Sylvarian Civil War [IC/MT INVITE ONLY]

[Arakhkhar]

The cocking of sub machine guns alerted the old man to the explorers presence. 10 heavily armed Shamash Securities Mercs emerged from the underbrush, weaponry firmly pointed at the occupants of the car. Several of the porters also emerged, much less enthusiastically and armed with small clubs and pistols. Lastly, Sir Roland himself swaggered out, looking dashing in his black highwayman’s garb. He drew his saber from his ornate scabbard, and rested its blade against the old man’s throat. “Stand and Deliver, my good man.” He said as if he was asking for the time.

“Everyone kindly exit the vehicles and no one gets hurt.” He continues cheerfully, but his eyes are cold and ruthless. One of the mercs interjects. “Listen to the boss or we will hang ya with your own entrails.” He says nastily, gesturing with his angry looking gun.

Ukirstead Outskirts
The old man looked scared.
"Please, sir... we are but travelers. Ordinary people... we have nothing of value."
The other passengers of the small convoy step out - obviously weary. They trudge along - dressed in quite simple clothes.
"Sir - if we do not make this trip to the market, our families will starve."
He spoke with the honesty of a man who had never so much as fibbed in his life - his eyes portrayed only a sort of sadness to be found with the grim nature of the situation - tired eyes, which had seen so much - perhaps, too much for a person to see in but one lifespan.

---

Innsholm
Innsholm's Stalkers finally broke against the Sylvarian Legion.

It was a cool morning - as the Stalkers sat about under the ruins of a building - a simple tarp overhead - drenched in rain, they sat about, trying to warm themselves around the last embers of a slowly dying fire. They clung to it, clung to it dearly - and despite every attempt to feed it, to find appropriate firewood with which to keep warm - they simply could not.
In hushed tones, they began to speak.

A Veteran Stalker asked another,
"How many rounds you have left?"
Which was met with a pause - before the other man gave his gruff reply.
"Counting the one in the chamber? 9."
"Heh! I've got three!"
The group chuckled a bit - taking light of their grim situation.

"We're not winning this one, are we?"
The question was met with silence.

They all knew it to be true, of course. Nebekanov was captured. Vaylenburgh had fallen. The Nationalists were breathing down their necks, and Fascists were running about openly. Worse still - the Crown Prince had returned.

The Fascists had an open supply line - they didn't have one. Even among Stalkers - morale was low, and despite their struggle, they had very little to show for it.

Gradually - the Stalkers, and the Communist forces in Innsholm pulled out of the corpse that was the town. They simply vanished, like ghosts into the night - as if they had never been there.

At first - there was confusion. Many of the Fascist forces looked around, not knowing they had left - trudging about the city, as it experienced a sort of eerie calm that had not been felt there in months - not since the beginning of the offensive to take it, which had claimed so many lives.

When it was realized that the Communists had, in fact, left - there was something of mixed feelings. On one hand - the battle was won. On the other - the stench of Communism remained. They would have to seek it.

---

Havenbrook
Marcus Kalden sat at his desk. It was a relatively calm day - the first in quite some time.
The negotiations with Arakhkhar - rather, how he had stressed over the very sight of that manila envelope for a full week, had come to a close - and with it, the ever-present rains seemed to subside - if only for a day.

In truth, things had finally begun to settle down - at least in Havenbrook. With the seeming imminent liberation of Point Overlook, and with Innsholm broken - the road seemed open - and yet, with a dead end at the same time. It was a set path, he felt - that his fate, and the fate of everyone in the Northern part of his country had been signed off with a stroke of his pen.

Now - slowly - he had to set forth for the future - and, especially, North, towards Sylvanthol - to drive on it would be incredibly necessary in order to secure the capital in the peace to come - if they would not, than the historical capital of Sylvaria would be in the hands of a force that would seek to annihilate their history.

The offer for Eurasian training of his new intelligence service was certainly appreciated - and accepted as well. With the fall and political purge of members of the Ministry of State Security, Nationalist Sylvaria's intelligence community was virtually non-existent - and so the usage of foreign aid to rebuild it would be incredibly necessary.

As for pegging Sylvarian currency to the Ruble - this was outright rejected. The exchange rate was, quite simply, to them, a breach of their sovereignty and economic independence - however, it was presented for review by parliament.
The idea of minting a new currency was in circulation ever since the North Sylvarians began printing their own currency - the Lera - which was, itself, pegged to the Arakhkhari Dinar. The decision was made that, in the near future - a new currency would have to be minted. That would, of course, be that of the Sylvarian Pound - which was tied to a certain amount of gold.
However - the fact was, was that Sylvaria's gold reserves had been effectively wiped out by Vaul's mismanagement - causing inflation to skyrocket, as people attempted to exchange their bills for portions of gold - only to find that the banks simply didn't have any.

To resolve this situation, it was clear that they would require some financial stability - as well as some way to pay off Sylvaria's debts, or to pay wages. A currency - nicknamed yellowbacks by the populace - was established - in denominations of 200, 100, 50, 20, 5, and 1 - and that this currency would be silently backed by Uranium extracted from newly captured mines in Point Overlook.
Regardless, many currencies were used in Sylvaria by this point - the Primevan Florin, the North Sylvarian Lera, the Arakhkhari Dinar - even the currency of the desert known as the Auri. The most valued of these was, of course, the Dinar.

The Destroyer, however, was very clearly the most important offer made by the Eurasians - incorporating it would go a long way towards rebuilding a Sylvarian navy, something that would be crucial in the future.
The naval base, seeing as how it would a joint base, was also approved - as the Eurasians were quickly becoming the foremost military partners of the Provisional Government.

---

Sylvanhaym
SIC:
The advance through the countryside was sometimes arduous - that is, were Enigma-2 something other than an agent of the ISI. Something lesser than what she was.
Enigma-2 continued unimpeded through the countryside - cutting through the night with unmatched determination, and remaining still and quiet during the day.

She would soon arrive at the destination - from there, there would be a planning phase, as with any huntress - she would first study the problem - find various methods of attack. Choose carefully from the methods, the instruments at her disposal - and once the time came for execution, to do so.

Of course, she felt positively miserable about the target. Not because she felt pity - that had long been removed from her. It was more about being bored - it was such an absolutely pathetic target, that she hardly considered it fun to end his life.

[The Daeva]

The cocking of sub machine guns alerted the old man to the explorers presence. 10 heavily armed Shamash Securities Mercs emerged from the underbrush, weaponry firmly pointed at the occupants of the car. Several of the porters also emerged, much less enthusiastically and armed with small clubs and pistols. Lastly, Sir Roland himself swaggered out, looking dashing in his black highwayman’s garb. He drew his saber from his ornate scabbard, and rested its blade against the old man’s throat. “Stand and Deliver, my good man.” He said as if he was asking for the time.

“Everyone kindly exit the vehicles and no one gets hurt.” He continues cheerfully, but his eyes are cold and ruthless. One of the mercs interjects. “Listen to the boss or we will hang ya with your own entrails.” He says nastily, gesturing with his angry looking gun.

Ukirstead Outskirts
The old man looked scared.
"Please, sir... we are but travelers. Ordinary people... we have nothing of value."
The other passengers of the small convoy step out - obviously weary. They trudge along - dressed in quite simple clothes.
"Sir - if we do not make this trip to the market, our families will starve."
He spoke with the honesty of a man who had never so much as fibbed in his life - his eyes portrayed only a sort of sadness to be found with the grim nature of the situation - tired eyes, which had seen so much - perhaps, too much for a person to see in but one lifespan.

---

Innsholm
Innsholm's Stalkers finally broke against the Sylvarian Legion.

It was a cool morning - as the Stalkers sat about under the ruins of a building - a simple tarp overhead - drenched in rain, they sat about, trying to warm themselves around the last embers of a slowly dying fire. They clung to it, clung to it dearly - and despite every attempt to feed it, to find appropriate firewood with which to keep warm - they simply could not.
In hushed tones, they began to speak.

A Veteran Stalker asked another,
"How many rounds you have left?"
Which was met with a pause - before the other man gave his gruff reply.
"Counting the one in the chamber? 9."
"Heh! I've got three!"
The group chuckled a bit - taking light of their grim situation.

"We're not winning this one, are we?"
The question was met with silence.

They all knew it to be true, of course. Nebekanov was captured. Vaylenburgh had fallen. The Nationalists were breathing down their necks, and Fascists were running about openly. Worse still - the Crown Prince had returned.

The Fascists had an open supply line - they didn't have one. Even among Stalkers - morale was low, and despite their struggle, they had very little to show for it.

Gradually - the Stalkers, and the Communist forces in Innsholm pulled out of the corpse that was the town. They simply vanished, like ghosts into the night - as if they had never been there.

At first - there was confusion. Many of the Fascist forces looked around, not knowing they had left - trudging about the city, as it experienced a sort of eerie calm that had not been felt there in months - not since the beginning of the offensive to take it, which had claimed so many lives.

When it was realized that the Communists had, in fact, left - there was something of mixed feelings. On one hand - the battle was won. On the other - the stench of Communism remained. They would have to seek it.

---

Havenbrook
Marcus Kalden sat at his desk. It was a relatively calm day - the first in quite some time.
The negotiations with Arakhkhar - rather, how he had stressed over the very sight of that manila envelope for a full week, had come to a close - and with it, the ever-present rains seemed to subside - if only for a day.

In truth, things had finally begun to settle down - at least in Havenbrook. With the seeming imminent liberation of Point Overlook, and with Innsholm broken - the road seemed open - and yet, with a dead end at the same time. It was a set path, he felt - that his fate, and the fate of everyone in the Northern part of his country had been signed off with a stroke of his pen.

Now - slowly - he had to set forth for the future - and, especially, North, towards Sylvanthol - to drive on it would be incredibly necessary in order to secure the capital in the peace to come - if they would not, than the historical capital of Sylvaria would be in the hands of a force that would seek to annihilate their history.

The offer for Eurasian training of his new intelligence service was certainly appreciated - and accepted as well. With the fall and political purge of members of the Ministry of State Security, Nationalist Sylvaria's intelligence community was virtually non-existent - and so the usage of foreign aid to rebuild it would be incredibly necessary.

As for pegging Sylvarian currency to the Ruble - this was outright rejected. The exchange rate was, quite simply, to them, a breach of their sovereignty and economic independence - however, it was presented for review by parliament.
The idea of minting a new currency was in circulation ever since the North Sylvarians began printing their own currency - the Lera - which was, itself, pegged to the Arakhkhari Dinar. The decision was made that, in the near future - a new currency would have to be minted. That would, of course, be that of the Sylvarian Pound - which was tied to a certain amount of gold.
However - the fact was, was that Sylvaria's gold reserves had been effectively wiped out by Vaul's mismanagement - causing inflation to skyrocket, as people attempted to exchange their bills for portions of gold - only to find that the banks simply didn't have any.

To resolve this situation, it was clear that they would require some financial stability - as well as some way to pay off Sylvaria's debts, or to pay wages. A currency - nicknamed yellowbacks by the populace - was established - in denominations of 200, 100, 50, 20, 5, and 1 - and that this currency would be silently backed by Uranium extracted from newly captured mines in Point Overlook.
Regardless, many currencies were used in Sylvaria by this point - the Primevan Florin, the North Sylvarian Lera, the Arakhkhari Dinar - even the currency of the desert known as the Auri. The most valued of these was, of course, the Dinar.

---

Sylvanhaym
SIC:
The advance through the countryside was sometimes arduous - that is, were Enigma-2 something other than an agent of the ISI. Something lesser than what she was.
Enigma-2 continued unimpeded through the countryside - cutting through the night with unmatched determination, and remaining still and quiet during the day.

She would soon arrive at the destination - from there, there would be a planning phase, as with any huntress - she would first study the problem - find various methods of attack. Choose carefully from the methods, the instruments at her disposal - and once the time came for execution, to do so.

Of course, she felt positively miserable about the target. Not because she felt pity - that had long been removed from her. It was more about being bored - it was such an absolutely pathetic target, that she hardly considered it fun to end his life.

Ukirstead Outskirts

Sir Roland shrugs. “Well, I am sure you will figure out something” he says cheerfully as the porters move the branch out of the way. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He says as he and his men board the trucks. “Ciao-Ciao!” He says affably to the destitute villagers, waving aristocratically as they drive off.

“Sir… are you sure that was… the right thing to do?” One of the porters asked nervously. “Of course I am!” Sir Roland exclaims confidently. “Hey… what in the world is that?” He says, pointing towards the edge of the truck bed. The porter leans over the edge. “I don’t se-AGH!” He exclaims as Sir Roland kicks him off the back of the truck, where he falls to a crumpled heap a few feet from the villagers, still breathing but badly injured. The trucks make good time, sped up by the dumping of the various knickknacks that served as cargo. Their battered remains lined the road for some miles…

[The Eur-asian Federation]

Sylvarian Waters

"What, so they just expect us to sail through unopposed?" The sailor asked his friend as he took a swig of the flask.

"Mhm." His bearded Turkmen friend replied, taking a puff of the cigarette.

"I read about that time they tried going through, you know. It was backpage news but some folks saw it." He took a sip, continuing "Got rammed, apparently."

"They were merchant ships, we're a destroyer. A destroyer from the 80's with a skeleton crew, but still a destroyer. And hey, we aren't flying under our own flag, we're flying under Sylvaria's, this technically IS a Sylvarian vessel, we're just dropping it off for them. That should get em' to let us through." The Turkmen spat into the sea.

"Still, I'm worried. What if they ram this ship? What if they seize it and take us hostage?" He took went to take another swig from the flask, "Blyat. I'm out."

"Relax, I'm sure the diplomatic folk got it covered. Moscow wouldn't send us without checking everything, and besides, it's only 8 hours or so until we reach the naval base the dropoff is happening at. Then we're gonna get airlifted outta there and back to the Motherland." The Turkmen snubbed out his cigarette on the cold steel railing, before tossing it into the ocean.

"Let's go get something to eat." The Turkmen said, "Right." The man replied as they walked off from the side of the ship.

[Emerstari]

Hrenshallå, Emerstari

Crisp air mixed with coffee vapor in the baroque chamber in which the king held court. Erik crossed his leg in his chair, warming himself with the Ashurayan brew, while in shuffled his privy councilors, ministers of foreign affairs and war, and select members of each chamber of the legislature. One of the chairs grabbed his attention. It was next to his own. It belonged to the President of the Privy Council. It had belonged to Thomes. Not anymore. "Good morning,” Erik greeted its new occupant. The others stood behind him. “Gentlemen, sit down, please. I called this on account of the news coming out of Sylvaria.” He looked at Agostina—Agostina Lofve, the FSF's whip in the House of Commons—and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees: “What is your sense on…how you say…the Commons’ reaction?”

“Thank you,” Agostina whispered to the Lord High Admiral, Baron Ljundstrom, taking her coffee. She turned her eyes to the king. “Mixed…” she began. “You have certain elements on the one hand who continue to say, ‘War never again.’ On the other, you have certain ones of the opinion that our humanitarian aid is…an anti-humanitarian joke. All the parties are divided like this. I can't see any resolution of any sort on anything getting anywhere as things stand. It's limbo in the Commons, in short.”

The king nodded slowly, leaned back in his chair. He shifted his line of sight to the Baron Ljundstrom. “One feels rather constricted.” Then the Lord Steward, Marces Petresson, cut in. “As far as the Foreign Department goes, we are much less restricted. We have a man there. We can make him an ambassador to Salaros. Certainly, that would legitimize him in the eyes of the people behind the Commons, at least, and it may do something, then, to shift the Commons’ opinions—a legitimate servant of his people in need of help.” Petresson shrugged. “I don't see any flak for such an olive branch to a legitimate public servant.”

“What about the Nationalists?” asked Ljundstrom. “Haven't we got men and ships in their land and ports?”

Petresson continued, “And if they take offense to our siding with the king as opposed to their fascist-infested usurpation government—most of all, do anything about it to a humanitarian mission helping their own people—then that may persuade the more practical members of the Commons to my way of seeing things, no?” He looked at Mrs. Lofve for confirmation.

The king nodded. “Then, make the man an ambassador and have him write something for my desk. I'll stamp it.”

Emerstarian Squadron to Sylvaria

“Elevated,” Lorens Liljeblom read the letter to him from the Lord Steward, “to the office of ambassador, to serve as HM's Ambassador to Salaros III of Sylvaria…to write a letter of support to him…sending it to my office.”

The reappearance of the Crown in Salaros III marks the reappearance of hope in Sylvaria. Hope is something that uniquely he is capable of offering as one who is at once so far removed from the present terrors and yet in his own person so intimately intertwined with the country that its prosperity will be his prosperity. This is because his right to the Crown is the Sylvarian people’s right to his faithful service. Right, it is equally responsibility. For pursuing so grand a responsibility, His Majesty the King of the Emerstarians, Erik XII Georg, extends to Salaros III his admiration, encouragement, and fraternity. So too, he points to him as a self-offer of hope, a way forward for those on all sides who will courageously take up the virtue of hope, spurning the grave and vicious offense to human dignity that is despairful war and those innumerable indignities that accompany war. In this, he pleads that none be contemptful of their responsibility of hope, owed to their neighbors, by which contempt come the horrors of war.

The foot of the letter bore the royal stamp of assent—a red circle with a central engraving of the Eirikrian crest and the phrase “denne Konge des Emers af majestetige Hossinget apostolige so folkige, so mer” around it. In English: “the King of the Emerstarians of Majestic Apostolic and National Sovereignty, etc.”

[Phoenxia]

~snippysnippysnip~

RPN Fratež
Commodore Bauer

In the bridge, he wired in to his Green Union counterparts, having completed their patrol and now looking for something to do. "Himmelsdorf, this is RPN Fratež. We are standing by and awaiting a mission. We have not been told any further instructions from Kamooko. I have two ships, countless SIGINT capable aircraft, a couple strike capable aircraft, a shitload of cruise missiles, and a detachment of motivated marines. How copy?" Bauer looked around at his tired looking crew on the quarterdeck and sighed. Kamooko was never very clear with their instructions and he was sick of it. He could still be in Nedewsila right now slaying pirates, but this humanitarian mission with no orders was now beginning to weigh on him and his crew. They needed action.

