NATION

PASSWORD

Mad Queen's Gambit (Please Telegram for Entry, MT)

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]

Advertisement

Remove ads

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Wed Jun 24, 2015 5:25 pm

Harbourtown

As the news crew, Queen, and smaller group of aid workers left the grey industrial center of Harbourtown behind, work continued to help get the city back on its feet. Military activity continued in the countryside outside of the city. Battle damage was evident from the air. The fires had died down, but charred skeletal remnants stood as monuments to Romain's victory and streets were blocked by wrecks and rubble.

The peacekeepers had been thrown for a loop by the chaos of the battle and the murkiness of their own original mission parameters, but started to settle back into a sort of rhythm. General Deaton did what he could to refocus the mission on what was important: elections and refugees. Working with Attorney General Misabel to establish clearer jurisdiction and coordinate enforcement with the local police forces, the CPO Mission to New Edom would have clearer authority to protect prospective voters and displaced persons. Eventually offices were set up staffed by a combination of CPO and Edomite officers where people could report political violence, including destruction of campaign advertising, voter intimidation, or outright attacks if the local militia weren't trusted.

Sergeant Shi's most exciting days in New Edom were behind her. Instead of taking fire from ETC militia or directing refugees through a combat zone, she found herself in a relatively simple posting guarding a polling station, an theater being used for voter registration. In the street was a National Elections Committee worker in nothing but a t-shirt which said "ASK ME ABOUT VOTER REGISTRATION." At first the woman's job seemed odd to Shi, but when she overheard the voters' questions she realized how necessary it was to explain things in ways people could understand. She knew how bitter people must be after the violence she witnessed firsthand, but it was strange and interesting to see how new and alien democracy was here.

Jenson and other MPs stuck close to the airport, defending both the vital point of arrival for the CPO's supplies in addition to the growing refugee camp. Adiran and Jedorian engineers had managed to drain parts of the camp's swampy footprint, but such a low-lying area would be prone to flooding without erosion control. Drainage ditches and culverts had to be installed to manage the soggy ground amidst the city's frequent rains. Engineers laid concrete foundations for the Quonset huts used for the clinic, soup kitchen, and storage. Raised earth berms were built for tents, while the roads inside of the camp sloped off into ditches and were lined with crushed stone. MeshWalls made up the outer perimeter of the camp.

When the camp was built, the next part of the battle was getting it running. Sturdy, family-sized insulated tents were erected in orderly rows on the raised earth throughout the camp, with the amenities centrally located. The tents were customizable, with several openings to the outside which would give them options for windows and flaps inside which could be used to create separate rooms. A tent could have an entire family sharing the same large space, or it could be modified to have a central communal area connected to individual bedrooms.

The camp's infrastructure was generally the purview of the Water and Sanitation Association. Foundation personnel contacted acting city officials in the hopes of tapping into Harbourtown's electric, water, and sewer grids. Assuming all of the city's water mains weren't contaminated due to battle damage, the plan was to connect new water mains to the clinic, food distribution centers, public and private showers, and to a large number of communal water pumps servicing small groups of tents. If the municipal water was contaminated, the Foundation would have to make use of a reverse osmosis purification unit. To offset additional strain on Harbourtown's water grid, the Foundation pledged to set up rain collectors, filtration systems, and water tanks in the camp as well.

If the Foundation had access to Harbourtown's sewer systems, it would be a matter of setting up public toilets. Otherwise they would have to dig latrines, which were less than ideal in a wet climate where flooding was possible. Electricity would be used for the clinic, kitchen, and for street lights placed for security purposes. If the city's electric grid wasn't overtaxed, it would even be possible to wire up individual tents for their own lights and hot plates. Generators would be needed if the CPO's engineers couldn't get the power hooked up to Harbourtown's grid.

In terms of food, the Foundation didn't see signs of pervasive malnutrition or famine, and the food supply in Harbourtown was not seriously threatened. Organizers from the Silva Trust went into the city of Harbourtown to take stock of local markets, shops, and food distributors who would sell to the Foundation. In buying from them, the Foundation would both feed the refugees and keep local farmers and businesses afloat. The Foundation didn't want to be competing with local producers during what was already a time of considerable upheaval.

Still others, like Teachers for the Future, were in Harbourtown prepared for the eventuality that this would be a long term mission. Children growing up in the camp didn't deserve to be disadvantaged educationally by their circumstances, and education represented an opportunity to bounce back. Chelsea Bly, a Glasstower veteran, already missed the abandoned upper-class house that had been appropriated for her previous classroom. She was also acutely aware that many of her former students were members of the End Times Church, possibly caught up in this latest conflagration.
Last edited by Hittanryan on Thu Jun 25, 2015 8:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Wed Jun 24, 2015 7:56 pm

Hillel Interlude

The bus service in Hillel was provided by spacious buses that had wide seats; they also had paper dispensers where you got a sheet sufficient to cover the bottom in case you didn't have your own towel. The buses were orange and white. Mara stepped on, paid the one copper fare and went to the back where there was a large bench like seat and you could see through windows all round. This was also apparently etiquette--without being asked people tended to move towards the back. Luggage could be piled in metal overheads. There were two attendants, one back and one rear, who were a middle aged and a young man who helped with luggage.

Mara got all her companions to sit with her, including Izena and Micaela, and used the paper dispenser. "You know, one of the funny things is that there's not as much public laundry service as you might think, so it's hard to get it washed if you're traveling and don't have much money. That's one of the things I'm probably going to do when I get back to Fineberg, is see to that happening." She said this rather quietly.

People on the bus, young, old, pretty, plain, burly, skinny, slightly stout (there were few genuinely obese people in New Edom, and almost never in Edenist territories) were generally orderly and quiet and friendly. Now and then people brushed bare skin by bare skin but did so respectfully, said "excuse me," if they accidentally pressed against someone as they were sidling by or lifting luggage. Most were darkly or lightly tanned--some caucasian, some semitic Barans or Haranese, some of Dengali descent, some sallow Elwe. A mother held a baby in a sling that suckled quietly; an older man with a prosthetic leg hobbled on crutches. Here and there were well healed scars--pinched scars, slash scars, scars of burns.

More than anywhere in New Edom, even Fineberg or Harbourtown at their most Free Congress militant--Hillel was a sea of bare flesh, far more rare to see a clothed construction worker or soldier in hazardous materials gear than to see a naked person who were everywhere riding bicycles, playing at a water park, lining up to buy bread, painting a building's wall, delivering newspapers, singing and playing a guitar on a street corner. Men, women, children, painted or not, it was entirely normal there. Barely a tan line in sight, which had people looking curiously at any foreigners now and then, though their gazes only lingered briefly.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Ghant
Minister
 
Posts: 2473
Founded: Feb 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Ghant » Wed Jun 24, 2015 11:10 pm

“The Midwinter Princess”
Quality Bay Estate
Fineberg, New Edom


…So, such is the heart’s lamentation.

Alazne Dain wasn’t like the other Ghatnish ladies in Betharan, she knew this much to be true. She didn’t like to think about that…how she was different, what the others were or were not. They were them and she was her. They called her the greatest beauty in all of Ghant, the sort of beauty that the poetic tragedies depicted wars being fought over, leading to the doom of civilizations.

Yet, she remained an unwed maiden, too intimidating for the men and too proper for the women to want to befriend. The other girls were cruel…possibly jealous, although Alazne was too modest to dare consider that. They mocked and jeered at her in any event, and often enough she found herself alone in her chambers, or with her friend Ava, whose company she valued greatly.

She laid on her bed, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for some patterns or hidden meanings contained in the paint, although there were none to be found. She thought of her family…her father Lord Bolvar, her mother, Princess Belbe Orinbere, her brother Alaric and her younger siblings. She also thought about another…Alexander Domris.

He was different from the others too…he wasn’t afraid. Handsome and charming, he captivated her with ease, and even wished to call upon her when he returned! It made her heart flutter so…but also filled it with dread. To think…that he was in the field of battle, the sweet majestic young count, one shot away from being ripped from the world, it was almost more than she could bear to think about.

The presence of her great-aunt Isabella Orinbere helped. Queen Izolde was kind enough to allow Alazne to be the venerable Princess’s lady-in-waiting, something that both Princess Isabella and Alazne greatly enjoyed. They would talk, tell stories to each other, and most importantly, Isabella had so much wisdom and insight to share! It helped take Alazne’s mind away from her troubles.

The troubles, however, didn’t go away. They always remained, like an ankle biter they gnawed at her heart, it was only distractions that helped her focus on something other than the pain of anxiety. Oh how she wished to see him again, and feel him ever so close to her in the idyllic palace gardens! To hear his whisper sweet words of enchantment in her ear, to quiver under his touch and gaze upon the pools of his eyes.

But what was it? Could it have been love truly, ever so bold? Or was it merely the infatuations of a maiden, ever so chaste? There were too many questions and not enough answers…the uncertainty, that was what inflicted her the most severely. Not knowing what was going to happen, how it was going to turn out. If he would return or not, if he was interested or not, if what she felt was real or not…Gah!

It finally dawned on Alazne that the best thing for her to do would be to express herself the best way she knew how…through poetry. The idea made her rise from her bed and flutter over to the table, adjusting her soft violet gown and twirling her long black hair as she sat down and got out her writing implements. Then she determined to not only write a poem expressing her feelings, but to write it for Alexander Domris himself, and to have it sent to him. Maybe he feels the same way I do, she thought blushing as she took to writing her poetic letter.

Dearest Alexander,

How canst one start to note zephyrs that drift among the waning tide
Or streams of silver set upon the moor by moons of times long past?
Not one is captured sweet, as shifting shadows chancing swift to hide
The likes of which have beauty pale in the light that you so brightly cast

Fie, no mere prose serves to suffice a means to make a likened form
Of feral eyes in sharp azures that stir the heart's still waving flame
Nor the envy of angels, arms honey-hued where I take refuge from torrential storm
Though my lady's tongue may tremble, trying to speak thy hallowed name

In darkness I have dwelled, for there rest my heart's greatest dread
For you, the aberration in which my affection does humbly lay, I state
How I had been strung upon this fickle strand of deepest red
Granting but a chance for us to intertwine once separate fate

War is such a bestial thing, terrible yet ever so true, lays my heart bare
And soft, I plead the clemency from he whom a kind such as I so adore
Good fortune, and the favor of victory, is what I hope you shall ensnare
For there is naught I wish in life but for you to be here and safe, forevermore

- Alazne


As she finished with her letter, a knock came upon her door. “Who goes there?” Alazne called out in her melodic tone.

“Tis I, your great-aunt,” Isabella responded. “Would you be so kind as to attend me dear?”

“Of course, your highness,” Alazne said as she rose from her seat and rushed to the door. “Forgive me, your highness, I am afraid I am in no fit state to attend you.”

“Oh nonsense…you look lovely as can be. Even in a bed gown, your beauty could stir kingdoms to war. And enough of Your higness… ‘Aunt’ will do just fine,” Isabella smiled.

Blushing profusely, Alazne emerged from her room and clasped her aunt’s arm. “You are so very kind to say…oh your gentle words flatter me so!” Looking down the hall, she asked, “where is it you would like to go?”

“To Caroline’s room…the Dowager Princess wishes to have a word, on what you will find out soon enough, dear.” Sighing, the older woman continued. “She has always confused me, that one. I don’t know what she wants…must be all that Roman blood in her veins making her kookoo. You know how they are.”

“…Only from what I have read,” Alazne offered demurely as they walked down the hall. “I have hardly known any Romans, and what I know of them is skewed from the slant of Dakmooran history.”

“Naturally,” Isabella responded as they came to a stop outside of Caroline’s door. Isabella knocked, and announced herself. “Tis I, Isabella, dear.”

Caroline wasted no time in opening the door, and ushered the two other women inside before shutting it behind them. Then she walked to a seat and eased into it, clearing her throat before laying it on the poor old Dowager Queen. “Isabella,” Caroline called out to the Dowager Queen of Dakmoor. “Tell me you do not plan on suggesting a match between Cassandra and either Elijah or Thomas.”

Alazne and the aged Princess Isabella found similarly comfortable seats. Isabella sat with her arms folded in her lap, contemplating with deep purple eyes the nature of what the Dowager Princess Caroline was saying, of that Alazne was certain. “Rest assured, dear, that the Obeds want a Gentry match bad enough to make one happen, one way or the other. I wish to control the outcome as best I can…hence why I mentioned Cassandra to Rebecca.”

…Not Cassandra, Alazne shuddered as she sat in silence and listened carefully. The young Gentry Princess always gave her a slightly unsettling feeling, compounded by her recent attempt at trying to convince her father the Lord Dain to compel Alazne to marry Cassandra’s brother Bryan, drunk womanizer that he was. Thankfully, Bolvar was not the sort of man that would entertain such a match…at least not yet anyway. It was no secret that Lord Dain and King Malibar, while old friends, had been butting heads of late over Dakmooran policy.

Caroline shook her head and shifted in her seat. “This is beyond ridiculous. Cassie…just let that thought settle into your heat. Cassie…cunning and ruthless manipulator of court politics. She puts on a friendly face with a friendly smile easily enough, but her eyes don't smile when her mouth does, and she has no real loyalty or genuine affection for anyone, not even my own son who she would be manipulating even now like she did before he got married.”

“Yes,” Isabella nodded. “Even so, she is an extremely intelligent young woman, not only when it comes to financial matters and dealing with the nobility but also at cynically manipulating those around her. She is a grasper from the greatest house in Ghant, with a very great skill at befriending and ultimately manipulating powerful people. And, more importantly, she will sate the tastes of the Obeds for a high-profile Gentry match.”

“And a true Gentry she is,” Caroline barked. “With a greed and lust for power, influence and control. I fail to see how that is the best choice.”

“…Because she is a woman,” Isabella countered. “She can’t marry Jocasta.”

“So this is what this is all about then, isn’t it?” Caroline asked sharply. “This is all about Jocasta, and keeping her unwed. I know why, but I didn’t think it was true…”

“Hush,” Isabella said with a finger to her lips. “You would be a fool to think that no one is listening. In any event, the Obeds are not likely to entertain more than two marriages of state with Ghant. Apparently, Elijah has already offered to marry Izolde, but might I digress…”

“Just let him marry Izolde then,” Caroline pleaded. “But not Cassandra.”

“Bugger Izolde…Cassandra is the golden goose of Ghant, dear. Think about it like this...Prince Christopher gets all the credit for the Ghantish Brigade. They call him cunning, intelligent and resourceful. But he his none of those things…just a cruel and malicious lapdog that does what he is told. His sister Cassandra is the one that put together that force, gathering support from all those lords, one after another. She did that because she is feared, and respected. Of all the Gentries in Ghant, she is the one that is truly a testament to her house. Industrious.

“All this talk of marriages gives me a headache,” Caroline finally said in a resigned manner, leaning back in her seat and looking up at the ceiling. “This is supposed to be the 21st century, yet we are still talking about marriages of state and convenience!”

“Well, much of the mindset hasn’t changed all that much, you know,” Isabella said with a light-hearted chuckle. “You marry a fief and get a wife, as the old saying goes. Real estate, heirs, influence and loyalties. Isn’t that why you decided not to marry my son, and instead John? For while Malibar was Crown Prince of Dakmoor, John was Crown Prince of Ghant.”

Caroline blushed hotly. “The heart wants what the heart wants, Isabella. John was…something special.”

“So was my son…that didn’t stop you from…staying in touch with him over the years,” Isabella suddenly spoke with narrowed eyes and a firm tone, leaning forward. “The resemblance your daughter Alexia bares to my family has not gone unnoticed by me.”

“…I thought you said that people are listening,” Caroline said, horrified.

“Oh, I am sure they are…and I don’t mind them hearing that,” the Dowager Queen replied. “I am very protective of my family, and I will do whatever I can to ensure that they live long, happy lives. Frankly, I don’t care as much about these trumped up marriages of state like my son does. That is how dinosaurs think. I care about fulfillment, and so I reach out to those that can help me and my loved ones achieve that. Dear Cassie is a double-edged sword, yes, but a double-edged sword cuts all the same.”

“Her cooperation will cost you,” Caroline warned. “The double-edge sword will cut, but it will also leave you bleeding.”

“I would expect nothing less from the granddaughter of Tsar Pyotr of Nekulturnya and Emperor Albert of Ghant,” Isabella once again sniggered, shaking her head. “Pyotr was a man who was willing to launch nuclear war in order to satisfy his sense of pride. And who is more proud then Cassandra, the great wayward princess of Ghant? Besides a few people, the Imperial House is a mess…but she does quite well to remind everyone that it is still powerful.”

Your son, Caroline thought. “Do what you want, Isabella, just know that there are other ways of placating the Obeds then that. Besides, have you ever asked what Miraxes would do?” Asking of Isabella’s dead husband.

“Oh, I know,” she said mischievously, implying that she had some sort of ace in the hole. “He would do whatever he could to keep the Gentries out of New Edom,” she laughed. “Then again, he wouldn’t have let House Dakmaran get tangled up there either, xenophobe that he was. He wasn’t the man that the House would have wanted under general circumstances, but he was the one that it needed. He was a hard, cold man on the outside, but inside, he had all the tenderness that one would expect of a man of that house. And he did love his family, even if he had a hard time showing it.”

“…What was the last thing he said before he died, anyway?” Caroline wondered, suddenly curious of the late godfather of the eastern great house.

“He held my hand and said, ‘it’s been too long.’ He missed his family that much…the ones that the Mad Emperor burned. Make no mistake about it, Miraxes would have killed every Gentry he could get his hands on if he knew he could get away with it. He didn’t do it in 1939 though because of some conversation he had with the new Emperor Michael, barely a day into his reign when Miraxes stormed the Imperial Palace. That war severely crippled the Gentries, and ever since, they have been gimp. But loathe as the Ghantar are to rock the boat and the order of things, they didn’t insist on taking the throne. Miraxes could have taken it you know, if he wanted to. But the sight of the Obsidian Throne always made him sick. And he famously said, ‘my family will have it in a hundred years anyway.’ How visionary he was.”

“Never underestimate that lot,” Caroline shook her head. “They are always planning something, and believe me, they love it when people don’t take them seriously. Makes the blow all the more powerful.”

“Oh, believe me, I am aware of that too. They are like that breed of sea snake…the one that attracts its prey by lying still at the bottom of the sea pretending to be wounded. Its prey will approach and even begin eating it, growing fat and complacent off of its bloat. And that is when the snake will strike at its unsuspecting prey, and devour it in turn. All because the prey let its guard down, thinking the predator was actually its prey,” Isabella explained thoughtfully.

