First Great War of Atlas (IC; Atlas Only)

by **Acronius** » Mon Sep 21, 2015 5:20 pm

FIRST GREAT WAR OF ATLAS

"The greatest enemy of a good plan is the dream of a perfect plan."
- Carl von Clausewitz

***
INTRODUCTION

The year was 1903. I remember those years quite well. Atlas had been quite the same - the usual, dark activities were being undertaken in the powers of the world, from the totalitarians to the imperialists to the fascists, with the colonized left with misery, rotting by the day with next to nothing. The aggregations of the myriads of insignificant colonies from ocean to ocean were quite simply slaves to the rhythm to the imperial powers of the world, not much more than a bragging right whenever the question "Which empire has the most land?" was brought up. For the empires, only calm waters could be seen, and only gentle wind could be felt. Their populaces were perfectly content with the governments' performance, while the colonies' millions upon billions of dwellers minded their own trifling business, scurrying about like ants with the lone goal of finishing the day, only to complete the cycle anew. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, on that day... it was that day, I saw it.

I was just mucking around, floating about in ethereality, like I had for a timeless eternity, shrouded in the dark, when out of the murkiness that veiled the world, a wave of simmering light roared into existence, crashing onto the inky coasts of the planet, bathing the land in light. I remember staying planted, my heart and soul numb with pure marvel at the mere sight of it. My eyes simply gaped at the well-defined outline of that stretch of land, now so bright and alive, crackling merrily down below my feet. It was nothing close to what I had ever seen. Blazing, with the black that previously enveloped it now null. For aeons, I had nothing to fear - after all, I was the embodiment of what the most powerful king, the strongest soldier, the slyest tactician or the wisest elder could not stop. But as I floated downwards towards this land of light, never before seen, I, even to this day, would not hesitate to admit that fear had indeed taken possession of my soul. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen - so much that I was paralyzed with fear. For, the old saying goes: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

After roaming through this mysterious land, I sped off, back into the familiar darkness, scouring the land from the highest summit to the deepest crevice for an explanation for this unprecedented phenomenon. Then I found it. Walking through a street in a city located in a nation time has forbidden me from remembering, I stopped by a street vendor selling newspapers. News of a major revolt against one of the largest imperial powers at the time had spread to the four corners of the world, depicting a tale of rebellion coming from a people fighting, hand in hand, for the same cause. The unison this people displayed as my eyes darted through the lines of the paper's page astonished me. I sat down on the curb of that gloomy street, in simple shock. But that street was not where the rebellion happened. And as the last person in any form of existence still here today who saw that otherworldly event happen through his own eyes, I know you want me to tell you what happened, on that day. And for that, allow me to lead you back to the land of light - a Vedrian acquisition known as the Colony of Acronius, on April 24th, 1903.

That was where the first page of the First Great War of Atlas was written.

***
WELCOME

...to the IC thread for the First Great War of Atlas, or GW1, presented to you by the regional Minister of Information, me, Acronius! After actual months of arguments, jimmie rustling, stagnation, and more, the IC thread is finally here, after a series of three polls I sent out. Yes, I know the intro sucks, but let's make up for it in the thread (for those scratching their heads after reading the intro, I wrote it from the viewpoint of the embodiment of Death). The polls have determined that the cause for Great War One was a series of colonial rebellions against imperial powers, which further escalated into multiple conflicts around the world. The first rebellion came from the Colony of Acronius, who wanted to break free of the United Kingdom of the Vedrian Isles. A list of alliances and their nations can be found below. The OOC thread can be found here.

***
ALLIANCES

FREE ATLAS COALITION - COLONY ALLIANCE

COLONIAL POWERS' ALLIANCE - VIERBUND POWERS

by **Acronius** » Mon Sep 21, 2015 5:20 pm

Lionsgate
Free Union of Acronius
Point of View: Death, Edgar Sheridan

11:21
April 24th, 1903
2 hours after summary execution of 45 anti-Vedrian protestors

One could say that Lionsgate in 1903 was a fairly nice city, especially for a colonial one. As my feet met the cold sidewalk, I didn't even have to move to quench my thirst for knowledge on what exactly happened here. It was written all over the place, and it was all the swarms of huddled groups of chattering citizens would talk about.

"...Yes, yes! Charles Sheridan was one of them! ...You don't know him? His father owns Sherry Tavern! Yes, just down the road! His brother Orville was killed too. Shame. They made fine gentlemen."

Sherry's Tavern... just down the road... I thought. Moving away from the conversation, I glanced to my side. Pockets of gleaming sunshine punctured through the heavy fog typical to the Vedrian colony, illuminating the rows upon rows of propaganda messily posted up on every wall lining the road. Passing by each threshold of the stores, hotels, and restaurants parallel to the cobblestone path, I finally reached the infamous 'Sherry's Tavern'. Crimson roses littered its modest entrance. Entering through the door, I realized the old, empty bar was a spot of dusk in the land of light. The only light in the room was the minimal half-faded morning light flowing through the drawn curtains. I ascended the dark, spiral stairwell in the corner of the room. I was met with a dim hallway with three rooms. Nothing of interest, and I had work to do. 45 souls would take quite a lot of work to transport for one person. Especially to what lay beyond.

***

Edgar Sheridan stood up from his bed. He isolated himself in his gloomy bedroom, alienating his shattered soul from any further human contact. He had lost his two brothers, Orville and Charles, along with so many more close friends of his at the hands of a Vedrian firing squad. One moment, they were alive and by his side, and the next, they were cold and lifeless, buried under a few crosses in a cemetery. Their futures were so bright. Charles had just gotten engaged with a splendid and beautiful girl from the northern sector of the city, Orville had just been accepted as a renowned local artist's apprentice, and Edgar had been accepted into a prestigious Vedrian academy in the city, and was doing well in his studies of politics and law. On the young man's desk, a stack of paper that would change the future of not only Acronius, but the world, for better or for worse idly stood there.

