Snapshots of Life in Stille Nacht [Stille Nacht][Closed]

by **Murovanka** » Thu Mar 16, 2017 7:15 am

INDEX

Title: The Crown Prince of Phallia
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: The Crown Prince of Phallia wakes up to a nasty surprise.
Title: The Family Business
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: With their older sibling now a new father, two brothers reflect on their position in the most powerful family in the empire: The Folcwaldings.
Title: A Free Wanka
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: Following the collapse of the Wankan Theocracy, Democracy, Freedom and Justice rule. Business is well for the Brotherhood.
Title: The Future of a Dynasty
Author: Demetland
Synopsis: The weddings of the princes Llywelyn and Griffith observed through the eyes of Prince John of Linford.
Title: Geography Class
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: A geography class on rivers at the prestigious Nonante Academie in New Phallia, twenty years ago, sheds light on the political implications of a neighbouring water project.
Title: The Fall of Yulvin
Author: Cyrden (in Canon the woman who wrote it is Historian Kelma Nembe)
Synopsis: During the invasion of Cyrden in 1927, the aging king, Brojm, does all that he can in order to protect the lives of his people when they were forgotten by the president.
Title: Night Patrol
Author: Demetland
Synopsis: Growing unrest in Demetland's south-eastern border regions begins to turn violent.
Title: You either die a hero...
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: SUPREME OVERLORD faces his fear
Title: At the Constituency Office
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment in the Constituency Office, Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.
Title: The King is dead, Long live the King!
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Hours before the Governor proclaimed the New King, then the Proclamation of Accession, and immediately then after the Oath of Allegiance.
Title: The Tangent
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: A historian completes the masterpiece of his scholarly career and writes about a recent encounter with the Emperor.
Title: The Half-baked King
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Lunch break as the King's Privy Council for Springstile discuss the tour of the New King.
Title: If at First you Don't Succeed
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: A normal session in the Hall of the People takes a rather unpredicted turn
Title: At the Constituency Office II
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment outside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.
Title: At the Constituency Office III
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Another moment outside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall with Harold and Kennedy.
Title: The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: An unsuspected raid in the heart of Forzera
Title: At the Constituency Office IV
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment inside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.
Title: Theological Flavour
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: A journalist interviews a recent convert to Heroicism in an attempt to understand what draws people to the religion's doctrine.
Title: The Revalucion of Tenochte
Author: Tenochte
Synopsis: Fleet Admiral Rasmus Mardh, with the help of the underworld boss Fidel Ruiz, has begun his coup against the tyrannical leader of Tenochte, only to be met with greater resistance than expected
Title: Martyr
Author: Norvosa
Synopsis: A rogue Tribune who dared challenge the oligarchy that has corrupted Norvosa's democracy steels himself before the coming storm.
Title: Wankenlied
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: Chapter I tells of the founding of the half-mythical Four Kingdoms of Wanka by King Muras.
Title: Ethos, Pathos, Logos
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: An Aemen commander lays the foundation for a new weapon of war.
Title: A House Divided
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: The former king of Aemen despairs as a visit from his brother shatters what little joy he has left.
Title: Father knows best?
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: Two friends look forward on edge as Christoslavia's way of life hangs in the balance; SUPREME OVERLORD makes a decision with great consequences
Title: Aarbéiter
Author: Gauliscia
Synopsis: Hrothwig Wæxer makes his way from the Raaën dockyards to his home, the story follows the footsteps of many working Gauliscians.
Title: The Reckoning Pt.1
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: The tables have turned on SUPREME OVERLORD, or have they?
Title: The Reckoning Pt.2
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: Rogue officers plot to overthrow the country by force, but the people won't go so quietly

by **Murovanka** » Thu Mar 16, 2017 8:34 am

Title: The Crown Prince of Phallia
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: The Crown Prince of Phallia wakes up to a nasty surprise.

Schloß Hohenfall
Kingdom of New Phallia

Crown Prince Thiers Armand von Hohenfall stopped, went pale, doubled up. He read the paper again with burning eyes and hands. His secretary stood by, head bowed.

“W-wéi?” Armand’s hand, his entire body, trembled as he took a tentative step forward, as if testing whether this was real.

It was all out there. Everything. Not only that, but also under what circumstances, and to whom.

It was over. His father would strip him off his hereditary right and give the Kingdom to his hated younger brother. The mere thought of Alexel…

“WÉI?!!” The Crown Princes heart suddenly seemed to hammer against his ribcage as he hyperventilated, stumbling across his office, collapsing against a cupboard.

“NÉEN!” He lashed out against his secretary as the latter rushed over to help him up. Fire was in his eyes. Armand forced himself up, ripping the closet door open, reaching in for Frëidensbrachder, an old family heirloom, the longsword that King Ernst I himself used in the Unification Wars in Phallia. It was the sword that the First King of Phallia was most often depicted with, raising it in victory following his conquest of Gmünd against the tyrannical and evil forces of the Order of Schalla, and coming to symbolise the coalescence of a nation and people.

“THEY WILL PAY!” Armand roared, drawing Frëidensbrachder from its scabbard, and launching it in furious assaults against whatever happened to come in his way. A three-hundred-year-old porcelain vase from Chen, a portrait of Sœwilo, God of Light, a painting of one of the Hohenfall’s ancestors, chairs, tables, the windows all fell victim to Frëidensbrachder’s edges which seemed to resist the degrading effects of time. “BEZUELEN WERDEN SIE MIT IHREM EIGENEN BLUT! ATLA WILL PAY!”

The secretary, who had watched stunned as the room was systematically destroyed by the Hohenfall family’s most precious artefact, scrambled out to get help, but he didn’t make it- Frëidensbrachder slashed him in the back, and the next one separated head from shoulders, but still the Crown Prince did not stop, hacking into the secretary until Frëidensbrachder finally cracked and shattered, while beating down a helpless, unarmed man of low breed.

Reality sunk in, the damage was done. A careless mistake years ago, sent to the Duchess of Hoyerswerde, and this would be the end of him. Worst of all, the papers had insisted on zooming in on his worst insecurity- his third nipple. He knew it would be declared a mark of evil which meant he was unfit for the Crown.

But they would pay for doing this. Atla would pay.

by **Aemen** » Thu Mar 16, 2017 1:26 pm

Title: The Family Business
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: With their older sibling now a new father, two brothers reflect on their position in the most powerful family in the empire: The Folcwaldings.

Marresburg
Aemen

Hector and William sat in the drawing room of their father's stately home, glass tumblers of whiskey rested in their hands as they relaxed after a day of carrying out the Emperor's wishes. Both men worked as civilian attaches, advising on political matters, to the Imperial Fleet, a job which both of them achieved through the extensive connections of their family. Darius Folcwalding, their father, had been the Lord Secretary of Applications in the Ministry of Technology under King Reginald II and later King Alexander, whilst their uncle, the powerful former Elector-Margrave Ridley Folcwalding, commanded and managed the entirety of the Fleet when it was known as the Royal Ocean Defence Force.

Hector took a sip from his glass, licking the remnants of whiskey from his lips afterwards. 'So what did Killian decide to call it in the end?'

William pondered, getting up and walking over to the drinks cabinet. 'Uh, I believe he called it Ridley, after Uncle Ridley. Don't think I need to explain why.'

Hector chuckled. 'Bastard, he always was the favourite nephew, being the biggest brown-nosing little prick out of dad's litter.'

'Oh come on Heck, we all wanted to be Uncle Ridley, we all sucked up to him.' William returned to his chair, his whiskey tumbler replaced by a fizzing gin and tonic with a slice of fresh lime. 'Besides, we're going places.'

'Yeah, about as far as every other Folcwalding in Aemen.'

'Is that the whiskey talking?'

'You know what I mean Wills. There are people out there that would slaughter villages of orphans for our jobs, I know, but in the eyes of our family we might as well be... well, you know.'

William shrugged, drinking from his glass. 'There are only so many ministries to head up, I don't know what more you want. We might not be leaders, but we're good at what we do.'

'That's the point. Dad always said “You're in the greatest, oldest family on the continent, you will make me proud”, didn't you feel like he was giving us an order, rather than reassurance or inspiration?' Hector said, imitating an exaggerated form of his father.

'It's what we do, isn't it? Our entire schtick is to keep our heads high above the muck that we see struggle in places like Greerton or Port Prince, to be proud that we can be given jobs straight out of university and climb ranks faster than anyone else because of our blood. We run this country as a family. The Emperor might not be one of us, but he couldn't do it without us.'

'The Emperor doesn't need us, he needs Diederik, and Diederik will drop us the moment we stop being useful.' Hector lamented as he finished his whiskey and stood up, loosening his tie.

'Diederik wouldn't do that, he was Uncle Ridley's eldest, and we all knew the hell that man put the poor bastard through if he so much as stole our ice cream.'

'Uncle Ridley's not here anymore, Wills.'