“…Sounds like Cassandra alright,” Caroline shook her head.

Alazne couldn’t help but feel alone inside…was she the only one that cared more about those in the field of combat, fighting for their country, then about petty court squabbles. She loved Michael like family, and hoped that God would be good enough to allow him and Jocasta to be together…but did that actually matter when compared to war against the Prophet and the ETC? No, shame as I feel to admit…





Beltza River
Torloju, Dakmoor, Ghant


The barge floated lazily down the river, beneath a pink and purple sky as the full moon began to loom large, lording over the transition to night. The river lived up to its name…Beltza, Ghantish for black. Black it was, and home to all manner of things dark and bleak. Giant salamanders, river birds…Dakmoorans, the young woman thought. Oh how I loathe Dakmoor.

Yet Dakmoor was a part of Ghant…and the most powerful part of it at that. Dakmoor could always field the largest armies, a formidable fleet, and ancient and proud lords that were often as haughty as they could possibly come. But to the eagle, they were all such small things, crawling beneath them as they soared high above.

The barge was a small, yet comfortable thing, with some interior rooms with windows that let the light in. This time of year, it was much warmer, being on the east coast. Indeed the snows had melted and the ice thawed, exposing the earthy colors of that part of Ghant once more. It was at least somewhat refreshing, to be able to dress more lightly and comfortably, and to be able to appreciate the earthen landscape in its truest form, devoid of winter white.

The sides and the front and back of the barge were wide and open, allowing people to stand about, looking over into the water. She stood at the prow of the ship, her delicate feminine hands on the rails, looking down into the murky depths, not able to see anything aside from the pitch. The Beltza river was one of great historical significance, often a battleground between Dakmoor and the armies of the south. Many knights rested at the bottom, lost to time.

It was strangely peaceful, so quiet aside from the sounds of nature. Animals making noise in the distance behind the thick groves of trees that lined either bank of the river, their overgrowth reaching out to touch those of the opposite side. Even during the day, the sun would at best poke through their embrace, casting a flickering light.

The Dakmoorans made their own sort of noise as well, a backward accent to her dainty ears. Her men knew better than to talk idly…they were good guardsmen, clad in combat suits and wielding firearms, although she wasn’t familiar with what they were called. Small arms…one or two handed, some bigger than the others. She didn’t have much use for such weapons herself, but understood the advantage that having men with them afforded her. The backwards Ghantar thought that such weapons were dishonorable…and maybe they were. But honor doesn’t win.

The spirit of Dakmoor surrounding her, the young woman couldn’t help but think of her position…her station. How this land was beneath her, and how it was meant to acknowledge her and serve her as she saw fit. Yet, of late, her house wasn’t respected…feared, like it used to be. The power of her house waned and many other houses were growing in strength at their expense. Many said that the eagles were no longer so great, and men laughed in their cups of eagles with clipped wings and dulled talons. I am an eagle, and Ghant is my roost, she thought with a smile. It reminded her of a poem, a great ode to her house…


Look to the eagle in times of trouble
Their path is ever straight and true
No friend do they take on their journey
It’s greatness that sees them through

When the winds of a storm approach
They ride it to soar higher still
Above the winds of adversity
And they nest on the highest hill

They are strong and full of courage
They fear not what may come
They take what each day brings them
Come rain or come sun

They need no other’s approval
It is greatness they seek
They fly to the highest mountain
And nest upon its highest peak

Yes look to the eagle
No storm will get them down
So seek greatness also
And one day you too may wear a crown


Eagles were not meant to deign interest in fetid swamps and lands inhabited by upjumped backward nobles and usurper kings. The thought made her clench a fist, filling her heart with rage. And yet, perhaps this is an advantageous perception to retain…

“Your Highness, Princess Cassandra,” one of the boatmen cried out to her as he stumbled across the deck. “We have found one.” This particular cretin was clad in a leather jerkin and pants, with scraggly black hair and those ugly piercing blue eyes that are so pervasive in Dakmoor. The sight of the man filled her with a sense of revulsion.

“Good…get to it then. And don’t fail,” Cassandra snapped back with wide eyes and a neutral expression.

“Yes, your Highness.” With that, the crew began to scramble, dangling their bait in the water at the end of lines wrapped in a coil attached to the barge. The bait consisted of large chunks of raw, freshly butchered deer meat, dripping blood out into the water. There was something about the sight of that…blood mixing with the black water…so very titillating.

Cassandra shifted, and leaned over the side of the barge towards where the action was. The faint light of the moon did provide her with a reflection, and she gazed upon it deeply, studying herself in great detail. She was described as a great beauty, with long hair the color of mud and pale, unblemished skin with the occasional dark freckle on her slender arms and shoulders. She stood at 5’11’’, and had a filled out figure with full breasts, a wide hip with an accompanying shapely fundament, and curves that could haunt a man’s dreams. Her lips too were a reflection of her figure, tempting and full. Voluptuous and shapely as she was, she covered it all up well enough in a full dress that left only her tender hands and heart-shaped face exposed. Her honey hinted brown eyes stared out, stern and severe, as if burrowing into whatever she gazed upon.

Her gown was as exquisite as she was, a long and flowing garment made from a high quality silk and velvet with baroque damask. Fastened with laces at the back, it was in the colors of her house, black, with traces of yellow, embroidered with gold, jet and opal. She wore no jewelry, aside from a gold ring on her left hand, with the white eagle of her house upon it. Her hair was done upon an intricate bun that bopped this way and that as she walked, the skirt of her gown almost touching the ground that she stepped upon in her reinforced slippers that afforded her comfort as well as functionality. I am the Princess Ghant should be proud of, she lamented, always having been in the shadow of her friend and rival, Sophia of Dakmoor…

Then the barge began to rock. Cassandra hardly had anytime to consider what was happening, but she knew all too well. It emerged from the water in a sudden blast, shooting water up in all directions and splashing those men on the barge closest to where it surfaced. There it was, the exotic predator from the furthest, darkest corner of the world. Inhabiting the swamps of Dakmoor, and lurking in the marshes where they dwelled deep in the murky water, they carved out vast swaths of territory for their homes. There they waited, until something passed by, upon which they would lash out with a powerful jaw, razor like teeth and long claws. From the time they hatched, the more they ate the bigger they grew, and the bigger they grew the more they ate. And from the looks of it, this fellow had eaten more than any of his kind had ever eaten before.

The Ghantish Giant Salamander burst out of the water and clamped its jaws around the piece of meat, sinking its serrated teeth into the flesh of its quarry. From the looks of it, it had to be at least sixteen feet long, and 1200 pounds, indicating a specimen of advanced age. “Good,” Cassandra called out as she gripped the rail. “Kill it, and haul its remains on board the ship as I have ordered.”

Easier said then done, of course, for a creature of that size and size surely wouldn’t go down easily. And the primitive bog dwellers insisted on using spears to attack the beast. It thrashed in the water as men reached out and stabbed at it, flailing its short and stubby legs, one foot long claws on each foot. It was mottled and black, and blended in with the water that it called home. Beady yellow eyes deep set in its massive head looked out, and locked with Cassandra’s own. I have you now.

It smacked its long tail across the surface of the water, and let out a hiss that sounded like a small child under great duress. It tugged hard on the meat, making the barge rock violently every time a spear tip was driven into its slimy flesh. Even still, the salamander was such a powerful creature, making them fight for it. The men were clearly used to fighting such creatures, although maybe not that size, and so when the salamander smacked its tail against the side of the barge, they knew how to balance themselves.

Around the creature’s flank came a log raft with three more of these hunters with spears on it. Using a pole, the driver steered it to the other side of the creature, and then began stabbing down at it. Meanwhile, another man on the barge was carefully aiming one for its vitals, and then cast it out. That seemed to have been enough, as the creature began to slow down as it bled out. After a few minutes, it stopped moving, and the hunters on the raft pushed the hulking carcass towards the side of the barge, where it could be pulled up. Mighty as the creature was, it was hardly any match for seasoned hunters of those lands.

In any event, her objective for the time being was accomplished, the creature dead. The thought mad Cassandra sad for only a fleeting moment, before a smile crept across her face. And now it is time to pay the local lord a visit. While Lord Tufur Torloju was aware that she was coming, he wouldn’t be aware of this token gift, which served a purpose all its own.

The barge went upstream, closer to their destination as the sky finally turned black. In the distance, she espied the ancient and weathered Castle Torloju, looming large past the trees. It was a big, black thing, like the night sky itself, illuminated by faint lights that decorated its outer facades. I shall see it up close soon enough, she thought as she retired to a room within the interior of the barge.

Cassandra contented herself with reading a book called Obsidian Nights while she waited to arrive at the castle grounds, sitting in a cozy chair under a window. She didn’t want to be disturbed until they had arrived, and all who knew her knew better than to do the exact opposite of what she commanded. Nathan always did like that about me, she thought as she recalled her first cousin, the Emperor of Ghant. He was a weak willed man that favored women of strength and purpose, ones that took the reins. And I am never afraid to do just that.

After what seemed like an hour, there was a knock on her cabin door. “Your Highness, we have arrived at the Castle.”

“Very good,” she responded firmly as she rose from the seat and barked at her lady-in-waiting, Lady Sharla Santagar. “Come now, my lady, let us treat with Tufur Too-fat, shall we?” The Santagars were a good family, although neither exceptionally wealthy or powerful. They were loyal and dutiful however, which meant a lot, especially in a time where so many Houses were treacherous and reaching.

From the barge, they were able to walk right onto the dock, and Cassandra’s men were sure to help her up. Then came the vehicles that awaited them, to give them a ride up the hill to the castle itself. Cassandra climbed in and up they went, past the guards and onto the castle grounds. Now for the glorious entrance.

Stepping out of the vehicle she rode in on, Cassandra was quickly surrounded by her guards, all clad in Imperial colors, and with her they walked forward into the main entrance leading to the great hall. Awaiting them were the members of the House. Lord Tufur Torloju himself, as fat and uncomely as his reputation indicated. His wife was also quite large, although it was apparent that at one time she may have been cute…Amarande of the House Langa, the so called gatekeepers of Dakmoor, who made their home in the southern range of the Morea mountains down by Nathia. Their children were more or less like them in size and shape…the elder being Boros Torloju, whose most famous achievement was flatulating on his lone canal ride with Sophia of Dakmoor during his ill-fated attempt to court her a few years ago. The other was Bessa Torloju, said to be a sweet, intelligent girl that all the young eligible lordlings referred to as Lady Piggy. Michael of Dakmoor came up with that, to Cassandra’s recollection.

The Imperial herald stepped forward, pounding his staff down unto the cold hard stone floor of the castle, thereupon which the guards all stepped to either side of her. Then the herald cried, “may I present Her Imperial Highness Princess Cassandra of Ghant, daughter of Prince Richard of Ghant and Grand Duchess Minka of Nekulturnya.” Cassandra stood tall and proud as she was announced, while the Torlojus all bent the knee.

Their manners made her smile. “I see that proper courtesy has not been lost on House Torloju.” Then she gestured with her hand for them to rise. “Such an old, and great house…how long have you held these lands for the Kings of Dakmoor…Moros and Dakmarans both?”

The older, ill-tempered Lord Torloju grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “three thousand years, your Highness. Since before the days of the Seven Lords. We held these lands from the Mountain Clans in those days.”

“And quite well your house has done, it would seem,” Cassandra said as she stepped forward, her hips swaying under her gown. “…Is there anything else you would like to present me to in your great hall, o wizened lord of ancient house Torloju?”

Tufur stood there for a moment, his large round head looking out blankly with beady blue eyes. “Oh yes, of course.” Pointing at some things on the table against the wall underneath an old house banner, one of his serving girls quickly scampered over and grabbed them, one in each hand. Then she returned to stand before her lord, and held out bread in one hand, and salt in the either.

“Oh my, how thoughtful,” Cassandra beamed. You better offer me the bread and salt. Reaching out, she took a piece of bread, then a pinch of salt, and downed them both. “A Gentry in Dakmoor should never take any chances, if you will excuse me, my lord.” Although your excuse is irrelevant.

Smiling, Lord Torloju gestured to lead the way. “The world is a dangerous place…it is good to know that guest right can ensure against treachery most foul.”

“Indeed it does, I agree,” she replied as she followed the Torlojus to their feast hall. Attached to the main hall, it was curiously also more elaborate. A large and expansive room, cavernous even, with one fireplace on each wall, currently unlit. The room was rectangular shaped, with a high ceiling that allowed lights to dangle from its heights. Torloju banners dangled from high places on the walls, as did paints of old depicting their few and limited achievements, such as defeating an invasion of Dakmoor orchestrated by King Richard II of Ghant back in the 10th century.

Cassandra was offered a seat at the head of the carved wooden table, while Lord Torloju and his wife sat at the other end. Their two children sat near them on their end, while Cassandra allowed her highest ranking guards and Lady Santagar to sit at the table on her end. Servants quickly came out with various wines and teas, as well as some appetizers and pastries to stave their hunger. She took a long deep look at the white wine cup set down before her, and then gestured to her guard to take a drink of it first.

“Are you afraid of poison, your Highness?” Bessa Torloju asked…she certainly didn’t lack for boldness.

“I am a Gentry in Dakmoor,” she laughed as she took the cup back from her guard and downed it. “I should anticipate treachery at every turn.”

Coughing into his hand, Tufur attempted to change the subject. “It was most kind of you to bring the main course with you, your Highness…may I ask what it consists of?”

“You may not,” Cassandra shot back. “It is a surprise…you wouldn’t want to have it ruined, would you? And don’t worry, it is already in the kitchen, being prepared as we speak.” Finishing her cup, she nearly slammed it down on the table. “More wine.” Even though the casket was within reach, she wouldn’t dare allow herself to get more…that’s the servant’s job. A servant did just that, pouring more wine in her cup. The serving girl’s figure didn’t go unnoticed by Cassandra either.

Lord Torloju seemed to be eyeing the number of guards sitting at his table, and to the sides and behind the Princess. “How fareth thee of late your Highness? Where have you been lately? I am afraid…word of your activities is limited to a large degree.”

“Good, that’s the way I would like to keep it,” Cassandra answered firmly but politely as she drank some more, and poked at some fruit, which a guard began to eat. “Although if you must know, I have been in the north, spending time in Thule, Odolargia, Noduar, Lands of Iuz, so on and so forth. An Imperial presence is limited in those parts, so I took it upon myself to be that presence with my cousin the emperor’s assent.”

“That is very dutiful of you, your Highness,” Amarande Langa smiled nervously as she sipped from her own cup. “What inspired you to be so devoted to duty?”

Now eating an apple, Cassandra responded nonchalantly. “Well…when I was a little girl, dear Uncle Albert was Lord Regent of Ghant. I spent a good amount of time at court while he was in charge, and I always admired his strength, devotion and hard work. His lectures on family duty and position were lost on my dear cousin the Emperor…but I was the one always paying attention and taking it seriously. After all, someone needs to remind the nobility of the way things are supposed to be, so I figured, why not me?”

Boros Torloju countered that, oaf that he was. “Your Highness…the various kings, they were allowed by the Emperor do go about their business, provided they maintain his laws and keep his peace.”

“That’s right, Boros,” Cassandra replied dryly as she bit deeply into the apple, feeling the juices running down her chin. “And tell me, does treachery sound like something that keeps his peace?”

“…I am afraid I don’t know of what treachery you speak, your Highness,” Boros stammered.

“…Let’s see here. Well, for starters, all those years that Malibar Dakmaran was Lord Paramount of the Jauneketxea, he used that body, and his position and influence, to not only undermine my Uncle as Lord Regent, but then to undermine my cousin the Emperor, forcing his hand into marrying Sophia. Then what? Sophia stacks the Privy Council with her father’s favorite pets, gives her father the keys to the Empire, marries her brother off to the Mad Queen of New Edom, gives them a base in Izotza for it, and then, Nathan gets sent packing off north, while the Dakmarans drive policy in Ghish. What about any of that doesn’t sound like usurpation to you?”

Boros seemed to shrink in his seat, and looked to his father, before saying, “…your Highness…His Majesty the Emperor…he let them…”

Cassandra slammed her cup on the table. “Let…what choice was there, really? Well, that’s why I am here, actually…to meet, greet and treat.” One of her men rushed to her on hushed footsteps and whispered into her ear. “Oh, and perfect timing, for the main course is ready!”

Emerging from the double doors leading to the kitchen were at least two dozen servants heaving dishes and bowls to the table. There were platters of meat, bowls of stew, lean cuts of all shapes and sizes, all set down on the table, soon filling it up. Then there was one such tray, large and covered, set down in front of Cassandra. “Dinner is served,” she said with a smirk as she lifted the cover to reveal the head of the salamander, its eyes empty as they looked out in the direction of the Torlojus.

The Torlojus, for their part, nearly jumped in their seats and gasped at the sight. Tufur narrowed his eyes. “The Salamander is the official animal of Dakmoor…ancient and majestic creatures, your Highness.”

Cassandra nearly laughed, as she spun the head around and poked one of its eyes out with her fork. Holding it straight up, she spoke serenely. “It is said in myths of old that eating the eyes of a salamander could give the consumer future sight.” With a quick motion, she ate it daintily off the end of the fork, before doing the same with the other eye. “I see greatness in the future for House Torloju, one where it isn’t the laughing stock of Dakmoor, where it isn’t mocked by its fellow houses and disrespected by its liege lords at every turn. Oh, and go on, eat to your heart’s content…it turned out quite good, I think.”

Hesitating at first, the Torlojus began to partake. “It is true that Malibar has rejected numerous suits…first my sister after Elizabeth died, then my son for Sophia, then my daughter for both Martin and Michael. And I have also lacked any sort of ability to distinguish myself in his service, your Highness.”

“Of course, this does not surprise me,” Cassandra shrugged. “When was the last time that Malibar actually cared about Dakmoor? He may say one thing, but his actions clearly indicate otherwise. What about that inspires loyalty, I wonder?”

“The oath of fealty we swore to the Dakmarans, beginning with Marcel, and renewing with ever subsequent king, all the way up to Malibar,” Tufur countered, stuffing his face with salamander meat.

“Naturally.” Cassandra sighed softly as she bid with her hand for Lady Santagar to go to her, bag in hand. The Princess of Ghant reached inside and pulled out a piece of paper. “As you could imagine, upon the accession of Emperor Nathan I, similar oaths of fealty were collected from all the lords of Ghant, which read something like this,” she said coyly as she unraveled the scroll and read it out loud.

“By the Lord before whom this sanctuary is holy, I will to the Emperor be true and faithful, and love all which he loves and shun all which he shuns, according to the laws of God and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it, and that he will perform everything as it was in our agreement when I submitted myself to him and chose his will.”

