[b]Portree Cove Uwan Isles Republic [/b] Just past midnight and the waters surrounding Portree Cove were calm with a gentle chop lashing against the shore. The two-man sloop glided through the water with a red lantern dangled off the port side of the ship, a green one on the starboard side. While his manservant Fearghas steadied the sails, Iomhar Cinead sat aft and guided the rudder of the small craft. The waxing moon in the sky provided ample light for navigation to the rendezvous. They picked Portree Cove because it was over ten leagues north of the capital and far enough away from Lanark to avoid prying eyes. While not as filled with intrigue as the royal courts of the world, the Republic had more than its share of gossips. The ship passed the cove and Iomhar guided it farther up to a group of shoals near the coast. There he and Fearghas made anchor and waited as the sloop rocked against the waves. Iomhar had doubts about conducting these covert talks without the other two Sealords, but the past conventions held that the Sealords were granted independence to act in their realms of constitutional authority. If these talks proved to be as fruitful as he hoped, then he would report to Munrue and Wallis and tell them every detail of what had transpired. He had been waiting. Rana Shivret's small boat was already docked, waves lapping against the sides. He had come with a young slave with powerful shoulders who was capable of rowing across the cove. Their boat was little more than a life-boat rescued from a ferry but the Angorians never were known for their ship-building or naval skills. The ambassador unsteadily stepped onto the shore, grabbing his slaves shoulders for support. The moonlight painted an unflattering picture of Rana, making him older beyond his years. A crown of greying-black hair circled the backs and sides of his head while a few wayward wisps of hair sprouted onto his scalp. He had ditched the Angorian Suktra dress for Uwan Isle breeches and a thin tunic yet he looked uncomfortably foreign with his dark skin and almond shaped eyes. "Thank you, Jani" said the ambassador to his slave. Jani lowered his head in respect and sat down unsteadily in the boat, clutching his oar between his legs. Rana was much more comfortable on land than in the ocean and it showed in his posture. Across the dock stood his opposite, Iomhar. "Good evening, Iomhar" greeted Rana, bowing his head in respect. "I'm afraid boats dislike me for standing on them for too long and make me horribly ill, so forgive me for asking we have a meeting so close to land". His Uwanese was accented yet his pronunciation was understandable. "We have much to discuss". "Indeed we do," Iomhar said as he stepped forward. The two diplomats greeted each other courteously. They were by themselves but they still obeyed the protocols of diplomacy. Rana Shivret's handshake was firm, but not a firm as Iomhar. The Second Sealord was nearly twenty years younger than his counterpart. At just thirty-one he was among the youngest elected Sealords in the Republic's history. He had a head of full, black hair and his body showed no flab. Maybe that was why Jock Munrue and the others were so resistant to his plans and ideas. He represented the future and men like Munrue represented the present that was rapidly becoming the past. "We both hear the drumbeats of war, my friend. They are distant, but each day they grow louder and louder. I was just a child the last time our nations went to war, and I have every intention to never see another one in my lifetime." "Agreed. I had a cousin who served in the Angorian Navy and well, we all know what happened to them" replied Rana. The total destruction of the Angorian Navy essentially ended the Second Uwanese-Angorian War over 30 years ago, leaving the Uwanese victorious and the Angorians bitter. Despite his reservations, the ambassador had been receiving pressure from Kehlo to push for greater crackdowns on pirates in Uwanese waters and control over an archipelago of disputed islands close to the Angorian coast. "However, I have a job to do and that job is listening to the demands of the Narayang and making sure they're understood" started Rana, sighing. "In the latest letter I received from the court, the Narayang demands the Uwanese Republic hand over sovereignty of the Chanpur Islands to the Angorian Kingdom, hand over all pirates who have acted against the Angorian Kingdom and are currently hiding within the Republic and finally, allow Angorian ships to sail within Uwanese waters". He gauged his counter-parts reaction before continuing. "I realise these may not be the most acceptable terms for the Republic, so I'm willing to negotiate the Narayangs demands" he said