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TankM1A2

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  1. NATION NAME: Alicia’s Rise (the Loremasters of Tor Alessil) RACE: Moon Elf MAGIC / SORCERY: Sorcery BRIEF DESCRIPTION / HISTORY: Tor Alessil's foundation is intrinsically linked with Alicia, Princess of Anor Lindhe and daughter of elven lord Cerus’ taking with the sorcerous arts. Living through St. Ralek’s conquests, and hearing tales of the Sorcerer Ruul’s magical exploits, Alicia decided to put an end to her petty dabbling. Afterall, such wondrous power had no right to be hoarded by merely one powerful caster. Perhaps as a challenge to Ruul, or merely flattering imitation, Alicia began to divest resources into her own center of study. After extensive land surveys, she commissioned the tower of Alicia’s Rise during the year of 46 AS, above a believed meteorite impact site, some millenia ago. Though she had her wizarding tower, its halls were empty besides her and her pitiful collection of books from her father’s castle. She’d decided it would not stand as a vanity project. Rather, Alicia would seek out talented apprentices from across her father’s realm, bringing skills in every field ranging from combat, to alchemy, medicine, archaeology, and scrivening. These individuals would become the first Keepers of Tor Alessil, melding their combined knowledge in the pursuit of discovering and mastering magical lore. Though the ascension of the Tor Alessil is held paramount, this order of sorcerers is largely benevolent, except when a malefactor would stand between them and their sought-after magical secrets. As the tower grows, as the libraries are stocked with magical tomes, and as new pupils are inducted into the halls, a lingering question remains in the Rise. Who is fit to wield the arcane? Since the Order is overwhelmingly composed of Lunaerin, many would say the moon elves are the only ones worthy. If you were to ask Alicia herself, she may give a vague answer, saying ‘only us’ should wield sorcery. Furthermore, there are elves who ask how and when magic should be used. Is it a force to protect or a tool to achieve your selfish goals? There are those who point to Sorcerer Ruul’s talent, and how it was used to carve an empire from nothing; that it would be a waste to sit around until some inexplicable threat emerged. It is a fact that the loremasters of Tor Alessil have grown bolder over the years, beginning to send expeditions to old ruins and wonders to gain an understanding of the natural world, or simply to retrieve old tomes and prized wellstones. Despite these simmering questions of philosophy, the Keepers heed Alicia’s wisdom. The Princess has given her pupils no reason to doubt her capabilities. The Loremasters of Tor Alessil march on, steady as she goes. LEADER / NOTABLE CHARACTERS: Alicia an Daerienn, Princess of Anor Lindhe Alicia is the firstborn daughter of the elven lord Cerus and his now-estranged wife Sylvaniel. From a young age, Alicia possessed an inclination towards magic. However, her gift was not bestowed from the Gods, but from a raw and unregulated source. Soon after discovering her proficiency in this magic, she embraced the sorcerous arts. Though she remains at her father Cerus' side as a confidant and advisor, she has pursued her own path recently. Lately, Alicia has taken an interest in finding and studying ancient lore, bestowing her knowledge onto like-minded pupils. MAP LOCATION (ONLY WITHIN OR NEAR TO ANDUVIA): UNIQUE UNIT: Keepers of Tor Alessil (Pupils) Keepers of Tor Alessil (Pupils) The Keepers of Tor Alessil, or simply known as the Keepers, are the knightly scholar-retainers of Sorcerer-Princess Alicia. These soldiers have perfected swordsmanship to an artform, deftly wielding their perfectly balanced blades and are skilled in the use of arcane cantrips. Through sustained practice across decades, these spells have become second nature to them, seemingly able to be cast at will. The Keepers are well prepared for expeditions beyond the Rise, and are often tasked with the recovery of lost knowledge or unearthing precious wellstones. POINT OF INTEREST: Fallingstar Mines The Fallingstar Mines are, as their name implies, a dig site where a meteorite supposedly broke apart and struck Ilhder some two millennia ago, and provides a reliable source of Wellstones. The stones recovered from this site possess exceptional quality, glimmering with magical energy, and used to empower the sorcerers of Tor Alessil. [Produces Wellstones, scales with tier of Tor Alessil]
  2. NORTH CAMADACIAN BLACK ARMY The congress chamber of Villequiers An otherwise unsuspecting town, Villequiers was bustling with activity today, as people from all over milled through the town- before eventually congregating in the square. However, many of these faces weren’t locals, at least of Villequiers. Representatives from every commune made their way to the town’s historic congress building, home of the revolution. Even those out of the loop of current affairs knew the councils had been convened. The councils were the means by which North Camadacia conducted important decision-making. Though opposed to a central government, the North Camadacian Free Inhabitants knew the communes could stand no chance upon their own. Once again, the communes were under threat. Word trickled from the sights of incidence to the interior. Eventually, one name crossed the lips of every North Camadacian that morning; Adrian de Grempesh, the latest in the line of Camadacian dogs to be sicked upon the free people of the north. This was the matter pushed before the councils. Ironically, despite living in Villequiers, Enguerrand was one of the last representatives to arrive. He could offer any sort of excuse, to duties in the household or helping another comrade with their fieldwork, but he need not explain himself to any other. Furthermore, the council needs no distraction to their deliberation. A path parted for him, as he approached the mass gathered around the congress building, of all faces he knew. Some muttered, gossiped, but none impeded him, or bothered him with a frivolous question. They knew they’d be filled in at the discussion’s end, as was their right, for they were all equals in the Free Territory. Enguerrand flung open the chamber’s cast iron doors, stepping into the room’s center. The room itself was rather modest, with functionality in mind over flashiness. It was a carpeted room, the size of a tennis court. The wood furnishings were of fine make, but lacked the golden embellishments often found in the Camadacian Kingdom’s halls. The benches were arranged in a semi-circular fashion around a pit where a speaker might petition the councils, and where Enguerrand found himself standing. A few impatient representatives impatiently eyed Enguerrand, though if they had any grievances with his tardiness, they certainly didn’t air them. The current speaker even paid Enguerrand no mind, seemingly locked in debate with a representative across the room. Enguerrand recognized them both, of course; Colonels Morvan and Sardou. Though this was officially a military matter, Enguerrand held no official sway. Though, the leader of each commune’s militia would often seek counsel from the communal leader. As such, Enguerrand made his way to his bench, sitting beside Colonel Dartagnan, who acknowledged him with a nod. He seemed absorbed in the discussion at hand, perhaps seeking an opportune moment to weigh in. “Provins can meet the quota.” Sardou explained, as he leaned forward from his seat. “However, there may not be enough hands to manage the fields.” “I’m sure you understand, Comrade Sardou, that there’ll be no fields left to till if we continue to let the Royalists trounce all over us.” said Morvan tiredly. To a foreigner, the proceedings may seem surprisingly calm and civilized. Enguerrand raised a brow, and looked at Colonel Dartagnan. Dartagnan looked back at Enguerrand and nodded. “It’s trivial, really.” he whispered. “You know what to say.” “Comrades.” Enguerrand declared, his voice resonating throughout the chamber. Both Morvan and Sardou fell silent, turning their attention to Enguerrand. “Villequiers has produced an excess of grain this season. I’ll see to it that enough is shipped to the stores of the Commune of Provins.” “It’s settled then!” exclaimed Colonel Morvan, before anyone else could speak. “Aye. We’ll muster with you, here in Villequiers.” said Sardou, looking over to Dartagnan and Enguerrand. “It’ll be an honor to fight by your side again.” Dartagnan surveyed the room’s mood, before standing. “Then war it shall be. Within a week's time, our combined host shall make for Quiercy, and join with you, Comrade Colonel Morvan. Together we will destroy Grempesh, and show the Camadacians that our beacon of liberty will not go quietly into the night. To battle, comrades.” Colonel Dartagnan’s Communal Militia of Villequiers, prior to campaign ACTIONS [MOD] The North Camadacian Black Army moves to intercept Grempesh’s host and prevent further incursions into North Camadacian Free Territory. 300 Light Archers 500 Black Army Militia 75 Medium Melee Cavalry [MOD] The General Assembly diverts funding towards the restoration of the Undercroft, as a result of renewed aggression by the Kingdom of Camadacia. Materials and provisions are not-so-mysteriously whisked away and taken below the surface, to aid the influx of refugees from the borderlands. (1,000 C invested) [5,000 C, 2B] Constructing Mine in Villequiers
  3. NORTH CAMADACIAN BLACK ARMY NATION GOVERNMENT/LEADER RANK: A collection of anarcho-socialist communes, de facto governed by a General Assembly. DESCRIPTION OF NATIONAL/PROVINCIAL HISTORY & CULTURE: For as long as hierarchies existed, there sat those at the bottom of the order. Those individuals who were trodden by lords, merely as a consequence of birth. Many wondered if there were gods above, how they could create a world riddled with inequality. These people resolved that no man should rule over another, rejecting the traditional autocratic methods of rule, and the centralized apparatus of state. This ideology harbored itself within the peasant and working classes of Camadacia. The supposed protectors of the peasants were often no more than bullies, claiming the spoils of the labor of everyday men and women, under the threat of force. A particular individual named Enguerrand swore to suffer such oppression no longer. When his lord came to collect, Enguerrand refused to relinquish his tithe. Infuriated, the knight raised his sword, prepared to run the man down, while Enguerrand stood his ground. Inspired by Enguerrand’s moving words and rebellion, an onlooking peasant named Emmanuelle Soulat, leveled his pitchfork, skewering the knight’s mount. The horse would fling the knight from his back, before eventually collapsing upon the knight himself. Having come to terms with his death, Enguerrand stood frozen, before delivering a speech proclaiming their newfound freedom to the estate’s workers. This marked the beginning of the revolution. Enguerrand would not stop there, enlisting the aid of hardline anarchists to spread word to the nearby villages. Many who were curious came to leave their homes for Villequiers to marvel at the ambitious idea of a stateless society. Many were captivated and decided to settle there. Those who didn’t, remained at their homes, to further propagate Mother Anarchism’s mission, of course, with aid of Enguerrand’s agents. Eventually, whole swaths of the countryside would raise the red and black banner, before the Camadacian Army could even muster a response. Fearing inevitable retaliation, the new free villages convened to appoint a military leader of a new Black Army, composed of all the communes’ militias. The struggle against Camadacian tyranny would climax upon the fields of Quiercy, where an overconfident Camadacian knightly cavalry force attempted to outflank the Black Army line, only to be bogged down in the uncharted marsh, in which the Black Army anchored its flank. As the knights dismounted from their horses and began wading through mud, the Black Army counter-charged with their halberds and poleaxes with renewed vigor. Caught unprepared, the Camadacian knights were cut to ribbons, and the remainder of the Camadacian force fled the field. A resounding cry broke out through the ranks: no gods, no masters. Now with breathing room, the communes properly organized, sending representatives to the Congress of Villequiers, where they proclaimed the North Camadacian Free Territory, wholly independent of the southern Camadacian elites. Equal representation defines the General Assembly of the North Camadacian Free Territory, with each commune permitted to appoint their own representative. Representatives are often communal coordinators and charismatic individuals, bearing the respect of their people. The General Assembly convenes frequently to discuss policy and coordinate efforts between the various communes. The concept of mutual aid is paramount to the functions of the General Assembly. Surrounded and under threat by feuding states, the North Camadacian Free Territory adheres to a strict doctrine of militarized anarchism. The Security Council of the Black Army is composed of militia leaders from the territory’s disparate communes, elected by their soldiery. These militia leaders convene periodically to discuss military strategy going forward, to protect the liberties of the territory’s inhabitants. A seat on the Security Council is mutually exclusive to a seat upon the General Assembly. UNIQUE MILITARY UNITS: BLACK ARMY MILITIA (TWO-HANDED INFANTRY): The Black Army Militia are stalwart defenders of anarchism itself, fighting for their very way of life and possessing nearly unshakable morale. These troops are well equipped, courtesy of the Blacksmiths’ Assembly, clad in half-plate and wielding halberds. NOTABLE CHARACTERS: Enguerrand, Representative of Villequiers Born and raised in Camadacia, Enguerrand spent much of his youth growing up beneath the boot of the manorial system. With every harvest claimed by his supposed lord, Enguerrand quickly became disillusioned by the idea that any man could rule over another. Enguerrand would spark the revolution with his defiance to a local lord. His dedication to global emancipation and fearlessness, inspired those around him to come to his aid. He is the quintessential anarchist, compassionate and determined. Enguerrand is decidedly in favor of further liberation efforts. Dartagnan, Colonel of the Black Army Dartagnan is hailed as the senior most officer of the North Camadacian Black Army, holding the rank of colonel. Dartagnan began his career not with the Black Army, but as a junior officer of the Royal Camadacian Army in the infantry. His last deployment for Camadacia involved a detachment being sent North to ‘restore order’ to the free people of North Camadacia. Bearing witness to the brutality required to bring the peasants to heel, he defected, alongside many like-minded soldiers, vowing never again to serve a state. Though many were initially skeptical of his arrival, Dartagnan came to offer valuable insights which allowed the Black Army to prevail in the field, and him to advance in the ranks. NATIONAL IDEA: No Gods, No Masters: Though the system has its faults, the people of the Free Territory wholeheartedly believe in their mission against autocratic, hierarchical states. It has a certain appeal to disenfranchised members of society, allowing North Camadacian agents subtler methods to incorporate more communes into the Territory, by spreading the word of their ideology and potentially inciting a popular revolt. In these territories, Black Army troops can often enlist aid of the locals and suffer less attrition during a campaign. PLAYER POI: Vox-caster: A relic of the 2nd Age, wielded by the General Assembly of the Free Territory of North Camadacia. This piece of technology serves as an instantaneous message transmitter, allowing for rapid coordination of efforts among the Free Territory's communes.