Edgar made his way down, knowing that his classmates would be coming soon. Forty-five Acronians, including Orville and Charles, were shot and killed by Vedrian 'peacekeepers' for peaceful protests outside the Vedrian Colonial Headquarters in the city. And, sure enough, the intellectuals of the Academy of Education shuffled into the room, greeting Edgar and sitting down at a table. Nodding to his friends, each of the men took a part of the stack of flyers and headed out into the city. They were posting advertisements for a second protest, which would take place in just over three hours. Little did the dozen men know what would follow.

***

Edgar woke up with a start from a short nap, his bedside alarm clock ringing. It was time. Fitting himself in a trenchcoat, he promptly stormed out of the house, not daring to look back. The fear of being killed by a Vedrian army guard did not intimidate the distraught man in the least. Instead, it fueled his rage. It built it up, strengthening it to the point where it seethed out of the pores of his skin, bringing an ominously sinister cloud of hate to life. He remembered pleading his two brothers not to attend the very protest that cost their lives, but powerlessly seeing them walk out the door of Sherry's Tavern. He remembered telling them how foolish they were; how they were knowingly walking to the doorstep of death, and he was right - but Edgar couldn't tell that to his brothers anymore. As he marched down the road to the headquarters, it was then he knew what his brothers felt - it was then that he knew that even though he was probably one of the only inhabitants of Lionsgate, or the entire colony, for that matter, who would dare to do what he was doing, he knew that it would all be worth it in the end. As he approached the intersection that would lead him to his destination, he suddenly stopped.

"I! N! D! E! P-E-N-D-E-N-C-E!"

Impossible, he thought. His mind was toying around with him.

"I! N! D! E! P-E-N-D-E-N-C-E!"

Edgar turned around. He had been walking in a straight line for five minutes, but he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice something: everyone on the street was walking in the same direction he was. Edgar jumped a few steps back to the previous intersection. All along the road, the same occurrence repeated itself, again and again. The young man was in shock. He ran up the block, and was met with one of the most memorable moments of his life. Literal tens upon thousands of Lionsgaters had amassed to form an amalgam of races, religions and cultures alike, chanting the same phrase, over and over again. A young boy, who looked around eleven years old, turned around and looked up at Edgar. He tugged at his father's hand and nodded towards Edgar. The boy's father marched straight up to Edgar, shaking his hand with a huge grin on his face.

"You're Edgar Sheridan! The crowd's been waiting for you! Your fr-" but before the man could finish, a bullet flew through his head, turning it into a crimson fountain of blood and guts. The now-late man's son stood in the middle of the crowd, who, instead of fleeing for their lives, stormed forward in unison, breaking the chains binding the Colonial Headquarters' gates together, bursting into the palace's courtyard, as each sickening sound of a rifle cracking took another life. Edgar stood at the corner of the intersection, alone with the crying boy.

by **Vedria** » Tue Sep 22, 2015 6:06 am

Kurel-Inod, The Imperial Colony of Acronius - April 24, 1903

One of 45 protesters sentenced to death being executed by soldiers from the Kurel-am Dunthur

On a fine April morning in the third year of the twentieth century, the blood of forty-five brave men ran through brick-lined streets of the Acronian capital.

Such was the fate of those who dared to stand against the will of the King, the will of the Empire, the will of Vedria and even the will of Armok himself.

Each man had fought a futile fight against the might of the Kurel-am Duthnur, the elite shock troops of the Vedrian Empire. A seven-millimeter wide piece of metal was now in each man's head, a reminder of what would come to those who dared stand up for their independence. Did these people not realize that, without the guiding hand of the Empire, they would still be a bunch of uncivilized savages, doing all sort of barbarity to each other without rhyme or reason? Did they not realize that the Empire brought them the knowledge, the ability, the means to become a civilized and respected people admired by all in Atlas? Did they not realize that the Empire made them who they are today? And yet, they rebel. They try to run away from their duty to their creators, to their fathers.

And, like all rebellious children, they must be disciplined.

Kurel-Inod Fortress - 11:30am, April 24, 1903

The situation outside the Fortress of Kurel-Inod was dire. Well over several thousand people had massed outside the gates, looking for blood in exchange for the blood spilled mere hours earlier. The Viceroy of the Acronian Colonies, Stakud Ingishvuk, was very concerned. Never before had he seen so many protesters, never before had he seen so many people who wanted him dead.

"Colonel Munest', he said, addressing the commanding officer of the Kurel-am Duthnur, "have you any idea as to how we can get out of this predicament?". His voice was shaking. His hands, both sweating heavily and clasped together, showed the fear in the Viceroy's heart.

"I believe that during the construction of this fortress, a escape tunnel was carved out which led into one of the outer neighborhoods of the city near the docks. From there we can use your yacht to make an escape from this thrice-damned city", the Colonel replied. His voice was much braver than that of the Viceroy; he had seen combat against Elesarian natives during the re-pacification of the wild northern frontier of that colony. Yet, if one were to listen very close, one may hear the tinge of fear in his heart bleed through his facade of bravery and stoicism.

"And what of the members of the guard tied up in defending this place?", the Viceroy asked

"They... they must stay. They must buy time for the staff to escape. Oh Armok, forgive us...."

"Very well. Will you join us, Colonel?"

"I cannot. I must stay with my men". The colonel had become very close with the soldiers under his command. To leave them now would, for him, be betrayal of the highest degree; an unforgivable act in his eyes and in the eyes of Armok.

Suddenly, a snapping was heard. The gate was open. Then, a gunshot ripped through the warm midday air. Then another, and another, and another....

Kurel-Inod Fortress - 11:30am, April 24, 1903

The brave men of the Kurel-am Duthnur held their ground. About a hundred fifty men, armed with rifles and pistols and three machine-guns, began their defence of the Kurel-Inod fortress. The fortress was less a fortress than a castle; a result of years and years of aesthetic renovation by the previous viceroys. Rooms had been carved out of the thick stone walls that encircled the compound; the exterior sections were cut out and replaced with tall windows, completely exposed to any possible attack from the outside. But for now, these windows provided firing ports for the defenders, and there they set up their firing positions as best as they could.

