The People of the Bold Coast

[TheShammySocialist]

Much like the rest of the coast of the Federation, the hillocks and ravines around the town of Astoria had been, for millenia, shaped by the pounding waters of the Pacific Ocean, an ocean whose namesake stood for peacefulness, was anything but. Navigating the lower reaches of the Columbia had always been, at the very least, a challenge, at most, an impossibility, only the most skilled of pilots knew exactly how to handle the currents and navigational hazards that plagued the might river's Delta. Like the rest of the Federation, the people of Astoria were of a hearty stock, they had worked the land and some had plied the waters for generations, immigrants from Europe having intermingled with the indigenous tribes that still populated backwoods and coastal fishing villages throughout the Federation.

 

It was towns like that of Astoria and the countless other villages that reminded Matthew Turner of the kind of people he presided over as the Premier of the Federation, perseverance, hard-work, they were some of the key values amongst the pillars of Columbia's ideals. As he looked out over the Columbia River's mouth, the waters rushing headlong to meet the salty waters of the Pacific, Turner was not surprised such values were held dear to many hearts in this land. He couldn't question values he himself had been taught in his childhood home in Hoqiuam, a number of leagues to the north of Astoria, he had traveled from one end of the Federation to the other a number of times.

 

The Federation's head of state wrapped himself tighter in his riding cloak against the moist sea breeze, the air so salty he could lick his lips and almost taste individual crystals having formed there. He didn't mind it though; he had grown up along the coast, memories of his childhood flashed in his mind for a few seconds as his eyes looked at the darkening horizon, and the large Percheron he sat upon let out a grunt, probably wondering why his master wasn't guiding him back to the road once again. He gently pat the huge, docile horse, whom he had named Chinook, with one hand as he held onto the reins with his other hand, settled back into the saddle, he could feel a sheen of the salt-laced sea breeze covering the beast's neck.

 

He could hear the sound of the soft ground being disturbed by another set of hooves, as one of the members of his entourage approached him from behind, disturbing the Premier from his admiration of the last rays of days' light. The clear of the throat indicating it to be his Chief of Staff, Stewart Besby, a close confidant of Turner and a friend through many years.

 

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Turner, but a long ride still remains to Abernethy, and the meeting with the Eastern Elders draws very near," said Besby, in a more-formal-than-was-usual tone.

 

Turner gently swung Chinook around, the horse wheeling in place and starting to trot back towards the road where Besby stood out against the growing shadows of horsemen in the darkness. "My apologies, Stewart, my friend, my sentimentality for a good sunset still appears to get the better of me after a long day in the saddle," responded Turner, a grin etched onto his middle-aged face in the dim light of twilight.

 

"Quite alright," nodded Besby, with a soft chuckle, as he turned to stay in stride with the Premier, as they trotted their horses back towards their escorts, a small platoon of Life Guards which waited along the roadside, some remounting their horses as the Premier approached.

 

"It will be quite a lovely evening for a ride along the river, don't you think, Captain Pinoit?" asked Turner, of the Life Guards Captain as they began to ride away from the hillock overlooking the town of Astoria and the last rays of sunlight to the west.

 

"Quite right, sa'," responded Pinoit, giving him a salute as the Federation's head of state came alongside him. "I daresay I rather be resting underneath the stars, but as your Premiership dictates, we have little time before we must be in Abernethy. And we have no need for a exhausted leader during such important negotiations, so I shall forgive you here and now from any trespasses against any rest my body feels it needs."

 

Turner chuckled at Pinoit's ramblings, the Captain being known for his eccentric ways, he was still a tough character and one that Turner felt glad to have at his side should any unsafe situations occur during one of his many sojourns throughout the Federation. He gathered his reins in his hands and urged Chinook to a steady trot, and said aloud, and simply, "We ride through the night, my friends!" And at that, the collection of horsemen took off at a steady trot along the Columbia Road, their riding cloaks billowing and possessions in their saddle bags making various noises. It was a long ride to Abernethy, but for the "People of the Bold Coast", as they affectionately called themselves, enduring and weathering hardships and life in such a country as Columbia was not uncommon.

