All Saints Day (PMT, TG for Entry)

[Vetok]

WARNING - There is/will be mature content of sexual and violent themes in this thread. Do not proceed to read or post if you have a moral/personal objection to content of this nature.

The Village of Templedown
Northern Vetok

The man quickly sneaked a look through his curtains. It was risky holding meetings in daylight, but today was no ordinary day. He shuffled over to the small cupboard that occupied the majority of his small apartment’s wall, unlocking it with a key taken from a chain around his neck. He reverently reached inside, hands trembling slightly. They withdrew a battered form, its outline hidden by a dusty cloth. Behind him, one of the other people, this one a woman in her early twenties, reached for a portrait covering the wall. She pulled it down, revealing the cross that occupied a narrow alcove in the wall. The thing was bent on one side. The other arm was twisted slightly out of shape, but it was still recognizable as a crucifix of the Christian faith. She knelt back down with the others as the man knelt besides them. “Brothers and sisters, we have come here today to worship and pay homage on this, All Saints Day.”

He smiled beatifically, before opening the book in his hand to a specific passage marked by a worn piece of leather. He began to recite in a clear tone, “Our father, who art in Hea-”. Suddenly, the door flew back, crashing into the wall. A pair of cylinders rolled in, each one spewing pressurised gas in a thick cloud that began to envelop the small apartment in a noxious tide that left the crowd gasping for breath. Heavy boots thudded onto the floorboards as hulking shapes stormed in, each one grabbing a choking worshipper. They were all yanked up roughly by uncaring hands and dragged outside, down the stairs to the cobbled street.

There, they were thrown into a rough line and cable-ties secured their wrists. A voiced snapped at them coldly. “So…these are the people we’ve been looking for.” The man looked up at the speaker. The man was impressive. He stood wearing a jet-black beret perched on his head precisely at the right angle, as if for a military recruitment poster. He wore a dark grey field uniform like none the man had ever seen before. Over the top was a different story. Placed over his overalls was a deep white robe, crimson edging its billowing folds and tracing up to form intricate patterns on the surface. Draped over it was webbing, a holstered pistol racked in a waist belt while a short stick-like device hung from the other side of his waist. The man looked up and began to speak hurriedly. “I am Father Frederick Krilly of the Catholic Church, and I demand to know the meaning of this!”

The other man just gazed back down at him. Slowly he hunched down to Krilly’s level, hands braced on knees. His fist lashed out, catching the priest by surprise even as his nose cracked and spurted blood as his head crashed on the cobbles. “You want to know the meaning, Krilly? The meaning is…we’ve had enough. We’re not going to put up with the lies of theist scum like you. You all focus on yourselves, trying to encourage an imaginary thing in the sky to sweep away your problems.” He stood up and took a few paces forward, back to the row of prisoners. “People out there, they have the same problems as you might. A relative might be dying; doctors might not be able to do anything. But they’re strong. You know why? Because they don’t run off beseeching some god for help! They’re putting their faith in the people! Because it’s the human race who matter, do you see?” He finished shouting, silence falling in the street.

His head bowed, he began to speak again. “But I am willing to offer you all a chance to be strong.” He turned, facing Krilly once more as the injured priest hunched, vividly red blood still coursing from his nose. The pistol that had been holstered was now held in his right hand, perfectly flat at his side. “Priest…I’m willing to offer you this chance to turn back. Become strong again. Be a human, not some witless weakling. Will you accept it?” Krilly simply smiled sadly at the man. “Jesus laid down his life for us. Why should I not be willing to do the same?” For a moment it seemed as if the other man’s face was about to soften into a smile, before the pistol raised up and belched fire. The bullet hit Krilly precisely in the middle of the head, throwing shards of bone and brain matter over the ground and his neighbour. His body slumped forward onto the ground like a wet sack of concrete.

One of the men who’d been waiting behind the prisoners spoke up. “Deacon Sanders, what do you wish us to do with the others?” The man turned to consider them for a minute before once more turning his back upon them. “Purge them, Knight” he called over his shoulder as he strode away to a large APC, its motor trundling. The rest of the men formed up behind the prisoners, before they cocked their rifles in unison. “Unit, present!” The men shouldered their rifles like clockwork toys. “Aim!” Each man took careful aim, making sure that the single bullet would sever the spinal cord and grant each of the prisoners’ instant oblivion. Some of them were beginning to cry, especially one young woman. “Fire!” The rifles blazed, the people dropped. Gunsmoke drifted from the barrels of the rifles, and the smell of cordite hung heavy in the air.

Others moved in and began to stack the bodies in the middle of the road. One man came back with a jerry-can that sloshed full of fuel and began to tip it over the bodies. Another helped him, while others came filing out of the building with possessions taken from the apartment. One man, the same who’d asked the Deacon what to do with the prisoners had the book Krilly had been carrying in one hand while his other held the heavy, battered crucifix. He dropped the latter onto the body of the priest which itself was at the top of the macabre pile, while he fumbled for a lighter. He clicked it on, before slowly touching the flame to the edge of the book. It flared like a torch, and he threw it onto the detritus, letting the flames set the oil alight with an alarming rapidity.

* * *

An hour later, the flames were just beginning to gutter out. The whole while, the men of the Legion had stood there, as if to make sure the fire consumed all. It was then that it began. All across the island, televisions turned on, megaphones used for public broadcasts turned on with the screech of static and programmes turned to emergency overrides from the government. A man that all knew appeared, his face one that no self-respecting Vetokite would ever dare not be able to recognise. “My people,” he began, voice strong despite his age. “Today, the Church of Humanity Unchained has struck another blow for freedom. A group of subversive theists were found today in the village of Templedown. Today, the brave men of the Order of Dellacore of the North took these subversives and executed them, even offering them a chance to repent and join their fellow men on the road to freedom and wisdom. For this action, I shall raise the Order to become the premier defenders of the True Faith. Let none doubt their devotion. Let Truth and Justice walk with you, my children.”

[Tagmatium]

A wisp of smoke rose over Central Municipality, the aptly-named capital of Vetok. It curled upwards, rising high over the city before dissipating into the cold morning air. The city seemed peaceful, but this belied a tension that was almost palpable. Recent events in the nation of Vetok had sent ripples halfway around the world, and many eyes were drawn towards it. Allies of Vetok were watching the nation with caution, surprise and shock.

Mikael Tzitas couldn’t keep his eyes away from the smoke as it rose above the rooftops. He guessed that it probably wasn’t the result of similar actions that had happened the previous day in Templedown, but it still reminded him of it. Tzitas finally tore his gaze away from the greyish wisp and it was drawn towards the gates of the Tagmatine embassy compound, at the two uniformed guards who stood in front of the gate. They both wore a mixture of lamellar and plate armour over a dull green padded tunic, their sallet helms closed and a Chi-Rho stamped onto the breast plate. Even though the ceremonial uniforms rendered the two Imperial Guardsmen faceless, Tzitas felt he could almost see the apprehension emanating from them in waves.

An awfully good target he thought to himself, his eyes dragged back towards the insignia on the Guardsmen. The symbol on the soldiers’ breastplates clearly showed the Greater Holy Empire’s religious affiliation, as did the flag of Tagmatium that flew over the embassy. Tzitas wondered if there would be protests outside of the building if the situation got even worse. He shook his head. He was surprised that Vetok had played its hand so openly. The Imperial Government would never have done so.

