Dusty

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Finally got around to finishing it, might be a few edits for grammar mistakes but otherwise complete.

House Ball

House Ball of Cinnamont Keep

”Valor and Strength Eternal”

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House Description:

Set within the fertile heartland of the Reach, along the banks of the Blueburn rests the humble castle Cinnamont Keep. Surrounded there, by many acres of farmlands, orchards, and a dozen landed knights with holdfasts and towers of their own. The castle itself is a modest thing, little more than a keep and hall, with a single ringed wall of bright whitewashed stone. The fortifications are set upon a small hill, and the Blueburn acts as a half moat on its northern flank. Nearby to the castle's west lies the town of Bluewood, named for the rolling woodlands that swathe the lands of House Ball, intermingled by patchwork fields and dotted smallfolk homesteads.

Sworn to the Tyrells, the Lords of Cinnamont have always proved a reserved and dutiful folk, going about their work and minding their own business with admirable dedication. If a young noble was to seek glory and adventure he wouldn’t find it here. Beneath the gentle quiet trees of the Blue Wood nothing much happens at all. The most excitement seen here in the last decade was a small tourney held in honor of Lord Owen Ball’s birth. On that day Ser Quentyn returned from his duties at the Red Keep, to ride for his infant lord nephew’s honor. The jousts were most chivalrous and competitive, yet in the end Ser Quentyn oft called Fireball unseated Ser Colin Merryweather winning the day. That was six years past, and since then only the occasional escaped horse or traveling stroyteller have been available to break the local monotony.

Should their peaceful existence ever be disturbed, and all the knights and levy of the Cinnamont be called upon by their liege lord, House Ball could summon forth a dozen knights, and four hundred levied foot, including a contingent of sixty longbowmen and two dozen armored sergeants at arms. By their feudal contract six of these knights, and a hundred and fifty men are owed to the Tyrells, should their lordship call. It has been through House Ball’s long and storied service to the Tyrells and the Realm, that they are remembered. The Lords of Cinnamont can trace their line back to the First Men, and a great number of their ancestry have served with distinction since, beneath the banners of the Gardeners, Tyrells, and Targaryen’s. They have given no reason to doubt their loyalty, nor hint of unchecked ambition beyond their little corner of the world.

In recent days they have been a bedrock of nobility and loyalty, and yet the foolishness of one might change that forever.

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Recent History:

Gentle Lord Owen Ball, a man with years enough to remember seeing the last of the dragons in its pit, bore by his lady wife two sons Quinn his eldest, and Quentyn, alongside a number of beautiful daughters. His rule was long and peaceful and marred only by a plague of whooping cough that left many worried the young lordling children would perish in their beds. Both boys by many prayers to the Crone survived and Lord Quinn would take his father’s place as lord of Cinnamont Keep many years later, taking on the little Lady Gwyn Merryweather as his bride. Quentyn for his part would leave Cinnamont in his youth, to seek glory elsewhere, eventually rising by martial excellence and prestige to become master of arms at the Red Keep, and even be promised a white cloak by Daeron II should an opening become available. Lord Quinn saw no such good fortune, and struggled in his duties. His marriage to Gwyn was troubled, and despite their best efforts they could produce no living children male or female to continue the Ball line. Lord Quinn’s brother, Ser Quentyn took on no wife and bore no trueborn children, as he expected to become a member of the Kingsguard. To round up it all Quinn was a sickly man, frail and deemed to not be long lived. Should he pass without a proper heir House Ball and all its storied histories would end and the lands would be divided up between the female heir lines of surrounding noble houses.

Lord Quinn did have a son however, by means of a peasant women, and the boy was named Jacob Flowers. He had been brought to Cinnamont as an infant, and was raised and recognized as Lord Quinn’s bastard. He was given all that a lordling might want, education, training, and attention from his father. There were many whispers that Jacob would be legitimized in desperation should no son be produced. In his forty-third year whilst his wife Gwyn was bearing her ninth pregnancy Lord Quinn passed away in his bed, and his final words were heard only by his illegitimate son Jacob, and his wife Gwyn of Longtable.

When Jacob emerged, he declared himself a legitimized son, and Lord Ball of Cinnamont, whilst Gwyn recalled a story altogether different. She had determined she was carrying a son, and lord Quinn wished to see his trueborn heir rule Cinnamont. Should she fail in this duty, she asserted Jacob Flowers may take up the name Ball and rule in his father’s stead as to Quinn’s wishes. It was a drama not witnessed in these lands before, and the excitement was palpable as rumors ran wild. A month later, Gwyn gave birth to a boy, whom she named Owen Ball for his grandfather, Lord Quinn’s first and only living trueborn heir. Calling upon her brother, Ser Colin Merryweather, and brother-in-law Ser Quentyn Ball, she had them excise the scorned Jacob Flowers from Cinnamont and banished him from his home and all the lands of Ball. Stating her son could never be safe living under the same roof as the upstart bastard.

This was six years past, and the excitement of the incident has faded. The young lord Owen is growing strong, and Jacob Flowers has vanished, out of sight and out of mind for the peaceful lands of Ball.

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Family Members:
Lord Quinn Ball – Former lord of Cinnamont, perished in his bed from sickness. (48)
Lord Owen Ball – Child Lord of Cinnamont and Lord Quinn’s only trueborn son. (6)
Lady Gwyn Ball – Mother of Owen, and protector of Cinnamont until her son comes of age. (32)

Ser Jacob “Ball” Flowers – Bastard son of Quinn, and the banished heir of Cinnamont. (24)
Ser Andryn Nimbledown - Father to Elowyn and Patrick, and Knight of Stillstone Tower. (52)
Patrick “Pat Nimble” Nimbledown – Squire to Ser Jacob Flowers, and youngest son of Ser Andryn. (13)
Lady Elowyn Ball – Ser Jacob’s wife, and youngest daughter of Ser Andryn. (20)
Quinn Ball – Ser Jacob’s son. (1)

Ser Quentyn “Fireball” Ball – Master of Arms of the Red Keep, and fabled warrior. (47)
Ser Colin Merryweather – Younger brother to Lady Gwyn, and steward of Cinnamont. (30)

Maester Nathaniel – The young Maester of Cinnamont. (25)

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Lady Gwyn Ball

Lady Gwyn Ball

Age: Two and Thirty, born mid-year of 170 AC.