William rolled his eyes. 'I think you're taking this a bit seriously. We're the Folcwalding family; we've even got similar amounts of clout in foreign countries where we're not all that publicly popular. We're not going anywhere.'

'It's not the people outside of the family I'm afraid of, it's the damn cutthroat world inside that scares me. Sometimes I'd prefer to be some factory worker in Greerton, churning out bullets, plastic or canned beans day in and day out. At least the pressure's off in that kind of job and I expect your wife and kids are happy you're providing for them. Dad was always breathing down our neck, Uncle Ridley smacked about his own kids if they stepped out of line and now Killian's baby boy will be going through the same thing. Poor little chap has no idea what kind of wolf den he's been born into.'

by **Murovanka** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 1:57 am

Title: A Free Wanka
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: Following the collapse of the Wankan Theocracy, Democracy, Freedom and Justice rule. Business is well for the Brotherhood.

WIlhelmshafen
Confederation of Wanka

In a large, inconspicuous compound not far from the Joint Confederate Armed Forces Base- housing not only Air Force and the famed 9th Jägers but also serving as headquarters of the Home Fleet- six heavy container trucks rolled in together with their escort of three black minivans.

They stopped in the courtyard. The doors of the minivans opened first, six armed men with automatic rifles appearing out of each and running toward the trucks, opening its doors. Various exotic scents and smells exited from the inside; all of its contents had had a long journey behind them.

The first two contained what was traditionally their main business: drugs, mainly cocaine and cannabis. From a quiet tinted room in the main building the ‘Colonel’, as he was known, watched contentedly as his men did their work quietly, efficiently, in military fashion. Drugs were always good business and there was always demand in this country of 350 million.

The next two were weapons; submachine guns, ammunition, rocket-propelled grenades and launchers, C4. Always good to have.

It was notable that the Brotherhood first rose to international prominence when it, decades ago, fought the notorious Wankan secret police, the Geheimpolizei in Osnabrügg. Whilst suffering heavy losses, the resulting drama and media coverage brought them the reputation they long sought for as Wanka’s deadliest and most powerful gang, and the weak Wankan government at that time had little political will to pursue the gang further.

Wanka was a massive country and there were always some disgruntled political movements here and there who preferred to voice their political opinions through bullets and explosions and The Colonel was thankful for that business.

The Colonel was called that because he was a former Colonel in the West Wankan Army, the military of that quite short-lived totalitarian Shahidist state which tried and failed to impose the rules of the Hadayya (their holy book) onto the nation. But he didn’t care much for politics. Before the theocracy he was Brotherhood, after the theocracy, following the final defeat of the West Wankan Army, he returned to the Brotherhood which had survived through all of the country’s political turmoil. Partly because no matter how religiously fanatic the Theocracy’s leadership was, they still occasionally fell prey to carnal desires and the seductive power of wealth and power. Besides, the gangs provided many of the recruits to the Theocracy’s ‘Holy Army’.

Following the return of glorious democracy The Colonel together with his band of merry military-trained gangster friends returned to the Brotherhood and promptly seized control of it in a short and bloody power struggle and from there all was going swell.

The defeated religious extremists were reorganising themselves and were their foremost customers for explosives. To service their signature move, that of shouting Allahu Akbar and blowing up, The Colonel even had custom-made vests made for them.

Otherwise, the reunification of the country and opening of borders to foreign trade gave the Brotherhood access to not only the entire Wankan market but to markets abroad.

The last two trucks contained a newer type of import in the form of humans, all exclusively women.

This load of imports all came from Hespera. The cocaine was produced in Chen or Canton, found their way past various middlemen to Canton’s well-maintained free ports where Brotherhood-affiliated ships waited. These made their way through the ocean and the Gulf before arriving in the compound in Wilhelmshafen from where it was distributed to all over Wanka.

Similarly for the more animated imports, these most often looked to escape the horrid life of poverty and oppression in Chen and were lured away with promises of a better life and secure jobs abroad. Placed in a stuffy container with enough food and water to survive the journey they would come to Wanka and even in the compound be quite unsure as to what dangers they had landed themselves in.

The Colonel would sometimes pick a few out for his own use, the rest would be sold to brothels or, increasingly, wealthy individuals thriving in postwar capitalist Wanka. Traditionally it was wealthy men of Ummayan descent who desired sex slaves like their forefathers had at home, but now it was a new class of farmers-turned-bourgeoisie who busily used their newfound wealth to dig bigger cellars to house the slaves. The democratic revolution against the Theocracy had started in the relatively poorer eastern Wankan areas where until recently outdated forms of agriculture still existed, and it was these farmers that had taken over the pillars of power and wealth on the Wankan coast following the Theocracy’s demise.

And the Colonel ensured the safety of buying from him. Mayors of several cities couldn’t be elected without his approval and local police departments were well in his pockets at every level. The Brotherhood too ran legitimate businesses and had funded several community welfare projects, building schools and hospitals and employing thousands. But that had started long ago. The Brotherhood was well-entrenched in Wankan society and were not leaving anytime soon.

by **Demetland** » Sat Mar 18, 2017 1:15 am

by **Murovanka** » Thu Mar 23, 2017 1:35 am

Title: Geography Class
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: A geography class on rivers at the prestigious Nonante Academie in New Phallia, twenty years ago, sheds light on the political implications of a neighbouring water project.

Nonante Academie
Kingdom of New Phallia
20 Years Ago

The students turned a fresh page in his notebook as Mr. Greck, the Geography teacher, stood up and wrote in large, bold letters the title of the new unit.

“Our next topic on Freshwater Issues & Management is on Dams.” Mr. Greck said. “Dams are by far the most common river management strategy, rivers, as we know, are central and essential to much of human life. Dam construction has peaked over the last few years- could anyone list any examples?”

“Treasure Mountain Dam in Chen.” a dark-haired girl said.

“The Leine River Dam in Wanka.” a small boy at the front said.

“Yes, Saona, Carl.” Mr. Greck nodded, “those are amongst the most famous, and the largest. Dams can handle over a billion cubic meters of water, an amount I cannot imagine to fathom, and their reservoirs can be the size of cities.” One wondered whether Mr. Greck was capable of imagining much.

“Can anyone take a guess as to where Dams are built? Saona.”

“The upper course, where it is easiest to Dam.”

“Correct, Saona, and they do require specific geography to be built, and it is foreseeable that in near future that every river that can be dammed, will be dammed. Why Dams? Let’s look at the advantages of Dams.”

Paper rustled as the class took notes, the teacher switching the image on the projector screen.

“Electricity generation. Hydroelectric power is generated from dams, and this energy is cheap once the dam is completed. It is quite simple; it uses gravitational potential energy to drive a turbine and generator, and a dynamo converts it into electricity to be sent to various cities’ electrical grids. Nearly all dams generate hydropower; with how costly such projects are, one might as well produce electricity.

“Secondly, creation of a reservoir, which can be used for fishing, recreation, providing drinking water, and critically- irrigation. Reservoirs, as I said before, can be huge and used for all these activities. Using the freshwater for irrigation is important in turning otherwise infertile land into arable land and supporting bigger populations. Water is critical to all aspects of life, and if one requires more water, one simply slows down- or stops- river flow.”

“It can stop a river flow completely?” Carl asked.

“Yes, for a period of time, until the reservoir is full, whereupon the water would simply spill over the top, or, more likely, collapse the dam completely, which has happened before, while the dam was still in construction and a few mistakes were made. But generally you let the river flow on before that happens.”

“Lastly, it controls river discharge downstream, which often means less flooding. Now, moving to its disadvantages.”

“Firstly, they are very expensive to build, and many countries, particularly poor ones, cannot afford to and outsource it to foreign companies who will keep control of it, likely for up to decades for profits.

“They also destroy ecosystems and the changing flows of the river affect people downstream. Remember with how large its reservoirs can get, people will have to be relocated and wildlife habitat zones cleared. Furthermore, it severely affects fish migratory patterns. Many types of fish migrate up and down the river course a few times a year, feeding in the lower course. With a Dam in the way, they cannot do that anymore.

“Lastly, maintenance is expensive. As the river flow slows and stops completely at the dam, deposition takes place and the silt and sludge build up on the bottom. If the silt reaches a certain level it may flow down the penstock pipes and damage the turbines, so these have to be dredged out. Often sold to farmers because the soil is alluvium rich.” Mr. Greck paused to let the students finish taking notes. Carl had already done so, and something had just occurred to him. He raised his hand.

“Mr. Greck, while dams stop rivers from flooding, don’t farmers often rely on flooding to irrigate their fields?”

“Yes indeed, while flooding can be devastating to urban environments and is exacerbated by deforestation and human settlement, farmers often rely on yearly floods that break river banks and distribute alluvium over their farmlands. The Wein, for example, which irrigates the Falenland, the breadbasket which provides over three quarters of New Phallian food consumption.” Mr. Greck nodded, it occurred to him too.

