Black Snow

[Myroria]

OOC: Man, I haven't done a real RP that I've planned out and completed in soooo long.

2: Everyone says nothing bad ever happens to PI nations. Here you go.


Lambert Sjeroth watched the speech by His Majesty anxiously. The Empeurer was making his quarterly Royal Economy speech. The news had been good so far; luxury production was up, demand for olive oil had increased, the embargo against New Delfos was lifted...then he kind of slipped it in there, hoping no one would notice.

"Unfortunately, Myroria has a one-point-five trillion mark deficit. Luckily, however..."

Lambert flung the coaster he was sliding back and forth on the end table halfway across the room. A candle was knocked off the menorah atop the entertainment center. Apparently those present in the conference room also noticed the remark. The claps ended after about 2 seconds and reporters broke in with "Your Majesty, Your Majesty!!" He was still in a daze. One-point-five? That's one and a half trillion marks! Something like three trillion dollars in New York. Wait. New York. New York Stock Exchange. Novrith Stock Market.

"Where's the business section? Where is it?" Lambert yelled to his wife as if the house was on fire and he needed something to read in the ambulance. He snatched it out of her hands as soon as she picked it up and flipped to the NSM column. He bought the three stocks he did because they happened to be near the one he cared about in the column, but he'd never admit that. It was just a coincidence, of course. He was a member of Great House Hanso, of course he'd support the house and buy their shares.

HANS 13.5K@23.12↑.32
HANC 8.3K@12.12
HANM 12.1K@15.79↑.15

Ok. Nothing changed. For now. But maybe it would. Maybe having his money work for him wasn't such a great idea. I mean, nobody bought commercial marijuana, why was he invested in it? He'd better sell. Or maybe not...Sleep on it, he finally decided. We'll see what it is tomorrow.

[Myroria]

September 5, 2007

Hartwig Mrothrith opened his eyes. The alarm clock read 6:04 AM. He didn't need the alarm anymore, like any good farmer. Stirring out of bed, the bachelor farmer who had inherited the family plantation got some coffee before beginning the fourth day of harvest. But as he stepped outside, he dropped the savoury liquid. Where the hell was global warming when you needed it? The ground was covered in a fine, white powder. His steps were stained with black and broken porcelain.

The winds swept in from Christstan too fast; the front had advanced and occluded the warm September air before the meteorologists had a chance to warn the farmers. And now it was too late. All around northern Myroria, every farmer was like him; a shed half-filled with wheat, and the rest dead. Myroria's winter food supply was now dependent on the plantations down South; but they produced corn and cotton, and fine clothes and cream corn wouldn't sustain you through the harsh County Ivorheart winter.

December 11, 2007

That candle on the menorah that was knocked down four days earlier still lay on the entertainment center; three remained unlit and just now Lambert's wife was lighting today's. The stocks had gone downhill. The Novrith Stock Market experienced the biggest crash ever recorded in Myrorian history; no investors could ride it out with the bread shortage. Men were drinking wine in bars. Men were drinking wine. The NSM plummeted to an all-time low of 53.33 points. Similar recessions were present throughout Myroria.

There was never a depression in the Great Kingdom. The Myrorian Dynasty - the Seat of Sundered Kings had never needed to deal with the economy. Xenophobia, sure. Civil unrest, of course. House War, plenty of it. But the economy? The economy was like a fat man's EKG. It never faltered. Until now. The most ideas anyone could come up would be "Make a big public works project. Find the shittiest place in County Traval - you won't have to go far - and build a big, fucking thing. Don't care what it is, as long as it's big and it's a fucking thing."

Of course, that wouldn't work. Public works projects needed money - money meant taxes, and taxes were theft in golden ages, and now you're proposing putting taxes is during a depression? Economists were blown off left and right. Maybe it'd settle itself, thought the Crown. Maybe everything would be fine.

[Myroria]

July 4, 2010

A fireman, covered in dust and sand, walked toward the Lambert's old tract mansion somberly. Atticus Dominicus, a veteran of wars in the Americas, had taken up life as a fireman when the first signs of the Depression started to show; at the time they were nothing, but vigourous analysis by pundits and economists had actually been right, and most people agreed that a cycle of dry, cold winters and dry, hot summers had contributed to the initial drop in crop output. Sometime in the early summer of 2009, the prayers of every Myrorian Catholic church in Myroria couldn't stop the Pelagea Dust Bowl. Myroria was still hanging in there with their own names for the continent, and the Depression only served to increase Myrorian supremacist's speeches blaming the Delfians, Sekiwiktra, and Christstani for their problems.