Appearance: Regarded as a comely women, but of no outstanding beauty Lady Gwyn looks and acts the part of a noble woman. She is small, standing no higher than the average man’s shoulder, yet with a presence that demands courtesy and attention. She has a sharp, angular face with deep-set emerald eyes, and long blonde hair that she keeps neatly braided. Everything about the women is of good order, evoking a sense of regality. Her visage is marred however, by a large wart grown from the base of her nose, which on occasion draws the eyes.

Description & biography: Like most summer women of the Reach, lady Gwyn enjoys the comforts of highborn life well. She is clean, precise and expects the chivalric acts of men. She was born, daughter of the Lord Merryweather, and was raised to the expectations of a young woman of a noble house. She did her duty, regarded her elders and lords well and was married to a wealthy lord of House Ball on her fifteenth nameday. Should it have been, she might lived happily ever after, but difficulties plagued her life. A husband who was not loyal to his vows of monogamy, eight stillborn children, and a bastard whose presence was a constant reminder of her troubles. It was her pride and joy to finally bring a son into the world even as she despaired it ever occurring. She cherishes him, doting and spoiling the child as a desperate mother would with the fear that a cruel world might snatch this son away as well. Her overprotectiveness has brought about a less jovial side to her, causing paranoia and suspicion. Six years of good health has eased her worries however, and Gwyn has slowly begun loosening her grip on the boy, and turning her focus on developing the wealth of the Blue Wood, and Cinnamont, so that her son might have a strong seat of power when he comes of age.

Ser Quentyn Ball

Ser Quentyn “Fireball” Ball

Age: Seven and Forty, born the year’s end 155 AC.

Appearance: The Fireball is an lithe man, tall and wiry like a spring coiled trap and restrained by muscle forged of experience. An amateurish gaze might consider him no more dangerous than the next man, but the wild glint in his green eyes, the half manic grin upon his lips, the cocksure manner in which he walked, all bespoke a warrior more dangerous than a half dozen men twice is size. He emblazons on his chest a personal sigil derived from House Ball, of a fiery sphere, red as the hair upon his head, burning on a field of black. He dresses in plain clothes and armor, and at his hip is the ever-present longsword, lacking garnish of any kind but bearing the weight of a blade tempered in blood. For Fireball has seen his share of battle, and his body shows the signs of conflict in a patchwork of scars, from a great gash running through his red muttonchops to his four fingered left hand.

Description & biography: “He shall not suffer the faint of heart, nor the weak of mind and body. Fireball will show no pity but the mercy of a quick death.”

A man of action and excitement, Fireball has dedicated his life to the art of war. He is an aggressive, and confident general boldly going where no others dared. He has a reputation for leading wild charges, and then calling prudent retreats. He is not overconfident his enemies and allies often say, but knows exactly of what he is capable. Fireball has served for the Targaryens since his youth, first squiring for a household knight, before proving himself and earning a knighthood by King Aegon IV himself, seen by a thousand witnesses. He was named Fireball by his foes for his aggressive nature, and shining red hair which he took in stride, adopting it as his personal sigil and wearing it proudly as any man should. On his thirtieth year he was made the Master of Arms at the Red Keep, and trained many a worthy warrior from the Royal House, including the young Daemon Blackfyre, and Ageor Rivers.

His actions in battle, and selfless service for many decades has earned him a place amongst the Kingsguard, it was promised. King Daeron vowed he would raise Fireball to the sworn brotherhood once an opening was made available. With this goal in mind Fireball never took a wife, nor bore trueborn children, all in anticipation of his chance to wear the white, with a warrior’s patience.

Ser Jacob Ball

Ser Jacob “Ball” Flowers

Age: Four and Twenty, born the year’s beginning 178 AC.

Appearance: In recent years Jacob Flowers has grown into his own, filling out in muscle and with a full beard of red like his father and uncle. Gone are the days where he was a lanky adolescent, all remnants of the baby fat that lingered as a sign of his easy life within a Reach castle have fled. Replaced by the grimy, battle-hardened appearance of a Hedge Knight who has earned his spurs more than once.

Description & biography: There are many things in life that might turn a man sour, entrapped by one’s own desire for vindication. Lies, unfairness, and all the dark deeds of men and women that might snare one into a life of bitterness. It is a path that tempts Jacob Flowers, and yet he struggles on to remain true to himself, and the legacy of his father and ancestors. When he was but a boy, Jacob did not concern himself with worrying about inheritance, for it was made clear to him from a young age that such things would never be within his purview. After all, his father would have plenty of trueborn heirs. Yet, as the years lengthened, and Jacob grew into adolescence his father began spending ever more time with his illegitimate son. Educating him as a lord would need be taught. He instilled a sense of responsibility, and charged him to be noble, brave, loyal and true. Jacob wanted nothing more than to please his father, and took his words to heart. Only, for his heart to break with his father’s passing. He was a Ball then at least, it was his father’s wishes that it be so. It should have been so, but then his half brother was born the woman he called mother for so many years scorned him. Throwing him from his father’s castle, his castle. With nowhere to go, no family to take him in he wandered across the seven kingdoms, furious at the injustice of it all, but with not a soul who cared for his plight. He had no evidence but his word, and what was that against the word of Lord Quinn’s wife?

He might have wallowed in self-pity thereon, and become a beggar, or a robber knight but his father’s teachings rang true. He could never lower himself to such deeds, even when the hunger clawed at his belly. Instead he stayed steady upon the straight and narrow, clinging to the belief of his own self worth. Thus dedicated to what is right, he made a name for himself as a hedge knight, swearing his sword to whomever might take it. His services took him far and wide, until he came into the service of a Landed Knight, by the name of Ser Andryn Nimbledown in the Stormlands. It was in this good man’s service that Jacob found a home, and a wife, a son and squire. Ser Andryn saw the dutiful chivalry of a young man determined to earn his way through a cruel world, and despite initial resistance eventually allowed the blossoming romance between his daughter and Jacob to result in marriage. After all, Jacob insisted he was legitimized, a Ball through and through, so who knew what might happen. Stranger things had occurred before, chances slim though they were.