“Class, pay attention for a second. Indeed, here we have a classic example of water turning into a political issue, water which due to its scarcity we will likely see future conflicts being fought over. Has anyone been following the news?”

Selanoma, son of the Duke of Burgundy, raised his hand. “Atla has plans to construct a large dam on the Wein. My father was complaining about it.”

“Yes, it is controversial as the our government and His Majesty the King are doing everything they can to dissuade our primitive neighbours from starting such a project. For good reasons. The Dam the Atlish are planning would be one of the largest in the world and would wreak havoc on the Wein’s natural flow. Remember that this is the river that fertilises the Falenland and supplies our capital, Gmünd. Its freshwater fishing industry is still bigger than the coastal fishing market. The Wein is of such great national and strategic importance, though unfortunately, this conflict is not to be won, and New Phallia is struck by a curse faced similarly by other countries downstream.”

“Why?”

Mr. Greck shook his head. “Atla may be landlocked, but they’re on the right side of the equation. A simple equation, and you will do good to note this down. That is, downstream always loses and is at the mercy of upstream.”

Not if we can help it, Carl thought, perhaps by the continuation of politics by other means.

by **Cyrden** » Thu Apr 06, 2017 8:16 pm

Title: The Fall of Yulvin
Author: Cyrden (in Canon the woman who wrote it is Historian Kelma Nembe)
Synopsis: During the invasion of Cyrden in 1927, the aging king, Brojm, does all that he can in order to protect the lives of his people when they were forgotten by the president.

Yulvin, Cyrden
1927

Snow had begun to fall more steadily. By noon, the city of Yulvin, the former capital of Cyrden, had succumb to its own savior, the snow. For two weeks, Cyrdeve forces had been pent up within the rocky walls and defenses of their city. Outside was a cluster of enemy soldiers, invaders who had taken half the nation by October. They had invaded in April. In Novermber, they had tried to take the city again and again. Yet the trenches were too deep, the machine guns too hungry, the people too desperate to make it to the next day. Now, in December, the bastards had been forced to halt and take shelter from the cold. They still, however, shelled the city daily. The only way out of the city now was by a single rail-line that had been destroyed and repaired on several occasions. President Lenrik had ordered the evacuation of the city but the going was slow.

The trenches surrounding the city were almost half buried in snow. Desperate soldiers had given up on their safe havens and dared to stay on open plains, to get closer to the bonfires of the city. On one such field, atop a brown horse was a man with his wool uniform coat pulled tightly shut. His eyebrows had been left exposed to the elements and had been ravaged by frost. They twisted like serpents and seemed to be leaping off his face towards the ground. The man was past middle-aged, almost considered "legally elder". He had curvy black hair, that despite surrendering to age at the temples, refused to yield any more scald to the horrid ancientness of the grey. A thick mustache hugged his face as the wind hissed against him. The sound of an artillery shell made the man look up and watch with twinkling green eyes, eyes that had seen too much and tried to look for hope in faces of the young, in echoes of memory. The shell exploded onto a grouping of tents. Screams of men and horses danced around in the aging man's ears. He made a sound akin to a rock being scraped against pavement. A tear rolled down his face, ignoring the sniff he'd tried to retract it with.

This was a man who had some inkling of power. At least, many lifetimes ago, he would have. But now, the hopelessness had eaten away at him. Every morning he woke, staring himself in the mirror, demanding what good his title was. Demanding what good he was. Demanding who he was. King Brojm looked up from his coat and stared at the enemy army. And then his heart sank as he saw it readying to attack.

Now that Yulvin was buried, the train could only be taken once or twice a day. And with about 4,000 civilians still within, not everyone was going to make it. Brojm turned his horse and looked up towards the city, knowing that supplies were low, that his people were on the breaking point. Again and again, Brojm cursed President Lenrik for not listening to him at governmental functions. While he was mostly a figurehead, the old king was a wise and practical man. He had known that attack was coming. And like ostriches, the politicians stuck their heads in the sand. They called him a war dog, an echo of a bygone era of war. They villianized him, told the people to scorn his crown and family. Told them to ignore their mad king.

Brojm reflected on the irony of those lies. It was only he who had come to the aid of the people. He smashed open his family line's entire fortune to fund the army and to pay for food for the people. He'd sold the estate, liquidated more than half of the royal art collection, donned a uniform and fought. And the politicians stayed warm in the capital. But the people knew this and had finally grown to respect King Brojm again.

The old king heard the battle cries of the enemy troops across the plains. He turned his head and saw them rushing forward into the embrace of his countrymen's machine guns. But there were too few Cydeve. A horde of invaders reached the trenches and fought their way through the battered and broken-spirited soldiers. The old man turned his horse, unable to watch his nation fail. There was only one thing left for him to do. Make sure the train had left. He spurred his horse on, got low and put out his rear like he had in his youth. Brojm coughed violently has his skeleton cracked and argued against him. He whipped his reigns, going fast than he'd gone in more than twenty years. His horse, Club, was as old as him in horse years. He was named Club because it was discovered that one of his feet was a bit oddly shaped. Yet, he refused to leave Club for a new horse, much like how a child will always love the mutt that he finds in the street. For, although Club was slower than the other horses, he had more endurance than them all.

Together, the old pair charged towards the city, an army at their heels. Brojm looked over his shoulder and saw a sea of black dots rush past his soldiers, they were through. With renewed urgency, the old Cydeve rode faster. He coughed hoarsely and heavily, his horse wheezed for breath. They were from a forgotten age, a time of honor and glamor. They remained while the republic grew. It had formed in 1467, but the elected members did not have much power until the mid 1500s. After that, the monarchy lost duty after duty, until in 1871, the monarch lost the power to levy taxes and declare war. Now all the king had left was a duty to serve his people. And so he rode.

Brojm reached the train station just in time to see it begin to pull away. Soldiers ran back and forth, preparing to make their final stand. Amidst the chaos, a boy of about four or five stood looking around. He screamed "Mommy! Mommy!" as tears rolled down his face. Brojm rode over to the boy and reached down for him and lifted him up, straining as he did so. The old man smiled at the boy "Hello there, little one. Where is your mother?" The boy shook his head and continued to cry. Brojm removed his cap and placed it on the boy's head in an attempt to distract him momentarily. Just then, a woman on the train cried out to the king "Sir! Sir! My child! Please, sir, my child!" The train lurched forward and began to pick up speed. The woman's eye became pleading as she cried out "Please! Please! My child!"

"Ye-ha!" Brojm shouted as he snapped the reigns for Club. The old horse rushed forward, running towards the slow moving train. The woman elbowed her way to the door of the train and held out her arms. Club began to falter and the train began to pick up speed. Gunfire filled the air and the boy cried louder. The mother begged for her child. The king snapped the reigns of his horse again. "Run Club! Run old boy!" he ordered. The old horse ran harder and soon Brojm was parallel to the woman. The king placed the boy in his mother's arms. Someone shouted "Slow the train, let this man on!" The king yelled over the train, and the bullets, and the tears "No! Do not stop this train! Go, go and alive!" The woman smiled and screamed "Thank you!" Then she looked down and saw the man's cap on her son's head. Then she saw the gold pin of the crown. The crest of the king. "The king!" she screamed "Stop the train, it's the king!" People looked up, trying to catch his face. Their king? How could they not have known! Brojm was lagging behind know but shouted "Don't stop! Go! Live!" Screams of horror rose up to the heavens as Club's neck flashed with blood from a rifle round. The old horse dropped to the ground, his rider bounced and rolled onto his back. King Brojm cried out in pain as his rib-cage broke.

The old man looked up at the sky and saw the clouds. He felt confused and blinked his eyes. Then he felt warm by his ear and knew that him must have hit his head and that he was dying. He looked up at the sky and tried to utter a prayer, or say something profound. Nothing came to his lips. He thought hard, yet no dogma surfaced in his head. It was true, he'd been less than religious his whole life, yet he'd always felt a sense of respect for doing justice. A trust that someone was going to make things better up there somewhere. Brojm thought of a time he saw a Monastery of the Holies, of the stain glass window of the girl in armor. She was nineteen, with vibrant red lips, a hard grimace, and eyes that looked into your soul. Her sword lit up with the sunrise and with the sunset. Her brilliant white armor let in light, bathing the entryway inside the monastery with the radiance of the sun. Brojm had been fifteen when he saw that window but he still shivered with fear when he met the gaze of Martyr Juimre. The Holy Records said that the Holies and the Martyrs always watched them. Brojm didn't fully believe them, yet he believed in Saint Juimre, in eyes that saw all of your sins. And all your goodness. In her story, Juimre set out to avenge the rape and murder of hundreds of her townspeople, guided by the goddess Neiwarin, goddess of justice. And Juimre cut down rows and rows of those who had wronged the people. However, when she found some with goodness, deep within or on the surface, she offered mercy. Live returned for a life spent in serve of others. Juimre had died at the hands of a man she showed mercy, while saving and purifying the life of a killer.

