Fluttering of Rams

[Frankia]

New Wylus, Gerwannia

Never before had such a crowd turned out in such numbers, but never before had their city been visited by a prince of the royal blood. Lithim Dreggtonius Wulfius scanned the horizon of a never ending see of dark green, white, and gold; the national colors of the Realm. As he rode beside the High Triarch of the Gerwannia District on horseback he felt pride in what dexterity of hands and patience had raised here. Here was a world as fine as any that might be found in the Core Worlds, and not nearly as troublesome to his Kingly uncle's council as Aralia was at present.

A young Frankian lady offered him a bouquet of white roses as the procession made its way down the Trek Into the Void. Lithim gladly accepted the roses, and raised the girl on high to sit before him as he led the procession towards its final destination. The High Assembly of Gerwannia could be seen in the distance; a massive domed structure that had been raised as much by the sweat of guildiers as by twelve year bonds issued by the District's treasury. 

An antiquated style, but it possessed its own merits as well as adequate facilities for a Prince of the Blood. The Governor of the Gerwannia District stepped forward; taking Lithim's horse by the reins and calling for some of his servants to assist the Prince and the girl he had wrapped about the waist off the Prince's noble destrier. There was no need as Lithim waved them off; if a Frankian, let alone a Prince of the Blood, ever needed lackeys for anything that he couldn't do himself he was no better than a hedonistic sponge from old Neustrasia. 

A crier whipped the gathered throng into a frenzy. 

Hosannah for the King's own nephew!

The cry rose to the heavens as did the sudden singing of the Frankian anthem by those that the Post de Royalle had referred to as the Realm's iron Youth.

 Long live Wulfius I
Long live our valiant king

The Dread Sovereign
With the three talents
Of drinking, fighting
And adultery!

To hell with wars
And enmity, and spouses
Let us all together
Sing as true friends
Clink the glasses
The Fleetlords and Guildiers

Let us sing the refrain
That we will sing in a thousand ages:
May Atkane maintain
Her children in peace
Until we take Tnem Fragg with our teeth

Long live Frankia
Long live our good King Wulfius 
To Austrasia we dance
Singing as they do in Neustria
Long live Frankia
Long live the Dread King!
Long live the Realm!

The girl, after having had the honor of riding with a Wulfid, asked that she might have permission to return to her kin who eyed her with some concern that she might make a mockery of their family. Lithim nodded with apparent disinterest, as though the question was superfluous. Divided into numerous classes, such class division was not as apt as in others to lead to abuse. Folk solidarity was as prized to the folk of Frankia, be they Kings or paupers, as much as dexterity of labor, of skill in arms, or the very notion of monarchy itself.

A female Guildier is as much a Queen as the Queen herself. 

The Governor, the Assemblymen, and all that had gathered on this glorious day bent the knee before rising with Lithim's permission. He had never been fond of that ancient custom, but the common folk were as likely to kneel to any bastard cousin of his as they were to the King himself. Lithim's family had grown to be loved after reuniting the Realm through warships and broadsides; since then, they had maintained a policy of domestic tranquility at home while keeping Frankia's commitments abroad sufficiently limited.

Lithim recalled how many great nations had perished, while nations such as his own had survived into the present age. Historians were still debating one another over what had exactly transpired in the home 'Verse, long since lost to the darkness that had consumed it many cycles before the founder of Lithim's line had breathed his first breath. The High Triarch had a simple answer to what had exactly caused the fall of FB-1. 

Septimus came, Septimus saw, Septimus devoured. 

Lithim considered the pious explanation, and thought it possessed some weight. The city fathers gathered around him, and conversed with him freely on matters that they thought ought to be brought to his attention. Lithim listened as he was led on a tour of the Gerwannian High Assembly; lost in considerations of a more pressing sort. His arrival had not been just to perk up morale in this trouble Verse, he had come with steady troops and an Armada of warships to press his Uncle's claims on Orbis and beyond. 

He had seen posters scattered across New Wylus during the procession calling for volunteers to swell the ranks of the Territorials, supposedly to deal with what the press had dubbed as the Ajem Crisis. Lithim knew the truth for the call-up at present, though secrecy of forthcoming operations had been made clear absolutely clear when he had heard it from his very own father. The time for being the hermit of Orbis, the Elder Prince said then, is over.

DKS Cargott's Slight

In the sky above the royal procession the warships of the 9th Armada loomed on high. Fleetlords, their subordinates, and enlisted men busied themselves with routine tasks such maintenance and the occasional drill. The Grand Magister's flagship would strike some as odd; it was not the fastest or most heavily gunned within the fleet, but it had been in the Grand Magister's family for generations. Mars liked to claim that the ship was as much a cousin to him as those back on Austrasia, and he meant it.

A hologram appeared before Mars on a secure line as he lit a pipe loaded with tobacco from his native Austrasia. The young Admiral of the 87th Fleet seemed shaken when he caught the Grand Magister apparently in an uncompromising position. Gods damn the moral crusaders in the Department of Health and their anti-smoking campaign. 

I am most sorry, Grand Magister. I did not know you were indisposed at this time. 

It's not opium, Admiral Harkins, that would be against the King's Regulations. Proceed. 

Sir, it appears that Chernigov, a native space empire of this Verse, has fallen to a coalition of other space empires.

Why should that be of of any concern of ours?

The Chernigovians are a stone's throw away from Aralia, our chief territory on the planet. If they should fall to a more capable foreign power there could be a serious threat of a two front conflict in which the colony could be lost.

Yes, Admiral, though it is not as likely as it seems. Some folk are more trouble lording over than they're worth.

True, though Chernigov's current control of the Ukraine and the Golden Horn should be sufficient to attract foreign troublemakers nevertheless. 

The Technovikings have not been spotted for ages, Admirals, nor are there as many nomadic fleets here as back in NS-1. 
 

Aye, but there are competitors here all the same. Pacts forged in blood are not often kept when mammon or Realpolitik are concerned.

Grand Magister Mars paused to contemplate the rapid changes that had been made in this Verse; here, as with MS-1 or FB-1 of old, there was much potential for conflict. He would have to operate differently here where the survival of Frankian settlements for another three cycles was really left up in the air.

Is that all?

No, Samarkand sends word that they have started the construction of the Jewel of the Gulf, the Jewel of Aral, and another Jewel that should see first work begun on it within a week.

What is the name of the last one, Admiral?

Why, Grand Magister, the Jewel of the Golden Horn.