  4. UNITED KINGDOM OF VENNENDAL Continuing dreadnought construction (⅔) [3 HP, 350,000C, 40M, 20A, 30T] Constructing Super Dreadnought, Corona Orientalis (¼) [75 NP, 150,000C, 27M, 6A, 6T] Constructing 3 Heavy Cruisers [80 NP, 120,000C, 24M] Constructing 4 Light Cruisers [44NP, 110,000C, 22M] Constructing 11 Destroyers [4 NP, 10,000C, 4M] Recruiting 2 Fighter Wings [14 NP, 35,000C, 14M] Recruiting 7 Bomber Wings [600,000C, 15M] Constructing 3x Orbital Defense Platform on Orthun V approach. [16 NP, 12,000C] Repairing Kolibrie [10 NP, 7,500C] Repairing Rosenveldt [6 NP, 4,500C] Repairing Frelinghuysen [5 Influence] The foundations of a network. [MOD] Beginning salvage operation in Manhuera’s space. UNDER ESCORT OF DETACHMENTS OF MANHUERA’S FLEET [30,000C invested]
  5. UNITED KINGDOM OF VENNENDAL THE ACT OF UNION, 10’429 THE RISE OF THE CORONA ORIENTALIS A new dawn rises upon the Eastern Rim, as the United Kingdom of Vennendal is declared through the union of Stellarchs Elfering’s, Manhuera’s, and Fetu’s space. However, the union is far from jubilant, born from the necessity to form a united front against tyranny as opposed to any prevailing sense of commonality and identity. Meanwhile, across the border, Stellarch Akamu has begun to cement his rule over the ashes of the Republic, hungrily eyeing the systems which were snatched from their grasp. With bated breath, the denizens of the Eastern Rim scrutinize the new kingdom closely- to see whether they’ll truly stand as a galactic contender or merely fall as the next in a line of dominos, before the march of the Separationist fleets. Due to Karel Elfering’s far-reaching campaign, there has been no such coronation, yet. Though, many begun to hail the Admiral as the king in the east. An iron curtain has descended upon the eastern rim, and now billions look to the young king for guidance. Expenses: [1 HP, 170,000C, 20M, 10A, 10T] Constructing Kroonprins-class Dreadnought, Halcyon [1 HP, 170,000C, 20M, 10A, 10T] Constructing Kroonprins-class Dreadnought, Centaurus [1 HP, 170,000C, 20M, 10A, 10T] Constructing Kroonprins-class Dreadnought, Orion [1 HP, 170,000C, 20M, 10A, 10T] Constructing Kroonprins-class Dreadnought, Bellatrix [1 HP, 170,000C, 20M, 10A, 10T] Constructing Kroonprins-class Dreadnought, Nemesis [100 NP, 150,000C, 30M] Constructing 5 Light Cruisers [80 NP, 200,000C, 40M] Constructing 20 Destroyers [50,000C, 12AP, 12M] Recruiting 1,000,000 Imperial Standard Infantry [250,000C, 25M, 5T] Constructing Cultural Center on Sus [200,000C, 5M] Constructing Orbital Defense Platform over 52-Mining World
  6. VENNENDAL [14 NP, 10,500C] Repairing the Vriesland [4 NP, 3,000C] Repairing the Kolibrie [4 NP, 3,000C] Repairing the Rosenveldt [75,000C, 18AP, 18M] Recruiting 1,500,000 Imperial Standard Infantry [100 NP, 150,000C, 30M] Constructing 5 Light Cruisers [40 NP, 100,000C, 20M] Constructing 10 Destroyers
  7. VENNENDAL [6 NP, 4,500C] Repairing the Langevelde [3 NP, 2,250C] Repairing the Meskwaak [4 NP, 3,000C] Repairing the Vierakker [40 NP, 100,000C, 20M] Constructing 10 Destroyers [60 NP, 90,000C, 18M] Constructing 3 Light Cruisers [50 NP, 100,000C, 18M, 4A] Constructing 2 Heavy Cruiser
  8. VENNENDAL [1 HP] Constructing Large Cruiser (2/2) [25 NP, 50,000C, 9M, 2A, 2T] Constructing Heavy Cruiser [80 NP, 120,000C, 24M] Constructing 4 Light Cruisers [12 NP, 30,000C, 6M] Constructing 3 Destroyers
  9. ZONNERIJK VENNENDAL [90 NP] Repairing Dreadnought hull (2/2) [1 HP, 90,000C, 10M, 5A, 5T] Constructing Large Cruiser (½) [150,000C, 35M] Constructing Shipyards on Devoort [150,000C, 35M] Constructing Shipyards on Baas [75,000C, 18AP, 18M] Recruiting 1,500,000 Imperial Standard Infantry
  10. ZONNERIJK VENNENDAL On a world not long ago wracked by all-out planetary warfare, the sense of calm and normality once again began to set in. Craters had been filled, cityscapes refurbished, and the peacekeeping patrols had finally been dialed back. Order had prevailed, despite the initial costs it took to achieve it. This was Lord Elfering’s prevailing ideology, the outright eradication of mercantilist influence in the Eastern Galaxy. It didn’t take a genius to know that the Stadtholder of Vennendal was on a crusade, though none could seem to point out why. Karel Elfering hadn’t dealt with any of the corrupt Senators or merchant lords of the Old Empire. Rather, he’d spent his whole life in the Navy. What he knew of the merchants was hearsay- from both his father and Vennendal’s Senator Aalmers. It imprinted on him nonetheless. He spent many restless hours as a deck officer, wishing he could inflict real change on the galaxy, to rip it free from corporate hold and mend the rift which had formed in the Senate. However, he had a duty, and Aalmers and his father had theirs. Politics and command wouldn’t coincide until, upon the fateful passing of Lord Elfering, Karel was offered the Stadtholdership. It was a role in which he quickly became acclimated; the heavy lifting carried by the Vennendalic Parliament. As a full-fledged Admiral, as much of Vennendal’s senior officer caste perished in the Second Schism, power quickly consolidated beneath Karel’s grip as he rose to the top of the naval seniority, while also the central unifying custodian of the Vennendalic realm. Yet, as is known, with great power comes great responsibility. His attention was pulled towards multiple fronts, surely knocking off whole years from his expected life as the demands and stress of office caught up with him. It was time to delegate tasks to his sons, and if that meant pushing his son through for promotion, then so be it. Afterall, he was merely expediting the process; their inevitable ascent. For Julius Elfering, the wait was anything but inevitable. Though he'd achieved the rank of Commodore at a young age, his command was nothing more than a destroyer group and a light cruiser. It was a start, but he was resigned to backline patrols, with no accolades or glory to be earned. As another year came to pass, Julius lounged in his command chair. What would be a routine patrol was interrupted by a long-range transmission, which read: “COMMODORE JULIUS PAUL ELFERING IS HEREBY ASSIGNED THE RANK OF REAR ADMIRAL WITH COMMAND OF THE SECOND HEAVY CRUISER DIVISION. REPORT TO NAVAL STATION VOORST FOR DEBRIEF, AT ONCE.” Julius wasn’t entirely sure why now of all times. Yet, he did seem quite pleased, eager to assume a more meaningful command. Surely, this meant that Vennendal was preparing for its newest moves, which he had been kept out of the loop due to his posting. At his father’s side however, this would end. ACTIONS [25,000C] Salvaging battlefield wreckage ((MOD)) First Fleet returns to Naval Station Rouven. [1 HP] Continuing construction of Kroonprins dreadnought. (3/3) [125,000C, 90NP, 10M, 5T] Repairing Dreadnought hull. (½) [90,000C, 45 NP, 27M, 3A] Repairing 3 Heavy Cruisers [20,000C, 8NP, 4M] Constructing 2 Destroyers [5,000C, 2NP, 2M] Constructing Bomber Squadron [35,000C] Lost to raiding
  11. UNITED VENNENDAL “Though we’ve acquired the ERTC’s worlds, we’ve also inherited their security concerns. Sir, that being the border we now share with the Irik House of Storms.” said XO Scheel, head buried in his datapad, swiping away. “Well, you better get cozy. I’ll be making this battlefleet’s station, so that we can properly respond to any Storms incursion.” “Wise choice sir, this particular house and their Baron, well-” “I know, Scheel.” said Elfering, steely eyed as he gazed upon the surface of the world beneath his fleet. “And I’ll protect these people as our own. Vennendalers.” Hm, went the XO, who busied himself as he continued to access a feed of valuable information. “Ah. Our food situation was already stretched, Admiral. The ERTC blockade has stopped all imports, and our domestic production cannot meet the needs. The addition of these new worlds will only strain us further.” “We’ll make it work. Institute rationing.” nods Elfering. Scheel shrugged, “I’ll notify the planetary governor.” As the XO walked over to one of the comm terminals, Elfering was left to himself at the tactical display map in the center of the ship’s CIC. With his hands, he pinched the display, zooming out upon the local galactic community- now some thirty stars, beneath the flag of Vennendal. On all sides he was surrounded- by ravenous Irik, pitiful Imperial loyalists, a rapidly militarizing conglomerate, and a Republic beholden to the whims of merchants. It wasn’t optimal, Elfering thought, but he’d play the cards he was dealt. For now, he could only wait- hoping that his name’s weight would hold and his contacts would make good on their promises. ACTIONS [1 HP] Continuing Kroonprins construction (⅔) [150,000C, 20M] Constructing 10 Smelteries on Devoort [100,000C] Constructing 10 Mines on Baas [30,000C, 3M] Constructing 3 Farms on Sus
  12. UNITED VENNENDAL A fighter of VFA-02 of the VNS Kolibrie patrols the battlefield around Kreppl Driveyards. The Vennendalic fleet stood amidst the desiccated carcasses of the ERTC sector forces. Where once tracers and shells streaked across the starry void, now was black and still. Given the respite, Vennendalic flagship, the VNS Kolibrie, had begun to unfurl its primary radiators; having accumulated tremendous excess heat during the fray. This was much in part to the overworked coilgun batteries the ship was outfitted with. As the ship deployed its heat-dispersing mechanisms, aboard the bridge, the Fleet Admiral garnered his after-action reports from his own bridge crew and the rest of the task force. “...The Adelaar is at 50% hull integrity, Admiral. Captain Bosch is requesting permission to break off.” said a signal officer. Karel sighs, walking to the front of the bridge. “Negative. Tell her she’ll need to institute mobile repairs. We need her and her guns on station.” he says, gazing out towards the battlefield’s aftermath. “We’re not through yet.” The officer nods knowingly, relaying the message with haste, as he turns back to his monitor. Just past the wreckage were the disabled gun batteries and her driveyard. Somewhere out there, destroyers sifted through the debris, shining their floodlights and searching for survivors or anything of value. The prize ships of the ERTC fleet were now nothing more than scrap. Two modern dreadnought hulls had blocked their path, presumably fresh off the lines and pressed into service. Now nothing remained, as a bright inferno engulfed the surrounding area, likely a magazine detonation, sending shrapnel streaking in every direction as the hurtling wreck drifted into obscurity. There would be no prize ships this day, thought Elfering. However, Vennendal was now left with the means to produce her own dreadnoughts, to her own specifications. The Fleet Admiral practically licked his lips as he stared towards the vulnerable driveyards, the future of Vennendal and the backbone of her navy in his sights… “Sweep concluded, sir.” came a voice from behind him. “Good, we’re done here.” “Where to now, sir?” “Onwards.” ACTIONS [20,000C] Salvage teams are commissioned to pick through battlefield wreckage for usable hulls. ((LOOK HERE)) [170,000C, 1HP, 20M, 10A, 10T] Beginning Kroonprins construction. (⅓) [30,000C, 20NP, 6M] Constructing 1 Light Cruisers [60,000C, 32NP, 16M] Constructing 8 Destroyers [7,500C, 6NP, 3M] Constructing 30 Freighters [28,900 * 1.5 = 43,350C, 14,450] Purchasing 85 Food [5,040 * 1.5 = 7,560C, 2520 difference] Purchasing 14 Alloys 304,470