The fortress was composed of a sixteen-meter high stone wall surrounding the interior compound. The interior compound was composed of the viceroy's residence, two watch towers; one in the north-eastern corner and the other in the south-western, and a small barracks that was home to the 200 troops of the Kurel-am Duthnur. The sole entrance to the compound was a heavy cast-iron gate in the southern side of the fortress, locked in place by a long iron bar supported by chains, in front of which was the city plaza wherein the masses had gathered to avenge the forty five fallen freedom fighters.

Now, these chains broke. The gate opened, and the frenzied savages that were once civilized Acronians stormed in.

Marksmen in the two watchtowers, already scanning the crowd for any sign of a gun or any other weapon, opened fire. One man carrying his hunting rifle goes down, then another man carrying a rifle dies with him. One by one the marksmen pick off anyone seen with a weapon. In the distance, a gunshot goes off, and a bullet whizzes past the soldiers in the watchtower. A few seconds later, a soldier takes a bullet to his forearm, rendering him unable to fight. More people surge past the now-broken gate. Inside the viceroy's mansion, three Type 1900 Machine-Guns open fire on the mass of people charging into the fortress. A barrage of bullets slam into crowd, and many are cut down by these terrible new weapons.

Once again, a river of Acronian blood fills the city's gutters.

by **Brytene** » Tue Sep 22, 2015 9:19 am

St Joseph, Pepper Atoll - April 24, 1903
Brytisc Protectorate, several hundred kilometers south-west of Valdiu

St Joseph was a thriving town, perched on the edge of the glittering blue ocean. Beneath a tranquil sky, buffeted only by the invisible winds that rolled in from the sea to bring fresh salty breezes to the town, gaggles of quaint terracota-coloured earthen-plaster huts, topped with dark thatch, were mingled amongst whitewashed block buildings, towering wooden warehouses, low turf longhouses and even a marbled palace which housed the Governor, Alexander Julius.

In the streets, a healthy mix of people from all across the globe pushed their way to and fro between the warehouses, merchants, hotels, taverns, brothels and barracks of the dockside quays, as vessels from the world over came to hawk their wares or resupply for the second half of their cross-ocean voyages. The predominant language was English, spoken with a distinctive Peppur accent, but babbling in a hundred different tongues could be heard as vendors shouted their wares and announced new products whilst foremen and first mates shouted orders back and forth.

At least, they would on a normal day. Today, the streets were quieter, and though workers and sailors still bustled past the rustling sea, their tones were quieter, and the people of the town were staying off the streets. For the past few months, the situation in Pepper Atoll had been deteriorating. A recent downturn in the pepper market, following decreased global demand combined with an unusually good harvest, had lowered the price of pepper to unprecedented levels, resulting in widespread layoffs as farms struggled to stay afloat. The general downturn in the economy had been coupled with the same agitation that had shaken the globe, the grassroots anti-colonial sentiment that had been stirred by rabble-rousers in dozens of nations and was even now, unknown to the people of Pepper Atoll, bringing bloodshed to Kurel-Inod in Acronius.

No-one had yet died in Pepper Atoll, but the Brytisc marines in their blue jackets and white sou'westers were clearly visible on the streets in increasing numbers, whilst talk in the bars and taverns turned to bitter words and angry oaths of vengeance, brotherly bonds to fight or die together sworn over empty tankards and drained tumblers.

Governor's palace

Alexander Julius was an unhappy man. He had been talking to a charming merchant from Alahana, a woman in handsome middle age who was riding home aboard one of her company's own vessels and had been staying in the town for two nights whilst goods were exchanged and prices paid.

She had left abruptly however, thanking him for his hospitality and leaving without so much as a hand to kiss. Julius had been lonely ever since the death of his wife two years earlier, the cursed malarial fever that haunted these climes killing her within the space of a single summer, and he had hoped to know this woman better.

Now, alone again in his spacious study, cooled by the thick stone walls and the crystal carafe of sweet lemonade, he rested his palms on the windowsill and stared out across St Joseph. He hated this place, and he hated the people, and he was beginning to wish they would just give him an excuse to unleash the marines.

by **Valdiu** » Thu Sep 24, 2015 10:25 pm

Prevale, Valdiu | April 24th, 1903

The clouds hung heavy over the harbor, their dull grey matching that of the battleships bobbing up and down gently - sleeping giants, instruments of war dormant.

Tensions had been rising steadily for years now - it was clear. Clear to George Boughskeep, clear to General Ethan Roth, clear to anyone with half a mind - things were happening. Bad things. Things that would upset stomachs, upset the masses, and upset some very powerful people. Undoubtedly, it would upset the world, send it topsy-turvy for ages to come.

Of course, they'd bomb that bridge when they came to it. Little did they know, however, that they'd already come to that bridge, and that news was currently on a steamer heading for Prevale. It'd be weeks before it reached them.

Nobody in that tiny town knew what was going on in Lionsgate right now. Nor did they need to, nor did it concern them - yet. For in time, the revolution that was shaking up that city would come to shake up the world.

It was clear.

The clouds hung heavy over the harbor.

by **Neo Philippine Empire** » Fri Sep 25, 2015 4:57 pm

El Reino de Filipinas

Palacio Real de Manila
It was the best day to start the Year

Undoubtedly, after the rise of Emperor Juan Felipe de Enerio, which is more likely occurred the Golden age of the Grand Filipino Realm. he Supreme Fleet Admiral Juan Felipe de Enerio is the last of his militaristic clan, as the clan was slowly dying out. The de Enerios were one of the founding fathers of the Empire though military means and the de Enerio family was indeed and undoubtedly the greatest military family that has existed. But though after the former Emperor Carlos I died after a hunting incident but then without a successor except for an 8 year old boy. The high nobles then came to the decision to temporarily let the de Enerio genius to control the country, As the nobles had foresaw an overture to a new war which is greater and of a larger scale than the wars the Empire has always fought, they cannot afford to lose and so announced and proclaimed Juan Felipe as Emperor. And so Juan Felipe became Emperor Juan Felipe I. Cheers was heard throughout the Imperial capital of Manila as the new Emperor rode in a new invention that is currently mass produced called the car or automobile.