A cough broke Tziras from his reverie.

“Ambassador, the Imperial Government expects you to make contact with our hosts as soon as possible. They want to know just what the hell these… savages think they are playing at.” The last words were spat out with venom. Understandable venom.

Mikael Tzitas, the Tagmatine ambassador to the Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok, turned around and walked away from the window and threw himself into the chair behind his desk. For moment he sat with his head in his hands, before he straightened up and looked at the speaker. The young man who had spoken was dressed in a crisp, dark grey suit with a lapel pin showing, again, a black Chi-Rho on a purple background, brown hair and beard neatly trimmed. He was ostensibly the embassy’s communications officer, but he had Tagmatine Intelligence Network stamped all over him, even if Tzitas could never get anyone to admit it.

“Thank you, George. I’m fully aware of what the Imperial Government wants of me.”

Answers were what they wanted. Seemingly, such an open move by the Vetokites had taken the Imperial Government entirely by surprise. Now they waited to see what the next move on the part of the Imperial Atheist Theocracy was. Tzitas shuddered to think what might happen if the Vetokites decided that it was time to purge the nation of other theists, even ones that were allied to them. Members of the Iconoclastic Orthodox Church were considered to be almost de facto citizens of the Greater Holy Empire, and Tagmatium had a history of making what happened to them its business.

“George, make the Imperial Government aware that I’m sending a note to the Vetokite government, and I’ll forward a copy of the message to them. You may go.”

The communications officer turned and made his way towards the door, which cracked against his hand as he reached to open it. The open doorway framed the figure of Tzitas’ secretary, who hovered at the threshold of the room, profusely apologising to the injured communications officer. Tzitas cut the tableau short.

“What is it, Catherine?” he asked, feeling like the tribulations would never end.

“Ambassador, the head of security and the chaplain are waiting outside. They both want to meet with you urgently.”

The ambassador sighed. He had nasty suspicion that things could well get worse.

---

Honoured Ally,

As representative of the Greater Holy Empire within the borders of Vetok, I have been charged by my government to ascertain the reasons behind this recent strike against a religious community within your nation, at Templedown. The Imperial Government is concerned that this might spread, especially because the recent inflammatory statements made by His Majesty, Vetok XI, and the decision to appoint those that carried out this heinous act as the principal defenders of the philosophy that governs the nation of Vetok.

To this end, I ask for assurances that this violence will not spread, and that there will be no more targeting of religious communities within Vetok. Whilst I recognise that, as a sovereign nation, the Imperial Atheist Theocracy is free to make decisions that it feels to be the best of itself and its people, I fear that these actions will do nothing more than fan the flames of intolerance and hatred.

Mikael Tzitas,

The Greater Holy Empire’s Ambassador to Vetok.

[Tergnitz]

The weak will always be led by the strong. Where the strong see purpose and act, the weak follow; where the strong cry out against fate, the weak bow their heads and succumb.

---

Imperial Palace, Pretoria
Righteous Imperial Dominion of Tergnitz
1953 hours

The red sun, an ill omen of decay, decadence and death. His Imperial Majesty, Augustus Tiberian Vera I, stood alone, leaning on the marble railing of the impressive southern balcony of the Imperial Palace, watching thoughtfully as the sun slowly withdrew from the world once more, leaving only darkness in its wake. But for now, all was bathed in a thick red haze, which served to dehumanize his surroundings, reflecting almost wickedly off the polished floor of the balcony.

Alone, gazing out over the Imperial Gardens, as if he was viewing his entire domain, Augustus was usually filled with a sense of calm detachment from the often hectic and cruel world around him. He was able to lose himself, reflecting on his past actions and decisions, analysing them in depth while thinking about the future, of both the Fatherland and the world in general. It was something which he was increasingly falling back on, as the days rolled by he found himself disinterested in the matters of state and governance, preferring to simply let the Imperial Government form a response for the Dominion to officially adopt. He had heard rumours circulating that he was beginning to go soft in the head and he scornfully scoffed at them. They could not be further from the truth, introspection is an important, some would say crucial, trait in any true leader. Without it, a leader is liable to adopt a mantle of infallibility, as his confidence and arrogance steadily grow, ultimately leading to his downfall. Yet, unfortunately, he was not going to be granted a chance to reflect this day. His beloved gardens were filled with shifting shadows and hateful whispers. The once soothing trickle of the fountains now seemed tense and furious and he found that he could no longer find solace in nature, at least not today. The world was restless and enraged, a grievously malicious event had occurred several days ago which required an official response from the Dominion. Such a response however, given the strength of the nations involved and the immeasurable consequences that a misplaced foot or word could have, required his personal approval.

As if right on cue, he faintly heard the sound of an individual marching along the length of balcony. He deduced that this individual was assuredly a member of the military, due to the fact that his standard-issue jackboots echoed clearly after each step on the polished marble floor. The sound halted abruptly, “You don’t have to salute Grand Marshal,” said Augustus absent-mindedly. If Grand Marshal Montell III was surprised by the fact that his Emperor had guessed who he was without even looking, his voice did not show it, “Of course My Lord.” Augustus fixated his gaze past the palace garden, to the multitude of lights emanating from the Capital in the distance, “The Vetokian situation?” Asked Augustus in a thoughtful yet downbeat tone. Augustus heard the sound of several claps unbuckling, “Unfortunately yes My Lord,” replied Montell. “I have the full report of the situation right here, along with the recommendations from the Ministry of Defence, Foreign Affairs and Commerce, along with one from the Imperial Intelligence and Reconnaissance Agency,” said Montell, before presenting the Emperor with the back, leather-bound report. Augustus did not move or speak for several minutes, before finally turning around to face the Marshal, “I have read enough on the situation and the recommendations of my Government Hector, these additional one-hundred pages will only confirm my current knowledge. Hector, are men born with evil in their hearts?”Surprised by the Emperor’s question, Montell slowly returned the report to his briefcase and set it down beside is left leg before answering, “Your Majesty, I am no philosopher or theologian...” begun Montell, before he was interrupted as Augustus rose his hand. “Please Hector, I know that you are not an expert in this field, I am simply asking for your opinion, from one man to another.” Montell nodded curtly, “My Lord, in my sixty-two years on God’s Earth, I have never met a truly evil man, or woman for that matter. I have met and even fought against misguided individuals, people who were brutally cruel or coldly apathetic, but I have never once thought that they were inherently evil.” Augustus had watched the Marshal expressionlessly as he spoke, his eyes distant. As Hector's answer drew to a close, Augustus began to nod slowly, “That was the opinion I once shared Marshall. I now realize however, that despite my fifty-five years on the throne, charting the course for this nation through the darkness of the world, I am as naive as a newborn child. This Vetokian scum; foreign savages whom we once placed among our staunchest allies, are not men, but tools of Satan!”

