NationStates Jolt Archive

Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 9, 1807 – 2:31 AM

Secretary of Defense Joseph Alders stormed through the dimly lit corridors of Spring Parlor, the home of the executive branch of Gran Cienaga. Those unlucky enough to pass by him in the hallway could see that he was visibly upset, although no one could venture as to what offended him so much. Once he reached the outside of President Hawkins' door, he brushed off his charcoal gray waistcoat and adjusted his trousers before cautiously walking into the room.

"Good evening – or good morning rather – Mister President. How do you do?" Alders slowly eased himself into the uncomfortable oak chair and leaned back, attempting to buy some time with his small talk before he had to break the news to the president.

Jesse Hawkins looked up from his work briefly, smiling at the sight of his friend. Looking back down, he said briefly "Fine, Joseph. And you?" Hawkins adjusted his glasses and looked back at his paperwork.

"Sir, I don’t want this to come out the wrong way."

"Then tell it to me the right way." He flipped through the papers quickly, obviously annoyed at the documents before him.

"Late last night, probably around eleven o'clock or so, Commonwealth Naval Ships Providence deposed of its captain and set off for parts unknown. Captain Delaney is fine, they sent him off in a lifeboat, along with any sailors refusing to revolt, and they reached shore not too long ago, but we now have a rogue ship sailing in our territory. Furthermore, Delaney informs us that Officer Johnston, leader of the revolt, has that any ship that crosses path with CNS Providence will be seized."

Hawkins put his hand over his face, muttering curses under his breath. "You mean to tell me that not only do I not even have full control over my navy anymore, we’ve got pirates in our territory now too."

"That's correct."

"Here's what we're going to do. I want all officers and Captain Delaney interrogated, I want to know the reason behind the defection and what we can do to stop it. Meanwhile, we’re going to invite any nations in the region for a little meeting and inform them of the situation. What we're not going to tell them is that we have no control over our navy. What we will tell them is that they need to be on guard for the CNS Providence and that we're doing our best to end the problem. Send out word to any nearby nations and any nations that regularly send ships through our waters."

Alders nodded. "Yes sir." Rushing out of the room, he was only thankful that he wasn't fired. Meanwhile, Hawkins pulled out a bottle of Scotch and downed it, trying to forget the news he had just received.

(OOC: There's room for one or two more nations, TG me if you want in.)

Tor Caladonn, Caladonn
January 10, 1807 - 8: 47 AM

A ship sailed into the harbour of Tor Caladonn, past the gleaming white walls, bristling with cannon. The ship, identified as the ICS Tiranoc, docked at the Naval Pier, while sailors efficiently ran up the ratlines and onto the pier to secure the 40-gun frigate.

Captain Aelion, accompanied by ten men of the Imperial Marines, resplendent in green and white with their bayonets gleaming in the sunlight, made their way up to the Citadel, through the long boulevards of all nine tiers of the bustling city.

At the Citadel, he and his guard quickly entered the Main Hall, striding past the Senate Chamber to the private offices. There, as requested, both the Minister of the Navy and the Minister of Foreign Affairs were waiting, in oak chairs. The windows to the right looked out over the green farmlands of Caladonn outside the city, and a silver chandelier hung from the ceiling. Clearly, this was a fancy reception room used for important occasions.

Aelion gulped. Addressing two of the most powerful men in Caladonn was not exactly a regular occupation for a lowly frigate captain. He cleared his throat, and began to speak. "Honored Ministers of the Empire, I bring you woeful tidings from our neighbor to the south. It appears, in brief, from what I have heard from their messenger ship, that they are having a bit of a pirate problem, that is all they would say. They request the presence of a Caladonnian delegate immediately." He waited for the ministers' reactions.

"I think we need to look into this matter more, covertly if need be," the Naval Minister said. "We need to find out how these pirates came about, and if they represent a weakness on the part of Gran Cienaga. Although they have been our trading partners, I would not wish for us to lose an opportunity. As for the problem at the moment, I believe we should order all merchant vessels to proceed in convoys, with two fourth or fifth rate ships as escorts. I will go and attend to that." He stood, and after bowing to the others present, exited.

The Diplomatic Minister, as usual, was more polite. "Thank you for this valuable information, Captain," he said. "Although i agree with my colleague, at the moment it is in all of our best interests for me to attend this meeting and see what I can do to help Gran Cienaga in their time of need. I must bid you farewell, as I will depart immediately. If you do not mind, I would like to travel in your ship, if you are ready to travel."

Aelion was taken aback. Surely there were larger, more luxurious ships in the fleet? But then again, he reflected, the Tiranoc was one of the fastest in the ship. He really had no choice in the matter, anyway. "I would be honored, sir," he said with a bow. "I am ready at your earliest convenience." His men would not appreciate the lack of shore leave, but they would have to leave soon.

Off the Coast of Gran Cienaga

The Purser leaned against the the quarterdeck rail of the Black Tiger and watched the sand run out on the small glass before him. As the last drops of sand fell he rang the bell twice and flipped the timer before turning and heading back to the stern rail. God, I hate morning watch he thought as he pulled a small flask from a nook in the starbord twelve pounder and took a swig.

Seaman Patrick O'Brian head the bell ring twice as he sat in the rigging on the maintop gallent. His eyes wandered the horizon, to the east the sun was begining to brighten the eastern horizon. His eyes spotted the dark shadow rising over the horizon. He automatically yelled out, "Sail Ahoy, three points north north east...."

The Purser, who was acting officer of the watch grumbled. He pulled out a small telescope and peered off towards the distant shape. "Square rigged..." He said quietly.

The Knootian built East Indianman didn't seem to really care at the moment. The penant of the Knootian-Klatchian Trading Company flew off her main mast proudly. Well known through the world for their cargo's of expensive goods from the mysterious Klatch, the ships had a repuation for being armed against the occasional pirate.

The Black Tiger was no diffrent, built in Amsterdam she tended to be faster than other designs, painted with dark upperworks and a yellow stripe. At 325 tons she could carry a sizable fortune in Deyllian Cotton, Vrakian Ivory, Spices, or Tea. And to protect that cargo she was armed with two twelve pounders and four twenty four pounders on her main deck. Like all ships built in the Rayam yards, she also carried two brass twelve pounders as stern chasers on her quarterdeck.

Off the Coast of Gran Cienaga
"Sail Ahoy, three points south south west!" came the shouted cry from the masthead, bathed in clear morning light. Immediately, there was a bustle on board, as the off-duty midshipmen and Lieutenants raised their telescopes, and trained them on the far-off ship. Whispers of, "Square rigged... would be rated if it's a warship..." came from the officers, but all was quiet when Captain Aelion stepped on deck. He slowly took out his brass telescope, and moved to the side of the Poopdeck, the second lieutenant saluting and relinquishing his spot.

Aelion gazed at the sail for what seemed to be an eternity, apparently unaware of the expectant stares of his officers. Normally the mere sighting of a ship on the horizon would not provoke such a response, especially in these shipping lanes, but with pirates on the loose, no one could tell. Suddenly, the telescope snapped shut.

"Lieutenant Osgliar!" Aelion shouted, and instantly the First Lieutenant was standing at attention before him. "Lieutenant, if you would be so kind, have all but the men with imperative duties be issued their rations for breakfast, if you please."

Osgilar saluted, and signalled to the trumpeter, who had already heard the order. He blew the trumpet in three short blasts, summoning the men to their meal. They poured out of the hatches and down from the masts, the marines lining them up for ration distribution.

The men waited with baited breath, the tension tangible in the air. Breakfast now, when it was usually quite a bit later, could mean only one thing: there was the possibility of imminent action!

OOC: Alcona and Hubris, if you want I can have sighted you, but if not then I've sighted the pirate ship. If you want, we can both have sighted the pirate ship from different angles.