"La Emperador ha muerto, ¡Viva la Emperador!"

"Viva!"

"Viva!"

The Emperor tends to raise his right arm to respond in a friendly manner and at a same time, asserting his grand hegemony over the entire populace of the Empire. The car moved slowly, especially when civilians sometimes block the Emperor's path and the Royal guards were in full alert, considering that Imperial history was full of traitorous and betrayals in Court Politics, it was then considered that there would be a chance of assassinations. But fortunately the Emperor arrived safely in the Royal Palace and entered the large building. He then stand up to the door behind the main alley, until a royal guard then tried to open the doors to present the new Emperor who was still standing behind the door, waiting for his time to walk to come. Imperial guards opened the door and Imperial soldier then shouted.

"Presenting you the Emperor!"

The Imperial national anthem played as Juan Felipe walked through the red carpet with the most well known military leaders of the Empire in his right and the most prestigious nobles in his left. He did not bother looking at both and focused his eyes on the destination, a highly decorated furniture with the Royal crown of Control and the scepter of power is resides without masters, he ascended to the staircases and approached the well decorated chair and knelt. He crowned himself as the Emperor and grabbed the scepter. Then so prestigious men then offered their pledge of allegiance and loyalty to the Emperor.

Though the citizens thought that it will be a period of peace, that is not the case of the Emperor as he felt that there will be another war. A war of a new Imperial conquest and expansionism. To finally grasp the world within his palm and make every nations further beyond the Empire as his subordinates under his rule. As he finalized his conviction to rule the world he called his subordinates, who are as well cream of the crop of the Empire.

The Emperor, who was the initiator of the Empire's greatest and decisive military victories of his time was then surrounded by different myths. Including the myth that he was the reincarnation of Alexander the Great or the incarnation of Sun Tzu's Art of War considering the Emperor has studied and has applied Tzu's teachings, he then took advantage of this situations and asked the printing press to make a propaganda leaflet which can be utilized by the Empire's own good.

By this certain turn of events, the Emperor decided to use this as an advantage to seize more lands without further casualty from an Imperial invasion. In which he is currently discussing with his best and the most high ranking subordinates he has in hand. The heated debate on whether enemy nations will be taken by force or enemy nations will be injected by a virus known as propaganda. The talks were then initiated by the Emperor as he crossed his legs, clenched his right fist and placed them in his chin with his usual smile.

"Gentlemen, What do you think on how should we control more land? The enemy can roughly defend against our military prowess however people nowadays are convinced easily by the use of propaganda posters, anyway I expect your logical opinions on this matter quickly" Said the Emperor as he watches the prototype of the Propaganda leaflet with a smile, this piece of paper when mass produced would ensure the surrender of weaker nations as said easier and so as well it can be mass produced rather quickly,

"Many of us may think that war should be waged like the tourneys of the Middle Ages.However we do not use knights but instead we want to use the war of the future, demoralization and propaganda.Your majesty, I suggest using propaganda." Said a high ranking subordinate known for his intense pacifism and constant use of psychological warfare to minimize casualties as he also watched the prototype propaganda leaflet. This man;s nam is Leonardo de Cuzon.

"Propaganda you say? Have you lost your sense of honor!? What of the Grand Filipino Military, It will not take weeks before this mere nation would be within our grasp by the use of an invasion, plus for a few men we can bring fear against those who dare oppose the Empire, Your majesty, I recommend using military forces to subjugate weaker nations!" Said the rash General of the Imperial Military known for his reckless but successful attacks, his name is Antonio Salvador Luna, the son of one of the Empire's greatest generals Antonio Luna.

Then the both of them, the youngest in the Emperor's admiralty intensely argued for more than 30 minutes. Other Admirals and Generals who had sense of maturity kept quiet though what their brains processed for them is to support the idea of dropping propaganda leaflets but then later invading the demoralized enemy through superior military prowess. The Emperor was irritated of the sight of fruitless arguments and intervened at the most crucial part of the argument.

"That's enough preaching! I have decided to drop propaganda posters but then later on, I shall take command of the battle and invade the demoralized enemy." Said the Emperor and he added "So what's the status of the Dreadnoughts we are constructing?" The Emperor was then was very interested on the military progress of the nation, seeing that he is currently foreseeing a great war that will engulf the entire the entire world.

"I think we have produced finished hulls of more than 15 Dreadnoughts, but we should keep watch of our budget. It might go awry if not properly handled." Replied the Minister of Defense who was coincidentally was within the area, as he was invited by his friend de Cuizon to be an observer of the meeting and was encouraged by his friend to make great recommendations.

The Emperor was intrigued by the sound of great progress and especially furthermore, it was inclined to focus more on the military which the Emperor;s greatest forte. Then so he asked more on the military progress done by the Empire as he would as weell make it as part of his plans.

"And so the development of heavier than air aircraft and our unrestricted submarine warfare?" The Emperor tgeb asked afyer

"Ongoing your majesty. But I think we should for now, construct more Imperial Airships. But this will not affect our budget so this will be fine."

"Good, and I actually, who's in charge of Diplomacy here?"

"I your majesty."

"Research more on the alliances of the current alliances of the current times. We should at least need to build a reasonable relations with the most suitable alliance in the present times, choosing the wrong alliance might lead to our demise and we should and must avoid this worst case scenario."

"Yes your majesty!"