ASOIAF - Fire and Blood

I'd be partial to Robert's Rebellion myself.

BLOOD & IRON: IMPERIAL AMBITION

Skirmish off the Neketalan Peninsula, Between Conquerdian and Neketalani Vessels.

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Warning from the lookout it seemed, would be unnecessary for it would appear that the Neketalans possessed a few tricks of their own. Augmented eyes the humans aboard the Komet could never understand spotted them from many miles away, and an eerie disembodied voice hailed them from outside the natural range dousing any hope of slipping past unnoticed. A hush had fallen over the crew, every man had heard the words and it was a demand taken well into account. Two enemy vessels, both of which outsized and outgunned the Komet, who was still many leagues from a friendly port. A single lucky hit from one of the hostile guns could rupture the steel hull, and the frothing ocean would do the rest. For Captain Geoff Numernorf it was the realization of a foolhardy command decision, and one that might just cost him his life, but never his honor. He would rather see the Komet sink below the merciless waves then turn her impressive technology over to the Neketalan demonspawn. He paced the bridge, his mind working furiously, silently counting down the precious few seconds he had as the twin threat bore down upon them.

The Irket class vessels were formidable works of engineering themselves, but how quickly could the Komet outpace them? Assuming their size and speed were similar again to Conquerdian heavy cruiser. Geoff worked some quick mental math, comparing them against his own ship’s predetermined and assumed performance calculations. The main factor would be the turning and angle adjustment of those light guns, the heavy ones he could outpace he was certain. It would be close, presumedly they would have to get lucky in the range of three to four times. But if his timing was right… Five seconds left, he stopped his movements wild blue eyes locking on his First Officer. “Number one, give orders to prepare to raise the colors, if we must die, we do so under the Royal banner. Have the crew remain at stations and have all non-essential personnel below deck. I shall have the helm slow us to one quarter speed, and have white flares fired. That should confuse the enemy sufficiently, I doubt they know our protocols and they might assume it is a signal for surrender. But I have no intention of surrendering my ship. Furthermore, we will not allow the Neketalans to fire first, on my command target the bridge of the secondary vessel and then bring the ship to flank speed. We’ll see how skillful those scum are at tracking a moving target.” Letting his voice carry Geoff addressed the general crew assembled on deck through his open command window. His low tones heard even over the intemperate seas. “Hold your fire and nerve lads, until you can see them in the eyes. Let them draw closer, and we will be upon them like a cornered dog, and away before they know what has happened. The Neketalans send their women to do a man’s work. Let us show them the error of their ways.”

Like twin shooting stars the pale flares of a Conquerdian naval vessel illuminated the overcast sky. She slowed her approach until she was at less than a quarter of her initial momentum, as if inviting her captors to draw near and board. Less than a kilometer separated them now, and the twin Irket class cruiser broke formation, skillfully maneuvering to surround their quarry and cut off any hope for escape. Except, that was the moment Captain Geoff Numernorf was awaiting. Knowing the enemy would be fully prepared to attack on a moment’s notice timing would be of the essence. He snapped the order to fire. Four blasts echoed across the waves sending shockwaves off the water, rocketing four 152mm shells towards the Avuetis. Numernorf counted the seconds not even waiting to see if any hits were scored, his hand raised at the ready even as the defiant orange and blue of the Dual Monarchy was hoisted from the mizzenmast. One second, for the shocked Neketalans to realize they were under attack by a surrendered enemy. Two seconds for them to reach for the firing mechanisms to send twelve two hundred and three millimeters of armor piercing death flying his way. Three for the three thousand, two hundred feet the shells needed to traverse to hit him. “NOW engines to full! Give me that push!”

Three things happened simultaneously as the Komet was tested to the breaking limit of its hull’s capability. First, full fuel rods of manarite were fed into the engine core, sending a surge of power throughout the gear works that shook the vessel and knocked anyone not strapped down off their feet. The prow rose up from the water, in a near comical display as hundreds of tons of water were suddenly thrust away by the drive wheels. Secondly a great microburst opened up from the heavens showering a thick torrent of rain, and six thousand feet per second winds directly upon the Komet in a rush of downdraft. Like an enormous invisible hand, the gale caught the raised prow and nearly lifted the ship clear of the ocean’s grasp. So powerful were the winds that ropes snapped, and the Dual Monarchy banner was ripped away along with the caps of all the deck crew. Several cries of anguish could be heard, and the unlucky lookout was thrown from the mast by a snapped line, dead before he struck the merciless black waters. The priest behind Numernorff strained, as the enormous magical surge sapped at his strength until he passed out from the pressure. But he had achieved his task. He had allowed Numernorf to dodge a bullet, twelve bullets in fact, and with a ship no less. The Captain crowed as he struggled to his feet, bleeding from the nose and mouth from where he struck his face during the excessive forward thrust that had pushed the light cruiser forward like a racing boat. But the blood and pain could not fade his mocking laughter at the dumbfound looks that would surely be painted across the Neketalans faces.

His jubilation was cut short by a mighty explosion that rocked the speeding ship to its starboard side. “Impact! Hit on the aft and portside our secondary battery is destroyed!” The First Officer reported. A lucky Neketalani gunner had no doubt been delayed, or held off firing with the initial volley and was able to score a deadly hit on the aft battery sending its magazine up in flames. Whoever had made the shot, her precision was something to be admired, but Numernorf was not going to wait about to see if she could pull it off again. A quick glance at the pulverized remains of the gun crew, and the twisted metal of the battery itself was more than enough indication of what would happen if they outstayed their welcome. Trailing black smoke from a barely controlled fire the Komet sailed at top speed towards the northern horizon, slipping past the circling hunters before they could come about, desperate to escape the heavy cruisers’ max range before they could reload and bring their guns to bear.