Word had it also that Marcus Brayfield was in theater. Every Phoenixian knew Major Brayfield; he was the one who doomed Kassau to the invasion by a large Sevevillian force. And to a degree, many of them had some sort of ill feelings, word had it that he had gotten into a brawl with the Phoenixian sergeant on the tarmac whence 15th mech started laying down hate on Sevevillian personnel. The XO came on deck and inquired to Bauer if the Marine detachment should prepare for rapid deployment, the Commodore simply said, "Have them on standby."

When the order was sent out, voice tubes throughout the whole ship exploded with cheering from the Marine Detachment quarters.

[Phoenxia]

~snipsnipsnipsnip~

RPN Fratež

Information had come in that the mission of the coalition was under threat by the Eurasians, and one of the intelligence gathering aircraft off of Etschelena had pinged the location of one devious destroyer. "Fuck! I'm itching for some action! Give me a reason! Give me a fucking reason!" Commodore Bauer slammed on the quarterdeck desk, but there was a small bit of doubt cast in him.

"Sir, we do not need to waste our anti-carrier missiles on an 80's rust bucket. Calm down."

"I'll send out word to the coalition then," he wired into the coalition task force information frequency. "Coalition, this is Fratež, we have located a Eurasian destroyer in the AO and are holding back to offer an opportunity to units that are closer, over."

[Krennland]

OOC THREAD HERE - APPLY HERE
The Sylvarian Civil War
(Image)
In the heart of a continent, a small coastal nation burns - as envious eyes from across the borders and the seas divvy up the nation for their own ambitions.

---

Control map as of February 9th, 2024

(Image)
Black is territory fully controlled by the DSM (Fundamentalists)
Blue is territory fully controlled by the Central Government
Red is territory controlled by the PRV (Communists)
Orange is territory fully controlled by the SNF (Nationalists)
Violet/transparent purple is territory fully controlled by the UPM (Arakhkharan puppets)
Solid purple is territory internationally recognized as a part of the Principality of Arakhkhar
Lime Green territory is territory controlled by the Commonwealth of Primeva
Solid white territory is controlled by no one, or in dispute

---

Current International Intervention Level - 03 - ORBAT limited to 10k troops, heavy equipment permitted.

---

Whispers of the Sylvarian Civil War

Divine Salvation Movement Live Broadcast
A robed man with an assault rifle stands in broad daylight, against a mountainous background. Explosions and artillery fire can be heard in the distance. "Today, we have captured the town of Tinshold. Today, we have done a great thing. The holy warriors of Sylva-Ih have reclaimed this settlement from the nonbelievers. Today, the nonbelievers, the Infidels have been gathered here, to make recompense for their sins!"
The camera pans to 40 men - soldiers, journalists, bound, with black bags over their heads. Some of them weep.
"Listen to the weeping of the non-believers, the infidels! Know, Sylvaria, that all who defy the way of Sylva-Ih, of the religion of their forefathers, shall meet the fate of these men!"
40 robed militants, each holding a machete, enter the view of the camera. They stand behind each man, and kick him forward, as to kneel.
"Sylvah-Ih A A'kh! Sylvah-Ih A A'kh! Sylvah-Ih A A'kh!"
One by one, each man is beheaded.
The program cuts out, with the emblem of the Divine Salvation Movement emblazoned upon the screen.

A red-colored poster flutters in the wind of Vaylenburgh’s streets, as the sound of gunfire can be heard in the distance.
"Workers of Vaylenburgh, Comrade Ivan Nabakanov is pleased to announce the first People's Trial of the bourgeoisie! Come to center square, to witness retribution unto the oppressors!"

Sylvarian News Network: Nationalists clash with the Sylvarian central government in Havenbrook.
“The Sylvarian Republican Guard has been reporting shooting battles with the nationalist Sylvarian Liberation Front.”
“Now, to our man on the ground.”
“Thank you Jess.”
“The situation is pretty bad here. I’m here live in Havenbrook central park. Nationalist forces are advancing in 2 city districts-” the reporter is shot through the skull by a sniper, live on television.

ISI 21-B Special Report 21-B.
“ISI assets have firmly taken control over a Sylvarian militia, known as the Unity for Progress Militia. They should serve the interests of the state for the time being. We have directed units to move towards Siladen city...”

---

Rockets are screaming in the skies above Havenbrook. Nationalists have taken the country's prime agricultural land, and the most important port may soon fall into their hands. Religious fundamentalists are besieging the city of Point Overlook. Communist insurgents have seized the nation's industrial heartland, and all the while, a foreign backed-militia menaces the exposed and cut-off north.
It was meant to be President Voss's first term in office. Her election simultaneously sparked anger and hatred from all sides of the political spectrum, due to longstanding political tensions. The young Republic is at threat of extinction in 4 separate ways.
For President Voss, the stakes could not be higher.
She paced in the presidential office. Every second she spent there, was a time in which the enemies of her government - of the Sylvarian people - were killing their own countrymen.

---

And in the meantime, foreign forces began to make their move - the neighboring and utterly domineering Principality of Arakhkhar and the, for now, uninvolved, Commonwealth of Primeva eye the border. Covert units move to support respective sides.
In the meantime, from overseas, other forces seek to impress their own will upon the small nation.
The Grand Economic Consortium, seeking influence on the continent, sends a contingent of 2,000 troops to aid the government.
Likewise, The Socialist Republic Of Mercenaries sends a humanitarian aid convoy - and only time will tell what fate shall befall them.
The Federal Kingdom of Ardenia (Weltkria) sends a desperate operation to extract possibly 10,000 Ardenian citizens and journalists, in a race against time - it may not be long before the ports are blockaded, and their fates left to the murderous feuding factions - or the tender mercies of the Fundamentalists.
The Empire of Lysennia puts out calls to end abuses, although forces mobilize in unseen places, preparing to strike against the Communists and the murderous DSM.

In the meantime, other parts of the International community may take notice as time progresses - backing any of the 5 factions that have emerged in the Sylvarian Civil War.

Sylvanthor, the Presidential Palace War Room, February 10th, 2024
"President Voss." the Sylvanthorian Defense minister spoke softly, in the darkened room. 9 men and women stood in the room, stood around a map of Sylvanthor that had been hastily provided to them.
"Speak, Minister Jakar." Spoke the newly elected, and somewhat incompetent President Voss. She was fifty-three, and only newly elected.
"The situation is dire. I will not attempt to hide it, because doing so would do us no good. Siladen City, in the north, is being menaced by UPM units. We suspect that the damn Arakhkharans are aiding them, because they're inflicting heavy losses on us."
"To make matters worse, that entire region is cut off from the capital. Damn Commies under Navanov have taken full control over Vaylenburgh. The majority of that province - nearly 68% of our industrial capacity - is under their control. We've also lost access to the port of Uthikshaym, south of Vaylenburgh."
"The Capital, Sylvanthol, thankfully, remains in our full control - aside from the occasional Commie infiltrator, UPM Black ops, or DSM suicide bomber. We also control two ports along the coast. We also have full control over the island of Sylvanhaym, which should prove absolutely vital in preventing aid from reaching the Communists."
Thus spake the Minister - a veteran of the Republic for nearly 30 years, who spoke rather gruffly and pessimistically.

President Voss looked appalled, horrified for her own safety, and angry in equal measure. She spoke quietly. "And what of the South and West?"

Minister Jakar continued.

"The major port city of Havenbrook is currently experiencing heavy fighting. The nationalists, under the 'Sylvarian National Front,' led by the traitor General Marcus Kalden, are advancing. The city is not projected to hold much longer. In addition, nearly the entire south is under their control. with near total dominance in the province. "

The western border city, Point Overlook, next to Primeva, is under functional encirclement by the DSM. Reports of civilian casualties are mounting. The projected number of troops to hold the entire city is just 2,000... they are outnumbered nearly 5:1, and there are defections daily, on all fronts. You have seen the... beheadings, haven't you?"

President Voss looked at him with sorrow.

"Animals... just... animals."
The minister spoke sombrely.
"Defections are increasing daily. Over 40% of our current forces are encircled, or out of supply reach. We're on the verge of losing 3 major cities. Mrs. President - probabilities of success are decreasing rapidly."
The President now spoke.
"Damn it... we'll have to accept foreign aid, assuming anyone would even try and help us. But that help... those bastards are coming with strings attached, I just know it. And that'll commit the Nationalists against us to the death."
The minister of economics, a timid, thin young man named Osanus Vaul, now spoke up.
"Mrs. President... our industry is, as Minister Jakal mentioned, in the hands of the C-Communists. The loss of tax revenue off of the agriculture in the south has crippled our agricultural system. We are facing imminent food shortages. Inflation has hit... gulp 982% of pre-war levels. In terms of money... we have none. Bankruptcy is expected within 4 weeks."
President Voss was, although before angry, now utterly furious. She bitterly spoke. "Send out a call for foreign aid. Sylvaria is not yet lost."
"Oh, and - the minister of State Security - does anyone have a fix on his whereabouts?"
Minister Jakal now spoke.
"No, madame President. Minister Banalos' whereabouts are unknown."
There was no worse news in her eyes. The country was in tatters, innocent civilians were being beheaded en-masse, famine and poverty are all but imminent, and the military's morale was so low that it could barely operate. Defections and desertions were growing to the point where, at one point, an entire battalion joined the Nationalists - not to mention the fact that the government was widely unpopular in just about everywhere except the capital. To make matters worse, the one individual responsible for having suppressed all this is now missing - probably good for him. If She had her way, he would be shot fire allowing the situation to get this bad.
President Voss sat down, trembling.
"At least we hold the capital." It was a small consolation, but in truth, the president was nearly suicidal.

The fate of a people, a nation, hangs in the balance.
OOC THREAD HERE - APPLY HERE

can join

[Soveiniesberg]

"It's hazard pay. Imagine the underwater rowboat scene from Pirates of the Caribbean - At Worlds End." - Submarine Captain Petir Esmagelieve, 2029

---

And you'd be wrong if you thought he was joking. But what did he mean by this?

The S.N.S. Brown Hill, Whiskey Long Bin class land attack submarine is a really bad, and I mean, bad submarine.

But how bad? You may ask, and it's a crazy tale.

The Whiskey Long Bins were already really crummy, 4 P-5 early cruise missiles were the original arrangement. The submarines, originally, very good attack submarines. But after the 4 P-5 Soviet cruise missiles? Noisy, ugly, turbulent as heck, and poor handling. How could it get any worse?

But of course it gets worse. It's Soveinian submarines, after all.

Do they flood when you go underwater? Yes.

Are they rustier than metal pulled out of the Detroit River? Yes.

Are they crustier than fresh oysters? Yes.

But most importantly, you have to wear waders whilst being in this submarine.

And so... this submarine is on it's way (well, nearly there...) to Sylvaria, along with it's brothers.

[The Eur-asian Federation]

Eurasian Embassy, Havenbrook

"So, what's the situation on Sylvanhaym?" The Uyghur asked, scanning the newspaper to gather intel. It might not be glamorous to the naked eye, but public statements often hint towards a greater underlying motive.

"The situation's stabilized. The recent arrival of that new destroyer in the Southern Strait is sure to have the attention of the Union, so we were able to extract our compromised assets without much suspicion. Our agents have been integrating into society on the island quite well, some have been employed by private businesses as a cover. In particular, three agents of ours have managed to attain positions as editors in several newspapers, giving us a foot in the door in terms of informational warfare." Pausing for a moment, the Ukrainian took a swig from the flask.

"Cash is secure as far as we know, give it a day or two and we'll have our fake bribes flowing going to every bureaucrat on the island." Pausing for a moment, he continued "We'll destroy any leftover cash by dumping it in the ocean, then we can begin some proper sabotage."

"Good. Brazas, report." The Uyghur said as he scanned the backpages of the newspaper.

"With Kalden giving us access to his new agency, we've ceased any operations done without his knowledge. We're free to operate more openly, and thusly are able to utilize more resources in operations." Interrupting him, the Uyghur asked "What about the bomb?"

"Well...." The Balt paused. "We've made a critical error. There's several bombs. What we interpreted as a single warhead was actually a missile, But, if our agents capture the DSM site we know about, we'll likely find the rocket and intel on where the other warheads are stored - if they aren't in the facility itself that is. As a matter of fact, we believe we've found the site itself. We can commence the raid tomorrow, I'll make sure all assets are on standby if things go badly."

"Good. Same time, same place. Launch the raid, and report back to me." The Uyghur sat alone in the room as the two men shuffled out, continuing to vigorously scan every line of the newspaper. They were gonna burn the only card the fanatics had, or force them to use it.

---

Point Overlook

The fighting in the mountains was over, the DSM had by now largely ceased operations on a tactical level. Their soldiers? Deserted or dead. Their spirits? Shattered, or rekindled in the case of those who fled to the desert. Their dirty bombs? Well, that was their last card in their deck and it became increasingly clear by the day that they would not win. Perhaps in a fightful spiteful act, they would deploy the warhead, perhaps wipe out Point Overhold, Kulhold, Havenbrook, hell! They might even aim for Sylvanhaym or Sylvanthol.

What was unclear was the status of the 93rd Motor. A full third of their men were lost, primarily combatants, but they had gained valuable experience. They were too valuable to lose in a warhead attack, and so the order from HQ was given: Retreat from Point Overlook and relocate to Havenbrook. From then on? Await further instructions. For Colonel Islamov, his actions in the Western Campaign were recognized back in the Ministry of Defense, leading to his appointment as Supreme Commander of all Eurasian forces in Sylvaria as Major General Islamov.

Just like that, the 93rd headed south from Point Overlook. The grunts speculated what would happen now, perhaps they would be withdrawn now that the VDV had arrived to replace them. Perhaps they would stay as a garrison in Havenbrook. The wilder grunts speculated they were gonna prepare for an amphibious operation to invade Sylvanhaym. But for now they could rest on their laurels, where the Hispaniolans cut Kalden off, they fought and bled. Where the Coalition undermined Kalden, they were the tip on his spear against the DSM. Where Voss and then Vaul left Point Overlook to its fate, they had arrived as triumphant liberators. The nightmare was finally over, and they had ended it.

---

Havenbrook

When news of the 93rd's relocation from Point Overlook came in, the men of the 15th VDV speculated much as their colleagues did. Some said they were gonna go to the front now that the 93rd were withdrawing, others said they were gonna hunker down in Havenbrook, but when they got their orders to relocate north to a derelict naval base on the coast, they knew they this was something much more... Special.

As for when they arrived, they were gonna stay until Moscow sent over some engineers to renovate the place. Perhaps they would turn it into a three-way base, to be shared by the airforce, army, and navy. A little slice of Eurasia on Sylvaria, imagine that. But there was no time to imagine, Major General Islamov was now in command of both the 93rd and 15th and they had to get the place up and running, so a request forwarded to Kalden: Divert some army engineers to renovate the base until the Eurasians could get another engineer company of their own on Sylvarian soil. So for now, all they could do was wait for Kalden to reply and for their engineers, because this base sure as hell wouldn't hold if the Coalition decided to invade.

[Arakhkhar]

New Varreach

The reappearance of the Crown in Salaros III marks the reappearance of hope in Sylvaria. Hope is something that uniquely he is capable of offering as one who is at once so far removed from the present terrors and yet in his own person so intimately intertwined with the country that its prosperity will be his prosperity. This is because his right to the Crown is the Sylvarian people’s right to his faithful service. Right, it is equally responsibility. For pursuing so grand a responsibility, His Majesty the King of the Emerstarians, Erik XII Georg, extends to Salaros III his admiration, encouragement, and fraternity. So too, he points to him as a self-offer of hope, a way forward for those on all sides who will courageously take up the virtue of hope, spurning the grave and vicious offense to human dignity that is despairful war and those innumerable indignities that accompany war. In this, he pleads that none be contemptful of their responsibility of hope, owed to their neighbors, by which contempt come the horrors of war.

The foot of the letter bore the royal stamp of assent—a red circle with a central engraving of the Eirikrian crest and the phrase “denne Konge des Emers af majestetige Hossinget apostolige so folkige, so mer” around it. In English: “the King of the Emerstarians of Majestic Apostolic and National Sovereignty, etc.”

The arrival of the monarchists to the region had been certainly loud - with radio messages across the area constantly referencing the arrival of the Prince - heir to Sylvaria's throne, whose birthright was stolen from him. Now, everyone in Sylvaria - and well beyond it - was talking about the Banished Prince.
With the arrival of diplomatic support from Emerstari, the Crown Prince was evidently rather pleased - as he wrote a diplomatic communique to them, using his princely seal - one which had not been used in fifty years.

It is with kindness in my heart that I have received this movement of support from the esteemed Erik XII Georg of Emerstari - his majesty, and the glory of his nation, which had been known to us long before the murder of my father at the hands of the Republic. I can speak, both as a Crown Prince, and as a Sylvarian - that it is the work of fine men and women across the world that our country stands on its own feet. Though the present horrors of war are indeed grim - from which so much has been inflicted upon this state, so many lives ruined by consequence of this enduring struggle. It is hope, as our friend says - hope for a brighter future, that shall bring us from these dredges - and into a future characterized by prosperity in common.

And it is with this gesture of support - of hope for Sylvaria - hope undying, hope renewed, that the Sylvarian people found themselves renewed. Though some have, inevitably, called against my ascension - understandable, for such people have spent the last fifty years undergoing the most callous of inculcation against my legacy, and that of my forefathers. To those individuals, I must write as well - that I do not wish subjugation for Sylvaria. I do not want to crush you under my heel, nor shall I demand your undying devotion. I ask only, that for the sake of Sylvaria - that this nation once again rise. That, perhaps, as a man who has played no part in this present, and sorry state of affairs - that I may assist in restoring some peace of mind to a broken Sylvaria.

What was will likely never be again - I am no stranger to that, and I have come to peace with it. I am, however, willing to stand to lift Sylvaria up - to stand by your side.

The Crown Prince also heard the speech of Vaul - something that was so readily cobbled together, as a pathetic verbal meandering from place to place - devoid of value, or of heartfelt intent. The fact that every word that Vaul spoke seemed to be made of the verge of tears did not help.
In private, he would remark on this to his peers.

