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Ovandera
Secretary
 
Posts: 34
Founded: Sep 17, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Ovandera » Mon Dec 18, 2017 12:17 pm

Ovandera wrote:Vannerr, Bundes Hauptgebäude, Kanzlertrakt

The room itself was small and dimly lit, a small office in the western Chancellory Wing of the Hauptgebäude, a desk sat opposed and facing to the door, with bookshelves lining the walls apart from two large windows overlooking the Square outside the building and the northern portion of the city. In and of itself it represented the Ratskanzler well, tidy yet ever so unkempt, the shelves lined with Rennekkan and Asuran philosophical and historical texts, a single grandfather clock next to the door, and a copy of Der Verborgene Stern (A fairly well known science fiction novel) lying open on the desk.

The Ratskanzler himself was pacing in circles around the room, finding he could never sit still when he had to think. This time however it was different, the first few weeks of his activity were relatively easy compared to his current tasks, military actions were maintained by the Oberkommando and while the Convention took place he had only had to voice his opinions on the most major of decisions. This gave him enormous amounts of time to begin the writing and reconstruction of the Ovan Political system from the top down, practically with out question. But one issue would always arise, and it no less infuriated him because of it.

“No matter what I do it’s the same,” he thought to himself, ”We can’t allow full diplomatic access to the Äußere* for fear of the loss of our economic sovereignty, but we can’t ignore them as we’d falter. Nor can I allow it with Party limitations as that is anti-Individualistic or limit interractions to local authorities as that would further limit what influence the central party would have.”

He continued to pace, his muscles beginning to grow tired by the near-constant scowl he’d worn for most of the day, before finally slumping back into his chair and taking a drink. “And there’s also the issue of the Party itself,” he tapped his glass, the flare of anxiety suddenly rising up as he thought about the predicament he’d pushed himself into. In wishing to maintain stability for the time being he had maintained the system of Ratsdemokratie currently used too support the War Effort; In doing so he maintained an immense amount of internal power to fully shape the Commonwealth during his time in office. However the idea that a distrustful Heerfürher or Assembly member forcibly removing him from office on grounds of “Abuse of Power” was becomming to likely for comfort. If he was going to act, he had to act now.

*In reference to capitalist democracies


Varshanka, Jannik, Kardinal Mobiler Befehl

Kommissar-General Abelkis - “Who in all hell does he think he is?”

Heerfürher Van Aarden - “Ma’am if you could calm down for just a moment, Christoffer’s not a fool, and he’d be the last one to try something.”

The Kommissar-General had been in a state of constant fury since the announcement by the Chancellor to maintain the Ratsdemokratie system, ‘Right as she left for Jannik’, she would yell, ‘Right when he knew I couldn’t get to him’.

Van Aarden - “I could argue in favor of his action, if only to an extent.”

Gabriele Abelkis - “I know that, we desperately need a central voice, especially with the Communes in the level of shear disarray, but to move for that time-expansion without a response from the Assemblies?”

Van Aarden - “Even if he does turn against us, we have the arms, and you have the people.”

Gabriele Abelkis - “I hope you’re right, mein freund, I really do.”


The Ratskanzler heard a knock on the door;

“Eintreten.”

The door opened as the two guards stationed outside moved to allow another two uniformed people in; The two woman, tall, seemingly in there 30’s, a red armband with the letters O.S.V.K.P. emblazoned on it. Each wore a formal Party uniform characterized by Red Beret’s with a golden Gear and Grain pin, and a blue strip over their left shoulders marking them as members of the Foreign Affairs Division, a Civilian Branch of the Kardinalarmee. The first one held a manilla envelope, opening it before speaking;

“Sieg Freiheiten mein Ratskanzler, my name is Heide Van Maessen of the Foreign Affairs Division, this is Ulrica Smit, we’re here..”

“You’re hear to discuss our Foreign Policy.”

“Erm, y-yes sir, well I’m actually here to ask something.”

“Go on?”

"Well you see.."

Christoffer raised his eighbrows, whatever it was he knew he wasn't going to like it.

Ulrica broke in, “We’d like to be sent to Nadelküste.”


Varshanka-Gebiet, S.S. Kombinierte Front Feldviertel Hauptquartier

Rainar - “It’d be damn easier to coordinate this assault if the SDV didn’t butt it’s head in every twenty minutes begging for developments.”

Isana - “Ha! The Ochën Vize must be just screaming for reinforcements from across the sea." She paused for a moment, looking back at the maps of the Peninsula, This is the price we pay for fight a war on the side of the Anarchist.”

Rainar - “Death to secrets of authority, especially the ones our Enemies want to know!

Isana laughed, “Hey hey, I’m actually I’m more interested in whats coming after the war, wanna take bets as to how long it takes for the state to collapse?”

Rainar and Clovis simultaneously - “A Year!”

Jakob - “Don't worry, the State can’t collapse if there's no state.”

All four continued laughing, the sheer absurdity of the situation weighing in; They were a top-down coalition of Militia’s fighting for Anarchists, as the media relayed there every move to the enemy in its war against “Top-down Corruption”.

Ulrich - “Oh yea, we’re gonna to die.”

The 3 original Noir Generals, Isana, Rainar, and Clovis had arrived at the front lines the night before, joining up with the Särgahn-Schweisein an hour later. After setting up base-camp, they had begun to relay information to the Trade-convoy moving several Tons worth of supplies to the front lines. The met with Ulrich first, and after a few hours, a second General, Jakob von Hoizer, arrived to finish developing resources and convoy routes.

Jakob - "Just double checking, the F32 along the Gastreude Lowlands, thats been cleared fully?"

Clovis - "So far as the Oberkommando has specified, we should also have full air coverage throughout our time there, although the rest of the Luftwaffe'll be heading towards the Valheimer Plateau."

Isana - "Chasing after the Vorhut Rebels I presume?"

Clovis - "Where else, although that plan will fall apart if the Vize break encirclement on the Peninsula before we arrive."






Völker-Militz Hauptquartier

Subject of Military Affairs



Heerführer Ulrich von Eilmar
Shweisein Völker-Militz



Särgahn Noir Militz-Hauptquartier

We have received your message loud and clear General, victory in Jannik is imminent and the Ochën Peninsula is unguarded. Upon contacting the Schweisein Syndicate, we believe that mounting an official offensive is possible under certain circumstances. We also agree that while difficult, the requirements set upon us can be reached in time.

Heerführer Ulrich von Eilmar





Shweisein Kommune

Subject of Military Affairs



Councilor Alyzia Buerckar
Shweisein Generalversammlung



Särgahn Noir Militz-Hauptquartier
Särgahn Generalversammlung


To the Särgahn Kommune, upon review and council vote, we agree to the Ochën Proposal that the Noir Military Council proposed. We do however believe it to be necessary to allow the Vizekönigreich stronghold of Jannik to fall before mounting another offensive without the aid of the Kardinaloberkommando.

Councilor Alyzia Buerckar





Särgahn Kommune

Subject of Military Affairs



Councilor Naomi Aalders
Särgahn Generalversammlung



Noir Militz-Hauptquartier

It is with begrudging reluctance that we approve the Noir Offensive plan to take the Ochën Peninsula. We do require that all plans be subject to Kardinaloberkommando approval so as to ensure a resounding victory. We also demand that the Noir Militz contact the Council first before other contacts, one would argue that this most recent action was similar to blackmail.

No repercussions will be taken for the time being,

Councilor Naomi Aalders
Der Ovanitsches Gemeinstaat
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Cuirpthe
Attaché
 
Posts: 94
Founded: Apr 22, 2016
Ex-Nation

Flight 1025

Postby Cuirpthe » Wed Jan 17, 2018 4:38 pm

The sun shown peacefully on the morning of the sixteenth of January over Vaterna International Airport. Like most days, the terminal was buzzing with activity as businessmen and commoners traveled from flight to flight. The sleek and modern building was built for efficiency, and it showed. But of course, that isn't true for every single passenger. CEO Odhran Engel of Rechhaire Computer Systems was distraught. His flight was leaving in five minutes and he was running late. The terminal felt like a maze, and he frankly didn't have time for it. Glancing at his watch again, he reached his flight and showed his ticket. "Airport is a nightmare today," he casually commented to the employee. The man laughed. "Oh you have no idea."

They shared a chuckle, and he crossed the bridge onto his plane, taking his seat with a deep sigh. As a CEO, he flew around the nation and internationally almost daily, and it never got any less stressful. Taking a quick look through his papers, he gazed out his window over the Vaterna Channel, where the mainland awaited. The intercom crackled. "Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. National Flight 1025 to Oisel has been cleared for takeoff, so we'll be on our way in just a moment. The flight is expected to be around three hours long..." Engel tuned out the announcement, settling back for a quiet nap.

