I say, chaps! This newsletter will be published a few times before the battle, to encourage you to make the most of your pregame internet link by establishing a little team spirit. For example, you might want to introduce yourself, note who you are playing, and mention why you chose the nationality you did. And feel free to get into your role by role playing. You can write your own opinions, press releases, character profiles, etc. Thanks to onelist, they then get sent to the whole team.

I'll be chiming in with some Napoleonic trivia, related modern hobby notes, and who knows--maybe a subtle playing clue here and there sent indirectly from the Divine Power Himself (Game Master Fred).

Congratulations to the British for, well, being BRITISH. God save the King!

Why I'm English

Well old boy, of course I was born that way. Elsdon is in fact a small town in the north of England outside of York, that fine old Viking town. Here's a genuine medieval ballad (no kidding) celebrating our traditional hospitality (translated into modern English):

An Old Northumbrian Ballad

Have you ever been to Elsdon?
The world's unfinished neck
It stands among the hungry hills,
And wears a frozen lake.

The Elsdon folk like dying stags
At every stranger stare;
And neither broth or curlew eggs
Ye'll get for supper there.

The night I came to Elsdon;
So tired after dark
Having travelled many a lonesome mile
Wet through my very sark.

My legs were working fit to break,
And empty was my kite
But neither love nor money could
Get either bed or bite.

At every house in Elsdon
I told my desp'rite need
But never a corner had the churls
Where I might lay my head;

So at the public house I lingered
Till I was sent away,
Then to a stable loft I crept
And coiled among the hay.

Should the Frenchers land in Elsdon
Just give them Elsdon fare;
By George! They'll sharply hook it back,
And never come no mair.

For a hungry hole like Elsdon I never yet did see;
And I won't go back to Elsdon,
Less the Devil carries me.

All remains quiet here on the Continent, as the French stay busy hard at work on their defensive border fortifications. With all Europe in arms against them, it is to be expected that they will make France one gigantic fortress.

Does "Old Bonesapart" recall the offensive spirit of the Italian campaign which made his reputation? I doubt it. He is old and fat, and goes to the theatre as the world turns against him once more. What is in his mind, as he waits for our mobilization?

Our army and that of the Prussians relax in relative luxury, spread out over about 135 miles, until the time is right to start their campaign.

Cheery-O!
Elsdon the Third