"This... President Vaul."
He paused, to adjust his battered cloak.
"He is an example of why the Kingdom fell. A sycophant, willing to twist his morality for any powerful man or woman that passes by. His father before him was likely the same - and during the revolution, he likely would have been the first to call for my beheading, had he been asked to. In all measurements, an absurdity of a man, and an embarrassment to Sylvaria."
As murmurs of concurrence came from his knights, he continued.
"I cannot work with such a man. No one should have to suffer his presence - he represents the worst excesses of this Republic."

Officially, though, he gave no response to Vaul's whining speech.

As for the royalist forces, he sought to make contact with Kalden's nationalists - viewing him as the sole leader in Sylvaria capable of fulfilling, or helping to assist, in his plans for the future - although, of course, that may change in the future.

---

Havenbrook
Kalden, for his part, remained in Havenbrook - mostly concerned for the future. His activities thus far had been those of engaging in war - but with the Civil War seeming to wind down, there was little he could do except begin to prepare for the inevitable - a Free Sylvarian unification. For if the free elements were united in some form - Sylvaria would be picked apart piece by piece by the slavers.

A message had came in from the Eurasians - asking for military engineers to assist with the construction of a new base. However - the majority of Sylvarian army engineers were currently focused on the repairing of infrastructure within Innsholm - which would be extremely necessary to sustain a land push on to the capital - something that would be vital in the coming future. In addition, they were also in usage to repair a water treatment facility outside Port Galen - without it, pure water could be be acquired in bulk. Thus, the request was rejected for the time being - he did, however, offer to create a program to allow Sylvarian workers to assist with the construction of the base. This would help to soak up unemployment and to thus assist in stabilizing the economy.

As for other matters - Kalden had to offer some sort of letter to Salaros regarding the return of the royals - something that had been weighing on his mind, both as a potential detriment, or as a potential downside.
The first order of business was to establish some sort of agreement to avoid fighting between them - as he hoped to align with them in the future.

To his Majesty, the Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria.
From General Marcus Kalden

---

It has come to my attention that the long-since gone Crown Prince of Sylvaria has finally returned from his exile - at first, I must admit, I believed it to be nothing. But another whisper of this blasted war - there have been so many. I thought, perhaps, I had fallen victim to the blasted fog which seems to immerse Vaylenburgh Province.

Now, I can see clearly - I was wrong. I do hope you should forgive me, then, for not speaking sooner unto you. The fact of the matter is that this war will soon be at an end, regardless of the chatter of more warlike members of either party.
The second fact is that I do not wish to fight against you. Regardless of the comparative dispositions of our forces, the fact remains that Sylvaria needs a symbol of strength - and the symbol of a man unbroken by fifty years in exile is not only powerful, but admirable.

I do not intend to come across as a whining sycophant - for that is not within my being. I ask only that we should discuss, as men - as Sylvarians - that, upon my honor, that no harm shall come to your or to your entourage, or to any follower who would stand in your name.

This would be attached with a temporary seal of the Provisional Government's presidency.
He hoped, not for his sake, but for Sylvaria's, that he would respond favorably.

---

Siladen City
It was yet another cloudy day over North Sylvaria - and the Intendant Varos looked out upon that horizon. For the first time, he had felt that everything within sight was in his grip - or at least, in the grip of his benefactors. He wasn't quite sure about how he felt with that, to be honest - he knew he was widely despised among much of South Sylvaria. But, in his mind - he had softened the occupation - put a glove over the iron fist that had crashed down through his country.

The return of the royals, however, was something he could not feasibly go without addressing. Arakhkhar was, for its part, uncertain about the royals - for one, they were a legitimate aristocracy - something they sought to institute in North Sylvaria. However, it was also clear that this monarch was not quite amenable to their interests.

He would have to make an address - however, due to the tentative situation - it was decidedly non-critical.

By now, every man, woman, and child was well-familiar with the face of the Intendant. It was hard to miss - his old, soldier's face, with those kind, tired eyes that seemed to implore one to some act of kindness - even as he uttered the words that would be unthinkable to anyone just a few months prior. His bearded face, the hairs of which had long since greyed.
His first words were calm.
"Loyal citizens."
"As many of you are now aware, a recent event has unfolded in the western part of this nation. The Crown Prince, Salaros III, has returned from a fifty year exile in the badlands."
He paused for a moment.
"I must congratulate him on his survival through 5 decades of what must have been an excruciating exile. The pangs of exile are, as Socrates once said, one of the harshest punishments ever imposed upon man."
"However, this is where my congratulations must end."
"History - history is not a cyclical nature. History progresses, it moves forward beyond the past. I hold the opinion that everything occurs for a reason - just as the royalty was exiled, so is their return indicative of some grander purpose. Tragedy, however, is cyclical. When we do not learn from history - from the mistakes of both the old Kingdom, and from the decayed and rotten Republic - we are doomed to repeat those mistakes which led to this current, sorry state of affairs."
"I ask - unto you, he who was once meant to be the King of our nation - is your arrival a hark to the past - another repetition of the same, doomed cycle of devastation, corruption, of revolution - of human suffering on an unimaginable scale? Or is it some puzzle piece, in the grand design that has been put together - one that shall pave the way for peace and prosperity for Sylvaria? Time, my lord - time will tell."
"And for you, Sylvarians - citizens, and those not of my administration - I shall ask you to ponder whether the same thing should be tried once more - something which had, in part, led to our present misery - or shall we join hands, united, under the guidance of our benefactors - towards a New Order devoid of the mistakes of the past."

The speech was, of course, met with applause by Varos' sycophants - by the most enthusiastic of collaborators. For the rest, they simply watched on - showing enough loyalty to prevent drawing the ire of any Civil Protection units.

The stabilization of prices in North Sylvaria was certainly beginning to end the reliance on rationing - namely, in Siladen City itself. Vaylenburgh was still heavily rationed, and shortages in the occupied parts of the capital province still demanded rationing in that part of the country. However, with Siladen Province being effectively right on the border with Arakhkhar - and with the creation of a North Sylvarian economy, through massive investment into industrial projects such as the Sylvarwerke Arms Facility. With insurgencies in North Sylvaria coming to an end - there was also an end to military rule in the province's outskirts, as Civil Protection effectively took over - this was with the exception of certain rapid-response units stationed by Arakhkhar in the event of rebellion.

Rebellion, however, did not come to Siladen Province - and Intendant Varos, more than anyone, was thankful for it. It meant, to him, that he would not have to witness the most brutal parts usually accompanying an occupation - something which was taking place in Nayden, or in other parts of Vaylenburgh Province.

---

Ukirstead Outskirts

Sir Roland shrugs. “Well, I am sure you will figure out something” he says cheerfully as the porters move the branch out of the way. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He says as he and his men board the trucks. “Ciao-Ciao!” He says affably to the destitute villagers, waving aristocratically as they drive off.

“Sir… are you sure that was… the right thing to do?” One of the porters asked nervously. “Of course I am!” Sir Roland exclaims confidently. “Hey… what in the world is that?” He says, pointing towards the edge of the truck bed. The porter leans over the edge. “I don’t se-AGH!” He exclaims as Sir Roland kicks him off the back of the truck, where he falls to a crumpled heap a few feet from the villagers, still breathing but badly injured. The trucks make good time, sped up by the dumping of the various knickknacks that served as cargo. Their battered remains lined the road for some miles…

Ukirstead Outskirts
The Old men effectively crumpled - trying to pick up their scattered textiles with pathetic weakness. One of them, however, went to the nearby village of Ukirstead itself - informing them of the callous act. Although the villagers would assist to recover their assorted goods - even offering to provide them with food for free in exchange for them - the act would never be forgotten, as a sign of callousness of those who would follow the royals - seeing the messages of support from Kalden - the villagers, unknowingly, invited in 'protection.' Civil Protection, specifically. A radio message was sent.

"It is with callousness and brutality - that our countrymen have been robbed, by a foreigner. Western Sylvaria is, truly, a lawless land."
"This land has escaped the war - and for good reason. If the people who have so little to lose, are deprived of their property - than we can say with certainty that these acts of these foreigners, these thieves, cannot be that of the royals we had once known. The monarchy is dead. It died 50 years ago. What we see today, is a royal willing to rely on the support of petty thieves - those who would prey on old men - who would thieve on the well-being of villagers who have nothing."
"If this monarchy truly is what it should claim to be - turn away these thieves. Let them not lay their hands upon the banners of your old Kingdom. If you should find yourself nothing other than a monger of thieves - than take them in, and in doing so, take their company."
"And, this land, clearly - it needs law. From our perspective, there has been only one force capable of providing it."

[The Green Union]

Sylvanhaym
Colonel Jarvos was not one to back down - his efforts would have gone to waste, otherwise. In a meeting with 3 of the most prominent warlords on the island, he had effectively formulated a loose alliance of ex-government soldiers, citizen militias, and other groups native to Sylvanthol - sending a small contingent of his Timberwolves to each, to instruct them in his methods of guerilla warfare.

The island, however - continued to fall under the grip of the Coalition. The Coalition, not Vaul. In the first engagement in which Vaul's forces were not directly supervised - around 20 soldiers - attempted a scouting run, they were caught in an ambush - and killed to a man by Timberwolf guerillas.

The Coalition had known about the vague existence of the Timberwolves for some time. Some harassing fire here, a roadblock extorting protection money there. But on an island so rife with local militias they had failed to pay them any special attention when compared with any other number of rogue armed groups which might pose a problem. That oversight had left twenty men dead. It would not happen again.

Maj. Arhus was known to have been absolutely seething as he paced the length of the base, whipping together a response force after drones had confirmed the massacre, riding out personally one some of the first armoured cars which had just come in to look for survivors and try to track down their killers. When he and his troopers returned hours later, twenty sheet-wrapped bodies to unload, that seething had turned to a stony, silent rage. Shortly afterwards he had summoned his staff, devising a plan of action.

The first of these would come by air, as, following a quick call to the Coalition fleet, Rhastovian S-33 fighter jets wailed low over the countryside where the massacre had taken place, making several passes over villages, empty woodland, and several poor individuals which their infa-red pods had spotted roving around among the trees. Then, should the message not already be clear, they pressed their bomb release switches . . . and let loose a cloud of paper which came to blanket the entire area. On these, far more explicit words told readers that the Coalition, in partnership with the remnant Republic of Sylvaria, is here to stabilize the security situation on Sylvanhaym and reestablish constitutional unity with the mainland. It asked all Sylvarians on the island to peacefully cooperate in the spirit of national unity, including with instructions on how to approach Republic/Coalition forces for parlay and open radio frequencies to tune into for official government information or to communicate with the Republic.

In reality, of course, these sweet words written by Sylvarians, and the Sylvarian Republican voices anyone could tune in and listen to on the radio, were all backed up by the Coalition which paid, housed, and provided for each and every one of Vaul's employees. And as the rest of these pamphlets outlined, they would not tolerate anyone on Sylvanhaym who knowingly continued to take up arms against their Republic. The next time jets flew over they would be dropping bombs.

Eurasian Embassy, Havenbrook

"But, it's not all bad. My agents have submitted job applications for low-level bureaucratic positions to Vaul's people, all with fake identities of course. Considering the loss of records during the civil war and especially during the fall of Sylvanthol, they shouldn't be able to look all that closely into our guys." The Ukrainian grabbed a flask on the table and popped it open, taking a swig of the vodka inside.

Eurasian Embassy, Havenbrook

Once again they met, and once more they plotted. This time, however, the Uyghur was much more attentive, focusing on every word said closely.

"What are these complications you've had on Sylvanhaym?" The Uyghur stared the Ukrainian down, gazing right into his soul.

Sighing, "Unfortunately, The Green Union have put Vaul under metaphorical house arrest." The Balt spoke up, interrupting him.

"The Kings New Clothes, except this time it's 'The Republics New President'." The Uyghur interrupted with a hint of fury in his voice "Let him finish, we don't have time to fool around."

"Like I was saying, Vaul is letting himself get pushed around, but a mouthpiece for the Coalition. A horrid one at that, too." Taking a swig of his flask, "He's President in name only, any Green Union brute that rolls up to his office might aswell rip him off the chair and sit in it himself. So, he's been 'persuaded' to surround himself with a horde of Green Union guards. Worse yet, he has let them sift through every newcomer to the military and bureaucracy, meaning our agents are under suspicion." Taking another swig of the vodka, he wiped his mouth before sighing.

"We can extract our agents. It'll take them forever to process every applicant, so by the time they review most of our agents who were gonna infiltrate the bureaucracy and military, they'll be extracted." Leaning back in his chair as he placed the flask back on the table, he continued. "On the bright side, we've printed a substantial amount of currency - the right one this time - and have gotten them onto the island. We'll lie low for a bit, then put this plan of ours into motion."

The Eurasian agents were just in the process of packing their things and preparing to leave Sylvanhaym when, much to their surprise, they received word back from their hiring contact within Vaul's government. In it they were inform that, after 'a thorough background check including all your relevant pre-war and wartime activities,' they had been cleared to work in their chosen bureaucratic jobs. This statement was, of course, total nonsense, and confirmed the Eurasian command's assessment that a lack of surviving and accessible pre-war records would force the Coalition to tolerate some uncertainty about who exactly they were allowing into their ranks.

While it was unclear whether this porousness would continue up into the more consequential ranks of Vaul's budding remnant, and indeed to those which had access to the president-in-name himself, it was definitely a solid first step.

RPN Fratež
Commodore Bauer

In the bridge, he wired in to his Green Union counterparts, having completed their patrol and now looking for something to do. "Himmelsdorf, this is RPN Fratež. We are standing by and awaiting a mission. We have not been told any further instructions from Kamooko. I have two ships, countless SIGINT capable aircraft, a couple strike capable aircraft, a shitload of cruise missiles, and a detachment of motivated marines. How copy?" Bauer looked around at his tired looking crew on the quarterdeck and sighed. Kamooko was never very clear with their instructions and he was sick of it. He could still be in Nedewsila right now slaying pirates, but this humanitarian mission with no orders was now beginning to weigh on him and his crew. They needed action.

Word had it also that Marcus Brayfield was in theater. Every Phoenixian knew Major Brayfield; he was the one who doomed Kassau to the invasion by a large Sevevillian force. And to a degree, many of them had some sort of ill feelings, word had it that he had gotten into a brawl with the Phoenixian sergeant on the tarmac whence 15th mech started laying down hate on Sevevillian personnel. The XO came on deck and inquired to Bauer if the Marine detachment should prepare for rapid deployment, the Commodore simply said, "Have them on standby."

When the order was sent out, voice tubes throughout the whole ship exploded with cheering from the Marine Detachment quarters.

An almost exasperated reply came through the radio. "RPN Fratež, this is Himmelsdorf. You know Kamooko hasn't got any mandate out here. Live a little."

Captain Pellew thanked the Phoenixians for coming, filling them in on the dire situation in Nayden. Their marines were desperately needed to help process refugees and shore up the perimeter with Arakhkhar's unhinged shock troopers, while divers and heliborne mine clearing devices would be required immediately to help make the harbour safe for the evacuation. As for these 'countless' aircraft? Well, Pellew knew as well as the Phoenixians what the complement of an Attu Class light carrier was. After all, she had commanded one for a short stint before being shunted off to this dead end interregional posting, and was more than happy to tell them they should clear the RPN Etschelenaha of her paltry airgroup. Maybe send them to Sylvanhaym and use the space to take on refugees. After all, the Phoenixian battlegroup was famed for its speed. They would be more than capable of acting as improvised fast ferries to get people out, at least until proper transports could arrive.

As for Captain Brayfield? Well, that was one more reason to get over to Sylvanhaym.

[The Eur-asian Federation]

Eurasian Embassy, Havenbrook

Once again they met, and once more they plotted. This time, however, the Uyghur was much more attentive, focusing on every word said closely.

"What are these complications you've had on Sylvanhaym?" The Uyghur stared the Ukrainian down, gazing right into his soul.

Sighing, "Unfortunately, The Green Union have put Vaul under metaphorical house arrest." The Balt spoke up, interrupting him.

"The Kings New Clothes, except this time it's 'The Republics New President'." The Uyghur interrupted with a hint of fury in his voice "Let him finish, we don't have time to fool around."

"Like I was saying, Vaul is letting himself get pushed around, but a mouthpiece for the Coalition. A horrid one at that, too." Taking a swig of his flask, "He's President in name only, any Green Union brute that rolls up to his office might aswell rip him off the chair and sit in it himself. So, he's been 'persuaded' to surround himself with a horde of Green Union guards. Worse yet, he has let them sift through every newcomer to the military and bureaucracy, meaning our agents are under suspicion." Taking another swig of the vodka, he wiped his mouth before sighing.

"We can extract our agents. It'll take them forever to process every applicant, so by the time they review most of our agents who were gonna infiltrate the bureaucracy and military, they'll be extracted." Leaning back in his chair as he placed the flask back on the table, he continued. "On the bright side, we've printed a substantial amount of currency - the right one this time - and have gotten them onto the island. We'll lie low for a bit, then put this plan of ours into motion."

The Eurasian agents were just in the process of packing their things and preparing to leave Sylvanhaym when, much to their surprise, they received word back from their hiring contact within Vaul's government. In it they were inform that, after 'a thorough background check including all your relevant pre-war and wartime activities,' they had been cleared to work in their chosen bureaucratic jobs. This statement was, of course, total nonsense, and confirmed the Eurasian command's assessment that a lack of surviving and accessible pre-war records would force the Coalition to tolerate some uncertainty about who exactly they were allowing into their ranks.

While it was unclear whether this porousness would continue up into the more consequential ranks of Vaul's budding remnant, and indeed to those which had access to the president-in-name himself, it was definitely a solid first step.

Undisclosed Location, Sylvarian Mainland

"What?" The Ukrainian held the receiver up to his ear, flask in hand as he could barely believe what he was hearing.

"So first you lie about our guys getting off the island, and now you're telling me they actually accepted this?" Affirmation.

