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| A computer enhanced version of an early drawing of the campaign area during Fall 2006. I ran it through Fotor earlier today clean it up a bit although some of the print remains blurred, Time perhaps to see if an AI might help. |
The Grand Duchy of Stollen, nominal purview of Grand Duke Irwin-Amadeus II, unfurls across the northeastern European landscape like a patchwork quilt sewn by an enthusiastic grandmother after her third glass of elderberry wine. Nestled precariously between Prussia, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Russian Empire, and the Duchy of Courland, it remains a curious diplomatic anomaly in mid-18th century Europe -- a legacy of the convoluted Peace of Westphalia that even the negotiators had forgotten by the time they affixed their seals to the document.
At the heart of the capital Krankenstadt stands the modest ducal palace, where the Grand Duke Irwin-Amadeus II, a distant cousin to one of the Hessian houses, presides with an endearing absent-mindedness. His legendary preoccupation with sartorial matters – particularly his extensive collection of ceremonial wigs and quest for the perfect shade of blue for his dress uniforms (somewhere between Prussian Blue and the cerulean of the Swedish infantry) – often leaves matters of state in the capable hands of his manservant, the redoubtable Hives. This transplanted Englishman has, through tactical brilliance and diplomatic subtlety, become the de facto guardian of Stollen's sovereignty against its persistent adversary to the south and southwest.
"I say, Hives," the Grand Duke might typically remark while adjusting his lace cuffs before a mirror, "do you think this shade of powder makes my wig appear too... Hanoverian?"
"I could not say, Your Serene Highness," Hives would reply, while mentally calculating how best to counter the three Zichenauer battalions reportedly massing near the border.
The Electorate of Zichenau, ruled by the ambitious Princess Antonia III and her consort-paramour, General Phillipe de Latte, a French mercenary adventurer of considerable tactical genius. Or so he would have others believe. Antonia's legendary beauty is matched only by her capacity for political treachery, while the General has transformed Zichenau's modest forces into a fighting unit whose relative discipline and élan far exceed its numbers. Together, they have made the Electorate a somewhat more formidable threat to Stollen than its size might suggest, necessitating Hives' constant vigilance while his master fusses over hat plume angles and whether silver or gold thread would better complement the new winter dress uniform.
The political geography surrounding this central rivalry resembles a complicated tapestry woven by a distracted weaver with an excess of colored thread. The tiny principality of Tauroggen-Fiebus north by northwest of Stollen is ruled by the elderly but cunning Landgraf Wilhelm Friedrich von Falsch-Thurn und Kraschus, whose military allegiances change so frequently his court tailors have developed reversible uniform jackets—blue on one side, white on the other—allowing his troops to declare for Prussia or Russia with merely a quick wardrobe adjustment. A visiting British diplomat once observed that Tauroggen-Fiebus foreign policy could be determined by observing which way the wind blew across its parade grounds.
Immediately to the west lies Pillau-Zerbst, a prosperous trading enclave governed by Fürst Leopold Maximilian von Hohenzollern-Pillau, whose Prussian royal connections are matched only by his talent for extracting tolls from merchants traversing his strategic territory. The Fürst's notorious "Catalog of Commercial Considerations" -- a tome listing tariffs for everything from amber to zebra skins -- runs to seventeen volumes and requires three clerks simply to interpret its more abstruse footnotes. Beyond Pillau-Zerbst lies Zeller-Schwarzekatz, whose vineyards produce a distinctive black wine as unpredictable as the policies of Herzog Friedrich-August the Mercurial, who has redesigned his army's uniforms fourteen times since 1745, causing a minor revolt among the duchy's military tailors, who briefly formed their own battalion armed primarily with scissors and measuring tapes.
Nestled between thermal springs and craggy hillsides to the northeast sits diminutive Werben-Steinau, a picturesque enclave ruled by Graf-Prinz Heinrich Albrecht von Kleindorf-Werben, whose obsession with precision clockwork has led him to organize his twelve-man army into units that rotate positions with hourly precision, much to the amusement of his neighbors. The Graf-Prinz's pride and joy -- a mechanical parade ground where miniature soldiers perform the manual of arms through an intricate system of gears and pulleys -- has become something of a summer tourist attraction, drawing curious visitors from as far away as Sweden.
