Raleigh 2:17AM: Early last fall Czar Vallye of Zapodslava suddenly went into seclusion. There were no public appearances, fnord communications went unanswered, and all diplomatic envoys were turned away. In this climate, it came as no surprise that rumors about what had happened began to spread among the general populace of Zapodslava and the world as a whole. Some were thoughts religious in nature. Some people held that the Czar had retired to a secluded wing of the palace to write a book of military strategy and tactics called CDIII (on sale at news stands everywhere this Spring). Eventually, however, as time went on, people began to believe that the Czar was, in fact, dead.

Of course, when a monarch dies, much consideration is given to the question of succession. The more important the monarch, the more attention is paid. Czar Vallye was a very important monarch (well maybe it did take several months before anyone even noticed he was gone) and thus, a great deal of attention was paid by a great number of people. The throne, of course, would first pass to Vallye's eldest son. Unfortunately, it was noticed that he, along with the Czar had vanished at the same time as the Czar. With no obvious candidates available, the posturing began in earnest.

The three pillars of Zapodslava began to act. The senior nobleman in the kingdom, Archduke Konstatine of Molochev, publicly declined to be considered, stating that he did not feel qualified to be Czar. It is probable that this decision was based on the fact that the new ruler in such a volatile situation would be a marked man and he would rather be a live Archduke than a dead Czar. Of course it may have been that the good Archduke is such a drinker and spends so much time comatose that he has been declared dead three times. Some of the minor nobility did offer up their candidacy but none was strong enough to firmly seize the throne (although a couple did manage to pry off valuable jewels). The Metropolitan of Gradny declared that, without a body on which to perform the Last Rites, the church would consider the Czar to be still alive and the rightful ruler of Zapodslava. The Metropolitan even volunteered to act as regent until his return stating that, "He is in control." This offer was not well received by the nobility (all of them knowing the Metropolitan's taste in underage women and flashy carriages). The Army stayed quiet and in their barracks, thereby added a sense of foreboding to the atmosphere.

The Metropolitan volunteers to lead Zapadslava

This tenuous situation held for several months until, a man appeared in Plutonia claiming to be Czar Vallye himself. He claimed to have been dragged away by wolves and kept in a cave until recently. Although this accident had cost him an eye, he was now ready to resume his place on the throne. Almost simultaneously, other Vallyes appeared in Prissia (claiming to have been enchanted and turn into a fish) and at the Djafran Court of Gregor the Lame (claiming knowledge that only the true Vallye would know). The Djafran Vallye was later discovered to be false and killed, but a new pretender almost immediately appear in Penury. Each of the local governments gave their support to the currently resident Vallye and began mobilizing their respective armies for an invasion of Zapodslava. The existence of three Vallyes would almost certainly have led to war by itself. However, one final development has occurred which completely destroyed the fabric of peace. A man calling himself the one, true Vallye appeared in Zapodslava (claiming to have been on a Polo Holiday) and immediately rallied the Army to him. Declaring the other Vallyes to be base impostors, he has begun to move against the nations supporting them.

An even more bizarre turn of events has now begun to occur. False Czarinas are springing up all over. The Prince of Plutonia now claims that the true Czarina has come to his country to join his Vallye in his fight to regain their homeland.

The Zapaslavan Walleye clearly is an impostor given that he actually claims to participate in a sport other than boozing and floozies. Also the fact that he didn't actually recognize a polo mallet out of three common household items in a closet tells against him.

The Djafan Walleye was clearly an impostor as he actually appears to be able to converse in a rational and consistent fashion about CDIII and V&B. Of course this was why the Djafrans executed him.

As for The Plutionian Walleye while scientific evidence has proven that Wolves are attracted to Persovka the fact that they didn't consume him completely means he can't be the real thing.

Gregor and Donna; The Happy couple

Gregor Princeps Civitatis of Djafra has married a young woman who was high up in the religious side of the Djafran hierarchy. She was a member of the mystic order the Administrators second only to the Principle (head of the Djafran religion).

The union ceremony itself was held behind closed doors with only the close family in attendance as is Djafran custom. While unions between the religious and state sides of Djafra are frowned upon by the hoity-toity this union appears to have most everyone's approval although the bride will have more appropriate duties assigned for at least a short while.

The ceremony was followed by a lavish banquet. Including a mysterious dark haired dancing girl who seemed to run the entire show (and refer to the bride as Mom?!?) and is now reported to be living in the palace. Another highlight was the entire family of the groom doing the national dance the Macarana.

