Early morning and drizzly rain, the perfect time for a contingent of exhausted, mud splattered riders to crash through the various carts and stalls, splash across the square, and blunder into the palace grounds. As the guards snap to attention (trying to ignore the horrible splatters on their dress whites), the party squelches to a stop at the steps. They help each other dismount, demonstrating a degree of stiffness one would expect from courtiers and overweight nobles who had just endured a grueling, multi hour dash through increasingly foul weather.
As they clatter and clump (and I do mean clump) through the doors onto the marble floors and priceless carpets (much to the dismay of the maids who had just finished their morning cleaning). loud roars (commands distorted by fatigue) bring a few staff officers hurriedly into the hall.
"Your Grace!" one of the men exclaimed, "You almost beat your courier here, we're still gathering."
"Gathering? This late in the day? When we've troops in the field?" the Hurtshog was NOT pleased.
Another over large uniform came through the door. The soldier wearing it was obviously not as fussed about appearances as the first rush of staff officers. He also seemed to have slept, or perhaps not slept, in his uniform. "Your Grace," he mumbled with a polite reverence.
"Okay, what happened, Oscar?"
"Well, we were on that zombie hunt on the border with Maurice when there was a local mutiny."
"Mutiny!?!"
"Yes, Sire, mutiny. We suspect Stagonian agents of course, but before we could prove anything, our flanking brigade ran into a war in Saxe-Bearstein."
"Saxe-Bearstein? Saxe-Bearstein!! Gut Got, Meine Herr, ve haff to haff SOME friends left in the world!" The Hurtshog's facial color was definitely getting florid.
"Nichts! Nichts!" Gen. Meyer reassured his old friend. "We were able to get in on our old friend's side. Already been some fighting down there. We've got Generals Schwann and Rosenschnauz in command of a good expiditionary force."
"By now," the one rider who somehow managed to still look daper intervened, "Gen. Hottatrot will be in command."
Gen. Meyer gave an inaudible sniff of disdain, but continued, "we have a slightly more serious situation though ..."
"I know, little Rausen Marie," the Hurtshog interjected. "I'm hoping we got here before anything happens."
"Well, we're not sure, ...." the old general seemed at lost for a moment how to continue ...
"The depot supplies may have been sabotaged again," one of the staff officers hesitatingly offered.
Meanwhile, Baron Bastille was angrilly shedding clothes in his quarters while staff gathered around. This being a family friendly forum, his comments on Frankszonian politics will not be shared. As his comments about Generals with Royal Favor being even less discrete and potentially harmful to his health, they will also be quickly smothered under a pillow.
Col. Mirage, however, was even more incensed than everybody else!
"Why .... I mean WHY haven't they been shot for mutiny?" he icily demanded.
"Well, Sir," the worried Major responded, "It's just happened, and honestly they do have a solid point. Besides, the powder is worthless ... it hardly ignites, let alone explodes."
"Okay," Mirage's expression seethed with not okay, "what happened."
"Well, the sergeants refused to make the cartridges because they thought the powder had been poisoned."
"Poisoned?"
"To paraphrase, Sir, they said it smelled like a thousand cats had pissed in it."
"That would be some strong saltpeter," Mirage acknowledged. "Go on."
"Well, we tested a bit, and it just smoked and stank, .... And stank, .... and realy gagged us all, Sir."
"Has a chemist examined it yet?"
"That's in progress, Sir." Mirage interpreted this as a more urgent version of "we'll got on it right away, Sir." The major continued, "but I'd guess somebody took some charcoal kitty litter, ground it up, and mixed up the gunpowder in some of the barrels."
"Just how many is 'some,' Major?"
"About a hundred and thirty five, Sir," the happless officer answered. "We're still checking."
"Out of how many barrels checked, Major?"
"A little over a hundred and fifty, Sir."
*Good God! Merci or Merde, Generals Cheveret and Broglie need to know about this right away!* Col Mirage thought. Then he had an idea as how to spare himself the immediate fireworks. "Major," he ordered, "have your personel report to me. You must go instantly and report this to the generals!"
"Oui, M'sr," the Major managed a disciplined salute and withdrawel.
*Now,* Mirage wondered, *which Frankszonian noble has tons and tons of cats around ....?"
Showing posts with label Frankszonia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frankszonia. Show all posts
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The General is indisposed
Somewhere in the Hessian scramble of states, a great army sits muffled against the winter cold. They are depressed as they seem to have stumbled on the threshold of a complete victory. Hesse-Seewald and Germania with British aid have stopped their advance. The cold, iron logic of the situation requires them to fall back on their ample depot near Frankfurter. Around their fitfully smoking campfires, the men are glad that the ground is firming up from the last winter storm. Marching in frozen mush is horribly uncomfortable, and the damage to their kit has all the sergeants practically incoherent. In their iced tents, they listen to the clatter and rumble of the endless wagon traffic bringing hay for the horses and taking the latest casualties ... most with frostbitten toes through the hills.
A low growl of noise seems unending from the thousands of men and their various implements and animals. Through this constant muted cacophony the sentries’ challenges and the clatter of couriers hooves occasionally places a stronger note in the mix. Tonight, however, some of the men at the fires stand up to watch, and some of the men raise their heads from whatever half frozen knapsack serves as their pillow. There is a rush of couriers, a cavalry horn sounds assemble, and staff officers and Brigadiers are seen hurrying about.
In his commandeered manor, General Chevert is irritably listening to an agitated Intendant Bastille. “This couldn’t have waited until the morning?” the General grumbles peevishly.
“Our own agents confirm the broad outlines of their warning,” Bastille asserts. “There could five or six thousand already mustered and more coming. It would be big enough to lob a lot of bombs into the depot, even if we keep them well out the supplies.”
“Really,” General Chevert replies, “shopkeepers, apprentices, farmhands, and the odd old noble who thinks himself a general!” He snorts disdainfully, “these seem hardly a threat.”
“You spend your summers on campaign, mon General,” one of Bastille’s aides intervenes. “These Frankszonians are weird. They pride themselves on their status as a Free State and as the traditional locale for crowning the Emperor. Their summer cook outs are accompanied by competitions in drill, manual of arms, and even marksmanship.”
“And I suspect that a lot of these wounded and prisoners going into Frankfurt are small units of Germanians or British, heavy on sergeants to provide the nerves for the force,” Bastille continues.
“Wounded and Prisoners to Frankfurter?” The General finally shows alarm. “They were supposed to concentrate on Mainz!”
“And, my agent pointed out another concern, General,” Bastille grabbed his advantage. “Many of the reliable and experienced Frankszonian units are involved in this affair down in Alesgarden. The people of Frankszonia are mostly Protestant and support the Elector against the Emperor. There is a good chance that some of the regiments in Frankfurter will turn coat. If they do, our foes could have twenty thousand men, many veteran regiments within yards of the Depot before any response could be made.”
“And Stagonia?” Chevert required.
“They definitely were involved in both the zombie affairs and in this recent mutiny which drew reliable forces out of town through the Stadt Wald ... and possibly in getting them mixed in with this Alesgarden Affair with the Reich Duchy of Beerstein.”
All of the aides now looked worried. Stagonia had the forces and the position to endanger all communications with Vienna and also would be a cancer in any defense of Bohemia. Since Aftschaftenberg was also in turmoil, the entire Gallian position could be fractured.
“What have you done already?” The General asked Bastille. Bastille was an excellent staff officer, and he had not shirked the firing line when his turn had come. The General was sure that the Baron had used his position to start some response already.
“I’ve sent the Marquis Hottatrot on with an escort of Hussars and Dragoons under Col. Mirage,” Bastille began, and defended his impertinence (which had already irritated the General), “ .... his men move fastest and the risk of a preplanned ambush could be best met his alert gifts for this sort of thing.”
“What’s done is done. What else?”
“The rest of the Frankszonian Nobles will be sent on back tomorrow with a flying wing of cavalry, light guns, and some freikorps.”
“I assume that you will accompany them, my Lord,” Chevert nodded.
“I suspect that the Hurtshog would cheerfully reinforce our depot guards with his own Lieb Garde and Cuirassiers in my absence, “ the Intendant acknowledged wryly. “It would be more efficient to steal our depot in one coup rather than the blood sucking they’ve used so far.”
“I am sure that his pet fop will write glowing reports of his sacrifice, energy, and dedication in service to our King and his Empress,” Chevert reflected. “I wonder what his real goal is?”
“Stagonia,” Bastille asserted.
Chevert looked at him for a moment and then back to the map table. “No, my lord Intendant,” he mused. “Stagonia is too far, too strong, and he knows we’d stop it until Stagonia stops sending us men, money, and supplies. Also, this whole thing stinks of that cabal’s little schemes. They’re trying to flush somebody out.”
There was a moment’s pause while everyone considered the irritations of the grating effect of the petty games of petty German princelings. One of the Intendant’s aides wondered aloud, “and where is Roquefort now?”
.....
A low growl of noise seems unending from the thousands of men and their various implements and animals. Through this constant muted cacophony the sentries’ challenges and the clatter of couriers hooves occasionally places a stronger note in the mix. Tonight, however, some of the men at the fires stand up to watch, and some of the men raise their heads from whatever half frozen knapsack serves as their pillow. There is a rush of couriers, a cavalry horn sounds assemble, and staff officers and Brigadiers are seen hurrying about.
In his commandeered manor, General Chevert is irritably listening to an agitated Intendant Bastille. “This couldn’t have waited until the morning?” the General grumbles peevishly.
“Our own agents confirm the broad outlines of their warning,” Bastille asserts. “There could five or six thousand already mustered and more coming. It would be big enough to lob a lot of bombs into the depot, even if we keep them well out the supplies.”
“Really,” General Chevert replies, “shopkeepers, apprentices, farmhands, and the odd old noble who thinks himself a general!” He snorts disdainfully, “these seem hardly a threat.”
“You spend your summers on campaign, mon General,” one of Bastille’s aides intervenes. “These Frankszonians are weird. They pride themselves on their status as a Free State and as the traditional locale for crowning the Emperor. Their summer cook outs are accompanied by competitions in drill, manual of arms, and even marksmanship.”
“And I suspect that a lot of these wounded and prisoners going into Frankfurt are small units of Germanians or British, heavy on sergeants to provide the nerves for the force,” Bastille continues.
“Wounded and Prisoners to Frankfurter?” The General finally shows alarm. “They were supposed to concentrate on Mainz!”
“And, my agent pointed out another concern, General,” Bastille grabbed his advantage. “Many of the reliable and experienced Frankszonian units are involved in this affair down in Alesgarden. The people of Frankszonia are mostly Protestant and support the Elector against the Emperor. There is a good chance that some of the regiments in Frankfurter will turn coat. If they do, our foes could have twenty thousand men, many veteran regiments within yards of the Depot before any response could be made.”
“And Stagonia?” Chevert required.
“They definitely were involved in both the zombie affairs and in this recent mutiny which drew reliable forces out of town through the Stadt Wald ... and possibly in getting them mixed in with this Alesgarden Affair with the Reich Duchy of Beerstein.”
All of the aides now looked worried. Stagonia had the forces and the position to endanger all communications with Vienna and also would be a cancer in any defense of Bohemia. Since Aftschaftenberg was also in turmoil, the entire Gallian position could be fractured.
“What have you done already?” The General asked Bastille. Bastille was an excellent staff officer, and he had not shirked the firing line when his turn had come. The General was sure that the Baron had used his position to start some response already.
“I’ve sent the Marquis Hottatrot on with an escort of Hussars and Dragoons under Col. Mirage,” Bastille began, and defended his impertinence (which had already irritated the General), “ .... his men move fastest and the risk of a preplanned ambush could be best met his alert gifts for this sort of thing.”
“What’s done is done. What else?”
“The rest of the Frankszonian Nobles will be sent on back tomorrow with a flying wing of cavalry, light guns, and some freikorps.”
“I assume that you will accompany them, my Lord,” Chevert nodded.
“I suspect that the Hurtshog would cheerfully reinforce our depot guards with his own Lieb Garde and Cuirassiers in my absence, “ the Intendant acknowledged wryly. “It would be more efficient to steal our depot in one coup rather than the blood sucking they’ve used so far.”
“I am sure that his pet fop will write glowing reports of his sacrifice, energy, and dedication in service to our King and his Empress,” Chevert reflected. “I wonder what his real goal is?”
“Stagonia,” Bastille asserted.
Chevert looked at him for a moment and then back to the map table. “No, my lord Intendant,” he mused. “Stagonia is too far, too strong, and he knows we’d stop it until Stagonia stops sending us men, money, and supplies. Also, this whole thing stinks of that cabal’s little schemes. They’re trying to flush somebody out.”