Edited March 4, 2013 by TheShammySocialist

[TheShammySocialist]

[url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rb1m1gUfjxE]Certainty, Uncertainty[/url]

 

Abernethy was easily one of the largest settlements in the Federation, located at the confluence of the Columbia and Willamette Rivers, the city was a bustling center of trade and commerce for the nation. Having been selected for its semi-central location within the nation, it was well-placed to be the center of a relatively well-maintained set of roads that stretched forth in all directions. The bountiful agricultural lands of the Willamette Valley provided the city with the sustenance it needed to survive the cool and clammy winters that covered the region in a mix of snow and rain that played havoc with road travel at the best of times. The port of Tillamook to the west served as the city's gateway to any maritime interests it needed, serving as a point from which the wares that were produced in Abernethy could be sold elsewhere in the world.

 

Abernethy was a city that numbered in the tens of thousands alone, and the population of the Willamette Valley numbered in the hundreds of thousands, if not a million; small factories and workshops dotted the valley, particularly in Abernethy, and provided an alternative source of economic wealth. It was no wonder that such an important metropolitan area was the seat of governance for the Federation, where the meeting hall of the Council of the Twenty stood, where the premier rested his head in the Hoffman House. There was no disputing the influence that Abernethy held over the rest of the country through its ability to call upon the loyalty of perhaps a million stretched throughout the Willamette Valley.

 

The view afforded by the river promenade that was cut into the Heights of Linnton were ones that Turner relished as he gently led Chinook by muzzle, having decided to dismount to give both the energetic and upbeat behemoth of a horse a chance to rest, along with his rear end, that was thoroughly numbed by the all night sojourn. Many members of his entourage had elected to do the same, but there remained a few souls who refused to dismount from their saddles, and remained mounted, slowly trotting their horses in a strung out line behind the Federation's Premier. Abernethy was just beginning to wake, and the sound of the Sunday church bells chiming carried across the water, and Turner smiled at the gentle tolling, seemingly welcoming the weary traveler home, despite it being for the parishioners they were welcoming to their doors.

 

That wasn't to say that Turner wasn't a popular figure amongst most of the population, his rule over the land had been steady and positive, and having been a key figure in brokering peaceful relations with much of the indigenous cultures in the region, he was a respected leader amongst the population. Under his guidance, reforms to the judiciary had eroded corruption and bias towards the gentry, although this had come at a cost to his influence within the upper classes, he enjoyed the support of much of the working classes and the merchants. In the twenty year span of the Federation since the collapse of the Cascadian Republic, his rule had been deemed the most effective by most of the population, following in the footsteps of late Elijah Hoffmann, an older gentleman who had been the Second Premier of the Federation.

 

Hoffmann's rule had been one that sought to centralize governance and ensure the borders and stability of the Federation, at times whatever the cost, especially following the Northern Rebellion, which had been touched off by the untimely death of Hermann Redmond, the First Premier of the Federation. Secessionists from the Puget Sound region had marched on Abernethy in the night, and had managed to kidnap Redmond, lynching him in one of the cities' parks after a running battle with townsfolk. The rebellion had been a bloody affair for the Federation, which had to fight amongst the isles and peninsulas that dotted Puget Sound, outside of Seattle, for almost eighteen months. Redmond's death would become known as the "death that saved indecision", the brutal attack on Abernethy and his death became a rallying cry for the rest of the fledgling nation and solidified its existence as a nation.

 

Turner had been a prominent figure that had factored prominently in the Rebellion, serving as the Governor of New Olympia County, personally leading militia forces against rebels early in the war, along with securing the neutrality of the Salish peoples, who were rumored to have been preparing to support the Puget Rebels in open conflict against the nation. In exchange for respect of their territory and a treaty of autonomy, Turner successfully parleyed with the Salish and ensured their continued dominion over most of the Olympic Peninsula. It was these actions, along with his associations with Hoffmann and becoming First Lord of the Federation that eventually assured the self-made politician and former lumber baron a place at the top of Columbia's political totem pole.

 

Those days seemed so long ago to the man who gently led his horse along the road that wound along the bluffs, overlooking the vista that was his seat of governance, and he smiled thoughtfully as his eyes flicked from the city to a rider in a dragoon's attire, who approached at full tilt along the road. Ever protective of his charge, Turner heard Pinoit, who had been walking directly behind him, mount up and quickly bring himself to the head of the column of travelers, putting himself between the fast approaching rider and the group that hardly looked like a national head of state and his staff. As the rider closed the distance, he began pulling back on the horse's reins and slowing his approach, the horse rearing off its front legs a little, clearly an energetic sort, the rider hailing the Premier.