Further back in the plane, Klaus Berne sat with his wife and son, preparing for a long needed vacation to a resort on the beach of Oisel, the island city resting beautifully on the waters of Lake Halbanis. They're year's savings had gone into this trip, and they planned to enjoy the break from the daily grind. Staring out the window, he watched the runway roll by as the plane was taxied to it's takeoff area. The plane's engines roared to life as they began to roll forward on their own. A light shake was felt as the plane's wheels bounced against the ground, and they soared into the air.


20 minutes later


Two men near the front of the cabin shared a glance, and nodded. One of the two had his carry on bag in his lap, having pulled it out five minutes earlier. He drew out a handgun from its depths, and stood up. His partner stood a second later with a larger gun. One spoke in native Kovak, but the other was able to repeat what he said in Cuirpthean.

"We are hijacking this plane in the name of the Kovak people!"
Last edited by Cuirpthe on Sat Mar 24, 2018 5:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Abuddih
Secretary
 
Posts: 35
Founded: Sep 04, 2016
Ex-Nation

TEST • PLEASE IGNORE

Postby Abuddih » Mon Feb 12, 2018 12:06 pm

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Soled
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1768
Founded: Aug 26, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby Soled » Sun Feb 18, 2018 8:15 am

Ózhothérddyès ddin patnjánoto, ìchnná thérddyès ezekh rúkhu mutsàthérnj…
"Almighty Lords of the Upperworld, bring us strength with our sacrifice..."
Soled, 17 February 2018, somewhere not far from Yìzìsmój city


Welcome to the Soledan celebration of spring. You’re in a large arena in the middle of the steppes, and there are thousands other people here. As the odd-clothed but extremely prestigious old man on the high altar steps out of the crowd of priests and utters these words, a gruesome catalyst of animal roaring and the sounds of knives unfolds as hundreds of men begin the ritual slaughters of all sorts of wild beasts. It gets hard for you to write down in your journalistic report as the entire crowd cheers to the slaughterers, eager to begin what is perhaps the greatest single feasting in the world: the 275th anniversary of Rosú Jékàtsikítsò-erech, “birth of Rosú Jékàtsikítsò”, commemorating the clan leader who first unified the Soledan people into one nation. The place you are standing on is, of course, the very spot he was born.

That’s not to say you’re unprepared for this thundering event. As a fluent speaker of Soledan and studied in its culture and history, a rarity among professional foreign journalists, you understand the context better than any of the picture-snapping sensationalist journalists that will undoubtedly only tell of the incredible sacrifices. As you continue to describe the event, you suddenly hear a group of people shouting loudly, getting in physical conflict with attendants and guards. “Fuck you! You’re killing fucking endangered species!” they shout in Newreyan, only amusing the crowds who do not understand their language, but their behaviour nonetheless upsetting the guards enough that they escort them away, probably to kick them out. After all, there are some endangered species that are being sacrificed here, such as the mountain Phoké, but Soledan religious law dictates a specific amount of animals to be slaughtered in this celebration. Violating it would put someone in the leadership on the wrong side of the country’s harsh crypto-judicial system.

As all this was happening, the real part of the celebration is starting. Music is blasting from large modern stereos as the participants begin to seat themselves at massive rowed tables to be served meat and Zehu, a traditional Soledan alcoholic drink. The high priests that were at the altar have disappeared; it’s said they discuss with the national leadership, including President Epháyár Ejúkìtsòna, every year as they hold these celebrations. In their place at the altar are a hundred-or-more traditional “altar dancers”, young females in vivid clothes performing dazzling moves seemingly in unison. You continue documenting every detail throughout the day, talking with dozens of attendants as the cloudless sunny sky turns into mist dusk. Despite the massive scale of the sacrifices, it’s all eaten up by nights time thanks to the hungry crowds. Eventually, you’re approached by a familiar face - your supervisor. He views through everything you’ve gathered. “Good work,” he exclaims, turning your exhausted face happy for a moment. “The board should be happy with this, but I need you to do one more thing today.” You try to let out a sigh, but both your tiredness and sense of formality stop you. “There’s some trouble with our papers in the city… Your papers, too. We have to get back to Yìzìsmój, get it?” You nod in agreement, knowing that deportation would certainly await if a foreigner has any kind of inconsistency in their papers. Despite honestly wishing to document the coming days of the festival, you swallow your heart as you enter your rented car and begin the drive to the nearest oasis of civilization.
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Norwegian | they/them and she/her pronouns

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Volgaria
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 57
Founded: Apr 11, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Volgaria » Mon Feb 26, 2018 5:47 pm

"Traitor"

Part 1


"Oskuzagier!

The section commander yelled at the top of his lungs

"Oskùzač!"

Our measly reply was only equally as loud as his.


This had been the start of my day about ten years ago for a whole five months. I still remember the routine by heart, possibly because It was my first real taste of my new life to be, when I began this "Grand Adventure" of mine.

My name? Well giving out something like that could get me found and thrown right into a "Re-education" camp back home, even if it had been a whole decade, but then again they can't find me across the North Opal right? In that case then, my name is Konrad, Konrad Wahler. I get odd looks when I reveal my name over here, a Volgarian is a type of person that you'd only read about here in Zalejk. Now, you may be wondering "Whats a kid from Bhomern, Volgaria doing in Vrnallia?" Well that's what I'm about to tell you.

I was a relatively good kid back in my home, I was a good student, I had ambitions for the military and I was an avid supporter of the state and its ambition. To put it short, I was everything an eighteen year-old Volgarian male should be. However, as with all stories like this, on one eventful day that changed. It was February 5th 2010, I remember it like yesterday. I had come down with a little bit of a cold and I was thinking of staying home, but I remembered my girlfriend and I we're on for a peaceful night out right after classes for her birthday, so me being me I decided to tough it up and go anyway, for her.

It was around 12:30pm, the beginning of our lunch period, I was fiddling with the lock on my locker to put away my textbooks and get my lunch, which I had waited far too long for, I was damn hungry, remember I was sick as a dog I was quite frankly looking forward to nothing else besides food during that time. I had just managed to finally open my locker when I heard the soft voice of an angel to my left call out my name.

"Konrad, are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh Monika, Yeah I'm fine, just a little under the weather."

"Yeah I figured, you seemed like so."

"I'll be fine, I wouldn't want to cancel our plans to today, I'm looking forward to them."

"I am too, and thanks so much for toughing out for me, Love you."

"Love you too."

We gave each-other a peck on the lips before she rushed off to her next class.

Though many would call me "foolish" for saying this while still in High-school, I loved her, I knew she was going to be the one at the time. I wanted to spend the rest of my days by her side. I promised that, to both her and myself.

...

So much for promises...
Last edited by Volgaria on Mon Feb 26, 2018 6:42 pm, edited 6 times in total.

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Hergemoth
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 60
Founded: Jul 07, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Hergemoth » Wed Feb 28, 2018 2:30 am

Exodus
V1

A stroke of nerve went into my gut. What was I going to do. How was I going to do it? And how would I not get caught. This was tough work, at least back then. You see, in 2009 things were a little different. All my friends were already in Aramas or whatever it was called. I was rendered a coward, but I hoped what I was about to do would prove that wrong-in a way.

I saw a figure walking down the alley towards me. This was him. He was in the stereotypical trench coat and long brim hat. He was a few paces ahead of me when I wearily but nervously asked "Have you g-got them?"

The reply never came. He simply took a file out of his jacket and handed it to me. I wondered if he would say anything, but he didn't. I made back for my gathering den. A few of my friends weren't fighting, but it was still hard. When I got back, Paul couldn't believe his eyes. Lucano was much the same. "I don't believe it. I don't trust Lhedwinics like you anyway". You see, I'm an interesting person. These people didn't know what this moment would impact their future in such a way.

"Believe me or not, Pili. These are secrets."

"It's bullshit, that's what it is. The Tribunate wouldn't even think about it."

He was right in a way. They weren't thinking about it. As I would later discover
They were already doing it

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Vrnallia
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 141
Founded: Oct 24, 2012
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Vrnallia » Thu Mar 01, 2018 5:05 pm

The Apple Tree · Khevilapie
1


Gzucha XXVII (Nšthiguništhi) MXIII

On the side of a hill on the island of Hujre is a tree. It stands solitary, any other trace of the forest which once came this far inland present only in the stump of a rowan some metres away. The timber has been cut and used to build the homes of the nameless village which lay by the side of the stream called Phiju. But this tree remains, defiant.

A single apple falls from the tree to the ground below. The old man who has been sat before the tree since morn crawls to the apple, picks it up and inspects it. The red surface reflects a blinding sunlight into the man's eyes; he squints and crawls closer to the trunk, seeking shelter now in the shadows. The apple is unblemished, beautifully round, and almost bigger than the man's hand can grasp. He places it into the basket he has brought.