There was a moment’s pause while everyone considered the irritations of the grating effect of the petty games of petty German princelings. One of the Intendant’s aides wondered aloud, “and where is Roquefort now?”
.....
Friday, January 15, 2010
Farces in the Field
Beerstein is engaged in a major struggle over the province of Alesgarden.
By happenstance, Frankszonia got drawn into the struggle. As we're old friends of Beerstein (as such things go in the Empire vs. Elector blog), we're obviously concentrating our southern forces (which had just had to handle a mutiny and another zombie incursion ... apparently instigated in part by Beerstein's foe as well as Stagonia) to their assistance.
Three regiments of Cavalry, eleven battalions or so of infantry, and a few guns ...
Force Commander:
* Francios l'Marquise de Hottatrot: (1 = meaning above average but not brilliant ... Hottatrot has proven that he is brave and a dynamic leader and able to function even if wounded) Lewd, plain looking but not fat; a gourmet but flatulent. Maintains a couple of ballerinas and is very keen on dance. Devil may care, reckless, audacious, etc cavalry man (though he has won his accolades with an infantry regiment he raised). Secretly fond of Rhine Wines.
Awarded the Grilled Frankfurter for his aggressive initiative and fight even though seriously wounded at the Battle of Bad Tannes ... now an initiative +1
Another tragic family secret is connected to some rumors:
a: he was born before his parents were married;
b: perhaps his real parents never did marry;
c: but his legal mom and dad dote on each other and are quite sensitive so he can't openly
research the problem ...
d: rumor also has it that his dandified legal father is more fond of young boys than girls ...
Hottatrot is also rumored to be involved with Frankszonian under the covers organs ...
Cavalry
* Brig. Shlidelisht: (1) An erratic cavalry genius.
* The Cellulite Cursers ... Cuirassiers; 2 x 14 figs (7) (a heavy cavalry brigade, white with blue
cuffs, etc., silver Cuirass (These are veteran fighters, the numbers meaning that there are two “regiments” of approximately 700 swords each)
* Frangipani Hussars 15 @ (7) Light cavalry, but very professional. They frequently are the quick reaction force in Frankszonia (and based on an historical Bravarian and then Austrian unit).
These Hussars are also frequently deployed as an “independent” force.
Infantry
* M. Gen. General Schwann (2+ Meaning very, very good) ( a driving and romantic personality, very concerned with mobility .... his units would get the Prussian double action bonus);
Brigade BallPark
* The Baron von Ballpark (0) (a beefy fellow whom rumor has linked with the infamous Pigg
in a Blanket scandal)
(Infantry regts. = # of battalions (morale rating) and list strength (600 men for these units)
* IR Phutyl Fusils 2 x (4) x 12 (These are largely Frankszonian nationals. They are “trained” but are usually kept out of the major actions in order to watch the units which are more heavily recruited abroad)
* IR Foot Longs, 2 bats @ 12 , (5) (Black with yellow turnbacks, ?small clothes, yellow lace)
These are veterans, and possibly the most experienced unit in the Frankszonian army. They are noted for their endurance and usually pass morale checks while in action.
Brigade Rosenschnauz (brevet Brigadier)
* Oberst Rosenschnauz: (0) heavy (as in 300 lb) drinker. (He got his start as a staff officer under Gen. Ballpark. While he has performed adequately and bravely, rumor has it that his promotion is due more to his wife’s .... ah ... dedication than his own. This is intended to be his big chance to prove himself).
* IR Hottatrot 2 x (5) x 12; (Battle Honors for Bad Tannes)
Veterans, professionals, and proud of their achievements and of the ... ah ... achievements of their Inhaber ...
* IR Grinderdiers, 2 bats @ 12 figs, rate (6)
Veterans, a standing regiment of Grenadiers. They are used both as a prestige unit and as a sort of “fire brigade.” As such, the majority of the rank and file are proven but foreign men.
Independent Units:
* Jay’s Jaegers 1 x (6) x 12 Rifle armed, but very sneaky. These are proven poachers ...
* 1 battery of 12 lbr cannon
* 2 batteries of “light” cannon (4 to 6 lbrs.)
* 1 Battery of howitzers
By happenstance, Frankszonia got drawn into the struggle. As we're old friends of Beerstein (as such things go in the Empire vs. Elector blog), we're obviously concentrating our southern forces (which had just had to handle a mutiny and another zombie incursion ... apparently instigated in part by Beerstein's foe as well as Stagonia) to their assistance.
Three regiments of Cavalry, eleven battalions or so of infantry, and a few guns ...
Force Commander:
* Francios l'Marquise de Hottatrot: (1 = meaning above average but not brilliant ... Hottatrot has proven that he is brave and a dynamic leader and able to function even if wounded) Lewd, plain looking but not fat; a gourmet but flatulent. Maintains a couple of ballerinas and is very keen on dance. Devil may care, reckless, audacious, etc cavalry man (though he has won his accolades with an infantry regiment he raised). Secretly fond of Rhine Wines.
Awarded the Grilled Frankfurter for his aggressive initiative and fight even though seriously wounded at the Battle of Bad Tannes ... now an initiative +1
Another tragic family secret is connected to some rumors:
a: he was born before his parents were married;
b: perhaps his real parents never did marry;
c: but his legal mom and dad dote on each other and are quite sensitive so he can't openly
research the problem ...
d: rumor also has it that his dandified legal father is more fond of young boys than girls ...
Hottatrot is also rumored to be involved with Frankszonian under the covers organs ...
Cavalry
* Brig. Shlidelisht: (1) An erratic cavalry genius.
* The Cellulite Cursers ... Cuirassiers; 2 x 14 figs (7) (a heavy cavalry brigade, white with blue
cuffs, etc., silver Cuirass (These are veteran fighters, the numbers meaning that there are two “regiments” of approximately 700 swords each)
* Frangipani Hussars 15 @ (7) Light cavalry, but very professional. They frequently are the quick reaction force in Frankszonia (and based on an historical Bravarian and then Austrian unit).
These Hussars are also frequently deployed as an “independent” force.
Infantry
* M. Gen. General Schwann (2+ Meaning very, very good) ( a driving and romantic personality, very concerned with mobility .... his units would get the Prussian double action bonus);
Brigade BallPark
* The Baron von Ballpark (0) (a beefy fellow whom rumor has linked with the infamous Pigg
in a Blanket scandal)
(Infantry regts. = # of battalions (morale rating) and list strength (600 men for these units)
* IR Phutyl Fusils 2 x (4) x 12 (These are largely Frankszonian nationals. They are “trained” but are usually kept out of the major actions in order to watch the units which are more heavily recruited abroad)
* IR Foot Longs, 2 bats @ 12 , (5) (Black with yellow turnbacks, ?small clothes, yellow lace)
These are veterans, and possibly the most experienced unit in the Frankszonian army. They are noted for their endurance and usually pass morale checks while in action.
Brigade Rosenschnauz (brevet Brigadier)
* Oberst Rosenschnauz: (0) heavy (as in 300 lb) drinker. (He got his start as a staff officer under Gen. Ballpark. While he has performed adequately and bravely, rumor has it that his promotion is due more to his wife’s .... ah ... dedication than his own. This is intended to be his big chance to prove himself).
* IR Hottatrot 2 x (5) x 12; (Battle Honors for Bad Tannes)
Veterans, professionals, and proud of their achievements and of the ... ah ... achievements of their Inhaber ...
* IR Grinderdiers, 2 bats @ 12 figs, rate (6)
Veterans, a standing regiment of Grenadiers. They are used both as a prestige unit and as a sort of “fire brigade.” As such, the majority of the rank and file are proven but foreign men.
Independent Units:
* Jay’s Jaegers 1 x (6) x 12 Rifle armed, but very sneaky. These are proven poachers ...
* 1 battery of 12 lbr cannon
* 2 batteries of “light” cannon (4 to 6 lbrs.)
* 1 Battery of howitzers
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Ingredients added to the stew ...
Events Speeding Up?
Scene I: In the Tannes Mountains near Ausfhart:
Inside the hut, the other woman picks up a sewing basket and starts stitching on some cloth while the men argue about possible routes from the various Resistance camps onto the Frankfurter plan. The forces covering Russelheim are clearly a threat in the field. Should they be bypassed or struck first. Hans argues that the over all strength of Frankszonia must be conserved, and a mere demonstration might keep them in place long enough for depot strike to succeed. Lord Bleah disagrees as his Cheezer forces will have to march past the Frankszonian posts to join in the strike and on their withdrawal.
“Not if you come through this valley and turn towards Hesse Fedora,” Rausen Mariah responded. “The Alte Vater will keep the men in this pass out of the action either way.”
“A friendly neutral?” Emil wonders.
“Nein, Miene Herr,” the unamed man responds. “Even more than the Hurtshog, the Alte Vater has no desire to see Fhartzen hurt in strangers’ quarrels.”
“And,” the seamstress intrudes, “the gold that the Crown of the Britscherwurst will contribute to ameliorate the damage caused by the passing armies will be a great incentive to behave.”
“I thought so!” Emil exclaimed. “We were sure that this invitation would be a request for subsidies for your Resistance forces. Good, we’re prepared to offer ...”
“Nein! Nein!” almost all of the Frankszonians exclaim. “The funds really will be directed to the restoration of the old family seat and for the family reunion.”
Bleah and Emil exchange disbelieving but puzzled glances.
“Germania and the OysterReich are struggling to dominate Deutschland,” the nameless man begins to explain. “The Fhartzen favor the OysterReich and the Merry Teaser, but there are much greater issues which this struggle will pull into the fire.”
“Already, Russian Cossacks and Swedish pirates are moving into Poland,” the seamstress continues, “and the Porte is mobilizing forces. Whether the Trucks go after the Carzina or the Merry Teaser is really a moot point right now. The Merry Teaser will be forced to divert the Hungryones away from Germania and Hesse Seewald.”
“I hardly see how that would motivate we Britischerwurst to worry,” Emil complained.
“Where do you think the armies to hold Bohemia and Prague will come from then?” Rausen Mariah snapped. “The Gallians have already intervened there twice. Do you want a de facto Gallian province to appear all along your southern border?”
“So, you want our help to strike the Frankfurter depot,” Lord Bleah nods.
“And our money and perhaps a little activity to give you a place to run too,” Emil concludes.
“And confusion to the Gallians!” the nameless man exclaims.
Scene 2: a suite in a quality hotel in Frankfurter:
A merchant stands by a table on which he is examining several very fancifully dressed dolls. A valet enters and says, “A person to see you, Meine Herr.”
“A person?”
“I cannot rightly call him a gentleman, Meine Herr.”
“Oh, very well, but give me enough time to put these away first.”
“Sehr gut, meine Herr.” The Valet leaves, and the merchant swiftly places the large dolls in a well padded trunk and locks it. After a minute, a dirty, stinking, ragged relic shambles into the room.
“Teuffel!” the merchant exclaims. “Don’t sit down on these fancy chairs! You’d double the rates we have to pay for this dump. By Wotan’s blind eye, what have you gotten into?”
“Und eine Guten Abend to you, Graf Putzenhoel,” the human wreck responds with a surprisingly well inflected baritone. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything “vile” to drink around would you?”
“Nor to smoke,” the Graf grunts. “You know I have to smuggle these play pretties past the Germanian outposts. Getting caught with them would be expensive enough!”
“Ah yes, the Parisan fashion doll gimmick again?”
“Jah. They provide a nice introduction to Mistress Ewewarp and some of M’Lady’s entourage.”
(For the incognosci, they used to make big dolls with the latest Paris fashions and ship them around Germany so that the local ladies could copy the outfits ... the more anti-French potentates always tried to prevent this).
“Mistress Ewewarp? I know you’re a lecher, but fat old ladies are hardly my cup of tea,” the tramp laughs.
“You’ve not been in the service long, have you, Gummibaher?”
“Just since I made the mistake of playing with that vixen from the Baltic.”
“Playing?” Putzenhoel laughs. “The way I heard it, it was more like being eaten alive.”
“It was okay until one of the king’s girls came in without knocking,” Gummibaher grinned.
“Ha! Was gibts?”
“First of all, as you probably already known, Frau Ewewarp is absent from the city.”
“Humph!”
“And a carriage from the Margravate of Raubenstein has been recieved at the palace.”
“Raubenstein?”
“Jah, und there is a strange cavalry officer in their entourage.”
“The Kerns! Have they asked any questions yet?”
