The Empire where the Sun never sets

Roleplay Library
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This will be a collection of my RPs to show how the Morstaybishlian Empire managed to rise and fall, from its beginnings, to territorial height to its borders today. It will mainly cover certain battles, wars and the like. Unless you’re invited by me, this is a closed RP.

[spoiler]
The Red and Blue Mighty, from #1 to #24.

The Golden Crusades, from #25 to present.

Unnamed, involving religious wars with the Hamanian Empire and other struggles of that time. c.1800s

Unnamed, long RP looking into detail about why Lambertus III is known as Lambertus the Great through his conquest of Caltharus. c.1515

Unnamed, about the twenty years where the Morst and Pax Empire’s were under union and was close to becoming one entity. c.1897-1917?[/spoiler]

The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1602 AD
Fort Staynes

A collection of middle aged men sat around a worn long table. They were neatly dressed, most in ceremonial red and blue robes, and were enjoying a seasoned Hobsti chicken dish. The men were accompanied by a new figure to the Staynish throne - Lambertus the fifth.
“Sire. I mean this with utmost respect. Your recent ancestors have left quite a remarkable legacy. With that of the likes of Lambertus the third and his children and grandchildren taking over Caltharus and Kormistazm, they’ve left quite a difficult task for you.” the man paused. The King stopped gnawing on a slab of chicken and grimaced in a direction associated with the voice.
“You’re suggesting… What?”
“Sire, it’s not viable to go south. Ethalria is still a very strong sovereign state with a multitude of allies…”
“Exactly my point!” Lambertus spat in distaste. He began eating away at the chicken that he had almost reduced to the bone.
“Sire, we all think the next best step for this Empire would be… colonisation.” the man suggested. Another man took the opportunity to squeeze his part in.
“We cannot allow neighbours to gain an advantage over us in foreign resources and trade. The Kormistazic and Caltharusians have already tried and attempted it. It’s time we step up our game and instead of the unrealistic goal of dominating the entire continent, open up to the wider world. We need the resources. The manpower.” the more frail man boldly insisted. At this point, it was clear to the King that there was more to this conversation than met the eye. Every single soul agreed with what these men were saying, and in what felt like a blink, everyone was influencing him.
“We wouldn’t want history to miss your name, Your Highness.”
“This could be the start of something truly magnificent.”
“Think of the riches. The gold. The resources. The land.”
“Global domination.”
“Total annihilation.”
“The whole world bowing down to one single man,” a pause. “You.”
“Your influence written down and taught thousands of years down the line.”
“Imagine. Total glory. You-”
The King had enough. “Stop it. You’re all dismissed.” he bellowed. The men hesitantly looked around at each other but took to his commands. The table of seven other men left the room without argument.

Later that evening, the King sat upright on his bed, alone. His hands covering his ears, and head deep in stress. He kept thinking over the day, and why his table of directors wanted so much from him. All he wanted to do was sit back and relax on the beautiful Lakeside. Obviously that wasn’t to be.

10 January 1602 AD
Fort Staynes

A similar sight behold the King. A long table. Food. Seven men. The conversations varied from the food to the last topic of conversation. As the room began more frequently on colonialism, the men once again started to play mind games with the king. To him, it felt like an interrogation.
“I have decided that we will set out boots high and aim for this goal.” The king managed to pronounce. His words appeased the table. The men all relaxed and quickly spoke amongst themselves before one of them forwarded their opinion to the king.
“Our navy has mapped out a peninsula in a distant land. The people there are quite… Primitive,” he paused. “For the glory of the Empire, that will be our land.” he spat, a large grin full of grease climbing up his face. A man closest to the king lightly held his drinking hand and soared it in the air like a flag. Everyone followed and raised their hand with their wine. They all chanted a general roar of agreement. One of them shouted above all others.
“Long live the King!”
The rest followed suit.
“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

5 February 1602 AD
Fort Jubrayn
A pale tall man confidently strode across the docks. He was over dressed, with a large sailors hat. He had his eyes locked onto one man. His name was Francesci Morston, the military overseer. The anonymous man tapped his shoulder and proceeded to hand him a large scroll. The mans hands were gritty but took the note anyway.
“A note from the King.” the messenger said, immediately walking out. As the man read the script, his jaw dropped. He spoke aloud to himself.
“One Hundred Ships of the Line!” A million trained soldiers! In two years!" As he looked up, the white thick fog of the sea surrounded him, and he was alone to cast his thoughts.

2

The Red and Blue Mighty
18 February 1602
Nordin’s village, Justelvard

The oracle Áthilia woke up in the middle of the night. When her sister looked at her, she was frightened. Although the oracle’s eyes were opened and she stood up, she seemed dead and cold. The oracle’s sister ran to the chief of the village, Nordin, to tell him of the oracle. He quickly commanded the oracle to be brought to the palace.

As the oracle sat in her entranced state, she spoke, “Nigh cometh the oaken prow, yon over Justel’s brow, to hearken war nigh our feet, and bring Justelvard to defeat”.

After her solemn and frightening words, she collapsed on the floor. She was carried back to her bed in her her own tent. The chief and the men of the village were left to wonder what the oracle had meant. This was clearly a prophecy that foretold the coming of a war and their eventual defeat.

The nobles were scared, but Nordin encouraged them to be strong, “The words of the the oracle cometh from the rulers of fate and time. They warneth us and bid us prepare. Though the ships of our enemies spread leagues and fathoms, we must stand, for we art the noble people of Justelvard!”

The lords lifted their cups and banged their shields with their swords in agreement. One of them, Dörghold, was not convinced and decided to take his own path. He would rather make a deal with the supposed attacker and save himself than stand against this mighty foe alluded to in Áthilia’s prophecy. He sat in silence and pretended that everything was fine. Nordin sent messengers to the other tribes to inform them of the oracle’s prophecy.