 

In what appeared to be a show of disapproval of such unbridled energy, Chinook let out snort, as Turner bid the rider to approach him, Pinoit sashaying his own mount aside so that the dispatch rider could approach him unmolested. "Tell me, Sergeant, what brings a bolt of lightning such as yourself careening along the river road on a fine Sunday morn, to fetch a letter to an individual who was probably going to receive it within the hour, anyways?" asked Turner, amused at what he assumed was the backwards and acute lack of logic within some of the ranks of the Army of Columbia.

 

"My apologies, sir, I was dispatched at the behest of Senior Councilor Haman, he felt it necessary you be appraised of news as quickly as possible," responded the Sergeant, removing his wide-brimmed felt hat and bowing his head, as he approached, still on his mount.

 

"What news would require you to seek me out at such a pace?" asked Turner, as he gently stroked the nuzzle of the Sergeant's horse, the beast licking at his hand, probably trying to get a sample of the briny taste of sweat and sea salt that had covered his hands like an invisible but discomforting grime.

 

"A local militia from Highland County attacked an encampment of Bannock a little over a day ago on the eastern frontier," responded the Sergeant, heaving out the words as he was still recovering his breath.

 

"Their reasoning?" asked Turner, his face going from amusement to a mask of seriousness in seconds.

 

"The Bannock were encroaching upon what was apparently ideal grazing land for a local cattle baron," responded the Sergeant, with a grim look upon his face.

 

Turner heaved a sigh from his lungs, noticeably disturbed by this unforeseen turn of events, especially on the eve of talks with native leaders, including some from the Bannock. "Very well, it appears your haste is not without its reasons," replied Turner, as he quickly wheeled around and gripped onto Chinook's saddle, and pulled himself atop the large animal.

 

"Mr. Turner, might I implore you that you must sleep for a couple hours before meeting with the councilors, most of whom will probably not be here yet anyways," said Besby, his formal tone returning. He was clearly disturbed by the recent turn of events, but as the Premier's Chief of Staff, he was also in charge of ensuring the health and welfare of the national leader.

 

"That would be impractical at this point, Stewart, we make for the Hall of the Twenty with all haste, rest will be taken when I know something is being done to correct this new development," said Turner, his tone showing an underlying stubbornness to let his weariness from the road effect him.

 

Knowing it was pointless to argue at this point, the Chief of Staff would mount his own horse as Turner took off at a full gallop, Pinoit riding ahead of him as they made for Beaverton Ferry, that would bear them into the city of Abernethy...

[TheShammySocialist]

"You look like Hell, Matthew," remarked Senior Councilor Andrew Haman, who presided over the Council of Twenty, and was the voice of the people of Prosperity Valley, which included the city of Abernethy. Haman had been waiting on the steps of the Hall of the Twenty for Turner to show up, and appeared to have an air of concern in his voice. He looked over the national leader for a moment more, before adding, "Have you been riding all night?"

 

"Yes, he has," remarked Besby, dismounting behind Turner as he handed off the reins to a Dragoon Life Guard. "I believe the Premier does not prefer any bed beside his own here at the Hoffman House."

 

"If I had it my own way, Stewart, I wouldn't need sleep at all, but such is life, my friend," said Turner, and despite the weariness showing in the bags and dark circles underneath his eyes, he appeared energetic and alert.

 

"What did my messenger tell you?" asked Haman, as they proceeded up the granite block steps of the Hall of Twenty, an imposing hall constructed of brick and stone in the center of Abernethy.

 

"Enough to concern me from taking rest and making the ride over here, Andrew," responded Turner, as a Life Guard posted at the doors held them open for the two politicians. "What news from the East?"

 

"Our story has two sides, one is from that of an officer of the First Battalion, of the Snake River Regiment, posted near Caldwell, who has said that a local cattle baron, Edmund Sparkes, formed a militia party of local volunteers, and attacked the Bannock Encampment under the pretext that they were on his land. The Lieutenant Colonel who relayed us this information said that Sparkes has repeatedly in the past tried to stoke issue with the local Bannock tribesmen," responded Haman, as they stopped in the hall's rotunda, and turned to face one another.

 

"The other was from Sparkes himself, the messenger arrived only about an hour before you did, he claimed that his land had been encroached upon, and that the Bannock had slew cattle of his. There are, reportedly, deaths of women and children, there is no word on how many, but this is, of course, a grave issue nonetheless. What with the upcoming tribal meeting and increasingly tense relations on the frontier," responded Haman, in a cool manner.