OOC: Point of time: morning watch at two bells would be five a.m. (1 bell equals 1/2 hour) So based on midday meal time of your post (and assuming a U.S./British style Navy... your post is at least three hours later

OOC: Oh, sorry. I'll edit a change to it.

Caladonn (TG)
Bella-Ansa, Off the Coast of Haiti

Baron Highwater sat in the darkness of his cabin aboard the ARN Arx waiting for his steward to get his breakfast of fresh eggs and local fruits up from the galley. His eyes swept out of the stern windows to the land. He had spent the better part of two months ironing out details with Alexandre Pétion who controlled the southern part of Haiti. Since the death of Jean-Jacques Dessalines, last year tentions between the blacks and the mulattos had been high.

Pétion wanted good powder and shot for his weapons. And current fasions were that the feathers of the red kyte of Haiti were quite popular in the Vrakian Millinary trade right now. So Baron Highwater had come to attempt to allow Alconian merchants access to the feathers by buying off Pétion with some good Dutch powder and shot.

Now to close the deal he needed the Black Tiger to finally show up with the cargo.

Off the Coast of the Arken Islands, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 8:19 AM

"We've got the ship in our sights, sir. It looks like it's named the Black Tiger. I believe the flag is of Alconan origin."

"Alcona, eh?" Mark Eldridge remarked to himself. "Engage the ship. Raise the Najan flag and get it's attention. Get as close as you can and wait for my command."

"Yes, sir."

Indeterminate Location in Gran Cienagan Waters
January 10, 1807 – 8:41 AM

In the white glow of the morning sun, the crew members of Providence raised the Najan flag high for the Black Tiger to see. A vertical blue band with a lone white star in the center, neighbored by three horizontal bands, alternating between red and white. The simplicity of the flag made it easy to reproduce and allowed for each individual element of it to be visible from a distance.

Thrashing in the breeze of the early morning, the colorful flag was quite noticeable on the mast of the sloop-of-war quickly approaching the Black Tiger. The crew on board quickly donned their Brown Besses but hid them from plain view, taking no chances with the ship they were about to engage. The few people that carried their own individual pistols hid them from plain view but made sure to keep them on their person.

Once the Providence was in plain view of the Black Tiger, some of the crew on deck waved frantically in order to quickly attract the attention of the Alconan vessel.

Spring Parlor, Penhalington
January 10, 1807 – 8:53 AM

Hawkins' breath smelled of cheap whiskey. Of course, no one could detect this even from close range as his chair looked towards the window, facing away from any guests that may enter his chambers. The sound of the mockingbirds on the palm trees outside his window quickly woke him, and he slowly raised out of his chair, getting Spring Parlor ready for the arrival of the Caladonnian diplomat.

The purser had been watching the slowly approaching sloop with trepidation. By breakfast he had knocked on Captain Avery's door. "Pardon Cap' but there is a sloop o war approaching sir.

Captain Avery had gone on deck and watched the distant ship approach them. "Let's give them a wide berth, the British haven't been too happy with our trading with the Knootians these past few years."

But the unknown sloop kept approaching. Finally the Black Tiger ran up a signal of "identify yourself" by the end of the watch the oblivous sloop hadn't returned the signal.

By eight bells the crew were all gatherned on the deck watching the sloop approaching obliquely, then it turned. "Sir, she's raised her colors..."

"A Cienaga flag, these are their waters..." Avery added dryly. "Alright you lubbers we're going to luff the sails a bit and let her catch up to us. The rest of you go below and get some breakfast."

*******
As three bells of the forenoon watch sounded Captain Avery raised a speaking trumpet. "Ahoy Cienaga, what do you desire?"

Eldridge stood at his place in front of the rest of his crew, raising a speaking trumpet of his own.

"Greetings, friend. This is Mark Eldridge of the Cienagan ship CNS Providence." He stalled for time speaking with the long drawl typical of most Cienagans. Pausing lengthily between each sentence, he managed to buy enough time for the ship to creep into close range with the Black Tiger.

Once in range, he raised the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand and waved them in the direction of the gun ports on either side of the deck. Speedily, the crew of the Providence rushed towards their respective position near either row of six-pounders on each side of the sloop-of-war and opened the gun ports.

"Ah, but where would my manners be if we didn't announce our intentions? Let us board now and this can all be overwith peaceably."

Eldridge stared at Captain Avery with mischievous, squinting eyes and waited for his response.

Captain Avery was a short, fat man with graying red hair. The sudden appearance of the the Providence's guns made him drop his speaking trumpet to his side.

A few members of the crew on deck called down to their commrades about what was happening.

Avery looked about the ship for a moment, the crew was panicking. His guns were still lashed in place. The Black Tiger may have had a chance if he had run and been lucky with his chain shot but now, now there was little chance either he or the crew would even survive a battle this close.

He shouted to a crewman. "Strike the colors Banes, we've got no chance..."

He raised the speaking trumpet, "Aye Providence, don't fire. We are carrying shot and powder in our holds. You'll take us both if you catch that on fire."

The jaunty penant dropped, signalling the surrender of the Black Tiger

*****
Below decks the first mate was fuming rage. Unlike the rest of the crew, Benson was actually a naval lieutenant on half-pay with the Royal Navy. The idea of surrendering a ship under Royal Commission, which allowed it to hire naval personell, was an afront to the young man's sense of honor.

"That bloody fool has let us walk right into a trap, these bloody islanders are no better than Hubarian scum. Well they want to act without honor and seize neutral shipping, we will show them what underhanded warfare is really like." Benson turned and spit on the floor, his blue eyes filled with rage. They focused on a young shipboy who was standing next to him. The youngster was likely only eight, but a bright chap. "Pryor, come with me" He turned and headed for the stern of the ship.

"We will hide in the aft line locker...hopefully we can retake the ship after...."

****
The other person who wasn't simply running about was the purser. He wasn't much of a talker, nor much of an officer, but something told him that it would be prudent to burn both the ship's list of crew, the log book, the signal book, and his own account books. Whoever these blighters were they wouldn't have much to go on. Hell the bastards might decide to blunder futher south to Haiti and run into Highwater. He thought as he shoved the papers into the galley stove.

On deck the smoke from the chimney turned much darker as the smoke from burning papers was released.

Damn! That smoke had better not be the gunpowder he was talking about. Eldridge was considering fleeing in light of this recent event, but he had come too far to turn back now over one hazard. On his order, members of the crew of the Providence stormed the ship.

Once they were in leaping distance of the Black Tiger, thirty-odd sailors along with Eldridge jumped on board the deck of the vessel, all armed with Brown Besses and some others with weaker pistols.

"All right now!" he shouted to the Black Tiger's crew. "I want whatever goods this ship contains, and I don't want to have to kill anyone in the process. However, do not mistake my kindness for weakness, I will have every last one of you killed if so much as one of you double-crosses me."

As he spoke, the other men spread out across the ship, abput half remaining above on deck to keep guard over the visible crewmen, while the rest scattered over various parts of the ship looking for whatever valuable cargo could be gathered.

Softening his tone a bit, the young officer continued, not attempting to arouse sympathy among his hostages but merely to tell his story. His brown hair, the tips of which covered his gray eyes, was protected from the sea breezes only by the white cap he wore. In fact, his whole outfit, along with the other Najan sailors, was impeccably white, marred only by the navy blue scarves they wore and the brass buttons of their jackets.

"I truly am sorry this unfortunate event has to transpire, I really am. This whole thing is actually the result of strife within my own nation, if you care at all. My crew and I would have never turned to piracy at all if only our country had served its soldiers as well as we have served her…"

Before he could continue, the exchange of gunfire below deck interrupted his telling monologue.