Rea and Boris our other happy couple

Our other marriage is the union of Boris of Plutonia to Rae, Countess of Lalaland. This report just in from our man in Plutonia:

Prince Boris Borisovitch Bolotomous of Plutonia has once again earned his epithet "The Fortunate" as Rae, Countess of Lalaland has consented to join

him in marriage. After a bachelor party of epic proportions in which the entire armies of both Monrovian and Plutonia decimated each other for the pleasure of the princes and their guests. Much (wink wink nudge nudge merriement) and rumors that scantily clad women acted as division commanders in the battle.

The holy event occurred on October 15, 1757, in a state wedding held in Lalaland. The Countess, dressed in a magnificent white gown, was given away by her father, Duke Robert of Lalaland, who, shortly thereafter, entered into a formal alliance with Plutonia.

Following the ceremony, a feast was given by the Duke in honor of

the couple. All members of the Royal Families of both houses were present as were the Prince and Princess of Monrovia. The revelry lasted until dawn and, in a

significant break with tradition, no duels were fought during or

immediately after the party.

Upon returning from a brief honeymoon on the Golden Coast, the Royal Couple moved into a new palace, freshly constructed for the Princess.

And so it came to pass the Princeps Civitatis had a dream... He was feeling guilty at the thrashing the holy alliance had given to Zaposlava. After all the Czarina was nice enough to give him that horse's head. What delicious soup, why he had even gotten one of the eyeballs. Yet guilt had plagued him. Never one to act morally joining a Holy Alliance just didn't sit right. So he figured that if he could convince the rest of the alliance to march on the towel heads down in the desert he could switch sides and restore Zapatslava to it rightful place in the world. By that time the Monrovians would have arrived.

They could then catch the alliance between several armies and hit them from two sides at once and crush them. Oh the blood, Oh the wonderful gore.... It would be a massive battle and the holy alliance would be in the middle of two huge armies and...and how could he get them to march South.

But then he awoke and of course the alliance marched home without going after those who had sided with Valleye. So he tried to have another dream on how to make the allianance stay, but by then it was already too late. Besides the Monrovian army got lost and ended up going Northwest instead of Southeast (later the prince was noted to be muttering about it being the last time he eats cheese fondue as he reads the map...he could have sworn there was a land bridge there...and that impassible mountain range...it tasted pretty good later though).

The following is the third monthly excerpt from the diary of Ramos Sharti the Western correspondent for the Purient Filibuster and his adventures in the new world.

Last week when I wrote about how beautiful this pristine wilderness was I was still fooled by my first impression. This place goes on and on. It is all the same and has become so drab and oppressive.

Natty sees enemies and danger around every tree, but often lack of strong drink has this effect on a man as I mentioned before. Well there is nothing to do but get on with the walking, my feet are so sore.

My clothing is in tatters I see now why these damnable Yankees wear so much leather. Fortunately that buckskin suit that Natty talked me into being swindled for will come in handy and since it shall go onto me expense account who cares. Me feet are somewhat better today, but still very sore.

July 16, 1759: Captive in the Wilderness

Dear Diary,

Today we were captured by savages. That wart Bumpo led us right into a trap (so much for the rumors of backwoodsmen's prowess). They are taking us back to their village. They aren't treating us too bad, in fact they seem to know Bumpo. Natty has told us that these are French Indians and so we had better watch our steps.

He hopes that their priest isn't at the village or we'll be skewered for sure. Just what I need reassurance.

Seems the Jesuits take the inquisition seriously out here.

Natty seems strangely nervous as if he knows something that he won't tell us.

The natives have an uncanny ability to withstand filth. Not so much as a Belgyn, but I understand why they tie them on top of coaches now.

Each day our captors wake up and take a bath by smearing grease on their skins. Some of their clothing is caked with the stuff. Then bare from the waist up they plunge into the trackless wilderness and the grease collects all sorts of dirt, twigs, dust and pollen. We are pushed along between several of them. Natty seems more tight lipped than ever and claims that they have told him nothing about what they plan to do with us.

However the leader seems to talk to him quite animatedly and often claps his arm around him and makes a gesture of grabbing two things in front of himself and squeezing. If I didn't know better I would swear he was squeezing a pair of female breast's. Natty just nods his head, looks a little green and walks slower. Fonebone seems to be taking things in stride, but even the Indians give him a wide berth. They are much puzzled by him and from what I can tell from their gestures they are jealous about something.

July 18, 1759: Captive in the Wilderness

Natty tried to escape today and leave us behind. He claims that if he succeeded he would have sent help, but its hard to say. The Indians beat him rather severely and he seemed to enjoy it rather too much. He seems much happier now that his face is rather scabby and he let drop that the Indian chief was looking for a white man to join his tribe. Seems Natty views this as a fate worse than death and has set me up to be the patsy. I informed him that he didn't get paid until I reached Quebec and this sobered him up to the point that he asked, "What about me saving you, but not Fonebone". Then he mumbled something about the Indians at least admiring the way he could tolerate smells. Something is rotten, besides Fonebone that is. Natty then went off and talked to the chief, I think about Fonebone, but I could not be sure.