Brojm thought of that woman and finally found a prayer "Juimre, hear me an old man. I am worried I may have been too greedy for most of my life. Too cold. Too arrogant. But please now, grant me mercy-" He stopped. That wasn't the right prayer. He felt his life slipping away and then whispered "Juimre, watch over that boy. Let him grow, let him thrive. Protect him and help him save my people, save Cyrden. Let him be a better man than I." A short exhale followed. The king was dead.

by **Demetland** » Fri Apr 07, 2017 3:37 pm

by **Christoslavia** » Sat Apr 15, 2017 8:35 am

Title: You either die a hero...
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: SUPREME OVERLORD faces his fear

August 1983
The Center for Truth
Supreme General Ajax Santosa

Ajax collapsed, the clang of his handgun as it crashed against the floor pierced his ears. Not 5 feet in front of him sat a dead man with a smile on his face. He was right

earlier...

Shots had finally finished ringing through the hallway, faint gurgling heard as the men next to him and on the other end of the hallway choked on their own blood, faint and haunting dying breaths rose gently through the air and trickled inside Santosa's ears as he dropped his rifle and walked down the hallway observing the chaos.

His squad was dead, but so were the bastards at the end of the hall, slouched against columns and doors. The Battle of Veracida still raged, artillery and gunfire heard from all sections of the city, the roar of jets and the rumble of tanks through collapsed buildings.

The Christoslavian Revolutionary Front had contained a majority of the city, slowly squeezing regime forces towards the center. There couldn't be more than a division still holding the city, and the man who led them was right behind the daunting oak doors before Santosa, a symbol of the Director's stature...and arrogance.

It all comes to this? This is how it ends? So anti-climactic. 5 fucking years Santosa chuckled to himself as he drew his handgun, slowly approaching the door ready for whatever was on the other side, he jammed his heel into the lock as the door cracked open and flew inwards.

There were no guards in the room, just a man in a red suit sitting behind a massive desk, in a custom leather chair, leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, and with a sly smirk showing at the corner of his mouth. The sun illuminating the grey hairs on his neatly trimmed beard and well kempt hair, parted evenly as he stared down Santosa with delicate sky blue eyes... an unsettling dichotomy, as if they were saying "I'm waiting" in a gentle and coy tone; yet at the same time with such intensity it deceived the prior notion and instead demanded of Santosa, try me, I dare you.

Ajax chuckled, a few laughs before falling into a bout of maniacal cackling, "What the fuck are you smiling at old man? YOU LOST! Your whole fucking empire is gone, your allies killed or fled like the cowards they are, you have no power anymore, you're worth nothing more than a factory worker."

Ajax screamed these last few words, veins visible in his forehead as blood flowed throughout his face, his eyes and mouth strained with anger.

The Director calmly took a breath and retorted, "Dear Ajax, I thought you were smarter than this."

Bewildered, Ajax scowled back, "What's that supposed to mean, coming from the man who's minutes away from death"

"Ajax, dear boy, you and I are one in the same yet you fail to realize it. My death will weigh on you as much as you want to believe this is closure. Now tell me, is this all because you want to avenge your father or you truly want change?"

"What kind of question is that? You've killed thousands, oppressed millions, brought the people of this country to their knees for your own gain, who the hell do you think you are?! I'm here to avenge everyone you've wronged!"

With a sigh, Dwight continued,

"Ajax you fail to realize why I did things, your father, and anyone else done away with, was a threat to the system. Conservatism comes from the root to conserve, the system over all. Your father would have caused havoc, directly threatening not only me but many others. I had to make a choice to preserve the system as is. When I am long gone, unless you magically transition this country to democracy, you can not look me in the eye and tell me you won't do the same"

Smiling now, he continued, "There will be a day when you kill some lads father because he directly threatens the system you will place after I'm gone, you will have to make a choice, and you will conserve over all, because you'll think your way is the only way. You already see yourself as the savior of this country. That boy will grow to hate you, and it will eventually be your downfall."

Steaming, Ajax spat venom at Reynolds, "Don't you ever compare me to you Dwight, I am nothing like you, I'm saving this country, I'm not in this for myself, but for the people. Anyone who is against the people doesn't deserve to live in the society provided by such. It will be the greedy and selfish who oppose us. The power hungry who'd revert us back to this. I don't need to convince myself that I'm better than you, it's evident"

"Ajax dear boy, you'll learn this lesson in time. Go ahead then, kill me, rule this nation in your perfect image. But don't be so arrogant as to think you're immune to the same criticisms you levy against me."

Ajax looked up at Dwight with tired eyes, that had seen a lifetime of killing and suffering and pain. With strain in his voice, he calmly stated, almost gasping,

"I'm ushering in a new era of prosperity, uplifting the people you've destroyed. You and your cronies, who've exploited this country for so long, will no longer do so."

"Nice rhetoric, but let's see you tu-"crack. Dwight looked confused, he gingerly touched his fingertips to the hole over his heart, looking down as his crimson suit turned a slightly darker shade of red, the grey in his beard melding with blood as the iron left a strange taste in his mouth. Dwight Reynolds closed his eyes for the final time, laid his head back in his chair, and died, but not before letting out one last gasp of a laugh, with a sly smile on his face.

by **Springstile** » Sat May 06, 2017 11:35 pm

Title: At the Constituency Office
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment in the Constituency Office, Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.

RIVERSHOE TOWN MEETING HALL

On a tear-off calendar sitting on a certain representative's desk and says to those who are curious to see what it is, "May 02, 2017 - Tuesday."

"Have you heard about the dolls hanging from the trees at Riverside Drive?" Wait what?

Representative for the Municipality of Rivershoe, Gordon Goway, has spent his lunch usually in relative peace at his constituency office on Tuesdays. Disappointingly for him, he had to stop and listen for a moment, for a visitor with a bizarre story to tell.

Speaking of usually in a wider sense, he works at Government Building, nearly more than a dozen kilometers away from his hometown on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Rivershoe is in the National Capital Territory, would not be a problem then for one to move back and forth. Tolls are far away from there and here, and so public transpiration is convenient.

Luckily this is a Tuesday, which means more time at home. And since this is his only day at his town, he spends most of the time to listen to constituents as expected by unwritten convention. Much less violated by unwritten temptations, though some for the right reason. The rest of his time will be sent for family, he promised dinner after all before going back to Genevieve.

So far since this morning, when he came in at seven forty-five, he has listened to a Mister Lander Edouardson who complained about a man who trespassed into his backyard at Number 1, Betty Barterson Street.

Gordon, wanting to tell Lander that this should be heard by local law enforcement and not him, took note of how old Mister Edouardson is. Gray, wrinkled, thin, perhaps confused. Lander reminded Gordon of his dad who has passed a year ago from pneumonia.

Feeling pity for the old man, he told him to "keep a wary eye and perhaps ask somebody from the family to stay at his place for a while" until Mister Edouardson felt "it is no longer needed."

Remembering the need he then asked if Lander could "tell the police about it too." One cannot be too comfortable these days "even if Rivershoe never saw a murder since 1974 and a robbery since last year," Christmas Eve.

In the end of that Gordon felt satisfied seeing the old man go away smiling.

After Mister Edouardson, he met a Mister Harold Endhall.

A 14 year-old boy, studying at Rivershoe Secondary School, a gamer who appreciated biking, part-time gas attendant, oddly son of the owner of Circle Community Mall or, as it is popularly known, Circle C. It is the one and only mini-mall in Rivershoe, considered humorously with pride as the one and only semblance of city life in the area.

Gordon wonders what brought the boy here since this is the first time he had a minor in his office. Why would any of the municipal youth seek him when they are not yet voters?

Apparently, the boy was verbally assaulted by a man while he was riding on his brother's bike around Hilltop Villages, a maze of lower class housing near municipal limits and the territory border.

Gordon asked the boy what was the problem since Harold suddenly stopped, he seemed to have forgotten. Thankfully, he was just too shy to go further.

He finally did when he told Gordon that the man was blocking the bike lane with a broken television. The boy tried to move it out of the lane but the man stopped him.

When Harold asked why, the man loudly told him about his daughter who was apparently hit by a biker. Words that were reinforced by cuss and spit that came along.

The boy defended that it is a bike lane but the man did not want to hear the end of it. And so he expressed that with another loud telling, a shout. Embarrassed as people nearby began looking at the scene and afraid of what the man is capable of, Harold sped away in his bike.

Gordon replied, concerned but not afraid for the boy as this seems to be a matter between Harold and the unknown man who is seemingly aggressive and inconsiderate of the boy and the law, and the ordnance, on bike lanes. Gordon reminded the boy of the government policies in place on such lanes and said that it was not his fault.

Will consider this for the future, perhaps a bill penalizing further those who offend this besides fines and a day of community service, remembered Gordon, what he had thought then.

