Ordis Regional Recruitment Thread - MT/Human-Only/CLOSED

[Lyutsa]

Hmmmm...

As it stands, I think you could do with more description. Rather than using an image, describe the building and how it looks. You also don't need to say that the Parlaiment Building is in Lyutsa; this is implied, and so doesn't need to be mentioned. Nor does Carlowitz's title, since that can be revealed in some other manner that is more natural.

For now I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no.

Fair enough. I'm sorry for being a burden.

Thanks for your time, anyways.

[Kolintha]

Hmmmm...

As it stands, I think you could do with more description. Rather than using an image, describe the building and how it looks. You also don't need to say that the Parlaiment Building is in Lyutsa; this is implied, and so doesn't need to be mentioned. Nor does Carlowitz's title, since that can be revealed in some other manner that is more natural.

For now I'm afraid I'm going to have to say no.

Fair enough. I'm sorry for being a burden.

Thanks for your time, anyways.

Not at all. Good luck on your NS endeavours.

[Virshia]

Official Request of Membership to the Region of Ordis
National Information
Full Name of Nation: The Federation of Virshia
Government Type: Authoritarian Stratocracy
RP Population: 87 milllion
Culture/Ethnicity: Irish

Personal Information
Previous Regions: Realism and RP, Austritaria, The Western Isles, Avarenth, The Wartorn lands of Calradia, The Land of Kings and Emperors, Anzia, The Coalition of Governments, The Confederation, Pax Britannia, The Western Colonies, Glorious Nations of Iwaku, and many others I can't remember.
RP/Writing Samples:

"Hmm...." Klaus von Kellerman, the 32 year old Kaiser of Beruka, paced the throne room, looking very thoughtful as his cloak, black as the night, swished at his heels. Himiko Minase, the young purple haired Leader of the Military Police, was in her standard Trenchcoat, black with white stripes down the front and a black beret. In this particular meeting, they were discussing The Main Berukan Fleet, and the orders they were about to give them. Outside, the night had set in, banishing the beautiful sunset the Council had seen two hours earlier.

"My Liege, if I may," Himiko began, continuing when he motioned for her to continue. "I can't see the merit of this. The Central Sea is over a Thousand miles away. What's the point of ordering the 3rd Fleet there? Not to mention the Diplomatic Nature of it. Newter has the Percival Channel locked down at their end, and Menatolo will want to know why one of our fleets entered their waters! How are we supposed to send Twenty ships---"

"One ship, actually. The Dinsmark-class ship Ishimura will do." Klaus said, sitting back on his Throne. Himiko looked miffed, before before continuing her point. "It doesn't make a difference if it's one ship or twenty, a Corvette or a Waldreich class Carrier, they'll still lock us down! Also, what the hell do you want sent there so badly!?" she slammed her fist down on the circular council table, then wincing as pain shot up her arm. "The Ishimura is one of the most valuable ships for morale in our fleet! Why send it to an ocean where the only people there are our allies and a nation ruled by a wrestler.....Does this have something to do with that Pirate Asad?" Klaus nodded. "Why does this concern us? Why can't we let El Pene deal with it?"

"We send the Ishimura...because I have a feeling a lot of other nations are going to be sending their ships as well. Four Nuclear Missiles, Himiko. Does that mean anything to you?" Himiko paled. "I want at least ONE of those missiles. I'll deal with Menatolo and Newter. You get on the Ishimura. I've already assigned a Platoon from the Edelweiss Legion to accompany you. As of now, You're Agent Minase. Don't worry, your Identity is only known to Me and the Council. They won't know who you are." A trembling Himiko saluted, and exited.

Alteria, Two Hours later

"So, the Berukans are moving for Menatolo, are they?" The Alterian bar was filled with Cigarette smoke, most of it coming from the Former Captain of the Guards, the black haired Radi Jaeger, sitting behind the counter. It wasn't he who had spoke, however. It was the only other occupant of the room, the light-grey haired 15 year old girl sitting in a chair who had said it. Her hair went down to a few inches below her shoulders beyond her and her Sapphire-coloured eyes gleamed. Her clothes were ragged, but she still held the pride of the Last Empress of the Richelieu Family, deposed by Klaus Von Kellerman two years earlier. Aurelia Richelieu brushed some of her errant hair out of her eyes and leaned forward in the chair. "I can't imagine why they would send just one ship to a region known for its Pirates. What did Kessler say?"

The Captain dropped a cigarette and extinguished it with his boot. "He said that the Ishimura is to head for Menatolo immediately. Colonel Himiko Minase left the room looking sick, and actually was sick in her bathroom a few minutes later. Kessler also said that he has sources in the Central Sea who claim that the Pirate King Asad has possession of nuclear missiles--" He was cut off by Aurelia bursting into laughter.

"A drunkard like him? I know his reputation, but he gets into fistfights and swear in every sentence!" Aurelia cackled, wiping a tear from her eye. "What could have Dear Von Kellerman so worked up that he sends one of his Council Members to make sure it gets done? A nuclear Missile isn't worth that much. Every country on the planet would declare war on you the moment you fired. This has to be about something more than the Missile. Where's the Ishimura, anyway?"

"Schwannburg." The Captain said, leaning back in his chair.

Aurelia moved her head to look him in the eye, and her small grin and the sinister gleam in her eyes made the man of 35 shiver. "Feel like a voyage, Captain Jaeger? "



Two days later, Schwannburg was just waking up, the sun was peaking out from behind the mountains and casting a golden shine on the land of Beruka. Unfortunately, there were some who didn't appreciate this.

"I swear man, a voyage like this? Total bullshit. I was just about to go on Two Weeks leave!" A crew member of the Ishimura said to his friend as they exited a bar near the dock, after a night of seeing very erotic things being done to them. The adjusted their Grey Uniforms and Black Caps of the Berukan Navy and moved towards the harbour. The street was very run down, with garbage and potholes everywhere. The street was absolutely Filthy.

"So you keep saying," his friend, a few years and several inches shorter than him, replied. "I have said it before, and i'll say it again. I never listen to you bemoaning about your luck, Erich. We got lucky back there, you should be happy by now!"

