty is planning to retire from the throne?"
"Mere speculation," returned the Second Bird, who had 750 golden ducats riding on December 30, 1819 as the stepping-down date over at Simba's.
Last edited:
zacharym87 said:
Oohh...Second Bird better change his bet. Remember in Africa Universalis, years end on December 30th.
CatKnight said:Oohh...Second Bird better change his bet. Remember in Africa Universalis, years end on December 30th.
Thanks to some last minute information
, the Second Bird is now betting December 30, 1819.
Every time this AAR drops off the front page, I swoop in to boost it with another milestone... 1100!
I'm wondering. After 1000 posts, where should the major milestones be? Every 100 seems petty now. Maybe 250, or 500?
I'm wondering. After 1000 posts, where should the major milestones be? Every 100 seems petty now. Maybe 250, or 500?
Well, you have to do 1200 (if this isn't over by then.) If I'm right, that's when you get "promoted" to Lt General
CatKnight said:Well, you have to do 1200 (if this isn't over by then.) If I'm right, that's when you get "promoted" to Lt General
Cool. I might just reach 1200 before Farq gets to post again
We should win the award for the most OT, non-OT thread.
Hmm... maybe it's time to take this thread in hand again!
Jwolf: Big, Bad, but just a little bit Unlucky this time, I'm afraid!
Troggle: Well, I'm glad to hear that slave-trading is back in vogue in Ontario. Maybe Mombasa could have a Renaissance! As for Dutch Niassa, it's a colony, I'm afraid.
CatKnight: Another great episode of the Interlude! I was almost tempted to make Zanzibar the setting for my last tale, but I'll leave that to you
Rythin: The British Isles? Now what would Mombasa want with those when they already have Zanzibar? Frankly, there's no comparison...
Zachary: Now that bird has more luck than Jwolf I think - or does he have inside information???
Troggle: Thanks! Saved from ignominy once again!
And now to save this thread from total OT-dom...
Is it a bird...? Is it a plane...?
SPLAT!
Oh - a migratory bird, I think.
Wait - no - it's... THE LAST UPDATE!
Jwolf: Big, Bad, but just a little bit Unlucky this time, I'm afraid!
Troggle: Well, I'm glad to hear that slave-trading is back in vogue in Ontario. Maybe Mombasa could have a Renaissance! As for Dutch Niassa, it's a colony, I'm afraid.
CatKnight: Another great episode of the Interlude! I was almost tempted to make Zanzibar the setting for my last tale, but I'll leave that to you
Rythin: The British Isles? Now what would Mombasa want with those when they already have Zanzibar? Frankly, there's no comparison...
Zachary: Now that bird has more luck than Jwolf I think - or does he have inside information???
Troggle: Thanks! Saved from ignominy once again!
And now to save this thread from total OT-dom...
Is it a bird...? Is it a plane...?
SPLAT!
Oh - a migratory bird, I think.
Wait - no - it's... THE LAST UPDATE!
Mwahahaha, I'm between anouncement and last update!
Great me.
edit: Farq, I will be in Marseille in October. I think I can count on ya and you'll show me everything and drink couple of beer-stuff [or whatever you have there, in France :rofl:] with me?
Great me.
edit: Farq, I will be in Marseille in October. I think I can count on ya and you'll show me everything and drink couple of beer-stuff [or whatever you have there, in France :rofl:] with me?
The Thirteenth Tale
The Story of the Big Bad but Rather Unlucky Wolf
The Story of the Big Bad but Rather Unlucky Wolf
Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf named Jake who lived at the very tippy top of the food chain, in a large forest in Africa, where there was always a plentiful supply of carefree children skipping unsuspectingly around. The carefree children lived on porridge, of which there was a river flowing through the forest. The river of porridge came from a Magic Porridge Pot that some careless user had forgotten the password for. The only other creatures of note in the forest were bears, who tended to live in threes, and also ate porridge, but the big bad wolf was not partial to bears.
All in all, it was a delicate ecosystem, much studied by European naturalists with names like Grimm and Anderson. The only problem was that the big bad wolf was growing bigger and badder every year, with the result that the supply of carefree children skipping unsuspectingly around was fast drying up.