Montell was taken back by the ferocity in the Emperor’s words. He had heard whispers of His Imperial Majesty’s religious revival from the Palace staff, yet had not seen it firsthand. Augustus’s eyes burned with a strong sense of conviction, what some men would have called determination, Montell knew were the fires of fundamentalism. “Hector, you are a religious man, are you not?” Asked Augustus, the zeal in his voice melting away to be replaced by his typically calm tone. “I am My Lord,” replied Montell softly, noticing a thick, worn Bible resting on the marble railing behind Augustus for the first time. “Could you please recite Matthew 13: 49-51 for me please?” Asked the Emperor. The words came immediately to Hector’s head, it was a passage that he had often read, “...The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous, and throw them into the furnace of fire; there men will weep and gnash their teeth...” Augustus clapped softly, “A perfect recitation, word for word if I am correct. Unfortunately Marshal, God’s justice may be many generations coming, for no mere man has any grasp of His divine plan. Yet, in this interim period, we would be betraying Him and His teachings if we were to allow sinners to spread their blasphemy and desecrate His Holy Name freely. Hector, the Dominion military shall be transformed into God’s Angels. Unwavering guardians of purity and faith, ready to bring fire and eternal damnation upon those who would dare sin against the Lord. No foreign heretic shall be spared, not even among our allies.”

Hector stood motionless, his mind whirring. His initial fears had been confirmed; His Emperor had not simply returned to his religious roots, he had become a fanatical zealot. Hector pushed the doubts cluttering his mind to the side and spoke slowly, carefully analyzing each word which came out of his mouth, “Your Majesty, I am of course your dutiful servant, but how am I to bring about this monolithic transformation?” Augustus shook his head, a wiry smile spreading across his face, “Do not trouble yourself with this matter Hector, I have already dealt with it.” At the exact moment Augustus finished speaking, the unmistakable sound of a thick piece of metal making contact with the polished marble floor echoed down the length of the balcony. The noise grew steadily louder as a large figure emerged out of the darkness, slowly drawing closer. Wearing full plate armour, polished to an almost blistering sheen, the figure could have stepped right out of a secondary school history book thought Motell. The armour was obviously well maintained, yet it was surprisingly spartan in appearance, lacking any extravagant metalwork or ostentatious badges of rank. Its only true defining feature, besides its large size, was the distinct symbol of a Christian cross, expertly interwoven with a graceful pair of angelic wings, which had been precisely carved into the breastplate . “Hector, I have appointed Arch-Duke Kellan Logain to the newly created position of High Commissioner Militant. He shall act outside the normal military chain of command to strengthen the ties between Tergnitz's religious establishment and the Dominion's military.” From behind the massive plate helm, a low gravelly voice boomed out, “It is an honour to serve both you and Our Lord, Your Majesty,” said Logain, descending to a knee. “Rise my son,” Augustus said confidently, “The heathens who dare call themselves the Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok seek to persecute the faithful. To ensure the continued safety and wellbeing of all of members of our faith currently residing within the Theocracy, you are to take immediate and direct action. However, I remind you that these barbarians are also the Dominion’s allies, both within the Conglomerate and the League, so the utmost discretion is required. I trust you understand what needs to be done?” Asked Augustus rhetorically. “Yes My Lord, your will be done,” said Logain, finally rising from his kneeling position. "Marshal, you shall act as the Arch-Duke's liaison to the Ministry of Defence. I want this situation resolved in such a way that our relationship with the Theocracy is not damaged," said Augustus with a clear sense of finality.

The Marshal nodded, indicating that he understood the Emperor’s orders, displaying an outward sense of understanding and confidence which he currently did not posses. He made to sualte him, but Augustus had already turned away. Hector proceeded with the salute regardless, old habits die hard he guessed. With a slight sigh, Augustus opened his eyes as he listened to the Grand Marshal's departing footsteps, which were almost drowned out by the loud, rhythmic thumping produced by the Arch-Duke's plate armour. The sun had completely disappeared now, engulfing the palace gardens in darkness, which was broken only by small pockets of illumination provided by a score of lights. Presented with the scene in front of him, Augustus could not help but think of the frightened citizens of the faith living in Vetok , small pin-pricks of light pitted against the all-encompassing darkness of the world.

---

---

To: The Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok
Fr: Arch-Duke Kellan Logain - High Commissioner Militant
Cc: Tergnitz Imperial Foreign Ministry, Tergnitz Imperial Defence Ministry
Re: Domestic Religious Tension / Dominion Ultimatum
Encryption: Very High

---

Esteemed Ally,

"To help one's brother, is to earn your place in Heaven among the faithful." This quote from the renowned 14th Century Christian theologist Julian Trass, has emerged as one of His Imperial Majesty's favorites in recent years. Concerned for the soul of the Dominion, the Emperor has placed a renewed focus on upholding and promoting the one true faith, both domestically within the Dominion and abroad. Therefore, on this auspicious day, The Fifteenth of December in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand & Ten, His Imperial Majesty, by the Divine Providence of the Almighty, the Emperor of Tergnitz, Augustus Tiberian Vera I; Patriarch of the House of Vera, Protector of Mankind, Father of the Fatherland, Defender of the Faith, Princeps Senatus, Imperator Destinatus, Imperium Maius, Pius Felix, Grand Baron of the Upper and Lower Realms, Duke of Runnor, Duke of Jazaa, Duke of Northern Sam Immanuel, Lord Regent of the Veran Islands, Dominus of the Praetorian Guard and Supreme Imperator of the Tergnitzian People, on behalf of the Dominion, has seen fit to officially appoint me to the newly created position of High Commissioner Militant. In this new role, I shall endeavor to strengthen the ties between Tergnitz's religious establishment and the Dominion's military. In addition to this worthy goal, I shall also seek to promote the teachings of the one true faith to the uneducated citizens of the world who ignorantly cling to pagan beliefs and nonsensical superstition.

Thus, it is in the spirit of reconciliation and brotherhood that I write to the Imperial Government of Vetok today, imploring you to abandon your tyrannical and barbaric crusade against the faithful. The Dominion and the Theocracy have been brothers in the international sphere for many years, enjoying a special relationship based on trust and mutual respect. Yet the callous, state-sponsored murder of Vetokian citizens who hold religious convictions is something which the Righteous Dominion of Tergnitz simply cannot abide by. Therefore, I hereby deliver an ultimatum to the Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok; the Imperial Government has seventy-two [72] hours to hand over the individual(s) responsible for this atrocity to the Dominion, which will ensure that justice is served.It is the sincerest hope of the Dominion that by making an example of several misguided individuals, the systematic and organized religious persecution currently rife within the borders of the Theocracy will drastically reduce. If the Dominion's extremely reasonable request is not met within the specified time-frame, there shall be unnecessary and dire consequences.

Long Live the Emperor
Praise Be To God Almighty

Arch-Duke Kellan Logain,
High Commissioner Militant,
Righteous Imperial Dominion of Tergnitz

[Hegstoria]

Tag.

[Hegstoria]

New Tralee, Hegstoria
All Saints Day, 8:30 local time

New Tralee, the national capital of Hegstoria, was by all accounts a bustling city. But today all was quiet, the city seemed to have a hushed tone to it, few cars were on the roads, and even they sounded quieter than normal. Today was All Saints Day, and with 80% of the population being some denomination of Christianity, most of the schools were closed and much of the public was in mass. At the heart of the Capital stood the largest Cathedral on the island, St. Augustine Cathedral, from the base to the top of it's spire it was 500 feet tall, towering over most religious institutions in the country. The buildings exterior was covered in ornate sculptures and clearly exhibited it's 17th century construction, a time of great wealth and prosperity in the Royal Kingdom of the House of Hayden, the official name of the monarchy that came before the Federal Republic. The Cathedral had been constructed as a good will gesture to the Catholic population of Hegstoria from the mostly Protestant Nobility, and for the most part it had seemingly done it's job. But of course that is neither here nor there, the Cathedral was in all a magnificent building, the crowning achievement of pre-Industrialization Hegstorian architecture, showing how important the church truly was to many Hegstorians.