There would be no better debates as of the moment and the Emperor thought that it was fruitless to contune the debate so then he officially dismissed the Meeting. The High Ranking military leaders then saluted to the Emperor and walked outside the room. Meanwhile the Emperor has made grand plans for the future of the Empire. He was then interested on the new book of history he will write. Meanwhile the Sun rises for the Empire and a new age of Militarism and Imperialism has begun. Though a military genius greater than Juan Felipe will soon appear after a century that is. But for now, PROSIT!

by **New Republika Srpska** » Sat Sep 26, 2015 5:24 am

National Palace, Banja Luka, National Military Dictatorship of Srpska

"It's quite a rainy day, isn't it?" says Vladimir Nemanjić, current leader of the National Military Dictatorship of Srpska, while he looks out of the window, seeing rain drops hit the ground, he then turns around and asks the gentleman behind him "Have you heard what is happening in Bahariya?". The man replies "Yes, we all have heard that Bahariya entered a brutal civil war. The Hudians want to overthrow the Bahariyan regime, and liberate their country, this is what I have actually heard" then Vladimir looks the man in the eye and says "Looks like we have finally found something to play with", the man replies once again "What do you suggest we do Sir?", Vladimir replies "Prepare for War.."

While the dark clouds still cover the skies, with thunder heard in the far, the National Navy of Srpska has several combat vessels ready to be launched. "Faster! Faster! Come on, hurry up, we don't have all-day!" shouts one of the Military Commanders on the port, seeing the men get on the ships. The Admirals were waiting for the command to set sail towards the Bahariyan Empire.

When all men boarded the ships, a sign was given, the ships have set sail towards Bahariya. The first objective for the Navy to do is to sink any Bahariyan supply vessels, the second objective is to eliminate any Bahariyan combat vessels, the third objective is to successfully land troops on Bahariyan main land and hand over support for the Hudian rebels. One of the hard objectives is to have Serbian cargo ships get to Bahariya, to supply men of the National Army of Srpska and the Hudian Movement.

"Bahariya shall fall, and a new country, with the name Huda, shall be born!"

by **Huda** » Sat Sep 26, 2015 7:20 am

Husseinabad, Huda.
Khawja Nurul Huda.

It was time.

I peeked out the window to notice about ten soldiers armed with scimitars furiously looking around for me. Hidden out of their sight, I wondered how long it would take for our "allies" to help us. I glared at the few battle rifles we could "steal" from the Bahariyan barracks. I pet the dove which carried the sign to begin attacking. But before we do such a thing, why don't we explain our cause - or as the west calls it: our casus belli.

It goes back a long time.

It was 1000 years ago, in the year of 1015 or so the historians dictate. The Year of Blood, nicknamed by scholars, was the year of civil war this nation has faced. The Bahariyan Empire, the Faarahi Sultanate, and the Hudian Council. Faarah fell easily to Bahariyans, who destroyed it in the beginning. Surrounded by enemies on both sides, the Hudians fought to their death in the capital, Husseinabad. After increasing losses in the few months, the Council was destroyed.

The Great Houses, led by House Huda, were shamed and their patriarchs executed. The Empire, deciding to show fake honor, stripped our other relatives of their money and homes and kicked them out. The eldest, Zalmai Huda, led his family through the hard times by working up the ladder as a political thinker. While other houses died off, ours survived. And as Hudian blood had run down the streets of Husseinabad, it is time for revenge.

It is time for Bahariyan blood to trickle through the sewers and gutters, polluted by their brethren: rats. It is time we rebelled. About 500 Bahariyan troops patrol the city - the rest now guarding the 27 year old brat of an Emperor, Sufiyan. We were expecting Srpskan troops. About a similar 450 ragtag soldiers were recruited to our cause: with about 160,000 troops hidden across the division, awaiting the city to be taken before fortifying it. Why fight with lesser troops? Because these 450 are more discrete.

I stroked my pigeon as I noticed a soldier looking at me. Realizing who I was, he quickly yelled to his comrades. Sending the bird, and bringing up smoke signals to mobilize, I decided it was time to storm the city.

"Kamaredadera! Aajke amra mayrafalabo ei beyadob Bahariyan der ke! Allah er nek nojor diye, amra shesh kore nibo! Joy Huda! Allahu Ackbar! Ya'ali Madad Mere Mawla!" I yelled to my comrades as the Bahariyans began ramming the door. Equipped with basic battle rifles, we pointed into the door. The 10 soldiers, clearly overwhelmed by 20 of us, surrendered and kept quite. Knocking them unconscious, it wouldn't be long till more men came. We escaped the compound, concealing our rifles before heading down to the main compound, with 100 men.

These Srpskans better be fast.

by **Acronius** » Wed Sep 30, 2015 4:38 am

Lionsgate
Free Union of Acronius
George Ewald, Edgar Sheridan

11:21
April 24th, 1903
Storming of Kurel-Inod Fortress

George Ewald was something of a local figure within the city of Lionsgate. He had previously served at the rank of Colonel within the Acronian extension of the Vedrian army - but he defected hours ago to protest at the Imperial Palace along with the tens of thousands of Lionsgate citizens that had gathered around the palace. The 45 year old was immediately recognized and, under Edgar Sheridan, eventually became the figurehead of the palace storming.

"The governor's gone," said one of the Acronians, holding a hunting rifle.

Ewald walked over to the Vedrian guards the Acronians had captured, lined up against the wall.

"Where's the governor?" Ewald asked, his voice stern. He toyed around with a Luger pistol in his hand, his concentrated eyeball piercing through the young soldier's heart. The frightened boy opened his mouth, but Ewald cut him off first.

"And if you don't tell me the truth I'll have a lot of fun with the Luger and your flesh," Ewald said, flashing a psychopathic grin.

The soldier whimpered. "They escaped through an underground passage to the docks!" he blurted out, as pale as a ghost.

Ewald cocked the Luger, but then holstered it.

"Those f*ckers."

***

Raucous applause roared through the streets of Lionsgate as the standard Acronian tricolor, emblazoned with a crest featuring the symbolic Acronian Lion, as well as six stars - three blue and three white - representing the three Francophone provinces and the three Anglophone provinces of the nation replaced the Imperial Colony of Acronius' flag, eliminating the latter's long-lasting omnipresence the citizens of Lionsgate had known all too well. Edgar Sheridan, along with his intellectual friends from the National Academy, watched from the roof of Sherry's Tavern as the flag rose and cheers erupted like confetti in the huge crowds a few blocks down. Leander Falkenrath, a chess mastermind, as well as Edgar Sheridan's best friend who escaped from the infamous arrests that lead to the even more infamous executions, walked up to Edgar.