Putting the scroll back in her bag, and handing that bag back to Lady Santagar who promptly returned to her seat, Cassandra leaned on one arm and smirked. “I can assure you, Dakmaran intrigues are not pleasing to the Emperor, and neither is this tomfoolery in New Edom. We gave them a base…and for what? A Mad Queen who prances around naked and devout like a fucking nun? And where is Michael for all of this? In love with Jocasta…this dog and pony show simply will not do, especially considering all the great lords of Dakmoor that he shunned to get the match through. The fact that Lords Dain, Moro, Sastagai, Loi, Daga, even you, protested this potential Mara match in Dakauregia, and it happened anyway, should give you an idea of where his priorities lie…not there.” Taking a bite of a tender cut of meat, she continued. “And the icing on the cake is Martin and Maria. Tell me, how have you enjoyed my dear second cousin as Crown Princess?”

Bessie answered that question. “…She is not well liked, your Highness. After she slapped Izolde at the Grand Ball, and behaved callously towards His Majesty the King, many a lord and lady have come to have ill-regard for her.”

Cassandra smirked devilishly at her secret. That it was I that steered Aunt Bessandra and Isabella Orinbere to push the Martin and Maria match, knowing full well that it would cause discord in Dakmoor. Martin took the bait, laid the seeds, and now the fruits are being born. “Such a shame. For what its worth, my lord, while House Dakmaran may shun their vassal lords, House Gentry is far more generous, and rewarding by comparison.”

“Is that so?” Tufur asked, curiously. “I am interested in learning how that might be the case, your Highness. I will find no justice in Dakar, that is for sure, not as long as Martin stays buried in his wife and so long as that Adiran weasel Tamburo has his ear.”

Looking more purposeful and dignified then before, Cassandra let it out,. Addressing Tufur. “I would consider it a worthwhile endeavor to arrange a match between my younger brother Christopher and your daughter, Bessa. My brother does have a taste for women of her…build.”

This caused Lord Torloju to lean forward suddenly. “This is an…interesting proposal. I am no fool, your Highness…I am already aware of the match between His Highness Albert’s son Edward and Madi Pazuzu…the Pazuzus, like us, have extensive lands, resources and men in strategic places in relation to Dakar.”

“You are very perceptive, my lord,” Cassandra said with gleaming eyes as she continued to eat and drink, at one point licking meat juices off of her fingers. “The Pazuzus, the Torlojus, and others too that you might not expect. Such…ties might give them pause, and should there be a need for the use of force against them, it would be all the easier if some of their leal lords were…well, not so leal after all,” she finished with a chuckle.

“…What about New Edom though?” Boros wondered. “They are Dakmaran aligned. I doubt any of them would allow such a bold maneuver.”

“I am not worried about New Edom,” Cassandra countered in a firm tone. “They have enough of a hard time with their own country, and keeping unity at court. Hell, at one time their Queen and her sister were nearly at war with each other. As I said, she is mad, and her sister is a delusional, callow girl getting led around by Michael. The Obeds act with impunity at that…Mara tried to get Lavinia Nabal off the hook for insulting and threatening Nathan. Had I been there, I would have dragged the Nabal bitch down to the black cells and had her chained and fettered for a night. Might I digress, that whole situation will be dealt with soon enough, rest assured. The Obeds want a Gentry match, and I mean to give them just that.”

“That is how the Dakmarans got all their power to being with,” Amarande Langa said, looking around at all of her bewildered retainers and guards, at the table and around the feast hall. “While the Gentries married outside of Ghant, the Dakmarans married within. And now that the Dakmarans are marrying outside…”

“…Time for the Gentries to marry within,” Cassandra said playfully. “Starting with you, my dear, sweet, Lady Bessa.”

Tufur, of course, was still quite stubborn and thick headed, which wasn’t to be unexpected. “But Malibar would still have his power here in Ghant.”

“That may be so, my lord, but…there are different sorts of power, some more potent then others.” Looking over her shoulder, Cassandra said, “guards, to arms against the Torlojus.” Right after that, the men around the feast hall drew their firearms and pointed them at the Torlojus. Bessie squealed in shock, Amarande practically screamed, Boros cowered further into his seat and Tufur turned red.

Cassandra poked them over, and smiled again. “Men, arms away,” to which they complied expediently. Taking another bit of meat on the end of her fork, the Princess pointed it at the Torlojus. “That, my lord, is power. The power of flesh. Malibar may have Dakmoor and whatever other allies he might be able to muster, but we have the Imperial Legion, the Atzapar, and all the loyal knights, soldiers and warriors from the Rock of Onmutu to the Shadow of Amai to head our calls of service. So, take your time, and think about it long and hard. When things come to a head, which side do you want to find yourself on?” Cassandra plucked the meat off the end of her fork, and savored the taste. “Your call.”

Tufur looked at his wife and children, and then around the room at all his men. Then, slowly he raised his wine cup. “I would like to propose a toast…to the Midwinter Princess.”

The rest followed his lead, raising their cups and shouting, “to the Midwinter Princess.”

Cassandra, meanwhile, raised her glass in turn, a sheepish grin on her face. To the Midwinter Princess indeed…
Last edited by Ghant on Thu Jun 25, 2015 10:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Ghant
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Factbook | RP Resume | IIwiki Admin
Commended by Security Council Resolution #450
Recipient of the Greater Dienstad Roleplay Reward
"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
XX XXX
XX XXX

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Wed Jun 24, 2015 11:24 pm

Harbourtown

Later in the day, Darrell and Jocelyn were ushered into the office of the Attorney-General of the Allied States. The upper level of the palace seemed to fall into a hush, the carpet and walls seeming to absorb all sound. A short man with brushed forward short dark thinning hair, wearing round glasses, a Nehru jacket of cream cotton and dark pants shuffled before them. "This way, this way, a few things you must know," he chided them. "Call him "Your Excellency" or "Mr. Attorney-General". Don't speak unless he invites you to. Bow upon entry of the room and sit if invited. If not invited do not sit. Don't eat the fruit. Don't turn your back on him when leaving the room. If you are offered a drink or cigarette accept. Ikram's. His Excellency smokes Ikram's. Oh and don't stare at his leg. Here we are."

They were in an outer office, just as hushed, with a bookshelf that had been stripped of books, a large desk with a woman with large horn rimmed glasses sitting behind it, and two guards dressed similarly to other Ministry of Justice guards on either side of the double wooden doors.

"They're here, they're here, I've brought them" said the man. The woman nodded, and pushed a button on her phone. "Your appointment is here, Your Excellency," she said in Baran. A voice said something in response that was unintelligible, and they were ushered in.

In the room was a large desk at one end, similar portraits but of finer work than the ones in Demetrios' office downstairs, much larger, and at the other end of the office a lounge like arrangement of comfortable chairs. The tall, thin, balding man with the long face and dark circled weary eyes sitting down, in a three piece light grey suit, looked up at them with remote eyes. Another man sat in a chair nearby who wore a military uniform, this one heavy featured, nearly bald entirely, smoking a cigarette, blew smoke out through his nose as he watched them. A much younger man, slim, with dark hair and wire rimmed glasses, approached and said, "There you are. Good. About Elder Brother Malachi is it? Please sit down, take some fizzy water and lemon. I take it you have not yet met the Attorney-General or myself, or this officer..."

The Attorney-General said quietly, "Play that recording please, Caleb..."

"Yes, Your Excellency," said Caleb, the young man with the glasses, flushing as he handed the two Noviterans thick tumblers full of crushed ice, fizzy water and lemon. He went to a field laptop on a nearby table and pushed a couple of buttons.

I look and see a vision of the Heir, Jocasta, the harlot, who displays with lewdness the rump, the teats and the feet raised up in whore's high heels, yea, the wanton slit to offer secretly to the Prince from Ghant, saying:
“I have come out to meet you, to seek your presence earnestly, and I have found you. I have spread my bed with perfume,
With silken sheets I have sprinkled my bed
With myrrh, aloes and cinnamon. Come, let us drink our fill of love until morning;
Let us delight ourselves with caresses."For my sister is gone mad with the Lord's madness and will not soon return With her many persuasions she entices him; with her flattering lips she seduces him.


The voice was Malachi's.

During this, the Attorney-General sighed sadly and groaned even once. He said wearily "Malachi Damian was one of the best young judges in this country. He was a friend, we went to university together, knew each other as undergraduates. But he became twisted I think by his experiences, bitter, turned to the gall of fanaticism, and you hear now his bitterness towards the person of the Heir. Many preachings like this."

"He turned the Naval Air Station against the rightful authority of this country," said Caleb gravely.

The officer watched them coldly, like a crocodile on a river bank.

"He has been brought to bay like an old griffon hen at last, and I would wish with all my heart that he could find himself in some quiet place far from here, and meditate upon the truths of God, find that peace which passes all understanding," sighed Misabel. "Would that he might be far from these shores, and never see Edom more! But would that not be like a death? Who does not love his own land, however imperfect, more than a paradise strange?"

"It would be better for him if he confessed to his wrongdoing," said Caleb briskly, tapping a file folder against his hip as he stood near the Attorney-General's chair.

The military officer reached into his pocket, and offered each of the Noviterans a cigarette.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Thu Jun 25, 2015 10:02 pm

Hillel: News Crew

The news crew had to come to terms with a larger issue than simply going naked in public. They weren't going to simply wander around Hillel and never speak of it again, blending into the entire naked population of the city. This was going to be broadcast on one of the largest Adiran television networks. There was going to be footage of them made public.

The subject came up when they got outside. Holly was surprised to find the light rain refreshing on her bare skin as they exited the terminal; she'd been hoping for a shower anyway. "Well, it's our first step into Hillel, and the bus isn't here yet. Let's get a quick shot," she said. Travis had wrapped his camera in plastic for just such weather .

A bit apprehensively, he asked "All right...what kind of shot though? Just some stock footage?"

Something seemed to dawn on Holly. "Oh, right, it's not just a news piece."

"We could just get a panning shot. We don't have to do the intro right here, plus the bus will be here in a few," Travis offered.

"Well I wanted to show like what you see right off the plane, you know?" Holly said, gesturing to the scenery.

"Yeah, but we can get a shot from here and call it," Travis said.

"But that's...it's impersonal," Holly insisted, gesturing in the air as she came up with the right word. "This isn't that kind of format. This shot should be like 'We're here.'"

"Which means someone's going to have to go on camera," Travis said, adding "And quick, before the bus gets here."

Holly bit her lip nervously, rubbing her shoulders, trying to psyche herself up. Before she had the chance, however, Chris walked in front of Travis. "I'll do it. We can't miss the bus."

"You sure?" Travis asked, wondering if the previous issue would come up again. Maybe he could film him exclusively above the waist.

"Chris..." Holly said, a mix of gratitude and affection.

"I'm always the one in front of the camera anyway," he said. "Come on, I think I might see it coming."

"Wait..." Holly said, going to stand next to him. "I'll start. Just act natural." She gave him a nervous smile and rubbed his arm. They were both a bit anxious.

The footage that would make it to the show would be a panning shot of the scene just outside the terminal, then a brief clip of Chris and Holly, naked. Holly was standing with her legs together, one of her arms folded under her bosom which quivered and shifted naturally with her movements. Chris was standing confidently, manhood in full view of the camera, but couldn't seem to decide what to do with his hands, starting off with his arms folded, then crossed lower down, then hanging at his sides. Normally he had a microphone in one hand and his other in a pocket or something.

"So, we made it to Hillel," Holly said in the clip. "Made it through customs. First thing we did, off with the clothes. Normally you can show a waiver but I guess for some reason not now..." she said, looking at Chris to complete her thought.

"Legally, to the Theocratic Republic, our waivers were issued by a different government," Chris explained. "Plus they can rescind waivers for emergencies, which a civil war counts as one."

"Did they say we could get a new one?" Holly asked.

"They said we could reapply at the Ethnarch's Palace. Could be a process getting the documentation to prove you need an exemption, and while you're waiting you're still going to be naked a few days anyway," Chris explained.

"So...you think it's worth getting one?" Holly asked, her voice a little bit hopeful.

"I don't know, we're not sure how long we'll be here," Chris said. "Might be worth looking into for some of the aid workers."

"We haven't shown you the aid workers..." Holly said, turning to the camera, "...because we didn't get a chance to ask them if they want to be on camera. They were all heading off somewhere, I think they had trucks."

Chris then looked to the side suddenly. Pointing with his thumb, he said "There's our ride."

"Oops, gotta go!" Holly said as the clip ended. Travis put away the camera, anticipating a bunch of jostling as they loaded up their luggage. So far it had been one thing after another. First Chris' problem arose, then Holly took up their spare minutes with filming. At some point he would have to just sneak away and call Christina, at least tell her where he was. Nass seemed so close now, and so did she.

Chris and Travis both used the paper dispenser, Holly having fished her light teal towel out of her bag back in the airport. She handed her bag to Chris, who placed them overhead. Travis fished his camera back out before handing his to one of the attendants, but he didn't start filming just yet. First, he announced to the bus "Hey, everyone, just a heads up, we're filming a documentary. Does anyone here not want to appear on film?"

Hillel: Aid Workers

The Foundation workers had arranged for transport to where a number of refugees had congregated near the planned camp. The plane contained a couple of trucks, which would ferry the workers out from the airport depending on their role. The ones building the camp would go first, get some more in-depth surveying done before the fences and tents started going up. They had already left. In the meantime, the food, water, sanitation, and medical workers were busy organizing so when the trucks returned and it was their turn to move out, they'd be ready.

A girl about a year younger than Erica walked up to her as she stowed away her clothing in her bag. Erica remembered her name as Beth...or something like that. She had a skinny, pale figure with a sharp one-piece tan line, had her arms folded across her chest and seemed to have her legs pasted together. "Um, Erica?"

"Yeah?" Erica asked, standing up straight abruptly, jiggling rather dramatically as she did so.

"What I'm doing with the tents, is that construction?" Beth asked.

Frowning a bit, Erica just said "Uh, I dunno, why?"

"For the waiver? The customs lady said we can apply for new ones," Beth replied.

"Oh...yeah..." Erica said, reaching up to fix her hair. Beth seemed to determinedly look away. "That construction thing, I think you'd have to be like a carpenter. It's like workplace safety. They'd probably say pitching tents isn't hazardous like working with power tools and stuff like that.

"Oh..." Beth's face seemed to fall before she looked over at Erica. "Wait, aren't you getting one?"

"I'm not really doing much of the construction this time," she explained. "Other guys I'm supervising are doing stuff like the water tanks, they'll probably qualify, though honestly if you need pants on to keep your dick from getting stuck in a concrete wall, you're not paying close enough attention." A guy next to her, a lean twentysomething, chuckled.

Beth tried to stifle a laugh, only to snort. Eventually she pressed "Would you get one if you could?"

Erica considered the question with a frown, briefly glancing downward. "Eh, I dunno. I actually wouldn't mind being able to work out. Without a sports bra I'll probably give myself a couple of black eyes." The guy suddenly burst out laughing, also sneaking a glance to see if it was true. She just smiled at him while Beth stood there with a hand over a somewhat shocked smile. "I actually wanna try some paint. Wouldn't you?"

Beth's face turned red a bit and she shook her head. Erica just shrugged. 'Newbies...' she thought. 'I bet I could've gotten Chelsea to try it.'
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
Taelete
Envoy
 
Posts: 266
Founded: Jan 19, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Taelete » Fri Jun 26, 2015 6:51 am

New Edom

Every of the delegates saw the smiles of the Edomians freeze after Meliton's question about Mara. And all delegates noticed Jocasta's silence.
When Queen Rebecca spoke answered Meliton: "I'm glad to hear that the queen is still alive and quite safe. I will join you in your prayers for her futural safety."Like they had spoken about it before did none of the delegates remark anything about Mara's madness when Rebecca mentioned that.

When Dr. Aphek broke the silence with his question about the Taeletean government appeared a smile on Thales' face as the true historical and political scholar he was. In knowledge of the fact that Thales would want to answer the question said Aristarkh in the Taeletean court finger language "Keep it short".

"Do you ask me this question as a Taeletean delegate or as a Trazentine noble?" Thales said "As there's a big difference. The answer of the Taeletean delegate would be yes. They believe that all nations in the are united behind Taelete, that forms the league's center." Thales silently cleared his throat before continuing "When I answer as a Trazentine noble, however, will the answer be totally different. Because members of the vassals consider their nations, in my case Trazentiocheia, independent and a fully on itself functionating state. They see Taelete more as the Headquarters of the alliance they're part of."
Feel free to TG me for any diplomatic or War RP, I'm always interested.

“Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.”
― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Fri Jun 26, 2015 4:57 pm

Betharan Palace, Fineberg

"Well, as long as agreements made by this, er, headquarters are considered binding by the various parts of the states, I see no reason for great concern," said Dr. Aphek.

A man in a green formal tunic and mantle came in and bowed deeply. He had a black and white long furred monkey on his shoulder, a serious expression, and a stocky build with thinning dark hair. "Dinner is ready to be served, Your Royal Highness," he said addressing Princess Jocasta.

"Oh, how lovely, shall we go in?" suggested Jocasta, and began to lead the way in to the dining room. Tall windows helped illuminate a pale polished wooden long oval table at which were subtle but elegant place settings.

"I thought perhaps Your Excellency might care to bless the meal before we begin?" suggested Princess Jocasta, as an inevitable national dish, tabouleh salad (made from bulgar wheat, tomatoes, cucumbers, mint and parsley) was being served in glass bowls.

When and if he had, Count Merodach explained, "This is our national dish--a refreshing food that goes back to our rural farms of our ancestry, which we serve at pretty much every meal. I hope you do not mind. We Barans often look to our heritage for example."

"What is the national dish of your country?" asked Princess Jocasta brightly.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Fri Jun 26, 2015 5:48 pm

Hillel

As the bus moved out of the little suburb that bordered the airport, they went by a large set of fenced in yards for construction materials--huge piles of bricks, lumber, pipe and other goods.

"What's all that for?" Mara asked a friendly old man she'd been talking to.

"Oh that's for the refugees, bless the Prophet's generosity, they're going to be donated to the encampment." explained the old man.

"That's all a big waste of time," said the nursing mother, gloomily. "I haven't gotten a letter from my husband in over a week, I'm sure he was captured or killed at Harbourtown, may the Elders in Heaven feed him milk and honey..."

"Now don't talk like that sweetheart, that's not good faith," chided the old man. "The Prophet will see us through, he's a great man of God. And the President is no mother goose you know."

