Vilageidiotx

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

@Vilageidiotx

Okay and how shall the rest of us post? Or interact?

@NecroKnight

You can do collaborative posts or you can do ol' fashion back and forth posting.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

It begins.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

January 1st, 1770: Charles Town

The King's Carriage moved cautiously down a sleeted road. Tiny flakes of snow, like a thin white dust, clung to the fine red dress uniforms of the King's Lifeguard, who surrounded the carriage on foot and on horseback. The road was unpaved, made of mud churned by carriages, wagons, and horses when it was warm, then frozen in it's final rutted pattern before the winter, making even slow travel bumpy and unpleasant. When they hit a large rut, the carriage banged and jittered, and those inside felt compelled to hold on.

"Every road in the New Vorld is like one leading to ein hunters lodge." Queen Charlotte said in a noticeable accent.

"This is the edge of civilization, my dear." said George III, King of Great Britain and Ireland and sovereign of these colonies. He was too young to be old and too old to be young, having reached the age of thirty two, looking almost like a general from a story book in well-groomed officer's uniform with a diamond star on the breast, and a snow-white wig on his head. "The beating heart of nature itself. The trees here saw centuries go by untouched, unthought of by any man but the savage." They hit another bump. He jolted up, his head nearly tapping the ceiling. "We are pushing back the forests, like the Saxons did. Pushing back the sinless wilderness and building a new world. New World! That's what they call it. And by my name that is what it will be."

"It is grand." the Queen said. "But it could use some pavement."

Grey smoke billowed into a grey sky, spit from the twin chimneys of Drayton Hall. Compared to the grand palaces of England, this was a quaint country home with a rustic appeal. There were three stories, the bottom floor for the servants, the upper two making up the residence. Its brick face, parched by winter, was simple and square except for the center, where a columned portico jutted like the front of a Roman temple. Two smaller buildings flanked it, both the size of descent houses in a city. In front, campfires burned surrounded by huddled Guards hunched toward their warmth and wrapped up in blankets, surrounded by the tents they occupied for want of room in the cramped American mansion.

The carriage came to a stop. The King put out his foot, his gilded cane stabbing into the ground as the Captain of the Guard helped him gain his balance on the crusted road.

"Thank you Mr. Lacey." He said, patting the tall, freckled soldier on the back.

"You're majesty." Captain Lacey said politely.

The King pursed his lips and blew, watching his breath come out like the white smoke of the plantation house. "It's a crisp day, wot wot." he said. "Not a baltic frost like in the old country, thank heaven for that, but I still think it is rather cold for a swamp."

"You've said zat before" The Queen said.

"And I will say it again someday." the King said.

They climbed the stairs and went indoors, into a cramped-feeling room with a humble wooden grand staircase clinging to its walls. This, the middle floor of the house, was swarmed with people. Men and women in fine clothes loitered like guests at a grand ball unwilling to leave the hall though the music had stopped. They bowed, and the King started through them like a disinterested Moses.

"Your majesty." the Chamberlain delicately put himself in the path of his monarch. "Lieutenant Colonel Wallace and Mr. Toast await your presence in the parlor."

"Oh yes. Thank you, James." the King lit up. He turned around, and his entourage turned with him like the tail behind a dog. The door was opened and he went into the next room.

It was warmed by a fire, which roared hungrily in its marble fireplace. Two men sat in chairs at the same table until they saw the King, after which they stood and bowed. "You're majesty." they both said at the same time.

"Fine." he dismissed, moving quickly to the fireplace to warm his hands. "The city is absolutely a nightmare. Horrifying. People are shitting in holes like cats. It really has been a tiring day."

"It is an ugly state of affairs." the Lieutenant Colonel said. Lt. Colonel Thomas Wallace was a short, chubby man with sharp eyes and a lipless smile, dressed in the clean uniform of an officer. Next to him was Mr. Hugh Toast, an older man with spectacles, a small cheap wig, and a puritan way of dressing.

"A tiring day." the King looked up. "Do you ever wish you could wake up in a vapor? The troubles and aches of life no longer there. An endless rest in... in warm milk. Wouldn't that be lovely, gentlemen?"

"I expect that must be what heaven is like, if it pleases your majesty." Wallace said.

"Yes." the King replied, looking away from the fireplace. "It would. It would indeed." he tapped his cane. "Well now, what is the story you gentlemen have for me, wot wot?"