"Nothing would make me luckier than to see that Minase chick. For an Alterian, she's quite the looker." The first crewman commented, ignoring the look of horror on his friend's face.

"You Idiot! You want to end up in a dungeon? You do not say ANYTHING about an agent of the Military Police! She. Would. END YOU!" The second crewman grabbed Erich's shoulders and pulled them down so they were both crouching. "Shut up, and go back to the harbour. We don't want any trouble befalling us."

"Too late." An amused voice chirruped. The two Crewmen turned to see two shoes, one small, the other huge, aiming directly for their faces.

"That went well. We got Uniforms that were just our sizes." Aurelia commented as they deposited the two unconscious crew members, clad only in their underwear, on the doorstep of a brothel. The women outside chuckled and waved goodbye to the two faux-crewmen as they headed to the Ishimura.

"Captain, check your ID. What's your job?" Aurelia ordered as she checked hers. "Mine's a Marine. You?"

Radi Jaeger checked his. "Also a Marine. I should pass the part easily." It was true. Radi was tanned to the point of sunburned and had a very rugged build. Aurelia, however, looked like a snowflake. Her skin was very pale and her hair was only a few shades darker." "Your Highness, on the other hand..." He was interrupted by a wave. "Dispense with the formalities, Sergeant. As of now, I'm Private Alicia Richtofen, and you are Sergeant Radi Altmann. Understood?"

"Yes, Private." Sergeant Altmann said as they approached the Ishimura. The Third ship of the Dinsmark class, It cold hold 210 crewmembers, plus 20 extra. 16 Marines, plus Himiko Minase, were on board. They were Marines 17 and 18.

A crew member, a Lieutenant, stopped them as they boarded the stern. "Hold on. Erich Steiner and Kurt Amsel were the ones to arrive. Not you." He looked at them suspiciously. Both of them tried to ignore the fact that a scar covered most of his face, and had damaged an Eye.

"Did you not get the message, Lieutenant?" Radi asked. "Private Amsel and Sergeant Steiner were injured last night. HQ sent us to be their replacement."

The Officer looked less suspicious. "Ok, that checks out, but i'll be checking with HQ on that. Welcome aboard." He walked off, and the two looked at the dock as the ship started to set sail. 45 minutes later, they passed the hull of a Gigantic ship, one that dwarfed the Waldreich Carriers by far.

"What the hell..." Radi muttered. "IS that?" Aurelia finished. They were both awed by the creation when a voice started them. "It's the hull of a Kirishima type Super Battleship. They turned and saw Himiko Minase looking at the hull as well. Himiko was still in her Black and white Trenchcoat, but had switched her beret for a Navy Cap. "Displaces over 135,000 tons. Klaus wouldn't admit it, but he has the Alterians to thank for it. It was their design. She turned her head to look at the two. " I don't believe I saw you earlier. What are your names?"

"Radi Altmann." Radi said.

"Alicia Richtofen." Aurelia added. Himiko smiled. "Nice to meet you two. Sorry to leave, but I have a meeting with the captain. Excuse me. She turned and moved past them.

Aurelia turned even paler when Himiko whispered to her as she passed. "Nice try, Empress."

Why do you want to join this region?: Incessant boredom and hopes for a fun region.
Any trouble with the moderators?: Two warnings, both accidental on my part.

Misc.
Anything else?: I have a weakness for using Anime character images for my RP characters. I'm also a huge Call of Duty Fanboy.

[Kolintha]

I personally quite enjoyed the writing sample. Good job!

As for anime characters; that's just fine. I don't use 'em for my main nation personally because inconsistency between art styles grinds my gears, but some people like to use 'em.

Call of Duty fanboyism isn't something that'll stop you getting into the region, providing you understand that those games are not an even remotely accurate portrayal of war, and really shouldn't be used as a reference point for what is considered realistic.

One thing I would like to ask is for more information on those two warnings. Just to be safe. I trust it probably wasn't anything major. You can TG me if you wish.

[Khornera]

Official Request of Membership to the Region of Ordis
National Information
Full Name of Nation: The Federation of Virshia
Government Type: Authoritarian Stratocracy
RP Population: 87 milllion
Culture/Ethnicity: Irish

Personal Information
Previous Regions: Realism and RP, Austritaria, The Western Isles, Avarenth, The Wartorn lands of Calradia, The Land of Kings and Emperors, Anzia, The Coalition of Governments, The Confederation, Pax Britannia, The Western Colonies, Glorious Nations of Iwaku, and many others I can't remember.
RP/Writing Samples:

"Hmm...." Klaus von Kellerman, the 32 year old Kaiser of Beruka, paced the throne room, looking very thoughtful as his cloak, black as the night, swished at his heels. Himiko Minase, the young purple haired Leader of the Military Police, was in her standard Trenchcoat, black with white stripes down the front and a black beret. In this particular meeting, they were discussing The Main Berukan Fleet, and the orders they were about to give them. Outside, the night had set in, banishing the beautiful sunset the Council had seen two hours earlier.

"My Liege, if I may," Himiko began, continuing when he motioned for her to continue. "I can't see the merit of this. The Central Sea is over a Thousand miles away. What's the point of ordering the 3rd Fleet there? Not to mention the Diplomatic Nature of it. Newter has the Percival Channel locked down at their end, and Menatolo will want to know why one of our fleets entered their waters! How are we supposed to send Twenty ships---"

"One ship, actually. The Dinsmark-class ship Ishimura will do." Klaus said, sitting back on his Throne. Himiko looked miffed, before before continuing her point. "It doesn't make a difference if it's one ship or twenty, a Corvette or a Waldreich class Carrier, they'll still lock us down! Also, what the hell do you want sent there so badly!?" she slammed her fist down on the circular council table, then wincing as pain shot up her arm. "The Ishimura is one of the most valuable ships for morale in our fleet! Why send it to an ocean where the only people there are our allies and a nation ruled by a wrestler.....Does this have something to do with that Pirate Asad?" Klaus nodded. "Why does this concern us? Why can't we let El Pene deal with it?"