Not much time to write as our captors kept us moving. Seems we are reaching our destination and they wish to get on with it.

It seems that Johnson, the local English bigwig, has been marrying Indian princes and princesses to whites in order to bring the local tribes under English control.

It seems that this has become the "thing to do", but this particular tribe has French leanings and was not included. Not to be outdone by his neighbors, he decided to marry his daughter Running Moose to an English white and we just happened to be passing by. Tomorrow we will be introduced to the lass and sometime in the next week or so, she will choose one of us to be her groom. I wonder if I can get enough water to give Fonebone a bath?

July 21, 1759: An Indian Village

It is worse than I have though. From the name Running Moose I expect some ungainliness, I didn't realize she got the name based on her size and weight as well. Both Natty and I have been working on cleaning Fonebone with some vigor. Natty figuring two other candidates is better than one, I guess. Never-the-less the chief seems friendly enough and there is plenty of food Natty (who yesterday talked like a native) seems to have forgotten much of the language and has taken to sign waving while bugging out his eyes in an attempt to communicate. Princess Running Moose did a dance for us this evening. I had thought the term rain dance referred to an rite designed to bring rain, not to the showering of the audience with sweat. I dislike the way she is looking at me, Natty seems to be able to become invisible when he needs to. I wish he was that way in the forest.

My worst fears have come true and the princess has chosen me as her mate. Now I have to go through some bizarre rituals prior to becoming the groom. I did my best to fail all the tests they put me through. They looked the other way and cheated quite despicably.

Natty speaks Indian quite well again and takes pleasure in explaining in some detail what is about to happen to me next. First they bake you in a small hut for several hours and then throw you into the (cold) lake.

Then you have to pass the test of manhood (this I take from Natty is so that I will be part of the tribe before the marriage). This consisted of several tests of endurance and bravery. I played the abject coward in all of them and only was bruised further for my trouble. As if that was not bad enough I have been fitted for my wedding outfit, which consists of a kilt, a shirt coated in dyed red grease, a blanket, and shoes all very decorated with some kind of folded tube. I drew the line most vehemently when they started to pluck my hair, but they did manage to get most of my eyebrows first. I have learned I am to be married in the morning.

This will have to be brief as it has been a long day. The ceremony consisted of unintelligible yells and shouts to drum beats for several hours. Then the bride and I were locked into a ceremonial Wigwam for consummation of the marriage.

She does have a voracious sexual appetite in her favor (I don't think I can go on).

July 24, 1759: An Indian Village

Today Natty took me hunting (with several braves along to make sure we didn't wander too far).

They held Fonebone captive as added insurance against our escape, fools. Now that I am a husband I must support my wife. It was a pretty dismal day, but near the end I did manage to shoot a deer. I didn't kill it mind you and it wandered off before we could catch it but I did graze it. Natty now that things were settling down told me that I was not the first white husband of Princess Running Moose. He had met the other who had told him what was up. The other fellow had scampered off before the wedding, which was why the Indians were so vigilant with us. Natty also began to teach me some of the native tongue so as I could communicate with the natives after he was let go.

I am going to fix him though as I have found out that the princess has a sister Sinking Canoe and I plan to eat with my in-laws tonight.

Last night I managed to convince my father-in-law Sitting Duck that Natty was the man for Sinking Canoe. He was however cagey enough to realize that Natty was more likely to escape than Fonebone or I. I left him in deep thought over what should be done.

As for the Princess she is not such a bad sort. She is eager to please and well ... eager.

July 26, 1759: An Indian Village

Today Natty broached his desire to leave to Sitting Duck. But the chief convinced him that I was not yet ready to take my place in the tribe as a brave. He evidently cited the reports of his men on our hunting trip the other day, for Natty insisted we go hunting again. Natty therefor has intensified his attempt to teach me to speak Indian as well.

At Sitting Ducks suggestion I am doing both worse than ever.

Natty has been invited to eat with the chief each night to report on my progress, but in fact this is to expose him to Sinking Canoe.

Running Moose hardily agrees with our plans for her sister. She knows how much I depend on Natty who she sees as my dear friend. Fonebone seems to have disappeared.

The chief's and I's plan is working wonderfully. Seems Natty could not keep his big mouth shut about how wise a thing this marriage was for the chief to come up with. How it will help his people weather the hard time to come if they are led by whites. All the time Sinking Canoe sat close by and did waitress duty for the supper. Sinking Canoe is not as large as my wife, but then she is several years younger and promises to match or exceed Running Moose when her time comes. She already is not allowed to travel by water (hence her name?).

