Second to None

[Great Engellex]

QUEEN & EMPIRE​

Port Wandsworth, Wightland Islands, Empire of Great Engellex, 23 March 2012

Of all the striking scenes of the day within the Wightland islands, one of the most typical of Engellexic Establishment in the South was of the coffin of retired Commodore Michael Holmes-Swan draped in the imperial flag, its only adornment a black pillow holding the insignia of the Most Honourable Order of the Southern Star: the elaborate chain, the Collar of the Order, with the enamelled emblem of the Implaric-Oceanic Star and the Imperial Arms attached. The Order of the Southern Star was a military order for those who served in the Implaric-Oceanic Territory, there is no limit to the number of members and the Queen-Empress personally decides on who to bestow the honour upon; it is equal to the Most Honourable Order of the Southern Boar, which is for distinguished civil persons serving in Southern Europe. It was March, and while there is no fixed date for such events of Engellexic Orders, the knights of the Southern Star had to be assembled to install new companions urgently – because one of them was already deceased. Traditionally the First Lord of the Admiralty, the Admiral of the Fleet the Crown Prince of Walssex-Battent, the father of Alexandra of Cantigny, represented the Queen-Empress on such occasions in the South but there was war and so the Lord Commissioner of Wightland was required to perform. The frail Lord Commissioner was also a military man, a Rear-Admiral of the Empire of Great Engellex, an honorary rank for retired senior admirals. As well as the deceased Commodore Michael Holmes-Swan there were three other, very alive, companions to be installed.

The Day of the Southern Star, as the local newspapers declare, is a particularly high point on the imperial calendar in Wightland. The Southern Star knights meet at Wandsworth Guildhall to witness the installation of new members in the Throne Room. Conjuring the finery and colonialist romance of the early days of the Empire, they wore their gleaming chains and badges over their dark velvet military issue tailcoats embellished with gold satin sashes across the shoulders with black breeches and tall fitted boots. Following the administering of the oaths, with a language full of canon thunder and fright, the Lord Commissioner hosted the Order at his formal residence within Port Wandsworth. The famous procession took place immediately after. From the cobbled entrance of the residence down the narrow streets of the Royal Quarter of the city to the cathedral they marched. The band of the Wightland Regiment in scarlet tunics played with the knights behind them; members of the Lord Commissioner Guards lined the route with their bearskin hats and scarlet tunics. Once they all reached the cathedral for the more private element of their occasion the spectacle was finished for the public.

The day was not just managed for ceremonial ritual. Senior politicians representing both the Conservative Association of Wightland and the Whig Party of Wightland expressed alarm and confusion with the Lord Commissioner and the Provincial Government on a Friday morning emergency audience at Wandsworth Guildhall. Linda Johnson, a prominent member of the Assembly whose face is recognised instantly around the islands, was hysterical of what she termed an indecent invasion of backstabbers. Despite the earlier dismissal of concern by the Whig politicians there had been a growing realisation that the situation was moving away from the Lord Commissioner’s control. It was to be a trying situation. The Lord Commissioner, though in theory having the authority to command military units in Wightland, did not have the executive authority to command the military presence on the islands; it would however form the foundation of his argument and advice that following evening to the War Secretary that the Engellexic units in Wightland be used to check the insolence of the Child. Unfortunately for the Queen-Empress it was a solid confirmation of privately expressed fears within the Cabinet, that Cantigny was a privateer in the employ of the Federation now Germanic League. In the dimly lit hall of the Cabinet Room in Dulwich the Engelleux-of-Arms, War Secretary and Chief of the Imperial General Staff read out against the silence, to Charlotte and her Ministers, the rapidly growing list of offences committed against the Imperial Crown by Cantigny, in a most severe monotone. .. endorsement of sedition and treasonous acts of murder against Crown Subjects of her Imperial and Royal Majesty by the Europalandian Government, an endorsement confirmed and sworn under oath by the Serjeant-at-Law in witness of proceedings in the Kingdom of Franken for the occasion of Princess Rebecca Garland. Another charge recalled the fury at the seizure of the Cedar Islands, the Commonwealth of Vistrasia being a neighbour Engellex invests great trust and friendship with.

The First Lord of the Admiralty, the father of Alexandra of Cantigny, sat isolated at the potential ruin of his royal family. His parents, the King and Queen of Walssex-Battent have already, under constitutional advice from Dulwich, drafted a Royal Decree that would essentially remove Alexandra not just from succession of the throne of Walssex-Battent but from all written family records. Charlotte was aware of this of course, she had to rather painfully accept that advice from the State Council to her uncle and aunt, the King and Queen. Similarly Charlotte had to swallow the bullet of the advice delivered to her from the State Council. Charlotte, as Queen-Empress, counted Cantigny within her realms though she exercised no executive authority; an instrument of abdication had quite swiftly been produced by the department under the Serjeant-at-Law, a precautionary measure of course should the situation evolve beyond acceptable conduct. Another instrument was created that perfectly displays the arrogance and distrust held within the Establishment in the imperial metropolis, the document, if signed by the sovereign, would destroy the Imperial Decree that produced the crown that sits on Alexandra’s head. Against the rapid escalation privately manifesting within Dulwich the Queen-Empress insisted upon the delivering of instructions to Port Wandsworth and Vesper to reinforce imperial authority, under Charlotte’s Crown, within Wightland. The young Queen-Empress even commanded the War Secretary, First Lord of the Admiralty, and the Lord Steward of the Household to make urgent preparations for her journey to Wightland in the event of a communication breakdown.

Crown Prince Henry E. G. Villers-Talbot was swift to communicate with his young child. The challenge of a child to stand against its parent, we had in view of the security of the Wightland islands, has excited some surprise and a good deal of natural displeasure. For my part, I did not believe that one man in a hundred thousand could reason thought of Cantigny at all in connection with the deplorable business of the Federation and the (Germanic) League; and the Engellexic bearings of the Cannie aggression were enough to occupy the attention of her Majesty and to justify any action that may indeed be taken.
Now your inability to understand and appreciate the ties of blood and dynasty has delivered a sort of panic that has become fashion among political gossips and alarmists about Cantigny and the League marching upon the Imperial Territories; there is no need to remind anybody how bitterly all should suffer at the manifestation of that fear.

 

[Thaumantica]

CAMPBELL'S LAW II​

Chicagoux, Wightland Islands, Empire of

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, 24 March 2012

General Carson Campbell could not have possibly made himself any more polarizing on the morning of March 24th when he publicly ordered, with the private threat of force, that Wightland institute a day of mourning for the late Commodore, Michael Holmes-Swan. At half-mast, the flag which was now colloquially referred to as the Flag of Nova Anglesaxe, was raised only partially over FOB Charlotte to reflect the Grand Force of the Covenant, and Cantignia's, appreciation for servicemen of the Imperial clothe ; in a colony that seriously questioned its allegiance to the Empire.

As he had predicted, the occupation of Wightland was a political war of posture, rather than a street-to-street assault on Revolutionaries. In Wightland, though he wore a traditional Engellexic uniform and the flag of a proper colonial gentlemen, Campbell was the revolutionary. The Officer in charge of the Grand Force was a legendary figure within the Expeditionary Marines, and greatly admired by the friendly confines, second in reputation perhaps only to the distant Admiral Burberry. Tall, brauny, and carrying a broad smile that emitted a room filling laughter, Campbell had a wrinkled face of sun scarred skin, a thick brown and silver beard, and short cropped hair distant from his ears. The fourty-nine-year-old Campbell hailed from a family that was steeped in rigid Pioneer History, when the friendly confines were a frontier filled with hungry settlers and an aborigine population willing to fight to keep their land.

Campbell had nearly died on the Karoskland front. Only a colonel at the time, his storming of the beaches and gunshot wound suffered at the former Commisioner's Office had won him Oceanic acclaim. As a General his service in Karoskland culminated in what the colonists dubbed the "White Christmas", in which Campbell restricted the Colonial Capital, his area of jurisdiction, to White Colonists with a strictly enforced red, blue, grey, or white dress code to celebrate the Christian Holiday.

Departing from FOB Charlotte, the General, and his well-armed party travelled in to Chicagoux for another day of interaction with labor leaders and enthusiastic politicians. Counter-propaganda had now made its way in to the scene, though Campbell's propagandists had the luxury of television and radio waves, as well as an in with mass-printers. The Press of Cantignia followed the General eagerly, as well as a shrewd journalist from The Colonial - who was likely to write a very negative article once he parted ways with the Grand Force.

When they reached the City Square, the rowdiness and drinking seemed to have increased dramatically with the week's end. A bewilderment and excitement captured the Expeditionary Force as they watched men pontificating from soap boxes on the future of their colony, while others participated in chants ranging from any number of positions. The General watched for awhile as the surrounding journalists scribbled away, considering the best approach in swaying a crowd without direction. Instinctually he felt force was the natural reaction, but in his mind he was finally coming to the conclusion that manipulation was the way.

