23-03-2004, 11:21
Fernandez Air Legion Base, outside Davidsburg, Bayreuth Consulate, Ferrana
In the past half hour, the wind had turned, blowing tattered streamers of cloud off the Pacific coast. Good flying weather, to the troops of the Third Air Legion - the wind pushed up the Southshore Cliffs was an aid in jump-off, after all, even if a wind this brisk might make the dragons finicky.
The dragons were finicky now, in fact, even on the ground, that famous high-pitched siren wail echoing off the cliffs. This was due in no small part to the fact that some desk-flying genius (probably risen through the ranks of the Rotor Battalions, and not a proper aviator) had decided to have the brutes washed in time for the Imperial Centennary Anniversary. As a dragon in water tended to sink like a rock, the malodorous beasts took poorly to being hosed and scrubbed, much to the ire of the Dragon Battalions (and the raucous amusement of the watching autogyro aviators).
White men are crazy, Kaneth thought, dodging back from an angry mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. The Misennigatai had been riding dragons for hundreds of years before David Bayreuth had ever founded the Imperium Ferranum - had taught Bayreuth's first Air Legion, in fact - and had never been so stupid as to try to wash the creatures.
But what an officer says, goes, so Kaneth dutifully scrubbed off several years' worth of grime from the hide of his mount (the imaginatively named No. 4532).
Just for so some foreign white men gon't get no stink up their noses, a good mountain boy has to go scrub six meters of foul-tempered karinné. Momma, you done told me not to join the Imperial karinnigatai. Why'd I never listen to you?
Too small for the Legions, can't swim for the Navy, what's an ignorant mountain boy to do but sign up for the Air Legions? The karinnigatai, they like the small people - less weight to lift. And Misennigatai are good with karinnéi, yessir! Savages with savages. Crazy white men.
Though there were plenty of white men - and women too - crazy enough to join the Dragon Battalions. And then there were the real crazies, the men in the Rotor Battalions, who went up in those rattling contraptions they called autogyros - and who were still not as crazy as the men of the Zeppelin Battalions, who went up in combustible rattling contraptions.
Must have been one of those who came up with the idea of a formation dive. At least they didn't try putting 'gyros in dive too - I guess even Zeppelin boys know that those things have bad climb and worse drop.[i]
Then [i]No. 4532's head, neck, and forequarters were clean - at least clean enough to pass inspection, nobody was going to complain about a few specks - and it was time to step wide around those snapping wings to clean the whiplash tail.
And after that the wings, and then it's time for a poor mountain boy to go get himself clean enough to pass inspection too - not that they'd put Misennigatai close enough for important white men to see, nossir not never! I wonder how those Palatine Hill gentlemen would like my job, hmm?
Averitt House, Palatine Hill, Davidsburg, Bayreuth Consulate, Ferrana
In the considerably more rarified air on the other side of the New Tiber, three preceding Imperators glared down at Adam Grayson from their portraits above his desk. Doing the glaring in front of his desk was Adrian Baxter, Prime Minister to His Imperial Majesty Victor II Bayreuth.
"Look, Baxter," Adam exclaimed in exasperation, "All the instructions have been given. It's all as ready as I can get it - no matter what that cossack from Augusta may tell you. He isn't hosting an international jubilee."
Adrian Baxter's face didn't move an inch. Adam was sure he'd learned that poker face from the Imperator - or maybe the Imperial Consort of the month, while she lay back and thought of England, to quote a Brit.
"Your fellow Consul Vladimir Ivanov is a respectable man and a good Ferranan," Baxter replied stonily, "And I assure you that my visit is in no way related to him. The problem, Grayson, is the flags!"
"The flags? What about the flags?" Adam asked. Privately he thought that the Ferranan eagle was a horribly Teutonic borrowing, but nobody was about to argue with David Bayreuth, alive or dead.