“Nein, but I’ve never heard of the officer before some affair in the Balkans last year.”
“Well, well,” Putzenhoel muses. “I may have to delay my urgent trip to the Bar Line for a bit ...”
Scene Three: A country inn somewhere in Hesse Seewald ....
M/Lord Bastille steps out of the common room into the courtyard and lights a pipe. He looks up at the clouds and the light snow falling with a smirk. He had that scheming petty Frankszonian Duke wrapped up nice and tight and away from making any trouble! His pleasant reveries are interrupted when a tipsy teamster bumps into the shrubbery and shakes some snow onto Bastille’s fine coat.
“Be careful, man!” the Intendant complains.
“Your pardon, m’Lord,” the teamster apologizes. “I seem to be a little dizzy,” he laughs and turns to look up into Bastille’s face.
“Mon Dieu!” Bastille swivels around quickly to be sure no one is watching. “What are you doing here, Master Peter?”
“Working overtime,” Peter answers. “This is a tough gig when all the apprentices and journeymen suddenly leave town.”
“Eh?”
“And I asked for charity from the Anglericans, but they’ve suddenly gone to all short form services and are buttoned up for the cold.”
“Ah,” Bastille nods knowingly, “So the Germanian tyrant is finally playing the religion card.”
“Perhaps,” Peter nodded, “but one of the Frankszonian generals who deserted to Germania was seen talking with Mistress Ewewarp, and she’s missing now too.”
“What is that silly Boche doing now?” Bastille was beginning to get irritated.
“Possibly nothing,” Peter responded. The Intendent waved that off angrily, but Peter pressed on, “the only dispatch rider I saw was coming here, and I’ve not spotted much traffic back to Frankfurter other than wounded and prisoners.”
“Wounded and prisoners?” Bastille’s eyebrows merged with his feathery hat. “Just how many wounded and prisoners and in what size groups?”
Scene Four: A chilly vault under the Frankfurter Cathedral:
A Cathedral Cannon is carefully sorting candles when another priest enters the room.
“Monsignor Virtu!” the Cannon greets him cheerfully, “What brings you here?”
“We need to get the lay brothers together,” the visitor responds with a heavy Italian accent.
The Cannon crosses himself anxiously. “Are you sure? They can be hard to control and can cause some terrible trouble when they’re set loose.”
The Italian is silent for a moment, casting a grave look outside the room. He returns to the Cannon and whispers in his ear, “The Apostate Prince Returns.”
Scene Five: A comfortable suite in a country inn in Hesse Seewald.
The Hurtshog and Beauphaup play chess beside a cheerful fire while General Hottatrot watches the snow fall outside.
“Close that window!” the Hurtshog cheerily orders the General. “Do you want to give your sovereign pneumonia?”
“Not really,” the general responds. “I just thought I heard the sign of a Frankszonian Ritter.”
The chess players both look at him and fall quiet. Outside, the steady clump of heavy boots rapidly approaches the door. At the knock, Hottatrot challenges, “Who goes there?”
“Hauptman MooseHunter, mein Herr.”
The chess players quickly rise while Hottatrot hustles the officer into the room swiftly.
“What’s happening?” the Hurtshog demands bruskly.
“Rose Marie has another crazy scheme going, Sir,” the copper skinned giant responded. “And with most of our reliable forces out of town and going in different directions, this could prove very embarrassing.”
“Does the Intendant know yet?”
“I passed one of his agents just outside of town, and stalled long enough to let him go in ahead of me.”
“Good.”
“But ...”
“Well?”
“Roquefort has gone to ground, Sir,” the Indian said. “We’ve lost track of him.”
“Perhaps the Gallian court has finally decided to reign him in,” Beauphaup suggested.
“They have, but he appears to have skipped even before his assassination scheme went sour,” Moosehunter cautioned.
“And we saw some Cheezer officers posing as wounded being “taken” south after the battle,” Hottatrot noted.
The Hurtshog made an abrupt gesture and walked to the window. He opens it and watches the snow for a minute. “Comte Beauphaup.” he said.
“Oui, your Highness?”
“Please find m’Lord Bastille. Inform him that he is summoned to an immediate conference with the Hurtshog Fhartz von Frankfurter.”
The other men stiffen at the tone and the word “summoned.”
“At once, your Highness,” Beauphaup responds and leaves.
Scene I: In the Tannes Mountains near Ausfhart:
Inside the hut, the other woman picks up a sewing basket and starts stitching on some cloth while the men argue about possible routes from the various Resistance camps onto the Frankfurter plan. The forces covering Russelheim are clearly a threat in the field. Should they be bypassed or struck first. Hans argues that the over all strength of Frankszonia must be conserved, and a mere demonstration might keep them in place long enough for depot strike to succeed. Lord Bleah disagrees as his Cheezer forces will have to march past the Frankszonian posts to join in the strike and on their withdrawal.
“Not if you come through this valley and turn towards Hesse Fedora,” Rausen Mariah responded. “The Alte Vater will keep the men in this pass out of the action either way.”
“A friendly neutral?” Emil wonders.
“Nein, Miene Herr,” the unamed man responds. “Even more than the Hurtshog, the Alte Vater has no desire to see Fhartzen hurt in strangers’ quarrels.”
“And,” the seamstress intrudes, “the gold that the Crown of the Britscherwurst will contribute to ameliorate the damage caused by the passing armies will be a great incentive to behave.”
“I thought so!” Emil exclaimed. “We were sure that this invitation would be a request for subsidies for your Resistance forces. Good, we’re prepared to offer ...”
“Nein! Nein!” almost all of the Frankszonians exclaim. “The funds really will be directed to the restoration of the old family seat and for the family reunion.”
Bleah and Emil exchange disbelieving but puzzled glances.
“Germania and the OysterReich are struggling to dominate Deutschland,” the nameless man begins to explain. “The Fhartzen favor the OysterReich and the Merry Teaser, but there are much greater issues which this struggle will pull into the fire.”
“Already, Russian Cossacks and Swedish pirates are moving into Poland,” the seamstress continues, “and the Porte is mobilizing forces. Whether the Trucks go after the Carzina or the Merry Teaser is really a moot point right now. The Merry Teaser will be forced to divert the Hungryones away from Germania and Hesse Seewald.”
“I hardly see how that would motivate we Britischerwurst to worry,” Emil complained.
“Where do you think the armies to hold Bohemia and Prague will come from then?” Rausen Mariah snapped. “The Gallians have already intervened there twice. Do you want a de facto Gallian province to appear all along your southern border?”
“So, you want our help to strike the Frankfurter depot,” Lord Bleah nods.
“And our money and perhaps a little activity to give you a place to run too,” Emil concludes.
“And confusion to the Gallians!” the nameless man exclaims.
Scene 2: a suite in a quality hotel in Frankfurter:
A merchant stands by a table on which he is examining several very fancifully dressed dolls. A valet enters and says, “A person to see you, Meine Herr.”
“A person?”
“I cannot rightly call him a gentleman, Meine Herr.”
“Oh, very well, but give me enough time to put these away first.”
“Sehr gut, meine Herr.” The Valet leaves, and the merchant swiftly places the large dolls in a well padded trunk and locks it. After a minute, a dirty, stinking, ragged relic shambles into the room.
“Teuffel!” the merchant exclaims. “Don’t sit down on these fancy chairs! You’d double the rates we have to pay for this dump. By Wotan’s blind eye, what have you gotten into?”
“Und eine Guten Abend to you, Graf Putzenhoel,” the human wreck responds with a surprisingly well inflected baritone. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything “vile” to drink around would you?”
“Nor to smoke,” the Graf grunts. “You know I have to smuggle these play pretties past the Germanian outposts. Getting caught with them would be expensive enough!”
“Ah yes, the Parisan fashion doll gimmick again?”
“Jah. They provide a nice introduction to Mistress Ewewarp and some of M’Lady’s entourage.”
(For the incognosci, they used to make big dolls with the latest Paris fashions and ship them around Germany so that the local ladies could copy the outfits ... the more anti-French potentates always tried to prevent this).
“Mistress Ewewarp? I know you’re a lecher, but fat old ladies are hardly my cup of tea,” the tramp laughs.
“You’ve not been in the service long, have you, Gummibaher?”
“Just since I made the mistake of playing with that vixen from the Baltic.”
“Playing?” Putzenhoel laughs. “The way I heard it, it was more like being eaten alive.”
“It was okay until one of the king’s girls came in without knocking,” Gummibaher grinned.
“Ha! Was gibts?”
“First of all, as you probably already known, Frau Ewewarp is absent from the city.”
“Humph!”
“And a carriage from the Margravate of Raubenstein has been recieved at the palace.”
“Raubenstein?”
“Jah, und there is a strange cavalry officer in their entourage.”
“The Kerns! Have they asked any questions yet?”
“Nein, but I’ve never heard of the officer before some affair in the Balkans last year.”
“Well, well,” Putzenhoel muses. “I may have to delay my urgent trip to the Bar Line for a bit ...”
Scene Three: A country inn somewhere in Hesse Seewald ....
M/Lord Bastille steps out of the common room into the courtyard and lights a pipe. He looks up at the clouds and the light snow falling with a smirk. He had that scheming petty Frankszonian Duke wrapped up nice and tight and away from making any trouble! His pleasant reveries are interrupted when a tipsy teamster bumps into the shrubbery and shakes some snow onto Bastille’s fine coat.
“Be careful, man!” the Intendant complains.
“Your pardon, m’Lord,” the teamster apologizes. “I seem to be a little dizzy,” he laughs and turns to look up into Bastille’s face.
“Mon Dieu!” Bastille swivels around quickly to be sure no one is watching. “What are you doing here, Master Peter?”
“Working overtime,” Peter answers. “This is a tough gig when all the apprentices and journeymen suddenly leave town.”
“Eh?”
“And I asked for charity from the Anglericans, but they’ve suddenly gone to all short form services and are buttoned up for the cold.”
“Ah,” Bastille nods knowingly, “So the Germanian tyrant is finally playing the religion card.”
“Perhaps,” Peter nodded, “but one of the Frankszonian generals who deserted to Germania was seen talking with Mistress Ewewarp, and she’s missing now too.”
“What is that silly Boche doing now?” Bastille was beginning to get irritated.
“Possibly nothing,” Peter responded. The Intendent waved that off angrily, but Peter pressed on, “the only dispatch rider I saw was coming here, and I’ve not spotted much traffic back to Frankfurter other than wounded and prisoners.”
“Wounded and prisoners?” Bastille’s eyebrows merged with his feathery hat. “Just how many wounded and prisoners and in what size groups?”
Scene Four: A chilly vault under the Frankfurter Cathedral:
A Cathedral Cannon is carefully sorting candles when another priest enters the room.
“Monsignor Virtu!” the Cannon greets him cheerfully, “What brings you here?”
“We need to get the lay brothers together,” the visitor responds with a heavy Italian accent.
The Cannon crosses himself anxiously. “Are you sure? They can be hard to control and can cause some terrible trouble when they’re set loose.”
The Italian is silent for a moment, casting a grave look outside the room. He returns to the Cannon and whispers in his ear, “The Apostate Prince Returns.”
Scene Five: A comfortable suite in a country inn in Hesse Seewald.
The Hurtshog and Beauphaup play chess beside a cheerful fire while General Hottatrot watches the snow fall outside.
“Close that window!” the Hurtshog cheerily orders the General. “Do you want to give your sovereign pneumonia?”
“Not really,” the general responds. “I just thought I heard the sign of a Frankszonian Ritter.”
The chess players both look at him and fall quiet. Outside, the steady clump of heavy boots rapidly approaches the door. At the knock, Hottatrot challenges, “Who goes there?”
“Hauptman MooseHunter, mein Herr.”
The chess players quickly rise while Hottatrot hustles the officer into the room swiftly.
“What’s happening?” the Hurtshog demands bruskly.
“Rose Marie has another crazy scheme going, Sir,” the copper skinned giant responded. “And with most of our reliable forces out of town and going in different directions, this could prove very embarrassing.”
“Does the Intendant know yet?”
“I passed one of his agents just outside of town, and stalled long enough to let him go in ahead of me.”
“Good.”
“But ...”
“Well?”
“Roquefort has gone to ground, Sir,” the Indian said. “We’ve lost track of him.”
“Perhaps the Gallian court has finally decided to reign him in,” Beauphaup suggested.
“They have, but he appears to have skipped even before his assassination scheme went sour,” Moosehunter cautioned.
“And we saw some Cheezer officers posing as wounded being “taken” south after the battle,” Hottatrot noted.