The interior of the Cathedral was no different, it looked like any other Gothic Catholic Cathedral, with the exception of modern lighting and some newer features added for safety, as well as what looked like some areas of the ceiling and walls that looked younger then the rest of the building. That and the some scorched paintings were the only reminders of the revolution that swept through the nation nearly 60 years ago, the revolution that finally liberated Hegstoria from the grips of monarchy, or at least most of it. The Cathedral suited the grand city it was in, it's neighboring being the 2,000 foot tall Liberation Tower, the main government building housing both the Parliament and many other government offices.

But what is most important about this Cathedral is not the building itself, nor the valuables it holds within, but a man sitting humbly in the first row, listening to the Bishop preach. He looked to be in his mid to late 40's, clean shaven, his dark brown hair was starting to turn gray, and he wore a clean cut tailored suit, and an expensive one at that. As the sermon went on, he continued to listen attentively, ever so often being tapped on the shoulder by a man behind him, who would promptly whisper something or other into the mans ear. When the time came to go up to take communion, he stood up and walked out of the pew and out into the aisle. As he approached the Bishop he could see something in the mans face that he hadn't normally noticed. When he finally approached the Bishop for his communion, he discretely said "Son, I must speak to you after the service." and quickly put the communion into the other mans hand without another word. The man returned to his seat quite a bit perplexed, but didn't speak a word of it to his family and simply knelt down to pray.

At the close of the sermon the Bishop dismissed the public and quickly darted off into his office. The man whom he had spoken to earlier slowly made his way through the crowd, shaking hands and speaking with the many people there. He finally made his way to the office and knocked on the door and slowly walked. The Bishop promptly stood up and said "Good evening Mr. President, I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you here." the man, President Jonathan Shepherd, slowly replied "A bit, father." The Bishop slowly said "Jonathan, I've known you since you were a child. I have been asked to relay a request to you by my superiors." Jonathan sighed and said "Bishop, you know the constitution forbids me from taking orders from any outside entity." the Bishop quickly said "I understand that, but just hear me out." he sighed and then began again "I'm sure you know about the situation in Vetok." Jonathan nodded "Yes, of course." The Bishop began again "Very good. Now John, this comes from the highest authority here on Earth, I'm talking about the Pope himself. I've been told to ask you to help our people." Jonathan sighed and quickly said "How would they want me to do that?", "Thats just it, they do not care how you do it, they just want something to be done." Jonathan sighed and said "I'll see what I can do, Father, but I can't make any promises.", "Thats all I wanted. Thank you." With that the two men said good bye, and President Shepherd quickly exited the Cathedral and returned to his office, he was back to work already.

OOC: Ugh, I'm sorry about the shitty post and all the fluff in it, I just need a way to get in and I had only a small amount of time to type this, so I had to be quick, I promise my quality is better than this.

[Vetok]

With the announcement of Vetok’s endorsement of the actions of the Order, a finely-tuned machine began to activate. Within a few hours the scenes that had torn the village of Templedown into uproar were being repeated across the island as members of La Légion Impie swung into action. Months, in some cases years, of covert surveillance upon the targets of the operation ensured that the Legionnaires knew where they would be at any given time. Again and again the grey-clad forms of the Legionnaires stormed into residential complexes, workplaces and even onto the streets. For many people, one of the more notable televised events was a spontaneous raid in the middle of a residential district in the middle of Central Municipality. They watched from the safety of their homes, tea-houses and workplaces as people were picked out of the crowd by grim-faced stormtroopers in grey. They watched them be herded into the back of large APC’s, hands bound like prisoners.

For those unfortunates, the nightmare was only just beginning. Bundled roughly into the tight confines of the Ironhearts that formed the main transport of the Legion, they were thrown from one world into another. The cramped, uncomfortable and rough interior of the Ironhearts was an entirely different proposition from how the majority of those seized had been acting, going about their daily lives as any other normal citizen would. Again and again, people were plucked from one reality and thrown into another…one that, if the events at Templedown had been any indication, was going to be a much harsher mistress.

* * *

Dockyard Alpha Secundus
Port Larix

In the port city of Larix, a large ship had pulled into the docks. It was a liner, a small one, much different from the normal tankers and cargo ships that pulled in and out of the port on a regular basis. But what made it even more special were the passengers it carried. All two-hundred members of the Latnyan Atheist Church were aboard, repatriated from Latnya to Vetok as the price of stopping the invasion of that small country for it’s offences against the Theocracy. It took nearly an hour to get all of them offloaded and marshalled in the small square that had been cleared away. Greeting them were a small group of soldiers, all in the Legion’s uniform. Each one had the expensive kit that the Legion had purchased from one of the more notable arms suppliers in the world.

One of the men however had a beret on his head, much like the one Deacon Sanders had worn at Templedown the day before. He looked at the gathered crowd before speaking in English, which he knew they all understood. “I am Acolyte Danzig, of the Order of Dellacore of the North. I am here…to offer you all a chance. Perhaps the last one some of you may ever make.” He paused, letting each second slide away like a grain of sand in the hourglass. “All of you dared to join an organisation that mocked our beliefs.” Again he paused, his eyes now focusing on one particular person. “Arch Abbot. While my faith calls to me to offer the same chance your followers will get, I cannot, no, will not let you get away with the travesty, the mockery, the abomination you made that took everything I believe and threw it onto the detritus pile!” He strode over to the tall, thin man with greying hair. One arm enclosed around his neck while the other pulled a wire attached between two steel handles. “Do you know what this is Abbot? The herders use it in the foothills when they find a sleeping wolf. But I think it’s a more apt analogy if the wolf in this case was a sheep.” With that he slipped the loop over the man’s neck, his hands wrapping themselves around the handles. His muscles grew taut as he strained at the handles. The elder man’s hands reached desperately for the wire, trying to pull it off him. Meanwhile the crowd stared in abrupt horror as the wire cut into the man’s skin, blood dripping from the cuts. Then the screams started as the Acolyte’s muscles completed their wearying task. A dull thud greeted the people as the abbot’s head fell off, and thumped onto the ground, his body slumping down like a sack of spineless meat.