3

The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

What seemed like a lifetime ago wasn’t that long ago at all. The same table, the same faces. Lambertus’s advisers. They were all slurping wine this time, with a melody being played in the background. A perpetuation of heavy laughter echoed across the room. Wine was going everywhere, even on Lambertus. He didn’t care. He seemed to sit there taking it all in. Am I actually in charge here? he thought. A few moments passed and one of the men stopped the noise and confronted the King with an update.
“Sire, it seems in light of our efforts towards our fleets, and with the benefits from Strataric relations, someone from Justelvard wishes to forge a ‘deal’.”
“And what is this deal?” the king grunted, unmoved.
“He wouldn’t reveal anything.”
“And where is he now?” the king pushed, his frustration rising. He sipped his own wine and looked around at the mixed facial expressions around the room.
“Bring him in.” the man said. With that, the doors opened and two guards escorted the man to the end of the table. Lambertus was sat on the head at the side near the throne. The man was stood by the other head. His arrival sparked lots of interest in the King, correcting his bent over stature in favour for a keen look.
“Please, take a seat,” the king said. The man did as requested. One of the guards offered him wine, which he declined. “What is it you want.”

4

The Red and Blue Mighty
6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

Dorghold was nervous. His eyes darted around, as though he was scared that the portraits on the walls were living people condemning him for his betrayal of his people. He pulled out a paper from his satchel and placed it on the table. The paper looked old and worn. Lambertus took it and unfolded it. Although the map was poorly drawn, it gave him all information that he would need for a full scale invasion. It showed the border between Kistelvard and Justelvard. It showed villages, towns, mines, roads, rivers and armouries.

Dorghold explained that he had collected the information over the past year or so. Nordin, one of the chiefs of the tribes, had gone around Justelvard, forming an alliance of tribes in preparation to retaliate against an invasion. The map even showed docks and the positions of ships.

Dorghold sat silently when he was done explaining. The King looked at him suspiciously and asked him why he had done this. Dorghold twiddled his thumbs and looked down. He coughed and admitted that he wanted to take power from Nordin. He looked up and hoped that the King believed him…

5

The Red and Blue Mighty

6 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

“You will have your power. Thank you for presenting us this information,” the King said, with a large smile. He turned to the senior minister and broke out in Jubliakese, which Dorghold didn’t understand at all.
“We will trick him into thinking we will give him power.” Lambertus said, the other mans smile growing with satisfaction.
Dorghold blankly stared at the monarch, waiting for a response he could understand. The monarch turned his view to the Jussie.
“I must ask you create concern amongst your people. Get close to Nordin over the next few months, then kill him. If you take over his place, when the time is right, you can command your to-be armies to lay down their weapons for Gods Wrath will spare them. You will be the richest noble in Justelvard. Your old peers will hail you as Dorghold the Great for millennia to come. You will be glorified eternally.” Lambertus spat. His smile rose, and so did Dorghold’s. The King signalled the man to leave after the conversation died.

7 January 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

Lambertus sat on his throne, drinking hobsti wine. He was sat on his throne since the early hours of the morning. His servant walked up to him and handed him a piece of paper similar to that of Dorghold’s, but not the same. This time it was generalised, and much nicer to look at.
“Sire,” the servant bowed, his head touching the bottom steps leading to the throne. “I’ve been told to give this to you.”
Lambertus grunted. He put his wine down in favour for snatching the paper from the mans hands. He opened it up to reveal a map of the area. This time showing clear borders of the two loosely governed Kingdoms.
[spoiler]https://i.imgur.com/u78EAqb.png
[/spoiler]
“Excellent,” he grinned. “All mine.”

6

The Red and Blue Mighty

22 January 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

There were thousands upon thousands of able men in the shipyards and docks. The noise of smelting, clanking and refining was everywhere. It was almost as if wherever you walked, wherever you tried to hide, you couldn’t escape the noise. In just under a year, Francesci Morston had managed to get 32 Ships of the Line completed with the resources he had available.

But that wasn’t enough.

The pressure was immense, and it was all on him. If he didn’t provide, it would cost him his job. In the last week, he had been frantically biting his fingernails to the point where his fingertips were bleeding.
The King was due an inspection in just under two weeks and the goal set was 50. That’s 50 ships in the first year and 50 ships in the second year. With four more ships due completion by that date, he would fall 14 short.
That’d cost him more than his job.
That’d cost him his life.
Francesci was alone, and made sure it stayed that way by bolting his door shut. He just didn’t know what to do. The entire operation depended on him.
The pressure was too much.
Francesci, torn between doing the right thing and just wanting it all to be over - screamed in confusion. He didn’t understanding why he had to be the one with the hardest job. His screams were drowned out by the noise of the shipyard. Driving him crazy; it was constant and inescapable and stopped his vulgar outcries from being heard.

But maybe that was a good thing.

He sat down once again, this time almost throwing himself into the corner of the room. His rage turned into tears, which crippled his worsening state. ‘I’m forty six for god sakes’, he thought. A man like himself shouldn’t be crying. He stood up and wiped his face with a handkerchief. After a moment, he eventually decided to get some fresh air. Upon opening the door, he bumped into a battered and aged face.
“Francesci, the King’s inspection is being put forward to tomorrow.”
“Tomo-” Francesci stopped. His calm face once again spurting out his emotions. His face became a contorted cabbage as he scrambled for a reply. Nothing came out. His eyes began to lubricate as he slammed the door shut and paced inside. He snatched his small sheathed dagger from his work surface and ran downstairs. Without thinking, he took it out of its case; which created a beautifully elegant scraping noise as it rubbed against a metal buckle, and frantically undid his torso to reveal his aged, hairy, grotty chest. His eyes met the shine at the top of the blade. For a lengthy few seconds, he stared at it in awe. At this point, his mind completely blank. He knew this was his fate. He closed his eyes, plunging the blade deep underneath his ribs. He gave out a sudden jolt of satisfaction as he twisted the blade around. His eyes rolled back into his skull, his last thoughts being how free he now was.