 

"No matter whose story is true, this was a case of needless violence, I want a messenger rider dispatched to the First Battalion to escort a constable to take Mr. Sparkes into custody," replied Turner, his eyes looking into the increasingly concerned ones of Haman's.

 

"There is more to this story, my friend," said Haman, looking at Besby, who was standing next to Turner.

 

Turner got the message, and looked at his Chief of Staff, "I want you to fetch Brigadier Harlow for me, Stewart, draft up a set of orders for the First Battalion of the Snake River Regiment and have them ready for me to adorn with my seal within the hour."

 

"Very well, Mr. Turner," responded Besby, a moment of hesitation before turning to leave the two to their conversation.

 

When Besby had left the two alone, the greying Senior Councilor addressed the Premier with a growing look of worry on his face, "There is more to this situation than meets the eye. I have it on good account that our friend Edmund Sparkes is a lifelong friend of Councilor Erasmus Stane, our esteemed spokesperson for the Eastern Frontiers."

 

Turner gave an astute look at Haman, then said, "And very vocal proponent of non-negotiated expansion with our native friends."

 

Haman only nodded, "Is it coincidence that this incident comes at a critical time for peace between ourselves and the natives of the East?"

 

"Clearly, there is more going on, on the frontier, than we are aware of," remarked Turner, "I think that I know who I shall dispatch this letter with out to Sawtooth County..."

[TheShammySocialist]

The four horses that thundered along the beaten road out of Abernethy were steeds that matched those of the Premier in size and strength, but easily overpowered his mount with their stamina and ability to travel great distances at speed. These were horses from the south, known as the Goldens, not for their coloring, but from the stud farms on the outskirts of Roseville of Golden Bay County, this area was known for its vast pastures and wealthy horse traders and breeders. Bred from the Percherons that some of the French Huguenots who had settled in the region brought with them from Europe, they had been crossed with a lighter and faster breed, thought to be Arabians by some, some believed them to be of the European Steppes, whatever the case was, they were the fastest horses in Columbia in terms of size and distance running.

 

There were few people who rode such beasts, they were expensive and rare, reserved for only the gentry and a few select others who could afford them, that being the government of the Federation itself, but they were not meant for the Corps of Cavalry or even the Lifeguard Dragoons. The Goldens were the chosen mount of the Federation's Sentinels, a group of individuals who had been raised at the behest of Premier Hoffman when he had become Premier, they were agents of the Premier himself. Men and women alike, they had been selected from the upper and middle class, they had been chosen for their craftiness and skill, and their list of roles or duties seemed to have no end, they worked as spies, constables, diplomats, soldiers, rangers, hunters, protectors, they were people of renaissance, they had been prepared from the age of nine to take any role that was asked of them.

 

Quartered in Abernethy, they were under the direct command of the Premier and had more power than any local magistrate and any military officer, beside the General Staff, and would be dispatched to areas that saw the need of direct intervention by the authority of the Premier himself. They had been instrumental for many years in defusing clashes and misunderstandings between native populations and settlers of the Federation on the Eastern Frontier, and had been adept at peacemaking throughout the region. Their success at peacemaking was partly the reason they rode to Sawtooth County, but it was the rider at the head of the column of thundering hooves and shouts that would make the difference in deciding the best course of action they would take once they got their.

 

Sentinel Captain Xavier Rendulic was perhaps the shadiest amongst the group of individuals that resided in the Sentinel barracks in the government district of Abernethy, he was a legend to some, a scourge to others. He was the leader of the Sentinels, if there was a leader of such an authoritative group of individuals, he was a man of ruthless discipline and rigid duty. Normally charged with dispatching the Sentinels to where they were needed, he was rarely sent with them, and his dispatch to any situation by the Premier, he being the "left hand of the Premier", usually deemed how important a matter was to the government back in Abernethy. His career was one of marked successes; apprehension of a number of high-profile highwaymen, the successful and bloodless negotiation of possible rebellion in Golden Bay county, intervening in a number of disputes that brought the Salish to odds with settlers near Tacoma. He was one of the steadiest diplomats that the Federation possessed, and his utter ruthlessness and heroic feats in battles in the Road Conflicts were stuff of well-known regional lore.