The Hurtshog made an abrupt gesture and walked to the window. He opens it and watches the snow for a minute. “Comte Beauphaup.” he said.
“Oui, your Highness?”
“Please find m’Lord Bastille. Inform him that he is summoned to an immediate conference with the Hurtshog Fhartz von Frankfurter.”
The other men stiffen at the tone and the word “summoned.”
“At once, your Highness,” Beauphaup responds and leaves.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Mountain Dew (the plot thickens)
A get - together Scramble: part two
A few people came out of the house, but they did not come to greet the hikers. Instead, the girl placed her and on Emil’s sleeve, gave him a serious look and said, formally, “Welcome, von Reisling, to one of Frankszonia’s most sacred secrets, The Bock Spring.”
The people from the cottage doffed their hats, and as Emil followed suit, he saw that Hans had grounded his rifle in a veteran’s stance of attention. “Honored, I’m sure,” Emil said, “but why is it so sacred?”
“From here, Frankszonia arose,” the girl responded.
“Ja,” Hans continued. “Once, long ago, when the Electors came to crown a new Emperor, the best beer in the world was brewed from this water. The brewmaster Fhartz sent an entire wagon to them.”
“From that time,” one of the men from the cottage noted, “we Fhartzen have been enobled.”
“We Fhartzen?!?” Emil and one of the strangers exclaimed together. Even as they snatched for their pistols, however, the others reassured them.
“Do not fear, mein Herren,” the first speaker chuckled. “We are truly of the Resistance.”
“The dream of truly free Freistadt derived from the Imperial Receipt is not confined to just .my uncle,” the girl assured them.
“Your uncle?”
“The Hurtshog Stanken Fhartz zu Frankfurter,” she replied impishly.
“Ja,” chuckled Hans, “Our Rausen Marie, the Rose of the Resistance, is a Granddaughter of der Alte Hurtshog.”
“But,” Emil protested, “I know that his agents communicate regularly with the Gallians, and in spite of the hassles he’s caused other Gallian allies, he has provided troops and fought himself to protect Gallian supply routes.”
“The Hurtshog favors the Merry Teaser,” the speaker responded. “As long as there’s no hope of a Germanian nor an Imperial rescue, there’s no point in sacrificing Frankszonians.”
“Besides,” a lady smirked, “the Gallian depot is the best source of Gallian wines.”
“So, the Hurtshog pretends alliance to plunder the Frogs?” Emil asked.
“No, no,” the speaker grinned. “We replace the Gallian kegs with good Rhine wines, locally grown and legally paid for!”
“Of course,” Rose Marie laughs, “we’re careful that the gentlemen who drink their own estates vintages will get their own stuff.”
“Then the Resistance is a sham!” the other stranger shouted angrily.
“Hardly,” the speaker responded soberly, “and that’s why this meeting is necessary.”
“Most of our people hate an alliance with the Catholics,” the other woman said. “And most of the nobles resent the Gallian presence visciously. Now that the imbecile Bastille has removed the Hurtshog, they’re getting ready to act.”
“Without Stanken, we doubt that Broderick Woad will commit his men to the field,” the speaker continued, “and without Hottatrot, a lot of the Frankfurters will drag their heels in fighting their own cousins. We won’t be able to take Frankfurter, nor would we have nearly enough people to actually capture the depot.”
“But we can probably burn a lot of it,” Rose Marie eagerly suggested, “and we can drive the Gallian lapdogs back into their master’s boudior!”
“Then the Gallians would be forced to pull back from Hesse Seewald,” the other stranger realized.
“And then,” Hans contributed, “the Resistance will need a clear path to run!”
“And that,” the speaker continued, “is where you two come in. The Mayor of Ausfhart needs to know that you can clear a quick route out of the valley into Hesse Fedora or even further north.”
“And what,” the other stranger asked, “is the Mayor’s role in this?”
“My Lord Bleah,” the speaker replied, “Stanken may be Hurtshog, but the real head of the family is always the Lord Mayor. Surely you Cheezers knew that!”
“I doubt,” Emil responded, “that our Britischerwurst can get any real strength this far behind enemy lines. Why even involve us?”
“Because Stagonia and the Kerns are about to relaunch their feud on our turf,” the other woman responded. “Neither the Alte Vater nor the Hurtshog care to risk the fall out taking out too many of our cousins. This is a rather pretty dance we’re trying to make here.”
“This stinks worse than Frog Cheese,” Lord Bleah complained. “The Frankszonians would still put nearly 15,000 men into the field if you tried to concentrate for a real strike.”
“Hardly, they’ve got nearly 4000 already committed to the Altenburg affair,” the speaker commented.
“And our agents don’t report to General Mayer,” the other woman continued. “They won’t have time to get their full strength into the field, even if they knew what was going to happen by tonight! Stagonia has some usefulness, it seems.”
“So,” Emil asks, “what is going to happen?”
“These are mountains, Captain,” the speaker responded. “They hide a lot, and city troops won’t be trying to patrol them when a hard freeze hits.”
“And the morning after,” Rose Marie exulted, “my beautiful bronze guns and their friends will be skating across the fields!”
“There is a big risk in that,” Emil cautioned, “Your heat, my lady, just might melt those fields and freeze the guns!”
She laughs as the men turn back to the cottage to begin more detailed planning.
A few people came out of the house, but they did not come to greet the hikers. Instead, the girl placed her and on Emil’s sleeve, gave him a serious look and said, formally, “Welcome, von Reisling, to one of Frankszonia’s most sacred secrets, The Bock Spring.”
The people from the cottage doffed their hats, and as Emil followed suit, he saw that Hans had grounded his rifle in a veteran’s stance of attention. “Honored, I’m sure,” Emil said, “but why is it so sacred?”
“From here, Frankszonia arose,” the girl responded.
“Ja,” Hans continued. “Once, long ago, when the Electors came to crown a new Emperor, the best beer in the world was brewed from this water. The brewmaster Fhartz sent an entire wagon to them.”
“From that time,” one of the men from the cottage noted, “we Fhartzen have been enobled.”
“We Fhartzen?!?” Emil and one of the strangers exclaimed together. Even as they snatched for their pistols, however, the others reassured them.
“Do not fear, mein Herren,” the first speaker chuckled. “We are truly of the Resistance.”
“The dream of truly free Freistadt derived from the Imperial Receipt is not confined to just .my uncle,” the girl assured them.
“Your uncle?”
“The Hurtshog Stanken Fhartz zu Frankfurter,” she replied impishly.
“Ja,” chuckled Hans, “Our Rausen Marie, the Rose of the Resistance, is a Granddaughter of der Alte Hurtshog.”
“But,” Emil protested, “I know that his agents communicate regularly with the Gallians, and in spite of the hassles he’s caused other Gallian allies, he has provided troops and fought himself to protect Gallian supply routes.”
“The Hurtshog favors the Merry Teaser,” the speaker responded. “As long as there’s no hope of a Germanian nor an Imperial rescue, there’s no point in sacrificing Frankszonians.”
“Besides,” a lady smirked, “the Gallian depot is the best source of Gallian wines.”
“So, the Hurtshog pretends alliance to plunder the Frogs?” Emil asked.
“No, no,” the speaker grinned. “We replace the Gallian kegs with good Rhine wines, locally grown and legally paid for!”
“Of course,” Rose Marie laughs, “we’re careful that the gentlemen who drink their own estates vintages will get their own stuff.”
“Then the Resistance is a sham!” the other stranger shouted angrily.
“Hardly,” the speaker responded soberly, “and that’s why this meeting is necessary.”
“Most of our people hate an alliance with the Catholics,” the other woman said. “And most of the nobles resent the Gallian presence visciously. Now that the imbecile Bastille has removed the Hurtshog, they’re getting ready to act.”
“Without Stanken, we doubt that Broderick Woad will commit his men to the field,” the speaker continued, “and without Hottatrot, a lot of the Frankfurters will drag their heels in fighting their own cousins. We won’t be able to take Frankfurter, nor would we have nearly enough people to actually capture the depot.”
“But we can probably burn a lot of it,” Rose Marie eagerly suggested, “and we can drive the Gallian lapdogs back into their master’s boudior!”
“Then the Gallians would be forced to pull back from Hesse Seewald,” the other stranger realized.
“And then,” Hans contributed, “the Resistance will need a clear path to run!”
“And that,” the speaker continued, “is where you two come in. The Mayor of Ausfhart needs to know that you can clear a quick route out of the valley into Hesse Fedora or even further north.”
“And what,” the other stranger asked, “is the Mayor’s role in this?”
“My Lord Bleah,” the speaker replied, “Stanken may be Hurtshog, but the real head of the family is always the Lord Mayor. Surely you Cheezers knew that!”
“I doubt,” Emil responded, “that our Britischerwurst can get any real strength this far behind enemy lines. Why even involve us?”
“Because Stagonia and the Kerns are about to relaunch their feud on our turf,” the other woman responded. “Neither the Alte Vater nor the Hurtshog care to risk the fall out taking out too many of our cousins. This is a rather pretty dance we’re trying to make here.”
“This stinks worse than Frog Cheese,” Lord Bleah complained. “The Frankszonians would still put nearly 15,000 men into the field if you tried to concentrate for a real strike.”
“Hardly, they’ve got nearly 4000 already committed to the Altenburg affair,” the speaker commented.
“And our agents don’t report to General Mayer,” the other woman continued. “They won’t have time to get their full strength into the field, even if they knew what was going to happen by tonight! Stagonia has some usefulness, it seems.”
“So,” Emil asks, “what is going to happen?”
“These are mountains, Captain,” the speaker responded. “They hide a lot, and city troops won’t be trying to patrol them when a hard freeze hits.”
“And the morning after,” Rose Marie exulted, “my beautiful bronze guns and their friends will be skating across the fields!”
“There is a big risk in that,” Emil cautioned, “Your heat, my lady, just might melt those fields and freeze the guns!”
She laughs as the men turn back to the cottage to begin more detailed planning.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Get-together: A scramble in the woods
A get - together Scramble
The pearl grey mist swirls about vague, pre-dawn shadows like rope curtains. On the tree dark slopes, two indistinct lumps slip across wet, black stones and stumble, muttering, over gnarled roots.
“Ha! Poachers!” storms out above them, and they jerk to an awkward halt.
“Not poachers,” protests one figure, “but protectors!”
“Ja, ja,” their captor sneers, “und you vill the little birdies from der Hurtshog’s kitchen protect, eh? Nein, Nein!”
“Nein, Feldwebel,” the other captive answers with a girl’s musical voice. “We keep therm from turning into Frogs!”
“Ach, meine kleine Blumen,” the large figure of a jaeger sergeant steps down among the black pillars and dripping branches. “We did not if you for sure were coming know. Welcome to our Ausfhart Wald und valley.”
“Hans, Hans,” the girl chides him and gives him a quick hug. “I have your hunts always enjoyed.”
“Ja, und we have your style of hunting always loved,” the big man chuckles. “Wo ist?”
He gestures to the other figure whose shoes were slipping off the rocks.
“Emil,” the girl responds gaily, “stop slipping away and come meet Hans Baher.”
Hans catches Emil a second from disaster and leans the smaller man into a tree.
“These boots,” Emil complains, “are too stiff for this work. Our little plotter here won’t let me just ride in!”
The sergeant grunts cheerfully, “only a dwarf on his mine pony could where we’re going ride anyway.”
“Where are we going then?” Emil asks.
“Come!” Hans moves across the slope, leaving a billowing wake in the fog. Emil and the girl stumble along behind him onto a narrow path which cuts across a cliff hidden by tall firs.
“Careful, meine Herr,” Hans cautions, as he leads them on a narrow goat path across the face of a cliff. “It can get slippery.”
Emil clutched the cliff face on his right as he wobbled through the fog. “Where will we meet the others,’ he asks after one slip sends a small rock bounding down among the firs.
Hans and Rausen Marie steadied him. “Already there, Mein Herr,” Hans reassured him. “Achtung! Be careful,” Hans continued and then seemed to vanish into the cliff!
Emil came to a startled stop, and the girl blundered into him. For a moment they tottered and swayed together, clutching each other, tree branches, and random loose rocks. The little tussle ended with a loud slap and a muttered apology. Their little stumble, however, had moved them far enough for Emil to see into the mall gorge which cut into the cliff. Of course the path turned suddenly into the gorge a few yards above the boulders over which a mountain stream splashed.
“First,” Emil mockingly grumbled, “you try to break my legs. Now you want me to break my neck and to ruin my boots?”
He was rewarded with a brief giggle.