7

The Red and Blue Mighty

22 January 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

The worn face returned to Fransesci’s house, hoping to let him know that the King had rescheduled once more and was due at the start of February. He knocked over a dozen times, to no reply. He didn’t seem bothered. After all, he was always ignored. He decided to walk in without the mans permission, hoping he’d understand the news was important. As he walked around the house, he noticed how much of a mess it was. Paperwork was thrown everywhere, the mans possessions in the same state. He kept walking around, unable to find the man. A little set back by this, he began calling his name. A few seconds paused, and he still didn’t get a response. He was told he was never allowed downstairs, but on this occasion, he did anyway. Before he turned the corner, he noticed a pool of blood on the floor.
“What the heck,” he said, pacing towards the scene with precaution. He evaluated the room, following the blood. Its trail was gruesome. It looked like there had been a struggle, a murder. The blood stained across the wooden floor to the other side of the door. As he walked towards the door, he noticed it was ajar by a boot.
That boot belonged to Fransesci. He opened it and stared down. The mans face was very pale and reflected his happiness, which seriously confused the man. He didn’t bother disturbing the body because he knew he was dead.

3 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

The King arrived in the town by horseback. He was accompanied by several faces that helped him make his decisions. Of course being such a prestigious noble as himself, he did not ride the entire journey on horse. He insisted that his carriage was utilised every night, that way he had some sort of reminder of home. Its interior, whilst very small, was large enough for a bed, and that’s pretty much it. But it reminded him of home.

Some elderly peasants had gathered at the gates to the town. They began waving their rags around in some sort of celebration. They’d never seen the King before, and he was hailed as such a godly figure amongst country folk. Their croaky jeers were muffled out by the distant sound of the shipyards.

That’s the noise that attracted Lambertus’s attention. He opened a tiny window at the side of his carriage and looked out. The carriage was walking down a hill perpendicular to the yard, allowing him to see everything. Out at sea, almost three dozen ships were moored. The mighty Morstaybishlian flag on the sails of every single vessel. That, along with the clear sky and occasional white fluffy cloud made him feel great.

It took about ten minutes to reach the shipyard. An array of workers were huddled together working on something that the king didn’t understand. He was looking for a man called Fransesci. Upon news of his death, he frowned. ‘What a pity’ he thought. Speaking to the newly appointed military overseer, he promised much needed materials that would help the production of the remaining vessels. He also promised the slaves, unbeknown of where he’d get them from.

Whilst the vessel count disappointed him, the soldier count in the last year didn’t. The goal was a million trailed soldiers in two years, and in a year, over six hundred and twelve thousand had received their basic training.

‘Excellent’ he thought, leaving the docks for rest.

8

The Red and Blue Mighty
12 February 1603 AD
Justel’s Brow, Justelvard

Nordin and his men stood on Justel Brow and watched the Morstaybishlian ships. Justel’s brow was a promontry on one of the larger and deeper bays. Tens of thousands of soldiers were in their tents just over the hills preparing for an attack: They had been waiting for over a month for the attack that the oracle foretold and their very limited intelligence was able to predict. Several moats and baileys had been erected across the coast. When Nordin saw the first few ships rise above the horizon, he thought that that was all that the Morstaybishlians had.

He ordered the few hundred ships they had built to prepare for an attack with the Morst. They sent a small boat to meet with the Morst’s and ask them about their intentions. Perhaps a war could be prevented. Perhaps…

9

The Red and Blue Mighty

15 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

Ledwin Dinged was a proud level headed man. He was a senior in the Morstaybishlian Navy, gaining the respect from his crew over his years of experience. He had seen countless skirmishes in his almost half-century career, and this would mark his last before retirement.
Ledwin had been appointed by the King to replace the less fortunate in the job. He had just under a year to get 66 more ships of the line through production and ready for war. Luckily for him, the respect he had earn’t was on his side. Before, the man in charge of production was a novice, and in his eyes; he was glad he was dead. He had no pity for him.
The King had just come to agreement with some people from a far away land. It came as no surprise a deal was made. The Kings wife was their Princess; third to the throne, for god sake. In exchange for financing the war effort, they would get a portion of the plunder, and a little land for trade. For Ledwin, this was great. Nobody under him would know of the deal, and to come back from being behind in making the ships would soar his seniority and respect high in the sky. The effort was reorganised too. It only required eighty ships of the line and seven hundred thousand soldiers. Perhaps the king had got his figures wrong. Perhaps it was overshot. Perhaps.
To make things better, the mission was given additional funding to have vessels produced in three more towns across the north coast, but that did not stop the gruelling training. Whilst it wasn’t the best, the brief sheet explained how every soldier was expected to learn how best to kill their opponent. These ranged from weak points behind armour, to snapping necks. Ledwin had done the same so many years prior, so it did not come as a surprise.

He sat on a fence at the top of the hill, overlooking the movement below.

10

The Red and Blue Mighty

16 February 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

A thick grey white fog laid smoothly across the valley. It was a coarse, windless morning. The vast quantities of water vanishing into nihility. For several hours, the waters were completely still. It laid across the world as if a body in a coffin. Until sunrise.

Alarms were cast across the military camps on the outskirts of the city. Three aliens had been captured a few miles offshore. Their language thick and incomprehensible. The thought of them coming from the enemy a growing prospect. The idea instilled fear into everyone. If these people were caught, then how many are there out there that aren’t caught…

They were brought under the might of the king and forced to explain their actions. The council could only provide a translator that could not understand all that was said himself. As the conversation came to an end, it was revealed they were on behalf of Justelvard begging for peace. They were cast away. After several long minutes, they were put into a locked cell.

