Jul 29, 2011

Dispatch from Admiral Beaumont - Go to Highest Alert!!

Lady Eva ,

I just received a dispatch from my Chief of naval intelligence, who is sailing in mainland waters. I believe the information has the greatest urgency

Here is the message, that I relay to you without comments :

From Captain [name redacted], Commodore of the Special Ops Squadron, sailing aboard the Shooting Star north of the Sansara continent
To: Wildstar Beaumont - Vice Admiral - Wild Fleet Headquarters

Greetings Sir.
I have just received a classified message from Commander [name redacted] sailing on the Running Star in the waters around Nautilus City.
This is very troublesome information: a Vulgarian fleet has been sighted sailing around Nautilus City. Its destination is unknown but it is a very powerful fleet made mostly by ships of the line. I have been able to dispatch a sloop with Agent C on the coast of Nautilus and he has been able to follow them for a while thanks to the dark a foggy weather, and he was able to capture some images. 

We believe we might have heard the sound of an airship above the clouds, but we were not able to spot any. 

Unfortunately the information is days old as I am relying it to you and it will be at least two weeks old when it will reach you.
I believe your time for preparation is limited. If Winterfell is the target of the Vulgarians the Wild Fleet must go to the highest level of alert immediately.
I include the images captured by agent C.

With my Compliments

Captain [name redacted] aboard the Shooting Star


I am sorry to give you bad news, Lady Eva, but the time is little and preparations for the worst must accelerate 

My regards,

Evening Sword-Play

After a very long night and day of planning for the defense of the Isle of Skye and of Winterfell, it felt good to change clothes and spend time physically preparing myself as well.

It will be good when my Knights and Lancers arrive tomorrow.  We are ready for you, Barken Roff!

Jul 28, 2011

Preparations Begin

Personal Journal Entry
25 July

It was barely daylight when Bucephalus was brought up to the house for my urgent ride to Miss Serra’s.  The horse, sensing the criticality of this ride, was pawing the soft earth waiting to feel the weight of his mistress in the saddle.  The muscles of his flanks were twitching anxiously until my gloved hand smoothed his side just before my horsemaster handed me up. We rode furiously to Serra’s welcoming home.  Not entirely unexpectedly she met me at the door herself; there is nothing that transpires in Winterfell without her sensing something of it.  “Given our friendship,” she remarked, “I felt something was wrong with you.  It woke me from a deep sleep sometime in the middle of the night.”

As I began to share the story of the letter and the relatively recent history with the Vulgarians, she rang the bell for a staff member and told him to send for Admiral Beaumont immediately.  We paused briefly awaiting his arrival so that I need only share the story once.  Happily her staff brought the silver tea cart to the room.  After sipping the deliciously brewed Earl Grey blend, I felt a bit restored.  

Once Wildstar, as I call my friend, the Admiral, arrived he and I placed the historical puzzle pieces on the table for Serra.  (For those who may not know the history of the Vulgarian RP in the past please read: several articles including this one in Hibernia on the Skids; posts of several explorers including this one on The High Tea & Adventure Society)

“The unknown variable is really how they will arrive and attack. The when seems fairly certain.  I am sure they are well underway by now and will likely try to catch you off your guard sometime in the next few days.” Wildstar remarked.

“I drew the same conclusions.  I’ve sent the call out for my knights, my clan, and the Lancers of Skye. We need to get them here and working with you and your officers to plan the defense of Skye and of Winterfell.”

We spoke only a few minutes more before Wildstar took his leave to meet with his officers. Serra had formulated a plan to speak with her counterparts all over the Steamlands this very day. Then we embraced.  

“I’m off to prepare for the defense of Skye and to await the arrival of my clan,” I said just as one of Serra’s staff members brought a message for me into the room.  I read the note written in the distinct hand of Lady Kate Nicholas and then looked up at Serra.  

