Lord Dionisio Bacchus arrived on the island shortly after noon. It was a beautiful place, about twenty-one kilometers long running northeast to southwest and more than nine across at its widest point. A dormant volcano rose above the tree line at one end. The white sandy beaches stretched all around and expended several dozen yards inland before meeting the tall palms. The trees grew thicker the further in one went but were cleared in some areas. The clearings held the villages of the native population.
The natives were caramel colored, fit, loosely clothed. They were considered by many to be good looking with raven black hair and matching eyes and had a reputation for being lazy, honest, outgoing, gracious to strangers, and rather free spirited. They made a remarkable drink called Essbin.
For all the charms the island held, it had never been taken by another state. Lord Bacchus had asked around to find the reason but no answers were to be had. He was told of an old ledged that whatever state tried to hold the island great disaster befell them. No one truly believed it anymore, and yet the island remained independent.
Until now that is. With the resent disaster which befell Unibot and the power struggle that gripped the region in the aftermath, the Kingdom of Cardoness had sought to establish itself as a regional power. In anticipation of the coming war Cardoness had sought out a forward base from which they could launch strikes against their enemies and this placed seemed to fit the bill. The island was taken as the first shots were fired between the three vying powers.
Fortunately, reason prevailed, a truce declared and a compromise reached. A new power sharing coalition was formed between Unibot, Belschaft, and Zeppy. For its part, Cardoness was granted a regional monopoly on alcohol with the exception of scotch. Lord Bacchus had been the Kings Minister of Alcohol at the time and had helped to secure these terms.
In the aftermath, the King wanted to withdraw from the newly taken island but the military objected. They held a commanding position and wasn’t eager to give it up. After much debate an arrangement was made. The island would be granted limited independence. They would be a monarchy with complete autonomy. The monopoly would be granted to its government and the newly created title given to its ruler. However, the King Scopulus would appoint the monarch and each successor, and half of all profits made from the sale of alcohol would be sent to Cardoness.
So it was that Lord Bacchus was appointed the first Barlord of Ambrosia Island and Imperial Barman and Minister of Alcohols excluding Scotch for the Region of the Eastern Islands of Dharma.
It was then that he realized that his companion had been saying something. “I’m sorry my dear, what did you say?”
Cervisia, had olive oil skin black hair and a temper that made breakable objects nerves. They had met a few years ago in a bar she was running; he liked her attitude so he hired her. “I said these army boys did one hell of a job setting the place up.”
“That they did.” The place was large, with a bar running down the left side and several tall stools. Behind the bar was every kind of drink imaginable and glasses of every size and shape. The rest of the place had tables set up and in the back was a space cleared and a small stage. The only problem that the Barlord could see was the piece plywood hanging over the door with the word “BAR” painted on it.
“I guess it needs a name.” Cervisia said. “Yeah,” the Barlord replied “but I’m too tired to do it now. Let’s see what kind of ideas our patrons have.”
Walingpole wandered down the beach, somewhat dejected. Declaring himself Emperor had been really really easy. Finding something to occupy himself was proving somewhat harder. Most of his fellow Council Members we're now treating him like something distasteful that you nevertheless had to deal with, and the region had so far been quite unwilling to submit to his rule, no matter how politely he ordered them to do so. His so called Co-Emperor had deserted him, and his own Parliament had made it quite clear that no officers would be made available to him to force anyone to comply.
So he found himself here, on some god forsaken island, looking for some solitude. It was a nice beach, much nicer than the Belschaft. But then that wet little Isle was only geographically in the region in the loosest of terms; it was Easterly located, and it was an island. Just quite a bit further north than most. The political association was desirable though, and they were at least in the same longitude.
As he walked aimlessly along the beach, he began to hear in the distance the sounds of music. Part of him wanted to turn back, return to the Zeppelin and find another isolated and supposedly abandoned desert Island, as this one clearly wasn't. But.... that was effort. Hopefully whoever was playing the music wouldn't bother him too much.
As he neared the source of the music, he became convinced he must have gone quite mad. Located on the shore, in a sheltered cove of this unpopulated island, was a bar. A mirage, surely? But no, as he drew closer it proved quite real. Who'd have thought it? Settling into a seat where he could see the sunset reflected on the water, he turned to to the barman, and smiled. Of all the people to find here.... and thus he spoke.
"A scotch Dionisio. And make it a big one."