"General Burgoyne has sent his finalized plans for your approval." Wallace motioned toward a map on the table. The King came up curiously. A sketched map of the south-eastern continent, from the coast to the Mississippi river. The locations of forts, units, and important cities were identified with scribbled notes. "The General will drive on into Cherokee land..."

"Should he be hearing this?" the King said, looking at a quiet Mr. Toast, who had found his seat and was sitting as serene as an old lady in church.

"Well I sincerely hope Mr. Toast is not in league with the Cherokee."

"I can swear to the you I am not." the aging man said, shifting in his chair.

"I suppose not." the King said. "Carry on then."

"We will swing north slowly, like a door swinging from a southern hinge toward the Ohio. Those forces posted in the Shenandoah will stop raiders from probing into the northern colonies. If they move to the south instead of the north, they will be bounced off of our forts in the Mississippi."

"It's like a fox hunt!" The King said. "I will not worry about the details, Burgoyne can handle that. When you return to him, give him my gratitude."

And then there was a silence, the kind that presages another subject of conversation waiting in the air.

"Your majesty." Mr. Toast spoke up. "If I may..."

"You may."

"Yes. well. The Royal Society, as your majesty is aware, is thoroughly fascinated with the subject of, as they say, 'The Hoary Winter'"

"As well you should."

"Our conversations have naturally turned to, as they say, 'The good ol' country', and the loss of it, and the fear of more loss to come..."

"Don't be so damned proper, wot wot. Say what you mean and I will answer likewise."

"...well, our conversations have turned to the potential of weather laboratories on the wintry rim of the world, to study the advancing arctic so we may be made aware of what is to come. What I mean is permanent scientific camps, funded, at the grace of your majesty, by the crown. The wealth of our members, being after all..."

"Permanent camps?" the King moved toward the fire, rubbing his chin. "Is this new territory for the society?"

"Well, we used to pay for similar laboratories personally or, as they say, out of our own purse. But the loss of the good ol' country has hurt many of us in that respect."

"No no." the king waved. "That is understood. Has the march of the arctic not halted?"

"We do not know." Toast said. "Perhaps it will wash over use like a violent tide, and withdraw to its original purlieu. Or perhaps it move forward forever, until the Caribbean sea is a sheet of ice and all life is rendered cold forever..."

"Surely not." Lt. Colonel Wallace spoke up. "Did the creator not promise after the deluge that no such extinction shall occur until Kingdom come?"

"I can not speak for God, sir." Mr Toast replied. "But I can speak to the palmettos crying ice near the sea. No argument can be made that the climate is not ill. And we cannot know how worse it may get if we chose not to study."

"You will have your funds, sir." the King said, his voice solid and deep. "And I shall expect results. If our future is doom, I will know it."

Thanksgiving is a week away...

I'm cool with the holidays. We get to put lights on trees an' shit.

Isn't the black friday mess sorta subsiding now? A bunch of businesses are announcing they are closed on Thursdays. I think the golden age of the buyer's melee is probably past us. You can get the same deals on the internet anyway.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Imma get a post out either tomorrow or the day after, since I am going out of town on friday for the annual "We all work for a living so we'll do it on the weekend" version of thanksgiving with the family.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Well, shit. I may not have time as I'll be running for congress.

@Byrd Man

As a Democrat from South Carolina? You'll have plenty of time.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

<Snipped quote by Byrd Man>

When the 2018 mid-term campaign begins.

@Dinh AaronMk

This man is right.

You can start posting in 2015.

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

Trump is not the cult. Trump is the ATF in this scenario. Google Waco. The ATF did not handle anything particularly well, so let's hope he's better at it but..... they weren't the ones serving cool-aid.

@mdk

so are you saying trump is going to come and take our guns?

god dammit.

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Time for some Native Alliance

Name: Pontiac

Place: Michigan

Bio: Like many Native-Americans, little is known of the early life on Pontiac. Pontiac was born in an Ottawa village outside the location of Fort Detroit between the years 1712 and 1725. Pontiac was raised as a member of the Ottawa tribe by parents who were either Ojibwa or Miami Indian. For most of his child-hood life he was raised near Fort Detroit.

After his child-hood Pontiac came to prominence among his people when it 1747 he led his people as a war chief in alliance with the French against an uprising of the Huron people. The alliance between Ottawa and the French held strong after, and Pontiac partook in battles against the English in the North American front of the Seven Years war; the French and Indian War in the Americas. Here Pontiac grew to acclaim among his people as a warrior as he fought successive skirmishes and battles against the British, such as the French victory over the Braddock expedition.