  13. UNITED VENNENDAL With the Stadtholder taking it upon himself to bear the full weight of his office, Lord Karel Elfering had little time for his children. Yet he couldn’t be in two places at once, and would rarely delegate tasks to one or another. This was one such case. His children were often in no such position to deny his requests. Two brothers; Julius and Cornelius, lounged in the corner booth of a local Voorstian officers’ bar, the Bootstrap. “Though I didn’t like it, It’s done. Vennendal will have her fleet.” said Julius, speaking over dinner. “We all have to make sacrifices, dear brother.” Cornelius replied, uninterested in his meal, as he lit a cigarette taking a drag. "You did good." As Cornelius’s smoke drifted across the table, Julius coughed. The Navy-man spent much time aboard sterile and climate-controlled environments, so that slight exposure to these pollutants elicit a response from him. Cornelius glanced at his brother, realizing. “Apologies.” he said, snuffing out the embers. “Forget it.” said Julius, shrugging it off. “I hear our half-brother, Aarno Verschooris, is leading the ground force vanguard.” Cornelius raised a brow, calmly stating, “He’s a capable leader. I have faith they’ll bring the western worlds to heel.” “Hm." Julius mused. "I only feel sorry for Hendrika. She hardly ever sees her husband. That man is Army before family.” “Well, doesn’t that sound familiar. No different than with our dear father.” said Cornelius. “I want to say I resent that, but-” “I know.” Cornelius said knowingly. For a few moments, there was a pause, as the two wordlessly finished their meals or looked about. “Well.” said Julius, seeming eager to wrap up. “It was nice catching up, but I must be going. Perhaps a few more provisions before I shuttle back to my division. They want us with the invasion force.” “Give them hell, brother.” said Cornelius, leaning into his seat, as he glanced at the dishes they’d picked clean. “Count on it.” ACTIONS [150,000 C, 25M] Building Trade Depot on Lippelo [100,000 C, 20M] Building 10 Commercial Districts on Lippelo [150,000 C, 40M, 80NP] Constructing 20 Destroyers [60,000 C, 12M, 40NP] Constructing 2 Light Cruisers [5,000C, 2M, 2NP] Constructing 1 Fighter Squadron [MOD] The invasion of ERTC space actually begins now.
  14. UNITED VENNENDAL MEUZEGEM SYSTEM 1300 HOURS VOORST TIME Towards the western reaches of Vennendal space, a single vessel exited hyperspace as it infringed upon the gravity well of the K-type star, Meuzegem’s, gravity well. Taking several moments to recover from the impetus of their sudden deceleration, the vessel quickly spooled its sunlight drives and continued along it’s journey, hardly visible save for the flaring impulse drives, which so kindly illuminated its course and trajectory. There was nothing particularly interesting about this ship. It seemed to be an ordinary merchant freighter making its scheduled cargo runs. The ship soon faded out of view, streaking towards the opposite end of the system like a comet. Unlike a comet, however, these void-faring vessels weren’t bound to the forces of nearby celestial bodies. More and more, these ships penetrated Vennendal space, with the unifying commonality of allegiance to the Eastern Rim Trade Company. However, there were other vessels in the system. Shrouded in the darkness of the star’s tidally-locked world, a small armada has amassed, those of the Vennendalic Navy. With systems largely powered down, they observed every passing ship, be it armed or civilian. At the center of the formation was one, particular capital ship, whose hull read Kolibrie. Aboard the Kolibrie’s bridge, action was scarce. Saving for the blinking displays on the CIC monitors, everyone and everything was still. By the viewport, a sharply-dressed man turned, his uniform signifying him as the ship’s XO. “Sir.” he said, addressing his superior. “That’s the thirtieth Company vessel to pass this week.” “Noted, Scheel.” said the ship’s captain. This man was no ordinary naval captain, however. In his stark white dress uniform and cap, adorned with all its honors, stood Karel Frederik Elfering, current Stadtholder of Vennendal and Fleet Admiral of the Vennendalic Navy. He was elderly, no surface spared from wrinkles, though, didn’t hold a coin to the tenures of the decrepit Grand Admirals of the Empire and the Republic. Though what he lacked in experience, he compensated for in sheer will and aggression- evidenced by his tenuous campaign to repel Irik and Loyalist forces at every turn. Karel strided down the bridge’s central runway, his mag-boots clacking against the metal surface and his presence commanding the attention of the bridge officers staffing the adjacent operations pits. Karel stopped just short of the viewport, turning to address the bridge crew. “Gentlemen, this has been a long time coming. For too long have the men and women of Vennendal been trampled beneath the boots of the mercantilist scourge. During the Empire’s darkest hour, the cowardly company-men pounced upon our western holdings, planting their flag of oppression, and have remained a thorn in our side ever since. Their ships mindlessly extract the wealth and resources from our worlds. In further insult, they parade their plunder through our hyperlanes, carrying their loot away to fuel their insatiable greed. To this, I say, no longer! Vennendal is back.” Without hesitation, a thundering “HOOYAH.” resounded throughout the bridge, a fire burning in the eyes of each crewmember at this call to action. “At ease!” Karel barked, grinning in self-indulged satisfaction. “I’m proud of each and every one of you. You’d do damn well to remember that.” Scheel marched up to the Fleet Admiral, snapping to attention. “Your orders, sir?” he asks, with a certain eagerness. “Relay a message to the ERTC enclave. It begins.” . . . . “VENNENDAL HAS RETURNED TO RESTORE DOMINION OVER ITS WESTERN STARS. CORPORATE PERSONNEL ARE TO SURRENDER NOW OR PERISH IN VAIN.” sike ACTIONS [MOD] At the end of the year, Karel Frederik Elfering leads an invasion against the ERTC’s enclave, along the southern hyperlane, as he simultaneously demands the surrender and return of Vennendal’s territories. [300,000 C] Colonizing worlds
  15. UNITED REALM OF VENNENDAL Capital: Tameraad, Voorst Official Languages: Galactic Basic, Vennendalese Religion: No official religion Government: Constitutional elective monarchy Head of State: Karel Frederik Elfering van Tameraad, Stadtholder of Vennendal, Prince of Voorst History/Culture: Amidst the Inner Rim, Vennendal as it is known, has thrived for some three centuries beneath the tutelage of the esteemed Elfering dynasty. Despite, it’s relative proximity to the Core, the province was able to forge its own, unique identity. Long ago, the Elferings cautiously walked the fine line that divided the Senate, and the Empire’s politics, taking care to draw the ire of Loyalist or Republican, lest the winds of change (Senate decree) evict them from their home. Though not a particularly wealthy province, the Elferings cemented themselves as capable, dependable allies with a certain charming, fighting spirit. Towards the end of the Third Empire, the Elferings comprised a respectable portion of the more moderate Loyalists. However, despite Vennendal’s long loyalty to the Starcast Throne, Emperor Ran-Ji would cast aside the Elferings, when he selected his cabinet, weaving a grievous insult to Stellarch Gerrit Elfering’s pride. The Emperor favored a dog, which he could more readily control- the Matarekas of Takaksai- passing over the Elferings for a key position within the Loyalist War Council, amidst the senatorial crisis. So infuriated was Stellarch Elfering, that he raised his banner for the now exiled Republicans, devoting himself and his province fully against Ran-Ji. Ran-Ji would meet his end, though not as Gerrit would’ve hoped. Humanity’s infighting would see the collapse of the northern marches, as hordes of Irik warfleets surged south, overtaking much of the Core and putting the borders of Vennendal within a stone’s throw of the alien menace. It is rumored that Gerrit Elfering was so shocked by this news, that he suffered from a heart attack on the spot. However, it is commonly accepted that his passing came as a result of old age. Despite the Stellarch’s passing, the province was still nominally aligned to the Republic, and was in danger of being revoked from Elfering control. However, Vennendalic lobbying efforts would prevail. Though Gerrit did indeed have a son, he named no successor. Whether or not Vennendal would even have a say in the matter remained in the air. Yet, this would not deter the fiercely independent peoples of Vennendal. The Vennendalic delegation proposed a plan to institute an elective constitutional monarchy within Vennendal space- to appeal to the more liberal wings of the Republican movement. This provision passed, allowing Vennendal certain ‘special administrative status’ within the Republic, as the former Mandate of Vennendal became United Vennedal overnight. Gerrit’s eldest son, war hero Karel Frederik Elfering, was nominated for Stadtholder. Though skeptical, he would assume the post, seeking to restore the province to its former heights. Despite the troubles which plague humanity, the Vennendalische remain an optimistic people- this is reflected in the application of new materials and technology into their ever growing warfleet. The Vennendalische lived to roam the stars, with employment among the Vennendal Navy the most coveted profession of all. They are an industrious people, with their own code of honor and loyalty. Yet, some of the fringe Loyalists may find this ironic. However, the Vennendalische wholeheartedly believe that it was Emperor Ran-Ji who betrayed Vennendal, not the other way around. Characters: His Excellency, Karel Frederik Elfering van Tameraad, Stadtholder of Vennendal, Prince of Voorst While having missed most of the fighting during the Galactic Civil War, Karl Frederik Elfering was pushed into naval command as a result of the desperate need for admirals. Having joined the Vennendalische Provincial FLEETCOM as a young adult, he quickly rose through the ranks of the Vennendalic Navy, where he proved to be a capable, swift, and aggressive commander- proposed to receive a commission in the Republican Navy by his