A typical carefree child skipping through the forest
It became more and more difficult for Jake to scrape a living from the forest, until the day came when he realized that there were in fact no carefree children left in the whole forest, because he had eaten them all. Had they been less carefree, no doubt the children would not have proved such an evolutionary dead-end, but this alas is nature’s way of dealing with such aberrations, and now things began to look bleak for Jake too, who saw only two alternatives: adaptation or extinction.
Extinction didn’t seem like much fun, so he quickly decided to try and adapt. Perhaps he could start eating bears, for example? It was just at this point that Jake had his lucky break. News came to him of the sad demise of a distant cousin who had fallen foul of a local woodcutter after rashly eating his daughter, and Jake seemed to be the sole heir of his estate, which, it has to be admitted, consisted only of a set of “Granny-Grinder” bionic teeth. However, these proved to be a truly magnificent gadget which Jake wasted no time in trying out.
“My what big teeth you have!” he said to his reflection as he sized them up in the mirror.
So Jake went out the very next day and found himself a family of Three Bears who lived nearby. Daddy Bear looked a little on the large side, and Mummy Bear looked a little on the scrawny side, but Little Baby Bear looked exactly like the sort of meal that Jake might enjoy. So he lay in wait with his “Granny-Grinders” in place and by and by Little Baby Bear came skipping along in the sort of carefree fashion that made Jake’s mouth water. He leapt out on him and gobbled him up - my how those bionic teeth went chomp-chomp-chomp!
“Ah!” said Jake to himself, belching loudly and licking his lips, “I think I might get to like bear after all!”
Of course it wasn’t long before a distraught Mummy Bear and a very angry Daddy Bear came searching for their offspring. Jake, who was still pretty hungry, lay in wait and, just as Mummy Bear was trotting past, calling to Baby Bear in a most piteous way, he leapt out and gobbled her up with his “Granny-Grinders” as well, scrawny though she was.
“Not bad,” said Jake to himself, “I could get to like them thin and crunchy as well, I think!”
But although Daddy Bear now seemed to Jake like a rather promising meal prospect, there was just the teensy problem that he was still very much on the large side. Not so much too large to eat, as too large to leap out on and overpower. For by this time Daddy Bear had realized that there was a predator at large in the forest who was eating his family, and that put him into a fearsome rage.
Nevertheless, Jake decided that, with extinction snapping at his coat-tails, it was Daddy Bear or bust, so he duly lay in wait once more. Sure enough, before long Daddy Bear came through the forest, snuffling and snarling in a most alarming fashion. When he saw what a rage Daddy Bear was in, Jake was petrified, and was just about to go off and look for a less angry family of bears when luck abandoned him. For at that very moment his “Granny-Grinders” gave him away by striking up the most astonishing chattering. Clatter-clatter-clatter went those bionic teeth.
Daddy Bear stopped dead in his tracks and slowly looked round.
“Who’s been eating my family?” he growled in his deep Daddy Bear voice.
Chatter-chatter-chatter went Jake’s bionic “Granny-Grinders”. Daddy Bear reached a paw into the bushes and pulled out the hapless Jake.
“Er - maybe adaptation wasn’t such a great idea after all,” he whimpered.
And thus ended the sad tale of Jake the big bad but rather unlucky wolf.
THE END
Game notes: 1780 - 1819
Well, after the excitement of colonizing an uninhabited province for the first time, I settled down to some serious thumb-twiddling again. Then in 1787 an interesting development took place:
Yes, in another scripted event, the Ottomans “accepted a Free Egypt”, consisting of Alexandria, Delta and Egypt provinces, joined a month later by some freedom-loving rebels in Sinai. My beady eyes lit up at the sight of this midget nation with rich CoT on my doorstep, but alas, they had of course inherited some astronomical tech levels from the Turk, so it was obviously going to be a tough job to conquer them. I started making preparations, but the task became even tougher in 1789 when Free Egypt allied with the Ottomans. I waited, hoping the alliance might break up again, but in 1797 Free Egypt disappeared forever, swallowed up once more in a diplo-annexation by the Ottoman Empire.