Though the rocks were wet and mossy, they weren’t slimy. Emil was quietly grateful for that. Then after a few yards, the gorge twisted, and the crack climbed swiftly. The three stepped out onto a clear terrace. A few goats nibbled at bunches of grasses on the glade. The stream flowed from beneath a dilapidated cottage leaning against the upper cliff face. Emil’s companions removed their hats and nodded respectfully towards the cottage. “We’re here,” the girl said.
The pearl grey mist swirls about vague, pre-dawn shadows like rope curtains. On the tree dark slopes, two indistinct lumps slip across wet, black stones and stumble, muttering, over gnarled roots.
“Ha! Poachers!” storms out above them, and they jerk to an awkward halt.
“Not poachers,” protests one figure, “but protectors!”
“Ja, ja,” their captor sneers, “und you vill the little birdies from der Hurtshog’s kitchen protect, eh? Nein, Nein!”
“Nein, Feldwebel,” the other captive answers with a girl’s musical voice. “We keep therm from turning into Frogs!”
“Ach, meine kleine Blumen,” the large figure of a jaeger sergeant steps down among the black pillars and dripping branches. “We did not if you for sure were coming know. Welcome to our Ausfhart Wald und valley.”
“Hans, Hans,” the girl chides him and gives him a quick hug. “I have your hunts always enjoyed.”
“Ja, und we have your style of hunting always loved,” the big man chuckles. “Wo ist?”
He gestures to the other figure whose shoes were slipping off the rocks.
“Emil,” the girl responds gaily, “stop slipping away and come meet Hans Baher.”
Hans catches Emil a second from disaster and leans the smaller man into a tree.
“These boots,” Emil complains, “are too stiff for this work. Our little plotter here won’t let me just ride in!”
The sergeant grunts cheerfully, “only a dwarf on his mine pony could where we’re going ride anyway.”
“Where are we going then?” Emil asks.
“Come!” Hans moves across the slope, leaving a billowing wake in the fog. Emil and the girl stumble along behind him onto a narrow path which cuts across a cliff hidden by tall firs.
“Careful, meine Herr,” Hans cautions, as he leads them on a narrow goat path across the face of a cliff. “It can get slippery.”
Emil clutched the cliff face on his right as he wobbled through the fog. “Where will we meet the others,’ he asks after one slip sends a small rock bounding down among the firs.
Hans and Rausen Marie steadied him. “Already there, Mein Herr,” Hans reassured him. “Achtung! Be careful,” Hans continued and then seemed to vanish into the cliff!
Emil came to a startled stop, and the girl blundered into him. For a moment they tottered and swayed together, clutching each other, tree branches, and random loose rocks. The little tussle ended with a loud slap and a muttered apology. Their little stumble, however, had moved them far enough for Emil to see into the mall gorge which cut into the cliff. Of course the path turned suddenly into the gorge a few yards above the boulders over which a mountain stream splashed.
“First,” Emil mockingly grumbled, “you try to break my legs. Now you want me to break my neck and to ruin my boots?”
He was rewarded with a brief giggle.
Though the rocks were wet and mossy, they weren’t slimy. Emil was quietly grateful for that. Then after a few yards, the gorge twisted, and the crack climbed swiftly. The three stepped out onto a clear terrace. A few goats nibbled at bunches of grasses on the glade. The stream flowed from beneath a dilapidated cottage leaning against the upper cliff face. Emil’s companions removed their hats and nodded respectfully towards the cottage. “We’re here,” the girl said.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
And updates
First of all, the big news is that the Hesse Seewald which was in position to liber ... ah, besiege Frankfurter has fallen back through the Fulda Gap in response to the Allied victory at Minden ... as I write, news of a great collision near the capital of Hesse Seewald, Gotha, is just beginning to arrive (see "Campaigns in Germania).
Of course, the Resistance continues its forlorn struggle (I've fourteen pages of rough draft to bang into the confuser), and the search for the wife's good close up camera also continues ... Amazing what two cats can accomplish in a single night in one room ...
:)
Arthur
Of course, the Resistance continues its forlorn struggle (I've fourteen pages of rough draft to bang into the confuser), and the search for the wife's good close up camera also continues ... Amazing what two cats can accomplish in a single night in one room ...
:)
Arthur
Monday, July 6, 2009
The King is Coming, The King is Coming!
The ladies gather chattering in Capitaine Malecki's residence. After their adventure and the excitement, the conversation is perhaps a little louder than usual. Even the fine vintages, including some fine old bottles of Chevert don’t seem to calm them. Some of the local battalion’s musicians gather outside to play a few pieces ... and to practice their regimental music. In all the noise, the clatter of hooves from a hard ridden horse and the challenges of the sentries are almost missed. Col. Enigma, who had been inside the house with the Princess Allisonia, however, has learned to always be on his guard when the Lady Pettygree is in the area.
Quickly pulling a pistol from his waistcoat, he steps beside a window and looks out past the drapes.
“Something’s happening,” Diana warns her friends, and in a moment, the cheerful party falls silent and alert ... a surprising number of other pistols appear from the voluminous folds of the ladies’ riding gear. The sound of the guards snapping to attention, and the command “Present ... Harms!” from outside, however, reassure them. Thus, when the door is opened, the young rider is not shocked by the sight of an unseemly number of gun barrels pointed at him. Rather, he minces inside in his silken brocade uniform, fluttering more lace than a rose bush has blooms. He pouts in attempt to appear serious, and bows to the assembled party.
“M’Lords and M’Ladies” (except it should be in stilted school French) the youngster proclaims, “I have the honor a message for Her Highness, the Princess Alisonia, and the Ladies Pettygree and Masquerade to be carrying.”
Even as the Princess begins a gracious reply, Lady Pettygree asks, “From whom does this missive come?”
“It is an urgent note from my Lord, L’Comte de Beauphaup, m’Lady.”
“The old fart’s private diplomat,” the captain declares. “What’s up, lad?”
“If my Ladies will read this missive,” the youngster responds, “I’m sure all will be made clear.”
Lady Cherish Masquerade quickly accepts the proffered envelope, breaks the seal and unfolds the stiff parchment. “Diana,” she exclaims, “King Basil could be here any moment!”
—
In Frankfurter, adjutants and notables are scurrying about in haste. L’Comte Bastille is interrupted in his interrogation of the new prisoners by an harried looking aide. The would be assassins are hurriedly stripped and locked away while the Gallians send their own swarms of messengers into the countryside and to the nearby encampment. Cloth merchants are raided for bolts of cloth to be used as bunting which swarms of apprentices and mechanics quickly nail over the main intersections.
At the palace, Moosart scrambles to get his little orchestra together while the Hurtshog consults with his diplomatic advisors and the StadtRadt leaders. “Can we put together a quick agenda?” is the question on everybody’s mind.
The consensus is that the presence of the lovely and widely admired foreigner noblewomen is a real boon, even if their presence was part of another nefarious plot by the occupying forces of Gallia. If they will participate, a reception and informal fete would give the city a night to spruce up. In the morning, a quick formal inspection of some show troops followed by the mandatory tours of the excellent ceramic works (and a good source of exquisite gifts for all the visitors) and the famous sausage works, followed by a tuba concert. Then a real ball to the music of Moosart’s musicians.
The guild syndics, of course, hope to corral the various diplomats with the party and obtain good contracts for the long lasting Frankfurter field sausages, artillery from the foundry shared with Offenbach, and similar condiments. Their primary anxiety is that the Hurtshog is going to try to intervene to make these contracts very favorable for the young King Basil, as his opposition to the Turkish hordes may open up new products for pork based products.
=—
As the afternoon wears on, the convoy of the Grand Tour is delayed by numerous check points. The closeness of major armies for Gallia and Hesse Seewald involves numerous little challenges for the diplomats riding with the party. Finally, a couple of chivalrous generals from the opposing sides generate special passes and each contributes a ceremonial escort ... a fact grimly noted by some nondescript shepherds as the party passes through one of the many woods near Frankfurt.
As the now enlarged party exits the hills overlooking the fortress town and its surrounding encampments, two squadrons of cavalry approach. The first to arrive is a somewhat dusty but otherwise impecable Col. Enigma and a troop of hussars. With a lovely caracole, he brings his troop into the double file reception lines along the road. Riding up to the royal coach, he makes is bow and politely welcomes King Basil and Reich Duke William on behalf of l’Comte Bastille, Intendant of Frankfurter, and General Broglie of the nearby Gallian army.
While the hussars, whose escorting troops seem to gravitate towards the vivandiers from Monte Cristo, squeeze in beside the considerable force already present, a glittering troop of Frankfurter Guard Cuirassiers arrives at a more sedate pace. General Hottatrot rides forward to deliver a somewhat florid greeting, but winks at the ladies as he delivers it. Ritter von Meltzer, in command of the convoy’s escorting cavalry, however, notes that a considerable number of dragoons had peeled away from the Cuirassiers during their approach march and seemed to be carefully searching the fields and copses off the road.
“Is there some problem?” he inquires of General Hottatrot ... indicating one of these hunting parties.
“Rumors, my man, rumors only,” the genial general responds. “Just taking precautions against any eventuality ... we are rather close to some angry folks here!” he laughs.
*Ja,* King Basil thinks, *rumors, Das is richtig ... und rumors in Morea wenn Ich comt also*
Quickly pulling a pistol from his waistcoat, he steps beside a window and looks out past the drapes.
“Something’s happening,” Diana warns her friends, and in a moment, the cheerful party falls silent and alert ... a surprising number of other pistols appear from the voluminous folds of the ladies’ riding gear. The sound of the guards snapping to attention, and the command “Present ... Harms!” from outside, however, reassure them. Thus, when the door is opened, the young rider is not shocked by the sight of an unseemly number of gun barrels pointed at him. Rather, he minces inside in his silken brocade uniform, fluttering more lace than a rose bush has blooms. He pouts in attempt to appear serious, and bows to the assembled party.
“M’Lords and M’Ladies” (except it should be in stilted school French) the youngster proclaims, “I have the honor a message for Her Highness, the Princess Alisonia, and the Ladies Pettygree and Masquerade to be carrying.”
Even as the Princess begins a gracious reply, Lady Pettygree asks, “From whom does this missive come?”
“It is an urgent note from my Lord, L’Comte de Beauphaup, m’Lady.”
“The old fart’s private diplomat,” the captain declares. “What’s up, lad?”
“If my Ladies will read this missive,” the youngster responds, “I’m sure all will be made clear.”
Lady Cherish Masquerade quickly accepts the proffered envelope, breaks the seal and unfolds the stiff parchment. “Diana,” she exclaims, “King Basil could be here any moment!”
—
In Frankfurter, adjutants and notables are scurrying about in haste. L’Comte Bastille is interrupted in his interrogation of the new prisoners by an harried looking aide. The would be assassins are hurriedly stripped and locked away while the Gallians send their own swarms of messengers into the countryside and to the nearby encampment. Cloth merchants are raided for bolts of cloth to be used as bunting which swarms of apprentices and mechanics quickly nail over the main intersections.
At the palace, Moosart scrambles to get his little orchestra together while the Hurtshog consults with his diplomatic advisors and the StadtRadt leaders. “Can we put together a quick agenda?” is the question on everybody’s mind.
The consensus is that the presence of the lovely and widely admired foreigner noblewomen is a real boon, even if their presence was part of another nefarious plot by the occupying forces of Gallia. If they will participate, a reception and informal fete would give the city a night to spruce up. In the morning, a quick formal inspection of some show troops followed by the mandatory tours of the excellent ceramic works (and a good source of exquisite gifts for all the visitors) and the famous sausage works, followed by a tuba concert. Then a real ball to the music of Moosart’s musicians.
The guild syndics, of course, hope to corral the various diplomats with the party and obtain good contracts for the long lasting Frankfurter field sausages, artillery from the foundry shared with Offenbach, and similar condiments. Their primary anxiety is that the Hurtshog is going to try to intervene to make these contracts very favorable for the young King Basil, as his opposition to the Turkish hordes may open up new products for pork based products.
=—
As the afternoon wears on, the convoy of the Grand Tour is delayed by numerous check points. The closeness of major armies for Gallia and Hesse Seewald involves numerous little challenges for the diplomats riding with the party. Finally, a couple of chivalrous generals from the opposing sides generate special passes and each contributes a ceremonial escort ... a fact grimly noted by some nondescript shepherds as the party passes through one of the many woods near Frankfurt.