"His Imperial Majesty was kind enough to inform me that the flag in Bayreuth Plaza has holes in it, Grayson! And - I quote, "Is looking a little ragged around the edges" - His Majesty's words. That's part of your area, Grayson - why is it not yet fixed?"
Adam's first thought to ask was why didn't you go to the Mayor with this?. But, he knew, that wasn't Baxter's style. The damned Lyonessian always went straight to the top, and badgered that man until whatever problem he had was fixed. Should the weather misbehave on the day, no doubt he'll go complain to the Almighty.
"I had thought that the Mayor had that under control, Baxter." It's called "delegation", you fool. "I shall have it fixed as soon as possible - I assure you that no visiting dignitary shall behold the Eagle in any state of disrepair."
"Very good." Baxter gave him a frosty smile. "Now, I assume that you did have that telegram sent? His Majesty is inquiring as to the national character of his guests."
"Certainly I sent it," Adam replied - Of course I sent it - even though it's hardly my job - do you think I want to do all this work for nothing? - "I have a list of the attendees here," - he looked down at the paperwork strewn across his desk - "Somewhere. One moment, please..."
To the Heads of those States friendly with Ferrana, Victor II Bayreuth, First Consul and Imperator Ferranum, sends greetings.
As the Empire nears a century of existence, it has become apparent to the Imperator that Ferrana remains isolated from other States. In this age of international commerce and diplomacy - especially with rivalries between nations increasing on the Continent of Europe - the Imperator is most anxious to remedy this situation, and thus most cordially invites neighbours and those further afield to an epic Golden Jubilee on the centennary of the Empire's founding, to witness the glorious might and culture of the Empire of Ferrana.
Most Sincerely,
~ Adrian Baxter,
Prime Minister to His Imperial Majesty, Victor II Bayreuth
OOC:
Ferrana's technology level is roughly equivalent to European technology at the beginning of the First World War; that's what "rivalries between nations increasing on the Continent of Europe" means.
Please try not to send anything really high technology, like spacecraft or gravships; they'll boggle enough at fixed-wing aircraft.
And of course, this is a peaceful RP. Violators of that rule get fed to the dragons.
In the past half hour, the wind had turned, blowing tattered streamers of cloud off the Pacific coast. Good flying weather, to the troops of the Third Air Legion - the wind pushed up the Southshore Cliffs was an aid in jump-off, after all, even if a wind this brisk might make the dragons finicky.
The dragons were finicky now, in fact, even on the ground, that famous high-pitched siren wail echoing off the cliffs. This was due in no small part to the fact that some desk-flying genius (probably risen through the ranks of the Rotor Battalions, and not a proper aviator) had decided to have the brutes washed in time for the Imperial Centennary Anniversary. As a dragon in water tended to sink like a rock, the malodorous beasts took poorly to being hosed and scrubbed, much to the ire of the Dragon Battalions (and the raucous amusement of the watching autogyro aviators).
White men are crazy, Kaneth thought, dodging back from an angry mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. The Misennigatai had been riding dragons for hundreds of years before David Bayreuth had ever founded the Imperium Ferranum - had taught Bayreuth's first Air Legion, in fact - and had never been so stupid as to try to wash the creatures.
But what an officer says, goes, so Kaneth dutifully scrubbed off several years' worth of grime from the hide of his mount (the imaginatively named No. 4532).
Just for so some foreign white men gon't get no stink up their noses, a good mountain boy has to go scrub six meters of foul-tempered karinné. Momma, you done told me not to join the Imperial karinnigatai. Why'd I never listen to you?
Too small for the Legions, can't swim for the Navy, what's an ignorant mountain boy to do but sign up for the Air Legions? The karinnigatai, they like the small people - less weight to lift. And Misennigatai are good with karinnéi, yessir! Savages with savages. Crazy white men.
Though there were plenty of white men - and women too - crazy enough to join the Dragon Battalions. And then there were the real crazies, the men in the Rotor Battalions, who went up in those rattling contraptions they called autogyros - and who were still not as crazy as the men of the Zeppelin Battalions, who went up in combustible rattling contraptions.