"Attention, Citizens of Chicagoux . . " Campbell began with a bullhorn, "May I have your attention please!". The crowd turned to see the General atop an armored fighting rover, his entourage armed to the teeth and already staring them down. "The Grand Force of the Covenant, a subsidiary of the Empire, now calls for a moment of silence in honor of Commodore, Michael Holmes-Swan," he said, "I ask that you join me now in remembering this Imperial Hero for just a moment . ." Campbell's voice echoed, with most complying immediately. The General bowed his head and listened to the occassional jeer, but what he thought mostly to be a reminder of patriotism that had been forgotten in the chaos. The unceremonial dance was over, and Campbell had ended it with the classic call to honor the fallen. "Now . . Hear this Chicagoux: drink, dance, and make the Commodore hear us in heaven with our finest anthems and odes!" Carson Campbell ordered with his larger then life laughter.

As they were known to be, the mass crowd of colonists were fickle and impressionable. Wightland's Elite, however, still presented a classic problem with Campbell's new Law and the Conservative Clubs that had gone unaccompanied for centuries. His distinction would have to be as a benefactor of these eternal gentlemen of Wightland, and if he could not engage them, Campbell would use the clandestine services leisurely to track their every movement and call for aid, not so unlike the Post-Delegationist and Communist movements crying wolf to their suppliers outside of the friendly confines. In Cantignia they had done the same, called out to every corner of the world for justice, but Oceania's disconnect from European interests had always made their cries insignificant next to continental plight and the matters of Imperial discourse. Campbell would not have it any other way, Oceania was Oceania, and its future could only be shaped by those who were willing to put boots on the sand and jets in the sky, as he so audaciously did with regular presence patrols of the Aerial Service's Thunderchief's. Whiskey bottles and the smell of jet fuel were Campbell's weapons this morning, and he would flood the colonies with both in excess this hazy Saturday morning in Wightland.

 

[Thaumantica]

HOMEWARD BOUND I

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Vesper, Capital District, The Covenant of Cantignia, 14 April 2012

Outside in the streets of Vesper a soft siren of violin and piano music marked the end of a most laborious work week for the busy bodies of the Covenant Capital. Perhaps more even then style, the metropolitan cityfolk of Vesper loved their music, inescapable in the mornings as national anthems were played, and ever present in the afternoon as Imperial Marching tunes declared war on lunch hours with zeal.

The wine flowed easily, and the dancing went deep into the night inside the Great Colonial Hall of Vesper. Smoke stung the eye in the sweltering heat of an early summer, while energetic youth took to courting one another in their decidedly vintage styles of crimson, cream, and blue. Young ladies of the Capital clutched decorated fans when a free hand was available, saving from the inevitable sweat that came with round after round of cannie swing dancing. With practiced grace they swirled and merged together for extended moments of bliss when a rich tune called for it, and parted ways when the live band on stage completed each song. Frederick Reynolds, an athlete and superstar from the Vesper Metropolitans Basketball Club, kept a devoted host in his tall and brauny orbit, choosing a new companion every so often on a whim. Dancers of the Great Colonial Hall were each slaves to the moment, willing to move, drink, and smoke with the flow as one current in the oceans of their youth.

Older Lords and Ladies occupied fabric covered tables, resting their drinking glasses over designs ranging from the fleur-de-lis to the coat of arms of past royalty in the historic Engellexic Empire. "Had it ever occured to you that we like things perfectly the way they are?" Francis Monson demanded of the typically lustful Felix Ilchester, "Why is it that Alice insists on pushing every boundary our Empress Charlotte sets?" Monson finished with a sigh, choking off the cherry of his cigarette begrudgingly. Felix nodded, agreeing in his own way while his eyes were found helplessly distracted by a well endowed vixen from the dance floor ; gathering her own orbit of Cannies to rival that of Frederick Reynolds. The girl returned his wanting looks with playful glances from time to time behind mascara lined eyes, effortlessly shuffling with every change in the tune.

"Lord Ilchester! . . " Monson bruskly interrputed. Felix shook his head in disbelief of his colleagues impatience, "Mister Monson, I dare say if you enjoyed the way things are you might join me in living in the bloody moment!" Ilchester chided. "Many of us make haste in decrying young Alice's flaws, but have you ever considered what her ambition has actually accomplished?" Felix said, returning his eyes back to the dance floor to find his pearl ridden beauty, a difficult task in a sea of pale white bodies. "Things . . things such as this for example, are not possible in what remains of continental Europe. You'll have your local dives and sold out arenas, sure, but they have banned smoking in public . ." Felix shrugged, ". . traditions are endangered by multi-culturalism and the urge to cater to modern concepts of equality."

Standing for a moment, Felix raised his glass to the young woman, who he had found once more, and pointed to it and then her to inquire as to whether she might join him for one and perhaps more drinks at their table. "Alice has the right of it, I say, separate but equal. The darks can have their own music halls, and the non-smokers can breath clearly in segregated chambers if they choose. Cantignia celebrates and keeps traditions alive, and the Crimson Queen knows that."

Francis Monson watched idly as the young woman, who introduced herself casually as Naeva, stole the offered drink out of Felix's hand and pushing him forcefully back in to his seat. "Introduce me to your friend, Felix?" Naeva asked before throwing the remainder of his drink back. The former Chancellor looked in no ways surprised that Naeva knew his name without his telling, though he seemed slightly embarassed that she was ignorant to the Chief Officer for Justice, Francis Monson. "Have I interrupted some great clash of Commonwealth Lords, Mister Monson, with my small dimples and colonial skirt?" Naeva asked as she gracefully took to sitting on Ilchester's knee, closing her own knees together as to maintain the proper semblance of a lady.

"Tell us young Naeva, " Francis Monson entertained, "Which aspects of our culture and tradition are irreplaceable, what might we never give up without compromising our dignity?" Francis asked. Without skipping a beat Naeva giggled and rocked back on Felix's leg, collecting her thoughts by lighting a cigarette that Lord Ilchester had offered to her vacant lighter moments before. "If it isn't elusive Mister Monson then you are not truly experiencing it. For Felix it's the warmth of my body pressing against his right now, and for me it's the enthralling game of luring every last cigarette and crossmark out of him before he can even consider putting a hand on me!" Naeva declared with a bright smile, "In Cantignia women still know how to be women, and men have not grown afraid of being men. We do as the Empire would have us, but damn it we make it fun," she said, tapping Felix on the nose with a nail polished finger.

 

[Thaumantica]

HOMEWARD BOUND II

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Dulwich Proper, Capital of the Empire, The Union of Great Engellex, 18 April 2012

While the Chancellor of the Covenant seemed positively enamored and awe struck with the tall gothic towers and citadels of Dulwich proper, the Crimson Queen Alice eyed them with a resentment and uncertainty that Felix Ilchester had once complained of in private. It's like a home away from home, my Queen! Veronica North loudly declared, watching as an Imperial Flag was lowered to be retired for the evening.

Beautiful as they may be, Lady Chancellor, these confines are not near as friendly to our kind, Alice replied in a calm whisper, The residents of Dulwich find it easy to remember that the Colonists left home, and that they .. They stayed. Chancellor North reeled within, looking almost wounded at the idea of being inferior. I have learned with experience that is the truth of our race, Madame North, that the bird that leaves the nest finds it impossible to return.

Chancellor Veronica North patted down the scarlet sash that wrapped around her long black dress. In the times of old a black dress was the most coveted of items, with the scarcity of dye only the social elite could afford such a darkly imposing likeness. To signify her party, the Scarlet Society of Oceania, Veronica proudly wore the scarlet sash that today meant an appreciation for the finer cultural qualities of New Engellexic life. Alice chose a more familiar garb, a play off of the cream colored dress she had wore for state portraits and televized events. Though there a few striking differences, alterations that complimented her most comely features: the prominence of her breasts, and the graceful shape of a dancers body. Foregoing the light blue gloves of yesteryear, Alice now wore gloves of crimson red to meetings and balls, these signifying the scores of revolutionary bodies she had bled dry in Karoskland to maintain order in Implaric-Oceania for Crown and Empire.

The two Cantigian Women entered Battent Palace together, leaving the Chancellor's security detail from the Grand Force of the Covenant behind, yet taking a pair of men from Alice's Foxwood Footguard to compliment their rear. Lord Robert Herschell, Marching Lord of Foxwood, walked beside Alice at one pace behind, whispering encouraging words to the Crimson Queen who had not said a word since entering.

In entering, the colonial couple took their timed and tasteful curtsies with the customary Your Majesty called out in unison. Ma'am Queen Alice said to Queen-Empress Charlotte, Your loyal servant Madame Veronica North of Perdition, known as the Lady Chancellor of the Covenant of Cantignia, and custodian to the to most Engellexic Oceanic Realms of the Implarian.

When shown the opportunity to speak, Veronica Norh curtsied again and presented her gift to the Queen-Empress Charlotte. Your Majesty, it is my understanding that my predecessor was so impertinent as to give you the sabre of an unknown officer and commander at the Oceanic Battle of Hampden, in 1821. Veronica said, motioning to her flanks to bring the gift forward, This is a Victorinox Campion, a flower known only to the Island of Victornox, where an entire botanical garden will be dedicated you, my Queen-Empress, to communicate that ours shall be a relationship that grows! Veronica announced with a great warm smile.

Alice nodded to her fellow Cannie with regard, though before taking on the responsibility of addressing Charlotte she turned to Lord Robert Herschell, whose blonde hair had taken a significant toll with new strands of silver and grey in recent months. Lord Herschell ruffled the top Alice's own hair, which was darker than night and straight all the way through until the bottom, where it curled back up around her shoulders and bosom. The Crimson Queen Alice turned back to Queen-Empress with an emotional charge, her eyes welling up within a hard glare, Your Majesty, my first gift to you are these, Alice ripped off her crimson red gloves and threw them down to her own feet, You took a young Princess of a forgotten Island and sent her to do the duty of Commanders and Inquisitors, and created a woman devoid of compassion or innocence.