“Kate and Adso have arrived from the offices of the Royal Society and are convening a group of our top scientists to puzzle through the possibilities of Vulgarian technological advances.  Wonderful!  I’m off, Serra.  I’ll check in with you later tonight.”  And with that remark, I was out the door and on Bucephalus speeding my way home.

Jul 24, 2011

In Which Things Become Quite Vulgar

Personal Journal Entry
24 July

Since it had been an exceedingly long week dealing with complex problems associated with several of my senior staff members’ cases at MI-6 , I was happy to once again be in my private chambers at home.  It had been more than a week since I had been at home. The cases required me to travel a good bit.  Cairine kindly directed the staff to manage my luggage and then helped me out of my expedition travel gear and into a very hot bath.  As I slipped into the water she poured a small amount of my favorite sandlewood bath oil into the tub then placed a table and lamp nearby so that I might read some of the week’s post while I soaked.

I was happy to discover some lovely invitations to summer balls and garden parties in the stack.  What a pleasure also to find correspondence from several friends travelling abroad.  I was, however, shocked out of my steamy, relaxed, and happy mood when I picked up the next envelope which contained the seal of Barken Roff, a former ambassador from Vulgaria. Roff! the very blaggard who nearly five years ago had done his best to shock all in attendance at the ball celebrating the opening of my manse on Loch Avie with his vulgar language and poor behavior.  He had only been invited as he was newly in his diplomatic position in Caledon. How much I regret that decision.  It was shortly after that night that he began to claim that Loch Avie was “stolen from Vulgaria” and that the bones, which my knight, Adso Krogstad, was excavating in the lower portion of Loch Avie, would be revealed as ancient Vulgarians.  The nerve of the man!

I broke the seal to the letter.

15 July
Prydon, Vulgaria

To Her Grace, Eva Bellambi,
Duchess of Loch Avie, Lady of Skye, Head of MI-6, Last Pretender to the Lands of Vulgaria,

Your Grace, this will be the last cordial correspondence you shall have from me or any other Vulgarian. The humiliation at the hands of the Bellambis and Frasers has been more than can be born. It has taken us some time to develop the technology required, but we have done it.  We have developed the ability to travel to a particular area and then travel great distances through time.  

We are coming, Your Grace.  We are coming in great numbers.  We are coming to claim the lands you have left in Caledon, and we are coming to take the Isle of Skye.  Our Vulgarian historians tell us that your family, as far back as Sìleas and Gawter, have wronged us over the years. We claim Skye and all that is currently yours.

We are coming.  We are going to torture you slowly in ways women can never survive, kill your kinsmen and clan, and destroy your lands. We will then travel back to your middle ages and we will slaughter Sìleas and Gawter.* Your family will end.  You will never exist.

Barken Roff
Lord High Chancellor, Vulgaria

Cairine gasped loudly upon her return to find me (unknowingly) standing in the tub holding the letter down at my side.  I was red-faced, frowning, and stark naked.  Her noise roused me enough to spring me into action.  

“Cairine.  Assist me out of this tub and I’ll dry myself.  Then I need you to set the emergency signals in motion.  Agent Barns should be in the MI-6 signal station, just give him the word.  I need to gather the clan and my knights.  Then I shall need to be properly dressed so that at first light I may make emergency calls upon Miss Serra, Admiral Beaumont, Desmond Shang, and several others.”

As Cairine walked rapidly down the stairs from the master suite I called after her, “Sir Tele, Somme, and O’Toole are going to be bloody hard to find.  Make sure Barns sends his messages accordingly.  Those lot have gone far afield - some in semi-retirement - but they must know their Cheiftainess has need of them and they must come!”

Cairine shouted back an acknowledgement and then I heard the door to the intel room open and close.

“...or she may never even be known to them.”

To be continued

*(Historical notes on Sìleas and Gawter may be found in these posts : Dream State, Time and Space Fold, & A Love Letter from Gawter to Sìleas)