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@Lady Lascivious

BLOOD & IRON: IMPERIAL AMBITION

East of the Neketalan Peninsula, roughly One Hundred miles from the Coast.

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These were no seas for inexperienced sailors nor captains faint of heart. The heaving waves smashed against the new age steamer’s steel-clad hull testing her riveted frame to its limit. Manarite driven engines churned the great gear wheels working the propellers that drove the vessel forward at unnatural speeds faster than even the most maneuverable coal powered frigate. Like a great seabird, soaring across open skies she raced upon the water, leaving a foamy grey-black trail in her wake. The cruiser Komet presented an impressive sight of new technology and she cut across the violent waters of the off the southern peninsula of the hated Neketalan colony in an open defiance of territorial waters. The Royal Captains of the Conquerdia navy were growing bolder by the day, and Lord Captain Geoff Numernorf was no exception. With the mighty Komet under his experienced hand he had once again dared the mighty Neketalan navy, sweeping into disputed waters and nearly collied with a ponderous cargo hauler. An impact that would have greatly favored the steel hulled warship had the victim not tacked hard to port, nearly capsizing and losing a great deal of her valuables overboard into the depths. A few Neketalans might have gone over as well, and Numernorf smirked in sadistic pleasure at the thought of them being dragged beneath the surface by their waterlogged tails, never to be seen again.

The human officer allowed himself and quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes catching no sign of pursuit through the water drenched panes. Not that it would have done the abominations any good he thought. The sun might be their ally, but the winds were at his back, and his god would never abandon him. A terrible wave rose ahead, catching the cruiser roughly midships, knocking her off course. Numernorf barked an order and the helmsman was quick to adjust the wheel, bringing the Komet back on course, North, by Northeast towards Conquerdian controlled seas. Although unofficially sanctioned by the Duel Monarchy a lone ship on a raid through rival waters could expect little aid south of the river Laun. Caught out here in open waters after aggressive action would mean certain death or worse, most likely sacrificed to the sun. A fate Numernorf and the two hundred sailors under his command did not wish to experience.

“Ship away, northwest, ten miles and closing!” The lookout’s warning came, barely audible over the ocean’s rage. A fresh energy came across the crew, they did not know how, but a ship had appeared ahead of them, traveling perpendicular to their course as if to cut them off. Whether by design or pure luck they had been caught red handed. A moment of panic swelled within Numernorf, but he shoved it away as foolish cowardice, the battle-song swelled in his heart. “No sign of a standard," the lookout continued his report, "but she looks to be a heavy cruiser, with cannon aplenty.”

“General quarters, ready at the guns!” Numernorf ordered, not that the six-inch double barreled turrets would do them much good. They had no chance of scoring an accurate broadside in these conditions. At least, the low decked cruiser would prove an even tougher target for the enemy gunnery crews. For the moment the Conquerdian ship would be unidentifiable, flying no standard or markings that would betray their “unofficial” trespass, but it would not be difficult for the Neketalans (if that was who sailed the approaching ship) to summarize what was happening. After all, similar events had been occurring all throughout the summer as tensions continued to ramp up along the border. “Ahoy lookout, have they spotted us yet?” One of the tremendous advantages of his modernized manarite driven pistons was its lack of smokestacks. Without the clouds of billowing black smoke, the ship proved exceedingly difficult to detect. An expensive, yet effective solution to avoiding pursuit. Conquerdia had three now, and a fourth nearing completion and Numernorf was sure as hell not going to be the first captain to lose one of the new prides of his nation, especially not to a Neketalan.

“Uncertain sir, she’ll be cutting across our bow left to right and she isn’t adjusting course.”

Numernorf could detect an edge of fear in the young lookout’s voice, echoing his own concerns. For all their bluster and her enormous price tag the Komet and her sister ships were not battle tested. The captain stroked his beard in thought as he considered their options. They could cut southeast, flee for friendly ports in the Gukou colony, or maybe even Bessaruga. Or they could test the full potential of their manarite engines and make a mad dash. Engaging in a uncertain naval battle against a larger ship was a step too far, even for the aggressive border policy of Conquerdia. Whatever occurred it wouldn’t be long until they were spotted, and he needed to make his decision fast. The captain grinned, a fire burned within, and he had always been a cocky son of a bitch. Besides, why were they paying for these fancy engines if they never got to really use them? He spun on his heel, issuing orders left and right with gusto. “Send my regards to engineering, and have them prepare to feed the cores to full capacity, and open up the drive shafts. On my order give her everything she’s got. Lookout, inform me as soon as we’re spotted and the enemy brings her guns to bear or adjusts course. Helm, keep us steady on and away, ride between the waves and give us as much time as possible before we’re seen.”

“Aye my lord!” Came the chorus as the men scattered to fulfill their orders.

Turning Numernorf faced the oddest man present on the bridge. It was a hooded figure, dressed in drab grey with a bright red cross upon his chest. It was a strange and archaic garb compared to the blue and bright orange uniforms of Conquerdian sailors. The man sat cross legged upon the bridge’s deck, his hands folded into a strange symbol. His garments fluttered and shifted, as if a rouge breeze was playfully tugging at the fabric.

“Priest, your services are needed. Will the gods grant me favor?”

The priest’s eyes fell shut and he whispered, the playful ghostly tugging at his clothing growing more intense as he communed with beings of magic. At last he opened his eyes, an almost childish grin alighting his face. “The wind is playful and daring, and admires your boldness. What favor can he gift you?”

“I need a push.” Numernorf laughed, “A big one at just the right moment…”

BLOOD & IRON: IMPERIAL AMBITION

In the City of New Landinburg, Within the Halls of the Landinstag...