As the now enlarged party exits the hills overlooking the fortress town and its surrounding encampments, two squadrons of cavalry approach. The first to arrive is a somewhat dusty but otherwise impecable Col. Enigma and a troop of hussars. With a lovely caracole, he brings his troop into the double file reception lines along the road. Riding up to the royal coach, he makes is bow and politely welcomes King Basil and Reich Duke William on behalf of l’Comte Bastille, Intendant of Frankfurter, and General Broglie of the nearby Gallian army.
While the hussars, whose escorting troops seem to gravitate towards the vivandiers from Monte Cristo, squeeze in beside the considerable force already present, a glittering troop of Frankfurter Guard Cuirassiers arrives at a more sedate pace. General Hottatrot rides forward to deliver a somewhat florid greeting, but winks at the ladies as he delivers it. Ritter von Meltzer, in command of the convoy’s escorting cavalry, however, notes that a considerable number of dragoons had peeled away from the Cuirassiers during their approach march and seemed to be carefully searching the fields and copses off the road.
“Is there some problem?” he inquires of General Hottatrot ... indicating one of these hunting parties.
“Rumors, my man, rumors only,” the genial general responds. “Just taking precautions against any eventuality ... we are rather close to some angry folks here!” he laughs.
*Ja,* King Basil thinks, *rumors, Das is richtig ... und rumors in Morea wenn Ich comt also*
Saturday, July 4, 2009
the Tour gets busy!
From the Margraf von Raubenstadt (one of Nebulous Neighbors) comes this lovely bit!
Von Mack Rides Again
Erwin Von Mack, Chief (and Only) Intelligence Agent for the Markgraaf of Raubenstadt, found himself late at night on the road to nearby Frankfort Am Main, with a message from the Margrafin to her second son, the Ritter Andrew Von Meltzer, who was currently accompanying the Grand Tour of the Reich Duke Wilhelm Von Beerstein. She had received vague warnings from her sources in Stagonia, that there was a foul plot underway in Frankzonia involving the Grand Tour and the Frankfurter Herzog, but no further specific details as to who, how, and when were forthcoming.
Von Mack thought that if the Stagonians had grown so bold as to antagonize the Frankfurters, they were due for a rude awakening. Could this new agressive stance be the influence of the Duchess of Sachen-Vindow? If so, she did not know the Frankfurters as well as she thought. Bitterly gained personal experience had taught Von Mack that underneath the bland and somewhat bumbling facade Stanken showed the world, there lurked a mind that could have taught Machavelli a thing or two about ruling. He mentally winced at the memories, and wondered what it would be like to be on the same side for a change.
Sachen-Vindow. Sachen-Vindow. His failure at that damnable Inn, "The Crooked Kobold", had haunted Von Mack for months now, and if events had just gone a little different, he probably wouldn't have found himself on the road to Frankfort Am Main at such an ungodly hour, with a full moon lighting his way along the well known track. The grim setting did nothing to improve his mood. Von Mack was determined that this time there would be no failures.
Justice and Death, personally delivered in the form of Erwin Von Mack, were coming closer to Frankfort with every plodding hoofbeat of his horse....
Von Mack Rides Again
Erwin Von Mack, Chief (and Only) Intelligence Agent for the Markgraaf of Raubenstadt, found himself late at night on the road to nearby Frankfort Am Main, with a message from the Margrafin to her second son, the Ritter Andrew Von Meltzer, who was currently accompanying the Grand Tour of the Reich Duke Wilhelm Von Beerstein. She had received vague warnings from her sources in Stagonia, that there was a foul plot underway in Frankzonia involving the Grand Tour and the Frankfurter Herzog, but no further specific details as to who, how, and when were forthcoming.
Von Mack thought that if the Stagonians had grown so bold as to antagonize the Frankfurters, they were due for a rude awakening. Could this new agressive stance be the influence of the Duchess of Sachen-Vindow? If so, she did not know the Frankfurters as well as she thought. Bitterly gained personal experience had taught Von Mack that underneath the bland and somewhat bumbling facade Stanken showed the world, there lurked a mind that could have taught Machavelli a thing or two about ruling. He mentally winced at the memories, and wondered what it would be like to be on the same side for a change.
Sachen-Vindow. Sachen-Vindow. His failure at that damnable Inn, "The Crooked Kobold", had haunted Von Mack for months now, and if events had just gone a little different, he probably wouldn't have found himself on the road to Frankfort Am Main at such an ungodly hour, with a full moon lighting his way along the well known track. The grim setting did nothing to improve his mood. Von Mack was determined that this time there would be no failures.
Justice and Death, personally delivered in the form of Erwin Von Mack, were coming closer to Frankfort with every plodding hoofbeat of his horse....
Saturday, March 28, 2009
An interview with Intendant Bastille
Once again, the enigmatic Master Peter has come to see the Intendant. This time, he is accompanied by a tall, grey haired man with obvious military bearing and a pretty young woman with red-gold hair. Even though the spring thaw has turned the roads into muddy streams, their clean clothing speaks of traveling in a closed coach.
The Intendant examines them curiously. All Master Peter had told him was that these people had requested a private meeting to occur before the Hurtshog returned from the conflict with St. Maurice.
M. Peter: M'Lord, may a I present to you the Baron Grey and the Lady Rose?
Bastille: Nommes d'guerre?
Grey: (with a wry smile) sort of, my Lord. Sort of.
Bastille: (irritated grunt) Very well, if it must be so. What is it that you wish to speak about?
Rose: Your captives.
Bastille: My captives?
Grey: Yes, my lord. We wish to negotiate a prisoner exchange for our heroes in your dungeon.
Bastille: Prisoner exchange? (angrily) that's for soldiers, not treacherous plotters!
Rose: (angrily) Treacherous to who? We are not Gallians!! You ...
Grey: (Interrupting and placing a hand on Roses' shoulder) These people are captives taken because they've resisted an alien occupation of their homeland. They are not thieves, they did not try to overthrow your king. They thus share the same status as the musketeers in Hesse Seewald's line.
Bastille: (sardonic) I doubt that the Hurtshog would take such a view.
Rose: Then let them be held in a Frankfurter house and tried by a Frankfurter court, not immured in a Gallian cell.
Bastille: These people were found to be a threat to our lines and to our troops. We can't just let them go.
Grey: But what did any of them actually do? Not as much as a single battalion of Grenz or a squadron Hussars! And those men would be eligible for prisoner exchange.
Bastille: I do not have the authority to actually conduct such negotiation. I will however speak with Gen. Broglie concerning this, and I'm sure M. Peter will be glad to communicate anything further to you.
Rose: May we at least see the prisoners and do what we can to comfort them?
Bastille: A natural request (assumes stern stance) but at the present moment, out of the question.
Grey: We may not even see them?
Bastille: M. Peter will communicate with you. The question is not closed, I assure you; but at this time I cannot continue this conversation.
Rose: But ...
Bastille: You are dismissed, my lady!
Bastille rings a bell and guards enter the room, they escort M. Peter and his party out.
Bastille: (pacing) now here's a pretty kettle of fish. I wonder how the Hurtshog's court will take this complication. His spies are as pernicious as fleas!
The Intendant examines them curiously. All Master Peter had told him was that these people had requested a private meeting to occur before the Hurtshog returned from the conflict with St. Maurice.
M. Peter: M'Lord, may a I present to you the Baron Grey and the Lady Rose?
Bastille: Nommes d'guerre?
Grey: (with a wry smile) sort of, my Lord. Sort of.
Bastille: (irritated grunt) Very well, if it must be so. What is it that you wish to speak about?
Rose: Your captives.
Bastille: My captives?
Grey: Yes, my lord. We wish to negotiate a prisoner exchange for our heroes in your dungeon.
Bastille: Prisoner exchange? (angrily) that's for soldiers, not treacherous plotters!
Rose: (angrily) Treacherous to who? We are not Gallians!! You ...
Grey: (Interrupting and placing a hand on Roses' shoulder) These people are captives taken because they've resisted an alien occupation of their homeland. They are not thieves, they did not try to overthrow your king. They thus share the same status as the musketeers in Hesse Seewald's line.
Bastille: (sardonic) I doubt that the Hurtshog would take such a view.
Rose: Then let them be held in a Frankfurter house and tried by a Frankfurter court, not immured in a Gallian cell.
Bastille: These people were found to be a threat to our lines and to our troops. We can't just let them go.
Grey: But what did any of them actually do? Not as much as a single battalion of Grenz or a squadron Hussars! And those men would be eligible for prisoner exchange.
Bastille: I do not have the authority to actually conduct such negotiation. I will however speak with Gen. Broglie concerning this, and I'm sure M. Peter will be glad to communicate anything further to you.
Rose: May we at least see the prisoners and do what we can to comfort them?
Bastille: A natural request (assumes stern stance) but at the present moment, out of the question.
Grey: We may not even see them?
Bastille: M. Peter will communicate with you. The question is not closed, I assure you; but at this time I cannot continue this conversation.
Rose: But ...
Bastille: You are dismissed, my lady!
Bastille rings a bell and guards enter the room, they escort M. Peter and his party out.
Bastille: (pacing) now here's a pretty kettle of fish. I wonder how the Hurtshog's court will take this complication. His spies are as pernicious as fleas!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Frankfurters at Neu Isenberg
Murdock is going to start his resolution of this conflict this week ...
Frontier force at the village of Neu Isenberg. If the raids continue, the Hurtshog will attempt a defensive stance until the situation at Hausen is resolved and then drive on Sprendlingen in the Kingdom of St. Maurice. (Note, these are on real world maps south of Frankfurt am Main)
Major General
* Francios l'Marquise de Hottatrot: (1) Lewd, plain looking but not fat; a gourmet but
flatulent. Maintains a couple of ballerinas and is very keen on dance. Devil may care, reckless,
audacious, etc cavalry man. Secretly fond of Rhine Wines.
Awarded the Grilled Frankfurter for his agressive initiative and fight even though seriously wounded at the Battle of Bad Tannes ... now an initiative +1
Another tragic family secret is connected to some rumors:
a: he was born before his parents were married;
b: perhaps his real parents never did marry;
c: but his legal mom and dad dote on each other and are quite sensitive so he can't openly
research the problem ...
d: rumor also has it that his dandified legal father is more fond of young boys than girls ...
Brilliant at intrigue, he tends to be a major factor in Frankszonia undercover organs.
Cavalry:
Gen:
* The Sultan of Swat (1)(Balkan mercenary, very important for the trade in Sesame Seeds)
* Col. Fruglich
* Delft Blues:
lt blue coat, white cuffs, lapels and collar, lemon yellow waistcoat an breeches
(Dragoons, trained, @ 800 men)
* Frangipani Hussars; (7) (veterans, @ 750 men)
,- blue coat, red leggings and cuffs
Coat = blue; Trim = red Tunic = red; trews = yellow; boots = black; hat = red
* Arthur’s Hussars: Green / yellow outfit with Red hat bag
(Trained, @ 750 men)
Infantry:
* Roderick Woad, Earl of Hiccup: (1) : Dictatorial commander, very loyal to friends and
chivalric to ladies (has one great love he keeps secret). Thirsts for violence, highly aggressive
and is a duelist. Will always dash towards the sound of firing. Surrounded by sycophants and
misfits, which he keeps trying to train to elite status to be forlorn hopes.. .. in his
pseudo-Highlander regiment, the Black Skirts.
He loves to give bombastic speeches in which he denounces his foes as weaklings, milksops,
and namby-pambies. Secretly, he writes poetry ... very bad poetry. But he also writes satiric
limericks about his foes which he gets some loud sergeant to shout out over the field during
deployment ...
Note: Currently in service with Frankszonia because of Jacobite leanings ....
Col. Frazzle (nee Hottatrot):
* IR Black Kilts (2nd battalion, veteran (elite first held with Guards) @ 600 men)
Yellow tunic, Black Kilts, brown / red caps.
* IR Hottatrot (1st Battalion, veteran @ 600 men, Prussian style uniforms)
Blue / red yellow white black/ yellow
* Brig. Nathan (0) (a brigadier who is often placed in charge of local militia and fortresses).
* Grenadiers: (elite, converged battalion, @ 600 men)
* Frankfurter Buns: (Militia, either Prussian or Reichsarmee style uniforms, @ 600+)
* Jay’s Jaegers: (Rifle, skirmish, elite or veteran, @5-700 men depending on attachments)
Frontier force at the village of Neu Isenberg. If the raids continue, the Hurtshog will attempt a defensive stance until the situation at Hausen is resolved and then drive on Sprendlingen in the Kingdom of St. Maurice. (Note, these are on real world maps south of Frankfurt am Main)
Major General
* Francios l'Marquise de Hottatrot: (1) Lewd, plain looking but not fat; a gourmet but
flatulent. Maintains a couple of ballerinas and is very keen on dance. Devil may care, reckless,
audacious, etc cavalry man. Secretly fond of Rhine Wines.