"What now, friend?"

"We need to wait for the Vedrians to respond. I don't think they'll take this lightly."

"George Ewald was apparently the one who led the storming of the palace. They kept all of the guards alive, though."

"Good," Edgar said, scribbling down a short letter asking George Ewald and his troop of men to give the guards a sailboat in the port to navigate back to their homeland, and attaching it to the foot of a carrier pigeon. He then turned back to Leander.

"Leander, I... have I become the leader of this?" he murmured.

"I believe so, Edgar."

"Then know this, Leander - if the Vedrians don't respond with peace, which is likely at this point, expect me to appoint you as the leader of whoever we manage to recruit into a resistance force."

Leander was taken aback. "Edgar... I don't think-"

"But you know very well you can. First off, you're a chessmaster. Second, you take an interest in military. Third, you're very persuasive and a you're a genius. Fourth, you know how to calculate chances. Fifth, your father was in the Army Corps, and has plenty of military connections. Need I go on?"

"...No."

"Very well. We shall wait for the Vedrians."

by **Brytene** » Wed Sep 30, 2015 5:53 am

St Joseph, Pepper Atoll - April 24, 1903
Brytisc Protectorate, several hundred kilometers south-west of Valdiu

The wind ruffled Gulla's hair as she leant against the damp wooden side of the fish-smoking hut. Across the street was a Brytisc command post, a single infantryman on a folding chair outside, smoking a pipe, a bolt-action rifle resting against the wall behind him.

She glanced up nervously. A the other end of the street, from around the corner, came a pair of men dressed in the slack cloth of able sailors. They strode confidently, the aggression in their pace clearly visible. Gulla knew that was her cue.

She pushed away from the wall and moved towards the single marine, who glanced up at her approach. He did a double-take as he took her in, her lithe frame barely covered by a single shift and a thin, split skirt, her bare feet padding softly on the sandy ground.

"Hey there sailor," she said, her voice low and dusky, offering him a faint smile, just enough of a tease to grab his attention.
The marine took his pipe out of his mouth, taking the time to look her up and down, and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, however, the two sailors approaching him from his other side closed in - one snatched the rifle away from the wall whilst the other punched him repeatedly in the chest, his hand coming away bloody as the small knife left its mark in the soldier's torso.

He gasped and fell sideways off his chair, his limbs flailing as he fought for air against the shock gripping his system, but he made barely any noise. At precisely the wrong time, however, a woman rounded the corner carrying a basket of fresh fish, and screamed.

The door to the outpost crashed open and two Brytisc marines spilled out, bolt-action rifles in hand, bayonets glinting in the bright sunshine. The first man out of the door, a corporal, faltered as he tried to process the scene in front of him, and the knife-man took advantage, springing towards him. The second soldier levelled her bayonet just in time and the attacker impaled himself, jerking like a gaffed fish on the 16 inches of stainless Contawaraburg steel. As he collapsed, his friend thrust the stolen rifle forwards and fired, catching the corporal in the arm. The bullet whipped through his arm without stopping, passing through soft tissue before exiting the other side to catch Gulla square in the throat.

She collapsed to her knees, her hands going to her throat, as the wounded corporal swung his rifle round and blasted the last attacker away, the dying man collapsing with a curt cry of pain.

Suddenly there was silence. The corporal grunted, working the bolt on his rifle whilst the sergeant behind him pulled out her bandages and began to bind the injured marine's arm. As she finished, she heard gunshots from further away, and screams. Her eyes met with the corporal's, and the two of them began to move.

Governor's Palace
Two hours later

"Gods be good!" snapped Governor Julius, resting his head in his hands. Outside, the growling of the crowds had died down, the occasional crackle of rifle rifle or yell of pain and anger blending in with the hissing of the wind and roar of the waves against the shore.

The entire town had erupted in violence, a pre-planned insurgence giving way to anarchic chaos and spontaneous demonstrations against the Brytisc garrison of the town. Out to sea, two Brytisc gunboats had put off from the harbour and had used their guns to sink a merchantman whose crew had tried to chase after them. They now sat, a silent menace, grey against the blue sea, waiting for the signal to open fire and lay waste to the town, but Julius was loathe to use them. Victory over ashes was only slightly better than defeat, and would certainly mean the end of his career.

But he wasn't quite sure what other options he had either. Of the 400-strong garrison, 318 had made it back to the Governor's Palace, whilst another band of around forty were holed up in the armoury by the quayside. Other than that, the city seemed to be in chaos, with businesses being looted and people being attacked in the streets for their 'pro-Brytisc' sympathies.

"Tell me again what happened at the bridge." he demanded, pointing at one of his captains, a woman with a bloody gash on her cheek and her hat missing.

"We were holding the bridge to allow our lot to withdraw here, sir, and...well the crowd wouldn't stop moving. We shouted for them to stop, and then fired warning shots, but they kept coming, so..."

"So you opened up with the machine-gun, is that it?"

"Yes, sir. It was the only way to hold the bridge."

"Except they weren't all anarchists, were they?!" exploded Julius, rising to his feet, his face going red as a vein in his temple throbbed. "You killed almost two hundred people who were trying to seek MY protection!! You stupid idiot! You ridiculous bungler![/i]"

He slumped down in his chair, resting his head in his hands.
"Heads will roll for this. And yours will be one of the first. Take her to the cells."

As the shocked captain was led gently away by the Governor's guards, he stood and moved to the window. Just visible in the distance was the bridge that lay between the westen and eastern sides of the town, an abandoned barricade at the western end. Across the bridge and in the flat ground to the east, bloody corpses lay here and there, piled thickly on the crooked timber beams of the span. They were wearing the clothes and colours of a dozen different nations, merchants and visitors from across the globe mixed with dead locals, all staring wide-eyed and unmoving. A few people moved here and there, either looting the bodies or searching for loved ones, whilst beyond them the town burned.