finally. "Some of what you ask I am unable to provide," Iomhar said with his hands spread open, palms facing outward. In the matter of the Chanpur Islands, our constitution states that the powers to formally annex and cede territory falls to the Captain's Quorum. They will not meet again until next spring. The Sealord Council could, in theory, enact a de facto concession until the Quorum meet to make it official. But I warn you that any territorial cession will be met with harsh resistance from the Sealords and the Quorum. They want peace, but they will not exchange land for it." There was no way in the world Jock Munrue, a veteran of the last war, would give up an inch of land to the Angorians. The same went for the old captains who were part of the Grand Fleet. They had fought and saw friends die for that land. Iomahr would float the idea, but to seriously press it would end with his tarring and feathering. "On the other points I can allow some wiggle room. The Republic fights piracy as well. There are plenty of rumors that pirates hole up in your coast ports and use it to raid out shipping lanes alongside yours. Perhaps we could work out a joint agreement. It would create harmony on both sides if we brought these villains to justice in a joint operation. That would dovetail perfectly into your request for Angorian shipping to travel through Uwanese waters. I would add a caveat that merchant ships should be allowed, but naval and military vessels cannot venture south of the Chanpur Islands." "Fighting piracy is one of the main concerns of the Narayang," answere Rana. "The Chandpur Islands have become something of a haven for pirates or at least, the Narayang believes it has. A joint force combating piracy and the ease on Angorian shipping would be a step forward but the Chandpur Islands are still believed to be Angorian in Kehlo. As soon as we are finished here, I'll send the Narayang your proposals and try to work out a proper deal from there. Unless there is anything else you'd like to discuss, I believe we are finished here?" "I would appreciate it in another, perhaps more discrete, message was delivered to the Narayang. Let him know that Jock Munrue will never listen to peace overtures. He lost many friends in the last war and holds a powerful grudge against the Narayang and his people. As First Sealord he has command of the Republican Navy and Marines. I am responsible for only peace. War is his domain. If Angoria wants peace with the Republic, then there must be a change in government. I am trying to convene an emergency session of the Captain's Quorum, but the old fools are mired in tradition and precedent. The Quorum never meets more than once a year, always have always will. But if the Narayang himself were to make overtures about war, then I could make a very strong case to call an emergency Quorum. In the Quorum I have more than votes on my side. If we convene and I talk to my people and..." Iomhar spread his hands out and shrugged, showing Rana a grin. "You and the Kingdom would find that I make a much better First Sealord than a Second Sealord." "I'm sure we will, assuming the next First Sealord is more co-operative than the current one" replied Rana, a small smile forming on his lips. "Before there can be peace, there will be tensions. I'm sure the Narayang can understand how things work. All in the name of peace, of course! Now, Iomhar, it has been a pleasure. But I must bid you goodnight, for I have letters to write and money to count". He held a hand out for a 'handshake', which was a very Uwanese custom that Rana had grown rather fond of. Iomhar nodded and exchanged a handshake with Rana. The Angorian's hand was loose and not particularly firm. Iomhar nearly smiled at the thought of some of the bone-crushing shakes the men of the isles liked to use on one another. It was a symbol of dominance to have the stronger handshake, something that Rana would learn in time if he did it long enough. "Good luck, my friend. Only you and I are what stands between our two nations going to war. I pray it will not come to pass." Saying their goodbyes, they departed Portree Cove, Rana heading south back to Lanark while Iomhar sailed north for several leagues before doubling back and following the Angorian ambassador's route back to the capital. (The above was a Chapa/Byrd Joint) -- [b]Beechden Chanpur Isles Uwan Isles Republic[/b] "Are we ready?" Hamish Sturgeon asked his first mate. "Aye aye, captain." "Then anchors away, Mister Sunil. We're shoving off." Sturgeon was exactly what everyone pictured when they thought of an Uwanese ship captain. He was tall and rail thin with a very strong jawline that was currently obscured by his thick gray beard. He