Without an understanding of what was going on, Chancellor North backed away slowly, taking her Victorinox Campion in hand awkwardly with a much smaller smile. My men have put your portrait back in to every home in Implaric-Oceania, hoisted the Imperial Flag back over every Island, and made the Oceans of the South safe for the Queen-Empress' Fleets and Merchants, Alice said as her first tears dropped down past her face. I did not fear though, cousin, because even as I heard whispers of my infidelity around the parlors of Dulwich, I kept ardent faith that my Queen-Empress would plea my favor before the continent-born Ministers and Dukes of the Empire. But like my gloves there on the floor, my reputation is stained ; not with blood, but with the deceit of ill-faith - because it was not the Queen of the Crimson Islands who lost faith in her Queen-Empress, it was the Queen-Empress who lost faith in her cousin and constant admirer since she was just a girl! Alice said, raising her voice only greater than her typical soft and subdued style of speech.

I love you, Your Majesty, and even if you cast my Cantignia out of the Imperial fold for filling the void the August Catastrophe left, I will continue to love you as the forces of republicanism, communism, and post-delegationism ravage all of us in our most abhorred Empire Down Under! Alice said with a scowl, We are the children of Greatness, and we will die to preserve Great Engellex in spite of all.

 

[Great Engellex]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Battent Palace, Dulwich, Empire of Great Engellex, 18 April 2012

In the Imperial Gallery – a vast space where the scarlet-silk papered walls are hung with life size portraits of the Lord Commissioners past and present – the Queen-Empress embraced the Chancellor of Cantigny with warmth and accepted her gift with sincere appreciation and respect for the historical quality of the item; Charlotte remarked how she will have to attend the botanical garden, after all, there was not a more reasoned characteristic of Engellexic people than them as green-fingered gardeners. How kind and principled this lady is to the last fellow, Charlotte thought to herself, thinking too that her name should certainly be on the considered list for peerage. When the focus drew to Alice the Queen-Empress quite quickly found herself violently removed from her comfort zone of formality and protocol. The young Queen-Empress, Charlotte, face pale and jaw set, could not free herself from the overpowering sense of loss that was trying to choke her heart; the feeling of loss slowly developed from Charlotte being forced to acknowledge the guilt that had silently afflicted her over the past year, but now appeared to break her with this incredible manifestation. This wasn’t the Crimson Queen, she kept thinking, and so did, too, no doubt, the three other people in the room.

The unnaturally stiff bearing of the tall, and quite thin, monarch could not hide her emotional discomfort for much longer, and it was then, as the first tears began to cascade down the cheeks of the Crimson pedigree that Charlotte’s capable and porcelain hands, that had been clutched before her, trembled a little as she unfolded them from the front of her cream silk dress. She waved feebly to the Engelleux-at-Arms, the Duke of Rothermere, who understood her meaning before she could instruct them to leave us. He bowed at the neck to the Queen-Empress, your Majesty, and marched himself, Lord Herschell and the Chancellor swiftly from the gallery. He of course knew how to handle such circumstances, being a minister of Court, Cabinet and Parliament. The duke would explain to Veronica North that the dismissal was by no means formal or a reflection of state policy toward Cantigny, rather a personal matter of urgency.

Two footman closed the door behind them, leaving the two young monarchs alone. Charlotte’s eyes were like a black icy glaze, not yet red or puffy, and spoke volumes on her conditioned ability to resign herself, her cool reserve, from what she may find uncomfortable.

Charlotte tried to share in the moment, half extending her hand for Alice’s, but hesitated and withdrew. She turned away, taking a few steps distance. The emotional charge was contagious and the Queen-Empress was resentful for that.

Barely above a breathe Charlotte addressed her childhood companion, I.. I have never claimed to be a lady of perfect sensibility, Alice. But I have always known what to except in my duty, and what I am prepared to give to fulfil my oath.

As a Queen I had fulfilled my obligation to Karoskland, as a cousin.. she said bowing her head, I did not. Before Alice could respond Charlotte retrieved a small ivory trinket from her purse and administered two instances of snuff with her thumb and forefinger, it was a dirty and very private habit of hers for when alcohol wasn’t readily available.

Departing from Battent Palace for the Cabinet Office, the Duke of Rothermere and Chancellor Veronica North sat in the back of a driven black Bentley S2 saloon as part of a twelve strong motorcade. They were discussing the Germanic League. As Chief of the Imperial General Staff I regularly discuss the concerns of the General Staff with the Queen-Empress. An agreement was gathered to make certain preparations for any event with them, he said calmly to the chancellor. Personally, I may say, Augsburg is uniting Borussia against the Empire. The ministers of Augsburg are themselves an international calamity, they are quite unscrupulous. The Wieserreich makes good use of the members of the League and regularly discredits any un-approved partners the members may seek. In time, personally, I believe there exists a strong possibility of war.

If I may be so bold, I believe I know the interest of Vesper, he said, turning to address Veronica directly, and I may say to you that we await the Danish with a sombre confidence.

 

[Thaumantica]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Battent Palace, Dulwich, Empire of

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, 18 April 2012

Without taking his eyes from the Duke of Rothmere, or more closely his saber, Robert Herschell bent over to pick up the Alice's crimson gloves, which would most certainly go down in infamy throughout every circle of gossip in Dulwich proper. Robert internalized a prayer for the younger Queen, who had chosen so illogically to be herself among lords and ladies who strove to be anything but. Alice had not taken her eyes from the feet of her Queen-Empress as Lord Herschell beckoned a lesser footguard to retrieve another pair of gloves, unspoiled by the ground.

Herschell watched as the two Queen's departed, the Empress of which walking much steadier and surer away from the whispers. The Chancellor placed the Victorinox Campion in the hands of a servant, fighting back the urge to thank the girl who just as soon scurried away, likely to throw the damned thing away. I'm not going to adjust your hair, Madame North! Robert joked in a smoky whisper, Ilchester always liked to bore them with lectures on eugenics and the superiority of Engellexic genes, what did you have in mind Madame Chancellor? asked Lord Herschell as they were ushered outside by a sea of grey coats and white faces. Beaming with her trademark smile, Veronica North dismissed the Foxwood Commander tartly, I will do what Felix never could, I'll listen.

Accepting the direction of the Duke of Rothmere, the Madame Chancellor sat comfortably in the back of this luxury vehicle she had often seen around the streets of Vesper during the snowbird seasons, when an adventurous portion of Great Engellex's elderly and wealthy paraded around New Engellex. Veronica greatly preferred Rover Automotives up-armored luxury class rovers, recalling the memory of the Covenant Motorcade driving through over a post-delegationist protestor who thought he could stop the then Chancellor, Felix Ilchester, and his Deputy Chancellor, Veronica North, on their way to downtown Vesper.

If I could be completely honest with you good sir: before hitting the campaign trail in two-thousand and one, I had never met one of those Germanians - and I must confess I feel the worse for it! Madame North said with an exagerated shrug, It was the Crimson Queen's Grandfather, on the Mother's side of course, who had the German folk segregated to Fizherbert, on the Island of Hamsted, if I have my history correct . . Veronica continued with a false uncertainty, knowing perfectly well where every special population resided within the friendly confines.

Veronica received the Duke's address with a hint of surprise, afterall, Vesper went to great lengths to keep its true intentions on a matter secret. The Foreign Office was perhaps the most devious organ of the Covenant, choosing only Officers that possessed an affinity for deceit. Sitting Chief Officer Harriet Fauconberg had only recently earned her position by getting the Republic of Frescania to believe the Covenant might join in its unnatural union with Suionia. Vesper . . Madame North whispered, still in wonder of how her own pre-dispositions to the city had been broken many years ago ; Vesper can smell the rot of the Danish apple from thousands of leagues away, and if we had any sense down under we will maintain our distance from it, and hope that rotten apple is delivered to our enemies.

As to that League of Germans, I can still recognize as a very distant observer how many banners gathered under one may seem troubling . . Bannermen can be most fickle, as of course the Empire found since Cantignia hoisted its own, Veronica jested, her former smile somehow buried under a stern visage. Vesper would have the lesser bannermen reminded that they do not live or die by the whim of Wiese, a nation whose endless military exercises and defense networks could not so much as identify the make or model of the missiles that rained in its very Capital. These are a people who have only ever known the quarrels of farmers and their Lords, so perhaps that rotten apple, Danmark, is the perfect bounty for those Farm Lords to quarrel over once again.

Alice of the Crimson Islands quickly followed the lead of her Queen-Empress away from the Chancellor, Duke, and even Commander Herschell, who she had never seen so uneasy, not in the thick of battle, or at the swinging end of a saber.

Those distant to the Queen-Empress often compared her with a statue, imposing as she was beautifal, but when Alice began taking on an image of her own she quickly realized that the truth of a person was never quite the likeness the public perceived. Not a soul in Karoskland would likely ever know Alice felt a sliver of remorse for presiding over the invasion , and on most days, she could scarcely feel any. It was afterall in the same way the people of Engellex looked down on Cantigian's, and that the people of Cantigny looked down on Karosklander's.