"She certainly isn't!" giggled Mara. The other two gave her a bit of an odd look and Mara fell silent for a bit.

The inner city was crowded with aging and very weathered brick, clay walled and wooden buildings, some of which were three or even four stories tall. The upper floors extended over the streets, so in most places a person could only see a thin line of sky between the rows of rooftops. Vehicle traffic was often bicycle carts, bicycles, human powered barrows and pulled by donkeys or oxen. There were almost no advertisements, no department stores. However some of the cafes and stores advertised wifi, phone cards and cell phone rental.

The bus thus went along one of the main streets, a boulevard like construction, which was the only place such large vehicles could run freely without being unable to turn around. On smaller streets it would have been forced to go only in one direction.

However there was a large open area around places like the Palace of the Ethnarch, and even more impressively the Cathedral of the End Times, was a massive granite structure with a marble facade that pre-dated Betharan Palace by five hundred years, and had been turned into the Cathedral of the End Times in the 19th Century. Soaring towers, a great arching dome, and a great geometrically laid out square around it with diamond patterned flagstones, the saints and apostles' statues ringed around the upper levels gave it an air of antiquity and grandeur.

The plaza had a number of people but was so large that it seemed to swallow them up. Students of various ages, clergy of various ranks, and militia standing nearby on patrol were there. There were signs directing people to different areas such as the Seminary of the Golden Crown, the Offered Cup Cafe and Restaurant, the Public Shower, the Public Lavatory, the College of the End Times, the Hospice of Everlasting Comfort, and the Holy Wholeness Clinic of Good Health.

Mara had taken, with the news crew and companions, no more than a few steps towards the cathedral when a stern looking quartet of powerfully built militia, as muscular and sleek as classical statues, painted white and blue with slung machineguns and utility belts, stepped forward with frowns on their faces and demanded to know the reason for the cameras.

"They are an ANBC news crew, from Adiron, with me..." Mara began with a smile.

"And who are you?" demanded one of the women with a fearful frown at her.

Mara produced her identification and showed her ring. "I am Queen Mara." she said with a gentle smile.

The woman stared at the identification, and at the ring, and the others peered at her, then murmured, "Malcah..." and knelt swiftly. "What is your will, my Queen?"

"Oh thank you," said Mara, "I'd like to see the Prophet please, I've come to get an audience with him."

"We expected you, but not like this," said the militia woman wonderingly. "We will escort you inside."

On the way in, Holly and Izena were regularly saluted; in fact they had been all the way now and then. Men in Hillel rarely saw a pale woman or one with visible tan lines, and it was considered as erotic as in some cultures deep cleavage or flashes of upper thigh might be. However the evidence of how some of the men were impressed was not itself a matter for shame--so curiously they might steal glances much as a man might in any culture, but with the upright and stiffened demonstration of their admiration sticking up for all to see. The usual pinching normally was quickly done, but for some reason the two militiamen did nothing to stop this. On the other hand, Chris had a few times been an object of admiration much more discreetly, as now and then a burst of giggling from young women, a sly glance of admiration from a more mature one, even one of the militiawomen glancing as he went by seeing untanned backside and Apollo like physique, craggy features, strong chest and arms and legs. Not to mention the most obvious evidence of his masculinity.

In spite of the grandeur outside and in, there were few luxuries of any kind inside, though there was a vast antechamber and then beyond a glimpse of a sanctuary that could fit thousands. Once the militia had led them in, a group of old men with withered though tough looking skin, painted with white paint and blue crosses received them. These men brought forward a white linen napkin, a bronze bowl of water, a silver dish of bread and salt, and a jar of dark smoked glass.

With the water, one knelt and washed her feet and hands, carefully removing each sandal, while others intoned a prayer.

"O Queen, do you wish to make confession of your sins before you enter the presence of the Prophet?" asked the eldest in a loud but shaking voice.

"My sins are filthy and beyond redemption save through Christ's mercy and shedding of blood and life for my sake, but I will make confession to the Prophet himself," said Mara firmly, though tears suddenly filled her eyes.

"So be it, O Queen." said the eldest of the elders. The foot washer then dried Mara's feet with the water, and washed her hands carefully, his gnarled, very dark olive tanned withered hands holding her slim but strong smoother ones.

Then Mara was given bread and salt. "In the name of the Prophet, and with the blessing of the President of the Theocratic Republic, you are welcome to Hillel, Your Royal Majesty," said the very old man.

"As I am given hospitality and sanctuary I in turn give my blessing and friendship in Hillel," Mara said in reply.

The one with the oil jar poured some into the hands of a bearded very hairy and nearly white haired elder who then poured it onto his hands, annointing the Queen's womb, touching her belly, her heart, briefly touching her left breast, and then her forehead. "May you be blessed by God's mercy always," this elder said.

"I thank you," Mara said.

"Forgive us, no cameras may be present. The Queen will meet with the Prophet without them," said the eldest of the elders.

"I'll be fine," Mara promised to the news crew. "You can all wait here."

Two of the elders then escorted her through a hall and through a set of double doors to where a large but simple room stood with benches around it and windows just above the benches stained with scenes from the Bible, and beyond that the light flowed in from outside. A thin, short bearded wiry man knelt with eyes closed waiting. The two elders bowed as Mara stepped in, and shut the doors, leaving the Queen with the Prophet.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Ghant
Minister
 
Posts: 2473
Founded: Feb 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Ghant » Fri Jun 26, 2015 8:51 pm

Betharan Palace
Fineberg, New Edom


The one named Aristarkh responded to Michael thoughtfully. "Yes, I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of seeing you in a testing situation Elijah, but from what I hear about your efforts in New Edom can I indeed judge you as a man with great qualities and your plans seem to work, it seems. I can also say that the king consort and Heir have proven to be most capable of fulfilling the heavy tasks that came with your position in the nation after Queen Mara's disappearance."

Elijah for his part inclined his head and said, "thank you.”

Michael inclined his head as well. “Thank you as well.” Wondering if he should have said more, he decided to leave it at that, merely smiling and appreciating the compliment.

That was when Aristarkh continued. "Speaking of Queen Mara, do you know where she is and how she is doing? We have heard a lot of rumours in Taelete that went to all directions. I even heard some rumours that she is already dead." asked Meliton while he looked at Michael as he had noticed that the man was studying the Taeletean delegation. Meliton kept a stealthy eye on the tanned man as Meliton had been intrigued by the Ghantish people for some time, he had even travelled to Ghant some years ago, and he decided to use one of the few opportunities to study a member of one of their royal houses.

That was enough to make the smiles in the room evaporate, Michael’s included. He wasn’t about to touch any of that with a ten foot pole. Please Elijah, take that question.[/ Sure enough, Elijah was seldom one to disappoint.

"The Queen is not dead," Prince Elijah responded swiftly, and firstly. "But is traveling to Hillel to speak with the Prophet, with my agreement. She wishes to propose a plan for peace to him. Because all regard the Queen as a sacred and inviolate person, and they have agreed to treat her thus and indeed did so in Harbourtown, this seemed the right thing to do."

"We do trust Prince Elijah, I have said so, and all have," said Queen Rebecca. "But we fear for and pray for my daughter the Queen. If they were to harm her in any way our vengeance would be terrible of course."

Jocasta said nothing, but sipped her wine while the others talked. Michael joined in this, sipping his wine and keeping quiet. The Taeleteans drank their wine as well, all alcoholic ones at that. Best enjoy it, Michael thought as he enjoyed his own non-alcoholic beverage.

The Taeletean named Meliton responded in turn. "I'm glad to hear that the queen is still alive and quite safe. I will join you in your prayers for her futural safety."Like they had spoken about it before did none of the delegates remark anything about Mara's madness when Rebecca mentioned that.

"Her courage and virtue are great, but..." Queen Rebecca gave a light laugh, "She is a stranger to reason. It is kind of you to ask after her." Then there was an awkward silence, one that Michael was loath to penetrate with speech.

Dr. Aphek, thankfully, took care of that. "I cannot help but notice that your country appears to be a confederacy, am I correct in understanding that?"

"Do you ask me this question as a Taeletean delegate or as a Trazentine noble?" Thales said. "As there's a big difference. The answer of the Taeletean delegate would be yes. They believe that all nations in it are united behind Taelete, that forms the league's center." Thales silently cleared his throat before continuing. “When I answer as a Trazentine noble, however, will the answer be totally different. Because members of the vassals consider their nations, in my case Trazentiocheia, independent and a fully on itself functionating state. They see Taelete more as the Headquarters of the alliance they're part of."

"Well, as long as agreements made by this, er, headquarters are considered binding by the various parts of the states, I see no reason for great concern," said Dr. Aphek.

Raising an eyebrow, Michael nodded in understanding. “In Ghant, some of the northern provinces function with a great deal of autonomy as well, my own home of Dakmoor among them.” Michael wasn’t about to say anything beyond that, lest he give people the idea that Ghant couldn’t maintain control over its provinces.

Then a man in a formal green tunic and mantle entered the sitting room and gave a deep bow. He had a monkey on his shoulder, which reminded him of Ambassador Prince Amenmar, who his sister regarded as a great friend. Michael never did figure out if Sophia knew that Amenmar wanted to…be with her. She probably knows and thinks its cute and charming, he thought. When half of Ghant wants to fuck you and the other half wants to be you, one gets used to that sort of thing. In any event, the man announced, "Dinner is ready to be served, Your Royal Highness," he said addressing Princess Jocasta.

"Oh, how lovely, shall we go in?" suggested Jocasta, and began to lead the way in to the dining room. Michael smiled slightly and followed her in. The dining room featured tall windows that shined down upon a long pale polished wooden oval table, featuring elegant place settings that seemed rather quaint. Michael sat down in the seat where it was deemed appropriate…something he learned all too well at Dakauregia. Back home, one sits where father says you sit.

"I thought perhaps Your Excellency might care to bless the meal before we begin?" suggested Princess Jocasta, as a dish of tabouleh salad was being served in glass bowls. When and if he had, Count Merodach explained, "This is our national dish--a refreshing food that goes back to our rural farms of our ancestry, which we serve at pretty much every meal. I hope you do not mind. We Barans often look to our heritage for example."

"What is the national dish of your country?" asked Princess Jocasta brightly.

Smiling gently, Michael listened intently, remaining quiet. The Pintxo, he considered of his own homeland’s national dish. The thought made him hungry. Good thing it’s time to eat…





Hillel, New Edom

Izena, naked as the day she was born, pale skin, busty bosom and shapely fundament and all, was passed through security, and with her duffel bag over her shoulder, went to the bus stop where Mara and the rest were gathered. When the bus came, Izena waited for the others to get on, and then she did afterwards. The seats were wide and had paper dispensers where one could get a sheet to sit on. She went to the back of the bus and took one, before putting it between her ass and the seat, leaning backwards into it.

The others all sat nearby as well, and Maven also used an ass sheet, something that amused Izena when she thought about it. “You know, one of the funny things is that there's not as much public laundry service as you might think, so it's hard to get it washed if you're traveling and don't have much money. That's one of the things I'm probably going to do when I get back to Fineberg, is see to that happening." She said this rather quietly.

The jendebasa woman cocked her head. “When you get back to Fineberg, you are going to have more accessible seat sheets in public transportation?” she didn’t mind sounding stupid asking that…Mara already knew that Izena wasn’t that bright. At least that’s the way it seems. Izena then decided to look around at the other people on the buss. It was a great mix of people…old, young, pretty, plain, burly, skinny, so on and so forth. Most were tanned, making Izena stand out like a sore thumb with her skin looking like cookies and cream.

Izena did speak again to the Queen. “On another note, I find that not wearing any clothes feels somewhat liberating. Where I am from, people don’t have the luxury of being able to walk around naked. Let the world see me as I am…if anything, it feels good to think how my assets might be admired,” she said with a mischievous grin, before going quiet again.

She was, for the most part, aloof to what was going around as she focused on the scars on her body. Scars from cuts, stabbings and light burns, here and there. Her skin was still smooth though, creamy with dark freckles that she often traced with her fingers. Mara was talking to some people, but Izena wasn’t paying much attention. Then the jendebasa looked outside, and saw the city, aging with weathered brick and clay and wood buildings, some a few stories tall, extending over the streets. Bicycles and carts went along the streets, with beats of burden tugging them along. There was a marked lack of advertisements and department stores. At least there is wifi, she thought with a grin.

Along the main street they rode, up to a plaza of sorts with the Cathedral of the End Times nestled within. It was a massive granite structure with a marble façade, old apparently, with towers rising high and a large arching dome, lined with statues of religious people atop a square that the surrounded the dome.

Once they got close enough, Mara and her party were able to disembark. They hadn’t gotten very far from the bus towards the cathedral when a few soldiers came forward to intercept them, painted white and blue with machine guns slung over their shoulders and with utility belts around their abdomens. Apparently, they didn’t take kindly to the news people being there, so Mara had to speak for them. "They are an ANBC news crew, from Adiron, with me..." Mara began with a smile.

"And who are you?" demanded one of the women with a fearful frown at her.

Mara produced her identification and showed her ring. "I am Queen Mara." she said with a gentle smile.

The woman stared at the identification, and at the ring, and the others peered at her, then murmured, "Malcah..." and knelt swiftly. "What is your will, my Queen?"

Izena had to smother a smile. Well, that was certainly easy. At least there wouldn’t be anymore trouble with people not knowing the Queen was…the Queen. At least that’s what I hope. Izena’s duffel bag never left her shoulder, and she found herself grasping at it now, as she stood leaning on one leg, her wide hips sticking out to one side as she looked on.

"Oh thank you," said Mara, "I'd like to see the Prophet please, I've come to get an audience with him."

"We expected you, but not like this," said the militia woman wonderingly. "We will escort you inside."

Cocking her head again, Izena thought to herself, not expecting her to be naked and dirty with matted hair? Amused, Izena proceeded to follow Mara on the way in. Interestingly enough, Izena and the Adiran woman known as Holly were saluted regularly by people as they made their way along. Some of the men that admired Izena even got erections, to which Izena could only blush and smile like a pretty girl at a public swimming pool. It all made Izena walk tall and proud, letting the curvature of her back be seen, and the swaying of her hips as she walked. Her bosom bounced a bit with every step as well, although Izena did her best to keep her eyes forward, where she was walking. She couldn’t help but think that the Adiran known as Chris was quite attractive as well…

Once the militia had led them inside, a group of weathered, tough looking old men painted with white and blue crosses received them. They brought a napkin, bowl of water, a dish of bread and salt, and a jar of dark smoked glass. Well, at least they honor sacred and ancient Guest Right here, Izena thought with a slight grin.

One of the old men proceeded to wash Mara’s feet and hands, first removing her sandals, and then others beginning to pray. "O Queen, do you wish to make confession of your sins before you enter the presence of the Prophet?" asked the oldest looking cross painted man in a loud but shaking voice.

"My sins are filthy and beyond redemption save through Christ's mercy and shedding of blood and life for my sake, but I will make confession to the Prophet himself," said Mara firmly, though tears suddenly filled her eyes.

Izena looked down, finding the conversation absurd. What sins are they? Thoughts of fucking? Izena had never been inside a Christian church before, had never confessed any sins or even been received in any sort of way. She found the whole thing to be quite strange…and she wondered how being an unashamed pagan would play out in a place like this.

"So be it, O Queen," said the eldest of the elders. The one washing her feet and hands did so methodically, before drying them in a likewise fashion. Then she was offered bread and salt. "In the name of the Prophet, and with the blessing of the President of the Theocratic Republic, you are welcome to Hillel, Your Royal Majesty," said the very old man.

"As I am given hospitality and sanctuary I in turn give my blessing and friendship in Hillel," Mara said in reply.

The elder with the jar poured some oil into the hands of another elder, this one with white hair and a corresponding beard. With it he touched her belly, heart, left breast and finally her forehead. "May you be blessed by God's mercy always," he said, to which Mara replied with a thanks..

The eldest of the elders addressed the group. "Forgive us, no cameras may be present. The Queen will meet with the Prophet without them."

"I'll be fine," Mara promised to the news crew. "You can all wait here."

“Best wishes,” Izena said to Mara, understanding that the Queen would be having an audience with the Prophet alone. Two of the elders then escorted Mara through the hall, and through a set of double doors. Then she was gone, leaving Izena to exhale softly and trying to figure out what she should do in her maiden voyage to a place of Christian worship. Stay quiet and out of trouble…
Last edited by Ghant on Fri Jun 26, 2015 10:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Ghant
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Factbook | RP Resume | IIwiki Admin
Commended by Security Council Resolution #450
Recipient of the Greater Dienstad Roleplay Reward
"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
XX XXX
XX XXX

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Fri Jun 26, 2015 10:58 pm

Cathedral of the End Times
Hillel


The footage would include Mara's conversation with the old man and the mother. Eventually the focus would go back to the crew, deliberately keeping Izena and Micaela out of shot as requested. Travis was positioned on the edge of the back seat so he could get a shot out the window or one of the whole back seat of the bus. "We're on a public shuttle to the Cathedral of the End Times. Her Majesty will meet the Prophet there," Chris said to the camera.

"The city feels old," Holly commented. "The streets are all so narrow, and there's no real tall buildings. Look, there's a guy with a mule cart," she said, pointing, indicating Travis needed to get a shot of him.

Chris said "At the risk of sounding cliche, it's like we've gone back in time..."

"Wait...the guy with the mule has a cell phone," Holly said, shooting him a smile.

"...for the most part," Chris concluded hesitantly, returning her look with a grin.

As the bus pulled up to their destination, Travis did his best to keep the camera steady as they were some of the last ones off. He only had a chance to get a shot of the plaza and Holly taking in the scenery before they were approached by armed militia. Travis didn't stop filming, even when they asked about the camera, getting the whole exchange on camera while Chris and Holly stood back.

While they walked to the cathedral Holly had Travis pause or slow a few times to get footage of the whole plaza. Grand displays of old architecture were filmed surrounded by a sea of naked bodies, the somber religious setting seemingly contrasting with all the flesh on display. It was a city only rarely glimpsed by Adiran eyes. "The Cathedral of the End Times is the most holy place of worship and one of if not the oldest cathedral in New Edom," Chris said. This wasn't the sort of format he was used to. He kept giving exposition like a news broadcast.

"Wow...I wonder what the inside looks like," Holly thought aloud as they walked.

"I don't know how many Adirans have ever seen it," Chris said. "And it's never been filmed."

"Never?" Holly asked incredulously. Given the ubiquity of video recording these days, it just didn't seem to compute in Holly's mind how that was possible.

"As far as I know," Chris said. Travis was briefly aiming the camera higher up, towards the cathedral towers, then back down to street level again, catching the group's backs as they walked.