The man called Khrogúr ambles back to his home. He takes a small knife, cuts the apple neatly in two, and cuts one of those halves again in two. He places one quarter of the apple into his mouth, and gives a quarter to his wife. The remaining half of apple he places onto a pewter plate, which he places in turn onto the top of his hearth. Above the hearth, two strings of wool, one dyed red and the other dyed blue, are tied together and hang from the ceiling.

Khrogúr sits on the floor, and with his head bowed to the hearth, begins to pray:

"O Firesnake, ye who dwell upon the land, may ye protect us when we are beset by war, by plague, by famine. May ye grant us a bountiful harvest and good health. O Watersnake, ye who dwell beneath the waves, may ye protect us when we are beset by war, by plague, by famine. May ye grant us fair weather and restful spirits. O Cloudmaiden, ye who dwell above the sky, may ye protect us when we are beset by war, by plague, by famine. May ye grant us good fortune and fellowship."

In the corner of the room, the huddled mass of Khrogúr's son twitches and rises.

"You mustn't let the rest of the village hear you praying so, Father. You disgrace the names of Freyja and Óðinn. You disgrace our Goddess. If you cannot accept the real nature of the cosmos, you must not let others know it."

Khrogúr merely shakes his head.

"Pidna, it has been a long time since last you resided in this village. Do not think that in all that time, I have not seen how they who should be friends whisper behind me. Do not think that I do not understand the danger the Old Ways place me in. I do not need my own son to remind me."

Pidna does not respond. That he must watch as his father defiles the Bounty of Iðunn is bad enough. The last thing Pidna wishes is to entertain the thought that Khrogúr face death for his sacrilege.

So he reaches into the basket, takes another apple, and bites.
It's Guakok now. She/her or they/them, pick your favourite.
Economic Left/Right: -9.75
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -7.18
Libertarian Communist
100.0% Equality: Communist
69.2% Peace: Dovish
84.2% Liberty: Libertarian
93.6% Progress: Revolutionary

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Onza
Diplomat
 
Posts: 595
Founded: Jun 14, 2012
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Pilot

Postby Onza » Sat Mar 24, 2018 1:19 pm

Chapter I: Pilot

We lay our scene in a midsized suburban home outside the city of Oshaxas with a married, Newreyan couple who have lived in Onza all their lives.

We begin with a sudden knock on the front door. Silence fell upon the house momentarily, only to be broken by the interjection of a voice that belonged to a woman, but bore a lower pitch one would perhaps associate with the voice of an XY counterpart: "Norm," the voice began, carrying with it a slight tone of concern, "are you expecting anybody?"

Norm shifted his gaze from the kitchen where the voice originated back to the front door. Another round of knocking began, this time with a bit more urgency than the previous. "Norm are you going to get that?" Norm finally swung his legs down, restoring the legrest that had been extended back into its original state hidden within the recliner, and rose to his feet, walking to the door with obvious agitation. "Who the fuck does this --" his mumbling under his breath ceased as he swung the front door open. Before him was an elderly man, clearly Newreyan, whose features seemed depressed from years of wear. His appearance was rugged and unkempt, with his long, platinum hair appearing as if it would hit suddenly by a burst of air.

"Hey-hey, son," the man said. His husky voice was quite distinct, and was clearly marked by what had to be years of chain smoking. He motioned in the door, bumping into Norm whilst brushing past. "Dad?" Norm asked, quite surprised by his visitor. "I-I, I thought you were in --" "Isolaprugna yeah-yeah-yeah, I was there like I said I was and now I'm not. Now I'm standing in my own damn house wondering why I had to invite myself in. It's not like I own the damn place or anything," the man said.

"Leo -- what a surprise!" said the woman from earlier before rushing over to embrace him. "Hi honey," he said as they hugged, "has Norm been treating ya right?"

"Dad --"

"No son, Erica has a voice, why don't you let her use it?" Erica laughed, "it's Norm, he doesn't disappoint," she said, smiling at Norm who looked pleased with his redemption. "Good -- if you ever find yourself arguing with him just remind him that your father-in-law is the landlord and I'll kick his ass out in a heartbeat," Leo said. "Now that I'm here, I guess you won't mind me inviting myself to dine with you all?"

"Of course not, Dad. Erica's making spaghetti --" "-- and meatballs! --" " -- yeah, and meatballs. We'd love to have you." "Good," Leo replied. He inhaled deeply, mustering his strength for his diaphragm before projecting his voice across the house: "PORTIA!"

"Dad, Portia's in Kunta. She's going to the University there." "Oh yeah, that's right," Leo said. "Well, when does she come back?" "Semester ends in...," Norm began, struggling to conjure the date. "She'll be done in mid May," his wife said, interjecting. "Yeah, May, so not too far off. Why? Are you thinking about sticking around?"

"Son, you won't believe half the shit I have to tell you. But we'll save that for dinner. Until then, where the fuck's my remote?"


The topics of discussion leading up to dinner that evening spanned a wide variety of topics. After all, Leo's return to Onza came without announcement. Among the details mentally documented by Norm and Erica were the following: that Leo had flown back to Oshaxas earlier that day and caught a cab to be taken to the home, that he did not receive any of the letters his granddaughter Portia wrote to him while he was away, that he was surprised to hear of New Timeria's victory in the Copa d'Aeia, and that he had a number of favors to ask his son and daughter-in-law. Of all the topics discussed, however, Leo made it clear that he would adamantly refuse to answer anything about his time in Isolaprugna, and that he would only talk about it during or after dinner and share only what he knew he needed to share.

Now, the table was set and the trio had fixed their plates. The dark of the night had fallen on the world outside the home, and the natural-light-favoring architecture of the dining room partnered with the disappearance of the sun to create an ambiance of intrigue in the room. Also working in conjunction with these factors was the extravagant decorations of the dining room, perhaps most notably an ancient telescope that rested on its tripod just against the main window that aligned with the head of the dining table, where Leo was given the honor of sitting.

Given the amount of discussion that had taken place leading up to this moment, all parties had, for the most part, exhausted their supply of talking points. Even a year's absence Leo did not miss too much, given the fairly uneventful and uninteresting life that suburban living entailed. The one topic that was on everyone's mind was what it is he wanted to share about his sudden hiatus abroad -- which he was now slated to share -- but instead everyone opted for silence, insisting that the traveler himself be the one to commence in telling his story.

He opened his mouth to speak, which immediately sized Norm and Erica's attention. "This is some serious shit," he began, further captivating his small audience's attention. "I can't fucking believe it..." he said, anticipation building. "You really mean to tell me that New Timeria won the Copa? New fucking Timeria?"

The disappointment in the anticlimactic statement manifested itself rather visibly in the faces of his listeners. "Fine, I guess I'll quit stalling," Leo said.

"So as you no doubt know, I left just over a year ago because I said an old pal in the military reached out from Isolaprugna where he said he was living and offered to fly me out to spend a year with him there. We're all clear on that, right?" he asked, receiving nods from Erica and Norm. "Good. If you had forgotten that part I probably would have fucking left."

"Anyway, that part was true. Is true, I mean. I got on a plane so goddamned fast I know it left you guys confused, but after Theresa... well you know I needed to get away. So I boarded that plane and went right over there. I met my buddy like I was supposed to. Guy's name is Ibrahima, but I just call him Ibra because fuck the Onzaian naming system. Anyway, Ibra was in the air force like me, but he had a higher security clearance. He kept teasing that he had seen some shit while he was in, but I knew better than to pry. Hell I didn't really care to know."

"So I stayed with him for a couple weeks. Well, both of us got sick -- probably some shit we caught while we were out hunting. Isolaprugna is mostly one big city, but he's got a small estate tucked away in some douglas firs, so we would hunt birds and deer pretty frequently. Well Ibra decided that was a good time to reveal to me that he had AIDs, and that he wasn't sure if would survive even a basic illness. He insisted he wasn't going to a hospital, and instead invited me into his basement."

"On the way down, I knew that I was getting myself into some deep shit, but I went anyways because what the fuck else could I do. So we went down there, and it was surprisingly tame. Guy has some maps pinned up on the wall, some bookshelves, a desk, an old piano, it's just a small study. Well, he starts telling me about this prophecy made by some ancient Carcossians or some shit. He told me about some ancient cult that prophesies that the world will end in a hail of flooding, severe thunderstorms, and tornadoes."

"Dad," Norm interjected. "Shut up son -- no, I didn't believe any of that shit."

"Back to my story. I thought the guy was crazy, but I went along with it just to see. Well he ended up making a full recovery and things were fine. Then, about a week ago, I wake up in the middle of the night smelling smoke. I jumped out of bed and ran upstairs and realized it was a literal blaze. Hopeless. I grabbed the home phone downstairs and dialed emergency services, but by the time they got there, the cabin had burned to the ground. Ibra died in the fire, and shitty Isolaprugnans didn't speak a lick of Newreyan so I have no fucking clue what caused the fire. They just left me there."