"Well, fuck me... Ok, this could be a trap. Send an agent or two to claim their spots, all goes well? All our guys can do their duties. Things go bad? They'll only have a handful of cards stolen from our deck." He took a swig from his flask, a mix of anger and relief in his heart.

"Got it. If they ask anything about why showed up late, get the agents to make up some excuses. 'Oh, my dog was sick.' or 'Oh, I had a few problems with my car'. Got it? Good." The Ukrainian hung up before taking a swig from his flask, perhaps it'd be wise to formulate a backup plan if this went to hell.

[The Green Union]

Captain Marcus Brayfield, Camp Elaros Airbase, Sylvanhaym:

Camp Elaros had come a long way since Brayfield arrived. From a shattered, burning husk which they barely managed to hold in the face of local forces turned enemies by the death of President Voss, transformed into . . . still a shattered husk with little if any utility. The troop accommodations remained broken, now capable of housing only a small fraction of the soldiers and administrators they once could. Any vehicle bays and aircraft hangars were similarly gone, their multi million NS dollars worth of contents crushed under heaps of steel and concrete. And as for the fuel stores? Well, the fires from those had only been extinguished last week. At the very least they had managed to patch most of the tarmac holes to start bringing in cargo flights by those aircraft capable of handling the difficult runway. And at least some buildings had been refurbished into semi-usable states with quite a few tents and prefabricated shelters taking up the slack.

For all this Brayfield was thankful for the Fyrlander regiments' timely arrival. Without them, after all, there would have been no way to push their security cordon out in order to cover air operations. Nor would they have the muscle power to be making steady, albeit glacially slow repairs.

Even now, the Loyalist Captain was standing on the tarmac as another old Green Union UC-130 Hercules transport spluttered to a stop, soldiers and forklifts rushing to begin unpacking this latest shipment of lightweight essential supplies. For the most part these contents were to be expected: Wooden crates of food, munitions, some spare uniforms and assorted kit. Then a special luxury in the form of one jeep, fitted with some extra armour plate to protect it from small arms fire. Then more miscellaneous crates . . .

Except no. Those weren't normal. Brayfield watched as a large wooden crate was wheeled past on a forklift, unable to contain his curiosity as he followed it to the staging point where these were being stacked. The stamped words on its side were strange, absurdist even. Because this long wooden crate, around the size of a small car and easily wheeled around by the equipment on base, was listed as containing a fighter jet. Specifically, one of the famous Universal Fighter Aircraft program undertaken between several Markion nations; the so-dubbed 'Markofighter.'

UFA-56 FLAT PACKED
THIS SIDE UP

And this was not the only one. Multiple crates claimed to contain fighter jets or fighter jet components. A few more purported to be trucks of various descriptions, all equally absurd to be inside boxes at all, far less boxes of that size. Brayfield flagged over one of the Fyrlander soldiers, who seemed just as confused about the crates' contents. The aircrew just shrugged; they only knew what was written on the outside. Finally, getting tired of searching for someone to explain this joke, the Captain sent someone to fetch a crowbar and crack the damn things open. And as the lid fell off, they peered inside to find that, yes indeed, there was a fighter jet in there.

Looking up at them was a Green Union air force roundel on part of what was clearly a fighter jet tail. And yet as the soldiers reached inside they found they could lift the whole thing out without any problem. And below that was more wing, and fuselage, and little fake landing gear and wheels to move the whole thing around after putting it together. Because this flat packed fighter jet was made of plywood.

It was in this moment that the Kamooko Pact veterans among them immediately knew what was going on, but it took some time before they could drag over someone who actually knew for certain to confirm it. These were plywood decoys which were to be assembled and placed around the airfield to help confound enemy aerial and satellite surveillance, an old Placeodermsian trick used mostly to deceive Vilhallan intelligence efforts which had since become a staple of the Kamooko Pact in their Cold War with the empires of Markion. Pair these decoys with some newly-sourced drones which could fly with radar reflectors to mimic a fighter-sized aircraft, and they may just be capable of deceiving their rivals in Arakhkhar, Sylvaria, and the Coalition itself into misunderstanding their capabilities.

And so, the next days, military and commercial satellites were quick to pick up on a rapidly escalating military buildup in Camp Elaros. First it was the number of tents and trucks ballooning, then several pre-fabricated buildings appearing. Then, overnight, an entire flight of F-56 single engine fighter aircraft and their accompanying support trucks. And if a small Gripen-inspired jet was already seen on radar operating from Camp Elaros airfield, one may be forgiven for fearing that larger, more substantial forces are close behind.

[The Daeva]

New Varreach

The reappearance of the Crown in Salaros III marks the reappearance of hope in Sylvaria. Hope is something that uniquely he is capable of offering as one who is at once so far removed from the present terrors and yet in his own person so intimately intertwined with the country that its prosperity will be his prosperity. This is because his right to the Crown is the Sylvarian people’s right to his faithful service. Right, it is equally responsibility. For pursuing so grand a responsibility, His Majesty the King of the Emerstarians, Erik XII Georg, extends to Salaros III his admiration, encouragement, and fraternity. So too, he points to him as a self-offer of hope, a way forward for those on all sides who will courageously take up the virtue of hope, spurning the grave and vicious offense to human dignity that is despairful war and those innumerable indignities that accompany war. In this, he pleads that none be contemptful of their responsibility of hope, owed to their neighbors, by which contempt come the horrors of war.

The foot of the letter bore the royal stamp of assent—a red circle with a central engraving of the Eirikrian crest and the phrase “denne Konge des Emers af majestetige Hossinget apostolige so folkige, so mer” around it. In English: “the King of the Emerstarians of Majestic Apostolic and National Sovereignty, etc.”

The arrival of the monarchists to the region had been certainly loud - with radio messages across the area constantly referencing the arrival of the Prince - heir to Sylvaria's throne, whose birthright was stolen from him. Now, everyone in Sylvaria - and well beyond it - was talking about the Banished Prince.
With the arrival of diplomatic support from Emerstari, the Crown Prince was evidently rather pleased - as he wrote a diplomatic communique to them, using his princely seal - one which had not been used in fifty years.

It is with kindness in my heart that I have received this movement of support from the esteemed Erik XII Georg of Emerstari - his majesty, and the glory of his nation, which had been known to us long before the murder of my father at the hands of the Republic. I can speak, both as a Crown Prince, and as a Sylvarian - that it is the work of fine men and women across the world that our country stands on its own feet. Though the present horrors of war are indeed grim - from which so much has been inflicted upon this state, so many lives ruined by consequence of this enduring struggle. It is hope, as our friend says - hope for a brighter future, that shall bring us from these dredges - and into a future characterized by prosperity in common.

And it is with this gesture of support - of hope for Sylvaria - hope undying, hope renewed, that the Sylvarian people found themselves renewed. Though some have, inevitably, called against my ascension - understandable, for such people have spent the last fifty years undergoing the most callous of inculcation against my legacy, and that of my forefathers. To those individuals, I must write as well - that I do not wish subjugation for Sylvaria. I do not want to crush you under my heel, nor shall I demand your undying devotion. I ask only, that for the sake of Sylvaria - that this nation once again rise. That, perhaps, as a man who has played no part in this present, and sorry state of affairs - that I may assist in restoring some peace of mind to a broken Sylvaria.

What was will likely never be again - I am no stranger to that, and I have come to peace with it. I am, however, willing to stand to lift Sylvaria up - to stand by your side.

The Crown Prince also heard the speech of Vaul - something that was so readily cobbled together, as a pathetic verbal meandering from place to place - devoid of value, or of heartfelt intent. The fact that every word that Vaul spoke seemed to be made of the verge of tears did not help.
In private, he would remark on this to his peers.

"This... President Vaul."
He paused, to adjust his battered cloak.
"He is an example of why the Kingdom fell. A sycophant, willing to twist his morality for any powerful man or woman that passes by. His father before him was likely the same - and during the revolution, he likely would have been the first to call for my beheading, had he been asked to. In all measurements, an absurdity of a man, and an embarrassment to Sylvaria."
As murmurs of concurrence came from his knights, he continued.
"I cannot work with such a man. No one should have to suffer his presence - he represents the worst excesses of this Republic."

Officially, though, he gave no response to Vaul's whining speech.

As for the royalist forces, he sought to make contact with Kalden's nationalists - viewing him as the sole leader in Sylvaria capable of fulfilling, or helping to assist, in his plans for the future - although, of course, that may change in the future.

---

Havenbrook
Kalden, for his part, remained in Havenbrook - mostly concerned for the future. His activities thus far had been those of engaging in war - but with the Civil War seeming to wind down, there was little he could do except begin to prepare for the inevitable - a Free Sylvarian unification. For if the free elements were united in some form - Sylvaria would be picked apart piece by piece by the slavers.

A message had came in from the Eurasians - asking for military engineers to assist with the construction of a new base. However - the majority of Sylvarian army engineers were currently focused on the repairing of infrastructure within Innsholm - which would be extremely necessary to sustain a land push on to the capital - something that would be vital in the coming future. In addition, they were also in usage to repair a water treatment facility outside Port Galen - without it, pure water could be be acquired in bulk. Thus, the request was rejected for the time being - he did, however, offer to create a program to allow Sylvarian workers to assist with the construction of the base. This would help to soak up unemployment and to thus assist in stabilizing the economy.

As for other matters - Kalden had to offer some sort of letter to Salaros regarding the return of the royals - something that had been weighing on his mind, both as a potential detriment, or as a potential downside.
The first order of business was to establish some sort of agreement to avoid fighting between them - as he hoped to align with them in the future.

To his Majesty, the Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria.
From General Marcus Kalden

---

It has come to my attention that the long-since gone Crown Prince of Sylvaria has finally returned from his exile - at first, I must admit, I believed it to be nothing. But another whisper of this blasted war - there have been so many. I thought, perhaps, I had fallen victim to the blasted fog which seems to immerse Vaylenburgh Province.

Now, I can see clearly - I was wrong. I do hope you should forgive me, then, for not speaking sooner unto you. The fact of the matter is that this war will soon be at an end, regardless of the chatter of more warlike members of either party.
The second fact is that I do not wish to fight against you. Regardless of the comparative dispositions of our forces, the fact remains that Sylvaria needs a symbol of strength - and the symbol of a man unbroken by fifty years in exile is not only powerful, but admirable.

I do not intend to come across as a whining sycophant - for that is not within my being. I ask only that we should discuss, as men - as Sylvarians - that, upon my honor, that no harm shall come to your or to your entourage, or to any follower who would stand in your name.

This would be attached with a temporary seal of the Provisional Government's presidency.
He hoped, not for his sake, but for Sylvaria's, that he would respond favorably.

---

Siladen City
It was yet another cloudy day over North Sylvaria - and the Intendant Varos looked out upon that horizon. For the first time, he had felt that everything within sight was in his grip - or at least, in the grip of his benefactors. He wasn't quite sure about how he felt with that, to be honest - he knew he was widely despised among much of South Sylvaria. But, in his mind - he had softened the occupation - put a glove over the iron fist that had crashed down through his country.

The return of the royals, however, was something he could not feasibly go without addressing. Arakhkhar was, for its part, uncertain about the royals - for one, they were a legitimate aristocracy - something they sought to institute in North Sylvaria. However, it was also clear that this monarch was not quite amenable to their interests.

He would have to make an address - however, due to the tentative situation - it was decidedly non-critical.

By now, every man, woman, and child was well-familiar with the face of the Intendant. It was hard to miss - his old, soldier's face, with those kind, tired eyes that seemed to implore one to some act of kindness - even as he uttered the words that would be unthinkable to anyone just a few months prior. His bearded face, the hairs of which had long since greyed.
His first words were calm.
"Loyal citizens."
"As many of you are now aware, a recent event has unfolded in the western part of this nation. The Crown Prince, Salaros III, has returned from a fifty year exile in the badlands."
He paused for a moment.
"I must congratulate him on his survival through 5 decades of what must have been an excruciating exile. The pangs of exile are, as Socrates once said, one of the harshest punishments ever imposed upon man."
"However, this is where my congratulations must end."
"History - history is not a cyclical nature. History progresses, it moves forward beyond the past. I hold the opinion that everything occurs for a reason - just as the royalty was exiled, so is their return indicative of some grander purpose. Tragedy, however, is cyclical. When we do not learn from history - from the mistakes of both the old Kingdom, and from the decayed and rotten Republic - we are doomed to repeat those mistakes which led to this current, sorry state of affairs."
"I ask - unto you, he who was once meant to be the King of our nation - is your arrival a hark to the past - another repetition of the same, doomed cycle of devastation, corruption, of revolution - of human suffering on an unimaginable scale? Or is it some puzzle piece, in the grand design that has been put together - one that shall pave the way for peace and prosperity for Sylvaria? Time, my lord - time will tell."
"And for you, Sylvarians - citizens, and those not of my administration - I shall ask you to ponder whether the same thing should be tried once more - something which had, in part, led to our present misery - or shall we join hands, united, under the guidance of our benefactors - towards a New Order devoid of the mistakes of the past."

The speech was, of course, met with applause by Varos' sycophants - by the most enthusiastic of collaborators. For the rest, they simply watched on - showing enough loyalty to prevent drawing the ire of any Civil Protection units.

The stabilization of prices in North Sylvaria was certainly beginning to end the reliance on rationing - namely, in Siladen City itself. Vaylenburgh was still heavily rationed, and shortages in the occupied parts of the capital province still demanded rationing in that part of the country. However, with Siladen Province being effectively right on the border with Arakhkhar - and with the creation of a North Sylvarian economy, through massive investment into industrial projects such as the Sylvarwerke Arms Facility. With insurgencies in North Sylvaria coming to an end - there was also an end to military rule in the province's outskirts, as Civil Protection effectively took over - this was with the exception of certain rapid-response units stationed by Arakhkhar in the event of rebellion.

Rebellion, however, did not come to Siladen Province - and Intendant Varos, more than anyone, was thankful for it. It meant, to him, that he would not have to witness the most brutal parts usually accompanying an occupation - something which was taking place in Nayden, or in other parts of Vaylenburgh Province.

---

Ukirstead Outskirts

Sir Roland shrugs. “Well, I am sure you will figure out something” he says cheerfully as the porters move the branch out of the way. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He says as he and his men board the trucks. “Ciao-Ciao!” He says affably to the destitute villagers, waving aristocratically as they drive off.

“Sir… are you sure that was… the right thing to do?” One of the porters asked nervously. “Of course I am!” Sir Roland exclaims confidently. “Hey… what in the world is that?” He says, pointing towards the edge of the truck bed. The porter leans over the edge. “I don’t se-AGH!” He exclaims as Sir Roland kicks him off the back of the truck, where he falls to a crumpled heap a few feet from the villagers, still breathing but badly injured. The trucks make good time, sped up by the dumping of the various knickknacks that served as cargo. Their battered remains lined the road for some miles…

Ukirstead Outskirts
The Old men effectively crumpled - trying to pick up their scattered textiles with pathetic weakness. One of them, however, went to the nearby village of Ukirstead itself - informing them of the callous act. Although the villagers would assist to recover their assorted goods - even offering to provide them with food for free in exchange for them - the act would never be forgotten, as a sign of callousness of those who would follow the royals - seeing the messages of support from Kalden - the villagers, unknowingly, invited in 'protection.' Civil Protection, specifically. A radio message was sent.

"It is with callousness and brutality - that our countrymen have been robbed, by a foreigner. Western Sylvaria is, truly, a lawless land."
"This land has escaped the war - and for good reason. If the people who have so little to lose, are deprived of their property - than we can say with certainty that these acts of these foreigners, these thieves, cannot be that of the royals we had once known. The monarchy is dead. It died 50 years ago. What we see today, is a royal willing to rely on the support of petty thieves - those who would prey on old men - who would thieve on the well-being of villagers who have nothing."
"If this monarchy truly is what it should claim to be - turn away these thieves. Let them not lay their hands upon the banners of your old Kingdom. If you should find yourself nothing other than a monger of thieves - than take them in, and in doing so, take their company."
"And, this land, clearly - it needs law. From our perspective, there has been only one force capable of providing it."

Vvareach

Sir Roland bristled as soon as he heard the news. “Those… those ingrates!” He seethed. “I let them live and this is how they repay me? The nerve!” He says, crossing his arms as they arrive in the larger town. “Still, we will now need to be more stealthy. Luckily, I can blend in flawlessly with the natives.” He says confidently.

“Wait, sir!” Hargrave says in vain as the explorer throws a tattered robe over his outfit and hops out of the car. It… actually isn’t a half bad disguise. Sir Roland affects a limp as he hobbled around, looking for information. He try’s to overhear every conversation. Despite his other negative qualities, he isn’t a half bad investigator. It would only be a matter of time before he found a monarchist. Whenever anyone would question him, he would respond in his best feeble old man voice (with decent Sylvarian) “I just want to see the royal one last time before I die.”

The story was as pitiful as it was false, so it would probably gain sympathy with some bleeding heart. Besides, if anyone troubled him his walking stick has a sword concealed in it and a pistol rested in the folds of his robes, as well…

[Great Kerguelen Islands]

The fleet will soon arrive at arakhkar

General, here’s the composition of the army :

7th army - 4 000 - General John of McKarthy
• 15th Armored Tank Division - 85 - Paul Brezick

• 6th light tank division - 115 - William Grandhall

• 24th artillery division - 200 - François La Motte

• 25th artillery division - 200 - Henri Grand

• 1st armored artillery division - 150 - Francis Fellman

• 3th anti-air division - 250 - Garry Lullman
‎ -• 4th anti-air artillery regiment (3th anti-air division) - 200 - Jean Lévy
‎ -• 2nd anti-air tank company (- 50 - Xavier Jean- Petit Pont

• Scout group - 100 - Garry Lawn

• 95th infantry division - 500 - Danny Le poutre
‎ -• 273th regiment - 100 - William Franscet
-• 274th regiment - 100 - Henry Franscet
-• 275th regiment - 100 - Lawrence Willten
-• 276th regiment - 100 - Georges Cull
-• 277th regiment - 100 - Wilhelm von Suttenberg

• 96th infantry division - 500 - Curt Delon
-• 278th regiment - 100 - Andrew Little
-• 279th regiment - 100 - Christopher Dessaw
-• 280th regiment - 100 - Alexander Grandhall
-• 281th regiment - 100 - Michael Kimberley
-• 282th regiment - 100 - Stephen Andrew

• 104th infantry division - 700 - Marc Le Brun
-• 469th regiment - 350 - Valérien Péjard
-• 469th regiment - 350 - Guillaume Le pelletier

• 105th infantry division - 700 - Sébastien Burrier
-• 470th regiment - 350 - Saturnin Ferrières
-• 471th regiment - 350 - Laurent Couzier

• 139th marines division (nickname : Pouret regiment) - 600 - Louis Pouret
-• 23rd regiment - 300 - Prosper Pouret
-• 24th regiment - 300 - Gilles Pouret

[The Eur-asian Federation]

DSM Dirty Bomb Site

The operative gripped his silenced AKSU-90 tightly. He waited in the darkness, making sure to lay low to not get spotted. He didn't know for sure if they could take the facility with just 12 men. Dah, It probably wouldn't matter anyways. Time felt like it slowed to a crawl as he waited for the signal to be given. 'Spasibo.' His headset crackled, "Move." he ordered to his three other squad mates.