Entering the antechamber, it struck the news crew as a bit spartan. When they thought of a cathedral, the news crew's generation conjured images of the gaudy, gilded altars seen in Magi cathedrals behind the likes of Robertson as they preached hatred and propaganda. It was more the sheer scale of the place that impressed here. Scale and perhaps history.

The tips of Holly's hair clung a bit to her bare shoulders, and the rain had collected like dew on her smooth skin. As she retrieved her towel and dried herself off, Chris started to swell again impressively. Thankfully, the camera was on Mara the whole time as the church elders accepted her inside, giving him the opportunity to discreetly pinch it off.

"I'll be fine," Mara promised to the news crew. "You can all wait here."

"You can do it, Your Majesty," Holly said as Mara left. She smiled at her one last time as the door closed. "I hope she'll be all right..." she said quietly, turning back to Chris and Travis.

"We all do," Chris said, looking over Holly having resolved his predicament. "How are you doing so far?"

Holly blushed a bit, turning to face him. "Oh...I'm all right. I don't know, the whole city's naked, but it still feels like people are, you know, looking."

"I don't know, if anything we should blend in," Chris replied.

"Well, those two guys...well, never mind," Holly said, before grinning a bit. "Besides, what about all the looks I saw you get?"

Chris suddenly frowned. "Looks?"

Holly giggled. "You're kidding! You missed all of them? Even I caught on." She was guilty herself, but that was besides the point.

"Uh...yeah, guess so," Chris said dumbly.

"You've both got tan lines," Travis said from behind the camera. "That's not normal here, it's a turn-on. Especially Holly's."

Holly glanced downwards and blushed. "Well...maybe if the sun comes out I can get rid of mine," she said, sticking her tongue out at the camera. "As for you Chris, let's just say you've got a lot more work to do. When's the last time you hit the beach?"

"Define hit and beach," Chris remarked.

"Ooh, worse than I thought," Holly joked.

They got some high-quality shots of the antechamber, which was impressive by itself, until they got most of the footage they thought they would use. Once they were into some throwaway conversation bits, with the news crew now seated, Holly got up. She slowly approached one of the elders and bowed low, her breasts dangling sweetly. "Excuse me, Elder Brother? We're filming a documentary for ANBC. Would it be at all possible, when the Prophet and the Queen aren't meeting privately of course, for us to film the interior of the cathedral?

"I know we're not part of your church, and I know we must seem terribly ignorant of your ways, but that's why I'm asking. There are just so many things I feel people back home don't understand about your faith. I'd like to try to fix that, if I can."
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Sat Jun 27, 2015 8:12 am

The Beginning of the End


"Excuse me, excuse me," said the elder, hurrying past Holly.

There was a sudden flurry of activity. A few of them were talking on cell phones quietly in the antechamber. Hushed whispering was going on. Travis got a buzz on his phone from Christina's cell, it was a text message.

Monarchists have captured Nass. Gen. Benajah in full retreat. Somehow came from the NORTH. Ethnarch has surrendered the city to avoid loss of civilian life and property. Can't talk now, am safe and at Palace with other Com. officials helping negotiate. Talk later. Love U.

The meditation room Mara was in was ancient, one of the less renovated and repaired areas of the Cathedral of the End Times, but it was well maintained. The stones that were cool and hard beneath her knees made her a little sore, but this was a reminder of Christ's discomfort in Gesthemane. The Prophet had given her cool spring water to drink, and she felt her heart fluttering as she at last gave her confession to him.

And confess she did. She confessed about her fornication with two men when she had been World Assembly delegate; she confessed about having sex with three people (whom she did not name) including a woman in Cacerta; she confessed about fornication and later adultery with a later married cousin by marriage whom she did not name. She also confessed about her pride and greed; she confessed about how many clothes she had owned, she confessed about gluttony in having huge meals she barely ate any of; she confessed about excesses of cars, jewelry, getting drunk, doing drugs. Her decadent lifestyle poured out of her.

The Prophet was quiet for a little while, then said wearily, "Queen Mara, I never knew you as Prophets Crove and Burden were privileged to do. I think you have a good heart, a sweet nature, but you remain at heart still on the fence of virtue. There is a core of arrogance in you that must be fully broken before you are truly free of all sin. For I hear in your words: you are tempted to go back to Cacerta and make endless fornication there are you not?"

Mara turned crimson. "how did you know that?" she stammered.

"Ive heard hundreds of confessions," he said wearily. "Queen Mara: this cannot be simply a pilgrim's journey after which you return to your old life. A life of pennance must be just that: a life. If you burn with desire, you should be with a husband, it's that simple. But you do not love your husband, and it's a well known fact that he probably wants your sister. What I would prefer would be for you to return to his bed. But I must think of peace now. I have been urged by President Carmel to consider this, and now by you. Right now, all my advisers tell me that we are in a position to negotiate it while we still have forces in the field and cities under our control. So these are the terms I will accept.

"First: we must all be repatriated into the Allied States; no prison camps, no trials. President Carmel and her council will resign their positions and either stand for office in coming elections or retire into private life--in New Edom. I would like the Regent--and you--to appoint me as Patriarch of the Council of Five Churches. Archbishop Laudner hasn't appeared in public for over two years apart from when he was propped up for Perrin Pahath-Moab's funeral. I will encourage Edenism but not demand it. Another of the terms is this: your 'madness' will be declared over; you will rule as head of state. However I see your gentle spirit quails at this. I will agree to a divorce for you from Michael of Dakmoor to marry Prince Elijah, who is only a second cousin to you, and is a very fit ruler indeed. You will make Elijah King-Consort. You will rule the nation he will rule you." he smiled. "Do you like that idea?"

Mara hesitated "Marry...Elijah? But why that? I mean...I love my cousin...I haven't really thought of him as a husband...I know it would be most acceptable to Monarchists but why for you?"

The Prophet leaned forward, eyes intent in his lean drawn face. "it would be acceptable to us as well. You must understand: our objection was always to the rule of your sister and her cronies. Prince Elijah is known to be an honourable man. Your and his actions surrounding the surrender of Harbourtown, and now the surrender of Nass, prove that. We had every right to fear the faction because of their political actions in the past distant and recent. But the very fact that his leadership has been accepted as has your public penance demonstrates to me and to my own followers that you mean what you say. We will accept an officially interim council of ministers which he has appointed, provided that either they step down or are properly vetted by the Chamber of Deputies once elections are held. And finally: all military personnel will either retire to private life or be readmited into their services."

"I do like this," admitted Mara. "So far. What about my sister? I want you to stop calling her a Whore. She's probably never even done anything."

"It is a matter of her morals," said the Prophet. "But if she steps down as acting head of state then I want the charges of les majeste dropped; it is my right to speak out against sin."

"Your speaking out against sin is part of what caused a civil war," said Mara.

The Prophet lifted his hands. "If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off."

Mara sighed. "I really don't want this ever to happen again. And that is what my cousin Elijah will say. Everyone says they started it. But...this might do it. No reprisals, no jail time, just a clean state, start over. But how will your people take that? Didn't they want to govern really badly?"

The Prophet nodded slowly. "They did...but you must understand that they felt put aside, pushed down, threatened by the fact that the Heir and her people immediately seized power after the death of Pahath-Moab, and they feared the oppression that happened under King Mark happening again, and the militant response to the demonstrations really sparked that off. it is entirely your actions and those of your cousin, Prince Elijah, that have convinced us of the possibility of peace."

He paused. Mara had tears streaming down her cheeks, her shoulders trembled, her lips quivered. She murmured, 'Thank God, then it was not all for nothing."

The Prophet sighed and touched her hand gently, took it in his. "No, my Queen, it was not. Please bring these terms to the Regent with my blessing."
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Sat Jun 27, 2015 2:53 pm

Cathedral of the End Times
Hillel


Holly was in mid-sentence when the elder suddenly brushed past her, with her quickly stepping aside. The antechamber started buzzing with activity. On camera, Chris started looking around, wondering what was happening. "Something's up..." he said. It was the moment Mara had gone inside, too. Briefly he recalled the Prophet's original designs for Mara. What would happen if she turned him down? To her? To New Edom?

Holly made her way back to them, asking "What's going on?"

"Don't know," Olsen said. "They haven't been in there long."

"Do you think they decided on anything?" Holly asked hopefully.

"I don't know, the elders seem a bit nervous," Olsen said, before turning to the camera. "It's been a few minutes since Her Majesty the Queen entered the chambers of Prophet Samuel Under, a de facto leader of the Theocratic Republic, in the hopes of brokering a peace agreement. There's a bit of a stir out here..."

Travis meanwhile felt his cell go off. Keeping the camera on Chris and Holly, he fished it out of his pocket and read the text. His voice could then be heard on film. "Uh, guys, I think I know what's up." The other two looked at him expectantly. "Christina says the Monarchists have taken Nass. Says she's all right, the battle's already over." Chris didn't say anything, one of Holly's hands covered her mouth.

"Another battle..." she said. "You got that in a text? Let me see..." Holly said, walking towards and off to one side of the camera's view. He held up his cell phone, but the light was bad, and in trying to see the screen she leaned into him. He felt something warm and soft press against his arm, and suddenly he was grateful he wasn't on film. She then reached up and shut the camera off, gave a few directions.

There would have been a brief cut in footage on the show. The camera was placed on a tripod, with a view of all three of them for the first time. Holly explained, gesturing a bit. "So, this is Travis, our cameraman, sound guy...I think you do a bit of editing too..."

"You could just call me a nerd," he said, faking a laugh. For all the time he spent behind a camera, he'd never done much in front of one.

"But he's going out with a really nice woman from here in New Edom. Her name's Christina, she works for the Elections Committee, she was...she was actually in our documentary on the election in Carnmag last year, right?"

"Yeah, she had a few speeches," Travis said.

"Anyway," Holly said, shaking her head as she refocused. "While we were filming, Travis got a text from her. She's been working in Nass since before the war started. Travis, what's it say?" she asked. He looked over at her confused, and she prompted him with a gesture. "Go ahead," she said.

Travis held the phone up and read from it. "Monarchists have captured Nass. General Benajah in full retreat. Somehow came from the NORTH. Ethnarch has surrendered the city to avoid loss of civilian life and property. Can't talk now, am safe and at Palace with other Committee officials helping negotiate."

Holly leaned over and smiled, before adding "It also says 'Talk later, love you.' Aww..."

"So..." Chris interrupted, a bit grimly. "If that's true, it means the Theocratic Republic has lost two of its three major holdings. Harbourtown would've been its largest port and industrial center. After Harbourtown fell, Nass was its largest if not its only remaining major port."

"Is that it then?" Travis asked. "You think it's pretty much over?"

"Well, I hesitate to call anything over until it's over," Chris clarified. "The Theocratic Republic may sue for peace, or they may go down swinging. The only thing I'd really predict right now is that Hillel is probably next."

"Unless," Holly said, holding up a finger, "the Queen succeeds."

Glancing at the door, Chris said "Yeah, unless she succeeds."
Last edited by Hittanryan on Sat Jun 27, 2015 2:56 pm, edited 3 times in total.
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Sat Jun 27, 2015 7:57 pm

Endgame


Nass

The roads south of Nass were choked with fleeing refugees from the outskirts of town. Trucks, carts, bicycle carts, mopeds, foot traffic, scores of naked people, painted or bare, giving terrified looks into the air or around them or behind as they moved. The Monarchists were coming! The Monarchists were going to shell their homes!

However this was only the outlying smaller towns and villages, who had actually seen the tanks, APCs and land rovers and helicopters moving into the area. A flight of helicopters buzzed over the area of fields between two villages, circled, then landed a number of soldiers. What the fleeing people didn’t realize is that they were establishing a field hospital. When the senior MO went to the village headman’s house, he found no one there, shrugged and set up camp anyway. Fearing an ambush, the covering troops, armed soldiers from a transport company, fanned out as pickets.

Most of Romain’s troops, alerted by UAV recon, were trying to close to Benajah’s forces which were retreating north rapidly, but who had also left a wake of destruction behind them; in fact some of the explosions and booms heard by terrified people in northern suburbs of Nass were not the Monarchists bombing or shelling but engineer laid demolitions destroying bridges and roads. Romain had all units fully fueled up advancing rapidly, three Troops from the Royal Cavalry Guards, a Squadron of the 21st Lancers, most of a battalion of the 9th Marine Infantry backed up by long range artillery and a fresh wave of aviation support. Her second in command, General Merari, was left at the landing zone to organize the last of the supplies and reserve and support units landing, keep them organized and safe on the road to Nass. Once they were all there, the landing zone would be too far away to retreat too; they would be within only fifty klicks or so from the Hutanjians anyway. All the rest, Romain herself urged on, advance, advance, advance! She, Havoth-Jair, Wendt and Weber climbed up into a church cupola to look with field glasses at the sight of the force streaming like black ants over the land before them--with the wasps of the helicopters, UAVs and Terrier VSTOL fighters moving swiftly overhead.

Lieutenant Count Alexander Domris was rotated from being on point for his Squadron to being at the rear, but this was no real rest, he was just the tail end charlie now. They all still had to watch out for ambushes; Benajah had left road obstacles to try to force them to bunch up, which forced them to move into fields where Zadek feared there would be mines again. UAV recorded intel showed little activity that indicated that a new minefield had been laid, and just a day before farmers had been seeding the area. It was a shame to waste good cropland, but it was war, so they decided to blaze through. Man is but grass as the saying went. Good tank country this; rolling and largely flat country now, they felt like nothing could stop them. The few attempts at sponge tactics were rolled up by a combination of ground and air attacks that withered them away. “It’s not really ambushes, it’s stragglers, I’ll bet,” said Domris’ platoon sergeant laconically. “What we need to hope for, sir, Your Honour is that the General knows what kind of ground old Benajah is running for.”

Corporal Ravin, the D Company, 1-9th Marine Infantry sniper, while holding a rearguard area, bored out of his mind and spitting down on a fallen poster of the prophet, thinking he ought to wipe his ass with it too later, spied two people sneaking around an abandoned village he had been told to watch the company’s back from while they scouted an area out for an artillery battery. He saw two people sneaking around, and decided to ambush them, find out what they were up to. Naked and painted ETC militia, a man and a woman. Without thinking about it too much--nothing bore too much thinking about, life was instinct and faith after all, he beat the man unconscious after disarming and binding them, including several kicks in the groin that would have him walking with difficulty and hopefully pissing blood for a while. The woman was alright; he had not had a woman since Heshbon. Small but grown up enough up top, decent hips, short ugly ETC haircut, face not much to write home about, but the body was nice enough that he made good use of that. Maybe she’d get lucky and her belly would grow with good Monarchist seed. He let them both hogtied; it was a merciful act, and they’d never recognize him with his balaclava on, which he had done without thinking. Instinct did serve well.

However something the woman had said, in a shaking voice, bothered him. “Do you have a wife? A mother? Sisters? How can you do this to me?” He couldn’t put a finger on why it bothered him; it was like an annoying ghost. He thought about going back, doing what really made more sense and finishing them both off, but then got the call on his headset from an irritated First Sergeant Noyeed demanding to know where in the name of God he was, and he said, “Coming right now, First Sergeant,” and forgot the whole thing.

In the Palace of the Ethnarch, Christian Joram, representing the National Elections Commission with the consuls of the Imperium of Arbites and of Ghant for witnesses, nodded courteously but curtly to the stiff salutes and presenting arms of the militia at the doors of the council chamber, and walked in wearing neat but modest body paint and her nicest sandals to greet the Ethnarch, the hulking Levi Libbim, and his Council, who stiffly and coldly bowed to her. So be it. She sat down without invitation and said, “Hear the words of the Regent, Prince Elijah Shalmaneser…” as they shuffled to sit hastily in response, though Libbim sat slowly and gravely, eyes never leaving hers. How the worm had turned.

Most of the people in Nass were confused, for they had little sense of the war directly. They mostly experienced it through the news, and through public information. They knew that some things were rationed like luxuries (chocolate, some textiles, things like batteries, foreign foods, fuel) and that things like brass, plastic, paper, and cloth were being recycled a lot more. But they did not even hear any fighting, so they were not even sure if the evacuation of Benajah and the arrival of the Monarchists was a rumour or not. Nass was a busy city, people worked in factories, warehouses, mechanics, carpentry, quarries. Copper wire was spooled into vast rolls, coated or uncoated; pipes were polished and stacked; sheets of plastic tied and put on pallets and lifted into rail trucks. But soon even at these busy places sirens called for breaks and grave faced men and women in white safety helmets explained what was going on. Offices gathered staff together for the news.

"It may be," said a manager of an accounting firm to his staff, "That we will call work off early today for people to be near family and friends in case there is a call to go to emergency shelters. I have been instructed to advise you of this. Perhaps we should ask our chaplain to pray before we go back to work..."

Hillel

The doors opened, and Queen Mara and the Prophet, Samuel Under, emerged.

“We will have peace,” said the Prophet, holding up his hands as he was barraged with questions. “The Queen and I, and the Regent, have come to an understanding. President Carmel has agreed, we spoke on the phone. Monarchist forces have captured Nass. We have agreed to talk peace terms while we can do so from a position of relative strength.:

Mara said, smiling, taking his hand a moment, “The peace we have agreed is to reconcile. You see, the Free Congress were afraid, and rightly, because my sister, advised by people who were mistaken and perhaps misjudged and made grave errors, attacked their protesters. This set of fear and suspicion. And hatred and fear lead to more of the same. And so we had civil war again. And I understand this, and I believe the right path is forgiveness, all round.”

“The Queen and I have come to this understanding: that her actions as a penitent have demonstrated to all how changed her spirit is, how much she loves her people and will sacrifice for them. And this has been part of what has convinced not only me but all my advisers and the leaders of the Free Congress.” the Prophet looked up and around at everyone present, elders, press, militia, congregants, witnesses of all sorts. “These are the terms we have generally agreed to. There will be no jail time, no penal battalions, no executions, no purges. The ETC militia will entirely disarm. All members of the Theocratic Government will be allowed to retire from public life or run for office as they see fit. The Council of Ministers in Fineberg will be considered temporary until the elections take place, at which point the head of state may nominate them again to the scrutiny of the elected Chamber of Deputies or appoint entirely new ones. All military officers in the regular armed forces may be considered for reinstatement or may retire without penalty. The Free Congress fully recognizes the right of Queen Mara to be head of state, and pronounces her fit to rule. However we have agreed...all round...that she will divorce Michael of Dakmoor, and marry Prince Elijah Shalmaneser, the Regent, who will become King jointly with her and receive our entirely confidence and loyalty for the way he has handled the increase and transparency towards democracy, for his mercy and generosity, and his determination to follow the law and constitution even at risk to his own reputation.” The Prophet smiled, a very rare smile. “I am deeply grateful for the Queen having come to us in all humility. We will call for an immediate cease fire, and the details worked out. We will have peace at last.”

