[FF] Future of Thera Spin-off: The Great War
Hello Thera forumers!
With Offensive Bias' blessing, I have decided that I will begin my own FF inspired by his brilliant "Future of Thera" series. This particular FF will set in what would be the Thera equivalent of World War I. To begin, here is a brief prologue outlining some of the history of what has happened to lead up to the war, including a few faction bios. Hopefully I'll be able to start a few real chapters within the next few days.
And so, without further adieu...
THE GREAT WAR
Spoiler for Prologue:
Royal Gaelic Rifle Regiment of the Empire of Avalon in the trenches.
It has been 714 years since the Great Torment, and the world of Thera has found itself thrown into the hell of war yet again. This war, which will go down in Theran history as The Great War, will be a test of strength (and ultimate downfall) for the world's greatest empires and strongest monarchs. Below are brief summaries of the major nations involved in the story, and how they have changed in the past few centuries.
The Avalonian Empire: (Based on the British Empire) The Kingdom of Avalon has existed in some form since long before the Great Torment, but was always something of a minor nation, never expanding very far outside of the safety of its own little island. However, after a line of incredibly powerful monarchs and brilliant generals, the people of Avalon have expanded their empire so it now possesses territories in every corner of the world, including the island of Tethra, and many colonies in Lenapa, Syrianna, Mesocala, and some small trading outposts in Huang-Chuan. As the world's wealthiest and, militarily speaking, strongest empire, the Avalonians will be a force to be reckoned with in the Great War.
La République de Bon Chevaliers: (Based on the French Republic) The Republic, despite only recently managing to work its way out of incredibly difficult times both militarily and economically, finds itself in a great position of power, possessing territories in many continents across Thera including the entire Southern half of Europa, vast portions of Ibellica, and parts of Huang Chan. As one would expect, the rejuvenated Republic will involve itself in the Great War as quickly as possible, though they certainly won't have the easiest time about it...
Republica da Hispânia: (Based on the Republic of Portugal and [in some ways] Serbia) Now completely Christianized, despite its pagan roots, this particular nation is largely overlooked by other nations, having lost most of its major overseas territories to local rebels, but will find itself acting as the main spark to start the fires of the Great War...
Faustian Reich: (Based on Austria-Hungary) The Faustian Reich is another ancient kingdom like Avalon. The Faustians, however, unlike the Avalonians, have seen fit to expand their empire in Ibellica rather than seek lands overseas. The Reich, while still keeping its head above water, is not exactly at its height of power anymore. Corrupted, old, and heavily divided, its government struggles under the weight of a top-heavy monarch, Emperor Karl I, and the fires of nationalism rage among the many ethnic groups living within its borders. When the Great War begins, this nation will be the first involved, and likely take some of the greatest blows...
The Romuli Empire: (Loosely based on the Kingdom of Italy) The Romuli Empire, despite being one of the oldest civilizations in all of Thera, is no longer the great and powerful nation it once was. Since the Uruks were vanquished in the last century and most of their race fled to the mountains rather than be subjugated, the Romuli have had very little use for war, and their once proud generals have grown fat and lazy, and their great Legions with them. This nation is also one of the last nations in the world to have paganism as its state religion, though most of the populace does adhere to Christianity. With the advent of the Great War, the Romuli will have to reform their antique legions to face the threat of the Faustian Reich.
The Lao Che Empire: (Based on the Empire of Japan) After a recent victory against the Dracule Empire, the Lao Che have established themselves as the dominant power in both Huang-Chuan, and the Sumari Steppe. Though more interested at first in isolationist pursuits, the newborn empire will eventually be thrown into the war alongside their one-time Dracule enemies.
Empire of Dracule: (Based on the Russian Empire) The Dracule are a proud people, and have maintained their vast and powerful empire in Slavia, Lenapa, and Norselund for centuries. However, as their recent defeat against the upstart Lao Che clearly shows, the empire is slowly but surely losing power, as internal strife and corruption overtakes the land. As the peasantry clamor for reform and are subsequently ignored by their Tsar, Ivan II, and the Teutons and Faustians close in, the time for revolution may soon be upon the people of Dracule...
