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A Fox's Affliction

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The Anglians had sent with very serious intent a letter in a rather ornate envelope: gold accents, calligraphy, wax seal and everything. It was out of the ordinary, save for an occasional Galahindan communique, that such effort would be put into something as simple and meaningless as a correspondence, where the content mattered more than what type of paper is used. Nonetheless, it was how Anglia felt it should properly address Fearannteth. A glimmer in the middle of another drab and dim day within the walls of the Cassie Palace, in an ironic sort of way. Little excited or made Alistair emotional and as far as the designwork of the envelope went he could not have cared less for it. However, the former was true of him after having read the contents. He was quite excited by the letter - he was not in any neutral state. His youthful daughter couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the old git having so much of a fit over some scribbles on some paper. She had to see for herself what all the commotion was for.

Snatch. Her eyes only slowly scanned the Anglian correspondence at first, only for her face to portray her fluster. Another once over, this time with her mouthing the words of the Anglian Imperial Office.

“The absolute-”

“Nerve? As we thought we couldn’t fall further, here we are.” Alistair scoffed, making some other noises from his mouth that could only be described as utter annoyance and great dismay.

“Father, surely they wouldn’t actually attempt such an endeavor to extend themselves so far as our peninsula.”

“I would be inclined to agree, were it not for our new friend in Yulaa. From impressions and sources of their own, they felt the need to warn us that Anglia might covet us. I laughed then, now I-” his head visibly shook, his entire body did.

It would take great strength for them to compose themselves within the timeframe in which they were to expect the Anglian delegation. Their silent and shadowed arrival was peculiar to them given their showy nature of recent in Europa. In the middle of the night, a generic looking helicopter touched down upon the Cassie Royal Hall helipad. Through the eyes of Alistair you could see he didn’t want to entertain the chopper even touching down, let alone permitting the Anglians to set foot on Fearann soil. Eileen held his arm tight as the bitter king considered doing more than just standing by as if an idle bystander. His demeanor was comparable to that of an eager boxer, ready to take a swing at his opponent. In reality, he couldn’t afford to do so, least of which would be disregarding the diplomatic protocols. He watched the palace security force instead help the delegation disembark as the two Cassies walked away into their meeting venue, glasses of water decorating the table...exclusively on the Fearann side.

It was an unexpected sight to behold for the Anglians. A surprising way they have been hosted by a nation since the beginning of their conflict: just two sole representatives on the opposite side. No other administrative officials. Not a Foreign Minister. Not an Ambassador to Anglia. Not a legislative liaison. Not even an intern. There wasn’t even so much as security within the walls of the conference room. Just the two Fearann royals with their glasses filled with water whilst the Anglians had empty ones. As if they weren’t expecting company at all. An elder, seemingly wise man of the delegation, the one of which looked in charge turned to another and whispered in their ear. The two exchanged words and eventually the other three people joining the lead of the delegation left the room to just the two Fearann Royals and the Anglian. Not one soul had yet taken a seat. They merely stood there in silence, air still.

“To whom do we owe the displeasure?” uttered Alistair, the pettiness clearer than the water in his glass.

“How childish. You delude yourself, Fearann.” the Anglian replied, sternness in his voice and in facial expression

“Say what you wish, I still require your name, Anglian.” Alistair was louder this time, with a hint of authority in his tone.

“You may refer to me as General Charles Metcalf II of the Anglian Royal Forces.” Metcalf stated it firmly, ”However, if you would so prefer, General Metcalf would suffice.”

“The military controls Anglia. Ah. It all makes more sense. Even in diplomacy there is a military response.” Alistair’s tone changed with a glance from his daughter, then looking directly at Metcalf, “We have no interest in being a part of a Greater Anglian Empire. The Kingdom would have to pried from my cold, dead hands before it would forgo it’s own sovereignty. That is all there is to be said.” Alistair turned toward the door and would depart, but not before Metcalf got in a final word to him.

“A foolish decision to make. A foolish decision that you were not given. You have not any idea what you bring upon yourself by refusing where there is no room to do so, your grace. Your legacy will remain unchanged by this stand you make here and now.”

“You should consider yourself lucky we did not intercept your aircraft with a missile, you wanker.” the enraged Fearann king slammed the door behind him.

“Anglia is more than welcome to test our waters, crawl out from her nest in the Old Wurld and come forth here to the New and enforce such consequences upon us, General Metcalf. We will have none of your imperialism here.” Eileen spoke this time, channeling more diplomatically what was on both their minds.

“With due respect, Princess, this isn’t a matter of if we will or will not but a matter of time. If you can not see it now, perhaps you will see it when I return with my full attache in tow. Unlike your father, I will permit you the luxury of being able to reconsider our offer to be a part of Fearannteth’s transition in the empire.” Metcalf would then depart and be joined, escorted by palace security to the helipad.

It was only after this meeting that a slew of cabinet and legislative officials would be assembled to report the arrival of communication from Anglia’s Imperial Office and the subsequent meeting from it. Mumbles and grumbles all about the conference table as each took their seat, though many seemed to be at the edge of their seat, unsure what to expect of the Cassies disclosures at this moment. Alistair had an unreliable track record of being a loose cannon and doing as he wishes - why shouldn’t he? He is, after all, King. Or so he thought. It was something that displeased every party within the Royal Congress. Alistair only informed them after the fact what dealings and misdealings he had with foreign dignitaries or shrewd businessmen. Their only glimmer of hope was an intercept from a Princess that stood idly by and watched. Rumors weren’t that comforting either, even if only partially true and mostly false. The Speaker of Congress, Angus Forker, shared the expression of dismay of many others that joined him like the Foreign Minister and Ambassador At-Large to the Occident. Silence would fall over the room as Alistair called everyone to order.

