NationStates Jolt Archive

The cold wind bit at the stone that formed the natural balcony over the cliff face, rain had lashed its walls for generations but today the clear sky was picture perfect and the sun shone brightly giving a false appearance of warmth.

The Royal Family stood on that cliff, clothed in traditional armour and furs, surveying the boundaries of their realm as they were tradition bound to do on the first day of the new year. King Robert rubbed his now white nose as his fiery red hair blew across his face, obscuring the view from his grey eyes. Age was kind to him and deep down he knew that this would be one of the last times he looked out over the seas, the armour weighed him down more these days and each morning he grew weaker. Cancer the doctor said. A scourge that had plagued the family since the days of James himself and despite the best efforts of his doctors and scientists could not be cured.

His sons could sense the weakness, he felt their penetrating stare on the back of his head. The two boys had always been the best of friends but he feared that with his passing the days of the Kingdom would be numbered, civil war had destroyed many greater realms than his. Simon and James were loyal and strong but newer, less conservative, forces would try to surpass them for rule of the isolated Kingdom from both domestic and probably foreign sources. His sole daughter, Charlotte, displayed a worrying tendency for such liberal behaviour despite being the youngest and supposedly the most intelligent of the three children. Surely she knew that providing such large liberties to the masses would result in the end of the monarchy and with that would surely come the end of all of their lives.

With another gust of wind he closed his eyes and uttered a short prayer. The dark foreboding skies to sea signalled that more rain would come, and soon. The King turned slowly and allowed the sunlight to reflect from his polished silver armour before he spoke the immortal words.

“Praise be for the salvation of our Kingdom and its everlasting place in the hearts of those pious descendants of the House of James. May we be blessed and bestow that blessing upon all our people who serve us and maintain us for the year that will come and all that must follow.”

The whole family closed their eyes briefly, saying their short prayers that many had prepared for days and weeks. The King waited in silence for the last set of eyes to open and again look towards him before he led the group back down the rocky path to the waiting transport. His children followed him, then the Dukes of the Provinces with their spouses before finally the few nobility who still retained direct relation to the King.

A few drops of rain had begun to fall by the time the small procession made their way back to the transport. The traditional mounts had been foregone for the comfort and safety of two dozen Range Rovers complete with bodyguards, dressed not in armour but the black suits and long coats of a modern day businessman as they held open the doors.

Prince James removed his sword from the buckle and placed it on the seat next to him, the ornately crafted gift from his father sitting where his wife would this time next year. Where would be put his sword then he wondered with a chuckle. The black leather creaked slightly as he adjusted his back pulling the plated armour to a more comfortable position, despite the heavy leather tunic he wore he knew that he would have the imprint of chainmail on his back for many days to come. As the car moved off he watched the headland fade into the distance and then finally disappear from site as the vehicles turned onto the main road to the capital.

The journey was short. The historic meeting place of the Royal Family was a bare five miles from the outskirts of the ever expanding capitals suburbs. No longer were the borders of the city held back by the mighty fortress walls that now only served to mark the domain of the Royal Palaces. Men of the 4th Royal Drakian Fusiliers lined the route, every mans dress uniform beaming despite the approaching rain clouds as the cars turned again, this time down much narrower streets.

With a bare fifteen minutes having passed since the ceremony the convoy drove through the main Gatehouse that dominated the walls and then up the gravel drive to the Royal residence: Kings Palace. Now it was time for the Kings address and then the feasting would begin.

Still in his armour the King appeared on nearly every television screen in the country, beginning with the usual blessing and then domestic messages about the achievements of the country in the past year before finally going on to encourage friendly nations to invest within the country and also establish diplomatic relations with the small Kingdom.

To the north of the Kingdom sat the wilds of the Eninmoore. For generations the tribesmen of these provinces had been thorns in the side of successive Kings with their raids into the Dukedom of Priskay, the province that ran along the entire northern border of the Kingdom.

Duke Lawrence of Priskay had again and again asked for the Kings permission to send units of his regular force as well as the Citizens Militia into the provinces and claim them for the descendents of James. The current residents would then be assimilated into the structure of the Kingdom coming under the control of Duke Lawrence and the system of local government in Priskay. But it was only with the Christmas Day Massacre of the people of the small homestead of Copthorn that the King had relented and allowed for the Duke to begin his limited offensive.

The Dukedom of Priskay had two Regiments of Infantry raised from within its own borders that were not part of the Kings Standing Army garrisoned outside the Capital. These two Regiments were supplemented by six battalions of the Citizens Militia, irregular forces who were nothing more than reserves only called upon when the need was dire. Three were now active to assist the regulars in the advance and ultimate annexation of the lands to the North.

Those two regular Regiments, the 1st Priskian Rifles and the 3rd Genkillian Fusiliers were now poised on the border. The armed professional soldiers were mounted in their mixture of armoured fighting vehicles and soft top trucks that would carry them forward to the two main “towns” of the lands. They expected minimal resistance in this task, the tribesmen camped out in the hills that littered the province so as to form a diluted, less attractive target, for airstrikes from the handful of ground attack aircraft that the small KAF possessed. The real fights would come when they moved to take these hill top retreats which would begin as soon as a logistics train was established in the two towns.


The nearest “town” was nothing more than a lightly fortified village about fifty kilometres from the nominal border, separated from it by lush fertile ground that no farmer would touch due to the bandits. Its name was unknown but it was the target of the 1200men of the 3rd Genkillians in their armoured vehicles. The sole Tank company that the Dukedom possessed was accompanying them, modern Challenger II’s that were so expensively purchases and lovingly maintained by their crews. They also had a single towed artillery battery which set up with the advance guard to fire a quick salvo of shells into the town with no intention other than killing some of the inhabitants and scaring the rest.

And so it was that the first company of men entered the town on foot. A dozen armed men attempted to stop them, but their co-ordination was poor and most were cut down before they had fired more than a few rounds. Still they accounted for two wounded Descendants of James who were promptly moved to a medical vehicle for treatment. Angered at the wounding of two of his men the officer in charge of the Company barked his orders and the two surviving men who had fired at them were taken away and beaten by the wounded men’s fellow soldiers.

With his anger released he ordered his men to put out the fires that the artillery had started, compassion would serve more use here than force, whilst he sought out an appropriate building for a headquarters. A two storey brick building seemed the most suitable and two of his men climbed to the top and placed their flag poles into the chimney allowing the Royal Cross and the Duke of Priskay’s flag’s to be flown, the latter lower than the former as was standard. This town and its surroundings were now part of the Dukedom of Priskay and therefore a part of the Kingdom of the House of James.

The 2nd Battalion of the 3rd Genkillians (2/3rd) remained in the town whilst the other two battalions moved out into the surroundings to prepare for tomorrow’s advance into the hills.



OOC: Does anybody want to play some of the guerrillas in the hills? Not foreign troops helping them, but the bandit groups trying to resist the Duke’s expansion.