The Vashta Empire: (Based on the Ottoman Empire) The Vashta have held on with tooth and nail to their territories in Syrianna for centuries as the last remnants of their once great Sultanate collapse around them. The Barca, who have been under their subjugation for several hundred years, now openly rebel against Vashta authority in the name of creating their own independent state, and may just succeed should the Vashta be distracted enough by the unfolding Great War.
The Teutonic Reich: (Based on the German Empire) The Teutons are one of the newest empires in Thera, having only united as a people some forty years previously. But already the Teutons are showing great prowess on the field of battle and the diplomatic arena, having already won a war with their neighbors on Europa, the République de Bon Chevaliers. The Teutons, however, are tied to the dying Faustian Reich in a damning alliance that will see them dragged into the Great War just as the other nations of Thera soon will be.
Alright, so that's the beginning. All comments and opinions are more than welcome.
EDIT: All chapters will be posted below, in case some of you don't want to read through the whole thread.
Episode One: First Blood
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The crowd cheered as young Kronprinz Friedrich stepped out from his extravagant carriage in full Faustian army regalia. The buttons on his immaculate white tunic shone brightly in the sunlight, as little rays reflected off innumerable clusters of metals. He adjusted the impressive plumed hat on his head and stepped onto the path in front of him up to the imperial summer residence. He smiled and waved as he slowly made his way up the carpeted avenue, the ceremonial saber at his side clinking with his every step. Deep inside the crowd one man stood silently and watched as the Kronprinz walked up to the doors to the residence. As he drew closer, the man ducked his head and ran through the crowd, leaving fallen old women and children stunned in his wake. As he ran he carefully withdrew a match from his pocket, and struck it against a boulder as he rushed past. He then clambered his way up a palm tree and waved the match wildly above his head, signaling towards the roof of the villa. Suddenly a second man's head popped up, silhouetted against the setting sun, which had turned red as blood. The second man nodded, and replied to the man in the palm tree by waving a small flag of the Republica da Hispania twice, back and forth. Suddenly both man and flag popped out of view again, and the man in the palm tree climbed down, running closer to the street to get a better view. A few seconds passed, and the man's breath became heavy with anticipation. Time seemed to move slower and slower as he watched and waited. Finally, the Kronprinz reached the front door to his villa, and the imperial guard, bowing respectfully, began to open it for him, ever so slowly. The man pulled a dark hood down low over his eyes. He wouldn't want to be recognized after this. Suddenly, something caught, and the man clenched his teeth. This was it. He heard a serpentine hiss and caught the smell of burning gunpowder. He could now see the Kronprinz's face. It was contorted in pure horror as he realized what was happening. He turned to run, seemingly in slow motion, but he wasn't fast enough. A plume of bright orange flame burst out of the door, and shattered the windows of the villa. The Kronprinz was hurled down the path, and fell dead with a horrifying thud, his white tunic peppered with bloodstains won from flying shrapnel. The crowd erupted into screams of terror and fled the scene madly, as police and fire forces arrived on horseback. The Republica da Hispania flag, this time a larger one, was hoisted over the remains of the roof for all to see. This was the prelude to war.
Episode Two: Hell Hath No Fury...
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Prinzessen Elizabeth of Knutsford, a princess from the Empire of Avalon and the wife of Kronprinz Friedrich, was playing croquet with the rest of the Royal Family in the Imperial Palace's back-garden when she received the news. It came via a smallish and very flustered royal herald, who rushed his way urgently through the palace and to the back garden, huffing and puffing as he went, threadbare blazer flapping in the breeze behind him as he struggled to hold on to his aged top-hat. He stopped to catch his breath for a moment when he reached the garden, bowed to Emperor Karl, and withdrew a folded up piece of paper from his pocket.
"My lord, this telegram comes from the Imperial vacation home in Hispania!" He stopped and panted a bit, still out of breath. "The Kronprinz has been assassinated by Hispanic terrorists!" A shocked gasp escaped from the Kronprinz's mother, and the Emperor's eyes grew wide with shock.
"How can this be, he just left yesterday! When did it happen!?"