"This is when it occurred to me that I should probably sift through the remains of the cabin and see what I can find. So I did just that. In fact, a fair amount of my own shit somehow remained intact. The basement was a disaster, but that's... How can I put this delicately?" he asked himself. "What I saw down there is something that I can't explain for the life of me. I saw Ibra, but he was some sort of specter or something. He walked over to the basement wall that was still intact, and somehow only one shard of that map was still there. All he did was point at it. It was Lotric, in Midrasia."

The room grew silent. Norm and Erica looked at each other before looking down at their laps. "What? You don't believe me?" Leo said angrily, standing up. "Well you don't have to believe me, but you at least need to listen," he said. He walked over the telescope that sat behind his seat. "Do you remember the story behind this telescope, son?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah, the one about --" "Yes, the fucking one about how it's ancestral. It was passed down from my great-great grandfather. We come from a family of explorers and adventurers. You anchoring yourself right here in this godforsaken suburb -- that's not what's right." Norm was visibly frustrated. "Dad, really? Is that what this is about?"

"Don't mock me, don't mock me," Leo said angrily. "Just listen. I need to get to Lotric -- I was hoping you'd come with me, but I'm not even going to ask -- but I need your help to get there."

"And what are you going to do when you get there?"

"Norm," Erica interceded. "Listen... maybe a family trip is what we need! A vacation?" she said, desperately trying to defuse the situation, to no avail as they both continued to argue further. It was only when the phone rang that the two stopped, and a race ensued as both rushed to answer it, Norm narrowly getting there first. "Hello?" he asked.

"Hi, is this Leo Norman Miles Jr.?" a woman asked. "Uh, yes, this is he, who's calling?" Norm responded. "Mr. Miles, I'm sorry to call so late, it's just we have a patient of ours here who's been begging us for the past hour to tell you he wants to talk to you."

Norm paused for a minute, his eyes darting to both his father and then his wife at the dining table. "I don't know anyone in the hospital. I think you may have me confused with someone else," he said. "Mr. Miles, the patient gave us your number, he insists this is urgent."

"Well, who is it? What hospital?"

"I'm afraid due to the patient confidentiality laws I can't tell you, but if you decide to follow up, I'm calling from Hôpital Général de Mydrazia in Lotric," the woman said. "Just tell the receptionist you're here to see patient number 0541," she said. "Th-thanks," Norm said slowly before hanging up the phone and returning slowly to the dining table and sitting down.

"Well, who was that? What's wrong?" Erica asked. "A family trip to Lotric is a good idea," Norm conceded.
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Ostry
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 64
Founded: Jun 10, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Ostry » Wed Jul 18, 2018 6:07 pm

Jakóbgard
18 July 2018
8:18 PM



Even on a weekday, Sztrasa Jóna stayed rather busy. The pedestrian street bustled with the sound of footsteps going to and from the pubs, the sound of live music and rowdy laughter coming from the wooden doors. At the entrance to the street, Marzëna clung to her phone.

"So, any news on the Purples?"
"The game's not til Friday, Marzka. Ya sure you've been keeping up?" Her father chuckled on the other line.
"A bit here and there. I've been busy."
"Can't believe you're moving."
"Well, that's how it is, dad. The company's moving offices and I can't find another job with the same pay in town."
"I understand...but Nasby? It's so far away."

Just then, a car pulled up, with a blond, rather lanky woman in a red dress stepping out, waving to the driver as the vechicle pulled away, and began walking to Marzëna.
"Have to go tatk, Sara's here."

Hanging up, the two women embraced, with it noticeable that Sara had been pre-drinking.
"We are going hard tonight, Marzka! Need to celebrate you finally getting out and leaving."
"Well, just make sure one of us is sober enough to walk back to my place."


The Old Man's Bar was so stereotypical it was almost offensive. The wood-paneled salon was crowded with various marine-style décor, mounted fish, and a large blue-white-and-green tricolour flag over the bar area. The music did little to offset the Ostric kitsch, with the bar being known for booking mainly folk bands that specialized in sea shanties. Tonight was no difference. As fiddles screeched in the background, Marzëna and Sara took their seats at the bar. It wasn't their favourite place, but the drinks were come of the cheapest on Sztrasa Jóna, and it's deliberate appeal to stereotypes about Ostry made it popular with tourists, something that locals tended to use for their own entertainment. A few Aliean boys, no older then probably 21, were either passed out or drunkenly rambling a few tables behind the women, and the place was packed with a large group of Lhedwinic tourists, if the multiple languages being spoken and slurred were any indication. A man, his dress shirt tucked in at random places and looking like he was on the border between tipsy and drunk, came up Marzëna, leaning in towards her.

"Hei, du forstår nok ikke meg!"
"Du er morsom. Jeg kan, skjønt. Ikke stedet for den festspillet her på øya, dessverre.", she responded.
"Åh...dritt."

Sara, looking at the man, stifled a laugh at the exchange, with Marzëna looking back to her with a mixture of a smile and slight annoyance. She wondered how many Navish tourists thought Ostrins didn't know their language or were even in a different country. God, it was an embarrassing amount of times.


A few hours later, the two women had made the booze-filled pilgrimage to Knutsen's, the final pub on Sztrasa Jóna. The bar was much less kitschy then the Old Man's, serving mainly locals and keeping a more toned-down atmosphere. Already feeling the effect of the mixture of beer, liquor, and kòrnus, Marzëna and Sara decided that, at 1AM, it was probably a reasonably time to tap out. Leaving the street toward Marzëna's apartment on Sztrasa Lùdwiga, Sara began to hang on her shoulder, obviously more drunk then her friend.

"You can't leave, Marzka. I'll miss ya. And probs Jarek too. He always liked you."
"I'll come back to visit. And I like Jakóbgard. Hell, I'll probably move back when there's a job opening here."
Sara, now with an disgruntled expression, suddenly let go of her friend's shoulder, speeding up her pace to overtake Marzëna.
"That's what they all say."

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Hergemoth
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 60
Founded: Jul 07, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Hergemoth » Thu Jul 19, 2018 1:12 am

Laurizst
9:18 AM, July 18
2018


The port, was as usual, a total beehive. Laurizst port was the second largest in the country, but perhaps the busiest, bringing in import from Lhedwin, as well as passing everything down to Raeberg. All in all, Juan "Karl" Daverna, thought that it was impossible that Lothairstadt or anywhere could be bigger, or busier. There were ports in his homeland almost as big is Laurizst, such as Nuevo Norte Tolvas, but he was raised in the suburbs of Los Matra, and he never experienced the ports growing up. He was deep in thought when he was bumped by his friend and co-worker, Werner. "Karlo, what are you doing man? We were supposed to be on the docks unloading an hour ago man"
It took Juan by surprise, but he quickly adjusted and realized that what Werner had said was sadly true.

"Really? Are we getting a rise?" he asked, energized.
"Why would we be, this isn't much earlier than our regular shift start" said Werner, frankly. Juan let out a sigh. He liked his new job in this new country, and there were benefits, like not being the subject of the racket of dangerous drug dealers, but working the docks at Laurizst was hard. A huge cargo ship, looked more than 300 meters long, had just come in from Liiduria, and work needed to be done. The process was slow, as the ship was carrying hundereds of large containers, most of them full of anything, from Crylantian chocolate to Aquidish guns. Who knows, maybe Juan's old friend Pablo had done what he said he'd do and ship to Juan's prospective home.
"Let's go" said Juan.

The work was hard, but quicker than expected. By 10:30 he'd helped do 22 containers and he was on his 23rd. Werner was complaining at first but by now he was laboring hard under the sun, in the colds of Laurizst. Juan noticed heavy security on the ship. He heard ships were being raided back home, maybe the fear had spread to Asura, fast. Colerva did have a lot of influence, he thought, via their drug business. Sigh, he thought. He continued with the work.

Laurizst Downtown
6:56 PM, July 18
2018


Juan was driving past the Duke of Wessas bar, which he frequented, but he felt tired and didn't feel like the customary 7 beers. His home was further south, in the "Vestrotown" of Laurizst. He drove the usual route in his Age SUV, past the Laurizst Glory Monument, the Bank of Bhomern Tower, before looking at his fuel gague and stopping in at the nearest ANA station. He refueled and decided to buy some crisps, because he needed a good snack to make up for what he missed at the Duke. He drove down Prinzkarles Strasse, turned onto Vilmich Strasse, before finally taking the shortcut down Subbahn 7 towards Viktory, the poorer part of the city. It was a risky but quick route and the biggest problem was a man with a knife chasing his speedy car, with no hope. He took the exit to Viktory Strasse onto Laagland Rjden. He was driving down Laagland when a group of people came out in front of his car, forcing him to stop.