"We send the Ishimura...because I have a feeling a lot of other nations are going to be sending their ships as well. Four Nuclear Missiles, Himiko. Does that mean anything to you?" Himiko paled. "I want at least ONE of those missiles. I'll deal with Menatolo and Newter. You get on the Ishimura. I've already assigned a Platoon from the Edelweiss Legion to accompany you. As of now, You're Agent Minase. Don't worry, your Identity is only known to Me and the Council. They won't know who you are." A trembling Himiko saluted, and exited.

Alteria, Two Hours later

"So, the Berukans are moving for Menatolo, are they?" The Alterian bar was filled with Cigarette smoke, most of it coming from the Former Captain of the Guards, the black haired Radi Jaeger, sitting behind the counter. It wasn't he who had spoke, however. It was the only other occupant of the room, the light-grey haired 15 year old girl sitting in a chair who had said it. Her hair went down to a few inches below her shoulders beyond her and her Sapphire-coloured eyes gleamed. Her clothes were ragged, but she still held the pride of the Last Empress of the Richelieu Family, deposed by Klaus Von Kellerman two years earlier. Aurelia Richelieu brushed some of her errant hair out of her eyes and leaned forward in the chair. "I can't imagine why they would send just one ship to a region known for its Pirates. What did Kessler say?"

The Captain dropped a cigarette and extinguished it with his boot. "He said that the Ishimura is to head for Menatolo immediately. Colonel Himiko Minase left the room looking sick, and actually was sick in her bathroom a few minutes later. Kessler also said that he has sources in the Central Sea who claim that the Pirate King Asad has possession of nuclear missiles--" He was cut off by Aurelia bursting into laughter.

"A drunkard like him? I know his reputation, but he gets into fistfights and swear in every sentence!" Aurelia cackled, wiping a tear from her eye. "What could have Dear Von Kellerman so worked up that he sends one of his Council Members to make sure it gets done? A nuclear Missile isn't worth that much. Every country on the planet would declare war on you the moment you fired. This has to be about something more than the Missile. Where's the Ishimura, anyway?"

"Schwannburg." The Captain said, leaning back in his chair.

Aurelia moved her head to look him in the eye, and her small grin and the sinister gleam in her eyes made the man of 35 shiver. "Feel like a voyage, Captain Jaeger? "



Two days later, Schwannburg was just waking up, the sun was peaking out from behind the mountains and casting a golden shine on the land of Beruka. Unfortunately, there were some who didn't appreciate this.

"I swear man, a voyage like this? Total bullshit. I was just about to go on Two Weeks leave!" A crew member of the Ishimura said to his friend as they exited a bar near the dock, after a night of seeing very erotic things being done to them. The adjusted their Grey Uniforms and Black Caps of the Berukan Navy and moved towards the harbour. The street was very run down, with garbage and potholes everywhere. The street was absolutely Filthy.

"So you keep saying," his friend, a few years and several inches shorter than him, replied. "I have said it before, and i'll say it again. I never listen to you bemoaning about your luck, Erich. We got lucky back there, you should be happy by now!"

"Nothing would make me luckier than to see that Minase chick. For an Alterian, she's quite the looker." The first crewman commented, ignoring the look of horror on his friend's face.

"You Idiot! You want to end up in a dungeon? You do not say ANYTHING about an agent of the Military Police! She. Would. END YOU!" The second crewman grabbed Erich's shoulders and pulled them down so they were both crouching. "Shut up, and go back to the harbour. We don't want any trouble befalling us."

"Too late." An amused voice chirruped. The two Crewmen turned to see two shoes, one small, the other huge, aiming directly for their faces.

"That went well. We got Uniforms that were just our sizes." Aurelia commented as they deposited the two unconscious crew members, clad only in their underwear, on the doorstep of a brothel. The women outside chuckled and waved goodbye to the two faux-crewmen as they headed to the Ishimura.

"Captain, check your ID. What's your job?" Aurelia ordered as she checked hers. "Mine's a Marine. You?"

Radi Jaeger checked his. "Also a Marine. I should pass the part easily." It was true. Radi was tanned to the point of sunburned and had a very rugged build. Aurelia, however, looked like a snowflake. Her skin was very pale and her hair was only a few shades darker." "Your Highness, on the other hand..." He was interrupted by a wave. "Dispense with the formalities, Sergeant. As of now, I'm Private Alicia Richtofen, and you are Sergeant Radi Altmann. Understood?"

"Yes, Private." Sergeant Altmann said as they approached the Ishimura. The Third ship of the Dinsmark class, It cold hold 210 crewmembers, plus 20 extra. 16 Marines, plus Himiko Minase, were on board. They were Marines 17 and 18.

A crew member, a Lieutenant, stopped them as they boarded the stern. "Hold on. Erich Steiner and Kurt Amsel were the ones to arrive. Not you." He looked at them suspiciously. Both of them tried to ignore the fact that a scar covered most of his face, and had damaged an Eye.

"Did you not get the message, Lieutenant?" Radi asked. "Private Amsel and Sergeant Steiner were injured last night. HQ sent us to be their replacement."

The Officer looked less suspicious. "Ok, that checks out, but i'll be checking with HQ on that. Welcome aboard." He walked off, and the two looked at the dock as the ship started to set sail. 45 minutes later, they passed the hull of a Gigantic ship, one that dwarfed the Waldreich Carriers by far.

"What the hell..." Radi muttered. "IS that?" Aurelia finished. They were both awed by the creation when a voice started them. "It's the hull of a Kirishima type Super Battleship. They turned and saw Himiko Minase looking at the hull as well. Himiko was still in her Black and white Trenchcoat, but had switched her beret for a Navy Cap. "Displaces over 135,000 tons. Klaus wouldn't admit it, but he has the Alterians to thank for it. It was their design. She turned her head to look at the two. " I don't believe I saw you earlier. What are your names?"

"Radi Altmann." Radi said.

"Alicia Richtofen." Aurelia added. Himiko smiled. "Nice to meet you two. Sorry to leave, but I have a meeting with the captain. Excuse me. She turned and moved past them.

Aurelia turned even paler when Himiko whispered to her as she passed. "Nice try, Empress."