Damn! That smoke had better not be the gunpowder he was talking about. Eldridge was considering fleeing in light of this recent event, but he had come too far to turn back now over one hazard. On his order, members of the crew of the Providence stormed the ship.

Once they were in leaping distance of the Black Tiger, thirty-odd sailors along with Eldridge jumped on board the deck of the vessel, all armed with Brown Besses and some others with weaker pistols.

"All right now!" he shouted to the Black Tiger's crew. "I want whatever goods this ship contains, and I don't want to have to kill anyone in the process. However, do not mistake my kindness for weakness, I will have every last one of you killed if so much as one of you double-crosses me."

As he spoke, the other men spread out across the ship, abput half remaining above on deck to keep guard over the visible crewmen, while the rest scattered over various parts of the ship looking for whatever valuable cargo could be gathered.

Softening his tone a bit, the young officer continued, not attempting to arouse sympathy among his hostages but merely to tell his story. His brown hair, the tips of which covered his gray eyes, was protected from the sea breezes only by the white cap he wore. In fact, his whole outfit, along with the other Najan sailors, was impeccably white, marred only by the navy blue scarves they wore and the brass buttons of their jackets.

"I truly am sorry this unfortunate event has to transpire, I really am. This whole thing is actually the result of strife within my own nation, if you care at all. My crew and I would have never turned to piracy at all if only our country had served its soldiers as well as we have served her…"

Before he could continue, the exchange of gunfire below deck interrupted his telling monologue.

The twenty man crew raised their hands up as the pirates pointed their guns at them. Captain Avery just locked eyes with Eldridge and snarled, "You'll soon learn the mutiny and piracy shall get you a fast trip to the bottom, this ship has the Duke's own Writ, you'll be fish food by the end of the week..."
****
Below the purser lay dying on the galley stove. He dropped the pistol shapped bit of iron used to move the covers of the grate and it fell on the deck.
****

Hidding in the small store room filled with coiled rope was the First Mate and the cabin boy. The space looked decevingly small from under the ship's steering tiller, but it was actually much deeper.

"Alright...keep still...sounds like these bastards are going to start killing the crew." He wispered into the boys ear.

Off the Coast of the Arken Islands, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 8:46 AM
The ICS Tiranoc cut through the water, with a strong wind sending her virtually flying along. The men had finished their breakfast, and now all men off-duty were on deck, chattering excitedly, until they were silenced by the Third Lieutenant. Aelion and the other Lieutenants had their glasses trained on the ship, nearing every second. It was, however, still a good distance off. Suddenly, another ship came into sight, a merchantmen by its appearance. The other ship appeared to be boarding her! Then, just as suddenly, a thin, wispy plume of smoke rose up over the two vessels. This was all the proof Aelion needed. He snapped shut his telescope, and the Lieutenants came to attention. "All hands to battle stations!" the Captain roared. Immediately, like a well-oiled machine, the marine drummers began playing, summoning the men to their stations. The hands poured down to the guns, and they were all cleaned and run out, with powder and shot quickly loaded. The marines lined the deck, loading their rifles while the drummers continued playing.

Eventually, the hubbub dies down, and the ship was left with an unearthly silence, broken only by the howling of the wind and the sound of the waves as the frigate surged forward. Aelion turned to the Second Lieutenant, and said calmly, "Kindly inform the Honorable Minister that we are approaching possible pirates, and unfortunately his trip to Gran Cienaga will be delayed slightly."

Although outside Aelion was calm, inside he was both excited and tense at the same time. He had trained his crew incessantly, until they had one of the highest accuracy and rates of fire in the Caladonnian Navy, and he knew they were ready for a challenge. Also, what better opportunity to prove his worth than with a high-ranking official on board?

Aelion ordered the Caladonnian colours to be unfurled, a silver tower and ship imposed over a green field, gleaming in the sunlight. He raised his bullhorn, waiting for the ships to be within range.

The sailors of the Black Tiger noticed the shape of a frigate comming over the horizon. A few took side long glances at the Pirates and hoped that they wouldn't realize the frigate was moving up on them from behind.

"Ah, my friend, realize this. So long as there is breath in my body I will never submit to the authority of another nation. We are charged with protecting the Najan people, you'll have to kill us to keep us from doing so." Eldridge replied hoarsely, staring him directly in the eyes the entire time.

As he aimed his musket at the crew above deck, he never even to notice the frigate steadily approaching in the distance.

Below the Deck of the Black Tiger

"Dammit, Jim! What the hell is wrong with you? Always ready to fire your weapon, I see."

"Oh shut up, you would have done the same in my situation!"

"If I had shot him, I would have made certain he was armed first!"

"Shut the hell up! Just shut up!" He swiftly threw a punch at his abrasive crewmate, unaware that the scuffle served as an opening for any assailants to strike the quarreling sailors.

Everything was tense on board the frigate, the slow matches already on their inexorable path of destruction to the touch holes of the cannons, the marines with rifles already raised and bayonets fixed, aimed at the crewmen of the pirate ship, the men clearly identifiable at such short range.

Aelion was overjoyed that the pirates had not heard them, but did not want to count his eggs yet. The sloop was smaller than the frigate, and might possibly be faster, despite the expert craftmanship of the Caladonnian ship and her slim lines. He waited till there was no chance of a miss, and said in a low voice, "Fire! Aim for the masts and crewmen, I want her incapacitated with the captain alive!"

Everyone took further aim, and then, in a deafening crack, every gun that could be brought to bear on the enemy sloop was fired off. 22 cannons, 24 and 32-pounders, let out a deafening roar as their shot was fired off at the enemy mastheads, with some cannons firing chain shot so as to break the rigging. The five carronades on deck fired grapeshot at the enemy deck, careful to aim for the areas not near the pirate captain. The rest of the crewmen were picked off by the marines.

Aelion chuckled. It was likely that only the captain would be left on the pirate deck.

(OOC: Alright, I'll allow for the killing of most of the rest of the crew, but the captain has to be able to escape eventually, he's very important to the progress of the story)

"Sons of bitches!" Eldridge cried as he watched the wholesale slaughter of his crew by the Caladonnian riflemen. Powerless, he could only sneer in disgust as he watched the blood of his crewmates – his brothers – pool across the wooden deck of the Providence. They had not even been back on the deck of their own ship for ten minutes before this massacre had occurred.

Heaving profusely, out of both sorrow and rage, he snatched off the white cap that adorned his head and waved it frantically, signalling a surrender. Laying his musket down at his feet, he glared at each and every one of the murderers of his comrades. Sleep with one eye open, you bastards.

All in all, about five or so of the men of the Providence survived the attack, and while none of them were gravely injured, they were all bloodstained, if not with their own fluids then with those of their associates. Taking their place at the starboard side of the ship, they all kneeled with their hands behind their heads, waiting for their captors.

OOC: That's what I was thinking too. I'll hand him over to Gran Cienaga soon, and then you can rp an escape.

IC: Aelion stepped onto the deck of the pirate ship, 20 Caladonnian marines behind him with rifles pointed at the pirates. The Captain quickly ordered for ten of them to go belowdecks and scour the ship for any survivors, while the rest shackled the prisoners with steel manacles from the Tiranoc five marines holding their chains while the other five covered them.

Aelion approached the pirate captain, and said, "Why did you desert the Gran Cienagans? What is your name?"

Soon, the ten marines emerged from belowdecks with the report that no others had survived, and while Aelion waited for the reply of the pirate captain, he ordered for fifty sailors, along with First Lieutenant Osgliar, to board and jury rig the vessel, for return to Caladonn. No doubt the Naval Ministry would like to study a Gran Cienagan sloop, even in such a condition as this.