father. Though serving as a subordinate of the Grand Admirals, his fleet actions garnered much traction across Vennendal space, and was soon enough proposed as a candidate for the position of Stadtholder; a worthy successor to his father, Gerrit Willem Elfering. Reluctantly, Karel assumed the reins of Vennendal, believing the resources and influence afforded to the Stadtholder would allow him to finance operations to reclaim lost tracts of Vennendalische space. Her Excellency, Ana Elfering van Tameraad née Manhuera, Princess-consort of Voorst For nearly half a century, Ana has been wed to Vennendal’s current Stadtholder, Karel Frederick Elfering. Though the marriage was the result of meddling by the late Stadtholder Elfering and then Vice Admiral Manhuera, they forged a relationship based upon respect and trust, so much so that Ana de facto serves as the province’s administrative head in her husband’s absence. The Honorable, Julius Paul Elfering van Tameraad, Viscount of Westerholt, Commodore of the Verenigde Vennendalische Marine Despite being the first son of Vennendalishe war hero Karel Frederick Elfering, Julius has so far been unable to inspire confidence in the province’s constituents. Having hinged on a career in the Navy to establish his name, his efforts have fallen short as much of the turmoil seems to have simmered down, before he’d even received a commission. Furthermore, his young ascent to the rank of Commodore is surrounded by rumors that his father personally pushed through the promotion through the red tape. It is unknown whether this is true, but Julius has so far been eager to prove his merit, much to the dismay of his superiors, who struggle to reign in the ambitious officer, though neither dare nor care to put the Elfering before a tribunal. Despite Julius’s perceived arrogance, the young lord means well enough. Adelheid Claudia Elfering van Tameraad, Viscountess of Brengarde The youngest daughter of Karel and Ana Elfering, Adelehid is simply known to be petulant and vindictive, with a strong distaste of people she believes to be beneath her. Hendrika Josefien Verschooris née Elfering van Tameraad, Viscountess of Ramsel An unassuming woman, Adelheid has married into the local Vennendalische aristocracy and spends most of her time as chief executive of the Elfering Foundation. The Honorable, Cornelius Hendrik Elfering van Tameraad, Viscount of Dorne, General in the Vennendalische Grondtroepen Though the second son, the laws of Vennendalische succession have proven to be in favor of young Cornelius. While his brother wastes away in some far-flung duty station, Cornelius had graduated the Voorst Military Academy with excellence, rose through the ranks, and is generally well-liked among soldiers and Army officers. Cunning and calculative, Cornelius is not above using underhanded tactics to achieve results. Charlotte Sophie Teniert née Elfering van Tameraad, Viscountess of Reimst A graduate of the Cornelissen School of Business, Charlotte is exceptionally intelligent and shrewd. She has since been married to Alistair Teniert, to forge greater bonds with the other reaches of the Inner Rim. She possesses a refined palate, and a keen eye for expensive things, never quite happy with what she has. Unique Units: KROONPRINS-CLASS DREADNOUGHT (BLINK/RAM/REINFORCED DREADNOUGHT) “The last of its kind, the Kroonprins yearns for yards to be reborn; their progeny to reclaim the stars.” - Vice Admiral Bernard Hinrichs, regarding the Kroonprins-class dreadnought. Before the Civil War, Vennendal hosted its own domestic capital ship industry. These driveyards, however, would be lost- caught between the fighting of Republican, Loyalist, and Irik forces. This was not before the yards constructed their final series of dreadnought, the Kroonprins-class. [Redacted] hulls of this class remain, and are cherished possessions of the Verenigde Vennendalische Marine. These upgraded dreadnoughts possess improved hull strength, modular armor plating, and a heavy-duty blink-drive, capable of rapidly teleporting the Kroonsprins across the battlefield in an instant. The ultradense hull of the Kroonprins allows it to survive otherwise catastrophic collisions with enemy ships, allowing it to be an effective rammer- through blink acceleration or otherwise. [Increased HP/Armor, Special Ram attack?] POLTERGEIST II-CLASS DESTROYER (BLINK-DRIVE, DESTROYER) “No other ship could meet the expectations that Vennendal demanded from it.” - Excerpt from the Vennendal Navy Combat Manual; pg. 56, on sub-capital ships. Vennendal first pioneered the blink-drive in the years preceding the Imperial Civil War. Yet, the technology would only come fruition following the Collapse, as Vennendal became a battleground between Republican, Loyalist, and Irik forces. It was neither the dreadnoughts nor the fleet carriers which were most attributed to the protection of Vennendal’s sovereignty, but the original Poltergeist I-model destroyers, which proved to be workhorses of the Vennendalic Navy- capable of rapidly closing the distance with enemy ships and launching a devastating barrage of heavy torpedoes. Now upgraded to modern specifications, these ships are expected to continue their venerable service records. [Access to Blink Drive ability, Extra Torpedo Damage] National Idea: Two for Flinching Vennendal has perfected the use of the Blink Drive. Activating the Blink Drive is a free action. All ships are Blink-Drive equipped. Letter: T
  16. ACADIAN CONSULATE First Consul Eden Roucayrol lounged in the gardens of the Presidential Palace in Lucerne, late one Jamedi evening. He had posted up by a circular table in a wicker patio chair, imported recently from the colonies. At a glance, it might seem like the Consul of Acadia had no care in the world, and retreated here to neglect his duties. In reality, this was his favorite place to ponder and contemplate. He took another puff of his cigarette, reclining as he reached towards the table to tap the ash onto the tray. “Comfortable, aren’t they?” asked Plisonnier. “Hand crafted in Rhodes.” “Hm.” Roucayrol stirred, feeling out the chair with his rear. He turns to his confidant, the Admiral Nicolas Plisonnier. “I would say so. More than the tacky furnishings left over in the Palace. I’ve had them mostly moved out, but the halls seem empty now. And I’m not just speaking of the furniture.” said Roucayrol, his tone showing concern. “May the House of Beauverger rest in peace,” says Plisonnier, lowering his head. The man, among many of the current military staff, held the former royal house of Acadia in high regard. Roucayrol sighed, setting the cigarette on the groove of the ashtray. The conversation had taken a turn, he reckoned, and he sat up. Instead, he reached for the bottle of whiskey, reaching for his empty glass with a half-melted ice cube. He poured himself halfway, looking expectantly at Plisonnier who waved him a go ahead. “Look at us, Nicolas.” he said, downing his drink. “We are but stranded soldiers with no cause left to fight for.” “You don’t mean that, Eden. We serve the people of Acadia first and foremost, and we don’t need the monarchy to remind us of that.” Plisonnier said, seeming impatient, as if this wasn’t the first tirade his friend had gone on. Roucayrol sulked for a moment. “They were lucky,” he muttered. “This earth; our world, is a prison.” The Consul lifted his glass, gesturing towards the midnight sky. Past the clouds, was the shield, shimmering ever so gently against the stars. Yet it was not of the heavens, rather, what separated mankind from it. “You’re a cynic, Eden.” retorted Plisonnier, as he too drank- too sober to put up with Roucayrol. “No, my friend, that’s where you’re wrong.” Roucayrol said sternly, pouring himself another glass as he plugs the bottle. “Everything we’re doing- infrastructure, colonization, armed forces- are all but a means, paling before the ultimate goal.” “The shield has stood for countless millennia. I don’t see-” “It will be undone.” Roucayrol interjects, “If not in my lifetime, then by our sons. This is the path we walk. Forwards, unto dawn.” ACTIONS [1 M, 10,000 C] Constructing 1 Civilian District in Pontcharraud [2 M, 12,500 C] Constructing Trade Depot in Magnien (City) [6 M, 37,500 C] Constructing Trade Depots in Chambery, Pontcharraud, and Rhodes (Colonial Cities) [8 M, 60,000 C] Constructing 2 Colonial Cities; Yport and Fort Frontenac RESEARCH SLOT: EAM Modèle A Though granships have revolutionized travel and communication, they are far too expensive for the average man. The Enterprise Automobile de Magnien, or EAM, is given a grant by the government to pursue the development of a mass-producible, efficient, and affordable car. [10,000 C invested] 7TP
  17. can you make me some heraldry happy birthday btw
  18. ACADIAN CONSULATE 1 WEEK AFTER THE ARAMIS INCIDENT Captain Laurent Puginier of the 18e Régiment d'Infanterie sat somber amidst his fellow servicemen, of whom occupied the first few rows of the morning’s wake and memorial. Citizens and soldiers from across the capital gathered on the grounds of the Lucerne Aeroport to hear the First Consul speak about the events which unfolded a week earlier. What was a clear and beautiful day, was drowned out by melancholy as the country mourned their dead. The events raced through his mind- determined shouts, the exchange of gun-fire, and a deafening explosion which could be felt throughout the city. Puginier had been one of the first responders, attached to the Marine Aeronautique’s station in Lucerne. By the time he had arrived, a thick plume of smoke already suffocated the Aeroport as bodies were strewn across the tarmac. This was the doing of the so-called ‘revolutionaries’ which Premier-consul Roucayrol had spoken so fervently against- those who would seek to tear down Acadian harmony for self-serving and short-sighted gain. At first, Puginier had his doubts. However, seeing the various photographs of the fallen on the podium struck the captain hard. Be it the Beauverger Kingdom, to the Acadian Republic, to Roucayrol’s Consulate- the politics had never risen with him. Puginier served the Acadian people, and by extension the head of state. Yet, during the wake Roucayrol had demonstrated that the Acadian people themselves were under attack- by the perverse revolutionaries who tried to poison the mind of the good, working Acadian man. Good men died that day, he was reminded. And Roucayrol spoke at length about the heroics of a particular civilian who had stirred his fellow captives to action, helping to wrestle control of the Aramis away from the terrorists, who ultimately lost his life during the raid, lionizing him as a martyr. The Consul posthumously honored him with the highest civilian merit, proclaiming him as the model which all Acadians should strive for. He didn’t have to do that, Puginier thought. The assault teams were well on their way to