For a moment there was a stunned silence, then one of the eldest cried out “God save the Queen!

The cry was echoed by others, the Prophet smiling, and people crowded forward, kneeling, as did the militia, kissing her hand or holding out their hands, fingers spread, crying “God save the Queen!”
Last edited by New Edom on Sat Jun 27, 2015 10:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Sun Jun 28, 2015 12:54 am

Hillel

Once the doors opened, the camera was fixated on Mara and the Prophet. History in the making. The end of another war in New Edom, and, god willing, the first resolution to such a conflict that didn't bring about a dictatorship or guarantee continued conflict. For the news crew, this was practically the moment of their careers. Not a single other foreign media outlet present, scared away by the civil war first and the compulsory nudity second.

"Holy shit..." Travis muttered under his breath away from the mic as the terms of the peace were being read aloud. Turning to Chris he said "Get the network on the line. This is going to be breaking. They'll want us doing a segment now. Don't worry, we'll shoot you waist-up." Chris nodded in agreement but had to remember that he had put his cell phone in with one of the bags, for he had no pockets.

"It's peace..." Holly said. "It's finally over," she said with a breathless sense of relief, not minding the camera.

Holly reflected on how she got here. There were still so many back at Harbourtown, she had traveled with just a fraction of them so far. She remembered the sounds of rifles, tanks, helicopters as the Battle of Harbourtown closed in around her. How close had she come to death in that street? Before that there was the terror of the riots, the headless corpses, the fires, the looting, and the gnawing fear that she could be swept up in it too. Then she thought all the way back to Fineberg, remembering the smell of tear gas, the protestors being mercilessly beat down when they hadn't done anything wrong. She remembered being angry, angry enough to almost throw some little thing—a napkin dispenser or something—at the army.

After all that, she'd met one woman, an extraordinary sometimes deeply sad and troubled woman, who was unwavering in her mission. She was almost awestruck as the singing began, and rather abruptly pulled Chris over and planted a kiss on his lips. Then she got up and went to join with the crowd, wearing a brilliant smile and a few tears in her eyes. For the first time she was heedless of her state of undress, simply joining in with the cries of "God Save the Queen." Travis got up with a camera to follow her, while Chris had to shake off a bit of a dazed state before he rose as well.

When Mara passed by, Holly was amongst the crowd waiting to meet her with a glowing smile. Her heart fluttered a bit, but she couldn't help herself. Swept up in the moment, she jumped up and down, calling out "Your Majesty...you did it! You really did it! I'm so happy I could cry..." She dabbed at her eye, still endeavoring not to ruin her makeup.
Last edited by Hittanryan on Sun Jun 28, 2015 12:56 am, edited 1 time in total.
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
Ghant
Minister
 
Posts: 2473
Founded: Feb 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Ghant » Sun Jun 28, 2015 1:32 am

The Yacht Terpsichore, offshore from S. Bara


They were in the area of the yacht called the sky lounge: Princess Jocasta, Lavinia Nabal, Michael of Dakmoor, Caroline, Arietta, Lalery, Nicholas Cromie. There was soft jazz ballad music drifting through the speakers and a gentle breeze coming through the crack in the sliding glass doors that separated the interior area of the lounge from the exterior area of the lounge. Lalery was behind the bar whipping up another drink via the cocktail shaker, Lavinia, still giddy from laughing at Arietta’s stories, was in the center of the room dancing (more like swaying on her feet) and Jocasta was relaxing on the plush leather couch. She was wearing a light blue peasant blouse and a white pleated skirt that went down nearly to her knees, showing off smooth tanned olive legs. Queen Rebecca and Colonel Horvath had slipped off somewhere. Jocasta swayed to the music, sang softly along occasionally, and Lavinia now and then joined in, even as she sipped her drink and whispered naughty things to Arietta. The yacht rolled gently with the waves, well balanced and built enough that it was not debilitating, and they had been well fed, well exercised, and well entertained (for those who enjoyed such things).

Arietta was enjoying some personal time with Lavinia without all of the others around. She did her love her friends and cousins, but there were also times when she was happy to be away from them. To be around Lavinia without the rest was refreshing. When Lavinia whispered naughty things to Arietta, she would snigger, and do the same back. She even shared some of the naughty things about her countless bedroom exploits with the man that spoke for her, Crown Prince Vitus Staalmark.

They had had a dazzling day before heading out to sea (still shadowed by a corvette and frigate) and did some deep sea fishing. Lalery had caught a large yellowfin tuna; Prince Enoch had pulled in a Blue Marlin which impressed everyone after wrestling with it. While not as powerfully built as Lalery he was a better fisherman and seemed to make it easy. Lalery had enjoyed helping Caroline have a hand in it, discreetly holding her body while not openly and obviously feeling her up was getting to know her subtly. He was also just having a good time, trying to see how fun and tough she was.

Caroline for her part didn’t seem to mind, allowing Lalery to hold her while he provided her with instruction on how to fish. She was merely enjoying herself too much to fuss, and besides that, she didn’t see any harm. She was resilient. The mother of Emperor Nathan IV and the Red Princess would have to be. All the while, she laughed and made small talk, telling her own stories of her youth and time at court. She was, however, disappointed that she had lost sight of her friend Rebecca, wondering where she went off too.

Then after that, they had dined aboard, then spent the following day sunning, doing a little scuba diving closer to Quality Bay or swimming depending on what people wanted to do, and had just had a nice lunch of the fresh tuna in rare steaks with fresh salad and were now relaxing to the music. Enoch was up on the bridge plotting the course home in an hour or so.

Lalery, Enoch and Rebecca also did their best to contrive giving Jocasta and Michael time together--obviously not entirely alone, but time to act as scuba partners, time to organize their deep sea fishing together (they had not caught anything worthwhile, just a small tuna Enoch urged them to throw back to grow up big and fat), gave them a little space to talk. Anyone could tell, watching them lying side by side on the sunning deck on their towels, on sides talking close by, that they were deeply involved even when talking about nonsense. Lavinia even noticed as they relaxed in the lounge area that Jocasta was, in effect, singing “La Vie en Rose” to Michael. Holy cow…


"Hold me close and hold me fast
The magic spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
When you kiss me, Heaven sighs
And though I close my eyes
I see la vie en rose
When you press me to your heart
I'm in a world apart
A world where roses bloom
And when you speak
Angels sing from above
Everyday words
Seem to turn into love songs
Give your heart and soul to me
And life will always be
La vie en rose
I thought that love was just a word
They sang about in songs I heard
It took your kisses to reveal
That I was wrong, and love is real
Hold me close and hold me fast
The magic spell you cast
This is la vie en rose
When you kiss me, Heaven sighs
And though I close my eyes
I see la vie en rose
When you press me to your heart
I'm in a world apart
A world where roses bloom
And when you speak
Angels sing from above
Everyday words
Seem to turn into love songs
Give your heart and soul to me
And life will always be
La vie en rose"


Michael blushed hotly at her singing, looking on and admiring her as she sung. “Your voice is sweeter than a siren’s song, Jocasta.” It also just so happened that Michael scribbled down a note on a piece of paper. Smiling, he handed it to her when she was done, his heart weak at the thought of her reaction.

I wrote your name in the sky but the wind blew it away.
I wrote your name in the sand but the waves washed it away.
So I wrote your name in my heart and forever it will stay.


Jocasta had perhaps innocently not been aware of the impact of what she was doing--not consciously, but Michael’s note made her very aware, and so she blushed hotly as well and found it hard to even look at him, but found herself biting her lip, touching her hair a little, and then did finally smile at him warmly.

However they didn’t have much time for their moment, for Enoch came in looking rather serious just as Lalery was handing a glass of brandy to Caroline and playing bartender to Arietta and Lavinia with mock gravity and servility.

“Hey everyone,” Enoch said, “I have an important message from Fineberg from the radio.” He looked around till he had everyone’s attention. “Mara made it to Hillel. And while she was negotiating...Romain captured Nass and sent Benajah packing. The rebels decided to negotiate. There’s a cease fire. The civil war is over.”

Lalery whistled, and drank Arietta’s drink without thinking then snapped, “Bah, how can you drink this crap?”

Arietta shrugged in response. “Tropical drinks for tropical climates, man. A burst of fruit flavor fits the setting.”

“It’s over?” exclaimed Jocasta. “We won? It’s victory! My brilliant warriors have vanquished the rebels! Oh Michael, it’s over! We must tell Mama at once, and now I get to see them all swing…” her eyes glowed. “All those who betrayed me…”

“It’s over! The fucking ETC are done for!” screamed Lavinia, jumping up and sending her vodkatini flying, her fists clenched. “Good! I hope the shitheads all rot in hell, I hope their dicks all fall off!”

“Lavvy!” exclaimed Jocasta.

“I’m sorry, honey, but they tortured me…” said Lavinia hotly, “I mean I know you don’t like swearing sweetie but really…”

“Oh I know…” Jocasta and Lavinia found one another in each arms and burst into tears.

Caroline stood still and quiet, drinking something akin to what Arietta was having. Michael, meanwhile, smiled and looked on, appreciating the fact that things were finally getting really good again. “This is good news,” was all he said, wondering what the terms were.

Lalery looked disgusted and poured himself a neat vodka with ice. “So what are the terms, or do we need to go to another room?”

Enoch said, “I’ve got good news...and bad news.”

“...What would the good news and the bad news be?” Caroline asked with a raised eyebrow.

“There is to be no retribution; all to be forgiven and forgotten. The Theocratic Council will dissolve, the leaders to become private citizens free to run for office--”

What?!” Jocasta cried.

“Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Lavinia.

Enoch, who was after all a trained naval officer, just raised his voice. “And!” he shouted. “And,” he said in a normal voice, “No jail time, no penal colonies, no penal battalions, no arrests, no trials, no purges. The Prophet will replace Laudner as Patriarch of the Council of Five Churches…”

“Unbelievable...I do not agree with this. I want to talk to cousin Elijah immediately, why was I not informed?” Jocasta said, looking furious, her breasts heaving up and down with her fury.

“The ETC will finally dissolve their militia entirely and formally disarm them,” Enoch continued as though she had not spoken. “However, they want Mara fully reinstated as head of state...and for her to divorce the King-Consort, and marry Elijah in his place.”

Jocasta went red, then pale.

That took your breath away, didn’t it, thought Enoch hiding his amusement and triumph. “The Free Congress will swear allegiance to them, and ask only that the current council of ministers be interim until one can be properly vetted by the newly elected Chamber of Deputies following a national election. That’s the gist of it according to the message.”

Michael too went red, and then pale as a ghost, feeling himself melt away. ...Perhaps there is a God afterall, he thought to himself before not even his mind could process that.

Caroline and Arietta, perhaps comically, put their hands to their mouth. “Oh, dear boy, I am so sorry,” Caroline said to Michael. “You must be devastated but such news.” Arietta just sat there with a blank face...she knew the game that was being played. Then Caroline continued. “Perhaps heading back to the Palace posthaste might be in order, provided the circumstances.”

“yes. My condolences.” said Lalery sharp eyes on Michael, raising his vodka glass.

Arietta then chimed in. “So, is this like, news and stuff? Is the public aware?”

“It will be becoming aware; we should head back immediately. We may as well simply move the motor on the yacht; by the time a helicopter got here we could already be at the regatta. But we will need transport there immediately,” said Enoch, glancing at his watch.

“I don’t believe it, what about me then?” Jocasta said, her eyes staring at him sternly.

“Your Royal Highness is still the Heir. You will have to meet your sister when she gets back or wherever she summons you to, and you will find out her will then. But until then Elijah is the Regent. We must go back immediately.”

Jocasta straightened herself and faced him and said, “Thank you. Yes, we will go back at once.” she dared give Michael a glance, still pale, and said, “We should all...change into proper clothes. there will probably be glimpses of press there. Come.”

“...I should go find and inform Rebecca,” Caroline said as she fluttered off.

Arietta watched her mother run off and said, “I need to finish this tropical drink,” before fading away from the situation.

Michael, meanwhile, glanced at Jocasta and smiled very faintly. Soon, my dear Princess Jocasta. Soon…
Last edited by Ghant on Sun Jun 28, 2015 12:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Ghant
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Factbook | RP Resume | IIwiki Admin
Commended by Security Council Resolution #450
Recipient of the Greater Dienstad Roleplay Reward
"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
XX XXX
XX XXX

User avatar
Taelete
Envoy
 
Posts: 266
Founded: Jan 19, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Taelete » Sun Jun 28, 2015 2:35 am

New Edom, Fineberg, Betharan Palace

"Yes, they're certainy binding to any state in the league. Otherwise wouldn't we have been here in the name of Taelete instead of our own nations." said Aristarkh with a reassuring smile. When Michael spoke nodded the Taeleteans and the ones that knew something of Ghant remembered conflicts like the Ghantish civil war when the confederative kingdoms had fought eachother, knowing that confederations always caused much tensions between the various states within it.

The delegates, hungry due to the travelling, were glad when the man in a green formal tunic and mantle came in and said that the dinner was ready.

As the delegates sat down around the beautiful table asked Jocasta Meliton if he would like to bless the meal before they would start dinner. Meliton smiled and answered:"I would be honoured, your highness." Then he rose from his seat and spread his arms while saying:

"The poor shall eat and be satisfied, and they who seek the Lord shall praise him; their hearts shall live to the ages of ages. Glory to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Christ our God, bless the food and drink of your servants, for you are holy always, now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen."

After these words sat Meliton down and started count Merodach to speak. Aristarkh answered to Merodach:"We cetainly don't mind. The dish looks wonderful and it is good to have some refreshing food to start the meal with." And Aristarkh was speaking the truth in this as he really liked the dish before him.

When Jocasta brightly asked to the Taeletean national dish answered Aristarkh, kindled by her brightness:"Our national dish your highness asks? Well, we have several but I think the best example is the Taeletean Pastitsio, The typical Taeletean baked pasta dish with a filling of ground, spiced minced meat and a Bechamel sauce topping."
Feel free to TG me for any diplomatic or War RP, I'm always interested.

“Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.”
― Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Sun Jun 28, 2015 5:33 am

Government Office
New Laconia, Adiron


The situation in New Edom was much harder to ignore when Adiran soldiers were actually over there trying to help keep the peace, ensuring the public in general at least paid attention. There were some debates on what the peacekeepers could have done to maintain the ceasefire. The government's supporters claimed that fighting either side after the ceasefire ended would have done nothing to further, or even been counterproductive to, the cause of peace in New Edom at the cost of Adiran lives. Detractors claimed the peacekeepers had a job to do: if one side crossed the line, they were supposed to impartially stop them by any means necessary. The fine details such as politics and the military situation muddied this debate further.

A number of days ago, however, the public had become increasingly aware of the exploits of Queen Mara I and the Regent Elijah Shalmaneser. Defying expectations, the Regent granted Gloria Regian independence after it was decided by popular vote. Was this a new breed of Edomite monarch? Would he maybe do the same thing on the mainland? Then came footage of the Queen, naked and dirty, desperately loading wounded into the back of a Red Cross pickup truck. There was now an iconic image of her amongst a sea of hands in a Jeep, thousands of poor refugees looking to their Queen as a symbol of stability in a time of great upheaval.

Now there was a new series on ANBC on the Queen. It focused specifically her journey to Hillel to meet the religious fundamentalist who started the civil war. ANBC saw it pull in surprisingly good ratings for a documentary series. People were wondering what was happening where Adirans were at risk, it seemed. That or there was genuine humanitarian concern. Or maybe they just wanted to see the attractive queen and film crew in their birthday suits. One way or another it was successful, giving the network enough of a bump in that time slot to keep it going.

The Queen and the show's film crew, however, moved quicker than the government. With a phone call to Elijah, she rescinded orders to detain Mara and return her to Fineberg. Then she was on the very first flight to Hillel since hostilities had resumed. General Deaton had no reason or authority to stop her, and trying to do so without cause would doubtless spark a massive diplomatic boondoggle.

So when ANBC broke the story, their young news crew bare in the Cathedral of the End Times, the government was essentially watching events unfold at the same time as the rest of Adiron. Sitting around a large flatscreen TV with closed captioning, aides furiously scribbling notes for their respective bosses, was the National Security Council, the abbreviated Cabinet consisting of the President and the Cabinet Secretaries needed for whatever major issue cropped up at the time.

When the segment ended, Secretary of War Li said "You know, when this whole thing started, I thought Under would make a martyr."

"What made you think that?" DeGroot asked.

"Fanatic," he replied before looking around the room for approval. "Come on, we all know what fundamentalists are capable of." He got a few nods.

"Some fanatics feel driven to fulfill a purpose," Deol said.

"Hard to do that if you're dead," DeGroot added acerbically. "So, anyone spot any holes? Anything that could kill this in its crib?"

"A stadium," Li said darkly. He drew several frowns. "What? It's going to rely on two people putting this together: the Regent and the Queen. Anything happens to them..."

"As long as the groundwork is laid for the elections, the country will finally have a stable means of transitioning power," Deol reminded him.

"If you say so," Li replied dismissively.

"So, we need our line," DeGroot interrupted, heading off what he had referred to in the past as a "shit fight." Good at what they did, couldn't get along. Just as well, it made sure all the options always made it onto the table. "So far we've praised the Queen and the Regent for their commitments to peace and democracy. This looks like the capstone. Press can't seem to get enough of the Queen and the Regent has been fair in treating the Theocrats in areas he's taken control of. Democracy is the way forward from here."

"You sure about that?" Li asked.

"Come again?" DeGroot replied.

"Look, all I'm saying is that some places aren't ready for democracy," Li explained.

"Were we ready thirty years ago?" Deol countered. "We didn't exactly hit the ground running ourselves back in '80."

Li apparently ignored the wider implication of Deol's first question at his leisure. "But we didn't have parties looking to make nudity compulsory nationwide and use public funds to promote their own religion. All I'm saying is maybe New Edom should have a few less of those kinds of parties before they really try to..."

"All right just one fucking second. I'm not going out on Question Time and saying 'Eh, democracy, it's only good if we like who they vote for,'" DeGroot said, making a "so-so" hand gesture. "New Edom and Gloria Regis could have an elected legislature for the first time in...how many years? Two? Three?"

"And the leaders getting it done now have a reputation for being peaceful and diplomatic. Trusted widely by both the people and leaders of New Edom," Deol pointed out.

