Moscow
Nation Name:
The Russian Empire/Russian State/Muscovite Tsardom/Moscow
Leader:
Aleksandra “Sasha” Wrangel
Location:
History:
“When the Great War began, the Russian people were an unstoppable force united behind their Tsar. When it came to it's end, however, they were nothing but wounded dogs, waiting to bite anybody who stepped to close. A wave of Red stirred upon the horizon, ready to swallow Russia and her people, drowning them in fire and blood.
The war was, to say the least, the Tsar's greatest failure. For every ten sons that left for the front lines, only four would come back. The Germans were relentless in their slaughter, and the Russian treasury could hardly keep up enough to compensate the losses. The people were made to suffer in order to fund the Tsar's war, and they soon turned against him. Eventually, the German's Western front became strained, and they stopped pushing on Russia, leaving our borders at a permanent ceasefire. Nobody dared to move.
Back in Petrograd, the Bolshevik's made their move on the capital, but could not stand against the might of the Imperial Army. With a bolstered confidence, the Tsar marched our people into the Bolshevik strongholds in the East and South. With these moves, he was able to regain the trust of his people, who were ready to feed him to the fishes just days before. This grew even more when the Tsar destroyed the Bolshevik's hiding out in the Caucasus. The Tsar's people were able to spin this in his favor.
'The losses in the war were not the Tsar's fault!' they would cry. 'The Bolshevik's took German bribes! They shot their fellow Russians in the back! They sabotaged their supplies!' they would tell the people, and the people believed them. The Tsar successfully saved his crown.
The years that followed were peaceful, at least, for those loyal to the Tsar. Anybody suspected, accused, or even, framed, to have been part of the revolution found themselves fleeing the country, unless they wished to face a fate worse than death. The people trusted in the Tsar entirely, and watched blindly as they signed away their rights, giving one man absolute power.
In my opinion, 1936 was when things began to fall apart. The Tsar did the unthinkable. In a desperate attempt to gain back some lost territories, he allied with those German hounds, who had slaughtered his people in the not-distant past. They worked hand in hand to conquer the Baltic states, Germans and Russian's blindly marching forward. Much to my Grandfather's dismay, my Father was one of those who marched with them.
Ten years later, the Tsar died. You should have seen the look on my Grandfather's face. He was both sad, of course, because he was fiercely loyal to this man, but... he was also at peace. The way he saw it, the Tsar's mind must have gone first, which is why he would do something so stupid as work with the Germans. For the next two years, my grandfather would no longer read the news, he would no longer speak to old friends from the war. He lived, alone, in a house in the country, until his neighbor found him dead one morning. My father petitioned the state to have a memorial raised of him, to which they agreed. The Pyotr Nikolayevich Wrangel memorial was erected in the center of Moscow by the Autumn of 1948.
In the following years, my father followed the new Tsar, Alexandre IV, blindly. He served as one of his generals, ordering the death's of many traitors, and turning a blind eye whenever the Tsar asked him to. I would come home from school to stories of how my father killed this many traitors today! Or, how he managed to catch a Bolshevik in the middle of his lunch! He was such a damnably proud man. He didn't deserve his fate.
After returning from Finland in 1951, my Father got to enjoy a lengthy vacation. We went to France, Italy, and Spain, and truly enjoyed ourselves. Upon returning, it seemed something had changed. My father was always away from the house, and when he was home, he was never truly there. It seemed like something was going on, that me, my brother, and our mother were not allowed to know about. He was stressed beyond belief, and what hair he had left had gone grey by Autumn.
Then, it finally happened. The news spread over Russia like wildfire. The Tsar was dead, along with his entire family, and a handful of his greatest generals. Among those, my father was included. I still don't know if he knew it was coming, or if something else was going on. I never got the chance to ask.
The country quickly fell into chaos. My older brother was quickly raised to a position of power, as the son of Lev Wrangel, grandson of Pyotr Wrangel, a former soldier, an active member in the government of Moscow, he found himself standing among some of Russia's greatest generals, as part of a military faction that was focused on maintaining order in Moscow as the rest of the state fell apart.
Eventually, there was a split in the leadership. Half of the men in Moscow ran to Petrograd, while the other half remained. My brother fled to Petrograd, chasing stories of a new Tsar. The men who remained begrudgingly asked me to aid them, as my family name carried weight, and if it was learned that my brother was off chasing a Phantom Tsar, we would surely lose numbers. I begrudgingly accepted the role, but slowly grew to like it. I was raised as somebody who would never leave the house, and would serve my husband effortlessly. Suddenly, I was in a position of power. My advice was trusted by men who would never even look my way before.
As time went on, I proved my worth as a leader in this faction. Slowly, the surrounding areas came to kneel before me, even with the rumour of a new Tsar in Petrograd confirmed. Some of the others wanted to, and did, leave for this Tsar, but I was not so easily swayed. This boy-Tsar looked more fit to sweep the floors of some shop, let alone run a nation. Apparently royal blood carries more weight than logic, though. The greatest and oldest of Moscow's leadership had left, leaving me at the top of the food chain all of a sudden.
That's when the idea came to me. If being a Tsar hold so much weight, then why don't I just become one? After all, if this child could do it, why should I not be able to? People, of course, didn't take too kindly to the change. Not only was I not noble, they said I was hardly Russian, because by grandfather had Germanic blood, and, of course, the horrible fact that I was a woman.
It was easy enough to bring them to heel, just as it will be easy enough to bring all of Russia to heel. First things first, though. We have to kill the Tsar in Petrograd.”