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The final autumn session of the Landinstag was in order at last! The heads of houses, nobles and elected officials from all across the twin realms of the Dual Monarchy were assembled in New Landinburg, officiating the final matters of state before the Fall recess. An unusually humid morning, paired with the regional warmth had forced the assemblage to leave the windows open. Calls of the seabirds and the bustle of midday business filtered through as dozens of servants wove between the highborn officials, carrying platters of chilled beverages. Lounging upon his padded throne the High King of Conquerdia, Franz Hansvaul idly sipped his drink, only half listening as the hundred odd members of the Landinstag heard the concluding arguments and cast their final votes. Two weeks of proposals and debates, and finally his quarterly suffering was at an end. The Landinstag would present the Kings and Duchess with the committee’s decisions, charging them to carry out the peoples’ will. Franz lost interest in the Mayor of the House and let his gaze travel down, to where is counterparts sat, just slightly beneath his own throne. On his left, was Marietta Hansvaul, of Parlov. The Duchess sat ramrod straight, papers and notes littering the table in front of her as she took notes, listening intently to the final speeches of the lords. Marietta was nearly twenty years his senior grey haired and wrinkle lined, and yet as capable of a woman as ever, whom all respected. Not just on religious principle either considering she was the head of the Dual Monarchy’s official faith. She was disciplined, attentive, and engaged, the polar opposite to the monarch that sat on Franz’s right. There, reclining on the wooden Vinlac throne resided Franz’s great-nephew Aleksy Hansvaul, the crown prince of Vinlac, and a boy of eight, who was busy picking his nose and looking bored out of his mind.

Franz could hardly blame the child, these were the last days of warmth, and perfect swimming and romping conditions before the dramatic seasonal shift that sent the mild tropical climate of the northern isles into a short yet bitter winter. A child should not be attending the Landinstag at all, but circumstances demanded. King Varanski of Vinlac had been declared unfit to travel, his sickness forcing him to remain in Virlanca. Tradition demanded the Landinstag have a monarch for which to entrust the will of the people, and thus Varanski’s son. It had been thought that little Alesky might learn something about matters of state from the assemblage, but all it seemed to be teaching him was how to dig out his own brains in front of some of the most important persons in the Dual Kingdoms.

Reaching across Franz subtly thumped the young prince on the ear, jolting the boy from his meandering thoughts. “Sit straight, and listen well.” He murmured beneath the general chatter. “The Lord Mayor Callhanmark presents the proposal for the renegotiation of the Eurokin treaty. Which concerns your Kingdom greatly.” Deciding to heed his own advice Franz rolled back his shoulders, refocusing his attention upon the Mayor of the House, Lord Callhanmark, who was addressing the Landinstag.

“-Left our diplomates without a question in their minds. The savages have insinuated that more is required to the goal of shoring up and preserving our mutually beneficial relationship. It has been contended that the Eurokin remaining loyal is of high priority. This can only be accomplished by an increase in annual tribute from the Vinlac crown. The amount has been determined at five thousand additional bushels, and seven hundred heads of cattle. Alongside twenty thousand golden marks.” There was quite a bit of grumbling at this, especially from the Vinlac lords who knew they would be shouldering the majority of this burden. Even so, they were aware it was a small price to pay to keep the savages up in their snowy mountains, and away from the fields and mines that served as the lifeblood of Vinlac. “The funding and presentation of the increased tribute shall fall upon the Vinlac Crown. Unless there is anything additional to be added or said, we shall finalize the decision. All in favor?”

Before a chorus of ayes could be sounded, a grey-haired lord of Vinlac jumped to his feet, an apprehensive air about him. “I would speak my lord.”

“You have the floor sir.” Callhanmark seceded taking his seat.

The lord glanced once down at a collection of complex numerical figures upon his notes before speaking, his voice resolute and unwavering despite his grim words. “I have reviewed the finances of the Crown of Vinlac, my aides arrived in the early hours of this morning bearing the official reports of the royal census. The good King, Varanski himself, along with many subjects have suffered from a foul plague which has swept across Vinlac leaving many of the peasantry and lords alike stricken and or dead. The crops have been poor, and numerous floods and fires have wasted golden marks by the hundreds of thousands, in lives and structural costs. Furthermore, this noble assemblage has determined that Vinlac reinforce and update critical border infrastructure and fortifications, and gather an additional thirty thousand active troops to the royal army.” The lord stalled, taking a deep breath before continuing. “If my reviews are accurate, and they are, the Vinlac treasury is already empty, and the Crown is enormously indebted. Should this additional weight be added, the Crown may be forced to default.”

A hush fell over the assembly, it seemed impossible. Within the islands the Dual Monarchy had a reputation of financial excellence, a worthy investment for prospecting capitalists hoping to establish manarite mines in the resource rich mountains. It was no secret that the Vinlac economy had been lagging behind its counterparts, but it had always managed to fumble along well enough receive continued investment.

“This is an outrage. There should be an inquiry by the Landinstag!” Someone shouted at last. “To determine if the King of Vinlac has mishandled the matters of economics. Royal incompetence!” A roar of ayes and hisses rose from the crowd, even the aides and servers joining in. To Franz’s right Alesky stiffened in his chair, suddenly fully alert, his eyes searching for the man who dared dishonor his father. Franz himself was furious, struggling to keep his temper under control. Generally the affairs of Vinlac were left to the Vinnish king, but to reach the point of default and to have a lord forced to bring it forward was outrageous. An egregious breach of trust, and from his own nephew. Varanski would have much to answer for, but not in this way. Matters of the royal family were his business. Rising to his feet Franz clapped his hands together, his rumbling bass tones bringing the arguments to an abrupt end.

“SILENCE! The High King SPEAKS!” The Landinstag Hall fell into quiet, and Franz Hansvaul waited until not a whisper of dissent nor squeak of chair remained. “There shall be no inquiry by the Landinstag. The royal authority shall see to this internally. All present hear my decree of adjustment. To the matter of Vinlac security, the Kingdom of Conquerdia shall take on the burden of expense, to both the southern border and the Eurokin tribute for this year. Furthermore any additional financial increases for the Kingdom of Vinlac shall be placed upon the Crown of Conquerdia.” A few Conquerdian lords shouted in disapproval, but Franz’s fierce gaze brought them back to silence. “No more shall be said on this, no word of this particular subject shall leave this Hall under penalty of punishment. Lord Mayor Callhanmark, you may continue.”