Awarded the Grilled Frankfurter for his agressive initiative and fight even though seriously wounded at the Battle of Bad Tannes ... now an initiative +1
Another tragic family secret is connected to some rumors:
a: he was born before his parents were married;
b: perhaps his real parents never did marry;
c: but his legal mom and dad dote on each other and are quite sensitive so he can't openly
research the problem ...
d: rumor also has it that his dandified legal father is more fond of young boys than girls ...
Brilliant at intrigue, he tends to be a major factor in Frankszonia undercover organs.
Cavalry:
Gen:
* The Sultan of Swat (1)(Balkan mercenary, very important for the trade in Sesame Seeds)
* Col. Fruglich
* Delft Blues:
lt blue coat, white cuffs, lapels and collar, lemon yellow waistcoat an breeches
(Dragoons, trained, @ 800 men)
* Frangipani Hussars; (7) (veterans, @ 750 men)
,- blue coat, red leggings and cuffs
Coat = blue; Trim = red Tunic = red; trews = yellow; boots = black; hat = red
* Arthur’s Hussars: Green / yellow outfit with Red hat bag
(Trained, @ 750 men)
Infantry:
* Roderick Woad, Earl of Hiccup: (1) : Dictatorial commander, very loyal to friends and
chivalric to ladies (has one great love he keeps secret). Thirsts for violence, highly aggressive
and is a duelist. Will always dash towards the sound of firing. Surrounded by sycophants and
misfits, which he keeps trying to train to elite status to be forlorn hopes.. .. in his
pseudo-Highlander regiment, the Black Skirts.
He loves to give bombastic speeches in which he denounces his foes as weaklings, milksops,
and namby-pambies. Secretly, he writes poetry ... very bad poetry. But he also writes satiric
limericks about his foes which he gets some loud sergeant to shout out over the field during
deployment ...
Note: Currently in service with Frankszonia because of Jacobite leanings ....
Col. Frazzle (nee Hottatrot):
* IR Black Kilts (2nd battalion, veteran (elite first held with Guards) @ 600 men)
Yellow tunic, Black Kilts, brown / red caps.
* IR Hottatrot (1st Battalion, veteran @ 600 men, Prussian style uniforms)
Blue / red yellow white black/ yellow
* Brig. Nathan (0) (a brigadier who is often placed in charge of local militia and fortresses).
* Grenadiers: (elite, converged battalion, @ 600 men)
* Frankfurter Buns: (Militia, either Prussian or Reichsarmee style uniforms, @ 600+)
* Jay’s Jaegers: (Rifle, skirmish, elite or veteran, @5-700 men depending on attachments)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Spring storms gather ..
Having been trapped outside of Frankszonia by the sudden onset of a major ice storm, and then delayed in his return by a serious illness of his mother in law, The Hurtshog has returned to his capital to oversee the continued strengthening of his southern border.
The troops there report finding more destroyed farms, but the enemy has proven skillfull in evading their patrols.
Worse yet, there are reports that the poor farmers and their families were mutilated. There are even rumors of cannibalism! These atrocities must be halted! His Majesty Louis-Philippe must be brought to a sense of his responsibilities!
The troops there report finding more destroyed farms, but the enemy has proven skillfull in evading their patrols.
Worse yet, there are reports that the poor farmers and their families were mutilated. There are even rumors of cannibalism! These atrocities must be halted! His Majesty Louis-Philippe must be brought to a sense of his responsibilities!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
and how cold was it?
The month of February has been pretty much a gaming wash out for me.
Between fleeing the Ice Storm, going to funerals, and standing by during the Ma in Law's hectic hospital stay, I've not been home much ... and not done any painting at all.
I'm getting back to things now, I hope. The trip to the SYW convention is pretty much lost, durn it.
But a note on "Later in the Day Saints." In addition to the vital passage in Acts, "It's too early in the day to be drunk," There's also a Proverb which states that "he who blesses his brethren loudly before the Morning Prayers, it is accounted unto him as a curse."
:)
A
Between fleeing the Ice Storm, going to funerals, and standing by during the Ma in Law's hectic hospital stay, I've not been home much ... and not done any painting at all.
I'm getting back to things now, I hope. The trip to the SYW convention is pretty much lost, durn it.
But a note on "Later in the Day Saints." In addition to the vital passage in Acts, "It's too early in the day to be drunk," There's also a Proverb which states that "he who blesses his brethren loudly before the Morning Prayers, it is accounted unto him as a curse."
:)
A
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Intelligence? from the Kingdom of St. Maurice ...
Even though an ice storm worse than any in memory has ravaged the forests and pinned Frankszonian forces in place for over two weeks, clearing weather has permitted road repairs and travel to resume. The Hurtshog's intelligence services reported this event ...
Ye Gods and Little Fishes!!" His Majesty lept to his feet, instantly dropping the lady Irmintraut ignobly to the floor. He has just received the formal complaint, delivered by Col Brattman, with his usual aplomb. "Do these cabbage-eaters seriously believe that a few itinerate zombies loitering about and having a little fun seriously constitutes a raid? We of St. Maurice have more serious concerns than to pick fights with lessers." He immediately handed over the colonel for a complementary proctology examination, and has dispatched General Blase, le Comte du Monte Python, along with a detatchment of the Kilbasa Lancers, to Frankszonia, to make clear His Majesty's displeasure over this while affair, and to indicate in no uncertain terms that the disruption of St. maurician commerce will not be tolerated. After all, the sale of 18th century action figures and other useless baubles is critical to the income of the realm. More as it develops.
The Hurtshog, knowing that his subjects continue to suffer and anxious over the welfare of isolated farmsteads in the broken forests, is extremely irritated by this report. "So, Maurice is going to try to intimidate us ... by claiming that it can't control zombies?!?" The Hurtshog snorts. "As soon as we can manuever some infantry support and light guns into the area, inform the cavalry officers that they are authorized to pursue these raiders across the border!"
The Burger Master steps forward, "Perhaps, Sire," he begins diffidently, "these Gallians around the Intendant would be happy to import their Parisan knick knacks and figurines duty free until the Kingdom of St. Maurice assumes a more reasonable attitude?"
"That's an idea," the Hurtshog concedes, "but I'd hate to disappoint the Urprinz. He's just old enough to like those action figures. We'll wait till young Hillegekiene makes his official report before holding a formal council on this."
Amid the mounting tensions, General Nathan begins to review the roster of his Nationals ... much of the militia will not respond to a new call, having already served in the Ginnheim campaign.
Ye Gods and Little Fishes!!" His Majesty lept to his feet, instantly dropping the lady Irmintraut ignobly to the floor. He has just received the formal complaint, delivered by Col Brattman, with his usual aplomb. "Do these cabbage-eaters seriously believe that a few itinerate zombies loitering about and having a little fun seriously constitutes a raid? We of St. Maurice have more serious concerns than to pick fights with lessers." He immediately handed over the colonel for a complementary proctology examination, and has dispatched General Blase, le Comte du Monte Python, along with a detatchment of the Kilbasa Lancers, to Frankszonia, to make clear His Majesty's displeasure over this while affair, and to indicate in no uncertain terms that the disruption of St. maurician commerce will not be tolerated. After all, the sale of 18th century action figures and other useless baubles is critical to the income of the realm. More as it develops.
The Hurtshog, knowing that his subjects continue to suffer and anxious over the welfare of isolated farmsteads in the broken forests, is extremely irritated by this report. "So, Maurice is going to try to intimidate us ... by claiming that it can't control zombies?!?" The Hurtshog snorts. "As soon as we can manuever some infantry support and light guns into the area, inform the cavalry officers that they are authorized to pursue these raiders across the border!"
The Burger Master steps forward, "Perhaps, Sire," he begins diffidently, "these Gallians around the Intendant would be happy to import their Parisan knick knacks and figurines duty free until the Kingdom of St. Maurice assumes a more reasonable attitude?"
"That's an idea," the Hurtshog concedes, "but I'd hate to disappoint the Urprinz. He's just old enough to like those action figures. We'll wait till young Hillegekiene makes his official report before holding a formal council on this."
Amid the mounting tensions, General Nathan begins to review the roster of his Nationals ... much of the militia will not respond to a new call, having already served in the Ginnheim campaign.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Recent Developments
Shortly afte my last post, I was hospitilized again ... a pesky and dangerous virus.
Fortunately, I acted in time and was home by Christmas. Recovery, however, has been slow and I haven't touched a paintbroush since! Alas!
Shortly before that incident, however, I did resolve the Battle of Ginnheim ... which, thanks to the initiative rules of Koenigs Krieg did NOT go the way I thought it would at all. I'd planned a big infantry collision with a Cheezer cavalry flank sweep. Unfortunately, the Cheezers were forced to reveal the cavalry concentration too early ... leading to a cavalry fight for the hill dominating the right of the Frankfurter line.
On turn three, an unbelievably effective cannon volley staggered the Cheezer cavalry brigades, which then were routed on the next turn by a throw away charge of also battered Frankszonian Hussars. Due to the flank threat, the Frankfurter line had not advanced, and the cheezers were able to make an orderly withdrawel ... Unfortunately, for once Edie's pictures didn't turn out good ... the lighting was inadequate and off color.
But now, they're headed right into Phaulie's Fusiliers and the Hebrew Nationals who were sent on a wide turning movement on the other flank! Assiming I continue to recover, this means another exciting collision in February ... Phaulie has to hold long enough to catch the Cheezers between him and the Hurtshog's pursuing forces!
On the Diplomatic front:
Diplomat from Cavenderia
“Lucio Bianco, is known for his pleasant demeanor and devotion to the Catholic Church, his family has been in this land pre-dating the Imperium. His even temper and ability to diffuse a situation have made him an ideal candidate for your diplomatic corp. Signori Bianco will be sent to Frankszonia.
We will of course welcom him with a grand Barbeque, a Te Deum Toast, and an Holy Mackerel Fish Fry!
:)
A
Fortunately, I acted in time and was home by Christmas. Recovery, however, has been slow and I haven't touched a paintbroush since! Alas!
Shortly before that incident, however, I did resolve the Battle of Ginnheim ... which, thanks to the initiative rules of Koenigs Krieg did NOT go the way I thought it would at all. I'd planned a big infantry collision with a Cheezer cavalry flank sweep. Unfortunately, the Cheezers were forced to reveal the cavalry concentration too early ... leading to a cavalry fight for the hill dominating the right of the Frankfurter line.
On turn three, an unbelievably effective cannon volley staggered the Cheezer cavalry brigades, which then were routed on the next turn by a throw away charge of also battered Frankszonian Hussars. Due to the flank threat, the Frankfurter line had not advanced, and the cheezers were able to make an orderly withdrawel ... Unfortunately, for once Edie's pictures didn't turn out good ... the lighting was inadequate and off color.
But now, they're headed right into Phaulie's Fusiliers and the Hebrew Nationals who were sent on a wide turning movement on the other flank! Assiming I continue to recover, this means another exciting collision in February ... Phaulie has to hold long enough to catch the Cheezers between him and the Hurtshog's pursuing forces!
On the Diplomatic front:
Diplomat from Cavenderia
“Lucio Bianco, is known for his pleasant demeanor and devotion to the Catholic Church, his family has been in this land pre-dating the Imperium. His even temper and ability to diffuse a situation have made him an ideal candidate for your diplomatic corp. Signori Bianco will be sent to Frankszonia.
We will of course welcom him with a grand Barbeque, a Te Deum Toast, and an Holy Mackerel Fish Fry!
:)
A
Thursday, December 18, 2008
An Extemporaneous Effusion on the Passing of King Maurice DeVille
An Extemporaneous Effusion on the Passing of King Maurice DeVille
(Note: Frankszonian officials insist that this broadsheet which appeared on the doors of some local taverns does not accurately represent any of the poetic tributes offered at the official “Drink to That” event ... though they can’t seem to find anybody who remembers those very clearly ....)
Old King Maurice of Stagonia is dead now, alas!
Pity their girls of their working nights class:
Who must now half their prices
For duration of the crisis.
For what species will King Fred prefer in His bed?
Mad Maurice, alas, has horribly died.
Stagonia insists that it Was a suicide.
Of Course that is true,
For surely, just like you,
New King Fred is sadly aware of how he tried!
Stagonian nights must be terribly depraved.
Their Kings have become so sickly and afraid,
So filled with depravity
They catch their decaptivity
With bracelets behind so shiny and engraved.