"What the fuck are you doing?" shouted Juan, with the middle finger and his head out the window.
"You are intruding on territory of the Bhomern Volksarmee. Leave or face force." said the man standing in the middle, dressed like an Irsadi terrorist.
"Bhomern Volksarmee? God, I thought the LARPers would stay in Rihout for at least another year" replied Juan with a roll of his eyes, referring to the hipster district.
"We are an organization fighting for the freedom of the Bhomerner people from our Neo-Salian oppressors. We use force, and the area of Viktory is our foothold! You have intruded, so leave or we will use force." the man said, now joined by even more "freedom fighters"
"You're clearly new. Laagland Rjiden is my go-to street everyday. Get out of my way" said Juan, pushing his car forward slightly.
Suddenly, every single person standing in front of him produced pistols, pointing them at his car and and Juan. They began to surround his car and produce even more lethal weapons.
"I think it's quite the opposite. Turn around or we educate you" he said, beckoning his pistol and to his assailants. Juan nodded hastily and backed his car, turning round and rushing back on to Subbahn 7. This was a strange experience, certainly a frightening one.

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AESYRiEL
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 65
Founded: May 01, 2018
New York Times Democracy

Postby AESYRiEL » Wed Jul 25, 2018 4:03 pm

Democratic Republic of Sükhbaatar
Сүхбаатарын Бүгд Найрамдах Ардчилсан Улс

Bayantooroi, Yolyn Am, Gobi
Баянтоорой, Ёлин Ам, Говь

8:23PM, July 25th

"Chief reporting in, we've got a 10-32 at the State Institute of Technology on 5th Street. Is there a 10-60?"

The radio annoyingly interrupted the conversation between Officer Tobukha and Officer Megujin. The two streamed down the city's streets on a police cruiser, talking about their lives and their families. Tobukha was a Sergelen who had fled at the height of the Sükhbaataryn Sectional Split when Sergelen ethnic conflicts between the Sergelens and the Khürmani heightened. While Megujin was from Erdenedalai, and had a semi-prosperous life, before moving to Batantooroi for his continuing education. The streets were emptying out. Workers clocking out and families heading home.

"That sounds serious. Turn on the siren, and head down there." Megujin said. "I'll answer the radio."

"10-69 Chief. ETA 5 minutes to the institute."

"10-4. We're preparing several People's Guard units, reply when they're needed." The radio spat back at Megujin.

"10-4 Chief."

Megujin placed the radio down, before slouching down on his chair. "Who does he think he is to be bossing us around? How did he even get the position of chief? Have you even seen him at the shooting range? Terrible shot! I've seen better conscripts for the Guard do better than him."

"At least it isn't as bad as the new female leadership their instating. I can't believe it, how they just elevate some of these people. Have you heard from Officer Samga? She's not even an officer, she's the Deputy Chief, and she's almost as bad as the Chief himself." Tobukha said, in a rather angered tone. The annoyance was visible to Officer Megujin.

The two officers kept bickering about the new leadership before they saw in the distance. A bright orange and yellow light, somewhat bouncing in the distance. Megujin knew what it was.

"Officer Megujin, reporting a 10-72 on 5th Street."

Rather than the chief, it was another officer. Officer Maqali. "Affirmative Officer Megujin. I'll sound a 10-70 for the fire department."

"Copy that. Officer Megujin out."

The two chuckled at Maqali. Maqali had a strange accent. He was from Dörvöjin, he spoke very rough Sükhbaataryn. Though it didn't cross the two how strange that Maqali was at the radio, rather than a more competent officer. "Whatever." was the only thing that really crossed their mind.




Democratic Republic of Sükhbaatar
Сүхбаатарын Бүгд Найрамдах Ардчилсан Улс

Bayantooroi, Yolyn Am, Gobi
Баянтоорой, Ёлин Ам, Говь

8:29PM, July 25th

The building was in blazes. The firefighters had just made their way to the institute. Poorly equipped, they fought the fire as best as they could. Officer Megujin looked at Officer Tobukha.

"Keep an eye out Tobukha, there's still an armed man out there. Be careful, we don't want to end up dead because of some nut in the Institute."

Nightfall had already descended in the city, and as such the Institute was long empty. Why someone was there was strange. The entire night seemed strange, how an armed man was in a place no one was in, how the chief somehow knew even though Tobukha and Megujin were the only officers in the vicinity, and they were at least 5 minutes when the chief reported the man.

"Hey, Megujin, something's awry around here. Did you notice that? All these things? How the chief knew about this guy even though no one's patrolling that sector?
And why was Maqali on the radio?"
Tobukha told Megujin.

"Something's not right. Let's get back into the cruiser."

Before they could get back, a man started to approach their cruiser, wielding something. Whether it was a gun or not, Megujin nor Tobukha could tell.

"Hey, you! Show yourself!" Megujin replied, his hand about to grab his pistol in the holster. Tobukha grabbed his baton, ready to strike the person.

Before they expected, several other people came behind them, armed. This much was obvious. Knives and bats, almost seemed like a small mob. The first man looked them dead in the eyes, before unveiling his pistol.

"Officer Tobukha right? You're the Sergelen right? The Chief sold you out. I think you remember me." The man said in a stiff voice.

"But...no...it can't be!"

"Tobukha...what's going on?" Megujin asked.

"I think I remember you, Suyiketu. It's been a while, hasn't it. Why come this far?"

"I don't think it's easy to forget how you lose the Sword Tournament of Sergelen to someone the likes of you. You cost me my honor, you cost me a lot for a Khürmani. I don't think you understand it, fucking Sergelen."

The tension between the two was enough to be cut with a knife. Megujin took some steps back while Suyiketu and Tobukha bickered, and got his hands on the radio. In a hushed voice, he talked into the radio.

"This is Officer Megujin. Reporting a 10-33 at 5th Street. Requesting Immediate Assistance."

The tension boiled and exploded, before both Suyiketu and Tobukha drew pistols.
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Vvarden
Diplomat
 
Posts: 623
Founded: Jun 18, 2014
Ex-Nation

The Good Man

Postby Vvarden » Fri Jul 27, 2018 6:33 pm

The light of the Vvardeni sun filtered through the blinds, casting great horizontal streaks of light on the wall. Unfortunately, one of those streaks happened to shine directly onto a fidgeting Alberte Cabaleiro as he tried to shake the last of his dreamy sleep from his mind. He slowly inched himself on top of the covers, stretching the muscles and yawning out the night from his lungs.

"Morning." He murmured to his wife.
María yawned and smiled sleepily at him, big soft eyes looking directly into his soul. It made Alberte feel so happy to be alive. "Good morning." She responded back.
"Let's stay in bed for a little while longer." Alberte said, hugging her from atop the sheets.
"Mm?"
"I'm in no rush to leave."

A dog started barking. There were three quick knocks on the bedroom door, followed by a muffled “Mom?!”

María chuckled.
Or maybe I am.” Alberte conceded.

They rolled out of bed, María straightening herself up as Alberte opened the curtains. Sunlight blinded them for half a second, causing Alberte to wince in pain as his leg hit the hardwood bedframe. That'll leave a bruise, he thought, as he sat on his side.

Come in, Aylidía.”

Their twelve-year-old daughter appeared in the doorway, looking flustered. “I can’t find my homework.” She moaned.

Have you looked in the study at all?” Alberte made his suggestion before staggering into the adjacent bathroom, running the faucet, wetting his face and blinking hazel eyes at himself before shaving.

Go down and look Aylidía,” he heard his wife say, through the open doorway. “And let Anxo out in the yard, would you?” just as the dog started to bark some more. A moment later María stepped in behind him. She looked at him admiringly in the mirror, placing her hands on his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “Remember it's the king's birthday, and that means a big celebration. The neighbors are coming over and I want you to cook this time.”

I know. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
And you said you’d talk to your receptionist, whatever her name is, about those toys. They're just gathering dust in the shed.
I will.” Alberte said, kissing her hand.

He came downstairs ten minutes later to the rich smell of toast. Anxo bounded in from the yard chasing a ball, earning himself a scratch on the ears by Alberte. “Good morning, boy.” Alberte said to the yipping Lhaeraiddish Wolfhound, before he picked the morning's Correo e Reino newspaper up off the doormat before the dog had a chance to slobber on it. They had got Anxo about five years back. Their kids had always wanted a pet so Alberte, usually not a fond lover of dogs, relented. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life, before marrying María and having three kids of course.

Everyone sat in the kitchen, sitting upright as some toast, butter, yoghurt, and ham slices were handed around. The family sat there in silence as Alberto clasped his hands before him. “Dear God, we thank you for this food, and for this day; for each other, and for our King. Amen.”
Amen.” his family murmured, before they started to eat.