Completing this constellation is Pillau-Reuss, which occupies a strip of fertile land along Stollen's northern reaches. Here Markgraf Johann Kasimir ab und zu Tilsemischken, a notorious epicurean, maintains a neutrality he readily abandons for either French subsidies or Russian protection, depending primarily on which emissary brings the finest wines to negotiations. His diplomatic correspondence is unique in wider European circles for frequently including detailed menu critiques alongside border agreements.
The sleepy city of Krankenstadt itself bears the architectural remnants of its former Hanseatic aspirations, when its merchants vied for control of the amber and fur trades for a brief but reasonably profitable half-century. The Alte Kaufhaus, with its distinctive stepped gable facade and weathered bronze doors depicting scenes from the city's riverside history, now serves as Stollen's treasury, where clerks meticulously count the duchy's somewhat limited reserves of Stollentalers. These distinctive silver coins -- bearing the Grand Duke's profile on the obverse (depicted with a curiously optimistic hairline) and the duchy's somewhat perplexing coat of arms (featuring a double-headed wisenheimer holding what appears to be a pastry) on the reverse -- circulate throughout the region alongside Prussian Thalers and Austrian Kreuzers, generally at unfavorable exchange rates that prompt constant sighing among the duchy's merchants.
Throughout this region, the countryside features undulating lowlands in the west, with eastern reaches rising to moderate highlands that buffer against Russian incursions. At least in theory. Forests blanket approximately one-third of the duchy, providing valuable timber that both Stollen and Zichenau attempt to leverage diplomatically. The numerous lakes, bogs, and wetlands have proven surprisingly effective defensive features, particularly along the contested borders with Zichenau, where Princess Antonia's forces have repeatedly found themselves mired in unexpected morasses during campaigns, much to General de Latte's chagrin and Hives' carefully concealed satisfaction. After one particularly disastrous maneuver that saw an entire battalion of Zichenau's Flickenhoffer Fusiliers sink waist-deep in a concealed bog, the General was reported to have exclaimed, "C'est impossible! The maps showed firm ground!" To which Princess Antonia coldly replied, "Perhaps, mon général, you should consider that maps, like generals, can occasionally prove unreliable."
The Zwischen River system defines much of the region's geography and commerce, its name deriving from the Old Hanseatic term meaning "between" -- a fitting designation for waterways flowing through territories forever caught between greater powers. The Greater Zwischen winds from the southeastern highlands, while the Lesser Zwischen traces a parallel course several leagues south, both eventually merging into the Blue Zwischen that itself flows northward before emptying into the Gulf of Riga. Along these rivers, one can still find the distinctive gabled warehouses from the Hanseatic era, many repurposed as barracks or government offices but still bearing the faded merchant marks of trading families long extinct. The annual spring floods bring both agricultural renewal and a predictable wave of diplomatic incidents, as border markers occasionally wash away or mysteriously "migrate" overnight, much like garden gnomes on a grand tour, always in directions favorable to whichever local official has most recently revised the maps.
Between these tributaries lies the contested Duchy of Schleiz, the resource-rich province that has become the primary focus of Princess Antonia's diplomatic intrigues and General de Latte's military strategies. The focus of rivalry between Stollen and Zichenau, Schleiz's bounty explains the persistent struggle for its control. Its rich soil produces grain harvests that supply not only the region but export to Baltic ports, transported in distinctive flat-bottomed barges known as Zwischenkähne, whose crews are renowned for their colorful profanity in the local vernacular, a variety of Platt, and ability to navigate by starlight. The duchy's stands of oak and pine provide shipbuilding timber eagerly sought by naval powers throughout the Baltic Sea region, with Stollenian oak particularly prized by Swedish shipwrights for its resistance to Baltic Sea worms -- a quality that local wits suggest developed from exposure to the region's politics.
The extensive flax fields of the province support a thriving linen industry, with Schleiz textiles prized in markets as distant as Amsterdam and London -- particularly the distinctive "Schleiz Blue," dyed using a process involving fermented cabbage that craftsmen refuse to explain to outsiders. The duchy's copper mines yield ore for minting coins and casting cannon, leading to the local aphorism that "Schleiz metal always returns, either as currency or cannonballs." Although not as plentiful as in more coastal regions, the duchy's amber deposits, together with its salt mines give the Duchy of Schleiz a strategic regional importance far outweighing its modest size.