She listened attentively to Charlotte, who, as always, seemed to pluck the perfect words from the aether so they might pass through her pursed lips. Alice did not watch her cousin speak however, for she had taken to looking for patterns in the ground as instructors had once taught her to ease nerves ; averting ones eyes from a superior could show absolute reverence, which she was sorely in need of, after insulting the Queen-Empress directly and in the company of others. As Charlotte turned away to administer her vice, Alice bent the knee and kneeled as a conquered Lord or Lady might after being defeated. Forgive my impasse, Your Majesty, I beg of you . . she said, her voice once more subdued and soft, A billion more will die by my hands, and I shan't lose my resolve! Alice declared, entirely aware that the number was realistically within her reach, or the reach of the Covenant's nuclear program.

 

[Thaumantica]

CHERRYSTEM I​

Aboard the H.H.S. Persephone, Sea of Adelaide, North West of Cantigian Karoskland*, 2 May 2012


Shivering down to his bones at the sight of it, despite a sun-kissed sky and his full naval uniform, Admiral Burberry shook his head in dismay. We've scarcely seen but a few savages, wearing ragged t-shirts over their loin clothes spat the Admiral's Eyes, a young man by the name of Clinton Baxter. Burberry braved looking ashore again, half hoping to see leagues of ocean rather than mounds of sand, What of their arms, Baxter, can they fight? he asked with an extended cough. I've eyed nothing but spears and shorthand weapons with my own two, but the Queen's own H.H.S. Pioneer claims to have seen a band of them with that Communist Assault Rifle from the North . . the Admiral's Eyes replied, trying to imagine the AK-47 in his minds eye.

Shonbrun? Burberry shouted, prompting the bald headed Officer of Communications to waddle across the deck to meet the Admiral, What may I say for you in May, Lord Admiral? he asked with a cringe inducing smile that drew attention from his leech of a moustache. I would have the Pioneer fuel its Thunderchiefs . . Burberry pondered aloud, I've deduced that these dark-savages have never had the pleasure of losing their hearing to jet turbines, and with that perhaps, their cause to take up arms against us! finished the Admiral with a great deal more confidence. Internally he dreaded the day that he might have to step down on Himyari soil, a prospect he once thought entirely unthinkable, as an Island Born son of the Crimson Islands.

With his Eyes to the flank, Admiral Burberry did some stalking of his own throughout his Capitol Ship, the H.H.S. Persophone. Under his Command the Persephone, named for the seat of the Crimson Queen's Throne, had sealed the, albeit peaceful, fates of the Cedar Islands in the deep south of Implaric-Oceania, and presided over the greatest and most powerful colonial fleet, under colonial banners, to sail the Hessexbight.

The men of the Persophone appeared to Burberry, and his Eyes, to be sufficiently tanned, and their uniforms sufficiently worn by the wind and salts of the sea, but few of his mens eyes stared back at him like those who had seen death, or menaced to be the harbingers of it. Unlike the Expeditionary Marines, who were more than less disposed by occupying the traditional colonies of Engellex, Suionia, and Vistrasia, the proper Seamen of the Grand Fleet of the Covenant had enjoyed the friendly confines of their ships while Marines earned the Queen of Cantignia her Crimson name. Too many of these men will be popping their cherries when we take the neck, the Admiral lamented as he watched a young man hard at work, cleaning out a mounted machine gun he had never used with the intent to kill.

Shonbrun, who for some reason lingered near the Admiral despite being ordered off to relay his message, made another exhausting attempt at a jest, patting the young man on his shoulders like he was one of his many resentful sons, May as well call this neck we are meant to take The Cherrystem, eh boy . .eh? he demanded, shaking the poor young man with is sausage like fingers. Take your hands off that man Shonbrun! Burberry ordered with a sarcasm coated tone, Get that damn message off to the Pioneer, and tell them to send their first presence patrols over, what, the Cherrystem? he said, to which the portly obliged to by waddling back away with an extra pep in his step.

Queen Alice had initially called for an expedition farther, much farther, into the uncivilized south of the Himyar continent. The innermost savages have Camels for ships, my Queen, in what is called the Sea of Fire, Lord Herschell had advised her when Burberry met with Alice last, Venture too far inland, and our iron ships and tanks shall only weigh your loyal troops deep into drowning in that waterless sea. With that advice the Queen buckled, to the Admiral's sincerest relief, Alice thankfully had learned the lessons that Suionian and Engellexic pioneers left to Oceania: madness or peril befalled those who left the shores for the false promises of earthborn power.

Burberry recalled the Mormon city of First Haven, the only city of note in the central plains of the massive Cantigian Isle, whose founders claimed to have seen Jesus, who most conveniently told them that they were in the promiseland of God's Kingdom, and that they had His leave to drive the aboriginal inhabitants, or Lamanites, from their new romping grounds. Send for that Chaplain of ours Baxter, Admiral Burberry voiced in command. 'Perhaps to find victory on land, my crew must find Christ the Redeemer here at sea?' Burberry thought to himself.

While he was by few means a Christian man, and fewer means a Mormon man, he recognized that superstitions had their purposes -surely most of all to men of war. For the faithful aboard his Persphone, the Lord's blessing would put cause to their fight, and for the doubtful like Admiral Burberry himself, at least they would have respite with some crusader hymns to rattle around in their brains as they stepped off and in to an operation no armed Cantigian had ever attempted independently of their Imperial Motherland before.

____________________

*Middlemost neck of the Map Territory labeled H7 (Maps to Follow)

 

[Great Engellex]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Battent Palace, Dulwich, Empire of Great Engellex, 18 April 2012

Charlotte looked searchingly into the face of her cousin, Alice of Cantingia, who reminded the Queen-Empress so strongly of one of the nationalist members of the Assembly, those overzealous, often delighting at the prospect of war, politicians of the Engellexic Nationalist Party. Alice had a somewhat enchanting reputation amongst the Engellexic populace where they saw her more as a crowned equal than an aloof blue blood, which is more to her benefit than Alice would believe if she knew; amongst the Establishment the reputation of Alice was just slightly more realistic. An unnecessary sacrifice, I am sure, she replied, giving a cautious look. She felt a little uneasy, which was strange for a person of her stature and breeding. Alice’s manners and words had alarmed her. Charlotte had wanted to ask Alice to stand up and not make such a demonstration, but she had realised that her station prevents any diminishing of protocol and Court Etiquette.

It was April, a time of showers and sunshine. The public gardens and countryside were stunning, and surely Charlotte should be hosting her slightly younger cousin in such charming environments, however, the imperial metropolis was hosting the Engello-Montel Conferences and the Queen-Empress was determined not to take both eyes off the proceedings. She instead intended to extend an invitation for Alice to attend the social occasions alongside her, an opportunity of sorts for the Crimson Queen to grace the stage of Old World royalty. Charlotte insisted, if only to get up off her knee, and she somewhat blackmailed that without her there Charlotte’s distress would.. I am afraid of, drive me to a very ruinous expedient of character with the Montel Lords. She paused, pressing her lips tightly for a moment, and continued, I am so ignorant of – your business, Alice. You should know that I am anxious to see you happy, there was never change, and to show my regard and gratitude to you for the constant tenour of your devotion to the Establishment in the Implaric-Oceanic Territory I will have parliament legislate the seizure of assets in ownership of de Mortimer-Garland for your pleasure.

The importance of the gift to Alice, Charlotte hoped would not escape her, and would not leave her cousin in any doubt as to Charlotte’s wishes concerning her.

Charlotte lifted her shoulders and pursed her lips so that she looked very prim, now come Alice, she commanded softly. The Queen-Empress should be seen to promenade the Horse Guards with the Queen of Cantingia, else my Court shall be disgraced before the most expectant Crown Subjects! Perhaps we should ride.. do you prefer walking dresses or riding habit? She asked as glided over to Alice to take her hand, a small glee in her eyes.

 

[Thaumantica]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Battent Palace, Dulwich, Empire of

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, 18 April 2012

The Crimson Queen was very much the hawkish zealot for war that Charlotte suspected, and unapologetically so. She scarcely hesitated in guiding the vessels of the Grand Armada of the Covenant to every corner of Implaric-Oceania in the long sought era of 'True Peace'. Within the friendly confines at least, the Queen's image resonated solely with empowering youths with imperial culture and energy through National Scouting, of the Boys and Girls variety. Preparedness for war had faded and faltered before Alice's reign in a society that lost sight of Fortress Cantignia, but the combined paranoia and proactiveness of the Ilchester Chancellory and Alice's Monarch made for a blood warming renewal of martial traditions.

Renowned in Great Engellex, or in continental Europe altogether, scarcely concerned Alice. The glory of the Covenant manifest in art, sport, and peace would surely create the desired picture of the Queen of the Oceanic Realms when executions and military patrols would not do. Alice felt genuinely surprised by her cousins' dismissal of her promise to keep the faith no matter the consequence, as it did seem necessary to appraise the number so high, with the Eastern Tigers stalking one another for war.

As she rose back to her feet, Alice considered the few oriental men and women she had encountered in Vesper, the Capital, before Felix Ilchester whitewashed the city as a gesture against Post-Delegationist Touzen. They were a shrewd people, respectful of her customs to be certain, but she trusted them only so far as she might a shop owner ; with billions of men, women, and children in the East, the folk of the orient had placed actual monetary values on human life.

