The Nexerus

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Empire of Violette

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Le Patriote

(June 8th)

Violette to Host Marnish Royal Family as Zello-Osladian War Continues

With the failure of the recent Liubeth Conference to end the war in the Smaragd Sea, authorities in Confluence have made arrangements for King Sven IV of Marnland and his family to officially obtain temporary shelter in the Palais Violette, as formal guests of Empress Tsirine. They shall remain as legal residents of the imperial palace until the formal end of hostilities in the east, at which point they shall be returned to Mjarnik to rebuild their nation in the aftermath of the destructive conflict. The Marnish King and his accompanying family have been awaiting official Veletian acceptance of asylum since late April, but have already been welcomed into the Palais Violette by the Empress as informal extended visitors. The ad hoc nature of the King of Marnland's presence in the capital raised eyebrows among the Empire of Violette's most conservative traditionalists, who opposed any officially unrecognized presence of foreign sovereigns on Veletian soil. Now that the issue of their legal status has ended, many dignitaries from the People's Assembly have visited the Palais Violette to welcome King Sven IV to Confluence. Topics such as trade between the two countries and potential Veletian involvement in the war in some capacity have reportedly been brought up in these talks, but no agreement is expected to be reached on either matter; Violette is committed to peace and Marnland is only a minor trading partner of the Empire.

Foreign Minister Augustin Batteux had hoped that the eventually unsuccessful negotiations at Liubeth could bring the conflict to a peaceful resolution, and had withheld the formal acceptance of King Sven IV's asylum to avoid disturbing the crucial debates in the major Kalpian port-city. Once the Liubeth Conference had concluded, less quickly and drastically less successfully than hoped, the king's paperwork was completed by the very next day. Minister Batteux did not comment on any matters involving the Marnish king, but did offer a more general statement on the Zello-Osladian War as a whole.

"The grounds for the Kingdom of Zellonia's continued insistence on exclusive sovereignty over the Zello-Osladian Strait are spurious at best. By all accounts of the events, this was the sole subject of virulence in the talks at Liubeth, and the reason for their failure. However, while it is true that this matter in particular is so discordant largely as a result of Zellonian intransigence, it cannot be understated the importance of both the Osladian Empire and Kalpian Republic in continuing to stride for peace. Terms on issues unrelated to the Zello-Osladian Strait—the raison d'être of the entire war—must be made of secondary importance, and concessions are necessary on both sides. It is my sincere hope, and I think also the hope of all Veletians, that the people of Zellonia and the armed forces of Oslad and Kalpia may soon know peace; the best route to peace is always dialogue."

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Empire of Violette

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Le Patriote

Rain on the Tracks

Workers on the recently finished Confluence-Nerrard rail line suffered rain on their parade today, as the ribbon cutting ceremony for the Empire's first modern train network was plagued by heavy downpour. Perhaps a small relief, their plight was held in common with many fellow Veletians across the country's northern interior, with major rainfall reported from Rosemère to Artran. Some low-lying communities north of Valenois experienced minor flooding, but no injuries or major property damage has been made known thus far. Despite the cumbersome weather conditions and interruptions to festivities, the trains themselves were able to depart on time, making their first of many trips from Confluence to Nerrard. A number of lucky private passengers were able to book tickets for the trip, including many well-to-do citizens of Confluence simply looking for a round trip, just to experience the novelty of Violette's latest advancement.

Constructed under the Pinnacle Programme, Minister Marcelet Gavreau's ambitious attempt at economic and technological modernization, the rail line is only the latest in a long list of the programme's successes. Besides infrastructural advancements, revenue from the investments undertaken by Pinnacle has also gone into commercial research, with the Fairmont Company (inventors of the popular Vert camera) achieving major commercial success with the assistance of loans under Pinnacle. Scholarly and scientific endeavors have also been aided by Pinnacle, with Minister Gavreu's efforts including a grant given to renowned Veletian physicist Reynault Farriet, whose advances in that field have brought the Academie des Sciences in Confluence to the international scientific forefront.

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Lac-Arbrouge, Empire of Violette,

Lake-goers celebrate the arrival of spring in the south of Violette

If Violette's north was the political and economic heartland of the nation, the south was the heart of leisure. Far from a rural backwater, the Sud de la Violette was a liberal and cosmopolitan region, full of quaint country villages home to a great many down to earth Veletians living the simple life—and nearly as many elaborate manors for the foreigners and northerners looking to emulate them. The south had largely ignored the urbanization of the industrial revolution (or perhaps been ignored by it), and was still a mostly rural region, dominated by hundreds of tiny towns and villages with folksy names and pretty architecture. There were no smokestacks soaring into the sky or throngs of coal-dirtied day laborers migrating about the city each hour. Instead, one found only fresh air and farmers and artisan craftsmen that looked as if they were ripped from a tourism brochure. Socially laissez-faire, the locals of the South of Violette cared little for one's origins and were even quite welcoming of accommodating alarming social changes; in some towns in the south, women could even vote in municipal elections. Such was the idiosyncrasy of this world-famous region, that even when it seemed locked in an idealized past, it was also at the cutting edge of society.