As they exited the foliage, the guards which they had spotted earlier laid dead as the loud pings of the silencers of their squad mates were heard. Hopefully the rain would conceal the sound. Continuing to move up, his headset crackled "Squad Alpha clear the area, Beta for search for the entrance. Gamma squad keep steady and watch out for anyone coming up."

He watched as the two other squads moved to their respective positions. He raised his hand and motioned forwards repeatedly, prompting his squadmates to move up. As they searched for the entrance, he could make out the faint sound of his squadmates firing in the area around the entrance. Continuing to search, his head perked up once he heard "Over here. This mound of sand, it doesn't look natural." He motioned for his squadmates to move up to the pile as he continued hearing the faint sounds of the shooting nearby.

He pressed the push-to-speak button his headset, "Kvartet, come in Kvartet. This is Beta squad. Over" Waiting for a few moments.

"Beta squad. This is Kvartet. Over." He spoke up as the rain grew stronger.

"Beta squad to Kvartet. Requesting airstrike on the nearby Tatar guard outpost. They will compromise the mission if informed of our operation. Over." He knew that DSM joint nearby wasn't just an outpost, it was probably an extension of the missile site and had some high grade equipment and men. It had to be eliminated.

"Kvartet to Beta Squad. Airstrike ETA 10 minutes. Kvartet out." He let go of the button, going back to two handing his AKSU.

He snapped his attention to the sand mound, seeing that his squad mates were digging. "Commander, a mat." He moved closer, inspecting it. He pressed on it before speaking "Hollow. As expected. Get ready to move in." He moved back, motioning to Gamma squad to come closer just as Alpha squad returned. "Stack up." The sand by now was mostly gone, leaving the mat mostly exposed. Lifting the mat, he saw a mining elevator. He ripped the mat off, signalling with his fingers: Three. Two. One.

The 12 Spetsnaz operatives moved into the room, looking around as they spotted parked trucks, all probably irradiated. "Can't get in sneakily, elevator would announce our presence unless we take everyone out quickly." The two other squad leaders nodded as the 12 operatives moved onto the elevator. "Ready flashbangs and gas. Make sure your gas masks are on right." The elevator creaked on the way down as they readied themselves to storm the site. As the elevator slowed to a crawl, it felt as if time slowed to a crawl as he spotted someone walking into a nearby hallway... A fanatic ? His gear, it seemed too good for one- The highly equipped fanatic dropped dead as one of his squadmates put him down with a round to the head. He shook his head, "Move in." He ordered as they rushed off the elevator.

"On me." He moved to the hallway the fanatic was entering just before he dropped dead, it made sense they'd be so well equipped when defending this site. As they moved further in, they spotted a doorway on their right. He motioned for the men to stack up as they heard the rustling of equipment and chatter of men in a language they couldn't even understand. He slung his own AKSU, grabbing a stun grenade as another operative did the same. He counted down. Three. Two. One. Pulling the pin, he cooked it for a second before throwing it in. BANG! BANG!

Everyone in the facility was sure to have heard that. Unslinging his AKSU, he took aim at the now stunned guards as his squad mates began taking them all down, ensuring the job was done with a double tap. Looking around the room, the beds made it clear this was some sort of barracks with a combined armory. Moving out of the room, they heard the rapid stomp of boots coming towards their direction. Crouching down, he aimed down the hallway as 4 fanatics rounded the corner and were gunned down immediately. "Alpha. Clear the out the position behind us. Gamma. With me." They rushed back to the elevator as Alpha squad rushed in the other way, weapons pre-aimed down the hallway.

Seeing that there were still two more hallways they hadn't cleared out - on their left and forwards - he turned to the Gamma squad leader, "Clear out the hallway on the left. Once you have, regroup with Alpha." The squad leader nodded as he motioned for his men to come with him, rushing down the hallway as the sound of firing reverberated around the facility. "Quickly. We gotta move, before they destroy any sensitive documents or the ala-" The alarm started blaring. It was now or never.

---

Joint Military Base Istomin, Sylvarian Coast

For a while, the 15th had to resort to using civilian contractors to work on repairing the base. The security risks were known to HQ, but they had no other choice until their engineers arrived. When they finally did however, they brought with them building materials to last months. They had big plans for the site, slopes all around the base on land that forced any land attacker to go through a single point - that being a single tunnel which could effectively become a killzone. An entire airbase attached to the naval and army bases, perhaps an aerodome to act as the center of all Eurasian operations in the region. Naval batteries, SAM, AShM pods, top of the line radar! The base was theirs to mold with an effectively blank cheque from Moscow.

Of course, this would take weeks if not months, so it was decided to employ the locals. With Kalden having access to atleast some pre-war records, they'd be able to preform background checks on their workers. Even then, they'd work under heavy surveillance from the 5,000-strong VDV garrison. Major General Islamov had of course moved from his field HQ to the base, and with him overseeing the base any undisciplined soldiers would think twice about stepping out of line. For now, the engineers had been able to construct a singular, thin hill that went all around the base as a makeshift wall of sorts until they could make proper concrete walls with fences to keep tresspassers out, all with a single tunnel leading to and from the base. Luckily for the engineers, there wouldn't be any problems with supplies. Moscow would send materials and replacements north through North Sylvaria, a couple hours drive from the area and they'd be dropped off with no hassle.

The first order of business however would be to restore the base to working condition. The base was a former Sylvarian military base, and had been abandoned as a result of the civil war as the elements, looters, and scavengers damaged it. Luckily, repairs wouldn't take that long, especially with the civilian contractors providing manual labor. Unlike the contractors who would work in the mines or fields owned by Eurasian companies, these contractors were paid in actual Eurasian Rubles, a stable foreign currency which would remain stable even if Sylvaria burnt. Sooner or later, this base would become a fortress to look over the Southern Bay.

---

Havenbrook

While the 15th were sitting in that base to the north, the 93rd were resting in Havenbrook. News from HQ still hadn't come in of what was gonna happen to them, perhaps that's why there were given so much freetime to fraternize with the locals. That was until they were informed of the news: They were to be reorganized into the 202nd Special Spetsnaz Brigade and were to be trained in Sylvaria in their local field base in the Havenbrook harbor. Now that they were technically special forces, the Ministry of Defense would be sending over men to replenish their ranks and equipment to replace the equipment they lost in the campaign against the DSM.

The news was received cautiously by the men, sure they would keep all the military traditions they had as the 93rd, but were they gonna be sent on more dangerous campaigns? Were they to receive better equipment? Noone was certain what was gonna happen except the brass, and they had their plans for the 202nd. In the unlikely case that Kalden was to die or go missing or otherwise be unable to rule, the 202nd would seize Havenbrook and attempt to keep the nationalists together. Of course, that wasn't the only reason that they were staying in Havenbrook. By the day, it became increasingly clear that Kalden and the Coalition would come to blows, and the 202nd would do well to defend Havenbrook. This was all in the future, of course, and the 202nd still had to be brought back to fighting capacity so for now they would wait.

---

Sylvarian Desert

The man continued riding on his camel in the scorching hot sun. This land was apparently so important to this prince, but all he could see was sand for kilometers on end with the occasional settlement. When they said he was gonna be sent from the Agency in Moscow to Sylvaria to keep tabs on troop morale, he wasn't expecting to end up in this Allah-forsaken desert all by himself. He scoffed, thinking over the rumors he had heard: The return of the Prince, some arrogant aristocrat with a gang of goons marauding throughout the desert, Arakhkhran Civil Protection coming in to take over towns. Maybe this Prince wasn't real, maybe he was a pretender or an elaborate plot by the ISI to lure the DSM into the desert so they could all die.

He lowered his sweat-drenched face coverings, wiping the sweat from his scarred and charred face before taking them off completely. He couldn't risk his wounds getting infected in a place like this, so he took out a thick dark blue scarf and wrapped it around his face thoroughly. He began thinking why they couldn't scour the desert with a helicopter, or better yet give him a map? Dah, whatever. He had to stop getting lost in his train of thought, otherwise he'd get killed by some desert bandits. Thank god he knew how to clean and repair this AK, otherwise he'd be a goner. He shook his head, focusing on the desert ahead as he continued riding ever northwards.

[Arakhkhar]

New Vvarreach
The monarchy had slowly positioned themselves within New Vvareach. It was a town of 83,000, and one which had been neutral until thus far during the war. With a large population, of which almost 30% were from the desert - merchants, nomads, drifting in to trade from the sands, who became trapped in Sylvaria during the civil war.

It had always stood as a sort of frontier for Sylvaria - a land with a mix of cultures between the desert and coastal nation of Sylvaria. It had, at one point, been conquered by a roaming Jundlandi warlord, before they had been expelled by the monarchy.
As such - the town, with its frontier spirit, was among the most well armed in Sylvaria. Several militias had dotted the landscape. Being so far from the Republic's core, it was also a hotbed for monarchist sentiment - which had made the return of the Crown Prince bloodless.

In such a town - the arrival of a few robed refugees, with admittedly decent Sylvarian, was not looked down upon. When asked if one could see the king for one last time - the message would be sent up the ladder, so to speak.

To his Majesty, the Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria.
From General Marcus Kalden

---

It has come to my attention that the long-since gone Crown Prince of Sylvaria has finally returned from his exile - at first, I must admit, I believed it to be nothing. But another whisper of this blasted war - there have been so many. I thought, perhaps, I had fallen victim to the blasted fog which seems to immerse Vaylenburgh Province.

Now, I can see clearly - I was wrong. I do hope you should forgive me, then, for not speaking sooner unto you. The fact of the matter is that this war will soon be at an end, regardless of the chatter of more warlike members of either party.
The second fact is that I do not wish to fight against you. Regardless of the comparative dispositions of our forces, the fact remains that Sylvaria needs a symbol of strength - and the symbol of a man unbroken by fifty years in exile is not only powerful, but admirable.

I do not intend to come across as a whining sycophant - for that is not within my being. I ask only that we should discuss, as men - as Sylvarians - that, upon my honor, that no harm shall come to your or to your entourage, or to any follower who would stand in your name.

This would be attached with a temporary seal of the Provisional Government's presidency.
He hoped, not for his sake, but for Sylvaria's, that he would respond favorably.

The letter from Marcus Kalden was, indeed, received favorably. The Prince Frederick had heard much of the war, and of its factions by now - being taught as much by the locals, who were only so eager as to inform their king-to-be of the status-quo. He had been referenced in... every speech, letter, or radio broadcast that had been stated the day prior. It was clear that his arrival had made more of an impact than he had previously stated.

And of those factions that remained - from the Prince's perspective, only Kalden was pragmatic enough - and yet, also enough of a man to work with - unlike the whining sycophant of Vaul.
It was to be responded in kind with the King's private correspondence - and, an open radio broadcast.

To General Marcus Kalden
From: Prince Frederick III Salaros

---

Mister Kalden, whom I might address warmly,
I cannot thank you enough for your correspondence, which has been most helpful in my deliberations.

It is the predilection of our shared nation, to which I have so recently been re-immersed in, to tear itself apart. This, of course, was an issue my father before me contended with, and that you have contended with yourself - and done so admirably. That you have united a broad coalition of people under your Nationalists has been truly admirable - and it is the sort of unity that you inspire, and that, with my hopes - that I can join in this, to bring some measure of unity to this broken nation.

As such - I have resolved, with a party of 400 men, to embark to Havenbrook. It will take time, however, for a route to be cleared. The actions of the so-called Divine Salvation Movement to our south have severely impaired our movements - and I am told that the capital is as of yet infested by cannibals, and otherwise inaccessible to the territory you control as of the moment.

It is under these conditions that our meeting must be postponed for the foreseeable future. I can, however, say that I do not wish conflict between our respective forces - and that I have issued orders to those who have sworn under me to not fire at any man, woman, or child who claims allegiance to your so-called Provisional Government.

Wishing that we should meet soon,
Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros, of Sylvaria.

It was also a matter of course that he took to privately address Intendant Varos by direct letter.

To Intendant Varos, of the State of Northern Sylvaria
From: Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria

---

It is with great difficulty that I find addressing you by the title given unto you by a foreigner - never, in our history, have we been ruled by an Intendant. I do not know under what conditions you have been compelled to collaborate with such a force which seeks not only to annihilate as a nation, as a people.

It is perhaps, that I am simply unacquainted with this strange new Arakhkhar - when last I remember it, it was populated by human tribes, rather than this alien Empire of chains. Perhaps, for instance, I have been deceived - perhaps you know more of them than I do. But even in those scorching deserts, the whispers had come - and what whispers I have heard have spoken of nothing but malice. Not malice on a human level - evil, institutionalized, codified.

I cannot for one moment fathom as to why you, or anyone else would willingly collaborate with such a force. I hold the opinion, however, that - either, you are a traitor to your fatherland, that you are naive - or, the best option - that you sought to make this invasion less cruel for your fellow Sylvarians.

Regardless of the reason - fate has pitted us against each other. I cannot for a moment support the occupation of half of this nation - and I pray that you shall someday see fit to rebel.

However, with regard to your speech - I can say this. I have no illusions as to suggest that the monarchy, in its ancient form, can ever be restored. My father was, in all likelihood, the last of Sylvaria’s absolute kings - though, it seems, your masters would contend that.

I will not, however, make war upon you - however much your treason deserves it. Sylvaria has seen enough blood between these disparate factions. What I have desired from the onset of this chaos is peace - and it has been my sole desire for fifty years of meandering in the desert, to one day return to Sylvaria at peace.
I do hope, Intendant, that you shall not impede that wish of peace. And, sincerely, I pray that you should be fair-handed in whatever scraps of power your masters give you - that you would not exacerbate the suffering of the people.

But such suffering cannot last forever. I know not the day nor the hour, but I know, that on some day - Sylvaria will be whole once more.

Sincerely,
Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria

---

Veksilgorov
The preparations were made ready - several ships had been accorded - and with it, several naval vessels laid in wait. A full battalion was now ready to be deployed - to claim Arakhkhar’s contractual naval base from Sylvaria on Sylvanhaym. Stern advisories were to be placed, informing that this was not an invasion of Sylvanhaym - rather, only the construction of a naval base, and the establishment of a small defensive perimeter around it.

It would, of course, have to be announced beforehand - as this element of the peace deal between the Provisional Government and Arakhkhar would be made public in a joint statement - along with the official opening of the Northern Strait to civilian and humanitarian traffic, as well as to Nationalist military travel, provided it doesn’t interfere with Arakhkhari military operations.
It was also made clear that civilian traffic within the Northern Strait would have their safety ensured by the Arakhkhari military - but, that, no military vessels belonging to a nation other than the Provisional Government of Sylvaria, the Commonwealth of Primeva, the Principality of Arakhkhar, or the State of Northern Sylvaria would be permitted entry. This, of course, followed with an additional exemption for the Eurasians, as a Nationalist ally. Members of the International Security Directorate were also given exemptions, as military allies of Arakhkhar and North Sylvaria.

This was still, yet to come. They had yet to begin sending out the messages.

---

Sylvanhaym
Uncertainty broke out across the island - Coalition leaflets rained overhead, and Vaul’s Republic was offering alms. Some, of course, were all but pleased to take such an opportunity. Most, however, still hated Vaul - not least of which were the Timberwolves.

And so, Jarvos, being the leader of the Timberwolves - had to respond somehow. He decided to use the frequency over the radio to contact the Coalition. His message was short.

crackle
“This is Colonel Jarvos. Pain in your ass. I want to talk to your boss. Not the moron, your real bosses in the Coalition. You can contact me on an open frequency.”
click

SIC:
Enigma-2 finally happened upon Camp Elaros, after several nights of travel - she watched the perimeter from nearly a kilometer away, spying for potential entry points…

She had, of course, two objectives. The first was to kill ‘President’ Vaul, and in doing so, rob the Republic of its legitimacy. Ideally, it should be framed as an accident.
Two - examine the nature of air units. Satellite imagery noted the appearance of Markofighters at the base - something which was considered extremely strange, considering the maritime traffic that would be able to carry and sustain these arrivals on such short notice.
Thus, Central Command had theorized that they were perhaps fakes - but, of course, Enigma- would come to confirm whether or not that was the case.

---

Ukirstead
The radio plea sent out by the residents of Ukirstead was eventually received by the State of Northern Sylvaria.
Truth be told, they were scantly aware of the existence of the village - the Republic was notorious by this point for its poor record keeping, and the last census was over 30 years ago. It had been ignored, as a site of zero strategic importance - however, they could not simply turn away from a village in need of order, could they?

A single truck was loaded with roughly 8 Civil Protection units - carrying a North Sylvarian flag with them, along with the equipment necessary to establish a loose field station at the site.

As they came across some of the tattered textiles, scattered along the roadway, they took to picking some of them up - most of the officers were, of course, natives of Siladen City, and so had very little interaction with the countryside, and so were unfamiliar with them - they figured, however, that they likely belong to the villagers.

The lead officer, however, reasoned - if these robbers had thrown out the textiles, then they had likely only stolen the vehicles - they were not dealing with ordinary desert bandits, then, as they usually come with their own vehicles.