The next day they were released. They were sent to their boat and given a script. It was written in Justelvardic, which surprised the sailors. A tag showed it to be directed to their most exulted.

11

The Red and Blue Mighty

16 February 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

The lady Rozalina Dushkina, wife of Lambertus V and Queen Consort of the Morstaybishlian Empire, sighed softly to herself as she sat on the edge of their marital bed, her feet barely brushing against the wooden floor. Despite being born and raised in the Strataric Empire - well renowned for the hardy, warlike people that it produced - she seemed to be relatively untouched by her heritage. One would describe her beauty as soft, and gentle, like the pale moonlight that crept through the window of the bedroom. Her fingers ran through her messily braided long, black hair as she shifted slightly away from the window, shivering at the slightest gust of February wind due to the loose shift she wore.

Her thoughts, as they often were these days, were focused on Lambertus. The man she’d grown to love after several years of political marriage. The man who could be considered by many to be the most powerful ruler on Urth.

The man who was a figurehead.

The people of Morstaybishlia loved Lambertus, and for good reason. He was a charismatic, handsome individual. His voice carried with a slight ring to it, and he always seemed so brave, so strong.

But, sadly, he wasn’t strong. Lambertus was plagued with a weak will and strong-willed “council.” Though what many called council, Rozalina angrily knew was instead oversight. And she’d seen the effect that being unable to rule his own empire had had on him. She had gone so far as to try and hide his bottles of hobsti after too many nights of smelling it on his breath. She was weary of him not speaking to her when he finally came to bed, no longer gently touching her cheek or rewarding her loyalty and faithfulness to him with at least a kiss. Her own suggestions and political thoughts, of which she had many, meant nothing to him. Certainly not more than the will of the war-mongering council.

When her marriage was agreed upon to seal an important Morstaybishlian council, her heart had rejoiced. While never mistreated, she had tired of Stratarin’s cold ways and constant state of war with neighboring tribes and nations. Finally, this was her chance to escape to a land she’d only heard of in rumors or stories from naval captains.

The truth had become worse than Stratarin. At least the Strataric Tsarina was efficient and effective, unable to be swayed and always ever-so-confident in her decisions. Morstaybishlia had proven itself just as militaristic, only with a head that had not the strength to bear the crown.

Rozalina had begun life a Strataric princess. She suspected that it would end with her as a prisoner of sorts in her own home.[edit_reason]Wrong Lambertus[/edit_reason]

12

The Red and Blue Mighty
17 February 1603
Fort Jubrayn

The boards of the hull of the ship creaked as it was moved gently by the water of the Caven Sea. Boots nervously shuffled on the wooden deck. The sails expanded and contracted gently as the calm breeze pushed against them and changed direction. The messengers stood silently receiving the scroll that the Morstaybishlians gave them.

They were lowered back onto their boat. They grabbed on the rope and were lowered down the starboard side. They rowed back to the shore. They pushed against the water with their ores to propel the boat forward. They pushed against the water, keeping silent. Each one gathered his thoughts and emotions to try and make sense of what was happening and why.

The boat slowed against the sand of the bay. Nordin was waiting. As they hopped out and waded through the warm water, using their strength to push the boat onto the beach, Nordin looked at them. His face gave little away. There was no way to detect what he was thinking or feeling. His sole focus was the message that would reveal the intentions of the Morstaybishlians.

His chest was bare and his animal-hide cape fluttered gently in the breeze. He read the scroll that the messengers brought with them. He read over the surprisingly well-written Justelvardic to derive therefrom the plan that the people on the other side of the sea had with their nation. When he was done, he concluded with a stern look on his face and a puff from his nostrils. He laughed. His voice was carried by the gentle ebbing of the waves.

He turned around and said nothing. His aids and messengers cautiously waited for him to reveal something. He pulled apart the curtains of the tent in which the war council held its meetings and stood at the head of the table. One of the anxiously waiting members of the war council blurred out, “What’s going on?”

Nordin paused and looked down, smiling as though he remembered an old joke. He said, “War cometh nigh Justel’s brow”.[edit_reason]Minor format error[/edit_reason]

13

The Red and Blue Mighty

It was clear to Nordin that the Morstaybishlians were a dangerous nation of warmongers who would stop at nothing to assimilate smaller nations. With Justelvardian and Kistervardian tribes, clans and city states, being as fragmented as they were, their demise was inevitable. The Morstaybishlians would pick them off one tribe at a time until there was no one left.

With the Chiefs and kings being as slow-witted as they were, it fell upon him to prepare the islands for the coming assault. With their petty squabbles and self centred focus, getting the nations of the islands to agree on unity, or at least a temporary truce to fight off the coming invader was a daunting task - a task for the dauntless.

Over the next few months, Nordin and his retinue went from town to town, village to village, pleading the case for unity. His pleas fell on largely stone ears. He went on horseback, braving the poison-tipped arrows of enemy tribes to get them to realise the threat and resolve that unity was the sole option. With malaria and malnutrition only a breath away, his retinue grew smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker. At this point it was hot and humid and the mosquitoes were unyielding.

Nature remained adamant to keep the fruit that her trees carries and the meat on the bones of her animals, with a human falling as a sacrifice each time. Other Messengers had been sent to handle negotiations themselves, but it was Nordin who did most of the work. His vision and charisma were unique to him. He flashed a mustard smile and threw back grime and dirt covered hair, but the confidence with which he did that earned him enough respect for his unhappy hosts to give him food, water and shelter.

After even more months, running around and barely getting anywhere, the leaders of the nations began to acquiesce to his requests for an alliance and for aid. They were willing to dedicate manpower and materiel to this cause. The danger that the Morstaybishlians posed to the survival of their people. Nordin spoke eerily of their great firespitting lions (canons), moving islands (ships) and intense desire to swallow them whole.