Already, boats were slipping away from the port, giving the two Brytisc gunboats a wide berth. It wouldn't be long before news of the bloodshed here reached the outside world...

by **Sde Dov** » Thu Oct 01, 2015 5:52 am

Cabalonan, Maharlika
April 25, 1903

The house fronting the western shores of the city of Cabalonan was a non-assuming house. It was built in the style of the Filipino colonialists, whom the people despised. Nothing seemed ordinary as the sun began to set over the bustling city. Inside the house, Maria Rosales began to set the plates for the evening's meeting. Her husband Fernando was the leader of the Hukbo para sa Kalayaan ng Maharlika, an army bent on the liberation of Maharlika, unjustly annexed by the Filipinos in 1869.

"Is everything ready?" asked Fernando from his room on the second floor.
"Yes."

In a native barong, Fernando went down the stairs. He gave his wife, Maria, dressed in a Filipiniana-style dress a kiss. On the table were local favorites such as lechon, adobo and lengua, all prepared by Maria and his servants, the smells of which wafted towards his nose.

"Nice job, honey." said Fernando, giving his wife a kiss.

The sounds of a horse drawn carriage could already be heard approaching the Rosales home. In the carraige were two brothers, Basilio and Crispin Rizal dressed in Western-style suits. They were the sons of powerful and wealthy families in Maharlika who helped fund the rebellion. Both were young, aged 22 and 21 respectively. The two brothers paid their fare and alighted from the carraige, and the carraige sped off, looking for its next fare.

"Good evening." said Fernando, already waiting outside the front doorstep.

"Good evening to you, Mr. Rosales." said Basilio.

"Please, come in."

The twins came in the house and were seated by Mrs. Rosales. Fernando poured them both a glass of rice wine, as well as another glass for himself.

"The others are still on the way." said Fernando.

Just as he spoke, his daughter, Margarita, went down the stairs in a pink dress. She had a beautiful singing voice, looks, as well as the charming personality inherited from her mother.

"This is my daughter, Margarita."

"Nice to meet you." said Crispin, with a slight stutter, stunned by her beauty.

Basilio, standing beside his brother, managed a quick grin after he saw his brother's countenance.

The evening wind blew in the house as the rest of the party arrived. The party included General Emilio Vargas, a prominent and disenfranchised Filipino general, Emilio Baltazar, a prominent businessman, Boris Gromov, another revolutionary with ties to the Kingdom of Sde Dov, and Andres de la Paz, a politician with links to both the Sde Dovian and Filipino governments. They were all greeted by Francisco and his wife and were seated with Basilio and Crispin. Pleasantries were exchanged between everyone, and everyone began to indulge in copious amounts of rice wine and the delicious food on the table.

As soon as all the food was consumed, Fransisco stood up.

"I have gathered you all here today to discuss one thing: the liberation of our Motherland. On the 29th of April, we will be marking the fourty-fourth anniversary of the theft of our freedom.

We now have the strength to rise up against the oppressors with the help of our Sde Dovian brothers. We have secured a shipment of weapons on a Sde Dovian cargo ship later tonight. Now we will no longer be fighting with sticks and stones."

Everyone cheered in celebration.

"Now this will be a game changer: thanks to Gromov's negotiations with the King of Sde Dov, a fleet of Sde Dovian warships and soldiers would land on the 29th. We shall fight for the freedom of our Republic, and God willing; we will win this battle and see the damn Filipinos wet their pants with blood!"

Plaza de San Agustin,
Cabalonan, Maharlika
April 28

The town center was busy with life at noon, with vegetable sellers hawking their wares, people returning from the San Agustin Cathedral, children playing games on the streets, and the ocassional beggar seeking alms. It was a tradition for the Governor of Maharlika to roam the streets, guarded by two soldiers. Behind his back, the people despised him; with most uttering insults about him. He was easily identifiable by his uniform, with dozens of medals swinging from his chest.

Just as he was walking in the plaza outside the cathedral, past the monument of the King of the Philippines, a gunman, dressed as a farmer, dashed towards him and fired two rounds from his revolver, screaming "MABUHAY ANG REPUBLIKA NG MAHARLIKA!"

BANG. BANG.

One round narrowly missed the Governor's neck, impacting one of his guards in the chest. However, the second round impacted his face, with a flash of red spraying blood over his uniform. In the distance, bystanders began to run away in various directions. The Governor lay lifeless on the stone pavement of the plaza, blood slowly flowing out of the wound in his face. The surving guard immediately fired from his rifle at the gunman who was trying to run away. After two shots, the gunman recieved the same fate as the governor, bleeding out on the pavement of the plaza. The fight for freedom had begun.

by **Vedria** » Sat Oct 03, 2015 8:14 am

Kurel-inod, The Imperial Colony of Acronius - April 24th, 1903

They stormed in through the hail of bullets, like men braving a typhoon's roaring rain and screaming wind. Some were blown away, their bodies folding and crumpling and contorting into shapes no man could hope to achieve whilst he drew breath. Others carried on like rabid dogs let loose from their leashes, running and screaming for blood.

They broke into the governor's residence through the windows, smashing them with the strength of a people at their backs.

Their first victim was a guard near the front door. He cowered behind the curtain, first to protect himself shards of glass burst through the air, then to hopefully hide from the ravenous mob that had entered in. This man was not a member of the Kurel-am Dunthur, no; he was a butler who had never held a rifle in his life. The weapon was thrust into his hands at the very moment every soul in Kurel-inod knew blood would be spilled once more. He hadn't even shot anyone yet, only a bullet every now and then aimed where it would not hurt anyone.

But, the mob didn't care. They tore right through him like a pack of rats, clawing his eyeballs out, pulling him apart, stabbing him with knives and razor blades. At the end of the torment was mercy in the form of a gunshot through the heart. His name was William. He was an Acronian.