Known for its calm weather, its fine wine, its beautiful scenery and its vibrant culture all in equal measure, the South of Violette was where everyone who was anyone in anywhere else in the world wished that they lived. The shores of Lac-Arbrouge, a hot-spot for tourism (and home to probably the most expensive lakeside property in the world), were warm ten months of the year, and in those ten months they were waded in by every artist and Bohemian who mattered. Spotting celebrities in the south was mundane, and most important political figures in Confluence had a spring manor in the southlands too, needing time each year away from the hustle and bustle of the capital. It was a fact begrudgingly accepted by the rest of the Empire that the south was special, and would stay that way. The decisions impacting the daily lives of families from Lorre to Labelle would be made in the western countryside of Monne near half as much as they would be made in Confluence.

Within the region, there was usually a clear divide between those towns and neighborhoods of cities settled by wealthy foreigners versus those populated by ordinary Veletians. While the two got along, they simply led different lifestyles; a local would quite frankly not be able to afford to eat where the tourists ate, and foreigners were rarely clever enough to learn about the holes in the wall—serving the finest cuisine in the world—that the local gentlemen and ladies preferred to frequent. Not that the two classes never got to know each other, of course. There were burly young men aplenty in the Sud de la Violette for rich older women to get to know, and the ladies of the South of Violette were infamous for all of the exact same reasons you'd expect. There were plenty few half-Veletians littered about the country vineyards and stoney roads of the south, and more than a couple babes with astonishingly Veletian features born to ladies of grace in Tara and Zellonia. To their fathers, they were simply handsome sons and pretty daughters: to their mothers, they were reminders of the best trip they ever took.

After the Spring: A Game of Thrones Roleplay [AU]

I think I'll join this RP. I have a sheet for House Tyrell from a previous RP, which also includes a detailed family tree dating back to Ae-

I've a few ideas for House Tyrell. I'll try and get a sheet up for them sometime tomorrow if they're free.

@SunsetWanderer

nvm

Hey there

Welcome to RPG. Hope you have fun here and meet some cool people.

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Empire of Violette

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Le Patriote

Gendarmerie Lends Expertise to Dominion of Meung

144 officers of the Veletian Gendarmerie have arrived in Meung, disembarking from the VX Maulleau for the second round of a foreign training mission to the Settumese state. The officers are tasked with providing instruction to their Meungese counterparts assembled in Yijun, to help increase the fighting capability of the beleaguered Meungese Army. The successful first phase of the mission has already proven instrumental in restoring Meung to battle readiness, and recent provocations from the belligerent Imperium of Hiron have since heightened the need to advance the Dominion's ability to defend itself from aggressive states in the region. The government of the Dominion has gratefully accepted Veletian expertise, even inviting several of the officers involved in the programme to tour Yijun's famous Palace of a Thousand Mirrors.

High-ranking officials within the Gendarmerie have highlighted the need for a strong Veletian ally in Settumu, to balance the militant expansionism and violent espionage activities of Hiron. Speaking on the subject, General Hugo Dutoit of the National Garrison in Veletian Settumu commented, "The underhanded acts of sabotage and deceit on the part of the Hironese menace must be counter-balanced. Every act of aggression taken by Hiron against Violette, and there have already been many, will be matched—and then some—in assistance given by Violette to the Imperium's enemies. Even the smallest slight against the Veletian Empire will be another lump of clay added to the terracotta colossus of Settumu."

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Palais Violette, Confluence, Empire of Violette,

The Empress Tsirine could not maintain her public smile even a second after she had left the range of her subject's eyes. Each rare moment of silent, honest clarity was only just long enough for her to gather her lament before the mask of joyous radiance was affixed again, a feast to be devoured by the gazes of those Veletians who caught a glimpse of their monarch. Every day was a sprint through a marathon, the still inexperienced young woman travelling from event to event and meeting dignitary after dignitary. The names, faces and personas all melted together in her mind, flooding into a sea of troubles and anxieties that continued to plague her even when she retired for the day. Lying awake at night, the pompous frame of her fancy bed raising her mattress a foot higher off the ground than was needed, she would raise her lithe fingers to her bare neck and remember to breath.