With fear as a weapon, he was able to unite tribes. Former enemies came together and awkwardly tried not to jump at each other. He was able to organise meetings by which the terms of the alliance could be discussed. After much wandering and yelling and begging and persuading, the Chiefs agreed to unite at a meeting held at a promontory on the south coast of the main island, called Justel’s Brow (Justelvard). This alliance of Justelvard lent its name to the nation as a whole and catalysed the formation of such an identity, however rudimentary and loose it was.

14

The Red and Blue Mighty

1 July 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

Ledwin Dinged was the most spoken about man in the United Kingdom. His ruthlessness had subverted all ideas that the task laid upon him was impossible. He looked down the valley from his observatory. The scene was chaotic. There wasn’t a single field in disuse. As his glare panned from left to right, he saw what only was wanted. Meadows full of roses and bluebells were occupied by the fierce red and blue uniforms that belonged to soldiers. The sound of gunfire from the next field grew a snarl up his face. His eyes panned out to the ocean, his hands on his chin; the white sails of several dozen ships littering the horizon, the pennants flying the Morstaybishlian colours and cannon fire blitzing the waters.

His snarl was the most oblique thing in the room, rightfully setting the precedent. It grew upon the thought of his name being remembered in history as the father of the empire.

Over the next few months, the sea saw more and more ships take refuge. As the days grew, people wondered when they would finally set sail.

3 September 1603 AD
Fort Staynes

Laughter. The long table was strewn with food from far and wide. Lambertus had called for a party, and one that he was sure everyone would remember. The best alcohol was presented as gifts by those who attended, Hobsti; and LOTS of it. Lambertus was very particular with his alcohol, preferring Hobsti over everything else. He was so besieged with it that he was very drunk. His council was mostly present, and it embarrassed them that such a “godly” figure was so utterly pathetic. He was supposed to be the King. The person everyone looked up to, and a disgrace it was.
The council met in secret after the party and discussed the outcome of the invasion without the man’s input.

15

The Red and Blue Mighty
7 September 1603
Nordin’s village

Fear did many strange things to people. They behaved uncharacteristically. The people of Justelvard were afraid of the coming invasion. Although Nordin had successfully assuaged them of their fears by reinforcing the strength of their armies, he turned to a higher power.

The people of Nordin’s village were gathered around the head of a small hill. They looked at Nordin carry a small little child. The child’s mother looked at him without batting an eye. She knew how desperate the situation was, and how heavy the price to solicit the gods’ help was.

He held the crying babe above his head and spoke to the people who quietly and attentively listen to his words: “We must ask the gods for help. The great oracle of the gods, Àthilia, spoke to them and gave them an answer of the price that the people of our land must pay for their help: the blood of a babe”.

The people simply stared as the baby wailed. It was cold and terrified. It would not have to endure this for much longer. Nordin brought the baby down and placed it on the altar. Àthilia stood behind the altar and seemed to enter a trance as her assistant beat a drum.

With a croaky whispery voice, she said, in her entranced state, “Gods of Thunder and Lightening, of War and Peace, of Victory and Conquest, we ask you to accept this babe as payment for your help! We need you to save us from our attackers. Help us! Help US! HELP US!”

As her voice got louder, the baby screamed and screamed until it was instantly silenced. The people patiently waited for a sign that the gods had heard what they had asked for. The clouds seemed to come together. They let out a light drizzle and then stopped. The people jumped and whooped for joy, that the gods had, as far as they were concerned, accepted their little gift.

They had a party later that evening. They slaughtered boars, goats and birds, roasting them on the spit. RETCONNED.

08 September 1603

Garbage, torn clothes, broken pottery and discarded animal bones were scattered throughout the village. The slaves worked to clean everything up. They tried to gather themselves from the lascivious euphoria that their masters had been inebriated by at their expense. Their sullen faces quietly and diligently got the work of getting things back to normal.

Nordin was in his war council. His top generals gathered around the table, gladly taking orders from their leader. There was nothing like a party to get a man into shape and instill him with some optimism. Life wasn’t perfect, but living under the Morstaybishlians was worse than any hell their limited vocabulary could describe.

Thousands of men and hundreds of ships were to be prepared for the invasion. All the available resources of the land were to be dedicated to the war effort. With divine intervention, manpower and a powerful arsenal on their side, they felt powerful and unbeatable.

While a war with Morstaybishlia was imminent, they knew beyond a shadow of doubt that they would remain standing and they would never be conquered.

16

The Red and Blue Mighty

19 September 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

His eyes blazed across the sun soaked waters. His feet planted firmly on the hard oak planks. The man was well shaved, and had excellently maintained side burns, which ran down his jaw, on par with his lips; highly sported by other men in his position. His face was aged and slender; his cheekbones protruding. He was well known across his field; his tall, black tricorn hat defined with a red-white-blue around the rims.
His smile rose, and it was dry. His eyes glared back at the orange sun, casting a shadow on everything. His ship was at the pinnacle of the cluster, holding to over fifty first rate ships of the line, some recent additions from Lambertupol. Of course, that wasn’t the height of His Majesties Royal Navy, but it was a majority.

The man stared into the horizon, thinking ahead. Without making a sound upon his approach, a privateer addressed him. The man turned around with hesitation, but relaxed upon his sight. The privateer presented a wooden tray with several small wooden bowls of fruit.
“Admiral Pennisine, Hobsti?”
The Admiral was quite famished, evidently shown by the rise of his eyelids.
“Why thank you.” Pennisine picked a few berries, gently rolling into the centre of his palms. He dismissed the privateer and continued to set his eyes on the horizon.