It was back to thumb-twiddling, building up my new colony in Mtawa, futilely offering my Yemeni allies vassalization and, of course, commissioning Great Mosques. By 1815 nothing much had changed, except that my relations with the Ottomans were at an all-time low and I had started sending small gifts for fear of a last minute declaration of war by them. Then suddenly in 1816 I got a new ruler - the legendary Shaka! But wasn’t he chief of the Zulus? Yes, he was, but apparently somewhere along the way, I had inherited the Zulu royal line. I’d had a few rulers with unfamiliar though obviously African names and hadn’t realized what was happening. Now I suddenly found myself with a brilliant military leader, and just four years of the game left!
It was time for some heroic derring-do - I’d had my fill of Grand Mosques for a lifetime. Having massed my armies in Sudan and Nile, and my fleets in the Gulf of Suez, I declared war on the Ottoman Empire in August 1817, noting with satisafction that a breakaway Serbia had also just declared war on them in July.
The isolated Ottoman province of Nubia was besieged and fell to Shaka in April 1818. Jubilantly he marched his army north and laid siege to Cataract, capturing the province in Januaru 1819. Time was running out though, and the Ottomans were just getting their counterattack together, so were in no mood to hand over Nubia for peace. The summer of 1819 saw a series of defeats for Shaka at the hands of the Turks, while revolts troubled the Mombasan Empire further south. In October Serbia was re-annexed and when the game ended things did not look too hopeful:
Nevertheless, Shaka had at least tried to expand the Great White Blob further, and had succeeded in bringing two Ottoman provinces temporarily under Mombasan control. No doubt the war would have ended in a White Peace - a fitting end to the History of the Other Big White Blob.
Here, for the first time ever, is a picture of Mombasa at its greatest extent
Not of course very Blob-shaped, but still quite large
And here you can see the Small White Habsburg Blob dominating much of Europe in 1819,
though being held very much in check by the mighty Ottomans
End of game statistics were as follows:
Mombasa VPs: 1556 (ranked #5)
Austrian VPs: 2374 (ranked #2)
Mombasan provinces: 30
Austrian provinces: 40
Inflation: 129%
Bad boy: 2.8
Land tech: 17
Naval tech: 12
Trade: 2
Infra: 3
It's been a while since I've managed to read your AAR Farquharson and it turned out to be the last one! Well fantastic work! I wonder what your next AAR will be?
Oh well-played sir. Unlucky in many years to be so crippled by the presence of the Ottomans really.
CLAP CLAP CLAP!!
Great AAR, Farquharson! Certainly unique.
Last update = great lines, I especially love this one:
Great AAR, Farquharson! Certainly unique.
Last update = great lines, I especially love this one:
Farquharson said:
The End of All Time
I have told you that Simba was a gamer at heart, best beloved. Sometimes this hurt the poor lion, for he wasn't at all good at priorities or taking things seriously, and when he did take them seriously his reaction was usually out of sync with reality ... such as the time he had DoWed the real Rhinoceros Republic and they'd chased he and Cardigan for days across the plains.
Sometimes it served him well however, such as when Simba realized his zebra friend was closing in on despair. He devised a plan. In some ways it wasn't an incredibly nice plan, but at least his heart was in the right place - and it should work.
First he paid the migratory birds well to develop their own rutters. He hoped that by talking to their hotel guests they'd be able to give him a fairly good idea of how the world stood. He saw Europe was in a mess, as usual. That was okay: he had no interest in Europe. However other areas offered promise.
Next came his last DoW. It involved some pirates, a port-side 'incident', and a lot of legal maneuvering. To Simba's astonishment and mounting concern, his unequovicable annexation of Cardigan's trading empire met almost no resistance whatsoever. As the days and weeks passed the two simply lost contact, Simba running about while the zebra went into seclusion.
After six months or so he came to see his friend. He found the zebra leafing through a scrap book, sitting on an easy cushion and sipping at some juice. It was a hot day, even by Zanzibar's standards, the only relief a light seabreeze drifting through an open window.
Simba stood in the doorway for several moments. Just when it seemed the zebra must have gone blind not to see him, Cardigan sighed and closed his book. "Hello."
"Cardigan. How are you?"
"Well enough, Simba." The zebra's faux English accent was gone. "I understand you've been busy."