They would stop, at the edge of Ukirstead - stepping out, from the back of their truck, submachineguns on their backs. Their black boots crunched onto gravel, as the lead officer hopped out - their masks, as inhuman as always.

The villagers nervously stepped from their homes - they had never experienced this sort of policing. They had, perhaps naively, expected individuals in the typical blue uniforms and peaked caps - and not the gas-masked figures standing before them.

One of the officers, however, withdrew a pile of the dropped textiles.
“Which of you is the owner of these textiles?” The voice crackled, distorted to remove any human distinction.
The villagers had formed a loose crowd - and those from the convoy in one area. They were scared - especially after just being robbed. The old man, however, stepped forward.
“They are from my village, not far from here.”
The officer tilted his head.
“Can this be confirmed?”
A set of the villagers cautiously nodded - as the Civil Protection officer gently sat them down.
The officers looked at each other for a few moments.
“Citizen - we require lodging.”
One of the villagers stood up a bit.
“Why don’t ya city boys build yaself one?”
The officer walked right up to him.
“A location must be requisitioned. It is you who called for order. We will provide it. We require lodging. A headquarters.”
The villagers looked around at each other for a bit, extremely nervous - glancing at those shock batons hanging from their belts, at those seemingly soulless goggles.
“Ol’ man Murfos died last fall. He din’ have any kids. I don’t suppose he’d object.”
The Civil Protection officers looked at each other for a few moments. They didn’t particularly feel like staying in the home of a dead man - but it was not worth it to antagonize these people.
“It is sufficient. Move!”
The officers are led to the house - where they set up their barracks, as well as a small office.

Before they settle in, however, there is one last thing to accomplish. The flag of the Sylvarian Republic still flew from a pole in the village. Battered, and decades old, but still there.

That flag would be unceremoniously pulled down - and burnt - as the North Sylvarian flag was raised in its stead.

‘This,’ they figured, ‘will be an easy assignment.’

---

DSM Dirty Bomb Site
The alarms blared - as the raid took place, the fact remained that the DSM had been on-watch since the last raid against the ‘factory,’ security measures had to be somewhat increased - for one - the last raid conducted by Iyumia had exposed several key facilities, several of which were hit by Rhastovian airstrikes afterwards.

As such - sensitive information was to be kept on encrypted hard drives.

(OOC: I apologize I could not make a longer post. IRL stuff gets in the way, here.)

[The Eur-asian Federation]

DSM Dirty Bomb Site

"There's no time to waste, this way." The Squad leader motioned to move forwards into the hallway. Approaching the corner, he heard the rapid stomping of footsteps as his men prepared to fire at anything that peaked its head out, yet he poked his arms out from behind the corner and sprayed from side to side at chest level, maintaining his grip as best he could while the screams of pain of the fanatics around the corner reverberated throughout the hallway. "Move up and clear! Anatoly, watch our backs! Ali, be ready to shoot anything infront of us!"

The group rushed down the hall way, moving to separate ends as to minimize the casualties if fired upon in one location. Reaching another turn, one of his men grabbed a frag grenade and pulled the pin. Cooking it for two seconds, he threw it around the corner-"DAGH!" he moved back behind the corner, collapsing onto his back. "Dah, fuck! I'm hit! My wrist!" Their squad medic rushed to his side as the grenade exploded, clearing the hallway. "Take care of him, Anatoly. We keep going!" The now two-man team moved down the hallway, weapons trained infront of them as the alarm kept blaring and the tension grew.

Reaching another corner, "Anatoly, take point. What's behind it?" His squadmate peaked around the corner before having his head blown open, releasing a red mist. "Shit!" The squad leader panicked, he scrambled for a grenade, hearing several fanatics stomping their way down the hallway. He pulls the pin and throws the grenade around the corner, hearing a Thunk! before the grenade explodes. He pokes his head around the corner, seeing the 6 man squad of fanatics all on the ground. Moving closer, he snapped his head to a movement in the corner of his eye: It was a fanatic. His legs were missing as he stared at his bleeding and contorted stumps. He slowly aims at the mans head and puts him out of his misery. Hearing the thumping of boots around the corner he had just come from, he turned his head over as the squad medic moved around the corner into the hall.

"Is Anatoly dead?" The medic asked, looking around the battlefield for the body.

"He is, what's the status on Viktor?" He turns around, keeping his eye on the corner.

"His condition is stabilized. He opted to stay behind since he isn't good with a gun anymore." The squad leader nodded before motioning to move up.

As they walked closer to the corner and peaked around, they saw a massive room with a circular catwalk in the center. All built around one big missile. "Shit, this area's a prime killzone." The medic exclaimed.

"Stay calm, we can wait here for the others. I'll radio them in." The squad leader grabbed his walkie talkie, placing it up to his mouth. "Alpha squad, Alpha squad. This is Beta squad, come in. Over."

"Beta squad, this is Alpha squad. Over." His walkie talkie crackled.

"Beta squad to Alpha squad. Report. Over." He waited for a response as the medic watched the catwalks.

"Alpha squad to Beta squad. One wounded, area secured. Possible lab or research area. Over." He nodded before speaking into his walkie talkie.

"Beta squad to Alpha squad. One wounded, one KIA. Regroup back at the elevator with Gamma squad and head down center hallway. Out." He switched to another frequency, before speaking into the walkie talkie once more.

"Beta squad to Gamma squad. Come in, over." Silence for a few moments.

"Gamma squad to Beta squad! We took heavy fire! All three in my squad are dead! Over!" He cursed under his breath.

"Beta squad to Gamma squad, what is your status? Over." He hoped for some good news.

"Gamma squad to Beta squad! The area is secured, Uranium and warhead storage by the looks of it! Had some 20 fanatics guarding it! Over!" He sighed, well it was good news.

"Beta squad to Gamma squad. Regroup back at the elevator with Alpha squad and prepare to move out. Out." He switched the walkie talkie back to its original frequency and strapped the walkie talkie back onto his kit.

"Now, we wait." The two men watched the catwalk and the missile. The seconds slowed to a crawl, feeling like hours as the stress of the situation was breaking them ever so slightly.

"Beta squad! We're here." The 4 other operatives in fighting condition moved up.

"Thank god for that airstrike, otherwise this area would be crawling with fools from that camp." One of the operatives from Alpha squad exclaimed.

"We gotta move up. This area is a killzone." The sole remaining Gamma squad operative said.

"Move up on me. Alpha squad, watching the top. Gamma squad, with me." The squad leader gripped his AKSU tightly as they moved up before he heard "CONTACT!" The men behind him began unleashing a horde of bullets upwards as him and the two other operatives moved up to hide behind some stairs on the side of the room. He watched as the bodies of two fanatics fell down and splatted on the hard ground, then another as his face smashed into the railing and turned his nose and lower face into a flap hanging off by some muscle.

"Any of you hit?" He yelled as the Alpha squad operatives moved up.

"One of them grazed my ear, but nothing else!" One of the operatives yelled.

"Good, move up the stairs and fire at will!" The 6 man squad moved up the stairs, keeping some space between each other as they came under fire once again. Snapping their aim over to the fanatics shooting at them from above and firing at them.

"GO! WE'LL SUPPRESS THEM!" The Alpha squad leader yelled as the operative ran up the stairs.

"MAN DOWN!" He heard the squad leader yell as their rushed up the stairs through winding catwalks around the missile. Finally making it up to level ground with the fanatics, they unleashed a barrage of rounds at them.

"Keep moving! Alpha squad will catch up eventually!" The squad leader yelled as they continued running up the stairs. Approaching the top of the giant hall, they looked inside and saw a control room. Trying the door "Locked! Someone get a charge here!"

The lone Gamma squad operative spoke up "I'm an explosives expert! I got this!" Moving up, he reached into his kit and pulled out a shaped charge. Carefully placing it on where the lock was supposed to be, the operatives moved back. "Prepare a stun." The Alpha squad leader grabbed a stun grenade.

He signaled with his fingers: Three. Two. The Alpha squad leader pulled the pin on the stun grenade. One. BANG! The door was swung open as the stun was thrown in. BANG! The operatives moved in, seeing a group of what looked like civilians and some of their guards. Taking down the guards, they shouted and motioned to the non-combatants to get down on their knees which they shakily did.

"Site secure?" The Beta squad leader asked as the Alpha squad leader nodded. One of the operatives moved up and took out some zipties, tying up the non-combatants. "I'll radio this in." The Beta squad leader said.

Exiting the control room, he grabbed his walkie talkie and slung his AKSU. Being sure to not to kneel on the railing, he switched over to another frequency.

"Kvartet. Come in, Kvartet." He waited for a response.

"Kvartet reporting. Over." He grinned.

"Beta squad to Kvartet." He stayed silent for a moment.

"The serpent is decapitated."

[The Daeva]

New Vvarreach
The monarchy had slowly positioned themselves within New Vvareach. It was a town of 83,000, and one which had been neutral until thus far during the war. With a large population, of which almost 30% were from the desert - merchants, nomads, drifting in to trade from the sands, who became trapped in Sylvaria during the civil war.

It had always stood as a sort of frontier for Sylvaria - a land with a mix of cultures between the desert and coastal nation of Sylvaria. It had, at one point, been conquered by a roaming Jundlandi warlord, before they had been expelled by the monarchy.
As such - the town, with its frontier spirit, was among the most well armed in Sylvaria. Several militias had dotted the landscape. Being so far from the Republic's core, it was also a hotbed for monarchist sentiment - which had made the return of the Crown Prince bloodless.

In such a town - the arrival of a few robed refugees, with admittedly decent Sylvarian, was not looked down upon. When asked if one could see the king for one last time - the message would be sent up the ladder, so to speak.

To his Majesty, the Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria.
From General Marcus Kalden

---

It has come to my attention that the long-since gone Crown Prince of Sylvaria has finally returned from his exile - at first, I must admit, I believed it to be nothing. But another whisper of this blasted war - there have been so many. I thought, perhaps, I had fallen victim to the blasted fog which seems to immerse Vaylenburgh Province.

Now, I can see clearly - I was wrong. I do hope you should forgive me, then, for not speaking sooner unto you. The fact of the matter is that this war will soon be at an end, regardless of the chatter of more warlike members of either party.
The second fact is that I do not wish to fight against you. Regardless of the comparative dispositions of our forces, the fact remains that Sylvaria needs a symbol of strength - and the symbol of a man unbroken by fifty years in exile is not only powerful, but admirable.

I do not intend to come across as a whining sycophant - for that is not within my being. I ask only that we should discuss, as men - as Sylvarians - that, upon my honor, that no harm shall come to your or to your entourage, or to any follower who would stand in your name.

This would be attached with a temporary seal of the Provisional Government's presidency.
He hoped, not for his sake, but for Sylvaria's, that he would respond favorably.

The letter from Marcus Kalden was, indeed, received favorably. The Prince Frederick had heard much of the war, and of its factions by now - being taught as much by the locals, who were only so eager as to inform their king-to-be of the status-quo. He had been referenced in... every speech, letter, or radio broadcast that had been stated the day prior. It was clear that his arrival had made more of an impact than he had previously stated.

And of those factions that remained - from the Prince's perspective, only Kalden was pragmatic enough - and yet, also enough of a man to work with - unlike the whining sycophant of Vaul.
It was to be responded in kind with the King's private correspondence - and, an open radio broadcast.

To General Marcus Kalden
From: Prince Frederick III Salaros

---

Mister Kalden, whom I might address warmly,
I cannot thank you enough for your correspondence, which has been most helpful in my deliberations.

It is the predilection of our shared nation, to which I have so recently been re-immersed in, to tear itself apart. This, of course, was an issue my father before me contended with, and that you have contended with yourself - and done so admirably. That you have united a broad coalition of people under your Nationalists has been truly admirable - and it is the sort of unity that you inspire, and that, with my hopes - that I can join in this, to bring some measure of unity to this broken nation.

As such - I have resolved, with a party of 400 men, to embark to Havenbrook. It will take time, however, for a route to be cleared. The actions of the so-called Divine Salvation Movement to our south have severely impaired our movements - and I am told that the capital is as of yet infested by cannibals, and otherwise inaccessible to the territory you control as of the moment.

It is under these conditions that our meeting must be postponed for the foreseeable future. I can, however, say that I do not wish conflict between our respective forces - and that I have issued orders to those who have sworn under me to not fire at any man, woman, or child who claims allegiance to your so-called Provisional Government.

Wishing that we should meet soon,
Crown Prince Frederick III Salaros, of Sylvaria.

It was also a matter of course that he took to privately address Intendant Varos by direct letter.

To Intendant Varos, of the State of Northern Sylvaria
From: Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria

---

It is with great difficulty that I find addressing you by the title given unto you by a foreigner - never, in our history, have we been ruled by an Intendant. I do not know under what conditions you have been compelled to collaborate with such a force which seeks not only to annihilate as a nation, as a people.

It is perhaps, that I am simply unacquainted with this strange new Arakhkhar - when last I remember it, it was populated by human tribes, rather than this alien Empire of chains. Perhaps, for instance, I have been deceived - perhaps you know more of them than I do. But even in those scorching deserts, the whispers had come - and what whispers I have heard have spoken of nothing but malice. Not malice on a human level - evil, institutionalized, codified.

I cannot for one moment fathom as to why you, or anyone else would willingly collaborate with such a force. I hold the opinion, however, that - either, you are a traitor to your fatherland, that you are naive - or, the best option - that you sought to make this invasion less cruel for your fellow Sylvarians.

Regardless of the reason - fate has pitted us against each other. I cannot for a moment support the occupation of half of this nation - and I pray that you shall someday see fit to rebel.

However, with regard to your speech - I can say this. I have no illusions as to suggest that the monarchy, in its ancient form, can ever be restored. My father was, in all likelihood, the last of Sylvaria’s absolute kings - though, it seems, your masters would contend that.

I will not, however, make war upon you - however much your treason deserves it. Sylvaria has seen enough blood between these disparate factions. What I have desired from the onset of this chaos is peace - and it has been my sole desire for fifty years of meandering in the desert, to one day return to Sylvaria at peace.
I do hope, Intendant, that you shall not impede that wish of peace. And, sincerely, I pray that you should be fair-handed in whatever scraps of power your masters give you - that you would not exacerbate the suffering of the people.

But such suffering cannot last forever. I know not the day nor the hour, but I know, that on some day - Sylvaria will be whole once more.

Sincerely,
Prince Frederick III Salaros of Sylvaria

---

Veksilgorov
The preparations were made ready - several ships had been accorded - and with it, several naval vessels laid in wait. A full battalion was now ready to be deployed - to claim Arakhkhar’s contractual naval base from Sylvaria on Sylvanhaym. Stern advisories were to be placed, informing that this was not an invasion of Sylvanhaym - rather, only the construction of a naval base, and the establishment of a small defensive perimeter around it.

It would, of course, have to be announced beforehand - as this element of the peace deal between the Provisional Government and Arakhkhar would be made public in a joint statement - along with the official opening of the Northern Strait to civilian and humanitarian traffic, as well as to Nationalist military travel, provided it doesn’t interfere with Arakhkhari military operations.
It was also made clear that civilian traffic within the Northern Strait would have their safety ensured by the Arakhkhari military - but, that, no military vessels belonging to a nation other than the Provisional Government of Sylvaria, the Commonwealth of Primeva, the Principality of Arakhkhar, or the State of Northern Sylvaria would be permitted entry. This, of course, followed with an additional exemption for the Eurasians, as a Nationalist ally. Members of the International Security Directorate were also given exemptions, as military allies of Arakhkhar and North Sylvaria.

This was still, yet to come. They had yet to begin sending out the messages.

---

Sylvanhaym
Uncertainty broke out across the island - Coalition leaflets rained overhead, and Vaul’s Republic was offering alms. Some, of course, were all but pleased to take such an opportunity. Most, however, still hated Vaul - not least of which were the Timberwolves.

And so, Jarvos, being the leader of the Timberwolves - had to respond somehow. He decided to use the frequency over the radio to contact the Coalition. His message was short.

crackle
“This is Colonel Jarvos. Pain in your ass. I want to talk to your boss. Not the moron, your real bosses in the Coalition. You can contact me on an open frequency.”
click

SIC:
Enigma-2 finally happened upon Camp Elaros, after several nights of travel - she watched the perimeter from nearly a kilometer away, spying for potential entry points…

She had, of course, two objectives. The first was to kill ‘President’ Vaul, and in doing so, rob the Republic of its legitimacy. Ideally, it should be framed as an accident.
Two - examine the nature of air units. Satellite imagery noted the appearance of Markofighters at the base - something which was considered extremely strange, considering the maritime traffic that would be able to carry and sustain these arrivals on such short notice.
Thus, Central Command had theorized that they were perhaps fakes - but, of course, Enigma- would come to confirm whether or not that was the case.

---

Ukirstead
The radio plea sent out by the residents of Ukirstead was eventually received by the State of Northern Sylvaria.
Truth be told, they were scantly aware of the existence of the village - the Republic was notorious by this point for its poor record keeping, and the last census was over 30 years ago. It had been ignored, as a site of zero strategic importance - however, they could not simply turn away from a village in need of order, could they?

A single truck was loaded with roughly 8 Civil Protection units - carrying a North Sylvarian flag with them, along with the equipment necessary to establish a loose field station at the site.

As they came across some of the tattered textiles, scattered along the roadway, they took to picking some of them up - most of the officers were, of course, natives of Siladen City, and so had very little interaction with the countryside, and so were unfamiliar with them - they figured, however, that they likely belong to the villagers.

The lead officer, however, reasoned - if these robbers had thrown out the textiles, then they had likely only stolen the vehicles - they were not dealing with ordinary desert bandits, then, as they usually come with their own vehicles.

They would stop, at the edge of Ukirstead - stepping out, from the back of their truck, submachineguns on their backs. Their black boots crunched onto gravel, as the lead officer hopped out - their masks, as inhuman as always.

The villagers nervously stepped from their homes - they had never experienced this sort of policing. They had, perhaps naively, expected individuals in the typical blue uniforms and peaked caps - and not the gas-masked figures standing before them.