Finally found out where Fonebone had got to. Seems they locked him in a sweat hut for several days to clean him up. I found this out when I went to inquire as to why they were burning the sweat house down. Fonebone was standing there without a stitch and grinning foolishly. Several of the braves were sniffing at him and walking away with disgusted and pained looks on their faces. You can take the Belgyn out of the swamp, but you can't take the swamp out of the Belgyn. I asked Natty about this when we went hunting and he said that the braves prided themselves on how much hardship they could endure.

Like for example how much filth they could take before needing a steam bath. This actually ranked the braves in the village in sort of a pecking order. He said that most braves thought that I should be at the bottom of the pecking order as I couldn't hunt or track or do much of anything in the way of brave stuff, except that Fonebone was my servant. Since Fonebone could plainly withstand any amount of filth, pain and abuse (to the extent that even the Indians were put out) he was plainly superior to them and that placed me (as Fonebone's master) above them which they saw as a dilemma. So they were trying to clean Fonebone up to the extent that things would fit into place and they wouldn't be so uneasy. He said that once I got to know them I would find that the Injuns were rather clean fellows overall. That the grease kept off mosquitoes and other bugs. Most of them could only go about three days (except when they was in a war party) without steaming themselves clean.

In a war party since there wasn't no steam baths and everyone was trying to out bravado everyone else they didn't bother to try to clean up. Also the women had something to do with it. When the party got back though you should see the steam hut lines.

Took Fonebone hunting with us today as he was looking rather peaked by his treatment and I figured a romp in the woods would do him a world of good. We figured to use him as a beater and then we wouldn't have to run thorough so much undergrowth.

Today the chief sent Natty, Fonebone and I our for a long walk in the forest with several braves. Natty says that he heard rumors that the Jesuit was stopping by for a visit and it would not be bucholic for us to remain in camp. While this is surely true for Natty and me as we are Protestant, it shouldn't have been so for Fonebone who is a papist (although Rome never does admit that Belgym is part of its flock).

So we walked off to the lake and had a camp out. Natty says I am beginning to catch on to hunting and the language and he is hopeful of leaving soon. So am I.

Today Sitting Duck broached to Natty that Sinking Canoe was in love with him and that Natty was going to marry her tomorrow. Natty tried to argue, but that old Indian just said what was good enough for one daughter was good enough for the other. This was especially true, he said, because of all the things Natty had said about my marriage. Natty was kind of green, but I am sticking to him like glue. I am sure he is thinking of a way to escape.

After grousing and complaining about my following him so closely for a day Natty finally broke down and told me his plan for escape. It seems that Natty feels we can make the Lake and escape over it. He noticed where the canoes are kept the other day when we camped by the lake the other day. It should be easy enough to steal one canoe and push the rest out into the lake to throw off the pursuit. He plans to make for Quebec as that is the least likely point for the Indians to search for us. Trick will be to get to the lake unnoticed so we have time to get rid of the rest of the canoes.

Numerous notables of the contenent have recently found new abodes and today we plan to show you all of them.

We'll start with the Czars new residence in sunny Raleigh. Although just a fracation of the space he was used to back in Grodny it does feature walk in torture chambers and an on site Persovka distillery. Does this place have closets? "Not one needs to have more than 3 things in it, but sometimes we do just for convience." claims the lovely Czarina.

This "small" country house is the new residence of Santa Matta. The cannon embrasures and tall tower are perfect often used as persuaders for those who don't know how to vote correctly. Unapproachable on three sides the president feels safe and secure no matter how large the mob. One curiosity though is the fact that the building is connected to the Convent of our Lady of Lacy Undergarments (although the president claims there is no actual door between the two buildings. Kind of a townhouse kind of thing).

This modest dwelling is the newly wed residence of the rulers of Djafra. The local yatch basin does come in handy when the locals get a little bit uppity, but means that there can't be a dungeon for the Princips favorite game find the internal organ. Not to worry a large spacious carriage house on the front allows plenty of space, but it is a little nippy on cold mornings. Hard to see a flogging when the back is steaming.

We needed more room for the cats the Grand Poobah exclaimed. After being forced to live in a tiny 75 room chateau for 6 months while this dream edifice was complete GP as his friends call him is begining to strech out and get things set up in his new home. Already long cavalcades of wagons are emptying the storehouses across the land where the royal stuff was stored during the move. The need for royal Christmas celebrations has delayed the set up of the royal office and certainly has hurt the drilling of the royal cavalry. The GP confides that it will be some time until the dungeon is up to spec, but I'll lower taxes a little so it won't be a problem. If I can just get back to work on matters of state, most of the rest of the issues will be done in their own time.