West Ponente
02-03-2009, 10:36
{{Closed, Med Only}}
“Thus they came to a new land, as foretold by their oracles and sages
From Tiranus came a call: ‘People of Ponetia, behold your new home,
And the home of your children, and their children, where they shall reign
And where their histories shall be written for until ages untold’ Thus spoke
Dutiful Tiranus, having heard of the future glories of his progeny.
- The Tiranid, Book VI, Lines 104-107
August 23rd, 1805 A.D.
The sun raised its friendly face over eastern Mediterranica much as it had since the land had first risen out of the ocean. It reached the first soil of the region, and as the light grew stronger revealed a somber place. Where once green fields and cool streams were, now lay dead grass and brown earth. The dry stream beds, some filled with a trickle of water, most were littered with fish bones. Farmlands grew nothing other than crops rotting in the fields. A drought was the cause of West Ponente’s misery, and showed no sign of leaving her house. It had begun in December, a strange lack of snow lasted throughout the winter and into the spring. It had rained in March, but nothing sustaining. The life-giving mountain snows had not arrived and with no water the largely agricultural nation was quite imperiled.
Now came the people of the nation and their animals. A solemn bunch, drab and dusty from the soil which they tried to eke a living off of. They were thin from lack of nourishment and joy. Hunger pangs were felt from the highest alpine village to the royal city itself, from the northern coast to the southern gulf. Times were desperate. The burning sun scorched their everyday and invaded their homes every night. The fetid smell of decay wafted across the lands. Temperatures and tempers soared. “Where is our rain? Where is our Queen? Where is our God?” cried the people.
Château des Vents, Charlesroi
At that moment, the Queen was in the royal chateau, to the south of Aquileilia walking through her private gardens. She always enjoyed a walk through the gardens to pause in the citrus grove and take in their fragrance. They were beginning to shoe signs of wilt as water became more scare and restricted to more important uses. Her father would have never heard of such things, he was of a different age and alas, had now passed with it. Leaving to her a number of problems, including her very succession. She, being his only child, was in his mind the only one worthy of following him. Instead of following the normal rules of succession as laid down by Salic Law, he proclaimed her his only rightful heir and threw away centuries of tradition. This had drawn the ire of the nobles. To add the drought and food shortages into the equation would test the new queen’s mettle to the fullest.
“Your break has been prepared Madame.” It was her maid Bridgette, a young Gallian woman only several years younger than her. Their kind had become somewhat of a status symbol, now nobility all over the Kingdom were trying to import Gallian servants. “Merci, Bridgette.” She headed into the palace, where she was accosted by her father’s most trusted advisor, Marquis René Lachambec, who bore a worried look on his face. “Your Highness, reports from the capital have me concerned, last night a mob attempted to break into the Aquileilia Royal Zoological Gardens and eat the specimens housed there. Hunger has been responsible for the phenomenal increase in crime over the last 3 three weeks. We simply must import more food.” She looked at him, an agitated look tempered with venom. She paused and surveyed the Marquis. He was an older man a little younger than her father had been. White powdered wig, a monocle, he too was the product of an age that was passing by him quickly. “Do you think I stand here and wait contentedly here while people are beginning starve in the streets!? We cannot import more without more export. Our crops are withering in the fields, our livelihood is dying before our eyes. What would you have me do?” The Marquis paused taking him the berating of the Queen for a moment. “Increase the fishing boats, make more nets. Our nation is not all soil we have more coast than almost any nation in Mediterranica.” The Queen’s reply came swift “You know as well as I do that we cannot catch enough to feed the entire nation and make a living off of it.”
They both were quite agitated, it took a moment or two for them to become at ease. “Desirez-vous m’accompagnier pour le petit-dejeuner?” Asked the young Queen. “Bien sur, Madame la Reine.” Was his response. They walked arm in arm into the room where breakfast would be.
----
At the other end of the nation, a man in his late thirties disembarked off a ship from the isle of Darunia, off of West Ponente’s northern coast and walked through the docks. The call of seagulls and smell of salt permeated the air. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform and meeting with some others on very important matters. He walked several streets into town before coming to a counting-house, knocked on the door, and was admitted. He entered in the dimly lit foyer and the door closed swiftly behind him.