Did you find your homework, Aylidía?” Alberte asked, stooping to kiss his daughter. He ruffled each of his sons’ hair.

It was in the study.” The daughter relented.
María looked over her shoulder at the stove, cleaning up some of the crumbs. “I told you.

What are you working on at school today?” Alberte asked as he sat at the head of the table.

Political theory” Aylidía said.
Oh yeah?”

The daughter absently stabbed her toast with a fork. "Yeah, it's easy, but a little boring."

Alberte's voice became gentle. "Well, I'm sure you know how important the Vvardeni political theory is in maintaining our place in the world. If we were a democracy, we'd hardly have got to where we are now. And if we were communist, well, we'd hardly be here to eat our food, eh?" He chuckled, and his daughter smiled.
You should ask Estevo to give you a hand, he did well in political theory last semester.” María said, as she sat down in her chair besides Alberte.

Their sons, Nicolau and Estevo were arguing over something on their phones. Most likely one of those mobile games recently released. “Boys, calm down at the table. And put those phones away,” Alberte said. “Estevo, did you hear what your mother said?”
Their middle son straightened up. “What was that, mom?”
I said you did well in poliitcal theory last semester; you could help your sister with her homework later.”
Oh sure, Aylidía. I can help you.” He spoke, before digging into his food.

Alberte glanced at Nicolau, the oldest child of the group. Almost 17, already taller than both of his parents and with his mother's fair hair colouring. “Did you work on passing the ball like the Coach told you to do?” Alberte asked.
I did, Dad.
Remember, being made team captain of the school football club isn’t an excuse to get big headed. You want to show everyone you respect the Coach’s authority. Set an example for your class.
Nicolau nodded and started tapping away on his phone again.

What about you, Estevo?” Alberte asked. “What do you have at school today?”
Estevo thrust his chest out proudly. “I’m doing the flag ceremony this year.
Oh, that’s a big honor, Estevo,” María said.
It is,” Alberto said. “Imagine as if you're holding the king right in your hands.
"I'll be careful, Dad."
Alberto smiled and tustled his middle child's darker hair. Estevo was the only one to have inherited his father's dark brown hair. "Don't worrre you'll be fine."
He was saying the pledge in the shower.” Nicolau teased, taking a bite of the toast, scattering crumbs across the plate.
Was not!

Alberte chuckled and started to flick through the newspaper. The economy wasn't looking that great. Inflation increasing. More photos of our soldiers doing well overseas, fighting to keep Vvarden safe. Alberte folded the paper over just as the children had finished their breakfast and were going upstairs to pack. Perhaps he'll save the rest of the reading for later in the day.

Ten minutes later, Alberte and María embraced each of their children before they watched them set off on the short walk out to the nearby school. Things looked good for his family, Alberte thought. Nicolau would probably either do football professionally or settle down in some comfortable cubicle job in the offices in the centre of the city. Estevo was more patriotically minded than both his brothers, perhaps he'd go into the military. And Aylidía. She was the really clever one. If things looked good enough, she could go to one of those prestigious academies out in the countryside, being at the forefront of Vvarden's future.

That was a tiresome morning.” María confided, as the children disappeared down the hill.
I think we both survived,” Alberte said with a laconic smile, putting his arm around her shoulder.
She turned and kissed him, hands gliding smoothly down his shirt. "You're a good man, Alberte Cabaleiro." She adjusted his tie slightly to the left. A few minutes later, the two said goodbye with a kiss. Alberte waved a short goodbye as he started the engine, and María started to get ready for her job.






The car slid through the paved wide-open avenues of Alberte's neighbourhood, before joining the flurry of cars onto the new Conde de Xiabre Autopista. A large billboard passed, showing an attractive young couple having a picnic. World's Highest Standard of Living! A mural of flag-carrying soldiers smiled down from the side of a brick apartment. To Protect and Serve! Alberte whistled, flicking through the voices, music and jingles on the car wireless. “...attended a gala this afternoon. The Principe do - Bevenía negouse a cooperar coa xente, o país nai - Tyronova: 0, Navack: 1; Midrasia: 5, Ajerrin: 0 - warm temperatures and clear skies across most of Western Vvarden, with - Ondinhas venhem, Ondinhas venhem, Ondinhas venhem e vão~” He sung along as the car turned off the highway into a high-density neighbourhood of high-rises, apartment blocks, and wide open streets.

Alberte turned a corner, sweeping his car down a ramp into the spacious garage beneath a towering white brutalist skyscraper, showing his pass to several armed guards at the gate. The building was going to originally be of the art-deco style, but the Civil War halted construction. When the communists finally won, what little had been built was demolished, and replaced with this upturned concrete block. When the communists fell, the new Integralist government decided to use the building for their needs. Waste not, want not.

Moments after departing his car, he stepped out of an elevator into an expansive lobby, crossing a mirror-polished black and white floor toward a reception desk. The walls were mahogany, and ornate gold-leaf trimmings made the place almost look like a luxury hotel. Thankfully the once-drab interior was redesigned a few years back, reflecting the pomp and ornateness that had come to visualize Vvardeni architecture in this new age.

Good morning, Catarina.” He called to the plump septuagenarian sitting at the desk, tapping away on a computer and filing a few forms. A few black hairs peeked out from among her thick grey curly bob cut.

Good morning, Inspector Cabaleiro.” She smiled sweetly.

Are you a grandmother yet, Catarina?”

They say my daughter will be delivering any day now, senhor.” Catarina smiled widely.

Oh, I've got quite a few of our children's baby toys in storage. Does your daughter need any? We'd be glad to get rid of them.”

I'll check in with her, and that’s very kind of you.”

The echoey chamber had the hushed aura of a library. People moved across it in distinctive green and black uniforms, talking in whispers and mutters. Behind Catarina, an enormous portrait of the King looked down serenely from a gilt frame. The eyes seemed comforting to Alberte, like as if the portrait was going to protect them all from danger. The black and white pattern on the floor was actually the outlines of a world map, the dominions and territories of the Vvardeni Colonial Empire at its height filled in with red marble. Irredentismo Vvardeni.

Any messages for me?”

Not yet, Inspector.”

I’m going to be busy in the basement with the Fajardo file all day, so could you have someone from Communications run them down if I have received them? Encrypted of course.” He turned to go. “Oh,” he remembered. “I promised Mrs Cabaleiro I’d be home early today to prepare for our king's birthday celebrations. Could you call down at 3:30 in case I forget?”

Catarina smiled. “Of course, Inspector.”

Alberte picked up his briefcase. “Catarina, you’re a treasure.”

He crossed the grandiose lobby again to another bank of golden elevators. This time he rode down as soon as he swiped his keycard, giving him authority. As he did so, he opened his briefcase and withdrew a thick file, flicking through its contents.
Basement 4,” the elevator chirped, opening the recently-thickened steel door for him.

Alberte stepped out into a dingy concrete corridor. He walked with purpose past a seemingly endless series of blank steel doors, until he reached one labelled 426. He knocked, and the door was swiftly opened for him with the clanking of several locks. He dismissed the immaculately-dressed guard who’d been inside with a nod, handing him his hat and coat with a short “Would you mind?” Alberte put down his briefcase and took a look at the pitiful figure before him.

Fajardo hung from a hoist in the center of the otherwise featureless room, tied and suspended at his wrists. His half-stripped body was livid with dried blood and purple bruises. He looked at Alberte through swollen eyes, his breathing ragged.

Good morning, Senhor Uxío Iagoes Fajardo. My name is Inspector Cabaleiro, Polícia Real da Defesa do Estado.”
Fajardo was silent, staring at the PRDE member with eyes of burning hate.

My colleagues hoped that you might have changed your mind about speaking with us overnight.”
Fajardo still said nothing.

We would particularly like to know how you came to be in possession of the vast library of radical communist literature with which you were arrested, and the many different guns and explosives that we have found discovered at your apartment. Oh, and the names of your compatriots and comrades would be a bonus.”

Fajardo characteristically remained silent.

Alberte walked over to a small plastic chair not far from Fajardo, placing his hands on the rim. "I'm giving you this one chance. Confess, and you just may get out with a life sentence. If you do nothing, you'll die for a cause that we both know is never going to gain ground in this country.."

He sat down, his pose reminding Fajardo more of a therapist than an advanced interrogator. "You've got no foundation. Without a solid foundation, a doubting populace, you cannot seek to ever persuade people, by violence or by words, to support your message. Confess, my friend, and you yet may live."

Fajardo broke his silence and spat contemptuously, his voice a dry hiss. “You can go to hell. And those pawns of the whore-born Camarilla you call your family, they can go to hell too.”