"Yes. I'm sorry about that. There were reasons..."
Cardigan waved him off. "I'm sure. Frankly I expected more of you, but that is irrelevant. I have enough to live off of, that's enough really."
Simba growled softly at the first sentence, but kept his retort silent. "Cardigan, I needed the money ... and I needed you to know ... well, I knew that as long as your fleet was intact you'd never do it."
"Need the money?" the zebra asked, in a tone that suggested what he thought of someone who'd attack his friend's project for profit. "And do what? You do realize I planned to retire on my trade earnings?"
"Precisely." Simba flicked his tail. "I need you to come with me. You're not ready to retire."
"Ah. So that is what you needed the money for, to earn a medical degree?"
"I'm serious, Cardigan."
"As am I, Simba. Even should I accept your explanation..."
"Explanation!?" Simba growled.
"...Who are you to decide when and if I'm ready to retire?"
"Your friend."
"My friend," Cardigan snapped. "I dare say. Wel, I have a message for you, friend...."
"Look. You can come with me or not." Simba lowered his gaze. Maybe he should have been more forthcoming, but he didn't think Cardigan would go along with it. The zebra wasn't good at surprises, and of course he felt betrayed. "I..think you'll like it." The lion slunk out.
Lord Cardigan glared at the open door for well over two minutes. Glanced at his scrap book. Sighed, put on his monacle and stepped into the African sun. He followed Simba's pawprints across the beach to the island's port. It was deserted, which was strange. Where were all of Simba's gamblers? Or all of 'his' trading ships? His gaze wandered to the Emporium, a white building towering over the port like an ancient castle. Dimly he could make out the sign: New owners?
"What happened to your gambling house?" he asked when he finally caught the lion outside a drydock.
"Sold it." Simba replied simply. "And before you ask, the ships too."
Cardigan narrowed his eyes. Was there really some financial emergency the lion had been too proud to talk about? What could possibly be so severe that... "Don't tell me you took a loan!"
"What!? No! What do you think I am, stupid?"
"Then why?"
"Follow me." Simba walked into the drydock, followed by Cardigan.
She was huge. She was a massive ship, a little larger than a European ship of the line. Baboons swarmed her sides, painting black and white stripes along her wood hull. A small legion of birds polished the brass cannon, her wheel and golden frill work. Interspersed with the birds and baboons were creatures of all types (except piglets,) the cream of a half dozen navies and trading guilds. Simba solemnly walked past it all, past the gangplank and so around until the two stared up at the stern gallery, and the name bolted onto her hull:
Zebra's Pride.
"What is this?" Cardigan asked, awed.
"It's yours," Simba shrugged. "I thought we'd pick up some of our friends and go sailing."
"You did all this...for a boat?"
"A big ass boat," the lion agreed. "She's yours, but I have to insist on the cannon."
"But...where would we go? The Sinai? Oman? Up and down the Mombasan Sea?"
Simba shook his head, his mane swishing back and forth. "Boring. We've been there."
"We've been everywhere," Cardigan replied simply.
"I have rutters that say otherwise," the lion answered. "We've never been to Australia. In fact, no one has."
"Australia? Where's that?"
"Precisely." The lion paced to the gangplank and looked over. "We'll pick up our friends and go find out. There's still plenty of trouble for us to get into."
Lord Cardigan stared up at the towering vessel with wide eyes.
Simba winked. "The day is young!"
I have told you that Simba was a gamer at heart, best beloved. Sometimes this hurt the poor lion, for he wasn't at all good at priorities or taking things seriously, and when he did take them seriously his reaction was usually out of sync with reality ... such as the time he had DoWed the real Rhinoceros Republic and they'd chased he and Cardigan for days across the plains.
Sometimes it served him well however, such as when Simba realized his zebra friend was closing in on despair. He devised a plan. In some ways it wasn't an incredibly nice plan, but at least his heart was in the right place - and it should work.
First he paid the migratory birds well to develop their own rutters. He hoped that by talking to their hotel guests they'd be able to give him a fairly good idea of how the world stood. He saw Europe was in a mess, as usual. That was okay: he had no interest in Europe. However other areas offered promise.
