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Description

The Commonwealth of Great Britain, Ireland, and New England in the Year of our Lord 1889.

Londontown is a very interesting place, especially to a foreigner. The Portuguese ship that brought Mr Oliveira to the rather empty port, especially considering the size of the city, and the control it has over so much of the world. The raw goods of New England and the dark slaves of Guinea came into the city parallel to the esteemed Iberian, but not much else. He traversed the docks and passed the scarlet robed customs and inspection agents. While they stopped and meddled with the goods, Oliveira passed freely to the awaiting carriage and group of soldiers on Lower Lea Crossing. "G'evenin' to ya, Mr Oliveira. We've gotta steed here fer ya."

To this, the swarthy Iberian nodded his head and got in. Soon, he was off to the office of General Thornwillow, the current suzerain of the London Prefecture. One of eight in the Isles, it held the most clout in the Commonwealth, and also was home to the Lord Protector, although his role has been reduced to nothing but ceremony. The real power rests in these eight prefectures of the Isles, and more specifically in the office of General Thornwillow.

The tall, imposing brutalist structure flew all the necessary flags and was protected at regular intervals by marble lions, these in turn flanked by soldiers in beautiful scarlet uniform. Oliveira was grateful that the weather was at least decent, watching a column of soldiers exit the grounds of the magnificent and rather bloated office and march directly into a puddle. Grateful that it was not he who would have to stomp through such a puddle.

"End of the line, Mr Oliveira."

Then the Portuguese ambassador was escorted across fanciful rugs by a Guinean slave, his dark skin matching the dark suit that squeezed against him. Inside the office, it felt empty and loud. Loud like a cave. Each press of a heel against the floor echoed and jumped around sets of armour, portraits of nobility, and standing soldiers. Some officers bustled in, their capes trailing behind them and sharp, neat beards jumbling up and down as they grunted toward the other with dismay. But Oliveira was not going to follow this pack of officials, no, he was being taken to see some petty Londontowner of no remarkability beyond his clerical position. And so he entered the fire-warmed room of one Sir Skinner, a petty fifth generation bureaucrat whose mandatory military service went about as smoothly as could be expected, with little to no demands made either mentally or physically. Immediately, Oliveira suspected the weakness of the knight's constitution when he saw the man blowing on his tea, and ever so faintly dipping his small finger into it.

"Mr Oliveira, I trust that your trip from Lisbon was pleasant?"

"On a Portuguese ship?" The Iberian smiled and sat in one of the cushioned seats of the wood-panel office, the walls alive with the shimmers of a fire's shadow. "Of course."

"Of course." Sir Skinner sipped his tea faintly and effeminately, which made something rather disgusted stir within the Portuguese ambassador. "Now, as I understand the situation, your position here is to not only learn of the Commonwealth, but attempt to foster a relationship with it. A British-Portuguese relationship. One that would serve quite nicely in this newfound African campaign, our two nations being the greatest powers on the Dark Continent."

"Exactly, could not have said it better or put it more clearly. While my home may possess great tracts across the coasts and along a brief stretch of the interior north of the Cape, yours has the majority of Guinea under the iron heel of Mother England."

To this, the knight could only disagree, and he stressed: "Not England but the whole of the Britain, and by extent, the Briton stock."

Britons, thought the Iberian, and he could only nod. The arrogance of the tone took him off guard. This racialism was not as strong at home, not in Lisbon.

"Perhaps you don't quite understand the nature of these Isles, and of the Commonwealth they foster, Mr Oliveira?"

"Not as well as I'd like to, I dare admit."

"Well," Snideness and its oddities can overcome any man, especially one who's suckled on the teat of England's best his whole life. "The Commonwealth of Great Britain, Ireland, and New England is much more than just this city, or this country: it is an entire world tucked underneath the good blessings of our martial leaders and Lord Protector, whose great vision keeps us intact and secure with Puritan virtue and strength of resolve. The nation, the people of it, have worked hard to keep purity of the utmost importance. The removal of inferior races, and the expansion of Christ and the British everywhere have been at our heart since time immemorial. The filthy, unsanitised brutes who opposed the Romans died by British sword last century, and this century we have fairly neatly pacified the savages of New England, fostering an entire land the size of Europe whose makeup and stock is that of Pure Britons."

"Pure, followers of Puritanism?"

"Of the one true church, yes."