Dominicus threw a torch through an open window, in a controlled burn. The Sjeroths had long since moved to Loyan. Lambert converted back to Myrorian Catholicism, his birth religion, and his wife dropped Judaism entirely. All they brought with them were the clothes on their back, some heirlooms, and their cat. Their manor was overgrown, and abandoned as if this section of Novrith was a ghost town. The wax on the menorah candles burned slowly as the firemen turned on their hoses.


Meneldur adjusted his hair. At the same time that the Lambert's mansion was burning in Novrith, he had started a speech. Not of the state of the Royal Economy; those had been dropped not long after the Depression started because they were too saddening. This one was rumored to be the answers to all the nation's problems, this one would bring us out of the Depression and return us to our former glory.

"These are hard times for all Myrorians. I often wish I could feel what the Myrorian citizens feel for myself. [This was a blatant lie] But perhaps I will never need to. As of midnight of next month, the gold-backed Kolonialreich mark will become a fiat currency, allowing the value of it to drop and for exports to rise, bringing more money to all of us. I also plan to suspend several unneeded, deadweight government agencies for the time being, including the IAEIO. I understand these are hard times for the Myrorian people, and that it may be tempting to flee to more economically secure nations, but I implore you, ride this out for the good of your nation and your brothers and sisters. Good night."

[Myroria]

September 5, 2010 - third anniversary of the beginning of the Myrorian Depression

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" asked the Chief Justice of the Criminal Cases High Court Tribunal.

"The jury has reached a verdict, Your Illustrious Honor."

"Will the defendant please rise and face the jury?"

August 23, 2010

"A constitution, for the people, by the people! A constitution, for the people, by the people! A constitution, for the people, by the people!"

Meneldur was already showing signs of aging. At 39, his hair was already beginning to show grey. He sighed and began another speech to the public amassed in front of his palace. He had tried everything: The July 4 measures had worked, slightly, and people did begin filtering into work again, but the Depression was far from over. Now Great House Vrotrith had swelled with the working-class, and was quickly on its way to becoming the largest Great House. And as history had showed, the largest quickly took power.

"I understand this is a hard time for Myrorians everywhere!" said Meneldur loudly, as the screams of the protest quieted. Firecrackers were replacing the screams, but at least he could talk a bit softer. His speeches were becoming monotonous, and were more pep talks than anything.

"But you must realize that the Imperial Family has done nothing but support you. This affects all of us, not just - " a particularly loud firecracker went off. There was a thump, and screams.

"Something's happened to the Empeurer!" yelled news broadcasts from all over Myroria.

"It looks like he's been shot!" screamed one.

"His Majesty's been shot!" screamed another.

The Imperial Guard quickly apprehended the man trying to escape as the loud sirens of an ambulance approached the stairs. The crown ran out of the way, practically trampling each other. Only the most rebellious attempted to stop it, and were quickly brought back by the less extreme. The Empeurer's limp body was brought into the ambulance, but when the EKG was hooked up, the line was straight.


"What verdict has the jury reached?"

"We, the jury, find the defendent guilty of high treason, and murder of an Imperial Official. We recommend the death penalty to the Illustrious Tribunal."

The Tribunal retired to their own room. It was less than two minutes before they emerged.

"We, the Criminal Cases High Court Tribunal, sentence the Defendent, Lambert Sjeroth, to death by firing squad tomorrow at noon. May the Empeurer rest in peace with this justice."

[Myroria]

Maurice Tar-Ilium's coronation was nothing fancy. He ordered it so. It seemed that anything extraordinarily extravagant would be an insult to the common man. His Majesty had come to power in a hard time in Myrorian history. He felt like his grandmother when she took the throne in '92 after Belsen was killed.

Before the coronation there was some talk that the Council of Great Houses had chosen to make Emma the Crown Princess Immediae instead of Maurice; though the decision was a hard one. It was like choosing whether to make Marie Antoinette your leader or Prince Henry. Though the Council steadfastly denied messing with the line of succession, Maurice dropped out of Great House Quarrovth pretty damn quick. Normally it'd be amazing and awesome, but when his late grandfather Peté did it, and then Aelar did it, well, it just didn't seem all that special.

Even though the coronation was normally a time of celebration in Myroria, people went around business as usual, cynical and sarcastic as they had always been, even before the Depression, except, well, more.

Maurice inherited a kingdom where lynchings of outlanders were at an all-time high, national security was low, and most people feared invasion. It was easy to piss people off when you had countless men in black helmets to protect you. The democracy protests were still filling college courtyards, and Great House Vrotrith was in a prime position to become the foremost and well...everyone knew what would happen then.

Maurice knew from the moment he took the throne that he needed to get Myroria out of this depression. The stock market had recovered, but how could anyone get more money when no one was left in it, and when no one could afford to join? Maurice was as stubborn as any Myrorian, and he'd be damned if he'd give out money. Welfare required taxes, and taxes were stealing. The poor were camping on the streets surrounding the Grand Imperial Residence, and his aunt's and two uncle's charities were put on hold with the death of their brother.