Must have been one of those who came up with the idea of a formation dive. At least they didn't try putting 'gyros in dive too - I guess even Zeppelin boys know that those things have bad climb and worse drop.[i]
Then [i]No. 4532's head, neck, and forequarters were clean - at least clean enough to pass inspection, nobody was going to complain about a few specks - and it was time to step wide around those snapping wings to clean the whiplash tail.
And after that the wings, and then it's time for a poor mountain boy to go get himself clean enough to pass inspection too - not that they'd put Misennigatai close enough for important white men to see, nossir not never! I wonder how those Palatine Hill gentlemen would like my job, hmm?
Averitt House, Palatine Hill, Davidsburg, Bayreuth Consulate, Ferrana
In the considerably more rarified air on the other side of the New Tiber, three preceding Imperators glared down at Adam Grayson from their portraits above his desk. Doing the glaring in front of his desk was Adrian Baxter, Prime Minister to His Imperial Majesty Victor II Bayreuth.
"Look, Baxter," Adam exclaimed in exasperation, "All the instructions have been given. It's all as ready as I can get it - no matter what that cossack from Augusta may tell you. He isn't hosting an international jubilee."
Adrian Baxter's face didn't move an inch. Adam was sure he'd learned that poker face from the Imperator - or maybe the Imperial Consort of the month, while she lay back and thought of England, to quote a Brit.
"Your fellow Consul Vladimir Ivanov is a respectable man and a good Ferranan," Baxter replied stonily, "And I assure you that my visit is in no way related to him. The problem, Grayson, is the flags!"
"The flags? What about the flags?" Adam asked. Privately he thought that the Ferranan eagle was a horribly Teutonic borrowing, but nobody was about to argue with David Bayreuth, alive or dead.
"His Imperial Majesty was kind enough to inform me that the flag in Bayreuth Plaza has holes in it, Grayson! And - I quote, "Is looking a little ragged around the edges" - His Majesty's words. That's part of your area, Grayson - why is it not yet fixed?"
Adam's first thought to ask was why didn't you go to the Mayor with this?. But, he knew, that wasn't Baxter's style. The damned Lyonessian always went straight to the top, and badgered that man until whatever problem he had was fixed. Should the weather misbehave on the day, no doubt he'll go complain to the Almighty.
"I had thought that the Mayor had that under control, Baxter." It's called "delegation", you fool. "I shall have it fixed as soon as possible - I assure you that no visiting dignitary shall behold the Eagle in any state of disrepair."
"Very good." Baxter gave him a frosty smile. "Now, I assume that you did have that telegram sent? His Majesty is inquiring as to the national character of his guests."
"Certainly I sent it," Adam replied - Of course I sent it - even though it's hardly my job - do you think I want to do all this work for nothing? - "I have a list of the attendees here," - he looked down at the paperwork strewn across his desk - "Somewhere. One moment, please..."
To the Heads of those States friendly with Ferrana, Victor II Bayreuth, First Consul and Imperator Ferranum, sends greetings.
As the Empire nears a century of existence, it has become apparent to the Imperator that Ferrana remains isolated from other States. In this age of international commerce and diplomacy - especially with rivalries between nations increasing on the Continent of Europe - the Imperator is most anxious to remedy this situation, and thus most cordially invites neighbours and those further afield to an epic Golden Jubilee on the centennary of the Empire's founding, to witness the glorious might and culture of the Empire of Ferrana.
Most Sincerely,
~ Adrian Baxter,
Prime Minister to His Imperial Majesty, Victor II Bayreuth
OOC:
Ferrana's technology level is roughly equivalent to European technology at the beginning of the First World War; that's what "rivalries between nations increasing on the Continent of Europe" means.
Please try not to send anything really high technology, like spacecraft or gravships; they'll boggle enough at fixed-wing aircraft.
And of course, this is a peaceful RP. Violators of that rule get fed to the dragons.