"There we go, that's our line," DeGroot said, gesturing towards him. "We got all the time in the world to be cynical if it does go to shit. Let's just hope their government stays out of fucking stadiums this time."

Fineberg
New Edom


In Fineberg, a certain Adiran psychiatrist had a sneaking suspicion his patient's mental health would become a political issue as he watched the peace announcement. The Heir's authority hinged on Mara being unfit to rule, which was backed by Dr. Weinstein's own diagnosis. The hateful and unfair label of the "Mad Queen" made him clench his teeth whenever he heard it, as though he had contributed to it. Yes, he had been doing his job. What he hadn't been prepared for was for his job to become political, in fact when he started he was working under complete secrecy. Now he wondered if his psychiatric reports would once again be used against his patient as the Heir and presumably the Queen Dowager vied for position during the peace process. This time Weinstein's psychiatric evaluation of the Queen might squander a chance at peace, prolonging a war which affected millions.

Dr. Weinstein wasn't going to let that happen.

He started drafting a very carefully worded private letter to the Regent. Requesting an audience with Prince Enoch upon his return, he briefly explained his intent in writing the letter, the letter's contents, and asked if the letter could be delivered directly to Elijah. Weinstein still hadn't forgotten those who had breached confidentiality, and was looking to bypass them.

To: Regent Elijah Shalmaneser
From: Dr. Martin Weinstein
Subject: Queen Mara I
Encryption: Delivered through the office of Prince Enoch Tubal-Cain

Your Royal Majesty,

Congratulations on all of your recent successes as of late. Back home they're already calling you and the Queen the best chance for peace New Edom ever had. It is in the spirit of the impending peace process that I write to you today.

My evaluation of Her Majesty was leaked in what amounted to a breach of confidentiality for political gain. My efforts to treat a patient were used against her, and I fear that if I stay silent, that could happen again to the detriment of your entire nation. I have just learned that Her Majesty has negotiated a peace settlement in Hillel which could end the ongoing civil war. The reason I am writing you is to ensure Her Majesty's mental health is not somehow twisted to prolong the war.

Although I have not been able to meet with the Queen, I would like to highlight progress I have observed (admittedly from afar) in several indicators of Her Majesty's mental health. Bear in mind that this is not meant as an official report, and as such simplifies and makes use of non-clinical terminology. My goal is simply to describe symptoms as accurately as possible. When Her Majesty began therapy, she was unable to sleep through the night, being plagued by intense nightmares. Her nutritional needs were not met as she could barely keep any food down. She was largely reliant on servants to help her maintain her hygiene, and she abused alcohol in an effort to self-medicate. Simple tasks required a great effort, and some days she was unable to get out of bed. Following the Stadium Disaster, in her grief for her cousin she even had suicidal thoughts.

Consider the Queen's state since leaving Betharan: she is functional. For several weeks, she has been able to manage her nutritional, hygiene, and sleep needs independently and without the use of medication. She was able to work full time in an aquaponics facility where before a tennis match would have been exhausting. She furthermore had the presence of mind to not only secure herself passage to Hillel, but was also clearheaded enough to broker what appears to be a comprehensive peace agreement which will, if accepted by all parties, end the current civil war.

Early in this conflict, the Heir declared her sister to be non compos mentis. In my professional medical opinion, the progress that Her Majesty has made strongly suggests that this is no longer the case, if indeed it ever was. The extended mental health retreat at the Soledad Isles may not be necessary; though she may still draw some benefit from it, one of the main purposes was to help her learn how to manage her symptoms, which she appears to have learned on her pilgrimage.

In brief, I would like to state that I will not sign off on political attempts to declare the Queen unfit to rule based on my treatment of her. Should my earlier reports surface in any such debate, I would like it stated that they are outdated and as such do not reflect Her Majesty's current mental state. I would be willing to state the cursory assessments expressed in this letter on record as well.

Sincerely,
Martin Weinstein, M.D.
Last edited by Hittanryan on Sun Jun 28, 2015 3:02 pm, edited 2 times in total.
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
Jedoria
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1306
Founded: Aug 23, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Jedoria » Sun Jun 28, 2015 6:49 am

The Duke's Hearth,
Strana Mechty, Jedoria


"So, peace. I admit I'm a bit surprised. I thought the ETC would go down swinging." The Duke admitted, hand flicking through the report laid out in front of him. The other cabinet ministers were arrayed around the conference table, the Foreign Minister Andrei Paler, Directer of International Relations, Decebal Bârlădeanu, the Secretary of Domestic Affairs Emil Arcos, and other ministers.

"There's really no point to continued conflict." Explained Paler. He was a pleasant man with a thin lipped smile, glasses, and short cropped black hair. "The Monarchists established near complete control of the skies, and the Republic's motorized infantry are no match for the Monarchist ground forces."

"And where does that leave us?" the Duke asked, leaning forward.

Bârlădeanu took his chance to shine and spoke. "Frankly my Duke, we wait. Elections sound good, and while the Regent let Gloria Regis go, we'll have to wait and see what happens when the actual voting happens."

The Duke nodded. "I don't think this solves everything, does it?"

"I'm afraid not my Duke. The Regent is still in power, the same leader that was backed by the Imperium and his Hutanjian allies. The Adrians may be rejoicing, but I think we'll need to see something more concrete than just promised elections. For now though, we should keep our peacekeepers in Harborutown. Until either Adiron or New Edom tells us to remove them."
The Duke nodded. "In the meantime, keep an eye out for any further developments. I want to say we can expect a lasting peace in New Edom, but you can never tell with these zealots."

Not long after the meeting, the Duke appeared before the press and praised the development in New Edom and called for peaceful elections to be undertaken. He applauded the recent successes down south, the establishment of Gloria Regis as a free state, and the commitment of peacekeepers to uphold their defense of the innocent. In a final statement, he stated his eagerness to see elections play out in the Allied States and hope for continued peace.

And within a week, the 15th Mountain Division stepped down it's patrols in the mountains, and the rest of the Jedorian forces near the border returned to their normal state of alert. For now, the danger had passed.
Last edited by Jedoria on Mon Jun 29, 2015 5:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
“We were all of us cogs in a great machine which sometimes rolled forward, nobody knew where, sometimes backwards, nobody knew why.”
― Ernst Toller

User avatar
Ghant
Minister
 
Posts: 2473
Founded: Feb 11, 2013
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Ghant » Sun Jun 28, 2015 9:45 pm

“The Quest for Peace”
Cathedral of the End Times
Hillel, New Edom


Izena did her best to avoid trouble and to go without being noticed. A Ghantish heathen surely wouldn’t be well received in the heart of ETC country, she reckoned, clothes or not. Especially considering her sheer ignorance at what she observed. How can a man die for the sins of those not even born yet? She found the concept of sin relatively absurd, after all. What was it anyway?

She hardly had much time to consider that before the doors opened, with Queen Mara and the Prophet emerging in unison. The sight made Izena turn, and look on. “We will have peace,” proclaimed the Prophet with his hands raised as people began to erupt with questions. “The Queen and I, and the Regent, have come to an understanding. President Carmel has agreed, we spoke on the phone. Monarchist forces have captured Nass. We have agreed to talk peace terms while we can do so from a position of relative strength.”

The jendebasa woman looked on in bewilderment. Well then, I suppose the Queen may not be so mad after all. For what kind of Mad Queen can end a war in a single stroke? Although, with the fall of Nass, what choice did the ETC have then to come to the table and sue for peace? Doesn’t really seem like much of a choice at all. A similar event happened in 1873 to end the Ghantish Civil War. With the Mazadar Emperor found on the throne of Jehenna with his throat opened by a jilted mercenaries blade, and the northern lords scattered without leadership, they too had no choice but to bend the knee. And they were spared for it.

Mara smiled and took the Prophet’s hand. “The peace we have agreed is to reconcile. You see, the Free Congress were afraid, and rightly, because my sister, advised by people who were mistaken and perhaps misjudged and made grave errors, attacked their protesters. This set of fear and suspicion. And hatred and fear lead to more of the same. And so we had civil war again. And I understand this, and I believe the right path is forgiveness, all round.”

Izena knew better than to interrupt…she merely nodded in agreement. I wonder if Jocasta was advised by Michael. The notion didn’t surprise her…Michael was always trouble, even in the old days when he was his Uncle’s ward during his campaigns. Perhaps it was her mother. From what Izena heard, that could have been the case as well. Although ultimately, it seemed like a moot point at this juncture.

In any event, the Prophet began to speak. “The Queen and I have come to this understanding: that her actions as a penitent have demonstrated to all how changed her spirit is, how much she loves her people and will sacrifice for them. And this has been part of what has convinced not only me but all my advisers and the leaders of the Free Congress.” the Prophet looked up and around. “These are the terms we have generally agreed to. There will be no jail time, no penal battalions, no executions, no purges. The ETC militia will entirely disarm. All members of the Theocratic Government will be allowed to retire from public life or run for office as they see fit. The Council of Ministers in Fineberg will be considered temporary until the elections take place, at which point the head of state may nominate them again to the scrutiny of the elected Chamber of Deputies or appoint entirely new ones. All military officers in the regular armed forces may be considered for reinstatement or may retire without penalty. The Free Congress fully recognizes the right of Queen Mara to be head of state, and pronounces her fit to rule. However we have agreed...all round...that she will divorce Michael of Dakmoor, and marry Prince Elijah Shalmaneser, the Regent, who will become King jointly with her and receive our entirely confidence and loyalty for the way he has handled the increase and transparency towards democracy, for his mercy and generosity, and his determination to follow the law and constitution even at risk to his own reputation,” The Prophet explained with a smile. “I am deeply grateful for the Queen having come to us in all humility. We will call for an immediate cease fire, and the details worked out. We will have peace at last.”

For a moment there was a stunned silence, then one of the eldest cried out, “God save the Queen!” The cry was echoed by others, and people crowded forward before taking a knee, kissing the Queen’s hand or holding their hands out, and continued the cry.

As the people stirred in rejoicing, the Adirons, Edomites, whoever, Izena grinned only slightly so, and mostly stood still and quiet, looking on and thinking to herself. Malibar will not be pleased…





Inperiala Palace
Ghish, Ghant


The Privy Council chambers were silent as a crypt, with nearly half a hundred men sitting still and quiet as statues made of stone. Sophia was one of them, conditioned by time to know never to press her father when he was angry. So there she sat, in her lavish gown tailored from fine silk, a cutout in a vintage floral pattern contrasted with solid wide pleats for a look that balanced sultry and demure. It featured a round neckline with short sleeves, front pleats, a wide slit at the bodice, banded waist and a back cutout with a concealed closure. Her hair was down, and rested upon her shoulders and behind her back. She looked down, not knowing what else to look at, as she sat at the table with her hands in her lap underneath it.

Sophia had her own copy of the Edomite peace terms to look upon. That there would be no jail time or other form of legal punishment for the rebel forces. The ETC militia would disarm, and that members of the rebel government would be allowed to seek office in the future or retire from public life if they chose to do so. The Council of Ministers was to be deemed interim until elections, and they could serve again or be replaced by new appointees. In addition, all rebel military officers may be considered for reinstatement or retire without suffering penalty.

Yet, it was the final term that stuck in her father’s craw, Sophia knew. That being that Mara will divorce Michael and remarry Elijah Shalamaneser, making him the new King. And while it seemed to a few in the know that Michael would then marry Jocasta, this wasn’t a part of the peace agreement, that Elijah, Mara and the Prophet all agreed upon.

A quick glance, and the Empress noticed that the other assembled lords were doing the same, looking down and twiddling their thumbs. Lords Inigo Araneta, Gorka Gauzua, Ostegi Sastagai, Aron Loi, Bolvar Dain and various other newcomers like Lords Zandar Moro, Tion Izar and Ullos Daga, their men and retainers in various places in the room, along with Malibar’s own imposing men. Malibar, for his part, sat very still and quiet like the rest, except that his fingers were tapping restlessly against the wood, while another hand was gripping the table. Beneath him were some reports…that he doesn’t like.

“…I find these peace terms reasonable, your Majesty,” said Zandar Moro with a brazen look on his face. An older, yet still handsome man of an age with Malibar, Lord Moro wasn’t a man that was shy to speak, and among the Lords of Dakmoor, he was the one that was least intimidated by the King. The Moros, of course, being the House that ruled Dakmoor for nearly two thousand years, before the Dakmarans acquired the throne, being illegitimate descendants of the Moros themselves. A fact that the Moros have never lived down, not even after five hundred years of Dakmaran rule.

Malibar was slow to respond. “Most of them are, I agree. Yet, the Regent, the Queen, and the Prophet do not respect my son as King-Consort, and would see to it that he is cast aside like a dirty washcloth. This, after we paid for this peace with Ghantish blood.”

“On the contrary, your Majesty,” Lord Moro pressed on, “the ETC will not accept his highness the Prince Michael as their King, on account of him being a foreigner ingratiated in Jocasta’s inner circle. This is a political reality that the Queen and the Regent have both accepted.”

“…Ingratiated, you say. What a choice of word that is. All of this is a reflection of his inability to do his duty onto his wife, and now, they mean to force him from his position. Could Elijah be so reaching as to influence my daughter-in-law to divorce my son, and marry him instead? I have suspected that the man was ambitious, but not to this extent,” Malibar said very tensely.

Lord Moro continued. “Even still, your Majesty, New Edom is our ally. If these are the terms, we should accept them…”

The King of Dakmoor interrupted him by slamming his fist against the table, sending a loud thudding noise throughout the large, high ceilinged room. It was enough to make Sophia’s eyes go wide, and she jumped out of her seat. Malibar spoke then, more loudly and more firmly. “Michael has shown no effort whatsoever in reconciliation with his wife, which has lead her to seek divorce from him. I am tired of these rumors between he and Jocasta. If anyone knows anything, I would hear it now.

Sophia, trembling in spite of herself, and struggled with the choice between protecting her brother and being loyal to her father. What would mother do? she asked herself.

She didn’t have much time, before Malibar reared his head and narrowed his eyes as he stared at her. “Do you know anything, Sophia? If you do you need to tell me. I know how much Martin and Michael both trust and confide in you. Now is the time to let it out, child.”

“…I don’t know anything, father,” Sophia lied straight to his face. “Michael doesn’t tell me anything. You know how scared he has been since the purge, afraid for his own position.”

“And now his position is about to be lost to Elijah Shalamaneser,” Malibar said aggressively as he pushed himself up from the table, and began pacing. “All because my son failed. I lay this failure at your feet, Martin’s and your mother’s. The lot of you could never fulfill your duties and meet your expectations. Always driven by feelings and emotions. Such things are a waste of time and effort, and now this family must suffer this embarrassment, of a King who lost his crown because his wife divorced him.”

The Empress returned a stern gaze to her father. “This proposal will bring peace to New Edom, that our people have fought and died for. Are you more concerned about your House’s honor then about a nation’s peace?”

Malibar rounded the table and stood before his daughter in a patronizing way. “I would make the rivers of New Edom run red in blood for the sake of the position of our house. What are without prestige…without credibility? We would be nothing more than what the Gentries say we are, which is an overreaching, upjumped house that usurps whatever it has.”

Bolvar Dain’s face turned red, and stood up then, much to Sophia’s amazement. “You would sentence my son to die for your own position, your Majesty? My daughter, in Fineberg as we speak, would you sacrifice her too? Think about the greater picture. This is peace, and the route that will lead us all there. I say a divorce is a worthy price.”

Snorting just then, Malibar turned to face his bannerman. “Your son’s duty is to do good onto his King, which is me. That is yours as well.”

“…That’s easy for you to say, your Majesty, when all of your children are in palaces. Mine is in the field, in the mud,” Lord Dain said testily.

“How dare you, Dain,” Malibar sneered as he went to face him. “My children are in palaces because they are just that…my children. Yours is in the field because it is his duty to oblige me. It is your duty to do the same.”

Lord Dain wasn’t budging, it appeared, as he stood his ground defiantly. “If he were to die, I would want it to mean something. We have followed House Dakmaran into oblivion and back…it was we who fought the Mad Emperor to avenge your family, my own grandfather leading the fight to restore your father. We succeeded, but at great cost, for our lands were burned, our people dead and whatever power we had shattered. We restored all of those things in time, together. Your father and you both, we have loved and followed without question. But now, I beseech you to accept this proposal, for the good of the peoples of Ghant and New Edom both, I urge you to do so,” Lord Dain pleaded.

Lord Loi, greedy as he was, posed a question. “…Well…if Mara and his Highness Prince Michael get divorced, who would he remarry?”

Sophia was the one that answered that. “…The alliance is necessitated by a blood tie. As such, I would insist upon Michael and Jocasta, seeing as how she is the next highest ranking female of the Edomite court.”

“How convenient,” Malibar said as he feigned a smile. “Assuming he feels about her the way that rumor would have it, that would be exactly what he would want. I ought to teach him a lesson and marry him off to Bessa Torloju.” After sighing, Malibar went back to his seat and eased into it. “Yet, Sophia is right. Although…what I intend to do is to travel to New Edom and speak with the Regent personally on these matters. It is high time I present myself at the Edomite Court and discuss policy face to face.” Turning to Lord Dain, Malibar narrowed his eyes. “And you will come with me, my lord. You speak so highly of your children, surely you would savor the opportunity to see them.”

The Empress knew her father’s game. He is angry with Lord Dain for speaking out against him in front of the other lords and inspiring dissent. So he means to keep him close, not trusting Lord Dain to be in Ghant while he is away in New Edom. “…I have the utmost confidence, father, that you can make sure that Ghant and New Edom remain attuned heading into the future, with this new paradigm taken into account.”

“Of course, child. I trust you will write to them informing them of my coming,” Malibar told her while he looked at a pitcher of water, pouring himself a glass before downing it. “And make sure Michael knows I am coming as well…I wish to speak with him, and he best be prepared for a serious talk.”

“Understood, father,” Sophia said with a nod. “I will see to it that such is done.”

“Good, now then,” Malibar continued, ready to change the subject to the next item on the agenda. “On the matter of Princess Cassandra…”

Sophia gently bit her bottom lip as her mind wandered. Somehow I doubt it will turn out to be a Quest for Peace…


Image

Sophia of Dakmoor
Empress of Ghant



To: His Highness Admiral Prince Elijah Shalmaneser, Regent of New Edom
CC: Nymun Izarbegiratzeak, Prime Minister of Ghant
From: Sophia, Empress of Ghant, Princess Royal of Dakmoor
Subject: The Peace Arrangement
Encryption: Medium



Your Honorable Highness,

Word has reached Ghant of the peace proposal that was agreed upon in principle between yourself, Queen Mara and Samuel Under. It is with a great sense of relief and elation that a mutually satisfactory arrangement could be reached, and I applaud and commend you for once again demonstrating a willingness to work towards peace and reconciliation for the betterment of all parties involved.