20 September 1603 AD
Fort Jubrayn

The fifty two first rate ships of the line and their many dozens of frigates and smaller vessels sat calm in the bay of Jubrayn. Most of them had been stationed there all of their lives. Today they set sail, and to many, a maiden voyage. But not to war - to their next destination. They were commanded by Flag Admiral Pennisine, a naval veteran. Many were sure that, under his command, the war was already won.
The sea was too large of a journey in one trip, so they had to use the Necraties as a half way point.

The Necraties was the first step in being a colonial empire. Along with its fellow neighbour, Frorkstolm Island; helped surged the Staynish to that ‘status’ in 1444. Albeit now, it was under a different governance. The Morstaybishlian Empire. The largest Empire the world has yet seen; two of the giant Auroran Empires becoming one under the legendary Lambertus the third in 1515, and getting much larger in the 70s after its assimilation of the Kormistazic Empire.
That reminded everyone what their mission was for.
The largest Empire the world has yet seen, getting larger.

Hail to Morstaybishlia, for glory lie in their wake.

22 September 1603 AD
Fallace Bay, Perdaé, the Necraties Islands

The port was beautiful. The townspeople nice, and culture here was different, but distinctly similar. Music was a great tempo to this place. There was not a second without the sound of a country guitar.
The ships were all inside Fallace Bay, the largest in the Necraties. When Staynish settlers arrived here 159 years ago, they saw this place had potential. And, 159 years later, is exactly the kind of thing they envisioned. The Bay sat at the mouth of Fricticia, the most northeastern island. Perdaé, it’s capital, was a monumental success. It allowed the Staynish, now Morstaybishlian navies to dominate the sea. From here, the entire sea was under control of the Morsts. Trade was vital through these routes, spanning Morst influence tenfold.
But they weren’t the only competition.
Whilst the Justelvardic and Kistelvardic communities were far too idiotic to worry about, East Malaysia and the Caven Empire weren’t. The Morsts came close to war with the Caven Empire on several occasions, fighting mind games to see who had the most dominant navies. It was obvious whilst the Morsts were thought to be the biggest, the Caven Empire wasn’t to be underestimated. The council was surprised that East Malaysia or Caven didn’t take over Justelvard, perhaps they were afraid. Regardless, Morst influence spanned a majority western portion of the sea, but Caven influence spanned a large area of the eastern part of the sea. With Justelvard and Kistelvard under the UK as its first ‘proper’ oversea territory, Lambertus the fifth and his council hope that the balance of power would tip.

With everything in place, people wondered what came next. Wait, or war.

17

The Red and Blue Mighty
7 September 1603
Nordin’s village

One of Nordin’s closest friends and confidantes was Dorghold. He had gone missing several months back. He was found on the beach looking sick and emaciated. Bones jutted from other his skin. He was weak and struggled to move.

With intense work by the oracle Àthilia they managed to revive him. He was treated with all manner of herbs and concoctions and other incredible things Àthilia could cook up in her cauldron. After an intense treatment regiment, he was brought back from the bear-dead. He was one of the few people who survived the dubious healing methods at the time, which were a greater danger than illness.

Dorghold and Nordin spoke often at night with Dorghold resting in bed. Dorghold revealed incredible “secrets” to Nordin. This information would aid them in attack. He spoke of how standing in direct line of the fire-spitting lions (canons) and shooting arrows into their mouths (openings) would kill (disable) them.

He also spoke of how the pilots of the moving islands (ships) of the sea people (the Morstaybishlians) could be confused by smoke. He recommended sending strong and brave young men (foolish self-sacrificing idiots) to burn their ships and themselves.

To the overly confident Nordin this made perfect sense. Of course no one else in the history of the world had ever thought to stand in front of a canon shooting cannonballs at you as a way to stop them. His battle strategy was clear: go in head first and slaughter the lot. Makes sense.

18

The Red and Blue Mighty

31 August 1603 AD
Redrugus Royal Palace, Redrugus

Rozhalina Dushkina paced around her personal quarters in a somewhat less serene manner than usual, slowly affixing herself with jewelry as she did so. While she knew it was foolish to expect much different, the Queen Consort of the Morstaybishlian Empire couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost girlish excitement. At long last, she had managed to persuade Lambertus to a family picnic of sorts. Finally.
Rozhalina’s pace slowed somewhat as she recalled her previous attempts at convincing her husband to spend some time together. In every last one, he’d callously brushed his own wife aside each time in the name of politics.
Her smile twitched slightly as she reflected on this, clasping a fine necklace around her neck. It had been a wedding gift from a Strataric duke, as she recalled. Stratarin. Oh, how she had missed it recently. Her needs had never been so neglected in the land of her forefathers. A proud people, led by a proud tsar. But, alas, her fate was now intertwined with a foreign land and an ineffective king.
She rebuked herself mentally for thinking of him as such, shaking her head before attaching two earrings to her ear. Rozhalina loved her husband dearly, as was a wife’s responsibility. His recent devotion to work and how easily manipulated he was had simply started to take their toll.
She glanced towards her bed. Her cold, solitary bed. As Lambertus had been so absent recently, she’d taken leave of their shared quarters and secluded herself in her own. Though she doubted he noticed. Sighing, she took a moment to sit down at its foot.

After a minute or several just thinking, Rozhalina stirred, stood, and held her chin high. Despite all that had happened recently, this was her time. This was their time.

And she would not let it go to waste.

29 August 1603 AD
Kensington State House, 15 miles from Redrugus

“For heaven’s sake, she does not let up.” Lambertus whispered, to nobody. This was the third time this month that she had sent him a letter about seeing each other, let alone how many she has written over the time of his absence. Regardless, it was too many to count. After finishing reading the over-embroidering letter, his eyes set at rest over the two words at the bottom.
Your wife
His eyes were fixed on those two words. It had been so long since he had seen her and talked to her, for that matter. His face uncontrollably maneuvering into sadness. He knew he had been neglecting her for a very, very long time.
But he had no other choice.
He knew that at this rate, if he spent too much longer neglecting his wife, she might leave him.
The thought of it kept knocking at him. He knew that after six months, it was the right thing to do. He hadn’t even seen his children since then, more of a reason to deny his council of a pathetic meeting. He felt a pledge of duty to his country, but also a conflicting pledge to his family; to his wife, to his children.
Running a country was ridiculously hard. Nobody could understand how much work needed to be put into it. Especially when you have all of these pressures.
Lambertus sighed.
She wanted to see him in two days time, a ‘picnic’, as they say, in the Aurdan Forest.