The droughts were still rampant. Every summer, the farmers would look out on parched land, and every fall, that parched land would have a crust of frost. The government just wasn't equipped to handle a Depression. But, on the eve of his coronation - he had been Empeurer since September, and every monarch's coronation was on the fifth of November - something came to him.

The Great Houses weren't considered legal people. They could be taxed, by law. He just found a good loophole, and that phrase was probably a loophole in loopholes. And with the money he took from the Great Houses, he could make programs. To stop the drought. To lower inflation. But not for welfare. If the rich starved, turn the poor into Soylent Green.

[Myroria]

"The stock market's fine, Comrade Supreme. It's the drought that's keeping Myroria the way it is. Besides, what do you know about any market?"

"The stock market is not fine, Karl." said Alvar, calmly. Karl Quarrovth's great-grandson took his seat on the Council, and Erwin was thinking about giving his to his son. But there Alvar was, in his sixties, still sitting at the table.

"The Novrith Stock Market is down ninety-seven points from this time last year, and a minor recession is what the entire media is predicting." The Comrade Supreme broke in.

"Yeah, and-and, what do you know about droughts? Great House Quarrovth's policy on the environment is crap. And - "

The door into the Council Hall flew open, banging against the wall. Government buildings weren't big on doorstops.

"Chancellor Quarrovth, it's your great-grandfather." said a nameless gopher. Junior took the phone out of his hands. He was already in the middle of a sentence.

"...know if you've watched the news, but wait'll you see what Maurice the Mad did as his first decree."

"What, gramp?"

"Oh yeah, there's no T.Vs in there. You aughta get that fixed you know. I mean, I got my television in 19...65 when I was five years old. Anyway, His Majesty decided to tax your profits. All of them. Even if they're from charities. Or churches. He says it'll be the final nail in the Depression's coffin."

"What? He can't do that!" said Karl, thumbing through a booklet of the Decrees he always carried around.

"Right here! Before the beginning of the Decrees, at the end of the Constitution! No man, however old, however rich, shall have his earnings taxed."

"He researched all that. The Great Houses aren't legal people - neither are companies. That's how the Myrorian government gets so much money. By making just people legal people."

"Can't we do anything?"

"What're you asking me for? You're a poly sci major. You know the Constitution by heart. But no, you can't, unless the entire Council votes unanimously to overthrow the law, and even then you'd still just be able to take it to court. If you lose there, the government can claim double jeopardy. And then you're royally screwed. No pun intended."

"Well, I'll have to try that."

"Good luck."

When Karl closed the phone, Erwin was clapping to himself.

"So, Maurice the Mad put in income tax, eh? About time - how they got so much money all this time is beyond me."

"No, Erwin, Great House tax. And unless you vote to overturn the law, you'll be paying it too."

"Even better! That Maurice is just a regular Progressive, isn't he? Right up there with FDR. I think you know what my vote'll be. So just suck it up and pay the tax. If you value the country over yourselves.

[Myroria]

"Workingmen! Your managers, your superintendants, your supervisors, they deny for you what they hold for themselves! Outlanders! Your imperialist government sends you to die for a country that spits on you! Look at the faces of the sly politicians! Their smug grins are not those of encouraging leaders, but of cheaters and thieves! The unemployed sleep near sewer drains, savouring the steam! Myrorians, this is your future! Do you think your managers live on the street in this depression, huddling around flaming barrels? No! NO! The neverending hierarchy of the capitalist moves them into YOUR houses, moves the bosses into mansions previously held by you! The Empeurer associates with dictators, condemning them while taking their money all the same! His paranoia consumes him, moving closer and closer to driving him out of his own mind! Myrorians, THIS is your future! A future the same as any, where the Hogs of the Mark work you to the bone, only to kick you into the Myrorian winter when it becomes convienient! Myrorians, YOUR future is changable! Join the House, and fight for the rights of the WORKING MAN rather than the rights of the PIGS. Quarrovth does not value you! Their democratic house is an aristocracy! Hanso places a price on you, and you'll never be anymore than a simple kinsman or clerk! But, there, in the distance, lies the simple building of the Great House Vrotrith, willing to take you in, provide you with soup and water! No requirements, for you will soon see the values of Socialism rather than the value of the Mark! WORKINGMEN OF MYRORIA, UNITE!"

Comrade Claude, a third-generation immigrant from Varkour, pushed aside the blood-crimson curtain and moved backstage, as the crowd, most unemployed men and women looking to get away from the cold, shuffled toward several booths where they were to sign a paper joining or converting to Great House Vrotrith. Claude was approached backstage by a man, strangely wearing a silver and grey blazer of Great House Hanso. He was stopped by a burly man in his early 20s, probably a refugee from Baltija, his family one of the thousands moving to Myroria after it's fall.