One of the officers, however, withdrew a pile of the dropped textiles.
“Which of you is the owner of these textiles?” The voice crackled, distorted to remove any human distinction.
The villagers had formed a loose crowd - and those from the convoy in one area. They were scared - especially after just being robbed. The old man, however, stepped forward.
“They are from my village, not far from here.”
The officer tilted his head.
“Can this be confirmed?”
A set of the villagers cautiously nodded - as the Civil Protection officer gently sat them down.
The officers looked at each other for a few moments.
“Citizen - we require lodging.”
One of the villagers stood up a bit.
“Why don’t ya city boys build yaself one?”
The officer walked right up to him.
“A location must be requisitioned. It is you who called for order. We will provide it. We require lodging. A headquarters.”
The villagers looked around at each other for a bit, extremely nervous - glancing at those shock batons hanging from their belts, at those seemingly soulless goggles.
“Ol’ man Murfos died last fall. He din’ have any kids. I don’t suppose he’d object.”
The Civil Protection officers looked at each other for a few moments. They didn’t particularly feel like staying in the home of a dead man - but it was not worth it to antagonize these people.
“It is sufficient. Move!”
The officers are led to the house - where they set up their barracks, as well as a small office.

Before they settle in, however, there is one last thing to accomplish. The flag of the Sylvarian Republic still flew from a pole in the village. Battered, and decades old, but still there.

That flag would be unceremoniously pulled down - and burnt - as the North Sylvarian flag was raised in its stead.

‘This,’ they figured, ‘will be an easy assignment.’

---

DSM Dirty Bomb Site
The alarms blared - as the raid took place, the fact remained that the DSM had been on-watch since the last raid against the ‘factory,’ security measures had to be somewhat increased - for one - the last raid conducted by Iyumia had exposed several key facilities, several of which were hit by Rhastovian airstrikes afterwards.

As such - sensitive information was to be kept on encrypted hard drives.

(OOC: I apologize I could not make a longer post. IRL stuff gets in the way, here.)

Secluded Basement, New Vvareach

The expedition had set up temporary shop in the basement of an abandoned bar towards the outskirts of the town. It wasn’t the lodgings Sir Roland was used to, but it would do. He may be something of a dandy, but he was a genuine adventure. Roughing it wasn’t a problem…

The weaselly explorer swaggered over to a small group of his porters. “Gentlemen. I have a job for you.” He says with a smile. The two porters look at each other nervously. “Yes, sir?” One finally asks. Sir Roland smiles affably. “I need you to drive the two trucks out of the city, towards urikstead. Can you do that?” He asks in a way that makes it clear it is an order. “Sir.” One says nervously as he and his companion scurry out of the room. The aristocrat turns to one of the Shamash Security operators. “You secured the surprise to the truck, yes?” He asks with a smile. The operators face twists into a cruel grin. “Yes, sir.” He says in a snide mockery of the porters.

Streets of New Vvareach

Sir Roland sat on the streets, looking like an average homeless person. Well, a bit well fed and smooth skinned which may tip off the observant, but the heavy concealing robes and the raspy put upon Sylvarian led many to take the explorers disguise at face value. Playing a guitar (graciously donated by a real homeless man, Sadly deceased) in order to sell the part even more and attract a small amount of attention. After all, if they remembered his musical acumen (which was admittedly rather advanced) than they would also remember his request. The dream scenario would be a sympathetic Monarchist Militiaman would find him and take him to the banished prince..

Outskirts of Urikstead

The porters had driven quite happily towards the town, glad to get such an easy assignment. Sadly for them, with Sir Roland, nothing was easy. The explosion sent a ball of fire and shrapnel into the atmosphere near the town. Those on the outskirts could see the flash, and the entire town could hear the thundering sound of the detonation. The explosion took place near where the other porter that had been previously abandoned, incinerating part of the corpse and making it harder to identify. The sound was definitely picked up by the safety officers…

[Great Kerguelen Islands]

A new opponent had come

Veksilgorov

Officer : My general our troops are ready to go !
John of McKarthy : Great ! Are the tanks and the trucks ready ?
Officer : Yes, why ?
JMK : because we go to Siladen City
Officer : ok I will give the order

15 hours later

The army arrives

The army parades through the city to the applause of the people, the mayor, accompanied by a government representative, presents a medal to John of McKarthy, Louis Pouret and Pierre Brezick.
the general of the Seventh Army of the GKI decided in agreement with the Arakhkiri generals to besiege the town of Kalig in the following days.

Two hours later

The 7th army prepares the camp

General John of McKarthy :

Here are my orders to build the base

- 2 large tents for staff meetings
- 10 tents for officers
- 1 tent for the general
- 400 dormitory tents for soldiers
- 4 garages for vehicles

Also we will establish it along the road in direction of Varlig.

immediately, the few members of the military engineers dug a pit and erected a fence.
the tents are raised and everyone receives a briefcase containing their personal effects.

[Arakhkhar]

Siladen City
The correspondence from Salaros was... displeasing to the Intendant, to say the least. What little could be said of it was that, at the least, he does not wish for a war. Everything else was, to him at the least, drivel. Talk of treason, whatnot - he knew, in his heart, what he was doing was the best. At least, to him, that was. He would not, however, allow the trappings of a dead monarchy allow him to be thrown down.

He decided, however, rather than simply to annihilate the monarchy - to instead, to go through perhaps one of the favorite of noble customs - scheming through the careful application of laws.
It had been quite some time since Sylvaria had a nobility - and, indeed, some of those disaffected nobles still lived. The Republic of Sylvaria had not technically declared the kingdom dissolved, though the monarchs were declared legally dead in 1992. By working within the framework of the judicial system, North Sylvarian lawyers managed to first dig up the fact that, legally, the Sylvarian king and family was dead. And, that, under Royal law - which was still technically in effect - that in the event of such a crisis, that the landed nobility would convene in the 'national capital' to decide upon a new King. This was to be the last convention of the concilii Sylvari - or, simply, the Parliament of the Sylvarians.

Digging up even more ancient protocols - as far back as 1209 - they would find that a simple majority of the nobility in attendance was necessary to elect a new king. Due to the fact that the Republic had stripped citizens of their titles - it became relatively difficult to actually find, from among the masses, former nobility. A simple call was sent out - calling for the children of nobles stripped of their titles in the 1974 Sylvarian Revolution, and that they would bring some measure of proof of their lineage - and that a reward would be provided for those that could prove their noble lineage.

Civil Protection had the truly inadvisable job of sorting commoners from nobles - as many, hoping to get a portion of land, or some reward, presented truly ridiculous 'evidence' of their lineage. Eventually, an edict was put out - that any such individuals attempting to pose as nobles would simply be shot upon discovery of the ruse. That, surprisingly, worked - although the administration was still somewhat burdened with processing what remained.

Slowly, however, elderly nobles, or their children, would be found - as the North Sylvarian Government, strangely, orchestrated an election for the... Kingdom of Sylvaria, which, apparently, never ceased to be a de-jure entity.

---

Urikstead

Outskirts of Urikstead

The porters had driven quite happily towards the town, glad to get such an easy assignment. Sadly for them, with Sir Roland, nothing was easy. The explosion sent a ball of fire and shrapnel into the atmosphere near the town. Those on the outskirts could see the flash, and the entire town could hear the thundering sound of the detonation. The explosion took place near where the other porter that had been previously abandoned, incinerating part of the corpse and making it harder to identify. The sound was definitely picked up by the safety officers…

The explosion woke the Civil Protection officers instantly - as they practically leaped out of their new comfortably provided beds (they had taken to taking odd jobs around the village, in exchange for textiles to make their beds). Grabbing their MP-5 submachineguns, and their shock batons, they rid out.
Reporting in via the radio transmitter they had installed -
"Urikstead Protection Team reports unknown blast. Source unknown. Advise."
Remarkably, only moments later, a response was indeed received, in the calming, robotic female voice of North Sylvarian central command.
"Attention Urikstead Protection Team - Respond. Operation Code: Ascertain. Identify. Expunge."
A blip was heard, as the Lead officer spoke.
"Copy."

And so, they rode out onto their truck to investigate - finding the broken, scattered remains of 2 trucks - and a set of completely unidentifiable bodies - except for the one who had been thrown earlier, who had fallen onto the ground with his back facing upwards - meaning his face was partially spared from the blast. It would be some time, but, they may be able to obtain genetic information - assuming, of course, that Sylvaria still had a forensic database to match it against - assuming the individual was even Sylvarian at all.

---

New Vvareach

Streets of New Vvareach

Sir Roland sat on the streets, looking like an average homeless person. Well, a bit well fed and smooth skinned which may tip off the observant, but the heavy concealing robes and the raspy put upon Sylvarian led many to take the explorers disguise at face value. Playing a guitar (graciously donated by a real homeless man, Sadly deceased) in order to sell the part even more and attract a small amount of attention. After all, if they remembered his musical acumen (which was admittedly rather advanced) than they would also remember his request. The dream scenario would be a sympathetic Monarchist Militiaman would find him and take him to the banished prince..

Many on the street passed him by - most, of course, utterly unsuspecting of the fact that he was Daevan. The city was, after all, a town of nomads - if his Sylvarian was a little strange, no one thought it particularly odd. Some, of course, dropped a gold coin or so by him - believing him to be an ordinary beggar. However, the sight of a beggar asking to see the Prince was not particularly strange, nor unique - and amongst all the other strange men and women of the desert, the sight of yet another performer did not feel out of place - nor was it special.

The Prince, however, did make public appearances rather often - as royalist banners flew from the city hall. He took steps, always, to walk amongst his subjects - he had so missed, in his exile, having people who looked at him with kind eyes and admiration.
He walked along the street, drawing murmurs from the crowd, as he took a step atop a soap-box.

"Friends."
He gave a pause, as he thought of something to say. Rather than wear anything ridiculously fanciful, he wore the clothes of a man of the desert - something he had been accustomed to. Perhaps, nicer than average - but not out of step with the populace.
"It must be difficult. We trudge along here, day to day - some, of course, play music by themselves - to a crowd of so many, Sylvarian or otherwise."
"But let us not forget - that despite the fact we are tired, hungry, and so far detached from home - that we are, indeed, perhaps one of the few places in Sylvaria that can be considered safe."
"I have wandered the desert for 50 years - as many of you have. I even recognize some among you as fellow wanderers."
"However - for me, and, perhaps, for you - Sylvaria is our home. As rugged, sandy, and dirty as it may be - and I would not ever trade it for a yoke. For no price!"

---

Sylvanthol
The advance in the capital proceeded slowly - as North Sylvarian and Arakhkhari troops advanced cautiously, to avoid being ambushed by a random swarm of cannibals. Shock Troopers slowly descended into the Metro - finding it a mess of tunnels, of rubble from falling out of maintenence. Torches lit their way - and human skulls adorned with walls - grotesque displays of brutality that were considered unimaginable by any fathom of the human mind would be all but common in this den of degeneracy.

It would all be liquidated. And for once, no-one would really mind - with the possible exception of the cannibals themselves. Shock Troopers were equipped with flamethrowers - and told to spare no-one.
However, they were told that there was a potential to meet troops from the Coalition - and so, to check first.

[The Daeva]

Siladen City
The correspondence from Salaros was... displeasing to the Intendant, to say the least. What little could be said of it was that, at the least, he does not wish for a war. Everything else was, to him at the least, drivel. Talk of treason, whatnot - he knew, in his heart, what he was doing was the best. At least, to him, that was. He would not, however, allow the trappings of a dead monarchy allow him to be thrown down.

He decided, however, rather than simply to annihilate the monarchy - to instead, to go through perhaps one of the favorite of noble customs - scheming through the careful application of laws.
It had been quite some time since Sylvaria had a nobility - and, indeed, some of those disaffected nobles still lived. The Republic of Sylvaria had not technically declared the kingdom dissolved, though the monarchs were declared legally dead in 1992. By working within the framework of the judicial system, North Sylvarian lawyers managed to first dig up the fact that, legally, the Sylvarian king and family was dead. And, that, under Royal law - which was still technically in effect - that in the event of such a crisis, that the landed nobility would convene in the 'national capital' to decide upon a new King. This was to be the last convention of the concilii Sylvari - or, simply, the Parliament of the Sylvarians.

Digging up even more ancient protocols - as far back as 1209 - they would find that a simple majority of the nobility in attendance was necessary to elect a new king. Due to the fact that the Republic had stripped citizens of their titles - it became relatively difficult to actually find, from among the masses, former nobility. A simple call was sent out - calling for the children of nobles stripped of their titles in the 1974 Sylvarian Revolution, and that they would bring some measure of proof of their lineage - and that a reward would be provided for those that could prove their noble lineage.

Civil Protection had the truly inadvisable job of sorting commoners from nobles - as many, hoping to get a portion of land, or some reward, presented truly ridiculous 'evidence' of their lineage. Eventually, an edict was put out - that any such individuals attempting to pose as nobles would simply be shot upon discovery of the ruse. That, surprisingly, worked - although the administration was still somewhat burdened with processing what remained.

Slowly, however, elderly nobles, or their children, would be found - as the North Sylvarian Government, strangely, orchestrated an election for the... Kingdom of Sylvaria, which, apparently, never ceased to be a de-jure entity.

---

Urikstead

Outskirts of Urikstead

The porters had driven quite happily towards the town, glad to get such an easy assignment. Sadly for them, with Sir Roland, nothing was easy. The explosion sent a ball of fire and shrapnel into the atmosphere near the town. Those on the outskirts could see the flash, and the entire town could hear the thundering sound of the detonation. The explosion took place near where the other porter that had been previously abandoned, incinerating part of the corpse and making it harder to identify. The sound was definitely picked up by the safety officers…

The explosion woke the Civil Protection officers instantly - as they practically leaped out of their new comfortably provided beds (they had taken to taking odd jobs around the village, in exchange for textiles to make their beds). Grabbing their MP-5 submachineguns, and their shock batons, they rid out.
Reporting in via the radio transmitter they had installed -
"Urikstead Protection Team reports unknown blast. Source unknown. Advise."
Remarkably, only moments later, a response was indeed received, in the calming, robotic female voice of North Sylvarian central command.
"Attention Urikstead Protection Team - Respond. Operation Code: Ascertain. Identify. Expunge."
A blip was heard, as the Lead officer spoke.
"Copy."

And so, they rode out onto their truck to investigate - finding the broken, scattered remains of 2 trucks - and a set of completely unidentifiable bodies - except for the one who had been thrown earlier, who had fallen onto the ground with his back facing upwards - meaning his face was partially spared from the blast. It would be some time, but, they may be able to obtain genetic information - assuming, of course, that Sylvaria still had a forensic database to match it against - assuming the individual was even Sylvarian at all.

---

New Vvareach

Streets of New Vvareach

Sir Roland sat on the streets, looking like an average homeless person. Well, a bit well fed and smooth skinned which may tip off the observant, but the heavy concealing robes and the raspy put upon Sylvarian led many to take the explorers disguise at face value. Playing a guitar (graciously donated by a real homeless man, Sadly deceased) in order to sell the part even more and attract a small amount of attention. After all, if they remembered his musical acumen (which was admittedly rather advanced) than they would also remember his request. The dream scenario would be a sympathetic Monarchist Militiaman would find him and take him to the banished prince..

Many on the street passed him by - most, of course, utterly unsuspecting of the fact that he was Daevan. The city was, after all, a town of nomads - if his Sylvarian was a little strange, no one thought it particularly odd. Some, of course, dropped a gold coin or so by him - believing him to be an ordinary beggar. However, the sight of a beggar asking to see the Prince was not particularly strange, nor unique - and amongst all the other strange men and women of the desert, the sight of yet another performer did not feel out of place - nor was it special.

The Prince, however, did make public appearances rather often - as royalist banners flew from the city hall. He took steps, always, to walk amongst his subjects - he had so missed, in his exile, having people who looked at him with kind eyes and admiration.
He walked along the street, drawing murmurs from the crowd, as he took a step atop a soap-box.

"Friends."
He gave a pause, as he thought of something to say. Rather than wear anything ridiculously fanciful, he wore the clothes of a man of the desert - something he had been accustomed to. Perhaps, nicer than average - but not out of step with the populace.
"It must be difficult. We trudge along here, day to day - some, of course, play music by themselves - to a crowd of so many, Sylvarian or otherwise."
"But let us not forget - that despite the fact we are tired, hungry, and so far detached from home - that we are, indeed, perhaps one of the few places in Sylvaria that can be considered safe."
"I have wandered the desert for 50 years - as many of you have. I even recognize some among you as fellow wanderers."
"However - for me, and, perhaps, for you - Sylvaria is our home. As rugged, sandy, and dirty as it may be - and I would not ever trade it for a yoke. For no price!"

---

Sylvanthol
The advance in the capital proceeded slowly - as North Sylvarian and Arakhkhari troops advanced cautiously, to avoid being ambushed by a random swarm of cannibals. Shock Troopers slowly descended into the Metro - finding it a mess of tunnels, of rubble from falling out of maintenence. Torches lit their way - and human skulls adorned with walls - grotesque displays of brutality that were considered unimaginable by any fathom of the human mind would be all but common in this den of degeneracy.

It would all be liquidated. And for once, no-one would really mind - with the possible exception of the cannibals themselves. Shock Troopers were equipped with flamethrowers - and told to spare no-one.
However, they were told that there was a potential to meet troops from the Coalition - and so, to check first.

Urikstead Outskirts

While there wasn’t much of the wreckage or the bodies, there was enough where a few interesting developments could be gleaned. One, there was enough left of the first porter to discover that not only did he die of exposure after blunt force trauma, but he died before the explosion in a ‘unrelated’ incident. Secondly, on the two poor chaps who drove the bomb, the remnants of gold cuff links and uniform trimmings had melted and fused to the body. While the crest of House Acar was no longer visible in any sense of the word, the melted remains of 24 carat gold showed that this wasn’t the act of a Jundlandi raider, at least not a normal one…

New Vvarreach

Sir Roland perked up immediately at the sound of the prince voice. He hobbled over on his ‘disabled’ leg to get closer to the royal. Older then the explorer thought, but he would do. Besides, illustrations took away 30 years, anyways. As a crowd of supplicants made their way to touch or pray to the returned royal, Sir Roland made his way to the front. With a copied generic phrase of supplication, he clasped the royals hand into his own, pressing a small card into his hand. “It is vital that we meet.” He said in a low whisper to the prince, his old beggar affectation gone completely and replaced with a steely voice. And then the explorer was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. On the card, in elegant calligraphy was a brief message.