(OOC: Started an OOC thread for this, any discussion for this should take place there. Unless you're plotting something super-secret with another nation, in which case telegrams are just fine. http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=430413)

"My name is Mark Eldridge and I am the leader of this crew." He said this slowly, choosing his words carefully. The drawl in his voice made them come out very slow, letting them sink in to anyone that he addressed.

Looking up at the Najan flag flying above, his brown eyes softened somewhat, looking longingly at the symbol of his homeland. "I never deserted Gran Cienaga, I took an oath to protect the Cienagan people and I have stayed true to that, as has the rest of this crew." He squinted at Aelion, staring intently. "Or at least what's left of them after you've satisfied your bloodthirst."

With his hands bound by the cold, rusting chains shackled around his wrists, Eldridge watched helplessly as Osgilar and the sailors boarded the Providence. Speaking with a clear contempt in his voice, he addressed Aelion.

"So what is it you plan to do with us, anyways?"

"I was under the impression that you had deserted your homeland, considering Gran Cienaga issued a public warning of your piracy. And I don't think you can talk about bloodthirst, considering I saw you willing to kill every one of the innocent crewmen of that merchant ship." he gestured at the Black Tiger.

"As for what we will do with you, that is still to be decided, although you will probably be handed over to Gran Cienaga."

Seeing that Osgilar and his sailors had successfully jury-rigged the vessel, Aelion gave orders for it to be sailed back to Caladonn, while ten of the marines, along with the prisoners and the captain, returned to the Tiranoc.

Addressing the captain of the merchant vessel for the first time, Aelion shouted, "Do you require any further assistance?"

Bump

"Just because I deserted the military does not mean I have abandoned my people. I will protect Cienaga until God elects to take my life from me. Do not think that I have become less patriotic by abandoning my country."

Looking briefly at the Najan flag, he slowly turned his attention back to Aelion. "In fact, you'll find that I would have been much better equipped to serve Gran Cienaga if you had only let me finish my mission, scoundrel."

"And one more thing, keep your bloodstained hands off of the Providence, she is my home while I am in exile."

The Tulgarian Catholicon in 1807 couldn't be called local by any Caribbean nation, nor could it be called a great maritime power by any nation commanding a fleet that recognised such trifles as the end of the dark ages. Never the less, the Catholicon's ever growing princly stable was at the head of a great demand for new luxuries, and Caribbean goods such as sugar and narcotics were top of the shopping list. No matter how far the nation's great armies marched, they could not walk back across the ocean with these things, and so Tulgarians were reluctantly forced out on to the waves.

Tulgarian ships were generally small, poorly kept, and often crewed and commanded by reluctant sailors who'd rather have been on horseback, in the artillery, or driving one of Tulgary's shiny new steam locomotives (even if only at about three miles per hour). They struggled about, praying for good weather and convincing themselves of the correctness of their heading through drink more than skill or technology.

Heading into Cienagan waters, small Tulgarian cogs and caravels freuqnetly hung together in small flotillas, often bringing manufactures and arms along with silver and currency in hopes of trade. Each boat typically bore precious little cargo, but amongst the little fleets several of the faster hulls would be packed with hidden marines recently raised from the Catholicon's massive and famous armies. Tulgary had not caught on to the line of battle approach, and the Catholicon never imagined placing its finely crafted cannons aboard the ricketty wooden shapes of its ocean-going vessels, so chose to split its valuable commerce between a greater than necessary number of egg baskets and to find safety in numbers where possible. If accosted, the Tulgarian flotillas would either attempt to flee or else -in theory- swarm their attacker and mount their own series of surprise boarding actions, possibly after appearing to surrender to a bigger foe.

Still, as this flotilla approached Gran Cienaga, its five constituent vessels strung out over the horizon without care for maritime convention, long yellow-over-red banners streaming out serpentine behind them, those aboard gave no mind to the prospect of combat: fighting didn't scare Tulgarians half so much as did the sea. The sound of gunfire tickled their eardrums from afar as the three-nation clash occurred not far away, but the Tulgarians sailed on, thinking only of dry land and rather less dry taverns ahead. They were hoping to buy luxuries and sell new Tulgarian rifles given -after much trial and error- a rather tighter twist and claiming greater accuracy, and even some breech-loading weapons recently employed by the 112th Fuzil Squadron during the Albovinan Insurrection.

(More of an introduction and a way to get some Tulgarians in the region than a direct impression on events so far, yes.)

"I hardly think you are in a position to issue demands or insults, ex-captain," Aelion replyed. "Take them below!" he ordered, and the ten marines marched off the prisoners, their chains clinking, into the bilge.

Aelion then visited the cabin of the Diplomatic Minister. "Your honor, our delay is over," he said, after knocking. "We will proceed to Gran Cienaga. We have captured the rebel captain and four of his compatriots, who, if I may venture a suggestion, would prove to the Gran Cienagans of our good intentions."

"Very Good," the Minister replyed. "Please, get us under sail immediately. I wish to reach Gran Cienaga by nightfall."

Aelion saluted, and the ICS Tiranoc quickly got under way, heading for Gran Cienaga, while the captured Providence set a course for Caladonn.

The ICS Tiranoc, making good time, reached Penhalington that day, and requested entrance.

(OOC: OK, I really screwed something up because I shouldn’t have said my nation was in the Caribbean; Gran Cienaga is actually located in Verdesia, which is very much like the Caribbean. In other words, we can act like Gran Cienaga is a Caribbean nation in terms of trade because we have the same goods, but just don’t expect to run into any RL Caribbean nations.

And Tulgary, nice intro, just one request. Would you be able to send a diplomat to this meeting?. It’s the best way I can think of to get you mixed in with the rest of the story)

On the Black Tiger, headed in the direction of Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 4:36 PM

I’m drowning in time. Eldridge could not shake the feeling that he would be stuck in the dusky, confining bilge of the Tiranoc for the remainder of his life. With no sunlight entering the makeshift prison, he lost all sense of time and as the minutes passed into hours, he began to sense a creeping fear swimming through the depths of his thoughts that perhaps he may never return home, separated forever by the vast sea from the family and country he loved.

He had been sitting against the rough wooden wall with his legs splayed out in front of him and his hands in his face, but this position had quickly made his muscles sore, so he let the tense muscles in his neck relax as his head flopped back against the wall of the bilge.

“Oh! It’s a sailor’s life for me! How I love to roam the sea!” Eldridge, never known for his mellifluous voice, was particularly off-key this afternoon and his other crewmates noticed it.

“Mark! Shut the hell up!” one quipped, his voice not carrying far due to the lack of energy that accompanied a massive blood loss. Normally Eldridge would have tossed back some tactless remark, but the guilt he felt, and the responsibility he assumed, for the massacre that took place on the Providence and any comment he could have made was weighed down in his throat.

The conditions of the bilge made him think about why he had defected from the navy in the first place. It was not out of hatred of Gran Cienaga for he loved his country to death and proudly defended it four years preceding his defection. Rather, he did it to save his own life. It almost seemed as if whoever was in charge at the Department of Defense had gone out of his way to ensure that the naval vessels would be floating deathtraps. On the Providence alone, the wood was weak and rotting in places, and the dirty yellow sails were fraying from abuse taken hurricane winds, and a few were rendered useless by giant gaping holes in the fabric. This said nothing of the anguish they endured from separation from their families for months on end with no prospect of a speedy return. Enough of this.

After reflecting on these conditions for a while, Eldridge wondered where this ship was headed, anyway.”

Outside the ship, port officials gave the Tiranoc permission to sail into the territory of the capital.