Danzig looked around the crowd before bending down to pick the head up. He lifted it so that all the others could see before thundering, “This is what happens to enemies of humanity! They pay the price for their crimes! But…” Now his voice dropped, becoming much quieter. “You don’t have to be what that useless piece of meat was. It’s nothing now. But you? You all have the chance to make something of yourselves. A chance I’m offering you all now. If you renounce the foolishness of your ‘church of atheism’, and pledge fealty to the Church of Humanity Unchained, then you will be free to live here in these lands, as citizens.” A shout from the crowd drew everyone’s attention. “No! He’s a liar! They all are!” This man was one of the prisoners, pushing his way to the front. He turned back to the crowd. His straggly beard was unwashed, and he had a manic gleam in his eyes. He started to speak again before Danzig’s deep, rumbling basso interrupted him. “You believe I lie? Do you reject all that I have said and offered you?” He gestured behind him, and a pair of large vehicles trundled out of a warehouse and spilt up, each one going to a different side of the small group, trapping them in a square with the ship and Danzig and his men on the other side. These were different from the Ironhearts that the rest of the Legion had used in their raids. Both mounted heavy cannon, and both of them had depressed those guns to aim right at the demagogue. The man whirled around, only to find the crowd backing away from him, entire metres away. Danzig smiled coldly. “Die in peace.” The guns went to rapid fire. Each of the shells they fired was 25mm anti-tank rounds, and no mere human body could withstand such a brutal assault. In the few seconds the vehicles had fired for, the man’s entire body liquefied under the violence of the impacts. Blood and bone shrapnel whirred away with the force, bathing the crowd in the bloody ruins of the man’s death. All the way through it, Danzig continued to smile…

* * *

The Palace Of Eternal Truth
Central Municipality

In the office where he seemed to be spending all his time lately, Vetok perused the latest despatches that had been delivered. He paused, attention fixed on the one at the top of the pile. He looked up at his Foreign Minister who sat, as was their custom in these meetings, in a chair directly opposite him. “The Tagmatines want us to do what?” His brows beetled together in a scowl that had been notorious throughout his time as a Bishop of the Church. Garvin Jaansma, the Foreign Minister just looked back at him levelly. “I think that you should read the next message, your Lordship.” The Imperator did so, this time through the Tergnitzian message. When he next looked up, there was a fire in his eyes that the Tagmatine message hadn’t quite aroused. “Prepare some messages to be sent off immediately.” Within a few hours replies were sent.

TO; Mikael Tzitas, Tagmatine Ambassador to Vetok
SUBJECT; Templedown Raid

"Greetings, and hail Ambassador. While I understand your concerns, I must illuminate you in regards to some basic facts. What you refer to as a 'religious community', is by long-hailed law and custom, a criminal group. While we place no such prohibition on foreign citizens, we do forbid it of our own. However, to assure you of my sincerity, I will ensure that all Tagmatine citizens currently in Vetok are given police protection, and I am more than willing to have the local police force double the security manpower that already guards your embassy. If you so wish, I will gladly arrange a meeting with you as well, so that we may talk our way through these tumultuous times."

In the Name of the Faith
Imperator Vetok XI, Leader of the Imperial Atheist Theocracy, Archbishop of the Church of Humanity Unchained

TO; Arch-Duke Kellan Logain - High Commissioner Militant
SUBJECT; Domestic Situation of Vetok

"Fellow allies of the Conglomerate and the League, you must know of the admiration of which my country holds yours in. Yet you dare to call us barbaric, tyrannical? All I can say is that Vetok and it's people know all religion to be tyranny. How dare you insult us with your demand. There was no atrocity. There was merely justice. However...I am willing to chalk this down as a misunderstanding between two nations of most different cultural backgrounds, and I am willing to forget this letter ever even existed.

However, if you maintain with this demand however, I promise you that you will know the true meaning of 'dire consequences'. Deacon Sanders is not misguided, and I am disappointed that your faith leads you to believe so simply because it has slipped the blinkers over your own eyes."

In the Name of the Faith
Imperator Vetok XI, Leader of the Imperial Atheist Theocracy, Archbishop of the Church of Humanity Unchained

[Tergnitz]

Heresy is like a tree, its roots lie in the darkness whilst its leaves wave in the sun and to those who suspect nought, it has an attractive and pleasing appearance. Truly, you can prune away its branches, or even cut the tree to the ground, but it will grow up again ever the stronger and ever more comely. Yet all awhile the root grows thick and black, gnawing at the bitter soil, drawing its nourishment from the darkness, and growing even greater and more deeply entrenched. Such is the nature of heresy, and this is why it is so hard to destroy, for it must be eradicated leaf, branch, trunk and root.

---

Saint Julius’s Cathedral
Righteous Imperial Dominion of Tergnitz
2219 hours

The slip of paper crumpled easily in Acolyte Sineer’s calloused fingers as he tightened his grip around the small object. Minuscule beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as he walked slowly along the stone flagstones towards the large ceramic gate which marked the entrance to Saint Julius’s Cathedral. The existence of this monolithic house of worship was a closely guarded secret, even among the most trustworthy of the faithful; a fact which Sineer regretted. In his extensive travels around Tergnitz, he had borne witness to many engineering marvels, from His Imperial Majesty’s Palace outside Pretoria, to the awe-inspiring spectacle of the Veran Space Centre. Yet he still believed that the Cathedral was the most amazing building which he had ever laid eyes on. The broad corridor leading to the Cathedral entrance was surprisingly empty. He was used to the familiar sounds of robes brushing against the stone floor and the shallow murmurings of men at prayer, sounds which were conspicuously absent. The large ceramic gates, which depicted the detailed history of his noble order stood wide open. In the order’s two-hundred and ninety-three years of existence, the large gates had never been closed. Doing so would symbolize that the order had failed in its mission to protect the faithful and that it was turning its back on the Fatherland, forsaking it as a lost cause.

Sineer walked slowly through the broad stone archway, eyes downcast appropriately as he paid reverence to the brave men and women of the order who had died to protect their faith and who had in turn been interned in the Cathedral. The sight which greeted him as he entered the Cathedral proper never failed to take his breath away, calming his jittery nerves in the process. The steep descent of stairs in front of him gradually gave way to a large polished black marble floor which seemed to stretch on into oblivion. Both the far left and right walls were identical in appearance, at the lower levels the black marble floor led off into arched alcoves which disappeared into darkness. Above these levels, were a series of intricate stained glass windows which depicted the life of the Church’s Saints and the Order’s Grandmasters. Even though this glorious house of worship was hidden deep underground, it was as if God himself commanded light to shine through those windows as a clear signal of his approval and appreciation of our devotion and duty. This light descended gracefully to the floor of the Cathedral, illuminating a path from the grand staircase to the oval room at the far end of the Cathedral.

Walking down the smoothly hewn stone steps carefully, Sineer consciously attempted to minimize the amount of noise he was making, lest he disturb his Lord while he was at prayer. Admiring the grandeur of the Cathedral, Sineer was surprised when he found himself standing before the sturdy wooden pulpit at the far end of the marble floor. It was as if he had traversed the entire Cathedral in the blink of an eye, yet logically he knew that twenty to thirty minutes must have passed. Cautiously, he ascended the small set of stair to the right of the pulpit into the heart of the Cathedral. It was here that the Order’s most sacred relics were kept, and where former Grandmasters were interned after their mortal duty to God was complete. Seated cross-legged in the center of the chamber, was his Lord, Grandmaster of the Sacred Order of the Winged Cross, the shadowy face of the United Church Militant of Tergnitz, Arch-Duke Kellan Logain. Sineer nervously eyed the two heavily armed and armoured men standing aside the Grandmaster as he walked slowly forward, feeling as if his heart was being steadily constricted in a pin vice. Each step was agony as his mind began to conjure thousands of different scenarios as to what could transpire in the next few minutes, each ending in disaster. “Yes, my son, what is it?” Came Logain’s low, gravelly voice. Sineer let the words wash over him, dispelling his concerns and fears before replying, “My Lord, the Vetokians have replied to your message,” said Sineer without taking a single breath, before offering the crumpled slip of paper to Logain. The Grandmaster stood up slowly and turned around the face Sineer, before taking the paper slip. “It is as I expected, dam heathens,” muttered Logain under his breath to nobody in particular. Scrunching the paper into a small ball, Logain pocketed the slip, “Son, you are to instruct our scribes to send a standard reply to these godless heretics informing them that we shall drop our demand and that this has been a regrettable misunderstanding, is that understood,” he asked clearly. “Of course Lord,” said Sineer bowing respectfully. Satisfied that his instructions had been relayed correctly, Logain returned to his meditation.