31 August 1603 AD
Aurdan Forest, near Redrugus

Rozhalina had left early. She wanted to be there first so that she wouldn’t look bad. After all, she had been ‘pestering’ him for all this time.
Regardless, it was the duty of her husband to see her wife at least once in a while. She sat on a large wool rug that was neatly placed across an opening in the woods. Food of many assortments were strewn across its surface, covered by cloths with royal regalia. Her children were playing in the background. Together, they had three. Florence, who was a beautiful teenage girl that embraced a strawberry blonde elegance, Lambertus, who was ten, and little Redrugus, who was six. The two brothers were clashing their wooden sticks in a dance-like rhythm across the frost-felled woods. The woodlands was strictly private. Nobody else was allowed in, which of course aroused the curiosity of the peasants but also allowed the wildlife to fluctuate. It was beautiful in here. Whilst the winter killed off many colours, the white frost that stuck to every surface and the sunlight that pierced the canopy made it feel like a time once lost.

Rozhalina met Lambertus’s eyes as he walked towards her. He was not accompanied by anyone, which really surprised her. She stood up and smiled at the man. She gave a curtsy, her curling smile looking at him. She was excited to see him. They embraced in a hug, but she felt as if he didn’t mean it. She looked up at him as their eyes locked.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” he grunted. As he looked at her, all he could feel was sadness. He felt as if he had abandoned her, and he hated that, but he had so much to do and felt as if he couldn’t partition his time.
“You don’t look it.” Rozhalina frowned. Lambertus put his hand on her neck and kissed her on the forehead.
“My wife, my beautiful wife. Let us forget the last six months.”
He ushered her back to the rug and they sat down. Forgetting was the last thing Rozhalina wanted. She wanted to know why. Why did he leave her for so long without a single word. It annoyed her, and that lust for knowledge built up inside her, but she did not show him.
When they sat down, his children saw him. All three of them ran up to him showing an array of nicknames. They all clenched their grips around his body as they hugged him. Like his wife, his children hadn’t seen him in a long time either. His arms outstretched and held Florence and his sons equally. He felt a flight relief, but at the same time his vacancy from them made him feel distant.
He told them to go and play some more so that Rozhalina and himself could catch up. They did as they were told, resuming their battles. Florence went her separate way, remaining somewhat close to her parents. Rozhalina saw that Lambertus felt distant. She knew that the only way to get him back was to start on his ground.
“How is the war effort?” she questioned. He looked reluctant to answer as she didn’t know about any of it, but did so anyway.
“It’s okay.” A pause. A long eery pause. Rozhalina smiled and poured two glasses of hobsti wine.
“I assume you have got most of the preparations underway?” she asked. A pause. She looked at Lambertus, enticing him to reply.
“Yes yes. It’s getting there.”
Rozhalina passed him his poured wine. He took it with rigid posture. To him, he felt almost uncomfortable. To Rozhalina, he was rude.
“Are you in Redrugus for now?” she asked.
“For a few weeks, yes.”
Rozhalina was studying him. It was obvious something was out of place but she had no idea where to look. She didn’t know what was bothering him. For several minutes the conversation ensued with questions from Rozhalina and blank answers from the King. During this time, her built up anger to his ignorance had fermented.
“Why did you not visit your home for so long?”
“I had more important things to do, my love.”
That was it. She had had enough.
“Will you just talk to me!” she screamed. She tried to remain calm. Her fury of being put aside, labelled as ‘second in line of importance’ by her own husband, her supposed lover, had been unleashed. Lambertus stared at her. He looked scared, and said nothing.
“You leave me and your own children for half a year! You come back after all of this time neglecting us and say you have more important things?! Six months?! Your family is supposed to come first!”
“I did what I must. Without my efforts, we would not be royalt…” Rozhalina interrupted.
“I don’t care about that! All I care about is my children and you and your absence puts it to shame! You abandoned me and it feels like that’s exactly what you’re going to do again. What this time? Ten months? A year and a half! Quite frankly I wouldn’t miss you if you did just that.”
Lambertus just sat there. He was expecting it. His posture had diminished into nothing. He looked down at the floor as the silence sat like a thick fog. In this time, Rozhalina had stood up. She did not undermine or disrespect the king, she wanted that respect herself.
“Do what you’ve got to do. Don’t see us for another year. I don’t care.” she slurred. Tears began formulating in her eyes. Lambertus went to stand up to comfort her but she pushed him away and turned around to avoid him looking at her eyes. She grasped her things and her children and walked off into the distance.
Lambertus slouched back onto the floor. He had been finished, and put in his rightful place. He just sat there, gazing at the bodies as they walked further and further into the distance.

Rozhalina was crying. Her children did not hear much of the conversation besides their mother shouting at their father. The four made their way back to the castle. Rozhalina’s tears rolled down her face with no resistance. Her face was a mess. Her children had no idea what it was about, but they tried to comfort her.
Rozhalina paced into her personal quarters much to her disgust of what had just occurred. She slumped on her bed. She had not made any noise until now. She let loose her feelings and a soft whimper climbed out. She laid there, crying for a very, very long time.