As the mob surged in the machine-guns stopped firing, much to the relief of the crowd still outdoors. One by one the men on the first floor fell, with knives in their chests or heads bashed in with hammers from the nearby forges. Below, the Viceroy ran with his family and a few aides to the docks. Above, the Colonel writes a final letter for his family, one of the many Vedrians now running for their lives from the onslaught of the bloodthirsty natives. He hopes they will read it. With a tear, he seals it shut and draws his revolver.

A floor below him, the reason for the halt in machine-gun fire was brutally realized by the mob: they had been trained at the stairwell. Once more the zipper-like report of the Type 1900 rang through the mansion's halls. And once more, Acronian blood ran down stone steps, mixed with all manner of flesh and bone torn from their owners by 6.25mm bullets.

For a moment, the charge faltered. Men backed away, hoping to save themselves from Vedrian gunfire. The guns fired anyway. They fired until the unthinkable happened:

They had run out of ammunition.

And at that moment, the rush began anew. The machine-gun crew ran, and so did the other soldiers of the Kurel-am Dunthur, to the top floor, where they hoped to make a last stand.

Awaiting them was the Colonel. Seeing his men's weary eyes, the blood on their hands, the fear in their hearts, he saw no other option. He could not being himself to sacrifice them. That act which was sane, was also cowardly.

The men stood down. The mob rushed in. The firing stopped. A man, presumably the leader, comes forward.

"We surrender", the Colonel said.

But the crowd didnt care. They tore through them as they has torn through William.

Avuz, Capital of the Holy Vedrian Empire - April 24th, 1903

Insurrection.

Such news shook the King. Scores of dead, an entire battalion massacred, a viceroy missing; all these were unheard of. For very long had the Empire been used to revolt, by natives and savages all along the frontiers. This was different.

This was a revolution.

The King saw this, and so did his generals and admirals and advisers and aides. The decision wasn't difficult. From port shall sail the Third Fleet, carrying the X Corps below their decks.

Rebellion showed no mercy, thus, they shall receive none in return.

by **New Republika Srpska** » Fri Oct 09, 2015 6:58 am

Several miles away from the Bahariyan coast

"Are you sure we that this is the right way, Sir?" asked one of the sailors,
"What the hell do you think? We've been sailing in the right direction, we are heading towards Bahariya, and I as well have a feeling that we are close by it" answers Admiral Petar Žojko,
"Sir, can you see that to the right?" says the Sailor,
"See what?" the Admiral looked to his right, and said "Give me my spyglass", the sailor handed him the spyglass, the Admiral looked through it, seeing a Cargo vessel with a Bahariyan flag, he says "Starboard now!",
"Aye, Sir!" says the sailor,

As the SNS Munjevit is heading towards the Bahariyan cargo vessel, the other battleships of the Navy of Srpska, are on the same course that leads to Bahariya. Once the ships transporting troops get on the Bahariyan coast, the "true wrath of Srpska will be unleashed" on Bahariyan enemies, but the troops are as well support for the Hudian rebels fighting against the regime.

SNS Munjevit has commenced fire on the Bahariyan cargo vessel, men on the vessel have gotten in panic, with many of them jumping into the water to save their lives. The first shot damaged the vessel, but has not sunk it yet, another shot has been fired at the vessel. "Fire another one, and then let's see if they will be still on the surface" said the Admiral, while seeing the cargo ship getting another hit, the sailors on the deck were looking how the ship was sinking, with smoke rising into the sky.

"Good job, men, good job!" said the Admiral,
"But now we need to catch up on our brothers, we are not very far away from them either" says the Admiral again.

More rain has hit the seas, the thunder is heard in the distance, the lightning seen in the skies, and ships of Srpska roaming the sea to reach its destination.

The ships of the Navy of Srpska, once close enough to the close, will land troops with boats on the shore of Bahariya. The troops are as well to support the Hudian rebels against the Bahariyan regime. Srpska is as well having interest in one of the Bahariyan colonies.

by **Huda** » Sat Oct 24, 2015 3:45 am

Mohammed Abdel Khalid.
Bahariyan Coasts.

I thought that we were a nation with peace. A superior nation. But then they fired.

BOOM.

"WE'RE HIT, WE'RE HIT!" One of the sailors shouted, as everyone went into a state of panic. Secretly, we carried weapons destined to be utilized in a voyage to Brytene - and we worried that the Brytsic bastards caught on to us. Looking to port, we saw a military ships - what was it?

With everyone running around, some jumping out of the ships, I tried spotting a way of escape. Finally, I could find a retired, wooden boat. Running towards it, I was trailed by another shipmate who spied the same boat. After a brief fistfight in which I immediately threw him off the ship, I pushed the boat down before going down myself.

BOOM.

Another explosion. The ship went down, followed by an immensely massive explosion. I rowed as fast as I could, battling off sailors who were in the water. Thankfully, we were close to Faarah and I could row near the coast. Faarah was further north but there would be an outpost or two right off the beaches.

Running towards there, with every final ounce of strength, I finally approached an outpost - who already heard the artillery fire. A horse was given to me so I could travel to Faarah to alert the governer. As I galloped away, I noticed the soldiers line up behind me. One of them got his battle rifles out. What?

Why?

The sailor is shot dead.

Khawja Nurul Huda.
Husseinabad, Huda.

We were holding long enough.

The Bahariyan police would not stand against us but as soon as the soldiers would begin advancing on Husseinabad. With the muskets we had, we could remove the police - but the army is another story. Securing from where we started - Hazrat Lafari Rasta in which we had 300 men and un-named ones in which we originate from - we were to near to the northern districts.

Seeing Srpskan ships approached, a brigade of men were sent to mobilize the foreign forces while we defended our districts. Of the 450 soldiers that had fought, 50 had died and 400 had remained. Of the suspected 600 Bahariyans, only 200 remained. Most were equipped with nightsticks and not good rifles - most of them were stolen by us. But should the army, come, we would be in trouble.

I ran back towards the base, awaiting the Srpskans. The orders? Escort the leader here to plan with us whilst his men defeat oncoming Bahariyans.

First Great War of Atlas (IC; Atlas Only)

First Great War of Atlas (IC; Atlas Only)

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