“Thank you sire.” The Lord Mayor’s tone was frosty, and Franz knew there would be hell to pay for making such a decree. It was in his power to adjust the Landinstag’s decisions, but it was a tentative one, to be used sparingly lest it be taken from him. The Monarchy’s control was fragile, wobbling in an uneasy balance, and if he stepped on too many toes what little executive authority the crown had left would be stripped in a heartbeat and chaos and war would follow. An unfavorable result indeed. Once the general votes and speeches continued Franz leaned over on his throne, speaking out of the side of his mouth to Duchess Marietta.

“Join me tonight, in the Besaih Tower for supper. I require your assistance in drafting a letter to my nephew.”

The Duchess’s face was grim. “Yes, I think you are right. It is fortunate he was not here, or there might have been trouble. The Landinstag would have demanded he answer for this.”

“Fortune, or cowardice?” Franz growled, his eyes flashing. “I suspect the latter.”

“The plague in Vinlac is real enough.” Marietta counseled diplomatically. “I have never known Varanski to be a coward, he has led many a military victory, and demonstrated tremendous valor. Sometimes the matter of economics are outside the control of even the greatest monarchs, Vinlac has suffered greatly in recent years.”

“Possibly, but courage on the battlefield, and courage in the Halls of the Landinstag are distinct.” Franz argued, but the calm words of the Duchess cooled his flaring temper and brought reason to his mind. His letter need not be so harsh perhaps.

“What of the prince? Should we excuse him from the assembly to avoid…” Marietta asked, inclining her head towards the boy, who was still glaring down at the lords and officials.

Franz glanced towards his great-nephew and shook his head. “I doubt he was aware of Vinlac’s current economic state, and I imagine Lord Callhanmark thinks so as well. As long as he keeps his mouth shut until the end of the session there should be no trouble. The Landinstag will have other matters to distract them, rather than interrogating a child. I can take him down to the shore with my children tonight. An evening in the water and sand should rid him of this memory altogether and avoid any uncomfortable exchanges.”

“Wise,” Marietta murmured, her gaze darkened by worry. “The House of Hansvaul needs no further humiliations this day.”

BLOOD & IRON: IMPERIAL AMBITION

Conquerdia-Vinlac

The Dual Monarchy of Conquerdia-Vinlac

Government: Constitutional Monarchy

Demographics & Population:

The Dual Monarchy is populated by majority human, and Vinnish speaking peoples. The Royal ledger has determined there are in excess of six million Vinnic people, most of whom are rural farmers or herdsmen, poor and greatly stratified from the Vinlac nobility whom they serve as serfs. In recent years, to match the rapid industrialization of Conquerdia there has been a urbanization of the population, leading to a decline in agricultural production, and hard times for the average Vinnic, who often have the appearance of exhaustion and hunger. They are small on average, with dark hair and blue eyes, and pale yet sun touched skin. These people are the descendants of the natives of Vinlac, and have always lived on the archipelago. They live mostly in the great swaths of hill and grasslands on farms and in small communities. There are only three proper cities in Vinlac, with the vast majority of the population being rural, but this is quickly changing.

The second largest population are the colonial Jervan, however since gaining their independence from their home Empire they have taken on the name given to them by the native Vinlac, as the Conquerors, or Conquerians. There are a few more than a million Conquerians, and they mostly populate the urbanized coastline near the bay of Landin. These hardy and industrious people hold outsized power over the governance of the Dual Monarchy, and have a dominate control over the trade of manarite making even the common man exceedingly wealthy. It is said they breed like rabbits, and fight like lions, and work like bees. In the short hundred years since their colonization began, they have quadrupled in population, won a war of independence, and conquered the Vinlac kingdom, unifying it into their sphere. On average they are tall, with light hair, almost white, and bright eyes and have a general distaste of anything non-human. Pushing almost all alien creatures from the borders of the Dual Monarchy with the exception of the Eurokin.

The final population of note residing in the snowy peaks of Eurokon Mountains are a mysterious tribal people, known as the Eurokin. They are a large species, with a mostly humanoid shape, but with razor sharp tusks like a boar, and no discernable ears and covered in a thick layer of shaggy grey-white hair. They are an aggressive, but practical bunch, and the best Conquerdian estimates suggest there are roughly one hundred thousand, to three hundred thousand of them living on the icy peaks of the Eurokons. They prefer the cold and rarely stray down from their high villages during the summer months, but during the fall and winter war bands will gather and reave and ravage all the lowlands beneath their mountains. Their fearsome shamanistic magics render defenses worthless, and their massacres know no mercy. The Conquerdians at first attempted to remove them as a threat, but soon discovered that the Eurokin were as permanent and difficult to eliminate as their mountain home. Instead the Conquerdians discovered a system of payment the Eurokin's would accept, and eventually accrued good standing amongst the Eurokin, utilizing the savages martial prowess to aid in their own conquests. Yearly tribute is required, tribute the Conquerdians are more than happy to pay to preserve the Conquerdian-Vinlac integrity. Eurokin warbands instead descend from their mountains and ravage the south and westlands beyond the Dual Monarchy’s borders, before turning north to Laun-vac in the spring to sell off their spoils, and then depart back to their home, in a bloody, yet profitable yearly cycle.

Governance & Politics:

The Dual Monarchy of Conquerdia-Vinlac, better known as the Dual Monarchy, is a political joining of two separate kingdoms, tied together in a personal union, of which Conquerdia is the senior partner. Several other autonomous territories and governments reside within the Dual Monarchy, such as the Free City of Laun-vac, the Tribes of Eurokin Peaks, and the Duchy of Parlov, however these states defer foreign policy and war to the Dual Monarchy, with the exception of the Eurokin who do as they will. The King in New Landinburg, (the royal capital of Conquerdia) is the first amongst equals, alongside the King of Vinlac and the Duchess of Parlov. The Monarchs govern executively in accordance to the Landinstag, a assembly of nobles elected to legislate law for both kingdoms and handle both foreign and domestic affairs. There are fifty seats for Conquerdia, thirty for Vinlac, ten for Parlov, and five for Laun-vac. The Landinstag is heavily favored to the nobility of Conquerdia, and in recent years the power of this governing body has grown considerably, as both kings offer greater influence to the governing body for their continued support. Many whispers suggest that the true power in the realm rests in the hands of the Mayor of the House, the elected head of the Landinstag.

