Assault: Move all forces to East Pork, invade. If there is at least one surviving (preferably non-damaged) unit left afterwards, pull it back to Central Pork. To confirm: 4 Light Macepigs, 4 Spearpigs, 1 Engineer to East Pork.
"As you can see, honoured assessor, our primary export is cotton, now that the barbaric practice of exporting pork, bacon and associated products has come to its end. Cotton, of course, is still a worthy export and one we have high hopes for. These lands here represent the majority of our taxable export."
The weak, scrawny human glanced around the sparse fields of cotton, petering out before open untilled fields on one side and heavily worked and productive plantations closer to Boar's Peak itself. The town rose up on the isolated hillock, built to overlook the surrounds.
"What about all of those fields there?" asked the assessor. "They seem more productive than a meagre twenty five pounds of export a year."
Princess Gruntsnuffle glanced back, flanked by her entourage of warthog-man guards.
"Those are crown lands and thus exempt from taxation. While there is some produce in the area, it has long been held by the ancestral rights of the nobility that personal land is beyond the grasp of the imperial taxman, as honour for their service to the Empire."
"What, all of this? You can hardly expect me to believe that the majority of your fields come under noble privilege."
"On the contrary, esteemed assessor, this represents but a fifth of the land in Boar's Peak. All of this belongs not to the Crown, but the people." Gruntsnuffle gestured with one trotter at the wide, wide expanse of fallow land.
"That land is quite unworked. Besides, even accounting for these lands outside of your so-called 'noble estate', I can hardly believe with all of these worked plantations you only produce twenty five pounds in a year."
Gruntsnuffle stopped, along with her entourage, and stared the assessor dead in the eye.
"What plantations?" The assessor raised an eyebrow.
"The ones right over there."
"There are no plantations recorded in the Imperial Census for Central Pork. Merely a fallow production of twenty five pounds in cotton, outside of noble privilege."
"But they're right there! I can see them!"
"It's a funny thing, what you can and can't see. Tell me, why do we pay tax?"
"Because the Empire demands it, that's why!" The assessor was starting to lose his cool, but Gruntsnuffle maintained a calm, collected tone.
"We pay tax, according to the Imperial Charter, in exchange for the 'provision of military and economic support'. You tell me you can see fields, esteemed assessor. Tell me, do you see roads? Do you see watchtowers? Do you see Imperial garrisons?" Her voice lowered dangerously. "Do you see any vestige of Imperial support, as promised in its charter?"
The assessor looked at the phalanx of spear-armed warthog-men flanking the Princess.
"What about these me- pigs? They're imperial soldiers."
"On the contrary, esteemed assessor. These are my personal guard. Part of 'noble privilege', if you will. So I shall tell you what, esteemed assessor. If you can produce the roads, defences and protection that should exist, but don't according to the last Imperial Census, I might be able to find you some fields. But until that happens, I think we can all agree not to doubt the word of the Imperial census takers. Esteemed assessor."
Cite the legal claim that personal, ancestral aristocratic land is exempt from tax and that tax revenues are based off the last census taken 8 years ago (prior to the agricultural restoration). Given that this raises a figure of £25 p.a. (the pure Cotton income) the Principality of Pork is quite happy to pay 20% of that figure for the last five years - or
. This is, of course, perfectly in line with Boar's Peak's earnings as recorded in the last census.
Spend up to £75 on hiring top-notch tax lawyers to push this through, for a total expense of
.
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Topic: (4X) Fiefdoms at War - Turn 10 (Read 33278 times)