It wasn't until 1765 that Pontiac drew public attention among a broader audience when a British frontier soldier met Pontiac in the midst of the war. It was from this encounter that the soldier wrote a play about the formidable and charismatic leader which became the root of his awareness among the British colonists in later years, and among the rest of the colonies.

Though while Pontiac had garnered a significant reputation on the battlefield during the French and Indian War, his best is yet to come.

With the conclusion of the war and cessation of former French lands to the British the formerly French-allied tribes were thrown into disarray as French presence in the Ohio Valley and Michigan disappeared as Upper Lousiana was ceded to British authority. The initial sweep of colonists into the native forests was bad enough, but when the winters began to become longer, and the summers colder it began getting worse.

Over short summers more and more of the British arrived on American shores. While initial diplomacy suggested the British would not infringe on native lands, the burdens became heavy as the flood gates opened unleashing many hundreds of British frontiersmen onto Native American land. And as the winter grew colder the prevalence of distance natives did grow as well as new hunters merged south in seek of warmer lands ahead of the ice-shields that grew from the northern reaches of Canada.

In these times as they grow dire and the world steeps itself in the confusion of changing times Pontiac reaches out to Guyasuta...
______________

Name: Guyasuta

Place: Michigan-Ohio

Bio: Born in western New York around the year 1725, Guyasuta is a prominent Seneca was chief. Having once met and lead a young George Washington to Fort Le Boeuf in the build up to the Seven Years war Guyasuta chose not to in the end ally with the encroaching British powers and allied with the French in the ensuing war. Playing a part in the battle that ended the Braddock expedition he crossed paths with leaders like Pontiac, and like the young Ottawa war chief came to acclaim among Indian warriors, though not to the degrees as Pontiac.

Much respected by his people he held an important place in Seneca leadership and was looked to for guidance by the Seneca people when beyond all expectations more and more British settlers sailed across the great ocean to settle the Americas, greatly displacing the Seneca tribe along with others. As the scope of British settlement grew and the Seneca were pushed from their land they fled west into the Ohio valley, and deeper still.

With the additional stress of the tired northern tribes straying south to avoid the deepening freeze and migrating game in Canada, Guyasuta and his people were faced with the double threat of not only European refugees filling up land, but migrating refugee Native Americans.

And it was when Pontiac called for him, he responded.

Cheeki Breeki

Name: Peter Pytorvich Kavinovich

Place: Northern California

Bio: Born in the year 1727, Peter Pytorvich came into the world as the son of a merchant family in Kiev, Russia. Peter's young life was a simple affair, attending church and a religious school paid for by his father. Born two years after Peter the Great and at the end of Catherine the Great's reign as Empress of Russia young Peter lived in a still changing Russia reaping the benefits of what was new to it for its re-alignment to the west.

His father traded primarily with the Austrians and the Germans through the years and as a teenager Peter traveled to Vienna and Königsberg on several locations. And although he never earned a mastery of the language, he still learned and became capable of speaking German as a result of his infrequent trips and dealings alongside his father as a young man.

When Peter came in adulthood he became conscripted into the Imperial Army, as the terms were for life Peter braced himself for a life of soldiery in 1754.

At the outbreak of the Seven Years War, Peter had attained the rank of sergeant in the military. During the course of the war his unit was marched to take the city of Königsberg. His previous familiarity of the city was like a return home to Peter, and in the battle for the city he displayed considerable valor and was to make a promotion for his show of force and valor in the face of enemy fire. However on hearing of the promotion a jealous fellow officer sought to stymie Peter's future in the army, and murdered one of the fresh privates the previous night.

The following morning Peter was summoned before command to answer for what had just happened. Flabbergasted, he was speechless as the jealous sergeant railed against Peter, producing evidence and testimony against him. He was promptly arrested and held prisoner to be tried for murder.

His imprisonment didn't last long, at some point he escaped; though he refuses to say how, and fled from Russian-occupied Prussia choosing to not face what punishment the military courts might have for him and instead choosing to live a life of self-appointed exile in Siberia.

In Siberia, Peter assumed a new name but lived in fear and paranoia of retribution for bailing on the army in the west. Seeking safety and work he sought refuge among the Siberian Host, cossacks serving the Tsar to clear and help settle the Siberian frontier for the Empire. Through the duration of the war he drifted with the hose across Siberia performing soldier's work, clashing with the Siberian tribes who called the vast tracts of wilderness claimed by the Empire. And over-time as the winter's bite grew colder Peter found himself the furthest east a man could walk in Siberia. Finding himself in the distant frontier port of Petropavlovsk he tried to settle down until he saw in the street the czar's men.