OOC: That's fine. My nation's not really located in the Eastern US either. I'm mainly a FT rper, so Caladonn isn't even located on Earth. Also, err, are you referring to me as Tiranoc, the name of my ship? In that case, I already have a diplomat in Penhalington... :confused:

IC: The Tiranoc docked in Penhalington, the sailors running down the ratlines to secure the ship (Some description of the city would be useful), and Captain Aelion with the Diplomatic Minister and a company of ten marines, stepped off the deck onto the dock.

Ten marines were sent down below to fetch Eldridge and his companions. Although the bilge of a Caladonnian ship was much cleaner than what Eldridge was no doubt used to, being of masterful Caladonnian shipbuilding design and sheathed in copper, it was still the least pleasant place on the ship. "Get up, you're leaving," the Decurion said to Eldridge, as five of the marines took places holding the chains from the prisoners' irons, and the other five held their rifles behind them.

They were marched up through the many decks of the ship, resplendent with well-repaired beams and shining woodwork, kept in excellent shape by the Caladonnian sailors and the dedicated logistics workers.

The company finally made their way to the light, and marched to the dock, to meet up with the other guard of the Diplomatic Minister and Aelion. The standard bearer raised the green-and-silver of Caladonn, and the company began marching through the city.

OOC: I'm really sorry for taking so long, I've been away for the past week. Lemme get up to speed and I'll join in.

(OOC: Not a problem, should be easy to catch up. Also Caladonn, I meant Tulgary, I have no idea why I put the name of your warship in there instead)

Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 5:30 PM

Penhalington, the capital city of Gran Cienaga, was representative of the youthful, lively character of the nation as a whole. While it was certainly not as elegant as the capitals of other, more advanced nations, it had a certain natural charm that could not be denied. In fact, it was barely a city yet; although there were numerous people passing through the dirt roads, very few actually lived there, most were just passing through to travel through the countryside or to open up businesses.

The streets were lined with small businesses, governmental offices and hotels were all built with either simplistic brickwork or the more ornate Georgian Revival architectural styles; quite a contrast to a first-time visitor to the city. The disparity between the buildings was only one of many visibile class disparities evident throughout the nation as the Georgian buildings were symbols of the middle and upper class inhabitants of the city.

The small city, however, was dwarfed by its natural surroundings. From the dock, one could see that the buildings, all built at the base of a hill, were an intrusion upon the natural order. All around, palm trees, shrubs and sand encircled them and at nights when all the lanterns were lit, from a distance they were only a tiny speck compared to the adjacent greenery.

Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 7:18 PM

After what seemed like an eternity, the company of marines arrived at the gates of Spring Parlor and were approached by two guards, each wearing black uniforms with a lone silver star sewn to each shoulder.

"What is your business here?"

Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 - 7:18 PM

The Standard Bearer saluted, and raised the flag of Caladonn, while the marines, resplendent in green tunics with white crossbelts and trousers, presented their rifles, and marched apart to reveal Aelion, in full dress uniform with ornate gilded sword, epaulettes, and a falconfeather plume, and the Diplomatic Minister, dressed more somberly in a grey suit.

"I request an audience with your leaders, as the Diplomatic Minister of the Empire of Caladonn. We have news of great importance to bring to them."

(OOC: Well, Tulgary isn't really a European nation, either, but being as we haven't got any better reference to go on...
Ah, yeah, anyway, well-bred sorts will be aboard some of the ships. As yet we don't know anything about the piracy or the conference, being as we live thousands of miles away in a pre-electronic age!)

The little Tulgarian vessels arrived in Penhalington with no great expectations, and the well to do amongst the passengers and crew felt a smug sense of satisfaction in seeing the city less impressive in architecture and infrastructure than was the case back in the Catholicon's major urban centres. The hands too were cautiously pleased, having feared that they may be walking into something too refined for their basic tastes, and soon the majority of them were off looking for the worst bars on offer, while the Marines familiarised their limbs and their aims with the static nature of dry land, standing about and tracking seabirds with their new carbines.

While a number of reasonably well dressed Tulgarians headed off to seek a market that would set them off in small scale trading, Sir Jarek Suchy, Executor General to Prince Zeleny of Upper Planinaskaya, marched with a small assembly of associates into the city in search of something passable as an official authority. He had no higher opinion of the place than did any of his countrymen. Essentially they were looking to establish trade relations between this presumably exploitable backwater and their particular Principality, but had time enough to become involved in wider matters as may await...

(OOC: I'm really sorry for the delays, I'm busy with my internship so it's hard to post each and every night. Tulgary, I'll get to your post in a little while)

Spring Parlor - Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 7:20 PM

The guard, skeptical at first, looked at the shackled prisoners accompanying the Caladonnian marines. Bewildered, he looked into the faces of the people he had formerly served with in the Navy in the War of Independence.

Letting his face stiffen again into a hardened mask of sternness once again, he addressed the Diplomatic Minister. "What is your name? Is that Officer Mark Eldridge in your company? What business exactly do you have here?"

Vogelsang, Buechoria
January 10, 1807 - 7:32 PM

President Hugh L'Angley had just finished going over yet another stack of papers left on his desk. Finally, he could relax with a cup of tea and his new novel. Just as he began to pick up the lukewarm tea, a stout, balding man rushed in with an envelope in his hand.

"Monsieur L'Angley," He said, "Je fais des excuses pour l'interruption, mais une lettre de la république de Gran Cienaga est arrivée." Hugh nodded and took the letter. The aide bowed and shuffled out of the room.

After reading it closely, Hugh let out a deep sigh. More paperwork to fill out. His evening was not going pleasantly.

Vogelsang Harbor, Buechoria
January 10, 1807 - 10:40 PM

"Wann stellen wir segel ein?" Inquired a young man wearing a simple brown suit. The seaman shrugged and went back to coiling a long piece of rope. Diplomat Hugo Teuber was not pleased. He had been waiting for an hour and forty minutes now to step aboard the BB Reisender, a clipper ship equipped with not only numerous sails, but a white steal hull and steam engine. The captain of the ship suddenly appeared on the deck, smiling and waving to Hugo who just glared back.

"Meine entschuldigungen für lassen sie so lang warten. Es gab eine ausgabe mit den dampfkesseln. Mein namen ist Kapitän Max Einhardt." He said cheerfully as he descended the gangplank. The moonlight gleamed off of his dark skin and uniform.

Hugo did not share his enthusiasm. "Ersparen sie mir die scherzen, Kapitän. Können wir gerecht bereits abreisen?" Was his cold reply. Einhardt nodded and called for one of the sailors to bring his passenger's bags onboard. Hugo predicted this would be a trip he would not enjoy.

(( No worries, the French and German will be sparsely used after this post. ))

Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 8:03 PM

To an affluent visitor or passing citizen of Gran Cienaga the streets of Penhalington, currently just a cramped seaside settlement somewhere in the east of the nation, was literally a sea of middle-class and working class people. At any time of the day one would be fortunate to encounter only a handful of people walking down a given street since most of the time people were either heading to work or home from a night of intoxication at the local barroom.

From the point of view of a well-to-do Tulgarian departing from a ship, he would see the quintessential Najan male walking down the street hundreds of times, as most people wore some variation of the same general outfit: medium-length, unkempt hair; off-white dress shirt (yellowed not from any sort of uncleanliness but rather simply from age), a brown, black or charcoal gray waistcoat, trousers in one of the three aforementioned colors and leather shoes or boots. Perhaps more shocking to an uninitiated visitor would be the vulgar mannerism of Gran Cienagans. Caring little about other opinions, many would leave their own house completely intoxicated for the evening, others hurling curses at their fellow citizens over the most minor of infractions, and others performing a host of other coarse activities including belching, crotch-scratching or other such things deemed unrefined by proper society.