 

Known widely to the natives as "the Man of Snake Eyes" for the look in his eyes when angered or focused, he was a natural choice for Turner to send to the Eastern Frontier to ascertain the situation and decide upon what best course of action to take. Although the Sentinels that rode with him possessed significant authority, Rendulic had been bestowed with a Missive of the Federation, essentially making his decisions more powerful than any but the Premier's, for this specific mission. This was important, due to the fact that the distance they had to cover to the Eastern Frontier made getting new orders or directives from Abernethy during their time out on the frontier impractical and close to impossible in any efficient manner.

 

Xavier Rendulic could remember the conversation he had had with fellow Sentinel Amelia Carrothers as she furnished his Golden, known affectionately to the Sentinel Captain as "Cascade" very clearly upon her discovery he had been bestowed with such a piece of parchment. "You must be joking," she had said, until Rendulic had stuck the parchment under her nose as she was finishing up with saddling Cascade up. Although Rendulic was Cascade's rider, the horse was known to be finicky during the process of readying him for a ride, and Amelia was one of the few the large beast seemed to trust for the job, the woman was known for her riding skills. Having come from a stud farm from Golden Bay County, she was a natural choice for administrating over the stables and the people employed there.

 

The horse mistress took in the words of the parchment as she finished working the caches that secured the saddle, and then looked up at Rendulic, "A very big honor for yourself, Xavier."

 

"Few have ever been granted."

 

"Don't let it go to your head," she said, standing up and ruffling his hair before she began taking items from a cart and putting them into his saddlebags in an organized fashion. "Remember what happened to Captain Yeager, and the others who have fallen, Sentinels are good, but we are all just men and women, we are not shielded against mortality."

 

Amelia had honed in on one of Rendulic's known faults; his oversized ego, something that had kept the level-headed and calm Sentinel from ever considering a romantic soiree with dashing Sentinel Captain, which she felt affection for, due to his decisiveness and strong manner. Rendulic took her words in with a frown, but did not let that deter him from thinking about the possibilities this mission could have for his life. He had been made Captain after the former one, Yeager, had fallen during the Road Conflicts, and the promotion, although it was not perhaps undue, had gone to his head somewhat. One of the many faults that the Sentinels had, was that from their initiation as youngsters, they had been told they were the better men and women, they served because they were trusted and excellent at what they did. For all the skills they possessed, many lacked an air of humility, and it could be debilitating, or even fatal, in the case of Captain Yeager.

 

She knew she had probably struck a nerve, but she shrugged it off, and finally said, amidst the quietness of the stables and Cascade's grunts and snorts, "I wish you a safe journey, Xavier, from what I know of your mission, and any mission on the Eastern Frontier, it will be laced with danger for yourself, along with those that ride with you."

 

"I wish one of those riders were you," he said, quietly, voicing his known affection for the fellow Sentinel in what he hoped to be a subtle way.

 

She wasn't bluffed, however, and she blushed lightly, and smiled, "I know. But you already have your troop, assigned to you by the Premier himself, and Wilcox and Vallore are both skilled riders, they will serve you well."

 

"They had a good teacher," he said, bestowing a compliment to her, something he rarely did, and was not entirely expected by Amelia.

 

"Thank you," she replied simply, not looking at him, but a smile alighting her fair, lightly-freckled face as she strapped a carbine to his saddle for him, after finishing stuffing the saddlebags with the essentials he would need for his journey. She affixed him with a gaze as she turned away from Cascade, her braided blonde hair swinging with her movements. "Be safe in your travels, my Captain," she softly uttered, "The road to the east is mired with danger, and the frontier is not known to be sympathetic either."

 

Rendulic smiled lightly at her, as she approached, before she did something that he himself did not expect, producing a handkerchief from her pocket, she gently grabbed his hand, and gently clasped the white piece of linen into it. Their gazes were intense into the others eyes, and she whispered softly, "Just remember what I said? Please."

 

Rendulic only nodded lightly, a stone look of stoic judgment upon it, as she passed by him, her hand taking its time to leave his own, as her footsteps echoed the length of the large stable barn...

 

The memory passed from his mind's eye as fast as it had come, and Rendulic only glanced down at his hand where he had tied to handkerchief around the palm of, he grimaced as he lowered himself on Cascade, and urged the horse faster with a vocal expletive. The sounds of hooves thundering east, into uncertainty, into mystery, into a possibly impending fate for not just the riders, but a nation altogether.