breaching the plane. He recalled the tense blitz across the tarmac, as teams of federal infantry rolled boarding ramps up towards the cockpit and emergency exits, past the bodies of fallen revolutionaries whose bodies had yet to be retrieved. Lest he gag, he knew better than to stare. This man, Puginier pondered, was likely on his way to find a better life in the colonies. He, among many others, had done their time serving their country. Yet, there he stood, as the civilian honored the call to duty once more, despite hanging up his uniform and weapon however many years to go. He had sacrificed himself, whether by shaming the others or being the final nudge, and led the revolt against the revolutionaries. Selfless, Puginier thought. Though, I’d never dare say a fool. It is an honorable thing to serve your people, and be willing to die for them. Yet, when faced with the opposite end of a barrel, who’s to say whether you will remain meek or meet adversity eye to eye? We do not choose when our time comes- The echoing din of the gunfire fogging Puginier’s mind, the ragged shouts of "Get down!" or "Hands up!", and the fatiguing, methodical sweep of every floor and crevice of the airship to make sure every body was accounted for... The captain had lost track of time, as the Consul concluded his speech with an announcement that a monument would be erected within the Aeroport- dedicated to those who had lost their lives on that day. He followed the end of a memorial with an award ceremony for all those who had partaken in the ‘Aramis Raid’, as it was being called. He quietly watched and observed as the rows of servicemen before him rose and filed up the stairs, each being pinned a medal by the hand of Roucayrol himself. Puginier’s name was called, and he too joined the procession. As he stood on the stage, he gazed out into the crowd, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes burning into his soul. It was as if each and every person was simultaneously performing an evaluation on his character. He thought to himself, "Am I fit to bear this medal?" Perhaps it wasn’t his place to say, but Puginier did know that he acted under his obligation as an Acadian to uphold the sacred fraternity. As the Consul pinned the metal to his chest and they shared a firm handshake, Puginier could see flames of the Acadian spirit burning deep within the tired eyes of the aged general. This was a man who had been to hell and back, who had lost everything to the revolutionaries (even his dearest friend), and a man who wouldn’t relent in his pursuit of a more perfect Acadian society until his dying breath. In the face of that afternoon’s chaos, Roucayrol came down to the scene, directing men and taking control of the situation- well aware enemies abound, at risk to his own person at the epicenter of it. This was a man who was fit to lead the nation; one who had given his very body and soul to Acadia. ...Though this was but a fading memory in Puginier’s mind. He was on a transport ship bound for the New World, not as a colonist, but one of the pioneers who would clear the area for future settlement. As much as he’d like to settle down, the captain had many years of good service left within him, and he’d be damned if he spent them withering away on some farm. Though, that’s not to say he’d like to at some time in the future! For now, he was thrilled to travel, with childlike giddy- setting foot where no man had ever before; a trailblazer. He would see the world as it was meant to be seen, from 10,000 feet above. A new era dawned for all Acadia, it’s future lying beyond the Continent. ACTIONS: [RESEARCH] The Aramis Raid demonstrated the limitation of rifles in interior spaces and narrow corridors. Acadian R&D is issued a directive by the First Consul to begin development of a portable weapon capable of unleashing high volumes of fire; a sub-machine gun, so to speak. [-5M] Selling 5M to the Market [+4,000] A generous gift to the Acadian Consulate by the Aadrensveld-Rhynish! Roucayrol expresses his admiration for their southern friends, who had carved out a shining beacon of order and stability in their corner of the world. With King Bartholomeus’s permission, an embassy is established within the Kingdom, while they are similarly permitted within Acadia’s borders. 200 Acadian livres to the treasury. Colonial efforts are renewed in earnest in the year of 1890. With normalcy restored to the Lucerne Aeroport, voyages once again set across the Acadian straits. Though it’s no secret these stop-gap islands likely pale in comparison to the lands beyond, hopefully some people will come to call these foreign lands home, appreciating a life away from the choked politics of the Continent. Three colonial cities are founded; Pontcharraud, Rhodes, and Chambéry. [90,000 C, 12M] To pave the way for next year’s colonization efforts, a division of infantry under escort of the Acadian Marine Aéronautique, begins to cross the straits further than any Acadian has ventured beyond the Continent. Their objective is to scout ahead and clear a safe landing zone for future colonists. Most importantly, they explore Terra Incognita. [MOD] The Army is sent in to control the situation in the rural parts of the country most affected by the wild beasts. A whole division is mobilized, who move to secure the Biological Research Facility, escorting an entourage of their own scientists and researchers to uncover the true nature of the facility.
  19. ACADIAN CONSULATE Capital: Lucerne Official Languages: Lingua Herin, Haut Acadiens Religion: Hieromic Church (78%) Government: Federal Presidential Republic under a Military Dictatorship Head of State: Premier-consul Eden Roucayrol History: Acadia, among many others, traces its origins back to the Age of Conflagration, where the Order of Hieromars seeded the Acadian state on the western shores of the boreal territories. To govern the fledgling realm, the Hieromars appointed Jean Beauverger, who founded a dynasty which would endure several thousand years. This esteemed lineage, however, would meet a tragic end during the 2nd Acadian Civil War during the 4th Era, in which leftist revolutionaries eliminated the royal Beauverger family to a man, in a series of brutal campaigns and horrifying public executions. In the end, the Acadian Revolutionaries would lose much of their public support, with their horrific demonstrations forcing the common man to reside with the status quo. What followed was a breakdown of Revolutionary cohesion, as various warlords rose, who proclaimed themselves to be the champion of the working man. It was during this time that Royalist forces counterattacked across all fronts, eventually crushing all Revolutionary Army forces in the conclusive Operation Bucentaure. The Royalists now stood triumphant, though, with no figurehead to rally behind. This period became the Interregnum, where various Army generals and local leaders stood at odds over who should rule the Acadian state. This persisted for nearly a month. To prevent any forceful seizure of power, Acadian Army general Julien Dessaint declared a neutral zone around the Acadian capital of Lucerne. Dessaint quickly raised the flag of truce over the empty halls of the Royal Palace, summoning representatives of the various royalist factions to partake in the First Tribunate, a conference which would debate the future of the Acadian state, the new government, etc. Against all expectations, the Tribunate proved to be a fruitful endeavor, where policy meticulously detailed with only minor and few insults to each others’ honor. The delegations all had one purpose, the restoration of security and stability to the lands of Acadia. Ultimately, by way of majority, the Tribunate declared that Acadia would form a new, democratic government with a liberal market economy- effective immediately. There was pushback against the declaration of the Acadian Republic, from either end of the political spectrum- forr being too radical or for not going far enough to ensure universal welfare. As the first open votes were held, it came to no one's surprise that Dessaint would be elected as the first president of the Acadian Republic. The following years were turbulent, with various groups continuing to resist the new government, even to this day. However, as the years passed, it occurred to the original attendees of the First Tribunate that no article had been included to limit the amount of terms held by the President. Eventually, Dessaint’s honeymoon phase, though lasting a good two decades, would come to an end as public support shifted away from the aging Royalist general, who was now viewed to have removed himself from politics, and incapable of steering the nation. Because of Dessaint’s complacency, the fringe movements that had been defeated nearly twenty years ago began their resurgence, demanding Dessaint step down from office. One way or another, Dessaint would relinquish the presidency. A shot which would ring across Acadia- commuting between official government business, Dessaint would be shot three times in the chest as he exited his motor vehicle outside Ft. Collier, in Lucerne. Though mass panic quickly ensued, the gunman was quickly tracked down, disarmed, and apprehended. However, there would be no justice for Dessaint, as the ramblings of the shooter quickly deteriorated and the man began to foam at the mouth amid blood curdling cries. It was revealed that the gunman had bitten down on a hidden cyanide-like capsule buried within a tooth to commit suicide, later that day. Moments after his killer’s death, Dessaint too would draw his last breath. However, this would not be before uttering the words, “Restore us to Glory.” to the man whose arms he rested and died in. These words were spoken to a close ally and prodigy of the late President, Lt. General Eden Roucayrol. Though Dessaint had never officially named a successor, this public act was enough to allow most Army generals to throw their support behind Roucayrol, who still viewed Dessaint with enough respect to honor the wishes of the late President, General, and National Hero. With the majority of the Army circling the wagons around Roucayrol, he immediately began a series of crackdowns against all radical political elements across the country. Though no affiliation was definitively determined for the gunman, Roucayrol used the assassination as grounds to purge the country of all ‘deviants’. On dubious evidence, Acadian Intelligence framed Dessaint’s assassination upon far-right activist Guillame Moreau, who was subsequently tried and imprisoned as an enemy of the state. In doing this, Roucayrol consolidated a new regime, which he coined the Acadian Consulate, in which he would preside over the state as the Premier consul, with the Second Tribunate formed. Civil liberties were suspended, under the pretense of restoring order to the soul of Acadia. Though