The boy left with what is a barely a nod, what one would guess. Gordon could not even say goodbye with how fast Harold left. What must be wrong?

After all his meetings today so far, he thought of course about these, as he tries to take in what his current visitor was trying to tell him. "Ridiculous," a word that fits in this case. "Odd" as well.

Have you heard about the dolls in Riverside Drive? Hanging in Riverside Drive? The dolls hanging in Riverside Drive? recalled words in Gordon's mind, words to have been said by a Miss Amelia Hinterkaifeck. She is a teenager living in the same street where Mister Edouardson lives. Athletic, based on her fashion of a pink sleeveless shirt and black running tights.

"Sir? Are you okay?" asked Amelia, lacking the patience to wait for the response of Gordon. Who has just turned around to stare at the town map behind him and his desk, elevated on the wall, facing would be visitors through the door when it is open and the visitors.

Realizing that he does not need to spend his time on that but is curious, he decided, "Well, is that all about the street?" To which Amelia disagreed by shaking her head from left to right, horizontally if that was not clear.

"Well, I'm a jogger of the early hours of the morning, I usually take Riverside since there are no houses there, no people, peaceful. So as I passed by, and I-And saw the dolls, I saw a man hanging up one. A doll on a small tree. There was, like, thousands of others hanging. Could not see the face since he was wearing a hoodie. Now, I approached you first sir since I really don't know what to say about this and surely the emergency services, Municipal Council and the Assembly, wouldn't care, as far as I know. Ah. So-Ah. Should I be concerned-should we be concerned about this?"

To be honest, I don't know, thought Gordon, as he kept staring at the map.

"I suppose you should call One-One-One to the scene?" Call the municipal emergency services, suspicious activities are something they usually handle, I remembered my neighbor Rat whose wife called One-One-One for squirrels attacking their child on their porch and when their son was stuck, tangled by their car's belt straps.

"Well. I don't feel comfortable doing it." Right. Let's end this. He turned around to face Amelia and took the handset of his desk phone and dialed One-One-One.

Amelia looked at the town's local representative, wondering who is he going to call, only to realize-

"One-One-One, what is your emergency?" suppressed, barely audible, but familiar enough to be understood by Amelia from the handset.

Amelia, suddenly feeling embarrassed, expressed herself within the confines of her mind, Holy shit.

"This is Gordon Goway, I would like to report suspicious activity in Riverside Drive."

"Well then sir, hold on." A brief pause ensues, Gordon shot a glance to Amelia. She is now holding her forefinger, right hand, against her lips. Either uncomfortable or excited, as it would seem to the girl.

"We will send somebody there shortly. Luckily we've been handling prank calls so we can spare a unit on patrol to give the street a check up." said the Operator.

Satisfied, indicated with a smile, Gordon said, "Thank you." Call ended, along with it the curious dilemma brought by the girl before her.

"Thank you, sir." Amelia began hesitating, standing up, Gordon nodded and replied, "You are welcome."

The Local Representative, waiting for the girl to leave, stood up and took two glances at the portrait of King Vortipor VI hanging above the door of his office.

And when she left, he sat down and took his spork, now giving a look of longing at his lunch, "Finally, some peace."

by **Springstile** » Mon May 22, 2017 5:42 am

Title: The King is dead, Long live the King!
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Hours before the Governor proclaimed the New King, then the Proclamation of Accession, and immediately then after the Oath of Allegiance.

GOVERNMENT BUILDING

But then, several hours before...

"Surprisingly Minister, I feel bothered with the crowd present here today." Secretary of State for the Department of External Affairs, Róbert Héderváry, whispered to the man next to him who unsurprisingly is the First Minister of the Community of Aemen People, John Mayor Peas.

To which, of course, the Right Honourable First Minister replied in the same manner the Secretary said to him immediately before this, "Positively or negatively?"

Then which was received, attacking with a playful thought and a slight smile before saying, "Now, now, Minister. I'd like to keep that to myself, just answer the bloody question."

A suppressed laugh, perhaps a giggle, came out of the First Minister's mouth as if he was a, "'Naughty school girl' you are Minister," added the Secretary.

The First Minister covered his mouth before it got way out of hand as he noticed one of the crowd eyes looking at him, which was of course inevitable while standing on an elevated position before thousands of people and dozens more throughout the capital that is Genevieve, branched out from a seed of some people from New Rivershoe Parish Church that prayed on the steps of Government Building Main Portico. A story that a certain Secretary of State would assure without a doubt, after all that some people came from his constituency. A story which captured the interest of the First Minister, not because of why they were there, "By the way Rooby. What religion are you?"

The Secretary said, "Jesus Minister, that's not what we were talking about." Earning a vertical shake of head from the First Minister, who is now wary of the crowd.

Thinking about the crowd, the First Minister then thought, Damn, I pray to the Late King that he would graciously thwart the photographers from The National Shoutyman. I'd give him my undeserving and unquestionable loyalty if he'd do me that favor.

"Anyways, is it not odd that there are more people here than the last time we had the Demise of the Crown?" Demise of the Crown. Literally have no idea. I forgot numbers. Names. Of course the King and the New King. Late King. Fuck it, thought the First Minister.

The Secretary, intending to divulge on the last Demise of the Crown, thought of where to go from here on the death of Wethenoc the Third to the succession of his and his colleague's, the head of state of those rest here in Government Building and premises, the rest of the Dominion's, the nation's former sovereign: Vortipor the Sixth.

"Odd indeed. Bloody terrorists. If it were not for them, we wouldn't be standing here since two-thirty in the morning. It's bloody five." provided a new subject the First Minister did, diverting the conversation from where it is supposed to be.

"Heh, 'if it not' for the blessed names of Party Whip and Prime Minister. Not that those two are the same person, perhaps they are actually-based on the calls from their secretaries this earliest morning we had-"

The First Minister interrupted and continued what he thought the Secretary ought to say, "'-Consecutive and immediately after each other,' one repeated even. No intervals-rest period-not a second. 'Forgot which one though, to think of it now.'" They turned around and laughed, thankfully it was just one of the windows to the Entrance Gallery. There are surely people inside the Gallery by now but curtains are still down.

The Secretary then leaned on the pillar before them, turned around to look closely at the crowd before them, spotting mostly women with his eyes than men. "How's your husband John?"

Ugh. Why did he remind me?

"Don't get me started there, Rooby." Grinning in discontent, the First Minister moved his eyes' general attention from the Secretary to the crowd on his side, away of course from the vantage point of the Secretary but close for conversation. Alas, he had to come closer to the Secretary as the crowd began to make some noise.

Curious, the Secretary pressed, "Why is that John?" and then with naughty and unconscious thought, "Failed to satisfy your man?" Lucky guess, the First Minister thought.

"As a matter of fact, yes-was making love to my husband at the in-laws' until my secretaries notified me via every communications device I had and digital medium possible. He-we got what we wanted but it disappointed him, because of the interruption. So now I was-I am too."

"Isn't it fascinating that you are talking about shagging your husband while our sovereign is dead, murdered by terrorists in Gauliscia," a voice belonging to somebody shocked them, the First Minister and the Secretary flinched in unison. They relaxed upon discovering it was another friend, the Representative for the Municipality of Rivershoe, Gordon Goway.

AH. SHIT. THOUGHT IT WAS A NATIONAL SHOUTYMAN, the First Minister mentally relieved himself from what was supposed to be a stressful response for what he feared the most in the past few hours.

The Secretary approached the Representative, fellow parliamentarian and gave him a handshake that was reciprocated with a firm grip and smile, "Gordy, did not expect you here."

"That you are wrong 'Mister Secretary', I might be a person for modernity but I cannot stay at home while our sovereign is dead." answered the Representative.

"Anyways, if you are thinking that because I have a newfound feeling for His Late Majesty, THAT you are wrong again. If I didn't go here, my constituency will hold me responsible for Vorti's death. Besides, I need to get a portrait of Vorti's-Tancred-The New King from the Printer Office here-don't want to wait since I got more important work to do later on than the 'Changing of the Royal Visage," humored the Representative in addition to what he answered.

"Aye, which reminds-have to do the same," agreed the Secretary, and the First Minister as well with a nod, "Not difficult really, are you sure that is out of necessity and not just because your feelings against the Monarchy are in the way?" continued the Secretary, pressing his realization on a suspicion.

The Representative replied, "Partially. Partially because I want to be careful with my back, I have inherited my mother's Scolio and developing it further would be an investment for my future of very long dependency on very expensive orthopedic healthcare-in Demetland if it would ever become worse by then. Or Gauliscia-Wanka-Demetland." That still does not end the question, it should not be a difficult task for one to put up a frame on a wall, thought the Secretary.