Unfortunately, this was one night that travelling Tulgarian visitors could not avoid this undesirable element as a throng of these uncivil Cienagans were crowding around a lone man standing atop a crate, undeniably drunk and rather inelegant in his speech. Yelling at the top of his lungs, he continued his tirade.

“What is this? What the…what the…what the hell is this anyway?” Slurring his speech, he stumbled slightly as he struggled to regain his posture. “Our government can’t even keep it’s own soldiers from defecting, how the hell can they keep some…some…” He took his time, searching for the correct word to use. “Really far away armies from invading this country? The Providence, the Merrifield, the Pearl of the East, all gone! They all got fed up with this government! Hell, if a soldier can’t even put up with the things they put them through, how can we?” Pausing, he looked over in the direction of Spring Parlor, pointing at the illuminated building in the distance. “I say! Those men have let us down! We’ll be defenseless in a matter of weeks if things continue this way! Let’s show them just how defenseless we are right now!” Jumping down, he lit up a broken plank lying on the dirt road and raised it in the air. “Who’s with me?”

The crowd, many of its component members completely drunk, complied with the order unhesitatingly, picking up bits of wood and burning them. The Tulgarian visitors, most likely traumatized by this display of mob mentality, were left standing at the docks to watch the beginnings of the demise of Gran Cienaga’s capital.

Sir Jarek Suchy and his assistants and associates gave varying degrees of attention to the scenes of disorder as they walked about, gradually getting their bearings and heading basically towards the Spring Parlour, which they deemed to be a likely bastion of civility and order sufficient to direct them on to matters of business.

"Like the miners." Said Suchy in clearly disdainful tone as he curled a disapproving lip at the rabble about the soapbox orator, referencing for those in the know his recent trip to Dovia's royally-owned (and royally shafted, if you'll excuse the puns) coalmining villages outside the venerable city of Zamakograde.

The Executor General to Prince Zeleny of Upper Planinaskaya and his entourage were just passing by this especially roudy scene when it blew-up into flame and bludgeon-weilding, affording to one and all a sense of more than mild perturbation. The clearly over-dressed Knight of the Catholicon and his equally alien-looking comrades hesitated upon realising that their course and that of the newly forming mob were one and the same. Jarek fingered the hilt of his sword, but did so as yet only with his left hand, aware of the sabre but not quite moving to panic as yet. He just hoped to go unnoticed until the situation became more clear, and failing that was preparing to look less than commanding as he ran fast out of ideas.

The ships' hands meanwhile were blending in much more happily, most being drunk already, trading Tulgarian trinkets and goods lifted from stores in exchange for ale or for petty cash to get more ale and spirits.

OOC: Sorry, I haven't been able to post for a while.

IC: Spring Parlor - Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 7:20 PM
"I am Minister Damedon. Yes, that is former officer Eldridge. He was raiding a merchant vessel, resorting to piracy. He has been taken in custody, to be delivered to your authorities. If you wish to take him now, you may. Now let us in!"

(OOC: Really sorry about the delay, had a lot of work to catch up on. After this post I think we can shift the focus of the RP to another country for a while while my nation recovers. Any volunteers? And I know the times in this post don't exactly match up, but...let's pretend they do, it's going to be too much work to go back and edit the other times)

Springtide Boulevard, Penhalington
The drunken crowd stumbled down the wide boulevard, shouting a cacophony of curses, speeches and drinking songs as they made their way towards the executive office, a rather tiny but elegant building in the southeast section of the city. The throng of Cienagans grew as they passed down the boulevard, attracting both drunkards and discontents alike.

Unfortunately, there were quite a few in the mob who had lost any sense of balance in their intoxication; one of these unfortunate souls collapsed against the wall of a wooden shack located at the side of the road. In a matter of minutes the building was engulfed in flames and the fires cast an orange glow onto the dirt settled on the road.

A few others in the crowd, inebriated as well, took this as a cue to burn any proximate structures, but the more sensible ones fled the scene, screaming and dropping their makeshift torches in the process. Sadly, the damage done was irreversible and in a short time, the fires spread beyond control. The moderate breeze coming from the west did not help the situation, further disseminating the flames.

Spring Parlor - Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 7:20 PM

The guards at the gate proceeded to take the five shacked prisoners away to the guardhouse until they could be dealt with by the proper authorities. It was at this moment that both the guards and the marines noticed the bright glow of the flames heading in the direction of Spring Parlor. Abandoning the prisoners, the guards rushed into the interior of the building, beckoning for the Caladonnians to follow their lead.

"Come with us! We'll be able to escape before the fires head over in this direction!"

OOC: I was thinking of a Native-American war in my nation, but I don't know if that many other nations could be involved.

IC: Spring Parlor - Penhalington, Gran Cienaga
January 10, 1807 – 7:20 PM
Minister Damedon, along with the captain and the marines ran after them, all surprised at the facts that Penhalington lacked a proffessional police and fire force to deal with the situation, and that all the buildings were made of wood. Nonetheless, they sprinted to catch up with the Gran Cienagans, the marines loading their rifles and fixing bayonets as they ran. "Do you know how to get to the dockyard?" Captain Aelion asked. "There we could board my ship and be safe!"

Although Gran Cienaga was relatively prosperous economically by the standards of the day, culturally and politically it was a backwater compared to its Westernized counterparts, explaining the utter lack of preparedness when it came to handling the crisis in Penhalington. Perhaps this would be the catalyst for necessary changes to take place, yet for the moment everyone concentrated on surviving the night.

Illuminated by the vivid orange glow of the flames engulfing the makeshift capital, the motley crew of Cienagans, Caladonnians and soldiers ran through back-alleys and sidestreets, taking the safest route to the docks. After nearly half and hour of ducking and dodging both the drunken crowds and the nimble sparks and embers, they finally reached the shipyard unharmed.

On the way to the Caladonnian vessel, a keen observer from the group noticed some of the Tulgarian visitors, distinguished by both their dress and mannerisms, near the edge of the docks. Calling out, he signaled to them.

"There's room for more on the ship, do you require assistance?"

While still waiting for a reply, the man stood at the docks as the others boarded the Tiranoc quickly.

The sailors of the ship had formed a bucket line, annoyed that they, foreigners, were being called upon to save the Gran Cienaga capital. The water spewed forth from the pumps, and the cannons demolished any buildings to which the fire could spread, attempting to contain it. The marines protected the sailors from the mobs, and impressed the populace into helping.

Sir Jarek Suchy, Executor General to Prince Zeleny of Upper Planinaskaya, made sure that he was properly introduced to the international group heading for the docks, even if they really had more important things on their mind. Suchy took the group's haste as a sign of just how serious the situation was, and the Tulgarians gave-up any ambition on making serious trade ties, moving instead back towards their little ships. Moving with the retreating Cienagans for a time, Sir Jarek proposed that his marines could be impressed to deal with the ringleaders, as he put it, drawing his sabre while he spoke. "Only thirty-strong they may be, but I know not of a Tulgarian platoon likely to be stopped by a rabble such as this!" he said, rather presumptuously, "Borimirow! Run ahead and bring-up the men!" shouted the knight, sending one of his aides into a scamper. In Upper Planinaskaya, a scene such as this riotous affair would long since have drawn the attention of musketry and yeoman cavalry, the former of which Sir Jarek had at his authoritarian disposal.

Captain Aelion agreed with the Tulgarian, and 30 of his marines detatched from guarding the sailors, 20 remaining, while those thirty formed up into a line two deep, drawing their rifles, the first rank crouching down with bayonets fixed, awaiting the order to fire.

Sir Jarek was pleased to get some support from other respectable-looking types on hand, even if they weren't of the local authorities nor even nationals. The arrogant fellow was of the opinion that these islanders couldn't look after their own affairs properly, and it was the duty of civilised continentals to demonstrate proper discipline: a race of land-lubbers, the Tulgarians who gave it any thought were often prone to ill regard of islanders, as they called any nation that shared a relatively small landmass with no other upstanding nation state, for concepts such as borders of human-design rather than the anarchic law of the sea seemed to them a mark of civilisation.