”Gentlemen, I come before you today to inform you of some recent debauchery. The Anglians wish to annex us.” Alistair, ever so eloquent with his choice of words. A normal meeting would have had people aghast not only at the message in his phrasing, but at the phrasing itself. Instead just a groan could be heard, and a cough elsewhere.

Officials began to exchange words as the Speaker ruminated the many ways in which this would play out until Eileen spoke. The Princess mentioned what her response had been and she had raised a good point: these were rather meaningless threats until they made an appearance on their doorstep as Metcalf had alleged he would do, army and navy in tow. The Anglians may very well have one of the most capable armed forces across the glube. They were also tied up in Azania and the Occident. They would surely be stretching themselves thin and be taking too great a risk to enforce with boots on the ground the admission of Fearannteth into their pitiful attempt at Empire 2: Electric Boogaloo. The Foreign Minister commented on this in a convincing Devil’s advocate role: If they were to indeed land boots on the ground, what could the Kingdom possibly do about it with it’s token self defense force in the form of cheap private military? Surely, by placating to them instead of insulting them there was more hope for the peninsula and even aid from their not so friendly neighbors in the face of a common nuisance.

“This is why we needed to reinvest in arms a decade ago. This should be a lesson learned. The Anglians are one of the few nations that will enforce her demands effectively. We must request aid immediately.” Forker proclaimed. The old git of a King cackled at such a thought. Asking for help from… Metztlitlaca? From Oyussa? They wouldn’t possibly look their way, nor would they need it as surely the Anglians wouldn’t actually dare set foot on Fearannteth. No no, no such thing shall be done. This is all just a courtesy, a heads up to their legislative body. Not that they would be able to resolve their differences and be any more effective than the royal family. No, everything that needed to be done has been done. With that, Alistair stood and bid everyone adieu. Good day. Good bye. Good riddance. Nothing more would need to be said. This didn’t sit well with Forker. Unlike the many other reckless and piss poor decisions made by the monarch dubbed as ‘Alistair the Jaded’ actual stakes were on the line. It could be the end of the Kingdom as they knew it, and potentially purged of their culture. While there had already been some Anglicizing of the peninsula, it wouldn’t be to the extent the Anglians were known for. There would be no preservation, after all they were not fond of the Celtic roots the Fearann had, nor that of the groups settling with the Seylosians.

“Your grace, if I may-”

“There is no discussion, Angus. You will accept this. Nothing. More.”


It was undoubtedly a banner day. In the distance, the tumultuous Palu peninsula. Just a few nights before, Metcalf had set foot here in a long shot to have a bitter old man accept the inevitable quietly and peacefully. Of course, no such thing occurred. The least that Metcalf saw fit to do was honor the old man’s dying wish. Holding off until after his passing that a new order be asserted over the millions of rightful Anglish people there. It is an experience to breathe in rather tropical, humid air. An enraged individual with breathing issues may have an even more difficult time with such a task. Perhaps that was what happened to King Alistair the Jaded in his untimely passing. Suffocating on his own. It was an amusing thought, for sure, but a distraction from the task ahead: pacifying the Typhon Sea. “Anglishing” Fearannteth was only the start of what would be an immense task ahead, but one Metcalf would be able to undertake with his skillset, flotilla, and divisions.

Crown Princess Eileen knew when the fleet was initially spotted some leagues away that its destination was the peninsula. It was after her father passed she knew it was a delusion to believe she would ever ascend. She could have taken the crown, but she risked undermining the inevitable and earning the wrath of the Anglian Empire. Thus, she did not take the crown. It was not as though the public knew at this time. In fact, little did they know, only in rumors, that their king was dead. An untimely departure for a very timely arrival. As Metcalf’s attache disembarked, a horseback rider approached with his entourage of protection.

“Princess Eileen. I see that I was right to presume the Kingdom would come to its senses at some point or another.” Metcalf dismounted from his horse. Clearly, he was one for the finer things in life. There really was not any necessity to be horse back when there were vehicles that had hundreds times more power than that of his steed. 

“You left us no choice. I haven’t even had the moment to grieve my father.”

“Better one while asleep, than hundreds in battle. Unfortunately, the terms were that if there was any show of resistance that we could not guarantee a more favorable transition.” It did mention any show of resistance. One might say it meant in the conflict, physical sense. In reality, to the Anglians, it was as simple as saying no to them. Of course, even as they bowed to Anglia, it would be with too much of a hitch. “Your father will be the last Cassie to rule. Indebted we are for your willingness to come to terms, and you will continue to have your titles and land in Cassieshire. The Kingdom, though, ends today.” the Commissary General concluded. The sight of Anglian troops marching on Fearann land paired with Metcalf’s statement was like he were rubbing salt in their wounds. Eileen couldn’t bear it. This wasn’t right. One could only hope that there would be willingness from their traditionally unfriendly neighbors to remove Metcalf and Creighton from the peninsula to restore their Kingdom, than to permit the new status quo Anglia wished to dictate.

Written by Oyus & Iverica


Edited by Iverica (see edit history)
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