a regression, this was nowhere near the absolutism and repression of the old Acadian Kingdom. Roucayrol would cement his rule over Acadia with an iron fist, reorganizing every aspect of society, government, and the military. The new regime would honor the traditions of the past, brotherhood, and duty to one’s country. Roucayrol continues to serve as Premier consul, retaining his military dictatorship over Acadia. National Traits: Military: Naval Focus Economy: Agrarian State Society: Efficient Bureaucracy Resource Deficiency: Textiles Army Doctrine: Massed Warfare Naval Doctrine: Capital Ships Economic Focus: Colonial Unique Military Units: Dauphin-class Light Cruiser - The 1890 Naval Programme plan called for a new breed of cruiser, capable of trade interdiction and command and control of destroyer flotillas. Additionally, these Light Cruisers boast an upgraded anti-aircraft armament, improved torpedo resilience, as well as lethal, quick-firing 6 inch guns capable of tearing any modern destroyer to shreds. Furthermore, these cruisers are proficient scouts- boasting enough catapults to host a flight (4) of four scout planes to sweep large sectors and relay information back to the cruiser. Destroyer d’Escadrille - Operating in groups of three or more, hunter-killer Squadron Destroyers comprise the bulk of the Acadian Aeronautical Navy. These highly capable destroyers are efficient at screening, though their true potential lies with their ability to wreak havoc upon enemy lines. These ships excel at pack tactics as their captains possess not only unrivaled initiative but peak intervessel coordination to send the enemy into disarray before the battleships can even bring their guns to bear. These destroyers possess experimental Vitriol ‘depth charges’, which are released from silos in their deck, which rise through the air to deliver devastating concussive damage on targets above. Infanterie Fédérale - Victors of the gruelling 2nd Acadian Civil War, these hardened troops of the defunct Royalist front have emerged tempered by the flames of war. Acadian Army commanders have learned several important lessons during the years of turmoil, implementing new doctrinal changes. Subject to the endless tug-of-war of the Civil War, these troops have perfected the Defense-in-depth; able to conduct delaying tactics, withdrawals, and counterattacks extremely efficiently. Acadian propaganda efforts have instilled these men with a sense of superiority and have made them extremely proficient defensive soldiers. National Idea: 1890 Naval Programme - Though, Navy funding has traditionally taken a backseat when compared to the that of the Army's, recent interest in the New World has called for a revitalization of the Consulate's immature aeronautical forces, to protect Acadia's interests abroad. Point of Interest: Aeroport of Lucerne - A bustling center for economic activity and harbor for civilian and military vessels (separated, of course). The Aeroport has been viewed as one of the gateways to the West, and is a frequent stopover point for people going to and from the colonies. Map Location:
  20. THE COMMONWEALTH The CNS Ravenrock in harbor The Commonwealth warship, CNS Ravenrock had arrived early in the morning, as it’s whale oil lamps faintly showed through the fog coverage. The lumbering vessel was practically blind in the blanket of mist; the aid of several tug boats required to guide the armored frigate to her moorings. The ship had returned from a diplomatic voyage. The captain, meanwhile, was just glad she had not been fired upon- a warship ambling into the port of Procteland, albeit with a flag of truce flown. The Proctelanders were receptive enough, clearing the port of commercial vessels, and allowing their cargo to be disembarked. This ship had carried President Harriman, who arranged for a secret meeting between the two powers to unite against Einzner’s fiefdom. Harriman pondered it all, from within his presidential cabin. That went well. he thought, penning some thoughts into a notebook as he gazed out the starboard windows. He could vaguely make out the shapes of tall, clustered buildings in the distance. He knew the silhouette well- reasoning they had arrived in *some* Commonwealth city. His stomach growled, longing to return to land. The harsh knocks sounded against the room’s wooden door in quick succession. Like sandpaper to his ears, the president flinched, nearly dropping his pen. “Come in.” he called. An ensign soon stood at the door, snapping to attention. “Mr. President, you’ll be glad to hear we’ve arrived in New Vernon; the shuttle is awaiting you, now.” “Thank you, sailor.” Harriman smiles, rising from his chair. He goes to collect his belongings- the sensitive documents, not the luggage he’d otherwise have his aides carry. “I’m starving. The galley food wasn’t for me.” “I can’t stand it, myself, Mr. President. I’ll be grabbing a hearty platter upon shore leave.” the ensign smiled. Harriman snaps, “Now that sounds like a good idea.” The President turns back around, neatly piling pieces of parchment into a briefcase. Over the noise of the rustling of papers, Harriman had missed the tapping of boots against wood as another individual stood at the door, this one entering the room altogether. He knew him as a member of his administrative staff. “Mr. President.” the man said. “Yes?” said Harriman impatiently, who seemed to have misplaced his inkwell, swearing he just had it with him. “You have a meeting with the Chiefs of Staffs today.” “Well, can you tell them to wait?” said Harriman, an audible growl rupturing throughout the room. “I’m fiending for land-food.” “Uh, no, Mr. President.” the aide stammered. “They’re waiting for you at JOC Uxbridge.” “Can you tell them to wait for me at a restaurant?” The President shook his head, turning his anger upon the wordless ensign who still stood at the door. “What’re you waiting for, son? An invitation or something?” “No, quite the opposite, sir.” said the ensign uneasily. “A dismissal, actually, Mr. President.” “Go on, then.” The President waved. The man began to turn away. “Wait, no-” Harriman decides, recalling the man; the confused ensign returning. “Aye, Mr. President?” “You’re from here, right?” Harriman questioned. “Yes, sir. Born and raised.” “You strike me as a man of fine taste. Where’s the best eatery around here?” “That’ll be the Dockside, Mr. President. Finest clams and scallops in the Commonwealth. Always booked, unfortunately.” Harriman perked. “That’s it.” He turned to the aide. “Get me a reservation there.” “Sir, what about the Chiefs of Staff Committee meeting?” “******* invite them.” Harriman cursed, seeming ready to throw something at the ignorant man. “Table for six, call it.” “I’ll make the arrangements.” the aide said uncomfortably, making a note to himself with a coal and paper. The ensign chuckled, languishing to actually dine there himself. “Now get lost, both of you.” At that, the two men make themselves scarce. Harriman, once again left to his devices, sighs, “No one ever picks up what I’m putting down.” Joseph, is spending the winter in his cottage in Amity. He has refurbished his parents' old traditional inn, yet has retained its disdained and decrepit charm of a country side inn. However, in the interior of the house, you receive a taste of the usual grandeur afforded to him. Intricately etched wood carvings embossed on the walls, railings laced with gold, and glass chandeliers which have taken many hours of sweat off a laborer's brow to craft. At his countryside house, it is supposedly where he escapes from the annoyances of industry, and the disgruntled merchants and politicians he must deal with on a daily basis. Yet, even in Amity, the call of the factories still seem to permeate such a serene and tranquil recess. He spends much of his time locked in his office, however, on this particular sunday morning, he had spent the previous night engrossed in his record books for far too late. It was time to take a stroll outside, through his 1,000~ acres he had purchased when he expanded his land, when his wealth was maturing. His son, Samuel Winthrop, is a rather peculiar boy. Always dripping with energy, he was one of those boys who never seemed to tire, with an infinite fountain of laughter. Yet, he was always clumsier than most boys, and began speaking, and walking a lot later than most other children his age, and was more awkward than most. On this particular morning, strangely, he recognizes his fathers baritone steps echoing through the house, followed by three consecutive rasps on the door. Immediately, he stuffs a book under his pillow, and leaps out of bed. He quickly straightens his trousers and vests out, removing any noticeable lint or dust particles, before he walks over to the door, opening it. “Samuel,” his father blurts, the corners of his lips peaking for a minute in a function reminiscent of a smile, yet returning to their static state quickly after. He kneels down, reaching Samuels eye level. He grabs his soft, delicate hand. “Come ride with your father, Samuel, through the hills, come.” He says, rising, tugging him along. Samuel, like the good boy he was told to be, listens to the father, and tags along. “Father, father! Look!” He says, pointing over the hills. A family of deer stands idle, their speckled fur gracefully weaving in and out of the tall grasses. Joseph's head immediately turns, beckoning his son. “Quiet down now, Samuel. They are shy creatures, they will flee at the slightest possibility of danger.” His horse lurches to a stop, finding entertainment in the small grasses within his reach. The pair stop for a minute, watching the small herd graze. Samuel, however, had differing ideas than that of his father. “Come on papa! Catch me!” He says, and the horse springs to life, galloping down the trail. “Stop, Samuel!” He says, his chestnut horse sprinting after him. Samuels horse was young, and headstrong, while Joseph’s horse was mature, and ripe. There was no contest, Joseph would never catch him. For nearly 20 minutes, Joseph rode down the winding path, up hills and over creeks, yelling and hollering after his disobedient child. Finally, he arrives at a small patch of forest, where he sees the gray horse idle, without Samuel. “Samuel!” Joseph cries out, frantically. He spins his horse around, neighing, surveying the forest ground frantically. His horse neighs, and he spots his lifeless body beside a large fern. “Samuel!” He cries out again, immediately dismounting and rushing by his son's side. He tries to shake him to life, yet there is no response. ACTIONS A MILITARY ALLIANCE is announced between the COMMONWEALTH and the Kingdom of PROCTELAND. Come the spring, a state of war is declared between the COMMONWEALTH and KAMPENNEN as skirmishes erupt across the border. The state of PITH and the KAWAHARA are formally invited to overthrow Einzner’s KAMPENNEN.
  21. THE COMMONWEALTH Lieutenant General John C. Trumbull pens a message at his Amity Headquarters; c. 3250 At his headquarters in Amity, Lieutenant General John Trumbull stirred, as a torn open envelope lay discarded on his desk. He scrutinized the letter that accompanied it and set it down soon after, revealing neither pleasure nor disgust, just a clear confusion. “If I may, General?” asked another officer from across the desk, a subordinate divisional commander. “Go ahead, Griswold.” Trumbull waved, as he drew a sigh. The Lt. General shakes his head, reaching into a drawer behind his desk, pulling out a light and a small metal container with five or so cigars. Griswold reached for the letter. A few seconds later, he raises a brow. “Well, this’ll surely antagonize the Kemps, sir.” “Oh, there’s no question about it. Harriman wants war.” said Trumbull, lighting one and taking a puff. “With all due respect, sir, you of all people should be glad.” Griswold said, careful not to overstep his bounds. “You possess the largest command in the Commonwealth, and a reason to use it.” “Though, that might be so, this fool has been commissioned as a Lieutenant General.” “The seniority is yours sir, by miles.” said Griswold reassuringly, noting the General's out of character insecurity. “He may be an aristocrat, but he’s honorable- so I believe. He won’t subvert your command. Plus, Lieutenant General Scranton’s always been a friend, and won't stand for it either.” “There’s only one way to be certain.” sighed Trumbull, reaching for his ink and pen, pulling out a blank parchment in which he began to scrawl. “Sir?” “A formal request for promotion. Harriman will acquiesce, given the circumstances.” Trumbull chuckled, signing the document soon enough, as if already having planned out its contents. “Of course, sir.” “There we go.” said Trumbull, smugly. “The Army of the Thames.” he said, blowing some air over the letter as he waited for it to dry. “A good choice, sir.” Griswold smiled, though somewhat forced. “Glad you think so. I’ll have someone take it out now.” Trumbull stood. However, as he did so, a three rasps sounded on Trumbull’s door, followed by a, “-General Trumbull, someone’s here to see you.” “Sure, bring them in.” Trumbull called back, glancing at Griswold. “It’ll only be just a moment.” The door promptly swung open, as the aide announced, “Lieutenant General Heinrich von Kessler, sir.” Before Trumbull could even react, he found a ceremonially clad hussar standing in his doorway, proud in his regalia. The man was already striding forward with a wide grin. With his thick Kempennese accent, he bellowed, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant General Trumbull.” “Ah yes, General Trumbull. General Kessler is to be assigned to the northern area of operations, based out of New Vernon.” said Griswold, slightly amused, having read through the entirety of the letter before Trumbull did. “Dear God.” Trumbull muttered. Minister of Commerce Ernest Randolph was a prompt man, meticulous in his work. It had made him a perfect pick for Prime Minister Issac Edward’s cabinet. Their cabinet was an odd mix, Mr. Edwards preferred men mostly detached from day to day politics. It ensured they were focused on their jobs, and helped Issac with agendas and projects to do the actual politicking. For the past two years Minister Randolph’s job was relatively lack lustre. But the Broken Coast was changing, war and opportunity on the horizon. This month he has been prompted to return to New Prospect, to personally oversee mercantile operations there. After a year gone from the Capital, he was amazed to see so much change. On the outskirts of the city entire divisions worth of tents are arrayed in orderly rows. Men clad in green and gold are everywhere, drilling, relaxing, moving supplies. Further in, many of the parks, abandoned lots, and empty space had been totally converted. Now factories where long lines of workers toil cloud the city horizon. The city itself was changing, as more money and foreign influence poured in. Far more bars, opera houses, theaters were popping up, for the growing middle class. At the docks ships steam in day and night. The reason Minister Randolph had returned was twofold. Prime Minister Isaac’s foreign agenda has pushed mostly for trade over expansion. He has created lasting relationships with Nations across the broken coast. From the holy mountains of the Mujahideen, to the cragged mountainscapes of the Irthmade, resources flow. And overseeing it all is this small, particularly sour man. And no one else would have been better. He gets to work, forming a far stricter schedule and regulation for incoming trade. No longer will ships offload dumps of coal to lay right on the docks. Sailors can’t just pour off their ship without screening. Modern advancements are required, to better ensure the Commonwealth’s prosperity. Provosts now roam the docks, checking papers, guarding warehouses. Commonwealth artillery and ships line the harbor, always keeping an eye out. Dock workers get their pay on time, and keep to the schedule of imports and exports needed. What is growing in the Capital is a smooth, well oiled machine of massed proportions. Devouring resources from across the world, to fill the stoves and engines of the Nation. The Winthrop Estate. Located on Hall Street, a boulevard strung through the a quaint corner of the city, where the autumn leaves paint the green canopies of the trees a picturesque copper, and where the ladies can walk with their powdered faces along the elegantly laid brick paths of the neighborhood, far away from the fever-ridden alleys ways, where the muck stains the stockings, and where the stench of excrement does not drown the aroma of the exotic flora grown outside many of the gardens of the manors. The Winthrop House, an exemplary monument to the Outsider Revivalist Style, is the most stellar of the houses. There are notable mentions, such as the neighbors to the Winthrops, the Andersons, bearing the oldest of the houses, and the Wallace’s, with their infamous residence fashioned out of pristine white poplar, a tree endemic to the isles of concord. The Winthrop House was in construction for nearly 8 years, where Joseph personally hand selected 8 carpenters and woodcarvers to carve out from the story of the Winthrop’s on the entire exterior of the building, creating a paragon of Commonwealth art. Intricate woodwork canvasses the entire building, and anyone could lose themselves for hours wandering through the small figurines and landscapes carved into the sides of the building. This is the pride of Joseph Winthrop. It is not his wide network of mills, his tens of thousands of employees, nor funding, for a great part, the new locomotive set to transport steel from his largest quarries to one of his biggest mills. In fact, many times, he could be seen sitting on the balcony of his house, on his fathers rocking chair from the inn he was reared in. It produced the same exact creak as it did when he was just a small boy. He lights up his pipe, the color of which matches that of the wood which his entire house is crafted of. Like a watchman in a tower, he begins to watch the avenue, his blue eyes tracking the passersby. He knows each of their names, and each of them are aware of him. Sometimes, early in the morning, the milkman can catch a whiff of his smoke, dropping off the Andersons bottles. Other times, some of the daughters of the politicians, gracefully wave at him, to which he does not wave back. Placating to those beneath him for the sake of manners sickens him. Sometimes, he spots a hobbling drunk from the pub, having lost his way, and the vice made him take a wrong turn. At the sight of this, he becomes active. Immediately he rises from his chair, and heralds the local precinct, to which in 5 minutes 3 arrive with their batons and sticks, and whisk him off to the local slum he escaped from. On the violet gardenias below, a glob of spit lands on the pistils of the plant, drenching the saccharine nectar in saliva from above, as the police drags the beggar away from his sight. “Good Riddance.” ACTIONS 65,100 C 47,600 C from dividends [10,000+2,000 C, 3+3/6 SP] Finishing construction of Armored Battleship. [12,000 C, 3/6] Beginning construction of a 2nd Armored Battleship. [5,000 C] Purchasing 5 M from Procteland [19,600 C] Several thousand Vozins are shelled out to Commonwealth associates. Acquiring 10 Steel and 17 Coal. [9,100 C] A payment is made to friends in the West, importing 3 Coal and 10 Steel. [22,000 C, 8M] Constructing 4 Foundries [6,000 C, 6M] Constructing 3 Shipyards [6,000 C, 3M] Constructing 3 Manufactories [18,750 C, 30S] Recruiting 15 Regiments of Regular Medium Infantry
  22. THE COMMONWEALTH A sentry crouched beside a foot hill which overlooked the Munzenburger border. He kept his rifle near, staring across the lush valley which separated the Commonwealth’s mountains from theirs. It looked lovely all year around, but the sentry wasn’t here to take in sights of the Commonwealth’s country. He was the first line of defense against- perhaps the embellished a bit- rather, an early warning against sudden attack across the border. The man sniffled, snot running from his pronounced nose seeping into his moustache. “Damn allergies.” he scowled, wiping his uniform’s sleeve across the top of his lip. “Can it, would ya?” called another voice, emerging from the bushes. He too was similarly clad in Commonwealth uniform, with a black-green feathered shako atop his head. He came to a stop besides the first man, glancing toward him. “Any noise you make could jeopardize our forward OPs.” “They’re across the damned vale, Rowe.” said the first man, remaining unconvinced. “Well, if not the Munzenburgers, Wallcroft- what if the captain decides to pay a visit?” “The captain already missed his last inspection.” Wallcroft retorts, shaking his head. “He doesn’t give a damn. He’s probably drowning in booze and whores in Coventry. It’s just us, up here.” “What if we haven’t heard from him because- what if the enemy’s already bypassed our position? What if we’ve already surrendered to the incoming hordes?” “You’re full of sh*t. I’m sure we would’ve heard that- the cannons and guns and screams.” Wallcroft turns to his companion, looking him straight in the eye. “Now do me a favor, and take some of your own advice.” “Hm.” Rowe mumbles, now appearing fidgety, in the face of this tension. “Hey, you hear about the showdown on the Vistula?” “The Hell’s the Vistula?” asked Wallcroft, inclined to believe he was making up tall tales. “Two countries, two capitals. Opposite sides of the river. Yeah, those morons shelled the ever-living sh*t out of each other. Heard one of the Westmarkian ministers claimed the honor of some Mittelander princess- and the King got right pissed. Orders his guns to let loose.” “No sh*t?” asked Wallcroft. “Yeah.” replied Rowe. “Let me tell you, Rowe.” said Wallcroft, speaking in his philosophical tone. “No woman’s worth dying for.” Rowe scoffed. “Amen to that.” “But the Commonwealth? Now that- that I’ll lay down my life for- ten times over.” “Hoo-ah.” Major General Decclan Cook prowled down row upon row of soldiers sparring. For all the ferocity of the Federal Foot Guard’s training, they pale before their General. One could never say he was anything but a monstrously ugly troll of a man. He towers above most standing at six foot five, with layers of fat and muscle generously layering everywhere. His beady eyes are always scanning, calculating. Scars criss cross his face, and some rumor his back for lashings in the old days. Cook’s uniform however is impeccably tailored, and sharp. He bellows corrections and praise out as he walks, overseeing the training exercise personally. When one recruit gets knocked on his ass in front of him, Decclan simply picks him up by the scruff of his collar. He throws him into the other soldier, staggering them both back. The General grabs a rifle from a different gawking recruit, chopping his knees out from under him for stopping his drilling. Turning to the other two he initially saw, General Cook screams; “BOTH of you, try to kill me.” By now used to his eccentricity, they don’t protest. They spread out and come at him from both sides. Figuring they have the advantage, both charge at the same time, aiming high and low with their dummy bayonets. Sizing them up as this happens, The General turns on his side and waits until the critical moment. In a flash he holds his rifle diagonally, catching both bayonets as they plunge. Twisting his rifle hard, he disarms the two, before whipping it up and forward to smash the stock into one of the recruits' heads. The other holds his hands up, words forming in his mouth. Not giving him the chance, Cook flips his rifle around so the bayonet is forward, and holds it to the soldier's throat. “The Kempenen won’t give you mercy son, never ask for it when you're facing them man to man.” With that General Decclan plows through the now large throng of onlookers. He doesn't even need to shout, as he glares at them. They all scramble to get back into line, and redouble their efforts at drills. The General strides to his tent, where his staff await. For a moment he pauses, catching his breath. *Getting too damn old for this* he thinks. With a sigh he enters the tent, where several officers scurry around. “Sir, we just received word from Charlie!” General Decclan smiles, but then scowls. “YOU will call him Brigadier General Sullivan. But excellent to hear.” Decclan settles down into a chair, to compose a letter to the President. How could he form the right words to describe the new recruits? The Commonwealth was asking a lot of this new generation. Cook was old, a grizzled bear in his last years of service. He’s seen plenty of death, but with every decade it only grows. Putting a brave face on he starts his letter…. *Dear Mr. President, I report to inform you that the training of the new recruits goes well. I have requisitioned several more……….* ACTIONS Boosting M Production 68,550 [2,000 C/12,000 C, 3/6SP] Beginning Construction of Battleship [10,000 C, 16 AP, 16 S] Recruiting 8 Regular Regiments of Medium Infantry [2,500 C, 4 AP, 2 S] Recruiting 2 Regular Regiments of Light Infantry [6,000 C, 6M] Constructing 3 Shipyards [20,000 C, 10M] Constructing 10 Gunsmiths [4,000 C, 2M] Constructing 2 Manufactories [24,000 C] Miscellaneous allocations 50 Research: Development continues on the Commonwealth’s own locomotive, to join the far-flung settlements of the nation via rail! (2nd turn)