“Thus they came to a new land, as foretold by their oracles and sages
From Tiranus came a call: ‘People of Ponetia, behold your new home,
And the home of your children, and their children, where they shall reign
And where their histories shall be written for until ages untold’ Thus spoke
Dutiful Tiranus, having heard of the future glories of his progeny.
- The Tiranid, Book VI, Lines 104-107
August 23rd, 1805 A.D.
The sun raised its friendly face over eastern Mediterranica much as it had since the land had first risen out of the ocean. It reached the first soil of the region, and as the light grew stronger revealed a somber place. Where once green fields and cool streams were, now lay dead grass and brown earth. The dry stream beds, some filled with a trickle of water, most were littered with fish bones. Farmlands grew nothing other than crops rotting in the fields. A drought was the cause of West Ponente’s misery, and showed no sign of leaving her house. It had begun in December, a strange lack of snow lasted throughout the winter and into the spring. It had rained in March, but nothing sustaining. The life-giving mountain snows had not arrived and with no water the largely agricultural nation was quite imperiled.
Now came the people of the nation and their animals. A solemn bunch, drab and dusty from the soil which they tried to eke a living off of. They were thin from lack of nourishment and joy. Hunger pangs were felt from the highest alpine village to the royal city itself, from the northern coast to the southern gulf. Times were desperate. The burning sun scorched their everyday and invaded their homes every night. The fetid smell of decay wafted across the lands. Temperatures and tempers soared. “Where is our rain? Where is our Queen? Where is our God?” cried the people.
Château des Vents, Charlesroi
At that moment, the Queen was in the royal chateau, to the south of Aquileilia walking through her private gardens. She always enjoyed a walk through the gardens to pause in the citrus grove and take in their fragrance. They were beginning to shoe signs of wilt as water became more scare and restricted to more important uses. Her father would have never heard of such things, he was of a different age and alas, had now passed with it. Leaving to her a number of problems, including her very succession. She, being his only child, was in his mind the only one worthy of following him. Instead of following the normal rules of succession as laid down by Salic Law, he proclaimed her his only rightful heir and threw away centuries of tradition. This had drawn the ire of the nobles. To add the drought and food shortages into the equation would test the new queen’s mettle to the fullest.
“Your break has been prepared Madame.” It was her maid Bridgette, a young Gallian woman only several years younger than her. Their kind had become somewhat of a status symbol, now nobility all over the Kingdom were trying to import Gallian servants. “Merci, Bridgette.” She headed into the palace, where she was accosted by her father’s most trusted advisor, Marquis René Lachambec, who bore a worried look on his face. “Your Highness, reports from the capital have me concerned, last night a mob attempted to break into the Aquileilia Royal Zoological Gardens and eat the specimens housed there. Hunger has been responsible for the phenomenal increase in crime over the last 3 three weeks. We simply must import more food.” She looked at him, an agitated look tempered with venom. She paused and surveyed the Marquis. He was an older man a little younger than her father had been. White powdered wig, a monocle, he too was the product of an age that was passing by him quickly. “Do you think I stand here and wait contentedly here while people are beginning starve in the streets!? We cannot import more without more export. Our crops are withering in the fields, our livelihood is dying before our eyes. What would you have me do?” The Marquis paused taking him the berating of the Queen for a moment. “Increase the fishing boats, make more nets. Our nation is not all soil we have more coast than almost any nation in Mediterranica.” The Queen’s reply came swift “You know as well as I do that we cannot catch enough to feed the entire nation and make a living off of it.”
They both were quite agitated, it took a moment or two for them to become at ease. “Desirez-vous m’accompagnier pour le petit-dejeuner?” Asked the young Queen. “Bien sur, Madame la Reine.” Was his response. They walked arm in arm into the room where breakfast would be.
----
At the other end of the nation, a man in his late thirties disembarked off a ship from the isle of Darunia, off of West Ponente’s northern coast and walked through the docks. The call of seagulls and smell of salt permeated the air. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform and meeting with some others on very important matters. He walked several streets into town before coming to a counting-house, knocked on the door, and was admitted. He entered in the dimly lit foyer and the door closed swiftly behind him.