The Montel Lords? . . Alice pondered, conjuring up yet another summary perception of an entire race, Why yes, I am most certainly up to the task! she declared with glee. Exceptional families within the friendly confines were, at the greatest, between three-hundred and four-hundred years old, so the prospect of studying this Old Royalty of Europe excited the student within her infinetely. The Osgood's of Nova Anglesaxe, whose motto is 'Traditions Rise Above', often insisted that the resident of Foxwood Manor expand her royal horizons beyond Vesper and Dulwich.

That Rebecca de Mortimer-Garland, of the Princess variety, really is such a sullen girl. I admit that I may still have a mind for some day inviting her to experience the proper Cantigian Excursion . . Alice remarked with careful expression, Still, there are hosts of more deserving lords and ladies who could benefit from a fortnight down under. Name anyone at all, and I will personally see to it that they experience the full vibrance of the Crimson Islands she smiled, drawing only slightly closer to Charlotte as not to invade her person.

Alice raised her eyebrows to the Queen-Empress' beckon, considering her course of action with absolute tact. In Dulwich, I should naturally dress to the tastes of Her Majesty! she said with a miniature curtsy and considerate nod. The Crimson Queen was glad to finally encounter an inspired Charlotte, energetic and purposeful despite the adversity she herself had thrust on Charlotte this evening. So long as she appeared dutiful and supportive, Alice knew that the next few hours or days would reflect positively on the all important reputation of a royal Cantignia and Oceanic Realms.

 

[Thaumantica]

CHERRYSTEM II​

Southernmost Tip of Himyar , North of Cantigian Karoskland, 4 May 2012

Like the trumpeteers and drummers of the iron symphony, General Clarence Roseburrow watched on from afar as his soldiers trodded up the coast of South Himyar like the Expeditionary Marines they sought to shame. In the Karoskland conflict, where Roseburrow's force was coming from, the Marines were spearheads against the usurpers of Napierburgh, leaving only the tedious and often times harsh occupation of the Karoskland Islands to the likes of the Covenant Army. True to form, the Crimson Queen likewise called the Expeditionary Marines to capture the Wightland Islands, Cedar Islands, and the Carolina Islands of Oceanic Suionia.

Something had to give for Lord Alcott Acres, Supreme Commander of the Army, who literally begged Queen Alice to empower Her idle Army with a task befitting of their Engellexic pedigree. This isn't Montelimar, gentlemen, the General sighed, looking beyond his command and staff detail to the butterscotch strands of wildgrass that covered his conquered landscape. Surely the General's of Her Majesty Charlotte's Armies felt more pride in their operations, crossing swords with forces with centuries of history, and storming cities with millions of residents and civilized variables. This so-called 'golden opportunity' that Lord Acres had howled about to Clarence was turning out to be not much more to frontiersmen work, befitting of old time Cantigian Pioneers perhaps, though nothing compared to what Queen Alice had promised.

Sir, the Navy has relayed a message from the North, piped a small faced man, obscured by a pair of headphones and a field cap two sizes too large, Lord Admiral Burberry reports the capture of Cherrystem . . He awaits confirmation of our attack lines - the man read out absently, relaying the message with a matter of fact style. In the outlined scheme of strategic planning no one was expecting Admiral Burberry to grasp his stranglehold around the cherrystem for several days, or until General Roseburrow confirmed the Army's capture of a quarter of the Southernmost Tip of Himyar. This revelation was thus most troubling to Clarence, he would be seen by observers as arriving a day late and a crossmark short ; it would now take more than a robotic victory to impress the Queen and his fellow Lords in the friendly confines.

Clarence swore to himself, and about threw his binoculars in to the dirt in anger. Send reply to the Lord Admiral that his colleagues were late in ferrying us here, the General said as he tried to compose himself. Admiral Burberry was more than a rival in arms, he was a rival Lord of the Covenant. His dear mother, the widow Lady Elsa Noel Roseburrow, was too frail and distraught to guide the house any longer, and had turned to taking the advice of coin bearers and entertainers with her husband dead and her son away at Military Academies. Clarence Senior, the General's father, had at one time contested with Winston Burberry to succeed the Grand Admiral of the Commonwealth Armada, but cancer of the lungs eroded his chances, and forced Clarence Junior to seek his honor and renowned in the Army, where no Roseburrow had gone before.

The Army relied on the Aeroforce and Armada too often, much as the Expeditionary Marines had to, yet the airmen and seamen were more keen to remind soldiers how much they needed them to operate at any capacity. General Roseburrow waited impatiently as artillery batteries, munitions, rations, and armored forces slowly formed in to an all too vulnerable city of imperial hope just beyond the coast. After ordering his foot scouts in to the unknown, Clarence arranged for the infantry to begin forming a perimeter around their supplies. The Army would at best be prepared to mount their trucks and form their line by the end of the week, so Admiral Burberry's jaunt across the cherrystem came to the Armada as much as a risk to his force as it was an insult to Roseburrow and the Navy.

 

[Great Engellex]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Middlesex House, Dulwich, Empire of Great Engellex, 18 April 2012

Hamilton had not for a moment a slight moment free since the morning he woke and had not once the time needed to fully consider his evening that was set before him.

In the sharp chill air and crowded public closeness of his driven stately Rolls-Royce, he for the first time plucked the picture from his imagination of what was indeed in store for him there at the Middlesex’ Ball – hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Middlesex, his mother and father – in those astonishingly brightly lit rooms – with orchestras, abundance of flowers, much dancing, the Queen-Empress, the Crimson Queen, and all the other aristocratic and royal finery of Dulwich and Montelimar. The prospect was so extraordinary that he hardly believed it true, so out of keeping was it from the grey discipline of his air force officer’s training he was in the midst of completing. He understood all that awaited him only when, after passing the red liveries of the palace guard at the glorious entrance, he entered the grand hall, removed his cloak and top hat and mounted the brilliantly made marble staircase. Only then did he remember how he must now behave at a ball, he was no longer the youngest son of the Duke and Duchess but also a recipient of the Queen-Empress’s Commission in the Air Force, and tried he did to assume the stiff majestic aloofness which was considered proper for an officer of the armed forces on such an occasion.

On entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices, footsteps, and greetings deafened Hamilton in a way that the detonation of military hardware could not, and the light and sparkle appeared eager to dazzle the young blue blood. The host and hostess, who had been standing at the door for nearly three hours repeating the same words to the many, many arrivals. The young man in his brilliant Hussars uniform – a traditional uniform of an aristocrat who had yet to complete his official training – curtsied to his mother and father, but it took a moment for them to recognise their child, the bustle of the night was overwhelming. The Duchess of Middlesex looked for a moment and gave her darling child a special smile, in addition to the usual charm for the guests. Looking at him as only a mother could having recalled those previous days of when her eldest was formally presented to his first ball. In the ballroom the guests stood crowding at the north end of the hall, where the entrance doors stood awaiting for the Queen-Empress and the Crimson Queen. The Viscount Harlington, that is Hamilton’s title, took up a position to the left side, near the front. Hamilton, being a very observant young man, heard and felt a number of people asking about his character and marking his pose and features with their keen eyes. It did not take him long to realise that those taking an interest liked him, and his own observation noted a dense sprinkling of frilly petticoats and, which unnerved him somewhat, two rather refined shirt-lifters seeking his eyes.

The Duchess of Rothermere, wife to the present duke, was busily pointing out to the Chancellor Veronica North the most important people at the ball. That is, his Grace, the Duc de Fontaine-Harcourt with the ambassadors of Potenza and Vistrasia, do you see? He is a Jew they say.. she said, covering her lower face with an ornate fan and raising a curious brow to Veronica North. The Duchess of Rothermere thrived on gossip. Oh, there she is, Queen Lavinia (of Walssex-Battent), Alexandra’s grand-mother, said the duchess with excitement, the King and Queen of Walssex-Battent had just entered with the Crown Prince and Princess behind them. Suddenly the mass of guests stirred, they began talking, and pressed forward and then back, and formed themselves into two neat rows – the duchess directed the chancellor to the front where the Engellexic ministers stood – which separated calmly, and appearing before them in the splendour of regal pose the Queen-Empress entered, with Alice at her side, to the sound of a roaring chorus of choirs and orchestra playing the

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. Behind the two young female royals walked their host and hostess, the Duke and Duchess of Middlesex. Charlotte walked in slowly, taking in the full reception with Alice, nodding to the right and to the left and acknowledging all. The orchestra immediately struck the

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as the anthem chorus came to an end, the waltz was a favourite of Charlottes. The Queen-Empress, however, passed straight through for an adjoining drawing-room, a small group of peers followed her calmly, with Alice. They were pre-selected to accompany her, Alice was oblivious to her cousin’s scheme which was to simply arrange Alice’s cards for the dancing. Charlotte quietly informed Alice of her plan, behind her very own ornate fan, where she boldly queried Alice on one of the young peers, have you marked his eyes? He can dance too. It was the handsome Marquis of Beckingham. Charlotte smiled and glided away, not allowing Alice to betray her fancy and instead compelling the younger to approach her desired dance partner without Charlotte’s guidance.