Why do you want to join this region?: Incessant boredom and hopes for a fun region.
Any trouble with the moderators?: Two warnings, both accidental on my part.

Misc.
Anything else?: I have a weakness for using Anime character images for my RP characters. I'm also a huge Call of Duty Fanboy.

Well, you've got my support. Quite good sample. Plus, using anime characters wins you a few easy points with me.

[Kolintha]

Alright, I say aye.

[Nerotysia]

Virshia, as long as you don't RP like a CoD fanboy,

YOU ARE HEREBY APPROVED BY THE NEROTYSIAN PROLETARIAT

[Lyutsa]

OOC: I revised my roleplay sample, as discussed via telegram with Kolintha. Time to give this another go. I really just needed some pointers on how roleplay in this particular community works.

Sajószkés, Lyutsa
1 November 2015; 14:03

Jaromer Carlowitz leans back in his seat, the chair emitting a small creak. He gazed absentmindedly at the other officials in the room, his mind completely off-topic. He had been listening to Radik Czjzek for nearly half an hour, and Carlowitz himself was starting to become almost annoyed. The austere Lyutsan Chancellor, bent on honor and strength, had been rambling on about the various anti-socialism riots across Sajószkés, and how he believed all of the politicians in the room should be doing all in their power to stop them. He had even interrupted Carlowitz's few days' holiday from his work, urging him to attend this emergency meeting at the Lyutsan Parliament Building. Carlowitz looked around at his fellow Ministers, wondering quietly to himself what their thoughts on the situation were. Carlowitz himself believed that protests, if they were non-violent, were completely acceptable. That people should have the right to show what they want from their government. As Carlowitz shook his head, beginning to listen to the Chancellor once more and bringing himself out of his musings, he knew the Chancellor's opinion differed.

"We, the Lyutsan government, the ones selected to manage this great nation, we are in control, are we not?" Radik had said. "Now, why do we let the rebels disgrace our leadership and disrespect his authority?" His pale blue eyes scanned the various government officials in the room, before fixing themselves on Carlowitz. "Carlowitz."

"Sir?" Carlowitz answered.

"You are the minister of Domestic Security, are you not?"

Carlowitz gave an affirmative nod. "Yes, I am, Chancellor."

"Then why is it you have not dealt with the rebels?" Radik says, lofting an eyebrow.

Carlowitz tilted his head. "It is my belief, Chancellor, that citizens of this nation should have the right to display what they want. So long as they remain peaceful, they are of no concern."

Radik's expression hardened, and Carlowitz could feel the eyes of the other Ministers on him. "Minister," he said, gritting his teeth, "these people want to overthrow our regime, our way of life. How is that 'of no concern'?"

"They are not taking the lives of our soldiers, nor are they toppling our banners. Chancellor, they are only displaying their belief," Carlowitz says, though he knew he should most likely not be challenging the remarkably hard-headed and short-tempered chancellor.

Radik's eyes seemed to blaze. "Minister Carlowitz, they want to overthrow us. You need to be doing your job, and you must do it immediately."

"My job is to do what is best for the civilians," said Carlowitz, though he knew exactly when he said it he had made a mistake.

Radik was fuming, and it was clear he wanted anything to keep him and the Social Democratic Party in power over Lyutsa. "You will put these riots to rest, and you will do it immediately!" he boomed.

Carlowitz flexed his jaw muscules, tense. "Your wish is my command," said Carlowitz, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I shall take my leave. Good day, Chancellor," he bit out, frustrated his own views had been tossed aside by the Chancellor. He abruptly stood, his gray eyes furious. He grabbed his black, leather briefcase before walking quickly out of the conference room.

He quickly strode along the intricately decorated interior halls of the Parliament Building, heading for the exit. It was not long, however, before his aid caught up.

"Orvo," said Carlowitz, "now is not the time."

The young, fidgety man ran a hand through his short, black hair. "But sir, what if he is angry at us? You just left!" he said, his already high voice cracking with stress.

They turned a corner, nearing the lobby of the Parliament building now. Luckily they were on the first floor; Carlowitz wanted to leave as soon as possible. "I only am going to do what he has asked of me," said Carlowitz, his own deep voice significantly contrasting the other man's.

Orvo shook his head, looking at the hardwood floors as they entered the expansive lobby, modern pieces of furniture and a small cafe seen in Carlowitz's peripheral vision as he approached the glass doors of the building. They slid open for him and Orvo, and they stepped into the chilly fall air. His guards, clad in black and wearing rather conspicuous black sunglasses, waited outside. They took up positions around him and Orvo as they made the walk to Carlowitz's vehicle.

"What are you going to do?" says Orvo, nervously.

Carlowitz looked down at him. "We must do as he asks. The protests must be put to an end."

Orvo falls silent, the wind blowing the brittle autumn leaves across the sidewalk and the guard's uniform steps the only noise around. The quiet gave Carlowitz time to cool down; he for once was thankful that the Parliament Building was built separate the bustling city streets, in a private government district.

"The protests must be put to an end," he repeats, taking his cellular phone from his pocket. "I must fulfill my duty."

The two are silent for a moment more, before Carlowitz relays the orders to detain any protesters to the Police Chief of the capital.

[Kolintha]

Massive improvement with that sample there! I personally approve!

[Khornera]

Massive improvement, you've got my support.

[Nerotysia]

Ooh, excellent work, Lyutsa. As Ordis' self-proclaimed God-King-Commissar of politicking, I look forward to politicking with you.

YOU ARE HEREBY APPROVED BY THE NEROTYSIAN PROLETARIAT

[Kolintha]

---

[Kolintha]

Bump

[Kolintha]

Bump

[Solstrania]

Official Request of Membership to the Region of Ordis
National Information
Full Name of Nation: The Grand Emirate of Solstrania (may change)
Government Type: Absolute theocratical monarchy, will become a socialist state
RP Population: Uhh… 99,999,999? Can I request 113 million, or is it completely off-limits?
Culture/Ethnicity: Based on a mixture of primarily Arab-Iberoamerican culture, with some outside influences

Personal Information
Previous Regions: Dar al Salaam, IUWS, Escar and Zemlya (with primary nation Nuevo Meshiko)
RP/Writing Samples:
Solstrania: [excerpts from RP on Zemlya RMB]

LIBERTAD POR LA-SPADA
(FREEDOM BY THE SWORD)
Solstrán, Emirate of Solstrania
Palace of the Sun
Tuesday, June 23rd, 2015
22:46 SDST


He slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind him, and leaned his back to it, panting. His chest heaved--he was gasping for breath--yet he tried to make as little noise as possible. This time they would kill him for sure.