All day the Empress' collar was choked by a necklace of gold and gemstones: the badge of her office, Violette's famous 'gilded bouquet'. Decorated with various gemstones inlaid to represent different flowers, it was as heavy and uncomfortable as it was expensive and gaudy. Tsirine could swear that the central-most and largest of the gemstone flowers, a violet made of amethysts, had weighed an impression into her neck. She could still feel it there, even after she'd removed it before settling into her bed, even after she had ceased to be the Empress of Violette and once again became herself. She could feel the pressure of the violet quartz around her neck as acutely as she could feel the pressures of her nation, of her responsibilities as the captain of the ship of Violette. The night may have yielded her body to her, but the throne would never yield her mind.

She pitied her predecessors, for a moment. Empathized with the pains they endured to lead with awareness of mind, with a conscious understanding of the gravity of the decisions they made each day. Her thoughts lingered for too long a moment on her mother, before drifting to the ancient rulers of old, and the equally weighty but largely dissimilar obstacles they faced in their time. She wished she could understand her own place in her nation's history as she did the kings and queens of the past. It was always easier to make the right decision in hindsight. Yet soon, as her thoughts continued to amble about her mind, they would turn unconscious. Fate would allow her a few hours rest, before she would start again tomorrow. Her first task of the day: affixing the gilded bouquet around her neck.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜

>No Red Yevists

shit religion, would not follow

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Labelle, Empire of Violette,

The hustle and bustle of Labelle's civilian docks in springtime

The small army of teamsters that had always crowded the docks of Violette's western and main port found themselves packed even tighter these days, dredgers and laborers and steel-workers alike populating near every square foot of space on the docks. The heat and light of flying sparks as metal was forged was somewhat distracting to them, but the scent of sweat as men hauled equipment to and fro just blended in—the seaside of Labelle had always smelled of sweat. Sweat, and mackerel. Yet in spite of the noticeable crowds, easily the most conspicuous of all the changes to the dockside was the giant towering behemoth of a steel crane being raised not far away. It was meant to service and construct those fearsome seafarers that dwarfed the fishing boats and small shipping vessels of the lesser docks: cruisers and destroyers, ships of war and conquest. The teamsters never touched those, their holds kept full by men in uniform. Yet, even as the load-carrying workers of the merchant docks were always in a throng carrying their shipments to port and to sea, the nexus of activity was now squarely on the navy shipyard.

The cause for the commotion was known to all. The People's Assembly back in Confluence, under the direction of Her Majesty the Empress, had began an infrastructural campaign to improve the empire's port facilities. It was nominally an economic and social measure—the Empress Tsirine even making a point of bringing in some out-of-work Threcian metalworkers to assist the project—but the ultimate purpose was clear. The Empire of Violette needed to greatly expand her naval capacity if she was to become even half as strong on the waves as she was in the fields. This was the long-awaited first step, and it seemed to be off to a good start. Work was steady, if uninspiring, and the foremen agreed it was likely to conclude on schedule. If any more evidence was necessary of the improvements' naval intentions, the presence of the Minister of the Navy in Labelle sealed the deal. Though the astute Rasse Portier was often in Labelle on ministerial work, this was different. He had arrived just as the construction had started in earnest, and he seemed destined to stay until it was completed too, even missing meetings of the Assembly to stay and observe progress. The Marine was finally on the way forward, and he had the good fortune to be helping it along.

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Empire of Violette

Sandao, Veletian Settumu,

Hugo Dutoit slammed his fist down on the table of his quarters, the shifting of the wood as he struck it inadvertently sending a glass of wine falling to the floor with a shatter. His grey old eyes, equal parts tired and livid, watched the stain form for a moment, but then turned towards the window, his body following behind him as he gazed out at the fleet in the harbor. God damn what the Admiralty had to say—he'd never been more sure of anything in his life. It was far too convenient for it to happen now, so soon after the assignments, against a ship carrying so much military cargo. They had to know, those inhuman scum in Senryu, they had to have spies left somewhere, somehow, despite all that was being done. The more than slightly racist old general wished that he could have every last Hironese in the colony shot, but not even that would be enough. They could have spies—traitors—among the Kikitomi, too. Yet his hands were tied there; General Féret, that misguided fool back in Confluence, had been given strict orders from whatever ponce was in charge in the Ministry of the Army these days to end any 'mistreatment' of the Kikitomi. Hugo had come to begrudgingly accept that they were at least somewhat useful, maybe two or three of their finest veterans in the Reserves as good as a green Veletian lad. Yet, what good did that do when half of them were traitors to the cause? Was keeping the locals appeased truly worth the cost of endangering the colony, of endangering the thousands of Veletians that dwelt on it, that defended it each day from the Imperium's scourge?