"According to the telegram, my lord, it was just a few hours ago! The assassins rigged a gunpowder charge to explode as soon as the guards opened the villa doors! The Kronprinz was killed immediately, though the coroner has yet to give a full report."
The Emperor crossed himself. Tears were beginning to come to his eyes. "Is...is there enough for a burial?"
"I haven't been informed of that, sir, all I know is what this dispatch says."
The emperor nodded slowly. "Has the Hispanic government released a statement yet?"
"Yes sir, that I am aware of. They have condemned the acts publicly and claim to have had no hand in the 'incident,' though eyewitnesses claim to have seen the Hispanic flag raised over the ruins of the villa after the explosion. Our agents on the inside of the Hispanic government also report that their parliament has been discussing war with our nation for some time. It is very likely that they may have-"
"The vile bastards!" Elizabeth cut him off. Everybody in the garden stared, speechless. "They killed my husband! They killed him in cold blood! Power hungry swine! We will not take this lying down! Tell the Hispanics, curse their name, that they WILL be punished for what they have done to me, and the Reich! Tell them my husband's memory will not be forgotten! Tell them that war is imminent!"
The royal family and the herald continued to stare blankly at Elizabeth, her face all a mix of sadness, rage and something that must have been blind hatred. Suddenly, she turned on them too.
"Don't just stand there like a fool, do it! Write it down and deliver it to the minister of foreign affairs to deliver! Do it now!"
The herald jogged off again, holding on to his top hat as he ran. The Emperor spoke.
"Lieb, I understand you're upset, but I don't think you should have acted that way. I'll contact the foreign minister and tell him to-"
"Tell him what!? That the crown princess has gone quite mad from losing her husband!? That whatever she says should be disregarded as the ramblings of a lunatic!? I should think not!" She turned to him slowly, fire in her eyes. "I don't really care if you've gone soft in old age. I don't really care if you are perfectly willing to let this act go unpunished. I am not! And I will do my husband's memory the same honor he deserved in life! Tell the generals to prepare the troops. I will see the Reich punish these Hispanic barbarians if it's the very last thing I do!"
Episode Three: Ripples (Part I)
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The aged king of Avalon, Edward III sat at his desk alone on that hot July evening, sifting through endless papers, signing here, stamping there, hardly making a dent in the work before him. Over his shoulders through the window the last of the evening fireworks could be seen, and they illuminated the gold tassels and ropes that adorned his red general's uniform, which he had taken to wearing as of late. A knock came at his door.
"Yes, come in." He said. The door swung opened and his minister of foreign affairs and diplomat to the Faustian Reich, John Farnham stepped through. He was a lanky looking man, very tall, with long limbs and a thin face with a clean cut beard. He wore a bowler hat on his bald head and his pinstriped suit was peppered with cigar ash.
"Your majesty." He said with a slight smile and a low bow. The king nodded and beckoned for him to come closer.
"Good to see you, Farnham! How go things in this crazy world of ours?" Farnham's smile melted away at these words, and he took a breath and readied himself. The king would not be pleased to hear what he had to say.
"My lord, I'm going to cut to the chase. War has been declared, sir. The husband of your daughter and heir to the Faustian throne, Kronprinz Friedrich was assassinated by a group of Hispanic terrorist working under encouragement of their government." Farnham paused for a minute and looked at the king, who's face had turned an unpleasant shade of angry red. "The emperor," Farnham gulped. "The emperor asks that you honor your alliance with him and aid him." Finally he was done. The king clenched his teeth and pounded a fist on the mahogany desk in front of him, sending a few papers drifting to the floor.
"Hah! Help them! My God, we'll be wading through a sea of red tape wider than the Straights of Syrianna! Doesn't he know the alliances every nation has with these bloody Hispanics!? My God, half the world is working with them! The Dracule, the Bon Chevaliers, the Romuli, and our own people are still war-weary from the last rebellion we put down in our territories in Huang-Chaun! Does the emperor even know what he asks of me!? He's lost his mind, tell him there is no way!"