He stood there, staring into the darkness ahead, not quite believing his present predicament. It was impossible. He must be dreaming.
His wide eyes stared at nothing. He dared not move an centimeter. He took long, deep breaths, trying to quiet down his wildly-thumping heart. He was sure they would hear it, anytime now, and come for him, curved swords aloft. He tried not to think of his own shiny blade, handle grasped tightly in his sweaty right hand. It felt heavier than he ever remembered.

He tried to think of everything that led him here, and yet not a single thing that came to his head justified this insanity.

The camera wobbles. Perhaps the cameraman was falling asleep. The scene refocuses on a bright August afternoon. Plaza del-Sol comes into view. But what a view it is. The view from one of the Palace's countless balconies.

A man speaking. A joyful voice. His name. Lwis-Ahmed Tariq. New Prince of Solstrán. Heir to the Throne. A week old.

A sweeter voice. Mildly annoyed. His nine-year-old sister, Umnia-Sofí.

"...don't understand why he gets to be the prince, I'm older!"

A glare from her mother, "That's enough, Umnia! Don't let your father hear you talking like that..."

A five-year-old Ahdem running to his sister's arms.

"But I don't wanna go!" he wails.
"There, there, Ahdi," his sister coos. "It will only be for a little while. You'll be back with us in no time--"
"No, I won't!" Ahdem yells in a very congested voice, "I heard Umi an' Babi talkin' aboud it. Id's gonna be years and years an..." he takes rapid, shallow breaths.
"It will be over before you know it. Really. All the boys love training! You know how your cousins are always going on about how they can't wait to go back--"
"My cousins don't laig me!" He sobs angrily. "An--and--" he stops long enough to wipe his runny nose on his sleeve, "and I hade bein' da Brince!"

The memory of his sister's mortified face was dissolved by the muffled sound of footsteps in the distance. He pressed his left ear against the door, trembling slightly. His grip on the sword's handle tightened even more.

They did not seem to be coming nearer.

He was now reasonably certain he would not be found. At least not here. But he could not remain here forever.

He had never mentioned this particular passage to anyone else, and he was convinced he was the only living soul who knew of its existence. In all his years exploring the Palace's depths, there was no sign or mention of this ancient stone tunnel. It must have been built and forgotten about centuries ago.

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour before Ahdem dared to move again. The heat was stifling. He set the steel blade aside and proceeded to disrobe. His princely garments would be of no use to him outside these walls, not if he wanted to blend in, in any case. It would be hard enough without them; there were not many common folk left in the city with skin as fair as his. The Malub and the Arburi had long since become almost one in Solstrán.
All except for the upper classes, of course, which prided themselves on the lightness of their eyes and the paleness of their skin, and did everything they could to keep the "purity" of their blood intact.

He moved as quickly and as quietly as he could in the darkness. He located a backpack that he kept for an occasion such as this (not that he ever thought he would actually need it), and tugged at its contents. A flashlight. Ordinary clothes. Some packaged food. A large bottle of water. A lighter. A mobile phone he had acquired from a shadowy guy on the street (he certainly wouldn't dare bring along his own). A couple of pocket-sized books. A few other objects, some with sentimental value. Something cold and heavy. His stomach churned. It was a gun.

Flicking on the flashlight, he pulled the clothes on, stopping only to remove his headgear. He undid his turban and stared at the fabric a long while. Their jewels glistened happily in the glare. He had an urge to throw it upon the ground, to stomp on it a thousand times. To shoot it. To tear it into shreds. But he thought better of it, and stuffed it in the sack. There might be some use for it later on.

Feeling anything but ordinary, he finished buttoning up his ordinary shirt, turned off his ordinary flashlight, picked up his not-so-ordinary sword and made his way deeper into the not-at-all-ordinary tunnel. He had no need for light here. He could navigate the passage blindfolded.

His footsteps echoed in the musty space. As he walked, more images from his past haunted his mind.

Golden platters shone and their utensils tinkled. The glassware was spotless, and the table was large. Enormous, in fact, for the four people currently sitting at it. Yet there was enough food on it to feed a small village.

His father asks what he is reading. Ten-year-old Ahdem looks up from an aged-looking book.
"The Legend of Meshiko, father."
"Huh. A place where everyone's happy and everything's perfect all of the time? A bit of bloody nonsense if you ask me."
"But it's not all perfect, father. These people are tired of their leaders. They want something called a 'revolution'. They call it a New Meshiko."
"What? Whoever heard of such a thing?" His father looked genuinely alarmed now.
"What's a revolution, father?"
"I know the story of Meshiko well. There's no such happening."
"But it's right here."
"It isn't!"
"But it is! The people are unhappy. They suffer, and the leaders won't listen. The leaders have everything." In a smaller voice, "Kind of like us."
"THERE'S NO SUCH THING!" his father yells, lunging for the book. The chandelier above them shook. "Take your mind off this… this شيت! There's no such thing as 'Meshiko', no such thing as a 'revolution'!"
He beckons the closest servant, and hisses to his ear, "I want every copy of every book with the words ‘Nuevo’ and ‘Meshiko’ in them piled up and burned. I won’t have my son reading such بولشت..."

A trip to the Lower Provinces. His father had decided it was time to show him what life was like outside the Palace walls. Even for a ten-year-old like him, one point was stunningly clear. Life was not a tall tale. He was safe in the royal vehicle’s air-conditioned interior, yet the series of facial expressions on every passersby was exactly the same. First amazement, then reproach, then perhaps, loathing.

If his father wanted him to be grateful for something, he couldn’t understand what.

Once inside the city’s qazaba, the large fortification that served as the provincial governor’s residence, as well as housing for those who worked for him, he marveled at the lush greenery in the middle of this desert. It was like being back home. Except for the commoners who lived within the fortified walls.