Alberte picked up a pair of pliers from a nearby workbench. “I’m sorry to hear you say that," He said, as he pulled open the man's mouth, his mind muffling the screams that were echoing within his ears. "Rest assured, your sacrifice to the State of Vvarden will not be in vain."
Last edited by Vvarden on Fri Jul 27, 2018 7:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Tir Lhaeraidd
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 104
Founded: Nov 10, 2016
Ex-Nation

Corporate Warfare Pt.1

Postby Tir Lhaeraidd » Mon Aug 06, 2018 7:04 am

Madris Armaments Black Site
Time & Date: 13:23 - 06 August 2018
Location: Somewhere in tir Lhaeraid

"O'Bannon was successful, the manipulation of SSC executives worked better than we hoped and their hiring of the Razor Wolves has, as anticipated, worked to our advantage as well. In due course I suspect Bryce-Vathran will respond in kind; their contract with AAM Security is under scrutiny by the authorities so its likely they'll contract one of the other Big Five PMCs. My guess would be that they are likely to try and secure a contract with Fianna Rónáin since Sylvanaedh are in the limelight after the IEGF hit." Dougal Lugaid was the Senior Tactical Analyst for Mandris; having worked in the worlds of corporate affairs, politics, and the military throughout his fifty year long career he was well respected by the Mandris executive committee. After the committee had decided to try and lower the value of their rivals by less conventional means in order to buy them our it was Dougal to whom they had turned for a strategy. He was bright, and well versed in the use of cutting edge technologies and methods despite his age; he was also a remarkably robust man for a sixty six year old. He made a few motions over his touchscreen tablet and brought up details of SSC's current stock value and their accounts; several of the committee members made murmured sounds indicating that they were impressed by the data. Dugail was a man who exemplified competence, he'd had spies within SSC's senior administrative staff for months, such that lifting up to date financial data and insider information like this was straightforward. "As you can see SSC are in a downward spiral; their efforts at damage limitation have been hampered by the fact that just over two thirds of the senior executives have been arrested. Further the more the Garda dig the more they are pulling up about SSC's less palatable activities; I have our shell buyers in place already with the funds necessary to make the purchase when their stock runs below the agreed upon level, assuming that I am authorised to proceed of course." Dougal looked at the members of the committee who were sat around the semi circular table around the display; he waited a moment for them to confer with one another, his hands folded behind his back, holding onto his tablet.

"Of course Mr Lugaid. The committee agrees. Further I want you to make preparations to enact Harpy. We need to stir the pot further where Mag-Torc are concerned." The response came from the committee chairwoman Caitríona Burke. She tapped her own tablet and transferred a series of documents over to Lugaid, together with the necessary funds. It would go down on the accounts as Research and Development and Acquisitions, but in reality Harpy was an organised effort to steal Mag-Torc military and energy research whilst also sabotaging their facilities dotted around the country. Lugaid had planned out Harpy in depth but it had laid in the background for some time, since the opportune time had yet to arise. Now with SSC weakened and already under suspicion Mandris could move and with the careful placement of evidence the blame would fall to SSC which would make Mandris' gutting of the corporation's assets and senior echelons post buyout all the more unremarkable. It would only make sense for Mandris to more or less dismantle SSC if that corporation's name was destroyed.
Teyrnas tir Lhaeraidd
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Ostry
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 64
Founded: Jun 10, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Ostry » Sat Mar 16, 2019 6:32 pm

Hansard of the Regional Assembly of the National Territory of Ostry
16 March 2019



SPEAKER Léch Rasmussen (Progressive): After a recess, Assembly is now back in order. The Opposition Bench is granted the privilege of questioning the Government that this time. The Honorable Member Jérzy Hagen has the floor.

HON. Jérzy Hagen (Independent): Thank you. My question today does not lie with the Government is general, but you specifically, Mr. Speaker. I hate to put you on the spot in this Assembly, but I would like to inquire about certain transactions I was made aware of while reading Gazeta this morning.
S. LR: Excuse me, Mr. Hagen, but I don't seem to follow.
JH: On the front page, there is a story that says the police are investigating you for fraud and bribery. Ten million plus, to be exact. Mr. Speaker, if there is some conflict of interest going on in the Government, surely it is your prerogative to disclose that to the public-
S. LR: Mr. Hagen, is this necessary at this time-
JH: For the past eight years, this Government has swindled between ten and thirty million skillingrs from the Ostric people through shell companies and offshore firms. Gazeta says that-
S. LR: Mr. Hagen-
JH: Gazeta says, Mr. Speaker, that you have used this money, slated for public use, to bribe various companies and persons in order to sway legislation and keep those loyal to your Government in order. That, sir, is criminal.

[Cheering from the Opposition Bench, heckling from the Government]

S. LR: Will the Honorable Member please understand that certain affairs are to be kept private and not aired out in a legislative assembly?
JH: Oh, [expletive deleted]
S. LR: Excuse me, I will remind the Honorable Member that he is well aware that we are to keep a civil tongue while in session.

[Cheering and heckling continue]

S. LR: The Honorable Member Ebba Szikóra has the floor.
HON. Ebba Szikóra (People's): If this story is true, Mr. Speaker, that the Government has done something illegal and immoral, I would hope you are able to be honest about it. Ten to thirty million skillingrs is immeasurable for us. That funding could go schools, healthcare, to help lower a rising cost of living on Ostry, and yet it is lining the pocket of the very Government that is suppose to represent us. Shame, shame-
HON. MATI ERIKOCZIK (Progressive): That's not your business!
ESz: Excuse me, I am talking. And what do you mean-!

[Heckling from the Government Bench]

S. LR: Order! We are in session! The Honorable Member Mati Erikoczik has the floor.
ESz: Excuse me-
S. LR: Motion stands.
ME: Thank you, Mr. Speaker. This is simply a non-story that the Opposition wishes is larger then it is. We were informed that the Honorable Speaker was facing a routine audit, and a newspaper, looking for simply more subscriptions, twisted it in order to make it more sensational. If I made policy and moral judgments of an entire half of a legislature based on rumours and clickbait, then I would not see myself fit for representing the people.

[Cheering from the Government, heckling from the Opposition Bench]

S. LR: The Honorable Member Jérzy Hagen has the floor.
JH: Do not give me that , Mati. Your mentioned by name. And I find it awfully idioti that my colleague was not able to finish her thoughts-
S. LR: Mr. Hagen, order.
JH: Don't you even [expletive deleted]. You have been running a scheme that includes for all I know the Regional Administrator and all up to the President. It's a conspiracy.
S. LR: I have reminded the Honorable Member about his language once before.
JH: [expletive deleted]
S. LR: Will someone please escort the Honorable Member Jérzy Hagen out of the Assembly? It is clear he cannot conduct discussion in an appripriate manner at this time.

[Heckling from the Opposition Bench]

S. LR: Order! Due to the behavior of this Assembly, the session will now go into recess for the remainder of the day.

[Transcription end.]

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Chokashia
Secretary
 
Posts: 27
Founded: Feb 18, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Chokashia » Fri Jul 12, 2019 5:31 am

In the flow of time, in this never ending existence that surrounds us, there are moments in which we are seemingly calm and then suddenly we are pushed by a tremendous force. In such moments we find out how little influence we have on things, and that all stems from the deeps and comes to existance only to, for a short while, reside in it and then vanish fulfilling its mysterious task of the changes of becoming, being and disappearing. Only man, if he is a sentient being, feels occasionally, with pain, the unstoppable flow of time; he asks a meaningless question about the real meaning feeling the need to grab a hold of a minute that quickly passes.


That inexorable passage of day is most clearly seen in the change of the seasons. When the harvesting of the fields falls under the sickle, when withered leaves fall off trees, when along with the cold November drizzle is mixed with the firs snow flakes, suddenly we notice that autumn or winter has come, however, in that defining of what exists finds itself with the sorrowfull realization of something what is irretrievably disappeared. Only the spring is an exception, it is a shining picture of life itself, in it there is no room for negation.

And every year gifts us with one happy day, a day when we find out that summer has arrived. But before that day of flourishing comes an even intimate one. That is the day when we for the first time anticipate that under the death mask of winter the game of the forces of life is already in motion. That is the moment when the young juice of the trees starts to circle and when the shining glow adorns the small leaf buds, so the naked forests gain a speck of brownish and dark purple shading, the time in which the first whistle of the starling warmly and invigoratingly spreads through the naked trees and when before twilight the flutter of a woodcock's wings revives the lonely forest slopes. That is a rough and a bewildering period in which life has not yet crawled to the surface, but it still fills the soul with upsetting hints of its promises.

The tender green of young leaves shimmered in the flat light. We were following a narrow path that was leading us straight to the front line. Although we were far from it we could hear the thunder of artillery cannons pounding the earth. The drums of the god of war echoed throughout the field far away from us. Thousands of feet are marching in a long line, following the path of reckoning. Nobody hesitated, not one of us. We were far away from home, all of us, fighting on the Northern front alongside Hytekojuzniks, but we knew this fight was ours too. If this front was to fail we would soon be fighting on the home front in our beloved Chokashia.