While
somewhat off the beaten commercial track as far as the rest of Europe is concerned, banking in the Stollenian-Zichenauer region follows
patterns established during the late Hanseatic period, with the
Krankenstadt Wechselbank maintaining sporadic correspondence with houses in Lübeck,
Danzig, Riga, and occasionally Stockholm. The bank's director, Herr
Taler-Groschen, a gentleman of impressive girth and even more impressive
eyebrows, conducts the Grand Duchy's financial affairs with a
conservatism that borders on the paleolithic, refusing to acknowledge
financial innovations developed after 1648 and regarding paper currency
with the suspicion normally reserved for French moral philosophy.
"Coins," he has been known to declare while thumping the ledger atop his
mahogany desk for emphasis, "never require explanation. They simply
are."
As the conflicts of the mid-18th century reshape the continent's political landscape, the Grand Duchy somehow manages to strike a delicate balancing act -- maintaining sufficient military preparedness to deter Zichenauer aggression while navigating the kaleidoscopic loyalties of its smaller neighbors. The courts of Krankenstadt and Hissig, the respective capital cities, engage in attempts at parallel diplomacy not only in Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Warsaw but also within the drawing rooms and hunting lodges of the minor principalities, where a well-timed gift or strategic marriage alliance might temporarily secure a crucial ally. The Grand Duke's diplomatic corps -- consisting primarily of minor nobles with impressive titles and minimal practical experience -- often find themselves outmaneuvered by Princess Antonia's more pragmatic emissaries, necessitating Hives' discreet interventions in the form of carefully worded "suggestions" to his master.
The Grand Duke's army, resplendent in its blue coats with various facings (the precise shades determined after a three-month deliberation that nearly caused the Court Tailor to seek asylum in Denmark), parades with impressive precision during the summer months, when the Krankenstadt garrison square isn't being used for the weekly butter and cheese market. The infantry regiments maintain a standard of drill that visiting Prussian officers have described as "adequate, considering the circumstances," while the single regiment of red-coated dragoons has developed a reputation for horsemanship that would be impressive if their mounts could be persuaded to move in the same direction simultaneously.
For now, the Zwischen river continues its timeless flow toward the Baltic, carrying grain barges and timber rafts that represent Schleiz's wealth, along with whispers of plots and counterplots. While Grand Duke Irwin-Amadeus II deliberates between crimson and scarlet for his newest ceremonial sash (a distinction visible only to those with the most discerning optical capabilities), Hives quietly counters Princess Antonia's latest intrigue, frustrates General de Latte's military ambitions, and ensures that the Grand Duchy's interests remain protected -- often without his master being entirely cognizant of the threats so skillfully averted.
"I believe, Your Serene Highness," Hives might typically announce while presenting the morning chocolate, "that the meteorological conditions today suggest the blue-braided hussar dolman rather than the silver-frogged one you had initially considered."
"Really, Hives? But I had rather set my heart on the silver frogging."
"Indeed, sir. However, the Zichenauer envoy is scheduled to present his credentials at eleven, and our intelligence suggests he is particularly susceptible to intimidation by the color blue, owing to a childhood incident involving a peacock."
"Well, if you think so, Hives. You generally know best when it comes to these things."
"One does one's humble best, Your Serene Highness."
And so, while Frederick II of Prussia reshapes the continent through force of arms, Maria Theresa of Austria defends her inheritance with pragmatic determination, and Catherine of Russia extends her influence through political calculation, the Grand Duchy of Stollen persists in its curious bubble of baroque peculiarity -- protected not by power or wealth, but by the happy combination of strategic insignificance and the unheralded genius of an gentleman's personal gentleman who has found his unlikely purpose in preserving this charming anachronism against the relentless tide of history, one perfectly tied cravat at a time.
-- Stokes (and Claude)
P.S.
A chilly, damp Saturday here in the Grand Duchy, perfect for doing a whole lot of nothing down here in Zum Stollenkeller over periodic mugs of dark roast coffee. So, I enlisted the help of Claude AI to pull together various narrative threads from over the years and assemble them into a relatively plausible, somewhat more concise semi-historical context. It's not bad.
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