Logain listened carefully to the soft departing steps of the young Acolyte, magnified one hundredfold by the sheer size of the Cathedral. Soon though, a pristine silence descended once more on Logain and his compatriots, one which would not last very long however. “Are we to allow these sinful heathens to spit in the face of not only our most dear beliefs, but our nation as well My Lord?” Asked Knight-Commander Silanus forcefully. “Of course not!” Replied Logain, an undertone of anger entering his voice, “Their heresy shall be punished, I have already seen to it.”

---

Mount Raton
Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok
0522 hours

It was a dreary, chilling morning. The first vestiges of sunlight which would be appearing at this hour were blocked entirely by ominous, dark clouds which gave the world a cruel, brooding appearance. The rolling crack of thunder passed over Alexi as he surveyed the storm from the relative warmth and safety of the small wooden bunker dug out of the side of the mountain. He stood stoically, watching the play of the lightning in the distance. In his extensive travels to some of the most barbaric and backward hellholes in the world, Alexi had heard many different pagan shamans and heathen priests attempt to justify the existence of lightning. One in particular had always stood out prominently in his memory, a polytheistic witch doctor from a tribe of natives deep in the jungles of the South. He claimed that the flash of lightning was said to be the gleam of the swords of the Ancient Gods as they struck one another’s blades, the boom of the thunder was their raised voices as they contested in the sky above the storm. Logically, Alexi knew that the man had spouted nothing but superstitious nonsense at best, heretical ramblings at worst, despite this; he could appreciate the majesty and power which the image conveyed.

“Brother-Captain Drusus,” came a solemn voice from deeper inside the bunker, disturbing Alexi’s thoughts. With a slight pang of reluctance, Alexi glanced at the distant storm for a final time, before turning around. “The men have assembled and are awaiting your instruction," continued Brother-Chaplain Mintoss once he was satisfied that he had the Captain’s full attention. “Very good Brother-Chaplain, let us proceed to them without delay then,” said Alexi as he began to walk briskly deeper into the bunker. The two men descended into the complex in silence, each ruminating about the upcoming mission. They soon reached their destination, a section of tree truck which acted as a temporary door to the Knight’s living quarters beyond. Despite the thickness of the makeshift portal, the sound of the Knight’s pre-battle hymns crept out into the corridor, bringing a small smile to Alexi’s face. Without any ceremony, he wrenched open the wooden truck and strode confidently into the room. “My brothers,” declared Alexi confidently, motioning for his fellow Knights to rise from the subservient kneeling position which they had immediately adopted as he had entered the room. “The time has come,” he continued, an element of gravitas entering his voice, “We are to strike back against the sinful heathens of this land, while simultaneously freeing members of the faithful who have been falsely imprisoned; God Willing.” The four members of the Knight-Infiltration team nodded vigorously, “God Willing,” echoing their commander words. Alexi strolled over to a large table in the centre of the room, the rest of the squad in tow. “HumInt* resources both within the local population centres and the Vetokian Imperial Government have confirmed our own findings. We are now aware that a Legion convoy, estimated strength three APC’s and somewhere between five and twenty Legionaries shall be traversing this pass within the next two hours,” said Alexi, tracing a single finger down a thin line on the map in front of him. “The storm currently raging outside, in addition to the heavy forest cover within the target area shall ensure that no air support can be obtained by the enemy,” making our job considerably easier thought Alexi. “There is one final matter however before I delve into the operational briefing; this convoy does not only carry imprisoned members of the faithful, we have received reliable intel that Confessor Galan Sinvess of our own Holy Church is onboard. Thus, I have made the acquisition and extraction of Confessor Sinvess a mission priority.” Alexi had expected his men to be slightly surprised at the news, yet they simply soaked up the new information and mission parameters, their features expressionless and professional. “No further questions,” asked Alexi, not expecting any. “Excellent, then let us begin…”

---

Operation Lazarus
‘Assani Pass’ - 5 km from Mount Raton
Imperial Atheist Theocracy of Vetok
0700 hours

Bright, piercing light filled the small valley with the intensity of a miniature sun; red, yellow and orange-tinged gasses intermixed with each other, expanding ever outwards. It was the sound which hit Knight-Captain Alexi Drusus next, an ear-splitting ringing which seemed to cut through every fibre of his being, albeit for several seconds. He watched transfixed as the lead Legion APC was thrown into the air as if it was a leaf caught on the breeze. The heavy vehicle arched gracefully through the air before abruptly crashing into the leftmost rock wall of the valley, blocking the passage with its twisted metal carcass. From within the shell of the former carrier came the tortured and agonized screams of Legionnaire soldiers, slowly decreasing in intensity and frequency as the flames which had erupted around the vessel consumed the men trapped within. This entire series of events had lasted no more than sixty seconds, the press of a button turning a routine convoy assignment into a deadly ambush and fight for survival.

“Permission to engage granted,” sub vocalized Alexi into his encrypted throat-mike, “APC gunners are marked as priority targets.” The Knight-Captain had only just finished giving the order when the sharp snap of a Dominion-issue Shrec M-15 sniper rifle firing echoed around the valley, momentarily overpowering the noise of the cracking flames surrounding the lead APC. Gazing through the scope of his own rifle, Alexi saw the head of a Legionnaire gunner burst into a million small fragments of bone, brain tissue and muscle as the high-velocity round impacted. The remains of the man skull dug into the fresh snow to the right of the APC, the pure white colour stained with specks of crimson red. Alexi quickly moved to eliminate the second and final gunner, fully capitalizing on the confusion within the Legionnaire ranks. Within two minutes, the distinct and sickening stench of burnt human flesh reached Alexi’s concealed perch high above the dirt road. The smell did not bother the Knight-Captain, if anything he took pleasure in the fact that the Legionnaires had suffered before expiring, a fitting punishment for their temporal sins.

Shrugging the thick cam-netting off his back, Brother-Chaplain Mintoss rose to a kneeling position, the outline of his body obscured behind a large snow covered rock. He carefully dethatched two smoke grenades from his combat webbing and pitched them over the rock towards the dirt road below. Several seconds passed and Mintoss braced his body against the rock, staining to hear the slight hissing sound the grenades made when detonated. His patience was soon rewarded however, as his hears managed to pick up the distinctive sound of hissing smoke from the valley below. Lowering his thermal imaging visor, Mintoss rose from his concealed position and began to recite the Fourth Psalm of the Warrior, a move designed to both inspire confidence in his brethren and instil fear into the soulless hearts of the Legionnaires; his unmistakable voice cutting across the din of the battlefield:


“In his divine wisdom, God Almighty has seen fit to thrust us into the fires of war once more.”