Before long, Borimirow returned with the Tulgarian marines, all thirty of them, which begged the question of just whom was left to defend the five cogs and caravels at anchor a little way off, and their Captain. The marines certainly were distinct. They marched with white-trimmed black tri-corner hats topping a uniform based around a long yellow coat, open at the breast to partly expose vests divided vertically into strong red and blue in a terrific clash that made them look almost like court jesters. Across their bodies from shoulder to hip hung white crossbelts hung with cartridge pouches, small tools, and bits of decoration that might have better suited a curtain-pull. Their trousers were white and their boots almost dress shoes, with lower legs bound in alternating red and blue twists of treated cloth... one of Tulgary's interests in this region of the world was a search for rubber, which interested many thinkers in the Duchy, possibly as a way of better treating military foot and legwear. All in all, the detachment was at least striking as it marched two by two along the harbour side, long breech-loading .42" Gruev I-N-R-SB Infantry Fuzils (.42 calibre Gruev-company mark 1, naval infantry, rifled-musket, screw-breech) over their strong Tulgarian shoulders. As they approached, the halberd-armed Captain bellowed a string of orders and the Tulgarians swung their fuzils from shoulder to a presentation at almost forty-five degrees across their chests before the formation swung around to face its columns into the town.

The Captain strode forth towards Sir Jarek and delivered a hopelessly over-elaborate Tulgarian salute designed specifically for the marines as a derivation of the army's example. He soon returned with orders for his maritime Fuziliers, and they began what was fully intended to be a hard slog right to the Spring Parlour or elsewhere at the heart of the community if that was as long as it took to settle the disorder. The marines were weighed down with powder and shot, and unlikely to be discouraged in their bloody mission even by the expiration of those significant stores.

They began to march into the urban chaos, stamping their big Tulgarian feet with more force than was required for the perambulation of even a heavily laden group, stopping with an order only when a few dozen feet away from a concentration of a good many violent persons. Here it appeared that the way was too confined for thirty men to form a rank or two with any elbow-room by which to manipulate a long-arm, but as the Captain screamed, "Form rank!" dragging his vowels out for ear-piercing seconds each, the Tulgarians turned their two marching columns into three rows, and while the ten constituents of second such rank sunk to one knee, those of the first took from their belts little rods that soon were affixed under their rifles and serving as monopods as the tidy uniforms were put down in the street. The front rank's marines lay almost daintily half on their sides in a manner that could almost pass for dignified were it not so unclean, though it was at least suitably uncomfortable to pass for a high-strung social construct. The third rank of course remained standing as the order came to present arms and mark targets.

The Captain made no attempt to identify himself or his detachment to the rioters before ordering action. "On my mark, give fire!" he yelled, again drawing out the last word somewhat. "Front rank! Fire!" and ten .42" lead shots struggled to catch the fuzils' new tight rifling before ripping on into flesh and bone ahead as blackpowder put more smoke into the existing miasma. "Reload!" the Captain cried on, and the prone marines twisted the big trigger-guard arrangements through 180 degrees, drawing down the newly developed breech blocks and exposing the firing chambers of their fuzils. "Second rank! Fire! Reload!" and then as the crouched men obliged, "Third rank! Fire! Reload!" This series of events was repeated twice more, with less than four seconds coming between each volley, some ninety aimed rounds having been fired in just barely more than half a minute. This new Tulgarian army and its marine force was demonstrating for the first time beyond the Catholicon's borders that its finest recruits could lay-down a greater volume of fire than any known soldiery under heaven. And having fired nine volleys of ten, the yellow soldiers heard the Captain chip some underfoot stone with his halberd and order, "Fix... bayonets!" before putting them back into marching formation and shifting position, detailing six men to sharply finish wounded Cienagans where they lay before rejoining as the marines prepared to push through to the next suitable firing position in the event of continued disorder.

(OOC- I hope that wasn't too long-winded or brutal for anybody's tastes!)

OOC: I believe Breechloaders were practical around 1860, from what I've heard at the moment the most shots you could get out in a minute with well-trained soldier was five for a musket, and three for a rifle. Fifteen shots in a minute seems... well, no offense, utterly ridiculous. Sorry if that was too harsh.

IC: The Tulgarian demonstration was certainly impressive, but Sargeant Helarcon was sure to display the Caladonnians as better than their allies. The marines marched forward, every step beating out a rythm as all thirty marched in unison, every rifle at the same angle, every man standing up tall and proud, with hats cocked the same way, formation perfect.

The Caladonnians regarded the uniforms of their Tulgarian colleagues as garish and barbaric, although their shooting was quite good. The clean uniforms of the marines, in deep green tunic with dual white crossbelts, and white trousers with a green line up each side, completed by the black cocked
tricorner hats and similarly coloured practical boots. They each carried a full kit, eschewing the usual pack role and rations for extra powder and munitions, for the long trek to the Spring Parlour.

Not to be outdone by the Tulgarians, after their first volley they reformed, facing down the dock, quickly forming two lines, the front leaning down, all with rifles at the ready, bayonets gleaming at a mob of rioters within 50 meters. This was close firing range, with a guaranteed hit. Helarcon gave the order, and as one the 30 rifles roared out, the minimal smoke quickly blown away, to reveal a scene of carnage. The men marched forward stolidly, on a street next to the Tulgarians. Two cannons, light six-pounders drawn by horses were brought up, their attendant ten crewmen loading rapidly. The cannons roared out, their fearsome grapeshot covering the street beyond the volley of the marines, and destroying the next wave of rioters, even as the marines rapidly reloaded. Thus it continued, two volleys from the marines, then one from the cannons, up until the end of the long avenue.

OOC: No time for an IC post just now, but I'll answer technical concerns, since it's only fair.
The Tulgarian weapons started out in the early to mid C18th as smoothbore muskets, and soon added rifling that achieved hardly one turn through its length. In the late C18th, that was revised following practical experience to include more turns, which made the Tulgarian riflemen already better than pretty much any rivals on earth, but was perfectly achievable simply by trial and error with different numbers of turns.
Just a few years ago, a few gunsmiths began to tinker with breech-loaders, but generally found that they couldn't properly seal the breech given the tools, manufacturing techniques, and materials available, and all such efforts faded quickly into obscurity. Only at the begining of this, the C19th, did they finally catch on to a certain screw-breech action that had been reportedly invented in France, and mirrored to some degree in a practical service weapon that became the first breech-loading rifle to be adopted by the British army. The Ferguson Rifle was used during the American Revolution, several years before this thread's setting. (Not that it matters here, but Tulgary continues using the same weapons well into the C20th, thanks to a Snider modification.) Aaand this is why I have Tulgary concentrate on its army, rather than its navy, where in I have few bright ideas!

You will note, anyway, that the thirty men fired ninety shots in just over half a minute. That's just less than six rounds per minute per man, not fifteen.

Oh, and the bright fancy uniforms, of course, are also the result of long-term observation, this time in psychological warfare, with Tulgarians noting that naturally in more than ninety percent of cases the natural intent of a man in a fight is to force his opponent to back-down, not to kill him. Thus the Tulgarian uniform is very striking and very distinctive: The Tulgarian army is here! The game's up!

OOC: I see. Sorry for the math miscalculation :rolleyes: . It's just that I'm in the Earth Imperialism on which this is modelled, and several knowledgeable people on there said that Breechloaders were not practical until the mid-19th century.