Magic & Technology:

The Conquerdians have never been a magically inclined people, they have long since let their mystical traditions slip away. Those few who still possess the skills and knowledge use it for performance art, or tinkering in the scientific fields. They make up for this loss through industrialization and technological ascendency. They are most well known for their efficient machinery, long range artillery, and rapid production and development. Simple electricity and running water flow through most Conquerdian homes, placing them in stark contrast to the average Vinnic who has trouble even warming their homes during the long harsh winters. The introduction of the steam engine has led to an even greater disparity, as goods could now be shipped by rail and ship, leaving the roads that once cut through Vinlac towns even less used. By contrast the Vinnic people utilize a semi-religious magic that focuses on changes in pressure and temperature, a potentially powerful but ultimately underutilized system. Their colleges are tightly regulated, with nobility clergy often the only ones permitted to learn the ancient arts. Fears of revolt, and peasant uprisings being foremost on the minds of the aristocracy should the serfs be taught en masse. Finally, the Eurokin, the savage brutes have barely advanced past the iron age, but their powerful and costly blood magic make them formidable. Often preluded by chanting, sacrifices, and dancing the Eurokin can unleash unholy carnage upon their enemies in the form of natural disasters, explosions, and disease often at the cost of their own berserker shamans.

Military Overview:

The Dual Monarchy’s military is of middling power, with wide disparities in its capability. The bulk of its ground forces are made up of poorly trained Vinnic conscripts, usually under the command of noble officers who vary wildly in quality. Several regiments of professional soldiers of Conquerdian formation exist, well supplied, and equipped but they rarely see action in preference for the expendable Vinnic units. During the winter months Eurokin mercenaries become available, proving to be invaluable raiding and special operation units, excelling at ambush and guerilla warfare. The typical method of war is heavy bombardment followed by mass infantry and armored advances in small but steady pushes.

The real power of the Dual Monarchy rests in their air and sea corps. A powerful, well-equipped navy and with several marine battalions defend Conquerdia’s lucrative trade routes, whilst her airborne skyships and fightercraft guard the vast skies. Coastal raiding, and economic bombardment has not failed the Dual Monarchy yet, as they prefer to bleed their foes dry rather than achieve quick battlefield victories.

Historical Foundation:

Historically Conquerdia was founded as an economic colony of Jervan under the governorship of the Emperor’s tenth son. Domestic affairs saw the Empire collapse shortly after the colony’s founding, which led to significant growth, as refugees fled the mainland seeking a new life on the distant archipelago. Following continued separation from the remnants of the Jervan Empire the Emperor’s Grandson, now ruler of the colony declared independence, and after a short war crowned himself King of Conquerdia. The proceeding decades bore witness to several wars of conquest against Conquerdia’s neighbors, which eventually saw the King’s children seated on the thrones of Vinlac, and Parlov ruling over the native Vinnish people. After the King’s death the three crowns formed a personal union, with Conquerdia being first, Vinlac being secondary, and Parlov being third in royal influence. Thus the Dual Monarchy was born.

Notes of Interest: (WIP)

The Duchy of Parlov, is a separate entity from the Vinlac Kingdom, and holds autonomy over the Parlov Peninsula. The region is of high religious importance for the Vinnic people, and shall always be ruled by a female priestess, known as the Duchess of Parlov who as of now is part of the Conquerdian royal family. The City of Parlov holds the magical colleges, where magically talented nobility and clergy alike travel to learn the mystic arts. The Vinnish religion, the Faith of the Northern Winds has been largely adopted by Conquerdians, and assimilated into their culture, a necessary step for pacifying the Vinnic people, and a further separation from their paganist roots as Jervans.

The Royal Banner is the official symbol of the United Dual Monarchy. It is a split orange and blue field, with the seal of the royal family emblazoned in the center. Later, the crimson cross, the symbol of the Faith of the Northern Winds was added to symbolize the Duchy of Parlov, outlined in white in a presentation of the Dual Monarchy's unity. The separate Kingdoms individually fly the standard of their Monarchy, a blue field and Royal seal of the lion for Conquerdia, a Orange field and Royal seal of the rose for Vinlac, and a Red cross on a black field with a green star for Parlov.

Star Wars -- Winter of the Confederacy

@Dusty I like most of it, but the only question is I was wondering how you envisioned his fleet to function in more of a narrative sense. I don't know if I caught how long most of them would have been around Tal, or where most of his crew comes from -- like if they've been around forever or if they're all new additions.

@Richard Horthy

Howdy, I figure the fleet would be utilized as an extension of how Tal could interact with the other characters and narrative at large. Almost like a very big gun Tal Yamam can wave around, instead of him fighting directly. Most of the vessels and their crews would be manned by droids, holdovers from the Clone Wars, with a few replacements having been scrounged and filtered into the ranks. However, battlefield casualties have left several vital stations sparsely occupied, forcing Tal to rely ever more on conscripts pressed into service, and volunteers from Separatist worlds.

Star Wars -- Winter of the Confederacy

Someone preform CPR quick.

Star Wars -- Winter of the Confederacy

Captain Tal Yamam

Captain Tal Yamam

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Age: Early Fifties

Species: Muun

Allegiance: Confederate Clique

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Physical Appearance:

Once in his youth Tal was a tall, elegant and handsome figure for of a muun. Admired by many, and the pinnacle of his species’ physical prowess. Now he is old, scarred, and decrepit. A living relic of a brutal war. His lower limbs are shattered, broken beyond even the most technical repair, baring total replacement by cybernetics. Thanks to his grievous injuries Tal Yamam is forever tied to a hoverchair, permanent bacta salves bound around his legs and lower torso. His pale skin is spiderwebbed by terrible wounds long since healed yet emblazoned across his elongated face and hands eternally. He wears the dark blue uniform of a Confederacy Captain, a thick rack of victory ribbons and pins for various accomplishments presented upon his chest in perfect order. He carries an air of resignation about him, and the once confident and bold tones have long since worn away by fatalism. His own mother if she still lived would no longer recognize the battle worn muun that remained. Everything that has transpired throughout his long lige has left the past idealistic muun ruined and bitter. All of him that is left channeled into bleeding his enemies dry until the last of his three black hearts cease beating.