Peter's paranoia of being caught as a refugee never died, and quickly he dashed to the port were he traded his skills as a soldier-turned Cossack to a boat docked at port, a Russian fur-trader from Alaska bound to China. He was readily admitted and they set sail for East Asia the following day.

A storm blew in on their journey, damaging the ship and the Russian trade was forced to make land-fall outside the small village of Haishenwai in late winter. Or it was what they thought to be late winter, in truth the cold never let up that year and while the ice melted from the rivers and the horses could drink from the troughs there was always a cold snap and bite to the air. Repairs on the ship became slow, the men becoming afraid that they would be found out by Qing authorities who had strictly prohibited the non-Manchu from setting foot in this area of Manchuria.

In order to accommodate for repairs to their ship – having beached it in shallow waters on rocks, it was beyond the minor storm damage forced upon them – the expedition was forced to trade away the otter pelts from America to pay for the services from the village. Work lingered on into winter and the men were forced to endure another long, bitter winter that never relented in its onslaught.

After long complicated work they were able to leave their prison, and with no otter pelts to sell in legitimate ports in Asia the captain turned the ship around towards America.

Intending to take the usual route that would sweep them passed the Bering Straight and to follow the coast of Alaska until they made port, the plan was quickly foiled as the ship came across dense ice-pack that had formed into the Arctic Circle and extended far beyond. The ship never found Alaska.

When they finally made land-fall in waters free of dangerous ice the Russian expedition was far from where they wanted to be, low on water, and low on food. Harsh fashioning had been put in place and for food the crew had taken to capturing sea birds that came too close to deck. The entire crew came to land famished and weak.

Replenishing their supplies and their water, they scouted the area around them later reconnecting with Russian trappers and Siberian expats that had chosen to find refuge in the Americas rather than dealing with the threat posed in trying to find a home in China or Japan.

It was under these men that the bedraggled, lost, and confused Russian refugees established a new home, Fort Nadezha. They had no way to connect with the Russian authorities in Moscow, or if it were even possible. Hoping there would be other vessels at sea from Russia or to continue trading with the now lost colony in Alaska the inhabitants of the Nadezha built a rudimentary light house, where a large beacon would hail in any ships at sea.

Nadezha was a rudimentary shelter, composed of only a palisade wall and canvas tents, the men who called it home lived on hunting and foraging the country-side, and battling and trading with the natives. It wasn't long after its foundation that slowly small, half-starved crews drifted to the fort and joined with the men there. And longer after men and women fleeing Asia sought desperate refuge in the direction the Lost Russians went, and a small entourage of Japanese and Chinese sailors followed and joined them.

As a veteran of both the Imperial army and the Cossacks, Peter became a notable man in the defense of and policing of Nadezha, though hardly much in an official capacity. Through contact he learned Chinese and Japanese.

@Dinh AaronMk

You're good

Name: Queen Maria Francisca Isabel Josefa Antónia Gertrudes Rita Joana of Portugal and Brazil

Place: Brazil

Bio: Maria was born at the Ribeira Palace in Lisbon and baptized Maria Francisca Isabel Josefa Antónia Gertrudes Rita Joana. On the day of her birth, her grandfather, King John V of Portugal, created her the Princess of Beira.

When her father succeeded to the throne in 1750 as Joseph I, Maria, at age 16 and as his eldest child, became his heiress presumptive and was given the traditional titles of Princess of Brazil and Duchess of Braganza. In 1760 Maria married her uncle Pedro, younger brother of her father Jose I - although, with the coming cold and winter - her spouse died, before they could consumate their marriage.

As such, Maria is without an heir or a spouse. With the dead of her father Jose I - it has fallen on her to reign the Portugese Empire. With her first choice being, to move most of the court over to Brazil - leaving only the peasantry and several high-ranked aristocrats left in Portugal.

Her titles and situation, have made her very sought after in terms of marriage.

@NecroKnight

You're good

Winter Came on Forever: An 18th Century Alt-History

Burgoyne is gonna be based out of Ninety Six? Heh. I live about thirty-five miles away from there. They were always one of our big rivals when I played football. My hometown was part of the old Ninety-Six District.

@Byrd Man

We have a local expert! I'll know where Burgoyne should stop for the best barbecue.