Meet me in the abandoned bar on the outskirts of town. It will be well worth your while. Feel free to bring as much security as you wish, to show I mean no harm.
Yours,
A Adventurer of Some Renown

[The Eur-asian Federation]

Eurasian Embassy, Havenbrook

The men stared at each other as the silence permeated throughout the room.

"Well?" The Uyghur asked, looking at the Balt.

Placing down the report, he spoke up "It's done. The bombs are ours."

"Yes!" The Uyghur stood up from his seat, slamming his fist on the desk. "Now that is what I wanna hear!"

"Finally." The Ukrainian said, rubbing his eyes.

"We believe we've captured a majority if not all of the warheads the DSM had. They kept some hard drives in the site, but they're encrypted. Our guys in Moscow should try finding if we implanted any backdoors in the encryption software or the OS." Leaning back in his chair, he took a puff of the cigarette he was holding.

"So that's it then? The DSM is gone?" The Uyghur asked, sitting back down.

"Unless they have more warheads which we don't know of which is unlikely. No. Even then, their only method of long-range delivery is in our hands. That rocket could've struck god knows where." Taking another puff of his cigarette. "With this, all resources on the mainland have essentially been freed up. Once we decrypt those hard drives we'll likely have details on all the inner-workings of the DSM."

"Now we can work on finding that Prince in the desert." The Ukrainian said, sipping from his flask.

"About him. Our operative that we planted in the desert should still be searching for him, and now that this royal is making a splash he should have no problem finding him." He snuffed out the cigarette, throwing it away.

"Well, good work. Now, what about Sylvanhaym?" The Uyghur asked, looking at the Ukrainian.

"Well, operations are proceeding as normal. Our agents have essentially settled and firmly rooted themselves, any high-risk operations will be conducted soon...ish." The Ukrainian shrugged a bit.

"Good, wonderful even! I'm sure the guys in the press will be tooting our horn." The Uyghur said, moving over to the door. "C'mon, let's go get some drinks." Opening the door, the men shuffled out. They had won, and the fanatics had lost.

---

Joint Military Base Istomin, Sylvarian Mainland

As the hours and days passed, the base grew. Larger, stronger, deadlier. A command center was being constructed, equipment was being modernized, and new cutting edge equipment was flowing into the base from the north. The base would soon become more resistant to air-attacks than Havenbrook, maybe more than anything the Coalition could build. Perhaps once the Coalition were inevitably forced to invade, the base would serve as a safehaven for Kaldens nascent airforce and navy.

Of course, the Coalition wouldn't invade, atleast for a while. If they did, their international image would become that of foreign aggressors planting an incompetent moron to rule a country devastated by civil war. Yet on the digital front, hordes of what were soon dubbed 'Kremlinbots' were deployed to engage in informational warfare and demoralization on a mass scale: Drone footage of Coalition soldiers getting shot in the streets of Sylvanthol, images of injured Coalition soldiers who had lost arms, legs, perhaps even becoming just a head and a torso, compilations of Vaul's many failures both in action and in speech.

Yet for Eurasia's image, they would practically praise them: Knights in shining armor who had beheaded the DSM, brave men who laid down their lives to rescue Kulhold from the DSM and to save Point Overlook from their wrath, protectors of the one true Sylvarian government. For these Kremlinbots, showing what a buffoon Vaul was to the world was as easy as putting him in a side by side comparison to Kalden. Kalden's speech: Cool, calm, and collected. Vaul's? Incomprehensible border-line schizophrenic dribble. So while the battles outside of Sylvathol had ended, the ones on the digital landscape had just begun.

---

Havenbrook

As the mainland turned into a fortress and Kalden's troops pushed onwards to compete in the scramble for Sylvanthol, the 202nd recuperated and licked their wounds. Their main purpose was to look inconspicious, but a simple garrison for field base, yet their real purpose would perhaps decide the fate of all Sylvaria if things went to hell. Their training would focus much more on the urban side of warfare, as their intended purpose would be to secure Havenbrook. More specifically, they were trained to memorize the layout of the entire city, especially landmarks and underground passageways. If the worst comes to pass, they would be more than ready.

[Rhastov]

-snip

“Sir, we received a radio transmission from Arakhkhari troops. They’ve entered the capital.” the radio operator hands the rhastovian commander the transcript.
“Horrible news, but expected.” the commander takes a sip out of a beer bottle. “At least they are willing to cooperate. Tell them we should meet at the Iharos Memorial East-End Bridge tomorrow at nine o’ clock. And ask the carrier to dispatch some aircraft for cover, just in case.”
“Roger that.”

Code: Select all

=============================
SYLVANTHOL COALITION COMMAND
STANDARD-VII ENCRYPTION
============================
ADDRESSED TO ARAKHKARI AND N. SYLVARIAN FORCES IN SYLVANTHOL
=============================
WE AGREE TO THE MEETING. LOCATION AND TIME ARE IHAROS MEMORIAL EAST-END BRIDGE, TOMORROW AT 09:00 LOCAL TIME.
PLEASE CONFIRM LOCATION AND TIME, AND WE HOPE TO REACH A PEACEFUL AGREEMENT.
{END TRANSMISSION}

- snip

“Fratez, this is Rostograd. We will answer your call and dispatch two aircraft to monitor the destroyer in question.” replies a voice on the radio a few minutes later.

Shortly after the radio message was sent, two S-33s started being prepared for the sortie. They were armed with two Kh-31 anti-ship missiles each along with a light air to air loadout, and were brought onto the flight deck as the pilots went through the briefing.

The aircraft take off and fly towards the eurasian destroyer. As they were getting closer to the position of the ship, the flight lead contacts his wingman over the radio.

“Wanna buzz their ship?” he says, chuckling.
“What? Are you nuts?” replies the wingman, worried.
“Come on, it’ll be funny. What? Do you think they will shoot at us? They would be immediately sunk by an anti-ship missile if they did. I’ll give you a beer back on the ship.”
“Eh, fuck it. Sure, why not?”

A few minutes later, the lead is heard on the radio again.
“I got tally on the ship. Let’s buzz ‘em. Just don’t go supersonic. We want to surprise them, not rupture their eardrums.”

The two aircraft start rapidly descending to sea level before levelling out and heading towards the destroyer. They kick into afterburner, with the speed gauge reading Mach 0.95 right as they pass dangerously close over the destroyer. The characteristic howl of the engines is quickly drowned out by the deafening thunder of the afterburners as the two huge planes fly just inches above the destroyer, making it look like an act of intimidation. After pulling off the dangerous manoeuvre the pilots start giggling like little kids.

Of course, the Coalition wouldn't invade, atleast for a while. If they did, their international image would become that of foreign aggressors planting an incompetent moron to rule a country devastated by civil war. Yet on the digital front, hordes of what were soon dubbed 'Kremlinbots' were deployed to engage in informational warfare and demoralization on a mass scale: Drone footage of Coalition soldiers getting shot in the streets of Sylvanthol, images of injured Coalition soldiers who had lost arms, legs, perhaps even becoming just a head and a torso, compilations of Vaul's many failures both in action and in speech.

Yet for Eurasia's image, they would practically praise them: Knights in shining armor who had beheaded the DSM, brave men who laid down their lives to rescue Kulhold from the DSM and to save Point Overlook from their wrath, protectors of the one true Sylvarian government. For these Kremlinbots, showing what a buffoon Vaul was to the world was as easy as putting him in a side by side comparison to Kalden. Kalden's speech: Cool, calm, and collected. Vaul's? Incomprehensible border-line schizophrenic dribble. So while the battles outside of Sylvathol had ended, the ones on the digital landscape had just begun.

As the internet began ‘flooding’ with footage posted by Kremlinbots of coalition troops in Sylvanthol allegedly getting shot in the streets of the capital despite never leaving the airport, among many others, it stirred a reaction from Rhastov’s edgiest teenagers. These teenagers would begin a massive “counter-trolling campaign” - as they call it - against the Kremlinbots, posting memes making fun of the eurasians, mainly because they thought it would be funny.

[Arakhkhar]

A rather peculiar tune would find its way into Nayden - spreading among some of the Coalition troops. What started as something of a joke regarding the 11-nation army at Peking, became something of a tune to hum idly - something of a comment on their situation.

(To the tune of 55 Days at Peking)
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom

The year was Two-thousand twenty four,
T'is worth remembering
The men who lived through
Fifty-five days at Nayden

T'was called the Sylvarian Civil War!
A bloody, Oriental war
Against all nations
Of the Democratic Coalition!

The flags of Soveinska and Takhur!
How they fluttered in the breeze
The Iyumian and the Rhastovian
And the flag of the Green Union!

Then came the sound of bugles
The rolling drums of doom
And the streets of Nayden
Were as empty as a tomb

Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom

The Vicereine of all Arakhkhar
Gave the signal to begin
Let the foreign devils
Be driven from Nayden!

They stormed the checkpoint!
They attacked with shot and shell
And they came in black-colored armor!
Shouting "Vi Imperark" as they fell!

The drums have long been muffled
The bugles cease to ring
But through the ages
You can hear them echoing

Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Fifty-five days at Nayden

Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom, bom-bom-bom
Fifty-five days at Nayden

Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom
Bom-bom-bom...

The song was, once heard by a Civil Protection officer, of course, banned in North Sylvaria.

---

Siladen City

The events taking place in Siladen city found, of course, some difficulty. The annihilation of the Republic had done wonders to advance the civil war further - it did not, however do any wonders for record-keeping, most of which was already rather poor.

What was also necessary for consideration was the fact that the Arakhkhari government required meticulous record-keeping of its subjects - for both military affairs, and for economic ones. Simply put - the administration could not yet conduct a full census. They could, however, accurately gauge the population in the city centers - as they had been catalogued into the system when receiving their ration cards and identification papers.

This, coupled with the fact that the Republic had neglected entirely to give any sort of special denotation to nobility or former nobility, led there to be a great deal of confusion in the attempts to assemble the Concili Sylvarii.

Regardless, attempts continued - and several nobles, including the Daughter of a pre-revolutionary Duke had been found.
Something of a debate, of course, was brought to the attention of the Imperial Church. According to Arakhkhari law, only the Imperial Church could grant or revoke a title - and that foreign titles of nobility would be respected. However, in North Sylvaria, where there was little to distinguish it from a truly foreign, sovereign nation, things became somewhat muddled.

It was eventually decided, that under legal custom - that these individuals would be recognized as nobles under the de-jure Kingdom of Sylvaria, but not as such under the State of Northern Sylvaria.

It was, however, recognized that according to Arakhkhari doctrine - some form of aristocracy must be created in North Sylvaria. There had already been a framework for this - powerful corporate interests in Vaylenburgh that had been disenfranchised by the Revolution. However, these were not of the ‘quality’ necessary to grant titles of nobility. Thus, it was decided that they would follow the Arakhkhari model - that individuals who had rendered some great service to the state would be rewarded with land, laborers, and titles.

The creation of a so-called warrior aristocracy, one that was fiercely loyal to Arakhkhar, would go a significant ways towards at least a partial ‘legitimization.’

It was also, however, decided that North Sylvaria would not be ruled by a monarch - the Intendancy of Varos would continue, and that the State of Northern Sylvaria would remain an Intendancy - ruled as a dictatorship, with elements of the aristocracy, and with the inviting of Arakhkhari settlers.

---

Urikstead
With the bodies found - charred, but with the strangest pieces of gold - it was determined that these were likely not Jundlandi raiders, as had been the opening hypothesis of the Civil Protection officers.

It was decided, however, that in the meantime - a system of checkpoints had to be established along roads in the Western regions. Order had come to western Sylvaria, and now, it would have to be here to stay.

In the coming days, more trucks would pull into the region - as Civil Protection slowly gained a grip on the region as a whole - taking key positions along road intersections, highways, and any other roads.

An important element would, of course, be to establish civil order in the other village - the one which had sent their textiles to trade.

Another Civil Protection team would, themselves, move into the rural areas.

Life under North Sylvarian rule was, in truth, not particularly harsh in the rural areas - not that central rule had ever truly effected life there. It was mostly a place insulated from the political instability deeper into the country.

People didn’t so much as dissent, because, frankly, they didn’t know or care enough to do so. The largest imposition thus far had been the issuance of identity papers to the locals, along with ration cards - incredibly useless, considering the nearest rationing center was at least a two-hour’s drive away, and the fact that the villages out here were mostly able to provide for themselves.

To be a Civil Protection officer stationed here was to live in proverbial luxury - compared to the hellish jobs of officers in Sylvanthol, who had to contend with cannibals emerging from the underground, or deal with inevitable dissent and confusion among the civilian populace - most of whom lacked basic provisions, for which the rationing system was only slowly remedying.

---

Sylvanthol
Indeed, the situation in the capital was unenviable.

Though the efforts to clear the Metro continued, it seemed as though the cannibals were unending. It was not so difficult to dispatch of them, of course - as they were unarmored, and poorly armed - often with only clubs. However, on occasion - ex-government troops, who had formed the core of Inrik the Devourer’s retinue, would appear - and then, they would have a fight on their hands.

Shock Infantry could rather easily eliminate then whenever they appeared - but Civil Protection officers, lightly armored and armed, would often struggle to deal with their attackers until Shock Infantry could arrive to relieve them.

In this atmosphere - where one constantly ran the risk of being ambushed by a crowd of barely-human cannibals, Civil Protection had to engage in a crackdown on the civilian populace.

Civilians, wherever found, were moved into designated camps - there, they could be watched, fed, and most importantly, isolated from the fighting.

The image, however, in practice - became that of Civil Protection officers charging down civilians, shock batons carried in hand, crackling with electricity.

However, there was other news. From the camera mounted in the helmet of a North Sylvarian Shock Trooper, a video was being recorded… stepping onto a pile of rubble.

A few steps more, as the camera panned up - and the scene became visible. In front of the trooper, was the former palace of the royals - which, after the revolution 50 years ago, had become a site of incredible importance - as Voss, although she had an official residency, often stayed here - and parliament had often met here.

In video footage posted online - the Trooper, with his squad, would enter through the grand wooden doors - clearing the building, room by room - shooting former government employees who had taken to cannibal diets.

He stepped into an office - the office of the president. A cannibal, practically foaming at the mouth, and wearing a ragged, torn, and bloody business suit, charged at him with a pen,
but the Trooper remained calm. Such were the easiest to deal with. One shot into the center of mass - and another into the head, to complete the liquidation. And, with practiced efficiency - something of a calculus to the chaos that was war - he executed the cannibal, then and there - whose body dropped to the ground with a thud.

He stepped forward, over the corpse - and examined his surroundings - this was, indeed, President Voss’s office. He took a moment to take it in - how he had got here, and to dwell on the implications of it.

He didn’t take long to do so, though.
Speaking into his radio, he uttered.
“Ordinal to my position.”
With that, his Ordinal entered the room - a Subordinal watching the door behind them, as they creeped to the balcony.

The balcony overlooked the river, and the southern bank - as they stepped out onto it, they could almost feel triumph exuding from it - as they looked out at the city after them, across the river - smoke rising from a number of places.

From the balcony’s railing - a North Sylvarian flag was hung over it - with the express purpose that it would be seen by the Coalition troops on the other side of the river.

---

Havenbrook
General Kalden was now left to consider the position of the Prince of Sylvaria. There were, he felt, two routes to him - they could either push through the remnants of the Communist forces in Havenbrook province, and thereafter end the Communists as a threat to Sylvaria and as a faction - or, he could push through the remnants of the DSM, to the west.

Ultimately, however, he faced a choice. Pressure from Fascist elements and from Patriotic Socialists had given him to both directions - the Socialists favored the Western strategy, and the Fascists favored a drive on the capital in the Eastern strategy.

Ultimately, however - he decided on something of a bold strategy. He would push through both. By focusing only on the road north of Innsholm, rather than on the remainder of the Communists in the province, they could secure an open route to the capital - something that would give him leverage in the inevitable peace negotiations.

Furthermore - by wiping out the remnants of the DSM, they could secure both a western access road to the capital, and a quick route to the royalists.

However, other matters continued in the darkness. Hispaniola had attempted to reach out to Kalden's subordinates - hoping, of course, to incite some treason within the ranks - to urge the Nationalists to break the ceasefire. The responses to this ranged... considerably. Some had politely declined - stating that they would prefer to keep their jobs, rather than wage an unwinnable war. Even the Fascists, at this time, had changed their official party line - staking the peace as a move that would be taken to reinforce Sylvaria in the meantime, and recognized that Sylvaria was simply not ready for total war - yet. However - some of these reactions went from polite declinations, to outrage - that a foreigner would attempt to incite treason within Sylvarian ranks, and to do so under the guise of being 'allies.'
This, naturally, found its way all the way to Kalden himself - who, privately, was infuriated by the attempt to go behind his back. He also knew, however, that his forces had, for the moment, relied upon Hispaniolan support.

As such - he could not make any public movement against the Hispaniolans. However, there were a flurry of orders made in the darkness - as propaganda posters featuring Hispaniolan soldiers were taken down, and any mentions of Hispaniolan efforts during the war were simply struck out from government owned media.

Furthermore, in the economic sector - officials were quietly told not to accept investment from the Hispaniolan economy.

---

New Vvarreach
The Prince's encounter with the strange man, cut short by his sudden exit, was, at first, of little consequence - as the note was stashed in one of his pockets for the time being, until they could meet at a later time.

As time went on, however - the Prince had grown more than a little paranoid - stories of ISI agents from rooftops, or of spies, had accompanied him - tales of doom and death projected onto him from a number of people, from travelers in the desert.

Regardless - he was an old man. He knew, at some point, he would face death - and so, worked within himself the bravery to overcome his paranoia and meet with the mysterious stranger.

With a retinue of 4 of his most trusted knights - those that had accompanied him on his exile, and 3 more of his desert mercenaries, he went out to the Bar - to meet with that strange man.