—
In other news ....
Though the court does not wish to start the Witch Hysterias anew, it has taken notice of the purported activities of the recently ascended King Frederick De Vile of Stagonia.
As a consequence, we are recruiting specialists from the Rabbinate and also will encourage quarterly competitions in composing and painting distelfinks ... (probably spelt wrong ... those are the colorful, kaleidoscopic patterns used by the “Pennsylvania Dutch” and their German forbears to attract good spirits and drive off bad ones).
(Note: Frankszonian officials insist that this broadsheet which appeared on the doors of some local taverns does not accurately represent any of the poetic tributes offered at the official “Drink to That” event ... though they can’t seem to find anybody who remembers those very clearly ....)
Old King Maurice of Stagonia is dead now, alas!
Pity their girls of their working nights class:
Who must now half their prices
For duration of the crisis.
For what species will King Fred prefer in His bed?
Mad Maurice, alas, has horribly died.
Stagonia insists that it Was a suicide.
Of Course that is true,
For surely, just like you,
New King Fred is sadly aware of how he tried!
Stagonian nights must be terribly depraved.
Their Kings have become so sickly and afraid,
So filled with depravity
They catch their decaptivity
With bracelets behind so shiny and engraved.
—
In other news ....
Though the court does not wish to start the Witch Hysterias anew, it has taken notice of the purported activities of the recently ascended King Frederick De Vile of Stagonia.
As a consequence, we are recruiting specialists from the Rabbinate and also will encourage quarterly competitions in composing and painting distelfinks ... (probably spelt wrong ... those are the colorful, kaleidoscopic patterns used by the “Pennsylvania Dutch” and their German forbears to attract good spirits and drive off bad ones).
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Some more Bad LImericks ...
As the armies approach each other at Ginnheim, a dragoon suddenly gallops into No Man's Land with a megaphone and shouts:
This Resistance defends our Autonomy
Though all that they have is a monotony
Of Adulterous beggars
And soldiers with staggers
From indulging their officer's $#!@%y!
and
Poor Mary of the Rose and her Parseleigh
Are heroes, I'm sure, but just partially;
For their friends are so horrible
With habits incoorrigible
That even Stagonia treats them harsly!
He quickly darts back towards the approaching Black Kilts before any marksman can catch him ....
This Resistance defends our Autonomy
Though all that they have is a monotony
Of Adulterous beggars
And soldiers with staggers
From indulging their officer's $#!@%y!
and
Poor Mary of the Rose and her Parseleigh
Are heroes, I'm sure, but just partially;
For their friends are so horrible
With habits incoorrigible
That even Stagonia treats them harsly!
He quickly darts back towards the approaching Black Kilts before any marksman can catch him ....
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Ein Appeal zu der Volksrad
A personal message from the Hurtshog Stanken Fahrtz v. Frankfurter to the Deutsche Adelborn (German nobility):
My dear Cousins:
It has come to our attention that some consider Frankszonia to be an imperialist, aggressor state. This seems to have arisen due to our campaign to create a Super Sized Fry Stadt.
Ironically, this mis apprehension devolves from our desire to create a less plastic situation in which the dignity and freshness of our Folk is swallowed up by some six million strong ogre. Indeed, even though we in Frankszonia are ourselves perforce occupied by the Gallian hordes, one may notice that our struggles are often with our soi distant allies therein who have been caught undermining the autonomy of a local franchise.
Indeed, unlike other self proclaimed defenders of the Deutsche Mark, almost before the furor of conflict has fallen silent, the leaders of our neighbors have found themselves in the Frankfurter Bun, with the flavor of their office and authority enhanced rather than reduced.
Come, the Kreis are sounding for the defense of the Empress and our Graftsen. We are one Folk. Let us all go together in one Folk’s Wagon!
Sincerely,
Hzg. F v Frankfurter
My dear Cousins:
It has come to our attention that some consider Frankszonia to be an imperialist, aggressor state. This seems to have arisen due to our campaign to create a Super Sized Fry Stadt.
Ironically, this mis apprehension devolves from our desire to create a less plastic situation in which the dignity and freshness of our Folk is swallowed up by some six million strong ogre. Indeed, even though we in Frankszonia are ourselves perforce occupied by the Gallian hordes, one may notice that our struggles are often with our soi distant allies therein who have been caught undermining the autonomy of a local franchise.
Indeed, unlike other self proclaimed defenders of the Deutsche Mark, almost before the furor of conflict has fallen silent, the leaders of our neighbors have found themselves in the Frankfurter Bun, with the flavor of their office and authority enhanced rather than reduced.
Come, the Kreis are sounding for the defense of the Empress and our Graftsen. We are one Folk. Let us all go together in one Folk’s Wagon!
Sincerely,
Hzg. F v Frankfurter
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Eventual Events
First, on the Frankszonia blog, I've updated the lists and profiles of folks who are supporting the Elector versus Gallia inside Frankszonia.
About this time,Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen and General Braunschweiger should show up in the Germanian headquarters seeking an audience with the Elector and the duke of Hesse Seewald.
Also, while Gen. Broglie and the Intendant Bastille are in conference, they are interrrupted by a commotion. An officer barges into the room with a sergeant and an old Moustache. The enlisted men's uniforms are spattered with blood.
"Report!" barks Broglie.
"Sire" the officer salutes clumsily, "there's been an poison attempt. These clods killed the poisoner before we could question him."
"Pour Certament!" exlaims Bastille.
"No! No!" the Moustache pleads.
"Sire!" the sergeant complains, "we caught him in the act of dosing the officer's mess kettle. We took him alive in spite of his struggles, but as we were forcing him into the hall, his blood suddenly spurted all over us. None of my men had so much as drawn a bayonet!"
"This note was found upon the assasin, my Lords," the officer contiued.
Gen. Broglie takes the scrap and reads, "Die Reine geffallen am der Main."
Bastille chokes for a moment as he wonders, is this the hand of the infamous Stille Fhartz or another nefarious bit of Frankszonian politics?
Meanwhile, the Hurtshog with his main forces is almost a day's march to the northwest, approaching Ginnheim. They hope to disperse the concentration of Resistance, Cheezers, and Hang Overians who are in an entrenched camp in the woods near Russelheim.
About this time,Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen and General Braunschweiger should show up in the Germanian headquarters seeking an audience with the Elector and the duke of Hesse Seewald.
Also, while Gen. Broglie and the Intendant Bastille are in conference, they are interrrupted by a commotion. An officer barges into the room with a sergeant and an old Moustache. The enlisted men's uniforms are spattered with blood.
"Report!" barks Broglie.
"Sire" the officer salutes clumsily, "there's been an poison attempt. These clods killed the poisoner before we could question him."
"Pour Certament!" exlaims Bastille.
"No! No!" the Moustache pleads.
"Sire!" the sergeant complains, "we caught him in the act of dosing the officer's mess kettle. We took him alive in spite of his struggles, but as we were forcing him into the hall, his blood suddenly spurted all over us. None of my men had so much as drawn a bayonet!"
"This note was found upon the assasin, my Lords," the officer contiued.
Gen. Broglie takes the scrap and reads, "Die Reine geffallen am der Main."
Bastille chokes for a moment as he wonders, is this the hand of the infamous Stille Fhartz or another nefarious bit of Frankszonian politics?
Meanwhile, the Hurtshog with his main forces is almost a day's march to the northwest, approaching Ginnheim. They hope to disperse the concentration of Resistance, Cheezers, and Hang Overians who are in an entrenched camp in the woods near Russelheim.
Known Friends of Germania and Hesse Seewald in Frankszonian Circles
Given the approach of the Hesse Seewald forces to within a good day's march of Frankfurter, the list of leaders of the anti-Gallian faction becomes more important.
The first part of the list are the relatives who have been assigned by the family to represent and to defend the family interests in the camp of the other side ...
* Cousins:
ReichsHerr Stille Fhartz ... a Germanian sympathizer and political intriguer who employs silent but deadly assasins.
Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu grossen: an elderly cousin who has been selected to become the position holder in case of Germanian victory at Frankfurt.
Hauptman Eyewassher Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen: son of the Baron. Nimble and a good ballroom dancer whose coup de oeil seems to apply more to the boudoir than to the battlefield.
Graf Ick Fhartz von Putterin: A scholar and horse breeder whose specialty is not causing trouble for anybody stronger than himself.
Baron Keine Fhartz von Baumb Middle aged, exitable and irrascible. His fortune derived from being a silent partner in several breweries.
* Pro - Germanian Military defectors:
* Lt. Gen. Pepperoni (an immigrant Italian family, very fussy ... Not from Salamis, which I think
is a Grecian town, but has family connections with Bologna ... ); Just promoted to command the
Wiener Front. (Now deserted to “Elector” forces)
* General Braunsweiger (1) (a Deli-ight of the Brand Name Burgers Alliance, considered an
expert in combined arms operations, but often is kept in fixed fortifications where - tho highly
successful - his units often get sliced quite thinly). (now deserted to Germania, as he is a fan of all things from Bar Line. He may have good knowledge of Frankfurter’s fortifications ).
** leaders of the anti-Gallian nobles ...
which may be of interest to neighbors as they're seeking to hire mercs:
* Hans Muckiethaler: evil banker who is generating instability hoping to be able to control the stadt bundt if the Duchy falls.
* Sagehunde Thyme, Graf von Eischerheim: elderly but vigorous veteran, will be the C.O. of the noble resistance.
* Oberst Weis Parsliegh: brave, honorable, smart ... the white knight of the noble resistance.
* Lady Rosen Mariah: the fiery young beauty who seems to be the unacknowledged princess of the resistance.
* Oberst Von Trollop: commander of the various companies of cuirassiers who have gathered in the nobles’ resistance.
* Graf V, Pfalz: has raised an infantry regiment, publically to be a Freikorps, actually as part of resistance.
* V, Fisch: Leads the Fisch Freircorps. Relatives to the well traveled Lord and Lady Fischer from Britischerwrust.
* V. Graphk: Leads the Graphk Cuirassiers, composed primarily of retired and semi retired gentry, widely known for their colorful outfit and language.
The first part of the list are the relatives who have been assigned by the family to represent and to defend the family interests in the camp of the other side ...
* Cousins:
ReichsHerr Stille Fhartz ... a Germanian sympathizer and political intriguer who employs silent but deadly assasins.
Baron Wiffen Fhartz von Inkblot zu grossen: an elderly cousin who has been selected to become the position holder in case of Germanian victory at Frankfurt.
Hauptman Eyewassher Fhartz von Inkblot zu Grossen: son of the Baron. Nimble and a good ballroom dancer whose coup de oeil seems to apply more to the boudoir than to the battlefield.
Graf Ick Fhartz von Putterin: A scholar and horse breeder whose specialty is not causing trouble for anybody stronger than himself.
Baron Keine Fhartz von Baumb Middle aged, exitable and irrascible. His fortune derived from being a silent partner in several breweries.
* Pro - Germanian Military defectors:
* Lt. Gen. Pepperoni (an immigrant Italian family, very fussy ... Not from Salamis, which I think
is a Grecian town, but has family connections with Bologna ... ); Just promoted to command the
Wiener Front. (Now deserted to “Elector” forces)
* General Braunsweiger (1) (a Deli-ight of the Brand Name Burgers Alliance, considered an
expert in combined arms operations, but often is kept in fixed fortifications where - tho highly
successful - his units often get sliced quite thinly). (now deserted to Germania, as he is a fan of all things from Bar Line. He may have good knowledge of Frankfurter’s fortifications ).
** leaders of the anti-Gallian nobles ...
which may be of interest to neighbors as they're seeking to hire mercs:
* Hans Muckiethaler: evil banker who is generating instability hoping to be able to control the stadt bundt if the Duchy falls.
* Sagehunde Thyme, Graf von Eischerheim: elderly but vigorous veteran, will be the C.O. of the noble resistance.
* Oberst Weis Parsliegh: brave, honorable, smart ... the white knight of the noble resistance.
* Lady Rosen Mariah: the fiery young beauty who seems to be the unacknowledged princess of the resistance.
* Oberst Von Trollop: commander of the various companies of cuirassiers who have gathered in the nobles’ resistance.
* Graf V, Pfalz: has raised an infantry regiment, publically to be a Freikorps, actually as part of resistance.
* V, Fisch: Leads the Fisch Freircorps. Relatives to the well traveled Lord and Lady Fischer from Britischerwrust.
* V. Graphk: Leads the Graphk Cuirassiers, composed primarily of retired and semi retired gentry, widely known for their colorful outfit and language.
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