- Tsar Aleksandra “Sasha” Wrangel of the Muscovite Tsardom
The war was, to say the least, the Tsar's greatest failure. For every ten sons that left for the front lines, only four would come back. The Germans were relentless in their slaughter, and the Russian treasury could hardly keep up enough to compensate the losses. The people were made to suffer in order to fund the Tsar's war, and they soon turned against him. Eventually, the German's Western front became strained, and they stopped pushing on Russia, leaving our borders at a permanent ceasefire. Nobody dared to move.
Back in Petrograd, the Bolshevik's made their move on the capital, but could not stand against the might of the Imperial Army. With a bolstered confidence, the Tsar marched our people into the Bolshevik strongholds in the East and South. With these moves, he was able to regain the trust of his people, who were ready to feed him to the fishes just days before. This grew even more when the Tsar destroyed the Bolshevik's hiding out in the Caucasus. The Tsar's people were able to spin this in his favor.
'The losses in the war were not the Tsar's fault!' they would cry. 'The Bolshevik's took German bribes! They shot their fellow Russians in the back! They sabotaged their supplies!' they would tell the people, and the people believed them. The Tsar successfully saved his crown.
The years that followed were peaceful, at least, for those loyal to the Tsar. Anybody suspected, accused, or even, framed, to have been part of the revolution found themselves fleeing the country, unless they wished to face a fate worse than death. The people trusted in the Tsar entirely, and watched blindly as they signed away their rights, giving one man absolute power.
In my opinion, 1936 was when things began to fall apart. The Tsar did the unthinkable. In a desperate attempt to gain back some lost territories, he allied with those German hounds, who had slaughtered his people in the not-distant past. They worked hand in hand to conquer the Baltic states, Germans and Russian's blindly marching forward. Much to my Grandfather's dismay, my Father was one of those who marched with them.
Ten years later, the Tsar died. You should have seen the look on my Grandfather's face. He was both sad, of course, because he was fiercely loyal to this man, but... he was also at peace. The way he saw it, the Tsar's mind must have gone first, which is why he would do something so stupid as work with the Germans. For the next two years, my grandfather would no longer read the news, he would no longer speak to old friends from the war. He lived, alone, in a house in the country, until his neighbor found him dead one morning. My father petitioned the state to have a memorial raised of him, to which they agreed. The Pyotr Nikolayevich Wrangel memorial was erected in the center of Moscow by the Autumn of 1948.
In the following years, my father followed the new Tsar, Alexandre IV, blindly. He served as one of his generals, ordering the death's of many traitors, and turning a blind eye whenever the Tsar asked him to. I would come home from school to stories of how my father killed this many traitors today! Or, how he managed to catch a Bolshevik in the middle of his lunch! He was such a damnably proud man. He didn't deserve his fate.
After returning from Finland in 1951, my Father got to enjoy a lengthy vacation. We went to France, Italy, and Spain, and truly enjoyed ourselves. Upon returning, it seemed something had changed. My father was always away from the house, and when he was home, he was never truly there. It seemed like something was going on, that me, my brother, and our mother were not allowed to know about. He was stressed beyond belief, and what hair he had left had gone grey by Autumn.
Then, it finally happened. The news spread over Russia like wildfire. The Tsar was dead, along with his entire family, and a handful of his greatest generals. Among those, my father was included. I still don't know if he knew it was coming, or if something else was going on. I never got the chance to ask.
The country quickly fell into chaos. My older brother was quickly raised to a position of power, as the son of Lev Wrangel, grandson of Pyotr Wrangel, a former soldier, an active member in the government of Moscow, he found himself standing among some of Russia's greatest generals, as part of a military faction that was focused on maintaining order in Moscow as the rest of the state fell apart.
Eventually, there was a split in the leadership. Half of the men in Moscow ran to Petrograd, while the other half remained. My brother fled to Petrograd, chasing stories of a new Tsar. The men who remained begrudgingly asked me to aid them, as my family name carried weight, and if it was learned that my brother was off chasing a Phantom Tsar, we would surely lose numbers. I begrudgingly accepted the role, but slowly grew to like it. I was raised as somebody who would never leave the house, and would serve my husband effortlessly. Suddenly, I was in a position of power. My advice was trusted by men who would never even look my way before.
As time went on, I proved my worth as a leader in this faction. Slowly, the surrounding areas came to kneel before me, even with the rumour of a new Tsar in Petrograd confirmed. Some of the others wanted to, and did, leave for this Tsar, but I was not so easily swayed. This boy-Tsar looked more fit to sweep the floors of some shop, let alone run a nation. Apparently royal blood carries more weight than logic, though. The greatest and oldest of Moscow's leadership had left, leaving me at the top of the food chain all of a sudden.
That's when the idea came to me. If being a Tsar hold so much weight, then why don't I just become one? After all, if this child could do it, why should I not be able to? People, of course, didn't take too kindly to the change. Not only was I not noble, they said I was hardly Russian, because by grandfather had Germanic blood, and, of course, the horrible fact that I was a woman.
It was easy enough to bring them to heel, just as it will be easy enough to bring all of Russia to heel. First things first, though. We have to kill the Tsar in Petrograd.”
- Tsar Aleksandra “Sasha” Wrangel of the Muscovite Tsardom
Posts
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1. Introduction. The Kaiser visits a dead friend. A Polish gangster get's into trouble.
2. Feliks wakes up in the back of a truck to a familiar face.
3. Prince Friederick's twin sons have a birthday part on a blimp.
4.German West Afrika formally rejoins the Empire.
5. Europe tries to work together. TURKEY LITTERS ON MY COUNTRY.
6. Prince Friederich enjoys a night on the town. Things go South.
Moscow
1. Moscow Introduction
2. "Russia Will Be Mine"
3. Deserters and the Rise of the Mafia