Ready to question the Representative the Secretary opened his mouth, only to be interrupted, "Gordy, don't go to Gauliscia. I bet, no, I assure. You'll suddenly-unexpectedly discover-somehow yourself bleeding to death in the airport and be immediately transported to the nearest morgue-slash-funeral parlor, two-in-one if they're lucky, despite the fact that you are still alive-knowing Gauliscian hatred-disgust for modernity-immorality-liberty-conciliation-love-peace-Springstile," warned the First Minister.

Then the Secretary asked, "Did you just cited words from Hymn of the Springstilers John?" pausing before continuing, "By the way, when you said conciliation one should add 'peaceful' to that. They at least have the capacity to perform diplomacy, I'd give them that in the civilized front."

"Suppose, suppose." The Representative meddled in, which was acknowledged by the First Minister with a grin and a second of a moment where the Minister fashioned himself a grimace.

From there, the First Minister concluded, "Yes, and yes. Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me I have to greet the N-C-T First Minister. See ya later Rooby, Gordy." Suddenly and unexpectedly as the Representative noticed, a flash of bright light blinded them momentarily.

The Secretary moved closer to the Representative, guiding him to look at the source of the flash, followed by another, "Bastard really hates the press," the Representative whispered as he smiled at the photographer, which was reciprocated with reply and a toothy smile by the Secretary, "Bastard's a lying coward. There is no N-C-T First Minister, National Capital Territory's legally de jure-'a ghost in a graveyard which is being used as an upscale vineyard. Owned, operated, and shared by the cultivators themselves.'"

"You mean operated and shared-full stop, it is owned by a regal master represented by another master in a vice regal fashion," suggested the Secretary to amend the First Minister's analogy.

Surprisingly and unexpectedly, a fact the Representative forgot about the National Capital Territory not having a chief executive, a First Minister, but has digested it immediately without showing the grubby truth that he does not know that fact.

Now, presently...

A man wearing an army uniform deserving the rank of Springstiler and Demetish colonel-in-chief took a step forward, adjusting to his elevated position on the steps of the Government Building Main Portico, flanked by the Privy Council, positions designed to emphasize attention on the Prime Minister and other cabinet ministers. The rest of parliament stood on the driveway pavement where the crowd is, separated by a loose line of policemen.

He took one last glance at the paper on his hand and a deep breath. He looked at the crowd who is now effectively silent.

The King is dead, Long live the King. Long live the King. The King, thought the man.

He then prepared himself to speak, read what is on he is holding, deciding at the last minute to shout at microphones and other recording mediums surrounding him standing or as held by the press at a favorable distance,

WHEREAS it has pleased Almighty God to call to His Mercy our late Sovereign Lord King Vortipor the Sixth of Blessed memory, by whose Decease the Crown is solely and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Prince Llywelyn Tancred Wethenoc Meredith:

WE, therefore, Sir Wolfram Roazhon, the Governor and First Deputy Commander-in-Chief in and over the Dominion of Springstile, and the members of His late Majesty’s Privy Council for Springstile, do now hereby with one voice and Consent of Tongue and Heart proclaim that the High and Mighty Prince Llywelyn Tancred Wethenoc Meredith is now, by the death of our late Sovereign, become King Tancred the Third, by the Grace of God King of Demetland and of This Dominion of Springstile and His Other Dominions beyond the Seas, Defender of the Faith, and on Earth Supreme Head of the Church, to whom His lieges do acknowledge all Faith and constant Obedience with hearty and humble Affection, beseeching God by whom Kings and Queens do reign, to bless the Royal Prince Tancred the Third with long and happy Years to reign over us.

Given at Vortipor Palace this Sixth Day of May in the year of our Lord two thousand and seventeen.

LONG LIVE THE KING

The King is dead, "Long live the King!" shouted, louder than he read the proclamation, Wolfram Roazhon, Governor and First Deputy Commander-in-Chief of Springstile. His last words were resounded by Privy Councillors, rest of parliament, other Government Officers, and most of the crowd if not all and indeed it is. Some thrice, most repeated, one said it once.

In the end, a moment of silence before, "We call on Privy Councillors, the Prime Minister, cabinet ministers, other ministers, members of parliament, and other Government Officers, to take the Oath of Allegiance to Our Most Gracious Sovereign the King," called the Governor on his fellow Government Officers, very loud and clear for them to stand in attention and direct their eyes to the Governor who is leading the Oath.

"I," resounded by other Government Officers, most have done clearly, most of them loudly, most of them clearly and loudly, some of them did otherwise, some did otherwise, some did both otherwise and otherwise,

"Wolfram Roazhon," significantly not resounded as they stated their own names. Curiously, the Representative for Rivershoe resounded the Governor exactly, which he regrets but not completely as nobody surrounding him seemed to have noticed. Unknown to him, a certain Secretary of State snickered at him, which was then noticed by a certain First Minister standing next to him who was confused to why did a certain Secretary of State snickered.

"Rooby, calm," ordered the Aemen First Minister, concerned of the Prime Minister who was standing next to him, next to them,

"Do affirm and swear," Resounded as it was in the first line of the Oath, first words the Governor spoke in this ceremony,

Some beginning to take breath, one was already losing breath, "That I will be faithful," And two more are losing breath,

"And bear true allegiance," And bear true alliance, hold on, "and bear true alli-giance," the Rivershoe Representative corrected himself as he stuttered,

Some of the crowd appear to be joining in, "To His Majesty King Tancred the Third," some booed, only to be berated by those surrounded them to just keep quiet,

And then more boos, "King of Demetland," then a fight erupted, barely noticeable as this took place from the general attention of the crowd and those taking oath,

One of the policemen departed from the effective demarcation between the crowd and those on the other side, on Government Building's side, where oath takers stood, "And this Dominion of Springstile," calmly moving towards the fight that was now suspicious if one looked from Government Building,

Apparently, the fight was started by the same people a certain Secretary of State was talking about, "His heirs and successors," "Isn't that-church-your people?" whispered a certain First Minister to the Secretary of State who was certainly staring at the fight which is now noticeable,

"GOD SAVE THE KING! GOD SAVE THE KING!" shouted somebody from where the fight is, "According to law," SHIT, thought a certain First Minister, BLOODY SHIT, a certain Secretary of State thought,

"God save King Vortipor," GOD SAVE THEM, another thought from a certain First Minister,
GOD SAVE ME, and another thought, this time from a certain Secretary of State. Unexpectedly from a certain Representative,
GOD SAVE ROOBY, he thought. All thought in unison but then, on the latter, how did Gordon knew?

Apparently, a large cardboard picket sign that proudly proclaims PRAISE BE FROM THE NEW RIVERSHOE PARISH CHURCH. Well, proclaimed since it is now torn into pieces by somebody in the fight.

Finally, with moderate attention of the oath takers at the growing fight from afar, the takers spoke the last line of the Oath with, supposedly and expectedly, heart and voice, "Thanks be to the stile by the spring," then Edouard Nanteso, the Prime Minister, with a deep breath moved closer to a certain First Minister who is hiding a certain Secretary of State from the Right Honourable Leader who then asked, "Any chance those people came from Roobert's constituency?"

by **Aemen** » Tue May 23, 2017 1:59 pm

Title: The Tangent
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: A historian completes the masterpiece of his scholarly career and writes about a recent encounter with the Emperor.

'...and that was it. Within several months these two bitter rivals were separated, their civilisations not encountering each other for several centuries...'

The closing words of Adrian Marlborough's meticulous thesis on ancient Aemen and the destructive, violent society that inhabited it rang like an unceasing bell in his mind for several minutes. Was there anything more, he thought, that could be added? It was missing something, he knew it. Something that connected the reader with the era, something that could branch it out to the public at large. He began to type again, his fingers slowly being brought down onto his keyboard as each word was carefully thought out.

'...We know Folcwalding died sometime after the battle. Hyrian, his adopted son, succeeded him, though most of his rule is shrouded in mystery save for the very beginning of it. Despite this, both men have made their mark on Aemen society that continues to live and thrive to this day. Folcwalding was indeed granted what he asked of the ancestors, and his name lives on, attached to dozens of people within the empire. Hyrian's deeds, meanwhile, have inspired the Emperor himself...'

Adrian stopped, pondering on what his next words would be. A leap of faith was unfolding in his mind, but what lay on the ground? A bed of feathers or a pit of spikes? He knew that mentioning Theofilus in his works was risky; a government team would pour over every word and his academic career could be over if the book was pulled because of it. At the same time, explaining how the Emperor has been inspired by Hyrian's acts would be exactly what he needed; a modern leader being inspired by an ancient one.

'...adding the title 'Heir of Hyrian' to his long list of imperial titles. Clearly the Emperor sees Hyrian as someone to aspire to, and it is not difficult to see why - during his rule, the Emperor has striven to modernise the nation and we know that Hyrian, at the beginning of his, laid the foundations of vast building projects for Heerus before damming local rivers to employ the use of the Heer's first ever irrigation system. The Emperor has begun to update the equipment used by the military whist Hyrian saw the benefit of mixing different tactics and methods, as we saw with the mountain tribesmen, to augment the Heer armies and plug the weaknesses which he saw present within them.'