Description

The Commonwealth of Great Britain, Ireland, and New England in the Year of our Lord 1889.

Londontown is a very interesting place, especially to a foreigner. The Portuguese ship that brought Mr Oliveira to the rather empty port, especially considering the size of the city, and the control it has over so much of the world. The raw goods of New England and the dark slaves of Guinea came into the city parallel to the esteemed Iberian, but not much else. He traversed the docks and passed the scarlet robed customs and inspection agents. While they stopped and meddled with the goods, Oliveira passed freely to the awaiting carriage and group of soldiers on Lower Lea Crossing. "G'evenin' to ya, Mr Oliveira. We've gotta steed here fer ya."

To this, the swarthy Iberian nodded his head and got in. Soon, he was off to the office of General Thornwillow, the current suzerain of the London Prefecture. One of eight in the Isles, it held the most clout in the Commonwealth, and also was home to the Lord Protector, although his role has been reduced to nothing but ceremony. The real power rests in these eight prefectures of the Isles, and more specifically in the office of General Thornwillow.

The tall, imposing brutalist structure flew all the necessary flags and was protected at regular intervals by marble lions, these in turn flanked by soldiers in beautiful scarlet uniform. Oliveira was grateful that the weather was at least decent, watching a column of soldiers exit the grounds of the magnificent and rather bloated office and march directly into a puddle. Grateful that it was not he who would have to stomp through such a puddle.

"End of the line, Mr Oliveira."

Then the Portuguese ambassador was escorted across fanciful rugs by a Guinean slave, his dark skin matching the dark suit that squeezed against him. Inside the office, it felt empty and loud. Loud like a cave. Each press of a heel against the floor echoed and jumped around sets of armour, portraits of nobility, and standing soldiers. Some officers bustled in, their capes trailing behind them and sharp, neat beards jumbling up and down as they grunted toward the other with dismay. But Oliveira was not going to follow this pack of officials, no, he was being taken to see some petty Londontowner of no remarkability beyond his clerical position. And so he entered the fire-warmed room of one Sir Skinner, a petty fifth generation bureaucrat whose mandatory military service went about as smoothly as could be expected, with little to no demands made either mentally or physically. Immediately, Oliveira suspected the weakness of the knight's constitution when he saw the man blowing on his tea, and ever so faintly dipping his small finger into it.

"Mr Oliveira, I trust that your trip from Lisbon was pleasant?"

"On a Portuguese ship?" The Iberian smiled and sat in one of the cushioned seats of the wood-panel office, the walls alive with the shimmers of a fire's shadow. "Of course."

"Of course." Sir Skinner sipped his tea faintly and effeminately, which made something rather disgusted stir within the Portuguese ambassador. "Now, as I understand the situation, your position here is to not only learn of the Commonwealth, but attempt to foster a relationship with it. A British-Portuguese relationship. One that would serve quite nicely in this newfound African campaign, our two nations being the greatest powers on the Dark Continent."

"Exactly, could not have said it better or put it more clearly. While my home may possess great tracts across the coasts and along a brief stretch of the interior north of the Cape, yours has the majority of Guinea under the iron heel of Mother England."

To this, the knight could only disagree, and he stressed: "Not England but the whole of the Britain, and by extent, the Briton stock."

Britons, thought the Iberian, and he could only nod. The arrogance of the tone took him off guard. This racialism was not as strong at home, not in Lisbon.

"Perhaps you don't quite understand the nature of these Isles, and of the Commonwealth they foster, Mr Oliveira?"

"Not as well as I'd like to, I dare admit."

"Well," Snideness and its oddities can overcome any man, especially one who's suckled on the teat of England's best his whole life. "The Commonwealth of Great Britain, Ireland, and New England is much more than just this city, or this country: it is an entire world tucked underneath the good blessings of our martial leaders and Lord Protector, whose great vision keeps us intact and secure with Puritan virtue and strength of resolve. The nation, the people of it, have worked hard to keep purity of the utmost importance. The removal of inferior races, and the expansion of Christ and the British everywhere have been at our heart since time immemorial. The filthy, unsanitised brutes who opposed the Romans died by British sword last century, and this century we have fairly neatly pacified the savages of New England, fostering an entire land the size of Europe whose makeup and stock is that of Pure Britons."

"Pure, followers of Puritanism?"

"Of the one true church, yes."