wore a peaked cap on his head, hiding his wiry gray hair. A fish hook shaped scar under his left eye was his prominent feature, a souvenir from a bar fight in Koraha some years ago when a goddamn Iwi mongrel almost blinded him with a shard of glass. Sturgeon's ship,[i]Dromon[/i], was a three sail galley with forty oars they used in shallow waters like the ones in the harbor she currently inhabited. This year marked Sturgeon's fifteenth year walking her decks as captain. She wasn't much to look at back then. She was covered in barnacles and rotting on a dry dock in Orney Flow. She'd once been the RVN [i]Riptide[/i], a fast little corvette that made it through the Second Uwan-Angorian War. Little more than a hull, Sturgeon bought her for next to nothing and spent nearly the cost of a new boat restoring her. It was well worth the cost. Sturgeon made a good living and the [i]Dromon[/i] was known as one of the fastest boats in the Chanpur Islands. He liked having an old navy boat at his command. He almost joined the URN like his older brother had, but he went a different way. He was suddenly reminded of the old story of the sailor who took the right stream when the river came to a fork. He could not help but wonder what would have happened if he went left. The port of Beechden began to fade and Sturgeon felt sad at seeing it go. The city had a reputation for being wild even here in the islands where almost anything went. There was nothing you could not procure in Beechden for the right amount of coin. It's reputation made it an ideal spot for shady types of all walks of live. There would be scammers trying to hawk "authentic Visha artifacts" alongside bookmakers taking bets on the Bandara cage fights the town hosted nightly, spies from foreign lands trying to find out information about the Republic and any other things they could sell for money, people without countries, pirates, scallywags, and all around bastards... and then there were the doctors who would offer cheap surgery to those in need and lead them down a dark back alley... and nobody would ever see those people again. Beechden was dangerous to those who were naive. But for people like Sturgeon, it was the best goddamn place in the world. "We're running deep enough to set sail, captain," Mr. Sunil announced from the helm. Sunil was one of the goat men that lived across the mainland. He and Sturgeon had worked together on fishing boats for years before finally striking out to get their own boat. He'd helped him restore the [i]Dromon[/i] and had been by his side since. He was a damn good first mate that knew how to keep the crew in line. For his skill and loyalty he got the second biggest share right behind the captain. Sturgeon blew the whistle around his neck, a signal to the rest of the crew below. They all rushed topside and began to hoist the sails. While they did that, Sturgeon ran down the flag off the mast. The bright green flag that announced the [i]Dromon[/i] as a simple merchant vessel was replaced by the a navy blue flag with a large, gold anchor on it and the words "Uwanese Republican Navy" written in large gold script below the anchor. It was one someone in Beechden managed to steal off a ship many years ago. As they said, there was nothing you could not get in Beechden for a price. --- [b] Executive Chamber Lanark Uwan Isles Republic[/b] "I hereby call this meeting of the Executive Council to order." Jock Munrue banged the wooden gavel on the surface of the dais to start the meeting. He sat at the middle of the dais in his role as First Sealord. He and the other two Sealords were the only ones present in the Executive Chamber. The usual gaggle of political spectators and people with nothing better to do with their day were left outside as the council went into executive session to discuss matters of defense. On Jock's right sat Second Sealord Iomarh Cinead in is usual crisp silk suit, a cocky smile on his face. To the left was Third Sealord Eachann Wallis with his reading spectacles perched on the end of his hawkish nose. "That matter I wish to discuss today involves further expansion of the Republican Navy," Jock said, rifling through the papers before him. "You both were given a report two days ago from Admiral Sturgeon on the current status of the navy. His report recommends an expansion of ten warships, twenty transport crafts, and a further recruitment and training of two hundred marines. Third Sealord, is that within our budget?" "No, sir," Wallace said flatly. "Based on the current numbers that would run our budget at a rather large deficit, larger than any budget before. We would have to levy a slight increase in taxes, probably in the area of tariffs." Jock looked to his right. The