Was that too much? No, wait, there can be more.

'On a recent visit to the Claus Folcwalding Institute, I had the pleasure of meeting the Emperor myself. He was on an official visit, awarding the Institute's academic robes to those who had contributed to advancing the scope and breadth of their fields. I was able to speak briefly with him about what his thoughts were on the Heer. He told me that the civilisation itself was less about the kingdom and more about the individuals, the men who led the Heer to the height of their power. That was very much Hyrian's case; he, Folcwalding and what we know of the men who came after them were the central guiding power behind everything in Heerus and everybody knew it, whilst the Emperor has sought to craft Aemen into something different from the world of his father and his brother. I can see that the two men are very much alike, and both are demonstrably suited for roles no one ever thought they would attain.'

by **Springstile** » Fri May 26, 2017 3:42 pm

Title: The Half-baked King
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Lunch break as the King's Privy Council for Springstile discuss the tour of the New King.

VORTIPOR PALACE
EAST PAVILION

"Can you believe it Roobert? I don't even think Demetish Privy Council's not well aware of what they said-they were clear," said First Minister of the Community of Aemen People, John M. Peas, crucially a Privy Councillor, P.C. if matters are made frank.

The Secretary of State for the Department of External Affairs Róbert Héderváry, P.C., took a bite of his lunch. Apparently, it is special since this is at Vortipor Palace. Only part of the job that the Secretary of State enjoys as Privy Councillor. A privilege he will have to stop momentarily to reply, "Expected though, they've been uncomfortable with Springstile. Remember, they built the largest launch center their-I mean our space agency ever have here in the Dominion-Take a guess where most of their E-T ventures would come crashing down when the likeliness of failure is somewhere-higher-between fifty-percent and less than a hundred percent."

Suddenly, "Applies the other way 'round," interrupted the "Minister of State at the Department of Internal Affairs with Special Responsibility for the Environment," simply known as the "Minister of State for the Environment," who was supposed to be busy slurping down some pesto.

To which came nothing. Brief silence simply followed. And it ended because, simply, it was brief. Who could not stand the sight of food after five hours of talking? Especially with other qualities that are considered equally important by subjective motion. And by that motion, some would even consider more than that.

"Speaking of which, you're the boy from Vortipor Palace eh? Wethenoc right? Environment Minister-Naggie's department?" asked the Secretary of State for the Minister of State to answer.

To which the Minister of State grunted as he finished the food in his mouth, "Yup, Wethy if you please Mister Secretary. Pleasure to meet you at last, despite meeting earlier already."

"Do mind, sorry. My eyes-my mind-my stomach were on the food, real treat when the Privy Council meets indeed," and he smiled at Wethy, a name the Secretary of State wanted to talk about until, "But sir, a treat absolutely less than usual. His Majesty has just passed away. We are mourning, my constituency, your constituency surely, and the Dominion, nay not just the Dominion, the rest of Demetland."

Ey, got a naive, young, surely college-educated monarchist in a position usually reserved for Republican Greenies. And WHAT was that with 'your constituency surely?' Hope he's not subtly referring to that blasted Christian band of ultra-monarchists-Demetish imperialists-Jesus freaks, or whatever, thought the Secretary of State, smiling wider at the Minister of State.

Meanwhile, the First Minister decided to continue the argument that was abruptly put to an end by the Secretary of State's rant on the Trencavel Space Center, not concerned about how the Secretary of State's growing grin at the seemingly ignorant Minister of State since the First Minister himself was ignorant as well and inevitably fair, "The Demetish Privy Council proposed that our king, our new king, to have a tour in Springtile BEFORE his coronation. I mean, I'm not a monarchist but I ain't a republican either. But if your own head of state would be visiting the country half-baked, teased but not gotten off, kissed but no trousers down, then I simply do not accept. No question at all."

"Indeed First Minister, the people wants a King proclaimed and crowned, not a King proclaimed but not crowned. I simply do not accept as well if it is the latter. Ah-which leads us to an equally important topic," added the Minister of State, 'Equally important?' I'm in agony to think what would be as equally important as the 'Half-baked' King's debut tour, wondered, mentally, the Secretary of State.

"Aye, there's no greater shame than having an uncrowned King to visit his kingdom beyond the seas at the advice of our counterparts-beyond the seas-" chewed out Demet Lard, Secretary of State for Culture and the Arts, P.C., as he obviously enjoyed his meal. As a petty amateur food critic, this is heaven.

"-As-if we're'y. Nom. Second'a. Tsk. Rate'eh. Tsk. Yes, we're ey dominion but'ta we're are Demetish none-the-less." chewed and paused the First Minister as well, out he said of course.

"The same could be said in another situation. Notice how we Ministers are arranged here," the Secretary of State for Culture and the Arts, on which the Secretary of State for External Affairs agreed with a pronounced nod, nodding twice.

The External Affairs Secretary of State proceeded to say, "It's no longer a surprise, every time when seats are not arranged everybody unconsciously do so by knowing the importance and relevance of their person to the P-M. It is based on the distance between the tables we sit on and the P-M's."

"But, we are the farthest from the P-M," realized the Minister of State, still dazed in his monarchist compassion, some of which in the table beginning to consider as love for Crown the Empire not Crown the King.

"Exactly Minister, exactly," proudly proclaimed by the External Affairs Secretary of State, meaning a shout but not a shout that is noticeable elsewhere beyond their table.

"We are puppets, on our own we are useless unlike the Secretaries closer to the P-M than this table," loomed Culture and the Arts Secretary of State.

"In my case, when the Demmies want to talk with us," informed the External Affairs Secretary of State, something a certain Minister of State did appreciate, "'Demmies' you say, sir?" asked the Minister of State with a suggestive low key look of disappointment.

"You know I sometimes think if we are even cabinet ministers. It is just unfair," changed the External Affairs Secretary of State, avoiding the Minister of State's question quite so immediately. To top that, the Secretary of State took at glance at his digital watch which he pressed to light it on in order to see, flashing, "05-27 12:50 PM."

And it worked, the Minister of State forgot and instead blurted, "I am certainly not a cabinet minister."

Puzzled, the External Affairs Secretary of State is surprised and has first expressed himself mentally, Oh? before, "Then, with respect and no ill-will meant, why are you here?" I don't even think he was in the meeting.

"It is my constituency, the Municipality of Vortipor Palace," explained the Minister of State, an explanation found more puzzling by the External Affairs Secretary of State.

"YOUR CONSTITUENCY? I never thought the palace is THE town but I must admit that I was expecting it to be a town of its own in a way-the Palace does have its own post office." while the External Affairs Secretary did say that the Minister was from "Vortipor Palace" a while ago, he never thought of Vortipor Palace as a municipality but actually referring to the nearby municipality. Which he was prepared to explain until,

"P-M invited me so here I am-matter of historical and ministerial convention, to answer your first question. Now that I caught your attention, I have a question to ask of you-not to worry, it's not 'that'," grew did the already challenging puzzle in the External Affairs Secretary's mind, "What is that then?"

"Do you know a certain-well-um, New Rivershoe Parish Church?" a pause ensues, laughter from the First Minister breaks it.

by **Christoslavia** » Fri May 26, 2017 7:47 pm

Title: If at First you Don't Succeed
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: A normal session in the Hall of the People takes a rather unpredicted turn

The tap of the gavel on the oaken desk boomed throughout the chamber as the paradoxically raucous side talk and whispering died down slowly and the 578 members of the Hall of the People settled in their seats and the Speaker of the Chamber adjusted his microphone.

"All be seated, the 3rd Session of the Hall of the People has begun at 12:30 on May 5, 2017, all members rise for the National Anthem"

....

"Would the Secretary please read the minutes of the last session"

At this the Secretary read off the minutes and agenda of the previous session, followed by unanimous approval by the chamber.

"Thank you Mrs. Secretary. Would the Chairman of the Calendar Committee Representative Abbot please present new business as we have no unfinished business"

"Thank you Mr. Speaker, our first order of business comes from the Committee on Foreign Affairs, the bill at present is "The Authorization of Covert Means in the Defense of Nill", Mr. Speaker I'd like to make a motion to read the text of the bill"

"Do we have a second"

"Mr. Speaker I second that motion"

"All in favor say Aye"

"Aye

"All opposed say nay"

"Motion passes, Mr. Chairman you have the floor"

"Thank you Mr. Speaker"

In short, the bill dictated that Christoslavia not only provide millions in capital to several independence seeking rebel groups forming in Nill, awkward considering SUPREME OVERLORD was currently at a diplomatic ball in Gauliscia but the situation seemed to be deteriorating quickly and a weaker Gauliscia and Inoroth would benefit Christoslavia influence wise. Further, it gave consent (Which could be overriden by SUPREME OVERLORD as the Constitution didn't take full effect until his death or resignation) for covert unmarked forces to train and directly assist these same groups as had been done 21 years prior in New Phallia during the Shentong conflict.