Having said that, my father, King Malibar of Dakmoor, would like to personally travel to Fineberg to see his son and to discuss Ghanto-Edomite relations moving forward, especially as they concern one of the named terms of the arrangement, that being the divorce of my brother Michael from Mara.

Should his overture be accepted, he would be accompanied by Lord Bolvar Dain, who would very much savor the opportunity to see his daughter Alazne and son Alaric.

Thank you, and sincerely,
Image




Empress of Ghant
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Ghant
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Factbook | RP Resume | IIwiki Admin
Commended by Security Council Resolution #450
Recipient of the Greater Dienstad Roleplay Reward
"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
XX XXX
XX XXX

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Mon Jun 29, 2015 10:44 pm

Fineberg, New Edom

Soundtrack

"Present--arms!" shouted the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 3rd Squadron, Royal Cavalry Guards, as swords and bayonets flashed in the warm sun. The crowd's cheers had indicated the arrival of the Queen for some time.

But what a strange escort came with her. An ANBC news crew, two obscure foreign women, a bevy of clergy, naked and robed alike, and many ordinary people throwing flowers and blessings, and fresh from the field, her own escort of Royal Cavalry Guards. They had not had time to change. Their uniforms were dirty, their boots covered in mud and dust, but their rifles were clean, their combat webbing neatly in place if rough looking, and they had proud expressions on their face, and in spite of their rough appearance rode or marched like Guardsmen. Colonel Falk had not had a drink in weeks, his chin held high, his eyes clear and fierce. Lieutenant Malachi Unwerth felt he was a man at last.

The Queen turned to the ANBC news crew as she went in. "This is good by for a while," she said to them warmly, "But I want to thank you for all that you have done. I have asked that you be given priority and access to the Royal Press Corps and Press Secretary as special correspondents, and I will never forget your support. Blessed be the generous hearts and thoughts that have been with me in my journey" she took each of their hands and pressed it. "Go with God, always."

To Izena and Micaela, she said, "I have written a letter of recommendation for each of you, thanking you for your loyal service. If you need anything further, I have given instructions that you should be able to contact me quickly. I hope to speak to you both again soon."

And with that, the people from outside could see the naked Queen in her tattered once pink sandals ride down the boulevard past the neat rows of orchard trees to the steps of Betharan Palace, where the fully robed and clothed Heir and members of the Royal Family and staff bowed deeply to her as she walked up the steps.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Hutanjia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 588
Founded: Aug 28, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Hutanjia » Tue Jun 30, 2015 8:17 pm

EARLIER ON THE SOUTHERN TEMAN BORDER
BEFORE THE TRUCE


The data was received from the Rover team known as the Sugar Rats, uplinked to Howler One and fed back down to Hudagku's command. While they sought out available units, both air and artillery, to deal with the enemy group, they would continue to monitor the situation as reported by the Sugar Rat leader, Radu.

Elsewhere, the supporting HRAF fighters and gunships began to run out of targets as the enemy scattered and continued their fighting retreat. It would be hard to judge the effect that they were having on the ETC militia until well after the smoke cleared, but it was hoped that the pressure kept on the enemy had prevented more casualties on the Monarchist side and their allies.

COBRA FORCE

Roendorf was pleased with progress as they continued to drive forward on their flanking attack, but at times they had bogged down due to both ETC booby traps, rear guard actions and masses of the camp followers, with wounded militia mixed in, that waded to them through the swamps.

They had no time for prisoners. When they came across armed fighters with their rifles over their heads, they simply grabbed the weapons, tore out the firing pins and pocketed them, or otherwise disabled the rifles, RPGs and MGs to make them no better than glorified clubs, throwing the arms down into the muck and trotting along. The women, elderly and children they ignored altogether, but for quick weapons checks. When asked for food and water, they simply pointed back to the South from whence they came, to where the follow on troops would be along within the hour, with logistical supplies.
"Dey got yaz watah n fud, nudie! Keep walkin', we nah got time fo' dis."

When still hassled, they shoved them on out of their way, or...if the message still wasn't clear bolts were cocked back on their LAAR-5s. The second wave of troops would eventually take the surrendering Edenists, hogtie them, throw them into rear bound trucks to where MPs would process them and hand them over to Edomite Civil Guard militia or other authorities. Officers kept a close eye out to make sure incidents like had happened in the past, didn't continue this day. The amount of mistreatment incidents could definitely be counted on one hand. The message and the severity of punishment had belatedly sunk in.

Captain Roendorf, during a particularly fierce moment running up against resistance, had stood half out of his cupola brandishing a machete and yelling the Hutanjian tribal war cry, which he had no business attempting to do.
"AAAAAGAAAAWWWAAAHHH!!!!!!!!"

Rather than shake their heads in pity at the white man, his Rangers took up the cry and answered the charge, raising their own machetes, but continuing to leapfrog forward, covering each other in tactical advances, rather than foolish head on charges. There was a time when most Hutanjian soldiers would have done exactly that, showing disdain for cowardly body armor and hiding from awaiting glory. A warrior rushed to meet that glory. Atrocious casualties in the civil war had stopped that common tactic.
Rangers were a bit better trained, but temptation at such moments was strong.

Elsewhere, the rest of Emerald group had no compunction about being able to rush to battle to meet the brave, holdout ETC fighters. Meeting machete with machete, fist to fist and point blank machine gun fire with grenades. Sometimes it was the HRA soldiers that fell to fatal wounds, more often it was the Edenist militia men and women who had fulfilled their suicidal last attempt to thwart the Hutanjian attack. The attack would not be thwarted. The last small ETC groups were overwhelmed as Emerald group picked up the pace to catch up to the rest of the retreating Theocratic forces.

MAMBA FORCE

The choppers began to unload their Rangers and elite strikers after leaping miles north into Teman. When heavy fire was received, they waved off, firing off countermeasures and letting the gunships do their work, or the CAS patrols freed up from missions closer to the border. Still, casualties were taken. In one case, a whole UH-100 went spiraling to the ground from AA fire, flipping over and shredding apart. All were lost, Ranger team and crew.

Mamba moved to intercept the retreating enemy with varying success, but the pressure would not be let up until white flags were raised and the bulk of the militia command were taken down or in.




"Sir, you have a call from Fineberg. Ambassador Eptando."

The Colonel picked up the mike and spoke,
"Go for Hudagku...er, Yes, Ambassador?"

"Colonel, the Prophet has agreed to meet with the Regent."

"And?"

"Well...peace may soon be at hand."

"But nothing yet?"

"No, not yet, but perhaps you..."

"Ambassador, I still have a battle to run. I will talk to you when I return to Fineberg, after General Romain has told me to stand down."

"But..."

"Nice talking with you, Ambassador. Out."

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Wed Jul 01, 2015 7:20 pm

Teman-Bara Border

Though they had gotten some good licks in, and had fought like devils with angels' soaring thoughts of Heaven, the ETC holdouts at last lay scattered and dead; trauma of lost limbs of pierced major organs, blood loss, blindness, choking to death on their own blood from lung or throat punctures, they were done for. The naked men and a few women lay vulnerable now, in death more than half barely more than in their late teens, wiry lean people, half starved, fighting in worn sandals recycled from plastic and rubber, their ammo pouches and ration pouches empty.

Captain Victor Radu and the Sugar Rats maintained their quiet observation, but also got out of the way of the action as best they could, you never knew when some lieutenant or RTO in a panic would call in the wrong grid coordinates.

The Rangers had overwhelming force on the ETC units that Radu had called in coordinates for, and with their meager store of ammo, they could not maintain a sustained fight; they began to cease firing, and finally shouted out in a brief lull, "We cannot keep fighting! We surrender! We surrender!"

If permitted, the ETC, about 23 of them, came out of the long grass and reeds, mud smeared naked men in only boots, helmets and combat webbing, holding rifles over their heads, moving slowly and carefully lest a nervous soldier shoot them...

Code: Select all
To: Colonel Hudagku
From: Lt. Gen. Felicity Romain
Subject: Cease Fire
Encryption: Allied Channel

Be advised: General Benajah of the Theocratic Army has surrendered upon receiving orders from the Prophet and Council of the rebel leadership that a peace agreement is underway.

You are instructed to if possible arrange for a ceasefire and receipt of details of enemy surrender with enemy commanders in your area of operations. If they do not agree to this you will of course see primarily to the safety of your units in your AO until they do.

Terms are as follows:
- Complete disarmament
- Soldiers/ETC militia/Airmen/Sailors to be taken under guard to captured stadium (grid reference and map reference indicated in attachment) on outskirts of Nass where a battalion of the 21st Lancers is holding position. Turn prisoners over to Captain Zeldorinius, 21st.
- Civilian prisoners to be transported to nearest town or city and left for civil authorities to deal with.
- All captured armaments, intelligence and materiel to be handed over to New Edomite Army Intelligence for investigation.

I have recommended to the Department of Defense that your role in the successful landing of forces and outflanking of enemy forces around Nass be entered in the record as pivotal towards its successful. I salute a brave and loyal ally.

I have the honour to be
Gen. F. Romain
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

User avatar
Hittanryan
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9061
Founded: Mar 10, 2011
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Hittanryan » Thu Jul 02, 2015 2:00 am

Betharan Palace
Fineberg


The news crew had been unable to retrieve their clothes from the baggage hold on the plane. If they waited for them, they'd miss the last leg of the Queen's historic journey. Clothes or not, it was a scene that absolutely had to make it into the show. So they set out for Betharan Palace, all as bare as Her Royal Majesty.

Holly was fretting a bit that she would be at a royal ceremony full of uniforms and dresses and big crowds while she would be stark naked. She managed to remind herself that she was following Mara's example. Chris and Travis for their part, both seasoned news veterans, were too wrapped up in the thrill of the chase. Finally, a big story, what they'd all been waiting for.

"Your Majesty, you did something amazing, and I don't think anyone else could have done it. And...well, I know it sounds silly but even in the short time we've known each other you've been a really good friend. I hope we see each other again soon, and take care of yourself," Holly said warmly to Mara with a bright smile. She wanted to give her a hug, but sensed this occasion might be a bit too formal for it and would only press it home if Mara went along with it.

Chris wasn't quite as personal but was no less complimentary, which Mara might have by now noticed was something of a rare thing from the normally somewhat stoic correspondent. "We appreciate the access, Your Majesty," he replied to her offer of naming them special correspondents. "I meant to say this earlier, but it's rare when one person changes the course of history. Those kinds of stories are why I became a reporter in the first place. You brought peace to your country, Your Majesty. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Travis was somewhat glib, handing the camera off. "You got a speech out of Chris, Your Majesty. That's quite an honor," he joked, perhaps not treating the situation with the gravity it deserved. "It's been a privilege traveling with you, Ma'am. Good luck."

With that, Queen Mara I walked out of the news crew's lives for the time being. They stayed for the ceremony, getting shots of the crowd and the contrasting image of the naked Queen returning to Betharan Palace. Eventually they said goodbye to Izena and Micaela as well. Walking the streets outside amidst the crowds, Travis broke the silence. "Well, we've got a show to shoot. Grab our luggage, head to the Green Palm, then...back to Hillel to keep going with our old plans?"

Hillel

After covering the celebrations in Fineberg, the news team would travel back across New Edom, covering the peace process and in some cases following up with people they'd talked to already. They returned to Hillel first because they had the most material planned in advance there, not anticipating the sudden end of the war. At the airport they were informed that customs apparently had some kind of issue with the waivers still, so they remained nude. They visited the refugee camp and found Erica Asahel again, whose superiors encouraged her to give a tour of WASA's projects on the show to raise awareness. Her curvy body was adorned with large blue flowers and very dark green stylistic stems and leaves surrounded by bare tanned flesh. The paint masked the fine details generally, but with Erica's movements she still quivered and flexed a bit more than Holly's springy curves or either of the men's anatomy.

In one part of the show she explained how the Foundation planned on addressing the camp's water needs. "So, if you look here you'll see what''s basically a gutter," she said to the camera, pointing at a tent across the road and then tracing it down. "Those all feed into one of these big blue barrels," she said, patting one she was standing next to.

"We take these, wrestle it into the back of one of our trucks, then take it over here for filtering," she continued, motioning to a long cylinder. "These filter out any dirt or leaves in there, and there's a UV lamp that kills germs as they come through. Apart from the UV lamp, we can make these here."

"Really?" Holly asked.

"Yep! And by buying everything here, we're helping local businesses. The Silva people do the same thing, only with food. Anyway, the filtered water goes in one of these big tanks," she finished, motioning to a big white cement tank. "This kind of cement, it's easy enough to work with that we don't need special machinery and we don't need to be carpenters to figure it out. Even I can do it!"

"So how much rainwater will you collect off roofs like this?" Chris asked.

"Well, in most places the rain is just a supplement, but it's a rainforest here. I think we figured out that given the number of people, the number of tents, and the annual rainfall, there might be enough rain to cover the whole camp's needs."

"Really?" Holly exclaimed.

"The whole camp on rain collectors?" Chris asked, a little more skeptically.

"No, it's crazy. If you have a one square meter roof, in one year you can get almost a liter of water per millimeter of rainfall. And in Glasstower we got I think over two and half meters of rainfall per year. And all these tents' roofs are more than a square meter...it'll add up quick."

"Wow..." Holly said, trying to add it up in her head.

"And the good part about rain is that it's pretty clean, so these simple filters work. Springs are clean too, but you can't always find one. You have to survey and dig wells. Anything on the surface, lakes, rivers...you need a water purification unit."

"You guys are doing a great job here," Holly said.

"Aw, thanks," Erica replied a bit bashfully.

They didn't strictly talk shop the whole time. Eventually they reached an area looking into a rather bright wooded area, with a good shot going inside. There, they ended up getting into a conversation on nudity. "So, there was still confusion about the waivers when we flew back in, what with the end of the civil war. To get through we just decided to grin and bear it," Chris explained. "You have all been here several days now, are people looking into waivers, hoping to wear clothes again?"

"Not really as much as you might think," Erica replied. "We all knew when we came here what would happen and I think people just accepted it. I mean, the people who didn't accept it probably didn't come. Besides, it rains all the time here. In Glasstower we were always soaked too, I actually wondered if it would be easier without the shirt and shorts."

"Well I notice you've adopted a bit of the local fashion," Holly said, motioning to her paint. The camera looks down briefly.

"Yeah, they've got a place that can do it here, but I see less paint here than in like Fineberg. People prefer the natural look up here. You like it? You should try it."

"Yeah! Hey, would you mind if we see?"

"Oh yeah!" she said happily, tossing her hair back while Travis backed up a bit. "Heh, I feel like a model," Erica said, twirling around to reveal an apple-shaped rear mostly covered by a large flower and some more leaves.

"So this doesn't bother you at all? You're very open," Holly observed.

"Um, no, I guess it doesn't. I mean, I'm totally fine with going naked, I barely ever wear a bikini on the beach back home, can you tell?" she said, laughing a bit.

"Oh gosh...I usually at least wear a bottom. I guess you could tell that too, huh?" Holly asked, glancing downwards and giggling a bit. "So are all the volunteers here sort of like you? You know, comfortable with their bodies to go naked a lot back home?"

"Well some of the people I talked to don't really do it much back home but they figured the work's important enough to get over it. It's interesting seeing who takes a lot of adjusting and who just gets over it and embraces it. Then you get people like me, and I think they kinda preferred us."

"It's a little...when it's all the time, like riding a bus, or going to the store, or building water tanks, that took some getting used to. So are other people having a tough time?" Holly asked.

"Oh no, everyone knew what we were getting into. But it boils down to this: if we hadn't volunteered, who else were they gonna get, you know? We're a small group, we needed all hands on deck."

"Hey, I bet you guys probably had it worse than us. I bet you didn't plan on walking around a city naked when you first got to New Edom a few months ago, right?" she joked. "I think I saw you in the airport, Mr. Olsen," she said, suddenly giving him a smile. Erica then started to stretch her arms over her head innocently.

Chris stood there stone-faced. "Yeah you probably did," was all he said.

Holly then looked back and forth between the two, blushed a bit, then quickly interrupted. "OK, thank you so much for everything Erica. It was all really interesting. Oh, where's that painting place?"

"Anytime!" she said happily, taking Holly's hand as well as the hint to knock off the teasing. "There are a bunch in the city. Look for...not the one closest to the plaza on the main road but the second one down from there. It's next to a cafe."
In-character name of the nation is "Adiron," because I like the name better.

User avatar
New Edom
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23241
Founded: Mar 14, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby New Edom » Thu Jul 02, 2015 11:26 pm

New Edom

Soundtrack

Fireworks exploded over Fineberg, Sterry and Padan-Aran; flights of fighter planes screamed in Vs overhead in the skies, and artillery fired in rolling salutes. The civil wars were over at last, the feeling went, throughout the nation.

The images of foreign journalists embracing Edenism, however temporary, of Sarah Carmel signing a peace declaration with Prince Elijah with officials on both sides, and then giving the embrace and kiss of peace.

General Benajah formally saluting General Romain, her returning the salute, soldiers formally surrendering on rain spattered roads with tank barrels raised in salute; prisoners released and sent to their homes, ETC arms stacked. Weeping youths and old men stacking them. The Monarchist soldiers distributing their food and medicine to the half starved insurgents.

"Let everyone return home," said Queen Mara, tears in her eyes. "If I must carry everyone there. Let our nation truly be the city on the hill."

Then the celebration of peace, Chris, Travis and Holly had probably never been kissed and embraced by so many naked people of either sex before.

"May it last," said Tim Stanton to them when he met them for dinner in an overcrowded incredibly noisy cafe in Hillel. "God willing, may it last." He was laughing however as he said it, caught up in the moment, spilling red wine on the table as he poured a fourth glass for everyone.

And to paraphrase an old storyteller, in the midst of it all, "Ever Queen Mara wept, as a child that had been beaten." The miracle was that she had been able to pull off a miracle; only those closest to her knew that.

The End


OOC Note: This thread's storylines may be continued in other threads. Thank you to all who participated.
Last edited by New Edom on Thu Jul 02, 2015 11:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The three articles of Civil Service faith: it takes longer to do things quickly, it's far more expensive to do things cheaply, and it's more democratic to do things in secret." - Jim Hacker "Yes Minister"

Previous

Advertisement

Remove ads

Return to NationStates

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Vordoslavia

Advertisement

Remove ads