Farnham took a breath and began calmly. This wasn't the first time he'd dealt with this. "My lord, please, you must see reason. The Faustian people are calling this 'Princess Elizabeth's war.' It was your daughter, my king, who spoke to begin the war instead of the emperor, rumor has it, all in the name of her own vindication! However much we may wish it not to be so, your daughter is still a representative for both of our nations. We have to back her up, or suffer the consequences! Besides that, what will the world think of us if we don't keep with our original agreement? When you married off Elizabeth to Friedrich she wasn't the only one who took vows, my lord. Besides, it's the Republica da Hispania, they're no threat to anyone!" Farnham attempted a slight laugh, but it came out as stiff and contrived as it really was. The king sighed, then grunted, then shifted positions in his chair a few times.
Finally he sunk in the chair a little bit and stroked his gray mustache. "By High King Arthur," he said quietly. "Fine, I suppose if I must, then I must. If you speak the truth of the Hispanics being no real threat, then maybe things will not be so awful. But please, make note of this minister: I foresee this as a war of many nations. It may begin with just the Hispanics, and I pray to God on High it ends that way as well, but I honestly do not believe it will. There are too many intertwined alliances, too many ulterior motives, too many shrouded ambitions..." The king sighed and began to stroke his mustache again, thoughtfully. Then he spoke again, reluctantly. "Tell the generals to ready the troops and confirm to the Faustians that we will adhere to our alliance. May God be with us all."
Episode Three: Ripples (Part II)
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Within the dusty halls of the bustling parliament hall of the Bon Chevaliers the heads of state and representatives of some of the greatest nations of Thera sat, staring each other down. Here was Ivan II, the Tsar of Dracule; Claudius, Emperor of the Romuli; President Juan Hernandez of the Hispanic Republic; President Philippe du Guesclin of the Bon Chevaliers; and Emperor Minamoto of the Lao Che. The sound of a gavel being slammed on the wooden podium at the front of the marbled parliament hall. President du Guesclin rose.
"Now gentlemen, I call this council of the Great Alliance to order! First on the agenda: The question of the Quadruple Alliance of Avalon, the Teutonic Reich, the Faustian Empire, and the Vashta Sultanate. As I am quite sure you are all aware, a state of war now exists between the Quadruple Alliance and Hispania." All eyes turned to President Hernandez, who, despite being a man of diminutive stature already, shrunk deep into his chair. "Now, the question here is, does this mean war for the rest of us?"
Immediately cries of "War!" or "No war!" arose from all present. President du Guesclin pounded on the podium with his gavel, but the delegates largely ignored him. Suddenly, President Hernandez shot up from his seat, slamming a clenched fist on his desk.
"Gentlemen, I am appalled at your behavior! How this is even a question is completely beyond me! This is the Great Alliance, you have a duty to go to war! You brood of vipers! You cowards! How can you stand there and watch as the nation you pledged allegiance to is crushed by foreign powers! This is a farce! A total farce!"
Boos and cheers in equal measure erupted from the delegation, echoing in the hall's domed ceiling. Gaius Crassus, the Romuli Foreign Affairs Minister stood to speak.
"The question, President Hernandez, is that you are the ones who instigated this conflict by assassinating the Faustian Kronprinz! By Jove, we might as well take a vote to have you removed from the alliance for such an action!"
More response from the delegates and gavel slamming from President du Guesclin.
"Mr. Crassus, that is NOT the subject matter of this debate! We have bigger fish to fry! Now, please gentlemen, I realize this is a hard issue for all of us, but we need to act calmly or we'll get nothing done! Now, please, if anybody has anything to say formerly request speaking time!"
About fifty hands shot into the air. The president rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Emperor Minamoto, you may have the floor first."
Minamoto rose, his ceremonial robe making a sweeping sound on the stone floor.
"I have a proposition for how to conduct this discussion."
"You may present it."
"I propose that a single representative of every nation present makes a brief deposition of their thoughts on whether or not we should go to war based on their respective nation's interests. After that, we cast a vote."
President du Guesclin nodded. "You all know the procedure. All in favor of Emperor Minamoto's proposal, say aye. All opposed, say nay."
A chorus of ayes arose from the delegates.
"The ayes have it! Each nation will begin their deposition, starting with the Romuli Empire."