Grabbing his cushioned seat over from the table he'd nearly shattered and dragging it near the window, Dutoit grimaced, watching the moon rise over Sandao harbor. The sight reminded him of the coming of night back home in Labelle, at the far end of the world from here. He'd never cared for this, for peacetime, for dealing with these Settumese and constantly trying to crush rebellions before they started. He wanted nothing more than to take the fight to them. To skip the shore to Hiron, a division at his back, and take on the Imperium where they slept. A rifle in his hand, ten thousand more held by the good fighting men behind him, the roar of the artillery cracking through their lines as he charged. The sight of Senryu in ashes filled Hugo's eyes as they closed, the roaring fire of the death of Hiron filling the islands skies and his own nostrils with smoke, the shrieks of the womanly, ill-prepared Hironese army screaming into his ears as they fled for the hills. Thoughts floated through his head of how he'd be famous for his exploits, of the names he'd be given in Violette as he was hailed a national hero. Hugo Dutoit, the Bane of Senryu. Hugo Dutoit, the Man-Who-Broke-Hiron. Hugo Dutoit, the warrior that slew a million fucking Heer shits with his own bloodied hands. The general would love nothing more than to open his eyes and see an armada of Hironese ships on the horizon, about to land every last Heer that ever lived on Sandao's shores, one bullet in the Garrison's rifles for each and every one of them to step up and bite.

When his eyes opened, he was disappointed.

-closed-

This seems familiar somehow.

The World as We Know It [19th-20th Century Nation RP]

Sund, Veletian Settumu,

The whole of Veletian Settumu was a flurry of military activity, the entire National Garrison and Flotilla redeploying across the whole of the colony, changing their patrol routes and redistributing their numbers. Every city street from Sund to Sandao was filled with armed men marching, but Sund seemed to be the centre of it all; a nexus of increased armed forces activity that any civilian could readily recognize. Something had happened, was happening, was about to happen, for there could be no other excuse for the organized chaos of continental soldiers hurrying to and fro, storming with authority through the crowds of the curious Kikitomi. Not one man of the National Garrison had the same job in the same place as he'd had the day before, the entire structure of Veletian Settumu's defenses altered unrecognizably. A fortified building in southern Sund that had once been an ammunition depot was now an officer's quarters, the regular deliveries of shells and bullets replaced with lighter cargo of old men in army suits; a seaside dock in St. Fereaux whose fishing boats had once used to ferry soldiers between islands was sold off to a local fisherman, boats and all—an under-performing tourism company ten kilometres away now serving those same formations. Any information that any foreign power had gleaned about anything in Veletian Settumu was now completely and utterly worthless, as if outdated by years.

Those who had the worst of the changes were the new arrivals: men of the legions of Violette proper who'd never been deployed outside the homeland found themselves in the colonies for the first time, swapping places with veterans of the National Garrison, who now found themselves back in Violette. Any soldier deemed to carry undo prejudice against the locals was no longer in the colony. For their replacements, the deathly humidity was almost as bad as not being able to understand a word a local had to say: though many Kikitomi of course spoke Veletian, and any sign on the street had to (at least) display a Veletian version of the same message, of equal size. The most frustrating part of the deployment shifts, though, more so than the hectic clamor of it all or the men being reassigned from one continent to another, was the complete lack of explanation given for the changes. There were rumors in some officer circles of a Kikitomi insurrection brewing that might have spurred the new assignments, but nothing confirmed. Not even high-ranking officers had been offered a reason for the changes, only told to ensure that not a single of their men was doing the same job in the same place as he had previously. It all created an atmosphere of quiet tension: everyone was sure something would start, but no one wanted to start anything.

Unbeknownst to locals and Gendarmerie alike were the purges going on against Veletian Settumu's miniscule Hironese minority. Young men from Hiron living on their own in rural areas or near military installations—especially new arrivals—were being killed in their homes by well-paid Kikitomi in plain clothes, anything that could possibly be coded intelligence on their persons destroyed, and their bodies taken outside to be feasted upon by local wildlife. Hironese families in the cities were relocated from one island to another, their personal belongings inspected first, looking for anything at all remotely suspicious. The only Hironese-language newspaper in all of Veletian Settumu, a local weekly in Sund, had been the victim of a tragic and officially accidental fire. Diplomatically, Violette's officials remained solely focused on the Hironese demands for Mr. Droulez's extradition. No mention at all was made in correspondence of Veletian Settumu, or the events that had transpired on February 14th. None would be, either, for the good of both countries. Violette understood itself to have averted a conflict, and hoped the Hironese would not try to incite another.