“We are his children and we shall obey Him without question or hesitation,” came the response from the rest of the Knights, as Brothers Bannon and Kaulfus carefully lowered their thermal imaging visors.

“He has gifted us with armour which no bullet can ever pierce, our faith,” cried Mintoss, his pitch slowly rising.

“Faith is our shield, zeal our sword,” the Knights chorused back.

“With these two glorious instruments of war, we shall bring God’s mighty retribution down upon those who dare to stand against us.”

“We are simply the conduit which His Divine Will flows through,” yelled the Knights in response.

"Go forth brave sons of the Dominion. Give these sinners no mercy, for they deserve none. Know that if you die this day, you die doing His will!”

Bellowed Mintoss as he opened fired on the Legionaries below, tracer rounds cutting through the heavy smoke and into the bodies of two soldiers who had been attempting to form a defensive perimeter around the central APC.

On the other side of the valley, Brothers Bannon and Kaulfus burst from their own concealed positions in an explosion of snow. However, the smoke from Mintoss’s grenades had failed to engulf the entire convoy, the wispy substance halting directly above the second APC, leaving the two Knights exposed as a result and without any nearby cover to duck behind. A moment of indecision pulsed through the men’s brains, should they attempt to find cover or should they engage the enemy before they had a chance to fire; it was this momentary hesitation which cost Brother Kaulfus his life. A trio of armour-piercing rounds hit Kaulfus slightly below his heart, shredding his armour before plunging deep into his body. Murmuring the Second Catechism of Absolution, he fell backwards, his body growing cold as his lifeblood began to seep from the three deep holes in his chest. With his remaining strength, Kaulfus managed to slowly lift his right arm as the darkness began to close in around him; he saw a small pinprick of light in the distance, a sudden feeling of warmth spreading through his body.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bannon saw Kaulfus fall to the ground and in that instant, he knew that the mission was depending on him. His rifle snapped into positions, the move natural and fluid, the end result of many years of training and even more years of experience. Without a second thought, he fired off four quick rounds in succession into the Legionnaire who had claimed Kaulfus’s life. The rounds sliced through the man’s armour with ease, flinging his corpse against the side of the APC, his blood leaving a distinctive stain against the metal as the body slumped to the side. Bannon quickly surveyed the area in front of him, checking that it was cleared of all visible hostiles before deciding to advance towards the convoy.

Brother-Chaplain Mintoss flung the empty assault rifle to his side angrily as he ran towards the convoy, drawing the characteristic sword of the Order in the process. He reached the bottom of the valley the moment one of the Legionnaires emerged from the smoky haze which had engulfed this side of the convoy. The man barely had time to register a look of surprise and shock before he was cut down by the Chaplain. Mintoss maintained his momentum and continued into the smoke, racing towards the second APC. As he approached the centre of the road, he slowed his pace as he picked the sound of two hushed voices. “Comms are down and the CO is dead, what are we do to sir,” asked a pleading voice. “We do our duty,” replied the second voice, “Execute the prisoners, they are obviously the target of this raid.” The first man’s reply was drowned out by the sharp sound of a shotgun being cocked. Mintoss knew that he’d have to act quickly if he was to save the Confessor and rest of the imprisoned faithful. He stepped up his pace once more and rounded the side of the APC. Immediately, the two milky white outlines of the Legionnaires came into sight. They were standing at the rear ramp of the APC, steadying themselves before they commenced their butchery of the poor men and women trapped inside. Righteous fury burning through his veins, Mintoss surged forward and swung at the Legionnaire standing to his left, his mighty blade, anointed with the sacred oils of the Order and sharpened to a fearsome degree passing through the man’s armour as it were no more than paper. The man looked down dumbfounded at the large bloody gash which had been carved out of his flesh, before dropping to his knees, a cry of sheer agony erupting from his lips. Mintoss pivoted on the spot and thrust his sword forward, throwing small specks of blood into the face of the remaining Legionnaire. Reacting quickly, the man blocked the blade with his shotgun, the sword biting deep into the barrel of the weapon. Sensing a window of opportunity, the Legionnaire used his considerable body strength to force Mintoss’s sword backwards. The muscles in Mintoss’s arms screamed as he attempted to hold his blade in place, the sword slowly sinking deeper into the ruined barrel of the shotgun.

Mintoss watched amazed as two shadowy hands emerged from the smoky haze behind the Legionnaire. The hands found a firm grip on the man's neck and twisted it sideways, resulting in an audible snap, the lifeless body slumping to the ground. Brother Bannon emerged from the smoke, nodded slightly to the Chaplain before disappearing once again. Mintoss made a mental note to thank his Brother for his assistance as he calmly detached the ruined shotgun from his sacred blade. Turning on his heel, he leisurely walked towards the Legionnaire he had wounded before. “Theist scrum,” choked out the young man, his face contorted with pain and blood dripping down his chin. Mintoss ignored the dying man’s barbs, looking down on him with disdain. “I am fury, I am retribution, I am Judgement. Your faith has been tested sinner, and you have been found wanting,” announced Mintoss, conveying the image of a fiery preaching at the pulpit. “Yet you may still serve a higher purpose my son,” his said gently. “I shall make an example of you, a message if you will to your foul Legion.” With one single flowing motion, Mintoss severed the Legionnaires hands, his blade digging into the soil of the road. “The man without faith cannot touch God,” said Mintoss over the man’s screams. Drawing his combat knife, the Chaplain pinned the man down as he drove the blade lightly into the Legionnaire’s eyes. “The man without faith cannot see God,” declared Mintoss as he watched the man begin to fade away. As time was of the essence, Mintoss made several deep and precise cuts in the man’s chest and withdrew the Legionnaire’s still beating heart, holding it up in front of the man. “Therefore, the man without faith shall never see Heaven’s pearly gates or golden light; instead he shall be destined to burn for eternity, his heart black, like the void,” concluded Mintoss, throwing the dead organ into the dirt as the man finally expired.

The smoke had all but cleared when Knight-Captain Drusus reached the ambush site, revealing an image of pure destruction and carnage. “Brother-Captain, all hostiles have been eliminated and all members of the faithful have been accounted for, including the Confessor,” reported Brother Bannon, his hands resting casually on his rifle. “Excellent work Brother, I was saddened to see that we lost Brother Kaulfus in the attack though,” replied Alexi, a tone of regret entering his voice. “I was as well Brother-Captain,” said Bannon, his voice hard, “Brother-Chaplain Mintoss is attending to him now.” Alexi nodded solemnly, for he knew that there could be not true burials in this heathen land, Kaulfus’s body would have to be cremated. “Enlist Brother Emmanuel’s help in stringing up the bodies of these heretics,” said Alexi disdainfully as he gestured towards the mutilated corpses of the Legionnaires. “Of course Brother-Captain,” replied Bannon, bowing his head slightly before departing. As Alexi gazed around the ambush site, he could not help but wonder as to the success or failure of the five other Knight-Infiltration cells currently residing within Vetok. His thoughts immediately turned to one cell in particular, a cell entrusted with the crucial mission of securing the weapon at one of Vetok’s smaller ports. He bowed his head and made a quick prayer, asking for the Lord to help his brothers in their holy tasks. God Willing, we shall show these sinners the consequences of their lack of faith, he thought to himself.