After two or three hours of debate among the delegates, a firm line in the sand was drawn between the two nations supporting the war (The Bon Chevaliers and the Hispanics) and the two nations opposing (the Lao Che and the Romuli). The dividing vote finally came down to the Dracule. Tsar Ivan, who hadn't yet said a word stood slowly and calmly as a hush fell over the quarreling delegates in the parliament hall.
"Gentlemen of the alliance. As the last delegate to speak at this council, I have heard all of your depositions, and I have noticed more than a few fallacies in your reasoning for opposing the war." Immediately a chorus of boos and jeers rose from the Lao Che and Romuli delegation. President du Guesclin pounded his gavel so fast that it sounded like machine gun fire.
"Order! Order! We shall have order!" He shouted from the podium. Finally, the delegates calmed themselves and allowed the Tsar to speak.
"First of all, for the Lao Che. While most of your reasoning for opposing the war is sound, what you fail to realize is the vital importance of trade between you and the Hispanics! If they were conquered by the Faustians (and we all know that, acting alone, they would be), you would lose a vital part of your nation's economy and, along with it, the support of your citizens!"
The Lao Che diplomats stared at him, dumb struck. His eyes migrated to the Romuli next.
"And you! President Hernandez is completely right in calling you out for the traitors you are! The truth is, your army hasn't been worth a damn in nearly a century and, were I so bold, I might go as far as to accuse you of cowardice! You made an agreement to this alliance, however 'damning' you may or may not believe it to be, and you must either honor it, or leave it. The choice is yours, but be warned: You won't stand a chance if you go it alone out there, and you and I, along with everybody else here, know it.
Now, the Tsardom of Dracule casts its vote firmly in favor of going to war with the Quadruple Alliance. May God be with us all."
The Bon Chevalier and Hispanic delegates rose in thunderous applause as the Romuli and Lao Che still stood dumbstruck at the way they had been torn down. President du Guesclin stood smiling at the podium as he banged his gavel a final time.
"And so there we have it! We go to war!"
Episode Four: Shifting Sands
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Corporal Roberts stood silently in the trench with the rest of his platoon, gazing out across the barren wastes of no-man's land out ahead of them. Over the crest of a small dune stood the Bon Chevalier trench line. Over the haze created by the burning hot sand, the Avalonians could just barely make out the tips of their helmets and the glint of their machine guns in the blazing noonday sun. There wasn't a man in that trench who wasn't scared out of his mind, though they all did their best not to show it. Roberts took a small rosary out of his pocket and began running his fingers over the its smooth beads. Oh Lord, deliver my comrades and myself from this conflict in safety, that we might all return home to our families without harm. Amen.
Roberts' concentration on his prayer was broken by barking orders from officers. "Lads, load up your rifles and fix bayonets, make sure you have enough loaded clips! Stand at attention in your trenches and get ready to charge on our order!" Roberts swallowed the lump in his throat. The soldiers finished with their rifles and stood at attention, just as they were told. Suddenly, explosions were heard from the Bon Chevaliers trench line. Artillery shells screamed through the air above them like meteors. The soldiers panicked, they had never seen anything like this before. A gruff looking sergeant, obviously a veteran, shouted above the panic-stricken troops and whistling shells.
"BRACE YOURSELVES, LADS! GET AS LOW TO THE GROUND AS POSSIBLE, GET DOWN IN THE TRENCHES! YOU, PRIVATE, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, GET DOWN THERE!"
A roar erupted from the Bon Chevalier lines. Roberts' blood chilled. The tables had been turned.
"Pour la patrie!" The cry rang out across the charging enemy infantry. A prim-and-proper-looking lieutenant began barking orders.
"All of you dogs, get your rifles up and get ready! Fire as soon as they're in range! Gunners, get on those machine gun nests! Move, move, move!" A thick dust cloud rose ominously in the desert sand, like a horde of locusts descending to feed upon a defenseless field of wheat. Somewhere, one of the greener recruits was sobbing, his sergeant was yelling at him.
"Shut up, you coward, load your rifle! Damn it, boy, they're almost upon us!" The dust cloud drew nearer at a frightening pace. Finally, the engineers managed to get the machine gun posts firing, cutting down the Bon Chevaliers as they came. It wasn't enough.