There were children, too, playing outside the garden walls. The guards turned a blind eye as he spoke to them through the gates. They marveled at the green robes he wore, and the jewels on his turban, and his white skin and pale-blue eyes. He, on the other hand, found their dark eyes and tan brown skin fascinating. They spoke in a manner he had not heard before, using many words altogether unfamiliar to him. Yet they made themselves understood. He wished he could speak like them.

One boy pointed at something gleaming on Ahdem’s chest. He looked down at it. A pentagram hanging on a golden chain, which he carried everywhere he went. Something he usually tucked inside his robes when his father was around. He was sure to know it was the symbol of the fictional land of Meshiko and would punish him for entertaining such things.

He raised the star in his right hand, gold glinting in the sunlight.

“Strelya,” he said to the dark-haired boys, in his city's dialect.
“An-nijma,” the boy in front of him answered. He then drew something out of his own shirt. It was a necklace made of what looked like tiny quartz pieces. A larger, bright green stone dangled from it.
“Jašbe,” the boy said.
“Jade.”

He heard voices in the distance. Someone was calling him. The boys noticed, too. He looked at them. Their large, brown eyes narrowed with concern, scanning the distance.

He made his decision in a heartbeat. Many, many years later he would still not understand what had led him to do it, but he would never come to regret it. In one fluid motion, he removed the chain from his neck, and held it out. The pentagram glistened in the sunlight, dangling from its fine chain. The boys looked at him, looking puzzled.

He motioned to the star. “Tomad-la. Rápido.”

The boy understood. He slipped off his own necklace, the one with the bright green stone, and held it out at arm's length...

His sister was weeping silently in his arms. He was unsure what to do, or how to help. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could do, except ponder the unfairness of it all. Her bosom heaved, and her head was buried in his now broad chest.

“It’s unfair. It’s immoral.” Her sister’s muffled voice broke. “I don’t want to do it. I would rather die.”
He continued to stroke her hair softly. What else could he do? To speak out against his father’s actions was strictly forbidden. He had to be the stronger of the two. Or did he?
He wasn’t the one being forced to marry a fat, fifty-something-year-old ogre with a pile of Ásters a province, after all. No, his own fiancée (however forced his own relationship with her was) was at least beautiful. And he had until he was twenty-five to stomach the idea of marrying her. And consummating.

His stomach twisted at the thought. His sixteen-year-old self felt no carnal attraction to her whatsoever. Something which his father had expressed dire worry about on more than one occasion.

Thankfully, nothing could force him into the act for several more years (despite his fiancée’s insistence), however. Yet his sister would not have the luxury of postponing such a matter for much longer…

A dinner like so many others. Two-third's of Solstranya’s nobility within the dining hall. His father’s booming voice clearly audible over the rest. Expressing his happiness at his daughter’s impending marriage. Pride at his son’s relationship with his beautiful cousin from the north. His mother discussing the latest fashions from [nation=short]Asatsukawa[/nation]. The nobles speaking of wealth and power, and how to make more of it. And no discussion whatsoever of the realities of the world outside their collective gilded walls.

Such empty talk. He wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.

The answer came: not a lot.

His fiancée was now slowly running her hand up and down his left thigh, in what she clearly thought was a discrete yet sexy manner. It was neither.

An inexplicable anger filled him. Absolute disgust at his life, at his family. At his fiancée. At what it meant to be a royalty. A hollow title. A hollow person living at the expense of so many others. Did nobody else understand? Living a life of such comfort, they might as well not be living at all.

He recalled his sister’s words, weeks ago.

He would rather die than continue living like this. This was not living at all.

It happened before he could think about the implications of such an action. All he could think about was that it was something he had been wanting to do for a long, long time.

Before he knew it, he was out of his chair and striding away from his now visibly frustrated girlfriend. He wasn't rationalizing. He was running entirely on adrenaline.

He reached the place where his mother and his sister sat. In one fluid motion, he had placed his arm around his sister's chest, drawn his sword, lifted her to her feet, and placed the curved blade against her neck.

She screamed, and immediate, stunned silence fell across the hall.

He shuddered and closed his eyes, even though it did not make a difference in visibility. Sweat dripped from his forehead, being no help at all in the dampness of the dark tunnel. It continued a long way; it would take several hours for him to reach the end. It meant several more hours alone with his guilty thoughts.

He heaved a huge sigh, trying to hold back the aching in his heart. There was no turning back now. If he did, his father's men would surely kill him. His princehood would not help him now.

He trudged along, telling himself that whatever happened going forward had to be better than the empty pseudo-life he was leaving behind.



IL-TEMPLO DE-FUOGO
(THE TEMPLE OF FIRE)

Ahdem trudged along in complete darkness, with nothing to distract him from his self-incriminating thoughts. He must have walked all night, yet his mind kept playing the scenes of his last evening at the Palace, over and over again. The tunnel had to end soon.

It was no longer damp. The warm air had become dry and dusty, with an acrid taste. It parched his throat. He'd thought of turning back many times. Of running back to the air-conditioned comfort of the Palace walls, of throwing himself at his mother's silken robes and begging forgiveness at his father's feet.

But what would he say? What could he say? It was too late for that now. And he was no coward, or so he told himself. The tunnel had to end soon.

Even if by some miracle, his parents took him back, what would he do? Pretend nothing happened? Go on to live a life he detested? Watch how his sister was sold off to the highest bidder while he stood there uselessly? He felt he'd rather die in a dungeon.

The tunnel had to end soon.

Smack.

He had become so absorbed in his own thoughts that he had become careless. He collided face-first onto a hard surface, and recoiled. The weight of his backpack threw off his balance and he landed on his buttocks on the uneven floor.

Clutching his face, he cursed under his breath through a noseful of blood. If he had been able to see, he was sure everything would be blurry now. He didn't need to, however, to feel that the warm, salty liquid was dripping down his palms and onto his shirt. He felt like kicking himself. It was surely going to be easier to go about unnoticed in bloodstained attire.