Background:

When the war first began young Lieutenant Commander Tal Yamam was hardly a figure of note. On the icy world of Scipio those who commissioned into the modest Muun planetary defense forces could not expect much from their chosen career. Promotions were slow, and pensions were downright pathetic, for the most part muuns made poor warriors and their naval units displayed that. As the fighting began in earnest the Intergalactic Banking Clan decided rather quickly that they would remain neutral, thus preserving their financial interests, and keeping their rather pathetic space forces undamaged.

Tal on the other hand, had different ideas. He had always been an idealist, outspoken in his disparagement of the Republic. Willing to tell anyone and everyone whether they wanted to listen or not about how the muun people, and all people for that matter deserved greater autonomy away from bloated bureaucratic and centralized government. Against the better judgment of his wife, and the pleading of his children Tal put his money where his mouth was and retired from his cushy, safe position and commissioned for the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The war was going well for the CIS in those days, the droid army proved a formidable force and crushed the Grand Army of the Republic in battle after battle. Tal Yamam proved a valuable asset, serving under esteemed Admirals and Captains in multiple pitch battles that saw him rise rapidly in prestige and rank.

Before long Tal Yamam was given his own command, a Munificent Class Frigate named the Preeminence, and was held in high regard by the senior officers of his Battle Group. Yet even as Tal grew in prominence, the fortunes of war began to turn. Battles became more costly, victories turned into draws, and even losses, and the Republic military came into its own. Boldly battering the droid army into rust and shattered steel. It was the battle over Felucia where the Preeminence and Tal Yamam met their match. Although outnumbering the Republic initially the CIS warships were drawn into a trap and smashed after fierce fighting. They had been ordered to fight on, and hold the line until the ground forces could secure their foothold on the planet surface, but even their best efforts could not resist the Jedi Commanders, and their clones for long. The Preeminence itself was destroyed, and Tal nearly along with it. An explosion on the bridge left the Commander horrifically wounded. He was dragged into a shuttle before the defeated ship was captured and smuggled back to his home on Scipio.

He spent five months of the war, recovering, coming to terms with this new reality. His body was shattered, his lower torso paralyzed and his once handsome features deformed. His children barely even recognized him, after the long years he had spent away they fled from his presence. Even his wife could barely hold his gaze.

Unable to bear this treatment any longer Tal rejoined the Confederacy, determined to see the war to its bitter end. Most organic commanders could see the writing on the wall at this point. It was over, and they did not see a purpose to throwing their lives away for a hopeless cause. Mass desertions gouged a serious hole in the Confederacy leadership, paving the way to an easy promotion for the decorated war hero muun. Granted Fleet Captain, Yamam was given the command of a Providence class Destroyer, the Redoubt, and a squadron of frigates and corvettes to lead. This Unit, Task Force Epsilon Eleven would only see a single further battle during the Clone Wars, a minor skirmish near Kashyyyk. Tal Yamam would prove victories in his first solo battle, but his efforts would not turn the war. General Grievous’ disastrous attack on Coruscant would see an end to the majority of the Separatist fleet. Scattered and left without command, the remainder of the CIS forces hid themselves away, wondering what would happen next. It was only days later that the Confederacy Political elite would be slain, and the Empire would rise from the ashes.

When the signal went out for general shutdown a horrified Tal rejected the order as a trick. Yamam began a fighting retreat harassing Imperial force that pursued. He fled with his task force to Scipio, where he pleaded for additional funds to continue his war effort, and repairs to his damaged ships. They rejected his requests outright, fearing reprisal, and it was there the Empire caught up to him. The battle over Scipio proved a short bloody affair, and after the loss of three confederate corvettes and one of his frigates and two cruisers Yamam scattered his forces in poor order and authorized the surrender of those that could not escape.

It wasn’t until days later that he learned he should have stayed and fought to the death. The Empire did not show mercy, not on his organic troops, nor on his family he had left behind. The Scipio government, hoping to curry favor turned over everything. The Imperials had thought this final devastating loss would break his spirit. It did, Tal Yamam was a broken muun in every sense of the word, but he was not willing to surrender. Not yet, because now it was personal.

Skills:

Captain Tal Yamam is an experienced and highly competent Fleet Officer of the Grand Alliance. He has adapted well to the changing circumstances of the war, switching his tactics and strategy to match the capabilities of his dwindling forces. He also happens to be an expert mathematician, (typical for muuns actually), and surprisingly charismatic despite his recent streak of fatalism. After all, it takes a special kind of leader to convince men to serve in this mad war. He relies heavily on his silver tongue to garner what meager resources he can, and makes very little go a long way in funding his vendetta against the empire.

Weaknesses:

What becomes clear at a single glance is that Tal Yamam has seen his fair share of warfare. The muun is horrifically crippled, and utterly defenseless if left without bodyguards. He cannot walk, let alone fight, and he doesn’t even carry a blaster, not that it would do him much good if he did. More worryingly, Tal has gone slightly insane. He can often be heard muttering to himself, his blue eyes flickering suspiciously across the deck from one officer to the next. There is a mixture of unease and awe aboard his ships, as the organic crewmembers are never certain if the next battleplan will be a suicide run, or another stunning victory.

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The Fleet:

Task Force Epsilon Eleven:

The Redoubt, A Carrier variant Providence Class Destroyer, and Captain Tal Yamam’s flagship. Four fighter squadrons, two bomber squadrons, and two support corvettes attached.

The Fearsome A Munificent Class Frigate. Two fighter squadrons, one support corvette attached.

The Petite A Recusant Class Destroyer. One Interceptor Squadron attached.

The Beyond A Recusant Class Destroyer. One Fighter Squadron attached.

Two Gozanti Class Support Ships.

One Acclimator Class Cruiser.

Star Wars - Winter of the Confederation

Cool concept. Would a desperate ship's captain, commanding a dwindling task force of CIS ships in hit and run warfare be acceptable?