discussion going into the issue of tariffs was sure to rouse the Second Sealord into action, what with the many ships working for him to import and export goods across the world. "I am opposed to an increase in tariffs," Cinead said with that playful smile still on his face. "That only hurts international trade and strains relations with our friends abroad. What about a tax increase to fishing licenses?" "Your attempt at humor?" Jock asked with a hint of contempt in his voice. Jock himself owned three fishing vessels that combed the Scapa Strait for tuna and flounder. "It's politics," the young Second Sealord said with a wink. "Give and take, First Sealord." "You give, I take," said Jock. "Mr. Wallis, what amount of new ships and men can we add to the navy and still maintain a balanced budget and no new taxes or increases?" Wallis went to work on a scratch sheet of paper with a stub of a pencil. He may be a poor sailor who got seasick at the drop of a hat, but the man was a natural cipherer. After a half minute, he looked up from his paper at Jock. "Two warships, ten transport vessels, and one hundred marines. That's the most balanced distribution of the cash available to us." "What do you think about that, Second Sealord?" Jock asked Cinead with raised eyebrows. "Fair enough," he said with a nod. "Does the admiral have a timetable on it?" "Next year for implementation of all of them at the earliest," said Jock. "They won't help us if things with Angoria go to shit tomorrow, but they will be very valuable if it comes to war. That reminds me, Second Sealord have you had any further contact with Ambassador Shivret." "No," Cinead anwwered quickly. "He is still awaiting orders from that boy they call king." Jock grunted and let the humor of Cinead of all people making a joke about someone being too young pass by without comment.He was afraid war between the two nations would again arrive. Jock did not want it to come to that, but if war did come he would make damn sure his country was ready. "Very well. We have a motion to amend Admiral Sturgeon's recommendations. As ordered by the Executive Council, two warships, ten transport craft, and one hundred new marines will be commissioned into the Uwan Republican Navy. Do I hear a second?" "Second," said Wallis. "All in favor?" Three hands were raised and Jock picked up the gavel, banging it down. "So ordered. On to the economic report..." --- [b]The Chanpur Sea[/b] The [i]Dromon[/i] took the steady winds coming from the south and rode them hard and fast as she cut through the waters towards her destination. Sturgeon stood on the quarterdeck with Mr. Sunil at his side, his hairy hands steady on the wheel. The rest of the crew bustled about the deck and below deck fulfilling their tasks. It was hard work and cost a damn near arm and a leg to get all of them uniforms, but Sturgeon was sure it was a worthy investment. He himself was dressed in the dark blue breeches and top coat of the URN complete with the dark blue peaked cap and gold braid on the bill that announced him as an officer. On the shoulders and cuffs of the jacket were three gold bars and a silver anchor, clarifying his rank as Captain. On his hip was a saber, a thin cutlass that all naval officers carried into battle. The rest of the men wore similar uniforms with matching ranks. If their uniforms were inspected closely, they would see them as the knock offs that they actually were, but from a distance it would appear that they were indeed members of the Uwanese Republican Navy. "Land ho!" the lookout in the crow's nest called. The crew burst out into cheers and applause. Sturgeon quieted them with a long blow on his whistle. "Now hear this," he said in a booming voice. "You all know what we are here to do today, this is not going to be an easy task, but I have faith in you men. Some of you have been with me a long time and I know you can get the job done. May our task be successful and may our pillage be mighty. Aye?" "Aye, captain!" They shouted in unison. "Now get back to work!" While the rest of the crew went about placing final and preparing for the attack, Sturgeon pulled his spyglass from his coat and surveyed the horizon. There it was, a bit hazy but coming into focus more and more each passing second. Fort Ranit sitting on the edge of the Bashwar Peninsula all exposed and nothing around it but jungle and the sleepy little town down below. Undermanned and filled with Angorian weapons, equipment, and riches, a pirate could make a fortune off of if he knew the right people. And Hamish Sturgeon, a pirate for twenty years now, knew all the right people. "Full speed ahead," he announced to Mr. Sunil. "I want that godsdamn fort captured by nightfall!"