"Sorry, no one can see Comrade Claude. Security reasons."

"I was hired to give a letter to Claude."

"Sorry, no visitors."

"Let him in, let him in."

The Baltijan and the Hansonite exchanged scowls. The Hansonite kept his as he gave the letter to the speaker of the Great House.

"It's from Erwin Vrotrith."

Claude looked surprised but quickly his exhaustion came back to him. He took the letter and ripped it open as the postman-messenger excused himself.

Comrade Claude, Baentrith District, County Ivorheart,

Speaker, I have recieved confirmation that Great House Vrotrith now has more members than either Hanso or Quarrovth. Please return to the Politbureau Hall in Novrith with utmost haste. I have a proposition for you that may finally allow Myroria to become the socialist libertarian state it has always craved, without a drop of blood, only a drop of ink and a political plan. Do not allow any members in the House's hierarchy below yours to see this, and make sure that it remains with you at all times. Quarrovth and Hanso already hold the position we will soon need and can overthrow our plans easily. Depart as soon as you read this, and remember, allow no one to read this note. All will be revealed at the Politbureau Hall.

[Myroria]

"Come in!" Maurice yelled to his chamberlain, Jundr. As usual, all the doors in the office save for one was locked to prevent assassination. He had said who he was correctly - "Maurice, it's Jundr, His Lord's chamberlain!". If it was "Your Majesty, it's Jundr" or any other variation, Maurice would have immediately withdrew his small pistol from his vest pocket, as he always carried.

"My Lord", began Jundr, who now stood in front of the large mahogany desk.

"Feniexia's fallen under attack. Validus has overtaken a small island belonging to them and may have engaged with planes; reports are still uncertain."

"Validus. The ones responsible for the death of my father."

That, of course, was nonsense, Lambert Sjeroth's grandfather was half Validean; but things always got blown up like that in Myroria, let alone with the paranoid Maurice.

"Yes, my Lord. Shall His Majesty increase the readiness level? For the country, I mean." Maurice was always at Level 5 readiness.

"Yes, from level 2 to 4. Inform the news networks; I want all the Myrorian people to know. And Jundr - " the chamberlain drew close.

"Jundr, keep this between you and me, but a war just might be the thing to kickstart our economy. Regardless, I want to hold things off first. An informer in Great House Vrotrith noted that a Speaker left in a hurry last night - I'm keeping my eye on it. No way in hell are the commies gonna be the ones who shoot me."


Claude pushed open the door to a dressing room in a theatre in Novrith. Comrade Erwin sells out every rally he goes to. If only he were so lucky. There was a picture of a Gallipoli slum on the dressing room mirror. Erwin said it inspired him.

"Claude! Claude! Glad you could get here! I just finished my speech - don't worry, I wouldn't keep you waiting that long." Erwin snatched the picture and put it in his shirt pocket. He was dressed in all grey - no, not beige, that was a common misconception, said Erwin. Though he was thinking about switching, he didn't want to be mistaken for a Hansonite.

"Claude, break open a bottle of champagne [Made from the finest vineyards in Vrotrith's districts, all managed by comrades]! We've become the biggest House! I knew this depression was good for something." Erwin laughed in the face of the depression - again, he reminded everyone - think of the Gallipoli. Most real Gallipoli would probably become capitalists just out of spite for hearing him blab so much.

"Sit down, sit down. So, Claude - " he shooed another faceless bouncer out of the room - "Claude, we're going to have a schism - no, no, not a REAL schism, a fake one. Not only will it distract Quarrovth and Hanso from our growing strength, it fits perfectly into the puzzle that is our plan. As you know, there's one Speaker who doesn't...conform with the rest of the House leaders. It's not bad, it's just he's Trotskyist. Like a surprisingly large minority in our House. Most of us follow Rolf's theory, which allows a small group to rule as long as the people are treated fairly and socialistically. But, there's a large amount of democratic socialists. And you're one of them. So, here's the deal. You're going to make a fake schism with the rest of the Speakers and myself. You'll take your 'followers' and make your own House. For years it will grow, as many educated Myrorians, just out of college, are viewing democracy as different than Belsenism. Eventually, you'll overtake Hanso - and become a Great House. Then it'll be two socialist Houses against one capitalist - one crime, one thing Maurice does because of his paranoia, and we'll impeach him and take the country. But this all rests on one thing. His child needs to be a member of one of our Houses by the time Maurice is impeached. We'll ignore crimes if we have to - the child MUST become a Vrotrith or a Leland! The plan still needs to be smoothed out - but myself and the other Speakers really think we have something going. Go. Think about it. And I'll hope to hear your decision."

By the time Claude left the room, the faceless bouncer had left.