Next came his last DoW. It involved some pirates, a port-side 'incident', and a lot of legal maneuvering. To Simba's astonishment and mounting concern, his unequovicable annexation of Cardigan's trading empire met almost no resistance whatsoever. As the days and weeks passed the two simply lost contact, Simba running about while the zebra went into seclusion.
After six months or so he came to see his friend. He found the zebra leafing through a scrap book, sitting on an easy cushion and sipping at some juice. It was a hot day, even by Zanzibar's standards, the only relief a light seabreeze drifting through an open window.
Simba stood in the doorway for several moments. Just when it seemed the zebra must have gone blind not to see him, Cardigan sighed and closed his book. "Hello."
"Cardigan. How are you?"
"Well enough, Simba." The zebra's faux English accent was gone. "I understand you've been busy."
"Yes. I'm sorry about that. There were reasons..."
Cardigan waved him off. "I'm sure. Frankly I expected more of you, but that is irrelevant. I have enough to live off of, that's enough really."
Simba growled softly at the first sentence, but kept his retort silent. "Cardigan, I needed the money ... and I needed you to know ... well, I knew that as long as your fleet was intact you'd never do it."
"Need the money?" the zebra asked, in a tone that suggested what he thought of someone who'd attack his friend's project for profit. "And do what? You do realize I planned to retire on my trade earnings?"
"Precisely." Simba flicked his tail. "I need you to come with me. You're not ready to retire."
"Ah. So that is what you needed the money for, to earn a medical degree?"
"I'm serious, Cardigan."
"As am I, Simba. Even should I accept your explanation..."
"Explanation!?" Simba growled.
"...Who are you to decide when and if I'm ready to retire?"
"Your friend."
"My friend," Cardigan snapped. "I dare say. Wel, I have a message for you, friend...."
"Look. You can come with me or not." Simba lowered his gaze. Maybe he should have been more forthcoming, but he didn't think Cardigan would go along with it. The zebra wasn't good at surprises, and of course he felt betrayed. "I..think you'll like it." The lion slunk out.
Lord Cardigan glared at the open door for well over two minutes. Glanced at his scrap book. Sighed, put on his monacle and stepped into the African sun. He followed Simba's pawprints across the beach to the island's port. It was deserted, which was strange. Where were all of Simba's gamblers? Or all of 'his' trading ships? His gaze wandered to the Emporium, a white building towering over the port like an ancient castle. Dimly he could make out the sign: New owners?
"What happened to your gambling house?" he asked when he finally caught the lion outside a drydock.
"Sold it." Simba replied simply. "And before you ask, the ships too."
Cardigan narrowed his eyes. Was there really some financial emergency the lion had been too proud to talk about? What could possibly be so severe that... "Don't tell me you took a loan!"
"What!? No! What do you think I am, stupid?"
"Then why?"
"Follow me." Simba walked into the drydock, followed by Cardigan.
She was huge. She was a massive ship, a little larger than a European ship of the line. Baboons swarmed her sides, painting black and white stripes along her wood hull. A small legion of birds polished the brass cannon, her wheel and golden frill work. Interspersed with the birds and baboons were creatures of all types (except piglets,) the cream of a half dozen navies and trading guilds. Simba solemnly walked past it all, past the gangplank and so around until the two stared up at the stern gallery, and the name bolted onto her hull:
Zebra's Pride.
"What is this?" Cardigan asked, awed.
"It's yours," Simba shrugged. "I thought we'd pick up some of our friends and go sailing."
"You did all this...for a boat?"
"A big ass boat," the lion agreed. "She's yours, but I have to insist on the cannon."
"But...where would we go? The Sinai? Oman? Up and down the Mombasan Sea?"
Simba shook his head, his mane swishing back and forth. "Boring. We've been there."
"We've been everywhere," Cardigan replied simply.
"I have rutters that say otherwise," the lion answered. "We've never been to Australia. In fact, no one has."
"Australia? Where's that?"
"Precisely." The lion paced to the gangplank and looked over. "We'll pick up our friends and go find out. There's still plenty of trouble for us to get into."
Lord Cardigan stared up at the towering vessel with wide eyes.
Simba winked. "The day is young!"
Last edited: