Some damned foolish thing in Ennorath [Autumn 1898]

[Xyrael]

11:8:1898

In the distance, towards the Haradric province of Suveri, the cacophonous melody of an orchestra of deadly instruments shattered the silence of the river. Haradric pride had been offended, and for that insult, the oldest surviving city within Eluvatar was the chosen target for the wrath of the Emperor and his armies. The fist of the Emperor's first blow, six score of guns fired mercilessly and without real care for their targets. A point had to be made here. Honor for honor, pride for pride, eye for eye, until the whole world was blind if need be. This was the price for accusing the Emperor, through extension of his Vizier, of killing another man unfairly.

Shells landed throughout the city, hitting everything from the major university of the town to the older cultural sites, there was little crucial or strategic value to this location, beyond it's value as a crossroads directly into Eluvatar. Portions of the Suveri Imperial Jannissary lay poised on the other side of the river, not but ten miles from the nearest river crossing. Any smart man would easily be able to surmise that the Haradrim Empire had planned out this very situation for the better portion of two decades. They were prepared, motivated, and their target was clear. Romenna would be taken by the Suveri Imperial Janissary by the end of the month. Eluvatar would fall before the New Year.

[Gulliver]

A wind imbued with the bitter chill of winter's approach swept through the forests and across the fields of Daqten. It rustled the few leaves left on the oaks and birches and the needles on the pines. It stirred the meager remains of summer's poppies and cornflowers and autumn's buckwheat harvest. It even succeeded in penetrating the thick fur of Makt Ozvanza for a moment.

The young lycanthrope of sixteen years ceased whittling to involuntarily shiver, and then failed to return to his carving so that he could ponder the extraordinary event. He found it difficult to recall a year when these sort of biting winds had started so early. Did it mean that it was going to be a rather nasty winter this year, or was it just a fluke or the day's weather? Before he could conclude whether or not the year's first frost had also come earlier than usual, his reveries were disturbed.

"Makt!" The first cry was distant, and Makt suspected for a second that he may have simply been hearing things. The authenticity of the shout was confirmed by a second one. "Makt!" The content was identical, but the volume considerable higher, making it clear that whoever it was calling for him was approaching at a healthy pace. Makt was also now aware of a mechanical whir and rattling sound. He turned his head and looked up the path running past his cottage and confirmed his suspicions. Coming down the hill at an unsafe speed on his new bicycle was Makt's friend Hagan Ogarena. Makt could only watch in muted horror as Hagan opened his mouth to cry out once again just as he ran afoul of an obstacle in the path and tumbled rudely from his vehicle.

"Moon! Are you alright?" exclaimed Makt automatically as he leapt to his feet to render assistance for his fallen comrade. His noble efforts were promptly met with refusal as Hagan righted both himself and his bicycle as though nothing had happened.

"Don't worry, it's not he first time and it won't be the last," he said and idly dusted of his tunic. "I'm just glad I found you here, I don't know where else I could have looked." His tone contained an earnest urgency that caught Makt's attention. His ears pricked up.

"What is it? What's going on?"

"We're at war Makt!"

One impatient and hair-raising bicycle ride down the rest of the hill later, the pair found themselves at the village's center. They were not the only ones there, In fact, as far as either of them could tell, every person in the village who was not bed-ridden or traveling had shown up. The crowd had formed a half circle around one point on the wall of the town hall. The object of interest was impossible to see through the crowd until the two succeeded in reach the front of the crowd through a combination of force, polite words and waiting for others to leave of their own accord. As both had suspected, it was a government notice. Hagan had been completely correct when he had said they were at war. Makt's mouth moved silently as he read through its text. Before he could finish, Hagan burst out in a fit of foul-mouthed patriotic fervor.

"Those Haradrim bastards!" A few unfortunate bystanders caught in the blast radius of his outburst jumped slightly in shocked. "If they need volunteers to avenge the Baan's death, then we're volunteering. Right Makt?" Makt's reply was not immediate. As one of the bystanders caught unawares by Hagan's shout, he needed a moment to recompose himself. But once he had, his reply was both honest and enthusiastic."

"Of course! We're going to wipe them off the map!"

[Zimmerwald]

Berker shifted his weight in his seat, matching the jostling of the train as it careened down the track.  His left arm was bent at the elbow, which elbow dug into the seat’s unyielding wooden armrest, driven down by the weight of his head.  Berker’s breath misted on the glass of the window, turning the view of the Yenehir River into something resembling a badly-taken photograph.  It wasn’t the Yenehir anymore though, Berker reminded himself.  He tried to remember the name the Haradrim gave it, since he might have to use it in conversation with the locals or with command, but all he could remember was the useless Eruvite name, “An”.  An, like Annuminas, the city at which the train would deposit them, and about which Berker had been told so very little during the pre-entrainment briefing.  He turned away from the now very foggy window to his companion in the train compartment, Mazhar.

“What do you think Annuminas will be like?” he asked simply.  Mazhar looked up at Berker from the piece of paper he was holding, his mouth a firm line.  He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket before answering.

“You weren’t in Rehemat, were you?”  Berker looked at him, confused.  He wondered how this question was supposed to answer his own, and figured if he kept silent Mazhar would continue developing his thoughts until they took him to a more relevant place.  “Of course you haven’t,” he continued, confirming Berker’s suspicions.  “You joined the Guards long after that fiasco ended.  I remember the Battle of Say’un.  The garrison barracks I was in was located in the middle of town, and when the city rose up against us, we were penned in.  We had to fight our way out, block after block, losing men, it seemed, every few seconds.  Only about a fifth of us made it out of that city alive…

“I don’t know what Annuminas is like now, but when we get there, it will be like that.”

“It will be glorious,” said Berker, leaning forward.  “The Rehemati veterans are heroes, and you’ve never mentioned it!”

“It’s not you that needs to know my story,” said Mazhar, drawing into himself.  “I will be rewarded, or not, regardless of whether anyone on Taijitu knows.”

Great, thought Berker, not only is he old, but he’s also religious.  I couldn’t have gotten stuck with anyone else?

[Bara]

Jacob Surty stood in front of President Robert O'Brien's desk, waiting as the President read his report on the newest development of there northern neighbors. Jacob looked out the large Colonial windows, typical of Westonina. Jacob shifted his view back to President O'Brien when he heard a drop of paper.

"So, what do you suggest?" President O'Brien asked, speaking in there native Westoninan.

"Well. We are a small nation. I don't think our commandos would be able to survive a war with either nation. Personally? I think we should stay neutral. Wait until one victor is about to emerge on top and join that side, sir. I understand our Naval Infantry could fare well agiasnt either nation, but, currently, there too few in number to make a difference." Jacob said, speaking in Westoninan.

President O'Brien slowly nodded up and down, stroking his greying beard. President O'Brien has been leading the nation for almost ten years now, reelected time after time again. He started out as a simple politician in the Keiseven district, before being elected to the National Council, and then being elected to President. He had governed the nation during the Kaffiar Rebellion, and helped turned the nation for the ranches and homesteads that it once was to a slowly modernizing nation.

"Fine. Send the telegram." President O'Brien said. Jacob Surty nodded, and disappeared to his own office.

Telegram
Dated November 9, 1898

TO: Foreign Minister of Myroria, Foreign Minister of the Hadarim Empire
FROM: Jacob Surty, Foreign Minister of Westonina

Greetings.

We currently understand that both of your nations are currently at war with each other. However, we would like to ask that you would respect Westonina's independence as a sovereign nation. As such, the Westoninan Confederate States declare there nation as a ceasefire zone for all nations on November 9th, 1898 A.D. We invite all nations to start negations in our capital of Chester. However, we warn both nations. If either attempts to keep military troops in our nation, we will respond in force. 

[Myroria]

To be honest, Indorin Nerevroth probably wouldn't want to admit the real reason why he picked up a gun and joined the Grand Army of the Empeureum. He would say it was for the glory, for the honor, and for the fame (though he would always temper it with a jaded, cynical "I got none of those"), but what made Indorin Nerevroth really want to join the Myrorian army was a piece of paper pinned to a corkboard in a library at the University of Quarrovth. It was a poem by student Ienase Bernerith:

"Are you in it for the fight?
Or are you in it for the glory?
For the honor?
Are you in it for the sound of bombs bursting in air?
Are you in it for your country?
Or are you in it for the fight?"

Looking back, such a poem was terrible. Mediocre, amateurish stuff really. But it convinced Indorin. The next day, he packed up his things and went to the nearest recruiting office. They were taking anyone they could get, and with Quarrovth's location close to the border with Neustria, men were being sent all through the city and its environs for the defense of the place. While on his way to the recruiting station, Indorin did pass by a column of men dressed in the drab grey uniform of the Myrorian army. With all the precision of a well-oiled machine, the column of men were singing a song - it escapes Indorin's mind now what the song was - but they were singing it so well it couldn't have sounded better if it had come from a column of sirens instead of simple men. Indorin paused to watch the column pass by. Under the uniforms, the men were clean, their faces well-shaven. They had a look on their faces of happiness, ready to fight for their country in this short glorious war and return home heroes, the conquistadors of new lands in Neustria, Austrasia, the Haradrim. Indorin wanted to be one. He turned and entered the recruiting office.

[Eluvatar]

In the red study at Chateau Ilium, the ancient fortified citadel of the most vivant House Ilium, patriarch and sovereign Anorien Tar-Ilium was reading the morning paper, pursing his lips. A knock echoed from the great oaken doors. Anorien frowned. "What is it now, Ærin?" he uttered with some irritation "Oh do let him in."

The stiff old footman standing at attention beside the doors turned and solemnly unbarred and swung them apart. Ærin Ilium strode quickly through the door as the old man stood aside.

"Why are you interrupting my reading, my son?" asked the middle-aged Anorien. "What useless cantankerous contraption do you want me to cover the costs of crashing now?"

"Father, there's a war on."

"And?"

"I want to enlist."

Anorien looked contemplatively at his son. "Your brother Celar is a Captain in the Army is he not?"

"Yes, father. You didn't let me follow him before, but now I think the King, soon may he return, needs us."

"That he may, soon may he return, that he may." Anorien turned to stare pensively at a painting dominating the wall. "What do you see in the Belaedemabar, Ærin?"

Ærin blinked with irritation and looked at the immense canvas. His irritation disappeared, and he smiled. "I see an ode to War, to the glory of victory. I see greatness and honor."

"You do not see the blood, the agony, the death?" Anorien looked back to his son, furrowing his brow.

Ærin replied quickly, "Of course I do, but to serve Eru we must sacrifice. We Dunedain are called to serve, fight, and die, are we not? It is our honorable duty to die for Eluvatar, if need be."

The old Tar-Ilium inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. "I cannot stop you from your duty then, can I. But please," he paused and cleared his throat, "don't die."

[Xyrael]

11:8:1898

General Halek rubbed his palm against his forehead, smothering his face. He was disappointed. Very disappointed. While Annuminas was little more than a smoldering pile of rubble, ruin, silt and debris, the river was nothing if more dangerous. The Imperial ironclads had failed to deter the Eluvataran monitors, even losing two of their own number. The idea of crossing the river and capturing the north was, for now, out of the picture.

He could feel the footsteps of the horse jolt him ever so slightly, and he jostled in his seat to get more comfortable. His crotch was going to hurt. Damnit, he'd rather have crossed the bridges and had some coffee in some blown out cafe in Annuminas. Romenna was still a valid target, through, and the Imperial Janissary was moving quickly to the Eluvataran border. The new plan of action called for the Janissaries to move overland and bypass Annuminas, moving straight into the heart of Eluvatar.

Halek was still displeased. He wanted this war to be over before New Years so he could go home and celebrate with his wives. That wasn't likely going to happen. He sighed and hit some chap with his riding crop. "Boy, go make me some coffee!" he demanded in a grizzly voice.

[St Oz]

Larnt opened his grayish eyes to the morning sun, and he immediately eyed the clock on the opposite wall with a bit of panic. A flush of relief hit him when he remembered today was his first day off, because he had already finished his apprenticeship as a butcher and would begin full work next month. He was at the fresh age of 18, living on his own in an apartment near the warehouse district of St Oz City. He hopped out of his bed squinting his eyes, wondering what he would do in the day. He saved up about 100 harad lira during his apprenticeship for this very 1 month "vacation".

Light and sound filtered through his closed curtain, the fabric was mostly a cheap heavy textile, barely worked on. Metal loops pierced through a cloth that bore a stark resemblance to a typical Ozian keffiyeh. Larnt spent about 5 minutes watching the wind blow the cloth to and fro the wall, and what was heard behind the cloth was the typical cluster of working people, both Ozian and foreign. Larnt finally made an attempt to get ready for the day, however he only rolled off due to his severe fatigue caused by paying off sleep debt. He knocked his head on the floor and instantly lodged his first thought of the day.

I should take Iori to a Zuavka Bar...

Larnt then readied himself in a timeless effort, Iori would be downstairs in the lobby of the apartment studying by now. Larnt opened the door, then almost ran into Iori herself. Larnt made a frightful scream when he say her face at the door, "AH!... Iori."

Her eyebrows arched and glared back at him, "you know my name?"

Larnt panicked, hesitating to make a full sentence "Nnn... no... I yes. I mean sometime yesteryear or so in moving, Er... Yeah I do."

She eased her glare after rolling her eyes, then presented a letter addressed to Larnt, "Well, anyway," she made an alveolar trill like a Ennorath-Ozian, "A Harrad'zhi had this letter for you this morning. I figured you were at work and was about to slip it under your door. By the way, are you missing work?"

"No, no. I have the month off."

"How nice for you, I still have exams at the university."

Larnt looked around her eyes, "well... uh. If you're not too busy..."

Iori realized she may be talking to him longer than she wanted to, so she leaned against the wall, "I am busy."

He looked back at her, "what?"

"I'm busy..."

His confusion gave him more confidence in his speech, "well, when you're not, do you want..."

She interrupted him, "you can't."

"I can't? What are you saying?"

Her eyes widened, "don't you know what that letter is for?"

He averted looking at her burning eyes, embarrassed by his ignorance, "no."
 
"We're at war, and that is your draft notice."

Larnt suddenly went limp, "giet. (fuck.)"

[Myroria]

Indorin had scarcely took four steps into the recruiting center before he nearly bumped into the back of a man in front of him. Peering around the broad object blocking his view, he saw that this was not just some man loitering in front of the door, but the end of a very, very long line. Knowing that this would take a while, Indorin sighed before beginning a survey of the interior of this place.

It was at this point that he realized this was no recruiting office at all, but merely a public gymnasium turned into one. Looking at the floor, he could see the treadmarks of shoes permanently scuffed into the white tile. Smelling the air, he could smell only the distinctive scent of body odor mixed with various perfumes in an attempt to hide the smell. Peering out the windowed door behind him, Indorin could see that across the street was the real recruiting office, the one leased to the Army by the Quarrovth town council. The line there stretched outside the door.

The broad-backed man before him shuffled forward as a man walked out carrying a very basic uniform, the kind the textile mills in Resdaynia churn out at hundreds a day. The man had a huge smile on his face, exactly the kind of smile Indorin saw outside, except this man was not gleaming with high polished boots and a pristine uniform. Indorin smirked. Apparently he wasn't the only one anxious for honor. Again the line shuffled forward.

Now Indorin's eyes caught a poster hanging on the wall behind the table at which recruiters sat. It was a picture of a woman dressed in teal hugging another dressed in a dress of yellow, white, and black - presumably the teal-attired woman represented Eluvatar and the woman dressed like some kind of bumblebee represented Moomintroth Myroria. The poster was captioned in bold letters: WE OWE OUR ALLIES ACROSS THE STRAIT. Indorin was a bit taken aback by this caption and had to spend a few minutes interpreting exactly what it meant as he unconsciously shuffled forward with the line. He was still eyeing the poster curiously when the recruiter in front of him spoke.

"And what is your name?" Indorin looked down to see a man of about 55 in a dress uniform sitting before him.

"My name in Indorin Nerevroth."

"The Nerevroths...they own a little farm outside Elizabethtown, right?" Indorin was shocked at how much this man knew.

"Uh, yes. That would be my parents."

"Ah, I see. Judging by your appearance, I would guess you're studying at the university in town?"

"Well, I was, sir. Before I decided to fight for Myroria." A smirk came to the man's face, slightly sarcastic and slightly proud all at the same time.

"Well I'm sure we could use you. Have you ever shot a gun before, Indorin?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"Well that puts you above about half the people who were in line in front of you." The man passed to Indorin a single paper, something almost surprisingly short considering what he was signing up for. "Just fill this out and sign here." The paper was finished in about a minute and a half and handed back to the grizzled man as Indorin looked behind him. The line seemed just as long as it was when he came in, except now he was at the front of it.

"Well well then, Indorin. Welcome to the army. We'll contact you when we want you for - " at this point a tall, younger man in a suit seemed to appear out of some door on the wall and leaned into the recruiter's ear. The recruiter nodded gravely.

"Proceed to Camp Teneran on the outskirts of the city. Your training begins immediately."

[Aquatoria]

The Great and Grand Council of Hegemons was in an uproar. The two larger councils, conjointly called the Assemblage of Coercive Politics, were filled with representatives who demanded to know what to do. The smallest council, called the Council of Thirteen, was were the thirteen Hegemons sat. Tia walked into the Hall and took here seat at the foot of the stairs that led up to where the Council of Thirteen sat. Other tuis or successors sat in similar chairs beside her. Hegemon-Above-All Osiana, who sat in the largest and most elegant throne raised his voice.

"I will have order in this council!" His voice boomed across the entire hall. Even the fearsome an'akari guardsmen flinched at the sound. There was silence. He sat back down and gave the floor to the Hegemon of the Scholar of Scholars, Thoth Balmana. Like Osiana, Thoth was old and his long hair was as white as snow. While Osiana was dressed in the manner of the Hegemon of the Sun God, golden robes, gold cape and a headress that resembled a falcon; Heru's patron animal, Thoth wore green and orange robes and had a headress of an ibis. The ibis was a native bird that was the symbol of Nein, the Scholar God. He stood up and began to speak.

"Great Hegemons, treasured Tuis, and honorable representatives, I bring grim news. The world has erupted into war. The Haradrim Empire has dealt a cowardly blow to the Eluvatarians, and the Myrorians have rushed to their ally's side. The Haradrim have called upon the All-Bulo Khaganate and the Neuatrian Republic. It will not be long before the Inglo-Scotians and their Empire as well as the Austrasians follow suit and join their respectative alliances. Now it has only been a month since our victory against the Rifi and we have used that to our advantage. We must decide now whether or not to remain neutral, side with the Haradrim and the Entente, or join the Eluvatarians and the Coalition." Thoth sat down and nodded to Tia. Tia stood up and spoke her point.

"We have built the foundations of an empire. The Rifi Protectorate brings us much needed resources such as lumber, precious minerals like iron and gold, and food. Our military is tested and morale is high. The Army of Thoughtful Grace sits on the border of the Protectorate and the Haradrim Empire. Our navy is strong, and the in'falyth report that our naval forces are more then a match for either the Inglo-Scotian Navy and the Haradrim Navy. But most of our trade is with the Northern Powers, so in contrast, we should side with them. We can assist the Eluvatarians by drawing Haradrim forces here and by seizing the Ozian Strait. And with the support of the Northern Powers, we can spread our sphere of influence across Libia and perhaps beyond. So I ask that the Assemblage declare a state of war between the Haradrim Empire and the Nihonite Hegemony and all her possessions." The crowd stood up and cheered. The vote would go through. If Nihon joined the Northern Powers, the war would spread to the west. Tia sat down with pride. It would only be a matter of time before the votes came through.

After nearly four hours of deleberation, the votes came in. 258 to 125, plus the unanimous support of the Hegemons, in favor of war between Nihon and the Haradrim Empire. Tia was in her office and she had just finished typing up the telegrams that would be sent to both the Haradrim and to the Coalition.

To: The Grand Vizer representing Emperor Malechim of the Haradrim Empire

As of this moment, we have declared a state of war between our two nations. We believe that the cowardly act that brought your nation to war with the Eluvatarians needs to be punished. This declaration of war will also extend to your allies should they involve themselves. May Heru protect you and if not, may you find your way to the Field of Reeds.

From: Tia Nonquith, Tui to the Hegemon of the Scholar of Scholars, Thoth Balmana, representing the Great and Grand Council of Hegemons and His Supremacy, Hegemon-Above-All, Osiana, of the Nihonite Hegemony

To: The Presiding Steward, Pelendur ArFinn, of the Royal Confederacy of Eluvatar
To: Her Honor Serja Morvene Novrovth, representing His Imperial Majesty Serjo Nelvil II Moomintroth, of the Empire of the Great Houses of Myroria

In response to this cowardly act against your governments, the Nihonite Hegemony has seen fit to declare war on the Haradrim Empire and any of their allies. Though we are not of the Coalition of Carth, we still feel strongly that we owe the Myrorians a debt of gratitude and also to see murderous cowards brought to justice. The Army of Thoughtful Grace will be marching into the Haradrim Empire along with the Protectorate Army of the Rifi Princes to seize contol of the Ozian Strait. May Heru watch over you and if not, may you find your way to the Field of Reeds.

From: Tia Nonquith, Tui to the Hegemon of the Scholar of Scholars, Thoth Balmana, representing the Great and Grand Council of Hegemons and His Supremacy, Hegemon-Above-All, Osiana, of the Nihonite Hegemony

[Gulliver]

It did not take long for Makt and Hagan to enlist. Their village was small, and even with every able-bodied young man turning out to avenge the late Baan, the queue had not been outrageously long. It had not even been a proper recruitment office, just a table set up in the town hall. The train that was to take them to their training was a different matter. Theirs was not the only small village where the government had no compelling reason or the resources to establish a proper, long term military installation, there were other villages whose recruits also needed to be transported. While each village's contribution was small on its own, together they added up to an appreciable sum.

As one of the villages further down the line, Makt and Hagan had the scale of this sum impressed upon them. The railroad company had never anticipated that this particular line would be so heavily used. Neither of them were allowed a chance to sit down in a proper seat for the entirety of the trip. Once they had arrived, they were  given fresh, blue uniforms and then, after having been assigned their basic accommodations and allowed time to rest up from their journey, it was straight off to training in the muddy training grounds. The same mind-numbing drills day after day. Makt must have partially repressed the memories of it, because before he knew what was happening, they were marching off to battle.

The streets were lined with onlookers, all cheering and waving, as the formation weaved its way through the city's streets. Many of them were singing along with Makt and his fellow soldiers. Makt immediately felt a swelling of pride. It energized him, and filled him with eager anticipation of battle. If this was the sort of respect that one earned simply for being a soldier, what would happen when he came home from the war, a hero who had crushed the Haradrim, would be doubtlessly unbelievable. He would be set for life when it came to social standing, and that would in turn take care of most of the rest. He raised his voice, refusing to be outdone by any of the others. Soon he and Hagan would avenge the death of their late Baan.