  23. MARITIME COMMONWEALTH "Do not pray for easier lives, my friends. Pray to be stronger men." Overview: The Maritime Federative Commonwealth, or simply referred to as the Commonwealth, is a close union of coastal states, based on the principles of democratic republicanism. The country was formed through the Congress of Strafford, where delegates of the twelve states convened to protect their states from foreign pressure, and in turn to combine their efforts towards the ideals of progress and prosperity. The Commonwealth’s politics are dominated by the red-green coalition, composed of the senior Commonwealth Labor Party (social-democrats), and the junior National Progress Party (a conglomerate of technocrats, libertarians, and army generals). The coalition remains bound by its shared distaste of authoritarianism and the belief of self-management of the workplace by the workers. The Commonwealth is governed by a bicameral legislature, referred to as the National Assembly. Elections to this body are conducted once every five years, as well as to the office of President. Each party may nominate a candidate to the presidency. If no candidate secures an absolute majority, then a second-round election is held between the two candidates with the highest vote percentages. The president is invested with regulatory powers to ensure the stability of the nation. As well, the President appoints the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister is tasked with passing and implementing laws, working in tandem closely with every member of the Assembly, of which he is also a member. He also is the presiding officer and chairman of the National Assembly, and may form his own cabinet, who he may appoint and dismiss at his pleasure. The President, with consultation of the Prime Minister, possesses the power to dissolve the National Assembly; after which a three week deadline is set in which elections must be held. Furthermore, if the National Assembly does not view the Prime Minister fit for office, they may motion for a vote of no confidence. The current Commonwealth president is Henry Harriman and the current Prime Minister is Isaac Edwards. History: The existence of the Commonwealth is directly attributed to the anarchy following the Departure. A long gone state, once known as Prospect, existed along the eastern shores of the Broken Coast. They exploited the gifts of the Outsiders and were corrupted by sins such as greed and sloth, forgetting what life was like before their arrival. When they vanished from the earth, the disparate cities lost communication with one another, breaking out into strife as the luxuries they once enjoyed were pulled from their grasp. Shortages followed, then famine, as the struggling cities exhausted their resource stockpiles. Local leaders were pressured to take decisive actions, with mobs swarming government buildings and private estates alike. To cope, they organized their people and began the first raids against their once fellow countrymen. The cities, once interdependent hubs of commerce and travel, now warred with each other on a frequent basis, looting and pillaging as they went. However, the devastation was not as drastic as one might believe, as former people of Prospect still retained sympathy for their expatriated countrymen. This remained the status quo for a couple years, until a foreign power intervened in an interstate rivalry, incorporating the de jure Prospect claim directly within itself. This action stunned the ‘warlords’, who saw their domains as the next plausible target of foreign aggression. These men were used to decades of rule, and unquestioned power. The world around them was one of monarchy and noble Power. When the foreign threat drew ever nearer, it became clear most of the Warlords would entrench, and not change. A cunning Warlord, leading the robust State of New Prospect, was the only one who predicted what came next. Tired with literal centuries of unfair rule, the divided people of these States remembered a unified Prospect. But though they remember well, they also envision. Envision a future without autocrats, without inbred Kings ordering them around on whims. Seeing the people were on the verge of revolt, notable citizens from every state began corresponding. The Warlord of New Prospect joined in these talks, and it all eventually culminated in massive change. Representatives from each state would convene to discuss the potential reunification of their people, believing that the dominos would fall if they remained infighting. This event would come to be known as the Congress of Strafford. An event where deputies of the warring states gathered to sign a proclamation. In which it bound the Prospect successor states together into a federal union for perpetuity. Free from their old masters, the people jubilantly celebrated the birth of their new democracy, swearing to carve a better home for themselves out of this world. The borders of the once warlord states were kept, as the new federal home countries of a new Commonwealth. The Warlords themselves however were expunged, most after several years of protracted civil war. A few of the smarter ones, like New Prospect, willingly integrated into this new and budding ideal. Beginning recently, the Union has had eyes for the expansion of the Commonwealth, with more lands deemed necessary to feed the hungry maw of Commonwealth industry. Now, dormant yards are shoved with coals as engines roar and warships are taken out of ordinary- restored to duty. Having long adhered to societal values, there have been various trickling influences of collectivist thought within the nation. If the ideology of these elements were nurtured, the idea of the Commonwealth might soon transcend national lines. Despite this, it is the reformist and conventional President that is rapidly paving the Commonwealth’s path as a technological and military ascendancy. HOME COUNTRIES OF THE COMMONWEALTH COMMONWEALTH STARTING LEADERS UNIQUE UNITS STARTING LOCATION
  24. COUNTY OF PRZEWORSK ___________________________________________________________________________ PNS Argonaut patrolling near the coast of Bihar ___________________________________________________________________________ It hadn’t been a year since the cessation of hostilities between the Azari Trazmir and the Kiralski Empire. The Northern dogs smelled blood in the water, recognizing the weakened state of the Empire. Emboldened, the Kemijari massed their forces along the Valgrymian border, and sent their privateers force to wreak havoc upon Imperial merchant shipping. Perhaps the first foreign policy test of the Count Mariusz of Przeworsk’s chancellorship, Mariusz fully intended to defend the Empire’s junior partner, having spent the greater part of the last year massing a large fleet to retake control of the Kozeps Sea. As on land, Imperial dominance was challenged at sea, with the Estish pirate lord Karl Nilsson seeking to earn both gold and glory in the Southern Ocean. Despite the large shipbuilding efforts at the Przeworsk Naval Yards, more information would need to be ascertained about this sailing rogue, if the Navy were to corner and eliminate this nuisance once and for all. To this, Commodore Adrian Wrobl looked to this ever-expanding armada of frigates, far better suited to running down and chasing enemies than the heavier galleons. For this, the Commodore transferred his command to the frigate-built Argonaut, which would serve as his flag now for the upcoming season. One of many, it combined high speed and modest armament; these cruisers so far proving to be the most capable of hunting the swift raiding vessels of Trazmir and Estergaard. Adrian stood on the quarterdeck of his new flagship, the Argonaut and her sister, the Constellation now on maritime patrol, cutting through the waves with calculating efficiency and ready to lay indiscriminate judgement to any pirate or buccaneer, be they Trazmiri, Estish, or even Kiralski. Adrian passed the conn onto a junior officer. Making clear of the mizzenmast, the Commodore reached into his coast, brandishing the Baton of Przeworsk, the symbol of power and heirloom of the House of Wrobl, but also their single greatest asset for command of the seas. It was time to crack down on the rabble which plagued the seas. ___________________________________________________________________________ EXPENSES [78,000G, 40L] Constructing 4 Galleons. [PNS Heart of Midlowicz, PNS Symanski’s Revenge, PNS Istvan’s Gift, and PNS Chojnow Court] [29,250G, 24L] Constructing 3 Frigates. [PNS Cardinal, PNS Magnanimous, PNS Scepter] [75,000G] Constructing 10 Manufactories [5,000G] Payment to Budivel for Iron [Trade] Trading 5 Iron for 5 GP with Kosano 2,250G, 4I, 2GP to treasury ACTIONS [MOD] Przeworsk Navy ships abandon their defensive posture to actively hunt down the pirate threat in the Southern Ocean. Of course, a prize bounty will be offered to the crews which return an enemy vessel!
  25. COUNTY OF PRZEWORSK ___________________________________________________________________________ A cool, spring wind blew along the southern shores of Przeworsk, ever so gentle but enough to keep a man alert. At the harbor, the smell of sea-salt was carried inland, combining with the suffocating smoke of working kilns and forges and the fresh catches of the morning to create an unholy, but homely olfactory mix. Count Mariusz would often make rounds to the docks, albeit not gracefully as he once did, to not only assess the conditions and needs of his subjects, but to gaze out to sea. By all metrics, Mariusz was a cripple, and has been for some time. It is that he had lost proper function to his legs, during a sailing accident many years ago. He was a seaman at heart and could bear the great ocean’s trials no longer, for there was no place on a ship for a man that hobbled; relying on a cane so as to not topple over. Naturally, Mariusz was devastated, falling into a long internal battle about his self worth. Yet, it would be his father to rescue him from his slump, confiding to his son that meaning could be found through other channels. So Mariusz did pick up the pieces, dedicating himself to a life of service, honing his skills as an administrator and politician, and raising a son all the while. Many years would pass and many conflicts would the Empire engage in. None of which Mariusz meaningfully partook, as his condition left him relegated to the rearlines. As much as Mariusz wanted to lead from the front and give his life gloriously in the name of the Emperor, it was not his place. He would be a fool to even entertain such a notion. Instead, his father took the Przeworski fleet to sea, to do battle among distant waters, earning many accolades against the Trazmiri foe. That is, until disaster struck. An unsuspecting day, would bring about crippling news as Mariusz enjoyed dinner with his wife and adolescent son. His father had died in action, while he had stayed home, enjoying comfort within the confines of his family’s palace. As far as they knew, he died at sea, when a Trazmiri struck the magazine of his father’s flag, eviscerating the ship in an instant with all hands presumed to be lost. Overcome with anger, he practically destroyed the table at which they dined, only settling down once restrained by his son. As Adrian held his father, he met his eye consolingly. It was then that Mariusz decided that Adrian would become everything that he wasn’t, hope to the Wrobl family, and a beacon to which the proud soldiers and sailors of Przeworsk would rally to. He was proud of his son. His son would return to him this day. The Count leaned upon the seawall, scoping out the horizon. In the distance, he could spot the hulking Man-of-War, PNS Tribune, anchored and having returned from her maiden voyage- a true leviathan, mounting an unfathomable amount of artillery and sails reaching towards the sky. She now served as the new flagship and pride of the Przeworski people, and captained by his son, Adrian. It was then that he spotted the shore party, a couple of rowboats methodically making their way closer, his son surely among them. The Count sighed in content, ready for his son to share the experience with him. He could only imagine how the Tribune cut through the seas, how she handled… Though he himself could sail no longer, he had done everything within his power to produce a sailor out of his heir. And that he did, and he could ask for nothing more. The Count would relish in the opportunity to bond with his progeny, knowing that duty would inevitably call him away. Przeworsk was ready to meet any challenges thrown it’s way. ___________________________________________________________________________ PNS Tribune anchored off the coast of Przeworsk. ___________________________________________________________________________ EXPENSES [60,000G, 8S] Constructing 8 Manufactories [39,000G, 32L] Constructing 4 Frigates [8,000G, 3I] Recruiting 1000 Heavy Pikemen [7,500G] Constructing Quarry [1,000G] Gold shipment to Bihar 26,190 G, 1 Iron, 4 Lumber, to treasury ACTIONS [MOD] A small squadron consisting of the Przeworski frigates, PNS Interceptor, PNS Magnificent, PNS Sentinel, and PNS Swift, is dispatched to patrol the waters between Przeworsk and Bihar. They are to protect Imperial merchant vessels and intercept any potential raiders. The force is commanded by Commodore Adrian Wrobl. - Adrian Wrobl [3 Charisma, 2 Arcane, 20 Leadership, 9 Martial] - 4 Seasoned Przeworski Fregatas, +25% guns mounted [MOD] The Count of Przeworsk, Mariusz Wrobl, sends out a missive declaring his search for an arcanotech engineer. To the person that is chosen, it seems like he would like to commission an arcane-prosthetic, a replacement for his broken leg! [MOD] Furthermore, inquiries are made about the acquisition of Vaserium from the Vaseric Church!
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