(OOC: Very sorry for the absence, good to see you back Tulgary. After this we can start on Caladonn's Indian War)

Hawkins, widely known as a "do-nothing" executive during his brief term as president of the Cienagan confederacy, did just that as he watched Penhalington obliterated by internal and external forces. Leaning against the mast of the ship in horror as volleys spewed out of the cannons, his jaw gently drooped at the sight of this horror. Looking down Springtide Boulevard, he could see the dead, bloodied corpses of the rioters splayed out, completely covering the road for as far as the eye could see.

Damn them! was all he could think of the attackers as he helplessly surveyed the scene unfolding before him.

Clenching one hand into a fist, he used the other to clutch his abdomen, feeling a nauseating sensation in his stomach as the violence continued. Hawkins' eyes rolled up in the back of his head as he slumped to the deck of the ship, hanging his head in disgust at the carnage unfolding and his own lack of courage in ending the attack.

Hawkins, however, wasn't the only one that took notice of the developing events. A fairly young fellow who had seen the evacuation of the diplomats, and sensing that the riot he had previously witnessed would soon explode far beyond its planned intent, tagged along with the fleeing group as they had headed for the docks. Dressed in a much more elegant manner than his fellow Cienagans, he blended in seamlessly with the assorted crew of diplomats and marines on the ship. Unlike his compatriot, he felt no pity for the rebellious scoundrels spread out in the blood-stained streets of the capital. The rioting bastards, they deserve everything they get. The contempt he felt for his dead countrymen was not extended to the marines firing upon them as he could only look in awe at the sheer power that they exuded from the beauty of their uniforms and the barrels of their weapons. With a smirk barely perceptible to the naked eye, he continued to watch.

With a courage he never displayed throughout his entire term, Hawkins gathered his strength and stood up once more.

Screaming at the top of his lungs with a heated rage visible in his eyes, he shouted at the foreigners devastating his capital.

"This stops now!"

On the Deck of the ICS Tiranoc
Captain Aelion looked at Hawkins, and said, "Sir, these rioters are destroying your capital. My sailors and marines have attempted to save what they can with a bucket chain, but these rioters have attacked them and the citizens of Gran Cienaga. There is no time to judge them with the due processes of law; we are doing what we can to save your capital, and you are hardly in a position to give orders."

(OOC- Well, just to sate any doubts, I'll specify that the Ferguson rifle was the first breech-loader adopted by the British army, and it was adapted from an even earlier French breech-loading idea (though I'm not sure if that one had resulted in a practical service weapon). It was adopted in 1776, and used in action on the 11th of September '77. It was reportedly both quicker firing and -despite being over ten inches shorter than the Brown Bess- more accurate than contemporary muskets, but the inventor -a Captain Patrick Ferguson- was killed at King's Mountain in 1780 before taking his rifle company far. Only one Light Company under his command actually used the rifle in action before his premature demise. The Tulgarian weapons aren't breech-loaders of a relatively modern sort with self-contained cartridges or anything, but represent an extremely rare mechanism none the less! Sorry to go on, I just wouldn't want people to think that I was being unresonable. I should be back tonight to catch-up properly. Cheers.)

(OOC: Caladonn, don't worry about any diplomatic relations issues with Hawkins, after this incident he's definitely not returning to office)

With a look of unabashed contempt, he swung in Captain Aelion's direction, sneering intensely. “I’m in no position to give orders? The hell with you! Unless you intend to offer payment in recompense for the damage you lay down your arms now, dammit! As for attempting to 'save' this city, it has already been ruined beyond repair, the rioters have been pacified and the streets are strewn with slaughtered Cienagans. Your men are only intensifying the situation!"

The seven guards who had boarded the ship, sensing an imminent confrontation, cocked their rifles and aimed at the captain and his men. Meanwhile, the fires were slowly burning themselves out and the tortured screams of the dying had ceased, as the sources of the clamor perished from a combination of the bombardments and the raging flames.

"Lay down your arms immediately and let me deal with my nation's affairs."

Aelion remained calm, despite the contemptible president and his trigger-happy guards. The ten marines still on board the ship cocked and aimed their rifles at the guards and president, while some of the sailors drew their small-arms and moved forward. Aelion's hand strayed to his saber, while his features remained peaceful, however there was an intensity about his voice as he leaned close to the president and said in a deadly voice, "Mr. President, that is correct, you are in no position to give orders. Due in no small part to your own inaction, your capital is in flames, your citizens are running amok, your navy has mutinied, and your country is ruined. Who has had to deal with your mismanagement? Caladonn! We saved your merchantmen and destroyed your pirates, capturing them soundly, in contrast to your utter ineptitude. We sailed to your capital and brought you the prisoners, when your navy had mutinied. We got you to safety when your citizens rioted, and now we are trying to keep your city from being ruined more! Look at the bucket chains of my sailors, putting out the fires your people started! I don't see any of your beloved Cienagans helping! However, if this is your attitude of thanks, then good day to you. Caladonn has tried to help a nation that cannot help itself; but I am sorry to say we have failed."

Aelion strode away to the railing, while the marines and sailors continued to have their guns at the ready. He ordered the marines to cease fire, and the sailors to end their efforts. They marched back on board.

(OOC: Anytime you want to start up the Indian War, go for it. You've got a large supply of freelancing mercenaries from Gran Cienaga)

Epilogue

Origin: Transitory Government of the Former Confederacy of Gran Cienaga

It is with great pleasure that we inform the nation of Caladonn on this sixteenth day of January in the year of our Lord 1809 that President Jesse Hawkins has been disposed of and removed from office along with the remaining members of his government.

Furthermore, we announce that a new government is currently being put into place in order to prevent such events from transpiring again. We hope the actions of our cowardly leader will not deter Caladonn from continuing economic transactions with this fledgling nation as we reorganize ourselves.

OOC: I'll do it soon, and post a link here and in the OOC thread.

IC:

Origin: The Great Empire of Caladonn

Caladonn will not hold the actions of your disposed leader against you, although we are somewhat concerned about your diplomatic process. We hope the reforms you institute will provide you with a more stable society. As our southern neighbor, we feel obligated to help you out of this crisis. Of course, trade will continue.

Sincerely,
Aramil, Chancellor of the Imperial Caladonnian Senate

The Tulgarian marines had lined themselves up for a second barrage, but hesitated this time as the Captain took in the scene and assessed the need for continuance. Seeing the worst of the disturbance broken, he held firm while the bayonet detail rejoined the ranks and a new squad was assigned to enter a near-by building and flag signals from the roof, which was done in short order, with two of the marines taking from across their lower backs small flintlock weapons they called Donderbus before kicking down doors and heading upwards. Those back with Sir Jarek and the Caladonn and Cienegan groups at the dock replied with their own signals, and it was not long before the thirty yellowcoats were marching back to the scene of the brief stand-off.

Later, the Captain would offer to put his men to the task of gathering up and even burrying bodies, and to over-seeing the orderly public works of reconstruction in damaged areas. The Tulgarians themselves hadn't used cannons, and by them no shots were fired above .42" calibre, but work that needed doing was work that needed doing.

Little else was forthcoming on the diplomatic front, but the Tulgarians would over time continue to push for export of the rifles they had demonstrated so bloodily, though it was anyone's guess as to whether the showing would have impressed positively or tainted the breechloaders forever as dastardly weapons of uncivilised devestation.

(OOC- I am not sure if I ought to have added anything else, but thought perhaps I'd just wait until the new thread starts. No doubt there'll be more of the same from the Tulgarians. Perhaps I'll add in some attention to the fractured nature of the many principalities that constitute Tulgary in the early C19th. Just another note for anyone concerned: not all Tulgarian soldiers have these new breechloaders, this is only the second unit ever to employ them in action, and most of the army is still more conventional.)

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9320569#post9320569