Everyone in the hall took a step back, for the Queen-Empress arrived from the adjoining room smiling and leading her host, the Duke of Middlesex, by the hand to commence her first waltz of the evening. Charlotte was to be followed by Alice, and who she had chosen – then the other royals and aristocrats of superior precedence, the Montel Lords, and important ambassadors, whom the Duchess of Rothermere diligently named for Veronica North’s benefit, though to the chagrin of the duke who stood near enough to hear it all.

The Duke of Nonsuch arrived with his wife the duchess, they were both late. He wore a typically dull court attire, with some embroidery, the stars and sash across his breast and a composed expression on his weathered face. He spoke in that refined Aren in which the blue bloods not only spoke in Engellex but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing tenour natural to a man of social and political importance who had grown old in Court and Parliament. He went up to Veronica North, having parted with the duchess, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented and shining head, and stood confidently to her side, observing the dancing. I should like to ask – if you would permit me – if you are quite well and enjoying your time in the metropolis? He said without altering his tone.

 

[Thaumantica]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Middlesex House, Dulwich, Empire of

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, 18 April 2012

Without so much as a flinch the Crimson Queen nodded in acceptance of her Royal duty as she gazed out across the ballroom towards her first of pre-selected partners. By the time Alice had found the Marquis and sighed with relief, Charlotte was gone, gliding away like Zephyrus of the Old Gods. 'She's rid herself of me just as soon as she took me by her side!' Alice thought to herself as she made herself more accessible to the handsome Marquis of Beckingham.

In the Crimson Islands, when such a gathering of Lords and Ladies was organized, Alice had become well practiced in not only dance, but the instigation of attention. She gazed first deeply in to his eyes, looking through them and into his soul, or more aptly a memory of her own: the bedding of Cyrus Bernard Tuskvale, the Younger Lord Tusk, on his wedding night to a Young Lady of the Acres House. Alice blushed on cue, averting her eyes and body angle away from the Marquis ever so slightly, while graphically recalling the look on Lady Patricia Acres' face before the Younger Tusk swept her away for the evening to his bed chambers.

Why Lord Beckingham, the young woman in her whispered, Might you show me how a proper Engellexic Waltz is conducted? Alice queried, accepting his outstretched hand with her newest pair of crimson gloves. The regal which the Marquis proudly bore was most impressive; Lord's of the Crimson Islands had only slightly inherited the Motherland's superior dress and style. Alice did not speak or make an effort to lead the young man in conversation, expecting that her reputation in the Empire preceded her as well as it betrayed her. Instead she bore down on the Marquis with her dazzling hazel eyes, a star cloud of brown and green that cameras had never captured in the black and white prints of Engellexic news telegrams. Her understanding of his wealth likewise also impressed Alice, though in her short visits in Hammersmith she recalled vaguely that he spent his time amongst the deaf and dumb, championing their rights in a civil society. This did not bode well with the Crimson Queen as an ardent eugenicist, if only that she desired that he did not expect women to be deaf and dumb in the presence of men.

Veronica North made no attempt to hide her study of the ballroom and its exceptional inhabitants, as for all intents and purposes it could be argued that she did not belong, but she would not allow herself to shrink from the pressure or falter. It was well known that the Chancellor of the friendly confines was to be preoccupied by Cantigian affairs, so she took great solace in the fact that what attention might be spared on a 'Cannie', would be directed primarily at Alice, the Crimson Queen. What Jewry resided in Cantignia escaped Veronica as the Duchess of Rothermere drew her attention to the Duc de Fontaine-Harcourt. The Jews of the Crimson Islands keep to themselves mostly, and conduct themselves without a fuss, as far as I can recall. Chancellor North remarked emptily.

The comfortably late Duke of Nonsuch, and his Lady wife, appeared to Veronica as the divine vision of the persisting Engellexic rite. Malcolm Willowit Osgood, Lord of Nova Anglesaxe, beared a strikingly similar visiage in the times Veronica had encountered him - traditional to infinity. She curtsied gently to the couple, resisting the urge to fully bend the knee to such exalted lordship, Your Grace is certainly permitted, thank you for meeting me, she said to regain her confidence. I take great pleasure in planting my feet here, where the roots of my race are formed, and I duly assure you that the honor of being here is not lost on me! Veronica declared with a politicians smile. This was not a lie, the Chancellor meant it entirely, and she knew that expressing her gratitude aloud was far more important than simply feeling it.

What impasses Felix Ilchester had inflicted on the fair Duke could never be undone, and as he must have suspected by her unfortunate surname, she was the spurn of a cast aside bastard from nobility. A long dead Lord of Redemption, from House Loveguard, had betrayed the honor of his Lady wife with a woman without privilege, who in turn bore his son, Veronica's Great-Grandfather, with the surname North to ensure he and his offspring were noted as less-than noble for eternity. In democracy this was hardly a drawback for Veronica, yet here among these perfected family lines, her ego ached with the soreness of an imperfect lineage. Felix would have surely been despised here in an Engellexic court, but at least his blood and Ilchester name were perfectly legitimate, unlike Veronica North, who was merely waiting for someone to bravely illuminate her irreversible shortcoming.

 

[Thaumantica]

SECOND TO NONE
​

Southernmost Tip of

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, North of Cantigian Karoskland, 11 May 2012

Flurries of gunfire reminded the Surly Second Infantry Division why they had spent the last twelve hours digging foxholes, and whimsically ignoring the fiery cries of Commander Roseburrow over shortwave radio. "Forward men!" Roseburrow squealed like a pig from leagues back, "Forward Cantignia, god damn it!". But the line infantry had broken its marching column in the red dawn of a night past, spreading its wings out east and west, yet keeping the mass of its force stopped in its tracks a hundred kilometers or more away from the Cherrystem.

In a manhole he had dug himself, Captain Eldin Ferns mounted his bayonet with his bare hands, something he had done a thousand times before in training with leather gloves on. Around him in other improvised craters in the earth he heard a soft clanking of sister bayonets, but the ring of munitions thundered over the jingle of their bayonets like Mormon Temple Bells at the heart of First Haven. Worse than these sounds, visions of smoke and crimson mist floated above the hill his Company, Angle Company, had been ordered to take by a Commander whose name had escaped him with his own men's names being shouted out by non-commissioned officers, ordering them vainly to "dig deep in the ground", or "dig deep in your soul".

Captain Ferns pressed his steel helm against the bayonet's edge, tuning out all of the sights and the sounds of combat, if only for a few moments, to remember his home in a little town called Juniper. In his minds eye the grass was green, several shades greener than in actuality, and his wife and baby girl smiled and laughed at him like they couldn't muster the day he left for Karoskland. He tried desperately to say the words "I love you" aloud, but neither his imagined lips or actual mouth could so much as quiver out of their station, locked shut like a safe.

"Covering fire!" Ferns heard a man bellow, one he recognized, but had never heard before quite like this. Within a few moments that man was streaking towards the Captain's foxhole at a dead sprint, taking a route behind the staggered line of men in other foxholes, who popped up in tandem to send a volley up at the hill. This familiar and sweat drenched man dove in to the hole with Captain Ferns, dragging in a mass of dirt and spent rifle shells with him. "Get your pretty head off that thing, Ferns, we can't have our Commander sentencing himself to a closed casket!" the man said, grabbing the Captain by his uniform sleeve and pulling him away from his bayonet. It was Sergeant Major Mathers, staring Captain Ferns in the face with a glint in his eyes that glowed like funeral pyres. Mathers rose for a moment, long enough to shout "Reload!" to anyone that could actually hear him.

Mathers leaned his rifle up against the edge of the hole, emptying his hands so he might adjust the Captain's own rifle back towards the enemy. "We're going to have to go over these trenches eventually, Sir" the Sergeant Major reminded him, "Then we're going to have to take that hill from the savages, there's no way around it, to their last man or ours . ." the man of nearly fifty years said. Captain Ferns nodded dutifully, returning at least partially to the reality of his plight. "I'd order to give them hell, but we're already there." Ferns pondered aloud. The Sergeant Major smirked absently, his eyes glowing brighter from a flame that had struck up a few meters ahead, "Our forefathers made it easy for us, sir, the damned motto is 'Forward Cantignia'."

Grasping his rifle just a little tighter, Captain Ferns pictured the hill as he had seen it the day before, in the waning red sunlight. The grass had been yellow, not like butterscotch, but yellow like rotting teeth, and black with the savages that held it. "I'll count to five, Captain" Sergeant Major Mathers whispered, "And when I say five, you'll give the order . . I'll start sounding this charge whistle, and the men'll do what they were trained to. Can we do that together, Sir?" he asked encouragingly. "Forward - got it Sergeant Major" Ferns replied in a whisper of his own.

The Sergeant Major knocked his old wrinkled knuckles up against his Commander's steel helmet and let out a steady "1 . ." - Captain Ferns shut out the memory of his home, his family, and his fear. "2 . ." - The Captain returned to his senses, breathing in the smoke, and feeling the sweat bead up on his brow. "3 . . " - Ferns checked his weapon and prepared it for ample use, tapping each of the spare cartridges attached to his torso. "4 . ." - He sprung up for a short second to see the hill ahead, muzzles bursting with light in the distance and bullets wizzing towards him. "5 . ." - Captain Eldin Ferns stood and planted one foot down at the center of the hole, and placed the other up and near the top of his makeshift foxhole. "Foooorrrrwaaaarrrrd!" he screamed like he never had before, pushing his diaphram to its breaking point. Beneath him, Sergeant Mathers began letting out rapid shrieks from his charge whistle that ordered the men of Angle Company up and over their trenches with sister whistles rising up from their flanks, belonging to Brave Company and Charlotte Company.