Ah, yes, I would lie if I would say that great battles are expected with joy. Maybe it was like that before, when all of that could not happen so fast and when the joy of battle was in blood like a desire for some beautiful fulfillment. Earlier, while we were still young and the hart, when we commence a march and when the war songs are sung, it couldn't ask for anything nicer from a fiery thrill of battle and the wild man force in act. Yes, that magic of radiant lights of weapons, sparkling blood and the brave game of life and death seemed more powerful that anything what life could offer.

How is it that now it all seems far - yet, have I grown old in the meantime? Funny, I wouldn't even finish my studies if the war didn't start. No, I have not grown old, but I became someone else.

I take out a pipe from the pocket of my trench coat so that I could fill it and smoke it. That was a good, dear friend that eased many of my night watches and gave me company in numerous hard situations. The stem of my pipe is completely scratched and chewed - of course, sometime it was necessary to clench my teeth.

Ah what a beautiful morning march it was, surrounded by the emerald forests and the golden sun, in strange mood mixed with luminous joy and ceremonial seriousness. Ah, that is what was thought about, that great and clean feeling, that feeling which in completely fills, the simultaneous easiness and weight. We could march infinitely in that morning hour which included all expectations, below the green of the beeches through narrow forest trails, across hills and valleys. And what a joy it was when on a crossroads we met the first prisoners, a long column of despondents, dressed in Leidenese uniforms, and when one bearded soldier in the blue Chokashian uniform called us out: "Boys, go forwards fiercely!" Of course, when we subsequently turned to the great forest road on which the carriages with ammunition were constantly jerking, while the roar of the battle was quite close adn when it was right in front of us raging and quakeing, and when carriages with the dead and wounded were passing us one after another, things were becoming bitterly serious. There, thoughts started to turn to the inside and everyone in their fervour had to deal with themselves. And when the first shell bluntly plunged into the forest soil and when after its explosion came a rain of branches followed by mud falling all around, there, in the painful silence which forestalled, an all warrior shouted: "You got scared now, didn't you!" But the laughter wasn't the same as it was a moment ago. Then, when we had to cross a field, filled with corpses, under constant gunfire - we indeed already became entirely different people.


- Waldemar Schultze, Chokashian God Mars
Last edited by Chokashia on Fri Jul 12, 2019 5:32 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Cuirpthe
Attaché
 
Posts: 94
Founded: Apr 22, 2016
Ex-Nation

Blazing Skies, Part I

Postby Cuirpthe » Thu Jul 25, 2019 5:54 pm

August 17th, 1897 - Military High Command Center, Ballinluska
The crowded rooms of the Cuirpthean war cabinet bustled with activity in the early hours of the morning. Alongside important members of the Chancellor's government, generals, commanders and officers from across the various branches of the army pored over maps and documents detailing the recent events on the eastern front with Newrey and the western with tir Lhaeraidd. A small group was even assigned to the rather uneventful Vaellenian front.

An exhausted General mac Éighe descended the steps into the crowded halls, clutching a scalding hot coffee he had purchased on his trip. He joined a group of officers in a large conference room to the left. The council, including none other than Chancellor ú Souilleabhán himself, sat around a map of the Eallsabh-Aelsef region. The current front line was marked on the map, as well as the locations of major regiments and important cities. The Chancellor looked up as he entered. "Rúirí. So kind of you to join us...an hour late." The general took his seat with a sigh. "Yeah, yeah. My apologies to his Lord the King's Chancellor. My commute was longer than expected." Souilleabhán shot a mildly annoyed look in his direction, but continued with the meeting. "The front line is currently the furthest east it's been since the onset of this conflict. However, recent reports from our officers in the trenches seem to point towards a major Newreyan offensive in the coming months that is predicted to push us back several miles." He motioned to the south, where the trenches extended into Midrasian Elsouf. "Meanwhile, we have been losing ground steadily in Midrasia since the front was opened. In the next year, it is expected that we'll lose quite a bit of ground in the south. Our armies are overextended, and more and more soldiers have been transferred to the western front to fight in the open fields of tir Lhaeraidd, where our fortifications are much weaker. New recruits are not expected to arrive in the east until January. If significant and desperate action is not taken, we may lose our foothold and never again have a chance for victory in the east."

Finally, he procured a series of documents and presented them to the conference. "I believe we have now found that action." Mac Éighe lifted one of the papers to his face. It was a blurry photo of what appeared to be a complex, in a flat region near the coast. Attached was a map of the Newreyan coast, with the facility marked just east of Cyningburgh. "This photo was taken by Ceppelin DM-13 on a routine reconnaissance mission in preparation for the upcoming raid of Cyningburgh," continued the Chancellor. "It appears to be a major military command center as well as a location for the training of conscripts. Several similar facilities have been found east and south of it. What I want is for the Cyningburgh raid to be rerouted to these locations. If we can destroy them, we may hinder the Newreyan war effort and allow us a chance to push further." He retrieved the documents and placed them in his briefcase once more, still speaking. "There is just one caveat to this. The amount of helium fuel required for such a mission is beyond our current capabilities. It is because of this that 4 of the 9 airships shall be reconfigured to function on hydrogen fuel." Mac Éighe nearly choked on his coffee. "Hydrogen fuel?" He slammed the cup on the table. "Congratulations, sir. You've just signed these young men's death warrants."

September 3rd, 1897 - Caidblack Airfield, Caidblack
Private Seán mac Allastar rested in his bunk at Caidblack Airfield. The largest in Cuirpthe, it housed a good number of the Ceppelin airships used in bombing raids on the eastern front. His fellow crew members sat nearby, eating one last meal before they had to board their ship for the coming raid. Mac Allastar wasn't hungry. His commanding officer, Néall Tómas, stood. "Well boys, I think it's just about time for us to set off." Mac Allastar rolled off his bed and began gathering his supplies into a pack. He would be one of the dorsal gunners, meaning he would be sitting on top of what he and his pals liked to call a "massive combat balloon." It was one of the most exposed positions to be in, and he would only have two fellow gunners alongside him. He packed some hot food for the journey and threw on a thick winter coat. "Let's go then. On your order, sir."

The crew approached the Ceppelin designated MV-3, and boarded one by one into the various positions. Tómas took his command position in the front gondola with several others, and a group filed into the rear gondola next. The three dorsal gunners were the last to board, alongside the technicians and mechanics that worked within the vessel. The three scaled the large dirigible and took their positions as they prepared for liftoff. On Mac Allastar's left was his best friend, Dara ú Bron, and on his right, another good friend, Righeán ú Bronán. The three had shared their position for three years now, and generally spent the moments before battle engaging in some joking and foolishness to pass the long stretches of boring inactivity between liftoff and destination. Dara looked over to Mac Allastar. "You all ready, Seán? This is gonna be a big one. They ain't never given us a mission this big. You think old number 3 can handle it?" Allastar laughed as the craft began to slowly, but steadily lurch upwards into the sky. "Hell yeah, I'm ready. It'll be nice and easy, we'll be in and out in no time. I mean, what could go wrong?"

"It's not like number 3 is going to go up in flames, or something like that."
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Ostry
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 64
Founded: Jun 10, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Ostry » Tue Aug 27, 2019 6:45 am

ImageOffice of the Regional Administrator



WACŁÔW ADÓMCZIK, RA

12 sztrasa Antónka
JAKÓBGARD, OSTRY

27 August, 2019


To the Regional Assembly,

Within these months, it has come to my attention that Ostric indepence is an inevitability. Parties supporting the separation from Navack had secured a clear majority in the election of 5 May, and an even clearer majority has formed to see Ostry as a sovereign state by the people of this island. With the people’s mandate, I feel that my government has the complete authority to decide on the fate of Ostry and finally give all Ostrins what they desire most.

Attempts to secure this independence, however, have been stopped by the federal government in our most recent talks in July of this year. While sitting in that conference, I realized that President Helle Schanke and her cabinet would not accept any move towards separation, devolution, or anything other then the broken status quo. Navack fails to realize our situation, our struggles, and the detriments placed upon us by an uncaring regime miles away.

It is this environment that I, as Regional Administrator, on this day of the 27th of August, 2019, declare the independence of Ostry as a sovereign and independent state separated from the United Republic of Navack effective immediately, in accordance with the signing of Administrative Order No. 32. Effective immediately, I call on all Navish authorities and personnel to leave Ostry by the 1st of September, and for the United Republic to accept the changing times of our world and of our right to self-determination.

Thank you, and long live Ostry.

Sincerely,
WACŁÔW ADÓMCZIK

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