"Get ready men!" The lieutenant again. "Aim!" The soldiers steadied their rifles on the rim of the trench. "FIRE!" A cacophony of gunfire went off all down the line, like a thousand little thunderclaps. A few Bon Chevaliers fell, but the soldiers could hardly aim through the dust cloud, causing the rest of their rounds to whiz harmlessly past. "Reload and fire again! Keep going! Keep going!" The Avalonians fired off a few more such volleys before the Bon Chevaliers finally hit their lines, like high tide on a rocky beach. Men screamed, blood flew, and the bodies of the dead soon piled up. Surely, this must be hell! Roberts thought to himself as he watched it all unfold, dumbstruck. His stupor was broken by a grenade detonating a little too close to his head.
"What in God's name are you doing, boy!?" The gruff sergeant roared at him. "Get your arse in there, now!" The sergeant then charged into the fray, rifle held forward like a renaissance pikeman. Roberts followed closely, rifle at the ready. He pushed his way through the confused melee, managing to ram one Bon Chevalier over the head with the butt of his rifle and to run another through with his bayonet. Finally, the Bon Chevaliers sounded the retreat. The Avalonians cheered, throwing their helmets into the air and firing off rounds into the air. The Bon Chevaliers ran off back over the sand dune and into their trenches, leaving behind plenty of dead men, both their own and the enemy's. Roberts looked down at his uniform. It was soaked in blood, somebody else's blood. Surely, this must be hell. He thought to himself once more.
Episode Five: Freedom and Glory!
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The streets of Constantium echoed with cheers as the emperor stepped out of his palace to survey the troops. He wore the traditional plumed legionnaire's helmet and bronze muscled cuirass of a Romuli general, though seldom did any of them actually wear the old uniform. The generals were fat and wealthy men now, with no concern towards their military, which languished in the throes of under-training, under-funding, outdated equipment, and under-recruitment. But here stood the Legions of the Romuli, once the finest fighting force the world had yet known, decked in full parade uniform. It seemed to many that parades were the only thing they were good for these days. The legions were a fossil, a remnant of a glory that was long dead.
But at the head of the great column stood a single regiment, a regiment that stood out from the others. This regiment, carrying the traditional kite shields and giant swords of its people, was the 1st Uruk Brigade, an elite within an elite, a clan of warriors trained from birth to be nothing but fearless and indomitable soldiers, an unbreakable wall on any battlefield. These men, also unlike their legionnaire counterparts, held absolutely no loyalty to the emperor or his empire. For years, their people had languished in the wild hill country on the fringes of the Romuli nation, barely clinging to the last remnants of their dying culture.
It goes without saying, the Uruks were in a precarious position. With something like 3% of the imperial population identifying themselves as Uruk tribesmen, their species as a whole teetered on the very brink of extinction. In an unexpected twist of mercy (or perhaps a dire need for skilled troops), the emperor offered them a solution. He proposed that if the Uruks could raise a regiment of 7,000 elite Uruk soldiers of fighting age to serve the imperial legion, then he would grant the Uruks a large plot of land on the Romuli-Lao Che border with which they could establish a reborn and independent Uruk state. The Uruk chieftains couldn't decline such an offer. They were filled with the hope that their nation, their culture, their civilization might one day rise and reclaim the lands that rightfully belonged to them! A tournament was called to order immediately to separate the 7,000 strongest warriors the Uruks could muster. In three months, they had made their camp outside of the Romuli capital, waiting for orders.
And now here they were, 7,000 young Uruks with no loyalty or allegiance to their emperor, about to die for him on a foreign battlefield.
"Freedom and Glory!" The Uruk chieftains had said to them. "You fight for the Freedom and Glory of all Uruks! You fight for your goddess! You fight for your families and your own futures!" The Uruks of the brigade couldn't help but look at this with cynicism. They knew they had, essentially, been sacrificed, buried, forsaken. They had heard about the carnage that had already taken place on other battlefields. They were dead men walking, the forlorn hope of the Uruk people.
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And of course have some +rep 
Originally Posted by Daraunon
Nah, that was an accident. I wasn't really thinking about it at the time. 
I mean, Freidrich xD