As he stretched his legs out before him, every quickening breath was coupled by men collapsing to his left and right, and the shouts of their enemy in a language he had never heard before. Morning had somehow snuck up on them as they laid in wait, and the sun graced their flanks like a broadside from heaven. Captain Ferns fired at every moving thing he saw until his firearm was spent and his vantage point placed directly at the face of his savage enemy, a child soldier no older than sixteen, and eyes filled with the same fury Mathers had possessed in the foxhole strides back. He drove his bayonet deep in to the savage's belly, twisting with a scream that blurred the lines separating him from the barbarity he was there to defeat. A prepared fighting force might have ordered an artillery strike on their objective, or waited for the Aeroforce to ride in their flying chariots of fire, but the Army was bankrupt in resources this morning, and blind drunk with courage from a Crimson Queen whose children were baptized in blood.

Moving his lips without making much more than a whimper, the savage cursed Captain Ferns with his dying breath, dropping his curled up fingers that had reached out at the Captain's flush red neck. Ferns pulled out the bayonet, watching as the blood that had flowed freely out in waves just moments before stifled in to weaker and weaker streams. The savage's eyes remained open to look up and through Eldin Ferns, but the glint disappeared like it had never been there at all. "Up and at'em, Sir!" Mathers shouted from a few steps ahead of him. Captain Ferns looked up, unsure of how the Sergeant Major had streaked past him in the fury of the fight. "Like the Wingfoots, Captain!" Mathers said jovially, talking of Vesper's Basketball Club of the nickname Wingfoots. His face had been sprayed with arterial blood, and the Sergeant Major himself appeared to have suffered a gun shot wound to the flesh below his left shoulder.

He dared not look back, with the fight still ahead, and countless lifeless bodies both black and white behind him, dead all the same. Somewhere young women were swinging in smoke filled dance halls, and old men were cursing each other in their cups, but Captain Ferns was reloading his rifle with a fresh magazine and shaking the blood of a nameless savage from the tip of his bayonet. "If she could see me now!" Ferns declared has he regained his running momentum, unsure of whom he meant; perhaps it was his wife, perhaps the Crimson Queen, or perhaps it had been the Queen-Empress Charlotte herself. They were near the top of the hill when he heard the first jet engine roar, it was an ear deafening relief to him, and a shock inducing rattle to the savage resolve, for they had clearly heard the sound before.

At the top of this tallest hill, Eldin Ferns' heart about sunk with the sight of a series of slightly smaller valleys and hills speckled with the dark skin of savages. But unlike this hill, where the enemy had made their stand, the savages were scurrying in to hiding from Thunderchief Aerocraft. Faraway at the furthest his eyes could see was a gray line of proper battlements and barricades, laid out like the ones at Karoskland. A soldier by the name of Private Grogan chuckled at the sight of it all, though the Captain did not laugh with him, because he could also clearly see the fatal wound to the soldier's chest. Private Grogan's chuckle transformed into that of a madman, blood winding out from the corners of his mouth in his laughter. A medic helped the soldier down to his knees to administer aid, but by the time the medic could pull out his gauze the laughter had stopped, and the soldier's life with it.

Captain Ferns gave in to his inclination to look back, first to his foxhole that he had reluctantly charged up from. Bodies awkwardly occupied many of them still, half in and half out, facing forward as he had ordered them with his shout and the Sergeant Major's whistle. Up the path beyond were so many more, some still holding on to life with other medics straddling them with their gauze and splints. The hill itself was not yet devoid of violence, as white soldiers pressed their bayonets in to the hearts of dying savages, and pressed their handguns in to the scalps of their surrendered enemy. "Order them to stop!" Ferns asked the Sergeant Major, but Mathers shook his head ignorantly and pointed out toward the many hills of ahead. The sound of these handguns made Captain Ferns flinch and shutter, unlike the previous rifle volleys and thrusts of his own bayonet. These deaths seemed like murder to him, and he felt dumbfounded as to why the previous evening and morning of killing had not. The hill was taken, the battle won, but their were no cries of victory like he had seen in films and read in books. His men's eyes were cold, distant, and showed the carelessness of a hunter pulling up the antlers of a downed buck.

"Count to five," Mathers whispered again, "And put out whatever thoughts are in your head right now. They won't serve you, your country, or the surviving men that are counting on you to lead them. Count your blessings, Sir, God knows we had them . . We had something at least, and we still have you" the Sergeant Major finished with a defined certainty. Eldin Ferns sighed and counted to five as he was advised. A brighter part of him returned to that impossible fantasy of the little town of Juniper, and the darker part of him returned to the hell he had just conquered with blood and iron.

 

[Great Engellex]

DRAMA OF STATE​

Middlesex House, Dulwich, Empire of Great Engellex, 18 April 2012

The Duchess of Nonsuch quietly glided toward the Chancellor, Veronica North, and welcomed her delightedly and was quite loud in admiration of her beauty and her dress. Soon after the arrival of the duchess she then escaped the circles of the ballroom to the sides, where the very young women and the much older took seats to observe and gossip. The ladies had already arranged their own chairs and took seats. The Countess of Random moved several chairs for a circle, including for the Duchess of Nonsuch. The duchess, with her bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a pearl shawl draped over one shoulder, came into the space left vacant for her, and assumed an unnatural pose. Enthusiastic whispering was audible for many. The duchess looked sternly and gloomily at the mass of dancing, and began reciting some Aren verses to describe her admiration and love for the Queen-Empress and the Crimson Queen. In some places she raised her voice, in others she whispered, lifting her head triumphantly, sometimes she paused and uttered hoarse sounds, rolling her eyes. The Duchess of Rothermere, who still minded the chancellor, looked at the fat old duchess, but neither cared or understood anything of what went on inside her alcohol-enhanced mentality. After the first episode of the Duchess of Nonsuch’s patriotic theatrics, the whole company of desperate aging ladies surrounded her, expressing their enthusiasm and want of her mind and energy.

The strains of the waltz, which had continued for a considerable time, had begun to strain the pleasure of Charlotte; at the last the Queen-Empress stopped beside her last partner (which was her second), opposite Alice of Cantignia, and the music ceased. Three concerned aide-de-camps ran up and down the standing crowds requesting them to stand farther back, as close as possible to the walls, and from the gallery resounded the distinct, precise, enticingly elegant strings of the opening of the Queen-Empress waltz. The Queen-Empress looked smilingly down the room, a minute passed and the doors were opened from the adjoining gallery allowing a secret guest of Charlotte to enter, the Crown Prince Soren of Arendaal.

He was to be her next dance partner of this particularly magnificent waltz. As Soren marched toward the fair hand of the Queen-Empress, all on the floor departed it, leaving Charlotte and Alice alone – with Soren. Not before long did Charlotte’s brother, the future King Georges of Wissemandie, went up to Alice and asked her for the next dance. Charlotte smilingly raised her hand at Soren and laid it on his shoulder while not moving her eyes from his. The two coupled monarchs were not to dance alone, however, this was the waltz for the Queen-Empress and her illustrious Court. The Grand Duke of Wantage, an adept in this art, grasping the Grand Duchess round her waist, with confident deliberation started smoothly, gliding first round the edge of the circular dancing space, then as they approached the corner of the room the King of Walssex-Battent – Alice’s grandfather – entered himself and the Queen of Walssex-Battent into the dancing spectacle. The only sound audible, apart from the increasingly pompous brass of the orchestra to the waltz, was now the rhythmic click of heels on the graceful feet of the elite of the imperial metropolis – the Queen-Empress & Aren Crown Prince; Alice & Georges; King & Queen of Walssex-Battent; Grand Duke & Duchess of Wantage; Prince & Princess of Cholmondeley; Prince & Princess of Went; Duc de Fontaine-Harcourt & his wife; Duke & Duchess of Middlesex; Duke & Duchess of Westmooreland; Marquess & Marchioness of Grafton; and the Viscount & Viscountess of Hessex. At every second beat the velvet and bejewelled dresses of the female dancers spread out and appeared to flash and sparkle as they swirled around the ball.

The Duke of Nonsuch stood looking animated and bright in the front row to the side of the ballroom. He was talking to the Chancellor Veronica North about various sittings of the Council of State and sessions of Parliament to take place that week. The Duke of Nonsuch, as one closely connected with the Queen-Empress and participating in the work of legislation through the Cabinet and House of Lords, was able to give reliable information about various sittings on the foreign policy agenda, concerning which various rumours were current and untrue. But not listening intently to what Veronica North was saying, he was gazing now at the Queen-Empress and the other Court elites, and now at the other senior members of the Court intending to dance who had yet to gather the courage to enter it. The duke was watching these lords abashed by the Queen-Empress’s presence, and the ladies who were breathlessly longing to be asked to dance. A friend of the duke came upt him, but before he was able to entice Nonsuch’s interest , excuse me, Nonsuch declared to his friend as he turned to the Chancellor. We should finish our conversation elsewhere, Lady North – at a ball one must dance? He held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completed his invitation. The Duke of Nonsuch asked the Cannie Chancellor to dance the waltz.