*Human intelligence

[Tagmatium]

To: Imperator Vetok XI
Subject: Templedown Raid.

Your Majesty,

I thank you for your personal assurances with regards to the safety of Tagmatine citizens within the borders of your nation. This will undoubtedly go a long way towards preserving the integrity of the alliance between our two nations in these troubled times. I’d rather that a police escort wasn’t necessary, but if you believe that these pre-planned actions of yours’ may spill over, then you have my government’s blessing to take what precautions you feel necessary.

As you are unquestionably aware, there is widespread international consternation over your recent actions. Whilst every nation likes to regard itself as separable from the wider world, we both know that this is certainly not the case. Events within Vetok may well send ripples across the globe, especially in areas where there could be inhabitants of your nation living amongst large religious populations.

To this end, I would be honoured to meet with you in order to discuss your latest actions.

Mikael Tzitas

He sat staring at the computer screen for a moment, re-reading the message. It was simple enough, and had enough of a hint of threat for the Imperial Atheist Theocracy to sit up and notice. Hopefully, they’d act more warily in the future. The ambassador sighed to himself. A copy of the message would have to be sent the Imperial Government, although he didn’t have to have permission to send it on to the government of Vetok. Tzitas was trusted enough by his superiors to act in a manner that would satisfy them. And, if nothing else, they wanted answers from Vetok XI.

The ambassador stood up and walked over to the window, looking down again at the two guardsmen of the Excubitores standing outside of the embassy gates. He wondered if Vetok would continue with the idea of the meeting. So far, there seemed to be little in the way of international backlash from the extremist actions of the Vetokites, which the ambassador considered to have the potential to be both good and bad. It might encourage the Vetokites to greater excess in their outrages, or they might already have worked themselves out of their zealous frenzy. On the other hand, just because it was quite now, didn’t mean that there wasn’t anything in the works. Tzitas scratched at his chin thoughtfully.

A meeting with the Imperator would, ideally, provide insights into the man’s thinking. Vetok IX appeared to be similar, in some respects, to Kommodos III, the Holy Emperor of Tagmatium. National policy was dictated from above and the country ruled with something of an iron fist. By speaking to the monarch, information would come directly from the horse’s mouth. And Tzitas had something in common with Vetok IX, unlike the vast majority of Tagmatines. He was an atheist, and the ambassador knew he’d been selected to represent the Greater Holy Empire in Vetok for precisely this reason. It was hoped that this shared idea would mean that Tzitas could ingratiate himself more, although that hadn’t come to pass as yet.

[The Batorys]

Fingers with black painted, sharpened fingernails idly stroked the cheek of the female kneeling next to the austere chair in front the the Throne of Bones. The scantily clad girl was one of two such figures, the other a male, similarly attired and in an identical submissive position. Both wore collars, with rather unnecessary metal chains that went to pegs on the chair. Their owner, though no one knew if she actually owned them or it was all just freely entered into sex play, was none other than Ilona Batory, the daughter of Empress Vereba and heir to the throne behind her. Like her mother, she was tall and statuesque, but unlike her mother, she had none of the warm features that tempered the cruel aura she put forth. Despite her gentle caresses, she was not paying attention to the girl. Nor was she in a particularly good mood.

Before her stood the unlikeliest group of petitioners she'd ever laid eyes upon. "So, together, the High Priestess of Ithtyr, Odin's High Priest, the Pantheonic Order's head, the Archbishop, the other Bishop of another sect... why you Christ-worshipers need so many I will never know, Sarkanotthon's most respected Rabbi, and the capital's Mullah, as well as three Buddhist monks, a Brahman, several Shamans and assorted other clergy of disparate religions."

Smiling towards Ithtyr's High Priestess, she said "Of course, my dear kinswoman, Eszti, you know I always love your visits, but I don't think I assume too much in suspecting that this is not social call... I hope you've all agreed to take turns."

"Actually," the High Priestess said, "It seems I've been elected as spokeswoman, no doubt partly because of the... close relationship we already enjoy." Eszti was, of course, also a member of the Batory clan, and it showed in her appearance, which, due to the traditional attire of her office (nothing but ritual tattoos and various jewelry hanging from various parts of her face and body), was usually very much on display. She wasn't so closely related to Ilona that their 'close relationship' was quite as stomach-turningly incestuous as the latter's relationship with her mother. "I'm sure you're aware of the recent troubles in the Empire's ally, Vetok."

Ilona nodded. "I am aware of such, yes."

"My... colleagues, here... and I are quite concerned about it, which should come as no surprise. What are you doing about it?"

This surprised Ilona a bit, the expectation that she was already putting some action into motion on the matter. "Why... nothing."

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"I hadn't really planned on doing anything, to be quite honest, Eszti. Vetok is our ally. At the moment, there is a high chance that the League will need to stand united."

At this, the nude cleric scowled. With the stature and commanding presence priestesses of Ithtyr cultivated, it was amazing how imposing naked people could be. "Ally or no, something should be done. How are we supposed to answer our congregants when they ask what will be done about this travesty? How can we face them and say 'oh, it isn't our problem'? Our goddess isn't even one of compassion, but I can't say something like that. Doing nothing is the same as saying we approve, which I know, given your faith, you do not."

Ilona sighed. Of all the times in the world for the Empire's actual ruler to be away. "I will see what I can do."

To: Imperator Vetok XI
From: Ilona Batory, heir to the Empire
I represent my mother, Empress Vereba's interests in this matter. I won't bore you with moral platitudes about religious freedom or any other such thing. We are allies in the League of Imperial Nations, and so I know about your religious laws, and you know about my general lack of concern for things like freedom, rights, and all those nice sounding things.

I am not going to demand that you cease all current oppressive activities or any such thing. Such a plea would be entirely pointless, you know what you are doing. Instead, I have a business proposition to make.

You see, I myself am quite the devout (poly)theist, a devoted follower of a cruel goddess whom you no doubt do not believe in. Naturally, I do not approve of your recent policies. However, given that I also know how pointless any pleading to stop said policies would be, given your convictions, and how counterproductive threats would be, as we are allies, I propose instead a more profitable alternative.

In my family's empire, slavery is not illegal. Since we mainly use criminals for such, and my mother's policies have generally reduced crime, there is quite a bit of demand currently. I therefore offer to buy up your theists. All of them, all the people you would otherwise have killed. As in all matters of international commerce, as the buyer, I would pay full shipping and handling costs (rather high, since human cargo requires maintenance en route). Instead of having to pay for ammunition and various other costs of executing criminals, as well as drawing the ire of several of your allies, you would instead profit from the theists' sale. Name whatever price makes the transaction relatively profitable for you. Though, as we are allies, I do request that you please try to keep it fairly reasonable.
I hope you will consider the Batory Empire's offer.
-Your unfaltering ally,
Ilona

The message itself, at least the hard copy, when opened, would appear to have been written in a rich, rust hued ink, the signature heavily stylized. Of course, upon considering the sender, the note's reader would no doubt realize what the ink actually was, and perhaps, if squeamish, hold the stationary more gingerly.