He threw back his head slightly, and once the bleeding calmed and his head didn't feel like it was spinning so hard, he proceeded to press his body against the surface which has caused his near disfigurement. His skin met flat slabs of rock, his fingers tracing the lines along which they were fused together by centuries of gravitational pressure. And some human help.

He turned on his flashlight. He ran his fingers through what seemed like a crack, searching. The crack split into two smaller ones, defining a smaller chunk of rock.

"Got it," he whispered to no one but himself.

He pressed. It did not budge. He tried harder. It still would not give. He got down on all fours. He placed a palm on the rock and, shifting his weight on the floor, pushed as hard as he could. The rock slid a little.

The lack of ventilation was beginning to get to him.

He threw the weight of his body upon the piece of stone. With a small scrape, it slid deeper into the wall, and something inside clicked. The wall trembled, as if something had just become loose. He smiled at himself, panting. He stood up and heaved himself at the stone door. The bulk creaked and shuddered for a moment, hesitating, before giving way. The grinding lasted only a second, and once free of its frame, the thick door swung smoothly outward.

The light of torches poured into the tunnel, blinding him. He blinked stupidly, his eyes struggling to refocus after hours in pitch blackness.

"Dear Lord!" a man's voice exclaimed to his left. It was an elderly voice, soft and raspy. "What on earth happened to you, boy?" The voice was coming toward him. Ahdem squinted toward the source, attempting to get a better look.

A curved figure shuffled toward him, a man with a back burdened with the wisdom of years, and perhaps by now knowledge of last night's royal events. His tired gray eyes showed a stern sort of kindness, and were framed by many folds and wrinkles that covered nearly every centimeter of his face. Tufts of white hair sparsely covered his blotchy scalp.

"My dear boy," the elder sounded surprised as he approached him, "what have you done?" Ahdem looked down at his shirt. The fresh blood stains looked scandalous indeed.

"It's really not what it looks like--," he began, but the old man interrupted him.
"It never is with you, is it?"

Ahdem fell quiet. He helped the Elder close the door to the tunnel leading back to the castle, and allowed himself to be led through a series of stone passages lit exclusively by torchlight. The smell in the air was becoming more pungent.

They made their way into a small room, adjacent to a large chamber. He had been to the main chamber many times, yet it always inspired in him an involuntary sense of excitement. He remembered its massive stone walls--decorated with countless more torches--that held up gray arches and domes, supported by chiselled columns in many places.

But what excited him was at the center of the chamber. Beneath a gaping, circular hole in the central dome stood a large, triangular pyramid, perhaps seven meters in height. Four sides total, each an equal triangle, including the base--a perfect tetrahedron made of blocks of red and orange stone, capped with a smoking metal frame.

Inside the pyramid was a furnace, the largest he had ever seen. It contained a fire that had been burning continuously for centuries, with generation after generation of Elders keeping the sacred hell alive with an endless supply of coal and brimstone.

It was said that the fire was the last gift from Solstrán's volcano, which had ever since been presumed to have become extinct. The Temple of Fire was gradually built over this last, and relatively small, volcanic pit.

The Elder's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Speak, boy." There was a plate with beans, greens and cheese on the only small wooden table in the room, with a side of cold mint tea in a glass tumbler. Ahdem sat down and began to eat immediately. It was no feast, but he was grateful for it.

At length, he began to slow down his consumption. When he could not postpone answering the man any longer, Ahdem spoke hesitantly.

"I did a stupid thing."
"That part, I figured. Please, elaborate."
Ahdem took a long swig of tea, spacing his gulps out longer than was necessary. He put the tumbler down, and stared at his knees. The Elder spoke again.

"Word is out you left the Palace. No manner was mentioned on why, or how, but rumors, I assure you, abound. Each seems more unlikely than the next."
Ahdem could feel the gray eyes staring at the back of his head. He cleared his throat forcefully, and found words were hard to get through.
"Yeah, well--they might not be that insane--. You see..."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND, BOY!? What do you think you are doing!?"

His father's angry yells reverberated across the crowded chamber. His mother's sobbing could be heard among the many scandalized whispers.

His heart has racing. His sword's blade was still millimeters from his sister's neck. The lightest touch of the Solstrani steel would be enough to make a cut to her delicate skin. It was incredibly sharp, and it was only his years of mirthless training that prevented his hand from shaking uncontrollably now.

"Back off," Ahdem growled warningly. "I mean it. Any of you move, I swear to God I'll do it, right here." He felt his sister swallow a whimper at his words. His father stared at him with wide, furious eyes.

Every gun in the room was pointing at him. He backed away from the crowd, pulling his sister along by the wrists behind her back. She was much too frightened to oppose him.

A gun clicked somewhere. He instinctively drew her closer to him, pulling the blade so that she had to crane her neck to get it as far away from the steel as possible.

"I will kill her," he cautioned steely.
He fought to keep his voice steady. He was just as scared as they were.
His father laughed. It was a cold, distant laugh.
"What do you want?"
Ahdem smiled. "Simple. Just. Let. Me. Go."
"Let you go? Where?" he scoffed. "What are you going to do?"
Ahdem gave a small shrug. "That's my problem, isn't it?"

Then it happened. His grandfather, the King and former emir, collapsed on the floor. Some people screamed. There was a rush to get him.

Ahdem took the chance. He tugged Umnia backward, whispering in her ear, "C'mon, let's go, we're leaving this--"

But he never got to finish. She shrieked in surprise and pulled away. Already dangerously close to the sword, Ahdem did the only thing he could to prevent her from slicing her own head off. He swung the sword forward to one side, throwing himself back as he did so. His reaction was split-second. He fell back, sword blade colliding noisily with the floor.

A gunshot rang, narrowly missing the spot where his head had been moments ago. His sister was running towards their mother. He regained his balance and retreated on the floor. More shots were fired.

He reached the massive wooden doors, which opened behind him on cue. Two guards stormed in, swords drawn, looking for the source of the commotion. The doors slid shut behind them. Without losing momentum, Ahdem promptly hooked his arms around their ankles and pulled back. His head collided with the doors, opening them in the opposite direction. Caught off-guard, the men fell forward. One fell flat on his face with a sickening thud, and lay on the ground writhing, sword clanging noisily beside him. The other's sword-free arm managed to stop his fall, and he was back on his feet in no time.