The next day Charlotte recalled the ball to Alice, but she did not linger on it long, yes, it was a very brilliant ball. But either from fatigue or want of sleep she was quite ill-disposed for work and could get nothing done to how she would hope. Charlotte kept criticising her own letters and hand while sitting for tea with Alice, and was exceedingly glad when she heard someone coming. The visitor was the Duke of Rothermere, who served as Engelleaux-at-Arms and quite premier within the Cabinet, he frequented all the imperial ministeries, and was a passionate devotee of the Old System. Hardly had he got through his bow and grace before he ran into the air of the tea and at once began talking to Charlotte and Alice. He had just heard particulars of that morning’s sitting of the Dulwich Conferences from the Duke of Nonsuch, and he spoke of it enthusiastically. Charlotte’s brother George had delivered a speech in favour of constitutional-monarchy in Wissemandie. Rothermere claimed it as one quite extraordinary. It had been a speech quite in a manner of those only delivered by constitutional monarchs, ma’am. Charlotte listened to the account of this conference sitting, which she had so impatiently awaited and to which she attached such importance. While the accounts from the duke would seem irrelevant to Cannie interests, Charlotte intentionally made sure that the Chancellor and Alice would be made aware that what Dulwich claims publically and does are two different things; despite claiming to be co-operating with the continental powers in Christiansborg, the truth is, that conference is simply an illusion of diplomacy whilst the cabinet pushed through the Engellexic agenda separately at its own conferences in Dulwich.

Before the duke was able to take his leave from the presence of the Queen-Empress, Charlotte turned, taking Alice into view. I understand cousin that to-morrow you shall depart from here - I should like to invite you, in a familiar capacity, to be present for the conclusion of the conferences. Would that be quite possible? There will be much fanfare.

 

[Thaumantica]

DOWN THE FOXHOLE​

Foxwood Manor, Persephone Island of Cantignia, 28 May 2012
​

"We couldn't have been older than thirteen" Lady Geneva Heathcote giggled over an emptied cup of Concordian Honeywine, "I had shed my frock for something more swimmable, if that is a word, and your father was so intent on jumping headfirst in to the river that he hadn't noticed I was down to my underclothes!" she said, throwing up her gloved fist in protest. "And I'll have you know that I'm still wounded to this day, for no man in the Oceanic Realms has averted his eyes from me so fast before nor since" Geneva whispered, pouring her blue and delicately green eyes in to the pious soul of Joseph Moroni Concord Junior, son to the Lord of Concord bearing the same name.

The Senior Concord had tuned the bubbly Geneva Heathcote out much earlier in the evening, around the same time she had her first taste of his choice wine. "Perhaps I wasn't wearing the right undergarments, was I Joseph?" the Lady of Vesper crassly shrieked. Joseph Junior shuddered and averted his eyes as quickly as his father must have some distant decades ago. While his Lady wife was missing, holy undergarments and all, both the Senior and Junior Concord's were still present, sober, and hiding their 'temple undergarments' beneath subdued business like suits of a dark grey variety.

"That will be quite enough, Lady Geneva" the Crimson Queen Alice said above the idle chatter of this pompous gathering of her Lords & Ladies, excluding a few of her exalted assets deployed to her equally as pompous warzones.

Beneath the heightened ceiling of Foxwood Manor, a farcry from the rustic scenes of Foxwood Forest, Alice Sophia Atwood was without a doubt in control of the realms. Lingering ominously to her right side, Robert Herschell, the Commander of her Footguard, let his eyes float from Lord to Lady and side to side toward his fellow Footguards who were somehow blander and less lively than Malcolm Osgood, who had scarcely touched his wine or moved his own eyes from the Arms of House Atwood, a crown defended by two foxes.

Alice looked up at her Commander inquisitively, carefully joining his meticulous study of the well lit room, beyond the Montelimarien decorations and the now ancient paintings of mythical beasts and heroes from Tibur's golden age, and sharply in to the heaps of so-called extraordinary flesh and linen sitting before her. She felt a mix of pity and envy for the older woman, so The Queen beckoned for a servant to refill Geneva's lonely cup, belonging to Vesper's most desirable and storied woman for twenty years running ; earlier perhaps, but Alice's understanding of this world often began an ended with her arrival to the friendly confines in the early nineties.

"I thought we might take a moment away from our festivities to pray for Lord's Burberry and Roseburrow, who cannot be with us this evening, as they dedicate their might to taming the Kersveld . ." Alice beckoned, taking account of the Mormon reaction to her call for prayer. The eternal Lady, Geneva Heathcote carefully set down her glass and straightened her posture with prudence. "I nominate young Joseph Junior!" Geneva exclaimed.

"Why, I . . I . ." the Junior Concord stammered, looking to his father for support. "What might Moroni say, Junior?" Lord Concord asked encouragingly. "Let . . Let us pray" Joseph Junior said, "Lord of Truth and Lord of . . Light . . lend our soldiers all your might!" he said, attempting a puberty stricken impression of his father. "Fill them with your love . . oh L-l-lord . . and fill them with your almighty . . F-f-fury . . In his name we pray!" Junior finished with a startling squeack. "Amen!" sounded off the Cantigian party in unison, some noticing that the Queen's Footguards had not joined in prayer by bowing their heads.

"A most rousing invocation, Joseph!" Geneva Heathcote whispered in to the young man's ear. Her hot breath smelt strongly of his father's wine, and her close proximity had struck a chord within him that he was not entirely used to or comfortable with. "Thank you Miss . . Miss Geneva" Joseph stumbled, "May God bless you wi-wi-with long life and f-fer-fertility!"

Alice pursed her lips and winced, allowing the boisterous Alcott Acres and Geneva Heathcote their laughter, filling the open hall at least for a few moments that was often silent between their visits to Persephone. Shaking his head, Joseph Senior bit his lip and glared at Geneva with hellfire, wondering how a woman of such devilish wiles was allowed in the company proper Mormon Folk, let alone his precious son. Osgood brooded further at the Crown and Two Fox, gathering his thoughts as the others raced to spew out their next disloyal words.

"Our Queen had the right of it, that is quite enough" he crackled from between his long teeth of sixty plus years, "Alice, Queen Alice, has lent her grace to Dulwich proper just this month. Would it not be a folly for us to waste another moment here without an informed discourse of her experience in our Imperial Capital?" A few amongst them had answered that question for themselves almost immediately. Lord's Whitcote, Wetherall, and the all too quiet Ilchester could not care any less than their reputations for Anti-Imperialism preceded, but they dare not show their disconent before Lord Osgood and the Queen in all their Engellexic lineage and bank tenders.

"The Lady Chancellor, Veronica North of Perdition, accompanied myself and the Foxwood Footguard to Dulwich proper, just as Lord Osgood says. We gladly observed that the Queen-Empress is in impeccable health, and that Her Empire remains victorious over its adversaries amongst the Higher Kingdoms" The Crimson Queen softly remarked, without so much as an effort to speak her loudest. "Our Queen-Empress has duly observed the rise of my Covenant with a nearsighted gaze. I fear that not even contemporary technologies can illuminate the intentions of our Empire Down Under, as the folk call it, from a vantage point so entirely Old World" Alice said with a still softer sigh.

Malcolm Osgood appeared revolted by his Queen's choice of words, and Lord Wetherall appeared as rebellious as his shamed Grandfather who had himself revolted against the Empire a century past. "Our Queen-Empress is nearsighted?" Osgood asked defiantly.

"Our Queen-Empress is ever vibrant, cunning, and surrounded by properly Engellexic Lords and Ladies . ." Alice responded with what might pass as a scolding tone, "As surely as I am surrounded here today by properly Cantigian brass" she said in recollection of her white faced gathering of proud families sitting before her, who might not sit so proudly in a properly Engellexic setting. "Not even a Queen-Empress can see that our hearts remain both loyal and true without a reminder or two; such was the purpose of my visit, and such will be the message you all leave this pleasent island with when you return to your respective realms" Alice confidently said in her own naive way.

Fighting back an unsightly yawn, Geneva Heathcote nodded with a warm and practiced smile in immediate approval. "When might we expect the Dulwich Exposition?" Geneva asked courteously, wanting to change the topic from loyalty to festivities with haste. Alice smiled with her Lady of Vesper and made a mental note to send her home to the Capital with a gift, "It is well known surely even in Vesper that Ball's and the Theatre in Dulwich take precedence above all other venues, and that Great Engellex can never be rushed in to doing much else in between" Alice confided. The Crimson Queen did not entirely wish to attend this Imperial Exposition, whenever it did finally take place. To her it honestly seemed like an alien affair in some ways, and although in some functions it was wise to play that part of a native child to Engellex, this venue would surely require an extraordinarily Engellexic patronage, not just heritage.

Nothing she could say or do could change their bred habits, Alice knew, so she said little and had even less to drink while Geneva Heathcote raved and Malcolm Osgood brooded. Her mind was lost in the constant flashes of murder in Karoskland, and the new pictures of her fallen troops at the Karlsveld, whom her truest loyalty belonged to. It had occurred to her to deliver a televised message to the surviving families and fellow Cannies, but her advisers had earned their purse by advising against such an intimate assumption of responsibility for the death of so many sons and daughters, mothers and fathers. Alice was content with lending her seal to a series of drafted letters, that would eventually find there way to the countless broken homes within her friendly confines.