19

The Red and Blue Mighty

31 August 1603 AD
Royal Redrugus Palace, Redrugus

Lambertus had made a stop at the castle to take off his royal attire. He was in his quarters, the aged marble surroundings engulfed him, tingled with his emotions, making him nervous.
He loved his wife, he truly did, yet he felt if he walked through the doors to meet her, it would result in something worse than earlier.
All he wanted was for everything to be okay.
He was seriously troubled. He spoke to no man, no woman. His quarters were not that far from his wife’s. After a lot of determination, he sought to see her for reconciliation. He walked down the marbled corridors. The palace was lifeless.
Perhaps the lifelessness was not a good thing.
Lambertus recalled old tales that depicted a calm before the storm. He made the connection; the calm of the castle, followed by his wife - the storm. At that very moment, his pace had made it to the door. It was a towering monument; the aged, dark brown colour seeping out. He placed his hand over the door, his fist clenching and his arm reclining. He paused for a moment to rid himself of his torment. He resumed his focus. But something stopped him.
He heard weeping from inside. He himself teared. He felt as if he did this, and it was all his fault.
Well it was.
His arm lowered back down to his side, and his head drooped down. He hated himself. He wanted his wife by his side and he knew that she wasn’t, because of him. He felt if he were to walk in, it would get worse; she would be more distant than ever and he hated that. That idea dwelled in his mind for ages. Every time his thought got deeper, her weeping got louder. It all got too much too quickly. Lambertus sighed and walked off.

Rozhalina’s tears had soaked the duvet she had crawled inside. The bit that was wet felt like a rag. She didn’t understand why her husband thought the way he did.
‘more important things to do’
“How could he say that,” she quietly wept, “his woman that he hasn’t seen for six months and she’s not even important!” she cried. She silently wept for many minutes under her duvet. She just kept playing over the sigh he made in the woods. The sigh of dismissal. That sigh hurt, it was his way of saying ‘you’re not important’, which is what he said. Rozhalina kept weeping, not understanding why her life was like this.
Then it sounded more realistic than ever. It sounded as if it was near her. Taunting her. Her soft weeping grew louder.

31 August 1603 AD
Audesky beach, near Redrugus

The mighty sovereign had slumped into a pile of misery at the end of a beach. He had removed his royal attire and only wore a brown doublet. When he walked to the beach, he walked past many peasants who didn’t bat an eye. That made him think - what would it be like if he was normal? If he was just a random nobody that walked through the streets, never attracting attention from crowds of people, and had a life of no significance. He thought to himself on the beach that it would be dear. Perhaps that is what should have happened all along. Perhaps he should have been birthed as an unimportant nobody that served no purpose. Maybe he would’ve preferred that. Maybe.
He sat there for many hours, consolidating his wild imagination. When he walked on that beach, he hated himself. He did not understand why the world was against him, why everyone was against him, why his family was against him. He had not any time to think over his thoughts, and the many hours gone by served that purpose; to fill the gaps, to fill the questions, and most importantly to answer them. As the dying embers of the askew, orange sun set; he left the beach a different man.

20

The Red and Blue Mighty

31 August 1603 AD
Redrugus

It was dark. It took Lambertus a while to get home, loosing his way. He resorted to using the stars to navigate when they became visible. Redrugus has streetlights, but too few and far spread to interrupt his passion.
Lambertus had learnt to navigate the stars as a child during his fathers reign. It was his father who taught him when they got once got lost in the Kormistazic highlands during a crusade, but with the help from the stars, they escaped.
The memories brought a warmth to Lambertus’s heart.
As his eyes gazed upon the royal palace, he smiled. He smiled at the thought of his wife. Such a beautiful woman who deserved better, and tonight, she would get that.
He walked around the building until he accessed a small hatch. Looking around to see nobody in sight, he produced a thin bronze key from his trousers and twisted it until the mechanism unlocked. He carefully opened the hatch, lighting a small torch that was placed on the inside of the wall. Climbing in, he closed the hatch and locked it from inside. He smiled. He had never had to do that in his life. Bathing in self satisfaction he strode down the dark corridor towards the dungeon light.

The corridor was dimly lit with candle lights. The upper dungeon was a whole lot different to the lower. It felt warm and homely.
Lambertus felt anxious but kept his newly-found posture as he walked past a guard on shift. The guard gave a hint of confusion, probably wondering how the King was missing - and then walking up from the dungeon, but his eyes remained fixed on the wall.
The carpet he walked on was a rich, luscious red. Its elegance extended all the way down the corridor. The deeper into the palace he walked, the more lit it was - until it got to a point where the rooms were lit evenly. After gently pacing through the corridor for what felt like an hour; Lambertus stumbled across his quarters. The area where he slept in. The room where his wife slept in. He stood there in awe. Thoughts raced through his mind, his anxious state perplexed. Upon hearing his wife sing a gentle melody, he opened the door.

Rozhalina had been in their room for ages. She had recovered from her sadness a short while after. She had lit several candles across the room, having no idea whether Lambertus was to come home. She was worried for him. Despite his apparent egotistical demeanour, she wanted him to be safe. She knew that, if he wasn’t, she would not only loose her husband, she would be embroiled in unwanted attention for months. She sat on their bed, unbeknown that her husband was on his way home. For many minutes, she had been sat at her bedside braiding her dark, thick hair, wearing her soft white nightgown. Her face filled a substantial smile as she hummed her favourite melody. The room felt warm with the soft candle light. She turned around to see her husband, the man whom she’d been disheartened by. Regardless of what he had done, she smiled. He smiled back, closing the door with his hands behind his back. He walked over to her and kissed her forehead. He produced a primrose that he had plucked from the gardens and placed it in her soft hands. He held her shoulder as she stood up, a tear rolled down his face as he embraced her presence. He smiled, his soul produced to her for her to see. She returned the smile. He walked over to the main candle and doused it out. He returned to his woman. She kept her smile, putting her arms around his neck. They caressed each other with scattered patterns and in their pace, climbed into bed.