[center][h1]1906, Year of the Prophet[/h1][/center]

[i]A tension hangs in the air of this world, and the Grand Survaek Empire is its primary author.  Few were surprised when Emperor Shayaer Khaitis sought to prove his Aspect of Raegar through war against the Honnerians.  But now, the breadth of his ambitions has grown beyond what anyone in the Imperial Court or any foreign government would have expected when he rose to power in 1887.  As he enters his second decade of rule, will Survaek's Modern Emperor see the Grand Empire return to the glorious days of Yvor, or will he bring upon it a second and perhaps more terrible decline?  The answer is uncertain, but the means by which it will be answered is not.  War is coming to Survaek, to Serranthia, to the entire world.[/i]

[center][img]http://api.ning.com/files/LWw0InctTwk-6xH2-g-SUBvzv4HfLe*9lL-4x3aHH3JmThbTM8dmAVPnxOnfUnpdLxguQwun7S4gscuIe*F9UJJMz2UGaIRc/FrenchBattleshipBW.jpg?width=737&height=431[/img][/center]

Surv-Vyaez Corporal Neyin Isalu smiled at how small and unobtrusive the camera flashes along the docklands were from this distance.  He doubted his face, or anyone else's on deck, would even register in the photographs.  All they would see were dozens of white uniforms, gleaming in the sun.  

Of course, the journalists and hobbyists weren't looking for pictures of sailors.  They wanted the [i]Survaekom Wind[/i], whose scale and grandeur surely made the tiny figures walking across it seem insignificant.  They wanted the steel grey of its tall, modern armored form; the glints and curves of turrets pointing death at no one in particular, and the coal-black clouds rolling from its smokestacks.  If only the photographers knew how little such an impressive warship could do without its crew.

“Isalu!”  It was his captain, a stocky older fellow in a blue uniform by the name of Jel Hmylid, walking down the stairs from the bridge.

“Aye captain!” the taller but lankier corporal answered while saluting his superior.

“At ease, corporal, just here for some fresh air.”  Captain Hmylid grinned.  “Looks like we're famous.  We should ask about getting retrofitted more often.”

Isalu chuckled softly.  “For now, captain, for now.  The Press Service will get a nice photograph and sing us some songs of praise in the paper tomorrow, but then they'll forget about us again.  All they really care about is the ship, anyways.”

The captain chuckled back, but with some hesitation.  His expression was strained.  “Young one.”  The term of address was unusual, and brought Corporal Neyin's gaze into sharp focus on his commander.  “If only that were true.  But I fear the number of stories about us will only grow from here on out.”

Neyin Isalu didn't have to think too hard to understand.  Everyone knew it, but not everyone wanted to let it sit in their minds: War was coming soon, and not like the last one.  A war where the Surv-Vyaez could very well destroy and lose entire fleets.  However, Isalu had accepted this certainty; it was what he had signed up for, after all.  “Well then, captain, I suppose it's up to us to make a good impression.  To make the stories good.”

The older man smiled once again.  “Aye, corporal.  Win or lose, afloat or sinking, we'll prove ourselves sturdy steel for the Sword of Aed.”

“Aed willing, it'll be winning and afloat.”

And then there was silence.  With little left to say, and much left to ponder, the captain and the corporal broke eye contact, leaned into the railing, and let their gazes wander across the cityscape.  This: Foedinei, the Empire, Survaek; was what they would be fighting for.  Would they be able to do it justice?

_____

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“This is where the enemy will come from, most likely,” spoke General Nel Hjarkin, sun gleaming off of his face.  He was oblivious to the Imperial Press Service photographers doing their work, addressing only his subordinate officers.  “To maximize the number of Ishuis covering that approach, we'll need emplacement strongholds here,” he pointed to a section of trench curving forward to his right, and then moved his finger to several different positions, “here, here, and here.”

“General, a moment of your --” Hjarkin brushed away the journalist's attempts at an interview with a wave of his hand, neglecting to even look at the Press Service agent.

“We'll need angled trench passages to the depots and command posts too, can't leave the runners exposed.  And to keep them clear of enemies who break through, we'll need fallback positions.  We can put some of those trenches thirty meters back over there, with Ishui emplacements off to the right and left there and there.”  The General's finger was moving quickly, and a nearby army secretary was struggling to take notes fast enough to keep pace.  “Light batteries further back, about there and there and there,” Hjarkin continued, now referencing a field map pinned to the rear wall of the small trench-in-construction.  “Heavy batteries, once they arrive, should be grouped here and there and there and there.”

Finally, General Nel Hjarkin paused.  He turned around to face his commanders.  “The trenches here are off to a good start, but as you see now there's still a lot of work to be done.  You can find the rest of the requirements for our defensive line in the written report I gave you.  Now I'll be moving on to inspect Section C, but I'll be back tomorrow.  I expect to see all the new measures in progress!  There's no telling when the Varian hordes will be upon us!”

“Sir yes sir!” replied the officers more or less in unison, all saluting their high commander with stern expressions.

“Excellent.  Now, secretary,” he turned his head towards the note-taker.  “Make sure the journalist sops don't write anything they shouldn't.  You are now Captain in charge of the Surv-Akur Second Army Press Review, effective immediately.  I reviewed your record, and you're the man for the job.  Select your team, no more than two men from any one platoon, and have it ready by tomorrow night.  Anything the IPS writes, not just articles but letters and even their damn market lists, goes through you and your team.  I need eyes on them at all times.  Last thing we need is a badly-conceived story that'll give our plans away or hurt public support.  To start with, confiscate everything those journalists have on them for review, and make sure they stay in their quarters.  Understood?”

“Yes sir!” the secretary -now Captain- replied immediately.  He turned to face the Imperial Press agents, whose faces were now greyish or pale brown from all the blood that had drained from them.  Without any prior warning, their standards were about to get even more stringent than usual.

______

-- The pre-dreadnought [i]Survaekom Wind[/i] finishes its retrofitting and takes a short voyage in the coastal waters of Foedinei for viewing by the people.

-- General Nel Hjarkin oversees the construction of trench networks on possible fronts with Murenheidt and Deltora.  He also summarily subjects the Imperial Press Service to the strict oversight of a new censorship institution, the Surv-Akur Press Review.