The guard lunged as Ahdem's torso crossed the threshold of the doorway, and he just managed to stop the guard's blade with his own sword. The guard struck two more times quickly, until the two blades locked in a battle of strength.

A bullet ricocheted half a meter to the left of Ahdem's head. Ahdem saw the guard's eyes widen and dart to the spot on the floor momentarily, but it was all he needed. He found renewed strength and swung his sword to the right with both arms. The guard realized his mistake too late, and his sword flew out of his hands and clattered some distance away. He fell back, out of reach of Ahdem's sword, and swept up his companion's curved weapon.

Ahdem had already anticipated his intentions, however, and acted quickly. He raised both legs up over his torso and cleared the doorway, and as the man lunged once more, he pushed the wooden doors shut with his feet. There was the clang of steel against wood and a cry of pain. More gunshots.

Ahdem had no time to waste. He leapt to his feet in a split second, and ran for it.

He ran faster than he ever had in his entire life.


CHAPTER THREE (DRAFT)
(IN PROGRESS - DRAFT QUALITY)

Three months later, Ahdem was still running. Not literally. Well, not literally all the time. But fleeing was a more appropriate word to describe his present situation.

He'd spent most of his first month at large hiding in the shady streets and crummy apartment blocks of the poorer areas of Solstrán. It was a totally unfamiliar section of the seemingly never-ending city for him, and a distressing experience for someone accustomed to have a servant tend to his every needs. More than once it occurred to him that perhaps he had not thought things through.

He ran into trouble more than once, with thieves attempting to steal his belongings at least twice a week, and a group of armed men attempting to stuff him into a dark van with an strange chemical smell one rainy night. Ahdem was deft with the sword, however, and was able to thwart his attackers swiftly on most occasions.[...]

---

Nuevo Meshiko: Please be so kind as to consider forum history, mainly topics “IESP”, “Dar, y dar gracias” and “The Sultan’s Death”.

Why do I want to join this region?: Mainly, because I’m looking for a change of scenery, I love RP and I am getting a computer next week, which will make it a lot easier for me to remain active in NS from now on. Also, I know some of you from a while back, who have RP skills that I admire.
Any trouble with the moderators?: None ever.

Misc.
Anything else?: Apologies for not including links to the relevant Nuevo Meshiko posts. I am at lunch break from work on my cell phone, so it isn’t easy even posting this. Nonetheless, I look forward to buying a computer next week and hopefully being able to RP with you, should I be accepted

Thank you all for your time!!

[Nerotysia]

Oooooh yay. Yay.

That is all.

Solstrania, YOU ARE HEREBY APPROVED BY THE NEROTYSIAN PROLETARIAT

[Kolintha]

Ah! Meshiko! Long time no see! We do need some good commie cannonfodder. I approve.

[Nuevo Meshiko]

Thanks, guys! This is great! SO excited to RP again!

Btw, is this a definite approval? Or just the application part?

Thanks again!

[Nerotysia]

Thanks, guys! This is great! SO excited to RP again!

Btw, is this a definite approval? Or just the application part?

Thanks again!

Our third and final leader, Khornera, still needs to approve you, and after that there's a brief interview portion. But after that you're in!

And honestly I don't expect you to fail any portion of the applications so...it's just a matter of time.

[Nuevo Meshiko]

Ossom! Looking forward to it!

[Transoxthraxia]

Official Request of Membership to the Region of Ordis
National Information
Full Name of Nation: The Staat-Respublijk of Transoxthraxia.
Government Type: Currently a parliamentary republic; recently established, since August of 2013. Prior to that it was a single-party dictatorship, masquerading as a benevolent protector of the people.
RP Population: Thirty six million. To be precise, 35,864,964.
Culture/Ethnicity: Transoxthraxian culture stands alone in the fact that the language and ethnicity of the people within the nation are both a lingual and genetic isolate - similar to the Basques or the Etruscans of old, the Transoxthraxians speak a language and are descended from a group of Humans entirely unrelated to those around them. Thus, they have their own culture and/or ethnicity, through objective measures. Though, I suppose the closest lingual relation would be either to the Finns of the Uralic language group, or the Latvians of the Balto-Slavic language group. (The two languages I modelled the Transoxthraxian language after.)

Personal Information
Previous Regions: Black Mesa Islands; where I plan to stay. I'll move a puppet of mine into Ordis. Prior to that, I can't remember. I've been there a long time.
RP/Writing Samples:

• Meh.
• I guess.
• Not my favourite.
• Honestly, forgot I had done this RP.
• Here.

Why do you want to join this region?: I've been looking, for a long time, for a solid, active, and experienced RPing region that will allow me to practice my writing skills in a simultaneously relaxed and professional environment.
Any trouble with the moderators?: I've been warned for speaking my mind four times in NSG. Since I'm on the right side of the political spectrum, I'm not allowed to do that here. I have a clean track record in any RPing forums, however.

Misc.
Anything else?: Nah.

[Khornera]

Solstrania, after due consideration, the Khorneran Commonwealth, in it's benevolence and kindness, approves thee.


Transoxthraxia, after having read your application, I have decided to vote no as it stands.

[Khornera]

Transoxthraxia, as per our private conversation, here is a prompt for you to go on to write an Rp sample that may better reflect your abilities.

>The government of Transoxthraxia receives a request for help from the neighbouring country Gaullia, a relatively small and peaceful state with good relations with Transoxthraxia, and known for it's large deposists of iron and other valuable resources. The two regional superpowers, the democratic Eutopia and the autocratic Diestopia are currently at war. Diestopia is invading Gaullia for its resources, while Eutopia is also exerting pressure to convince Guallia to join the war on their side. Gaullia however, is dedicated to its position of armed neutrality, and is now calling Transoxthraxia for help to maintain their sovereignty. Write about your leadership as they discuss the request for help and form a position.

[Kolintha]

As always, our doors are open!

[Transoxthraxia]

Sorry for my lack of posting, my RL commitments have been terrible recently. I'll be posting soon, I promise.