At the end of the bill Rep. Jillian Dart of the Revolutionary Party stood and asked for the floor

"Mr. Speaker, Mr. Chairman, I'd like to make a motion to table the bill"

"Is there a second"

"I second the motion"

"All in favor say Aye"

aye

"All opposed say nay"

NAY

"Motion fails"

"You stupid bitch how dense are you?!"

Shock and bewilderement flooded the chamber as tiered gasps passed through each individual member as all eyes turned to Representative Nathan Dulles of the People's Union Party

"Representative Dulles please make a motion for the floor"

"I'll be damned if let her try and put this off! My committee worked our asses off on this, how can we just sit here and let imperialist dogs overrun Nill considering our own history of foreign players and higher powers beating us into the dirt? Are you people fucking stupid!"

"MR. REPRESENTATIVE PLEASE MAKE A MOTION BEFORE THE SERGEANT AT ARMS TAKES ACTION!"

"Mr. Speaker I'd like to make a motion to censure Representative Dulles!"

"Do we have a se-"

"I'll come over there and censure your damn asshole!"

"ORDER IN THE CHAMBER!"

Representative Dorian Black of the Justice Party began trying to calm the situation as the polar opposite members of the Revolutionary and People's Union Party began standing, screaming obscenities, and the like at each other as the Chamber erupted into chaos.

Several members tried to walk out of the session but were immediately stopped by their colleagues, no one knows who threw the first punch but within seconds it became a free for all with fists flying in every direction, one would think they were Gauliscian by the immense break in discipline and order uncharacteristic of Christoslavian society

Speaker Todd Jones sat and banged his head repeatedly on the desk, *thud* *thud* *thud* Fuck my fucking life

by **Springstile** » Sat Jun 17, 2017 3:08 am

Title: At the Constituency Office II
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment outside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.

RIVERSHOE TOWN MEETING HALL

"June Sixteen, Twenty-Seventeen is the date-And HEY. Do we need to be here at the Meeting Hall?" asked Harold Endhall to his friend, Escotch Kennedy. A friend who was busy typing away in his laptop, on an online journal:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life:
Monera
Protista
Fungi
Plantae
Animalia

Annoyed, Kennedy countered by saying, asking a question, "Okay, so do you prefer here or at 'Twilight's?'"

Remembering what happened two hours ago as he rolled on the green grass on the Town Meeting Hall Park, Harold replied "Fine. Just-Just finish your stupid H-W or whatever that is. I'm getting bored."

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):
Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

"Not H-W, just notes. I'm trying to remember the discussion at school yesterday," said Kennedy.

"'Trying to remember?' You mean 'copying my brother's notes'," corrected Harold, provoking an obviously annoyed expression by taking away his brother's notebook that contained the notes from Kennedy's hands. Wrinkled forehead and frown on Kennedy's face provoked Harold.

"Fine, just do your notes now before I die of boredom," giving up, Harold gave back the notebook.

Satisfied, he continued to type, "Finally, you gave up-Now, where was I"

And he did type:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):
Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

"Then on Prokaryotes," arranging the notebook of Harold's brother back into place as the wind blew the pages, he typed:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):
Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes,

Characteristics:

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.

"Would it be better to put a border between 'Prokaryotes' and the 'Kingdoms and Domains?' You'd be confused where to start when you look at this again," suggested Harold, who know is curious of what Kennedy's typing:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):

Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes (Bacteria):

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.
-Chromosome is circular and condense

Stretching a bit as he sat on the Park Green, he continued as Harold went to inside the Meeting Hall after seeing somebody of interest enter:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):

Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes (Bacteria):

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.
-Chromosome is circular and condense

Eubacteria:

-Unicellar
-Cell wall is composed of peptidogylan
-Flagellum - whip-like structure used for locomotion
-Ribosome
>70s (80s)
5s-30s (60s)
Ls-50s (40s)

s: Stands for Svedberg

Specialized Structures:

1. Pili/Pilus
- a protein filament used for attaching/adhering to an object.

ex. Vibrio cholerae

(Bacteria can | ? ) -reproduction: genetic materials exchange DNA.

2. Endospore

- A dormant thick-walled membrane (Extreme, environmental, disinfection, radiation, dericcation.

- Can withstand pressures.

ex. Clostridium botulinum "Botulism," food poisoning

Noticing how confusing the notes were on the notebook, he skipped Cocci, Bascillus, Spirochete, and scientific names of bacteria under the aforementioned. Continuing instead with:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):

Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes (Bacteria):

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.
-Chromosome is circular and condense

Eubacteria:

-Unicellar
-Cell wall is composed of peptidogylan
-Flagellum - whip-like structure used for locomotion
-Ribosome
>70s (80s)
5s-30s (60s)
Ls-50s (40s)

s: Stands for Svedberg

Specialized Structures:

1. Pili/Pilus
- a protein filament used for attaching/adhering to an object.

ex. Vibrio cholerae

(Bacteria can | ? ) -reproduction: genetic materials exchange DNA.

2. Endospore

- A dormant thick-walled membrane (Extreme, environmental, disinfection, radiation, dericcation.

- Can withstand pressures.

ex. Clostridium botulinum "Botulism," food poisoning.

Archaebacteria:

"Extremophiles"

-Volcanic crater/hot springs
-"Thermophiles"

Hydrothermal vents
-"Hyperthemophiles"

Frozen/frigid
-"Psychophiles"

Salty
-"Halophiles"

O2 free envvironment
- Nethanogen

Acidic "(pH-0)" - Acidophiles

Skipping further subjects like the "Uses/Benefits/Significance of Prokaryotes" and "Trophic Levels" as the handwriting, the calligraphy deepens into spiraling and messy madness of black and blue ink. But is determined, Harold went on as the end is near for this endeavor:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):

Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People, Springstiler scientists.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes (Bacteria):

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.
-Chromosome is circular and condense

Eubacteria:

-Unicellar
-Cell wall is composed of peptidogylan
-Flagellum - whip-like structure used for locomotion
-Ribosome
>70s (80s)
5s-30s (60s)
Ls-50s (40s)

s: Stands for Svedberg

Specialized Structures:

1. Pili/Pilus
- a protein filament used for attaching/adhering to an object.

ex. Vibrio cholerae

(Bacteria can | ? ) -reproduction: genetic materials exchange DNA.

2. Endospore

- A dormant thick-walled membrane (Extreme, environmental, disinfection, radiation, dericcation.

- Can withstand pressures.

ex. Clostridium botulinum "Botulism," food poisoning.

Archaebacteria:

"Extremophiles"

-Volcanic crater/hot springs
-"Thermophiles"

Hydrothermal vents
-"Hyperthemophiles"

Frozen/frigid
-"Psychophiles"

Salty
-"Halophiles"

O2 free envvironment
- Nethanogen

Acidic "(pH-0)" - Acidophiles

Biotechnology

Sewage treatment
Bioremediation
Transgenic

And so, despite adding the bit on "Biotechnology" that was under "Uses/Benefits/Significance of Prokaryotes," it all has ended. Kennedy rolled on the Park Green, waiting for Harold to come back to go home.

Ended indeed, at least for now.

by **Springstile** » Sat Jun 17, 2017 11:04 pm

Title: At the Constituency Office III
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: Another moment outside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall with Harold and Kennedy.

RIVERSHOE TOWN MEETING HALL

Harold Endhall and Escotch Kennedy are back at the Town Meeting Hall Park, messing around on the Park Green as they roll around. Well, as Harold rolls around. As at this moment, Kennedy opens up his online journal and edited what he typed yesterday:

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

"Kingdom of Life and Its Domains (RNA):

Monera - Eubacteria (Common) and Archaebacteria
Protista - Eukarya
Fungi - Eukarya
Plantae - Eukarya
Animalia - Eukarya

The Kingdoms of Life and Its Domains were rewritten by Carl Woese and George Fox in 1977, microbiologists and biophysicists from the Community of Aemen People who professed at the Royal University of Springstile, Genevieve Campus.

LUCA: Stands for the Last Universal Common Ancestor, remains unknown.

Prokaryotes (Bacteria):

-Unicellar
-Unrestricted, scattered genetic information.
>Genetic material, Cytoplasm
>Unlike Eukaryote's Cytoplasm which is organized, confined in one space.
-Chromosome is circular and condense.

Eubacteria:

-Unicellar
-Cell wall is composed of peptidogylan.
-Flagellum, whip-like structure used for locomotion.
-Ribosome
>70s (80s)
5s-30s (60s)
Ls-50s (40s)

s: Stands for Svedberg

Specialized Structures:

1. Pili/Pilus
- a protein filament used for attaching/adhering to an object.

ex. Vibrio cholerae

(Bacteria can | ? ) -reproduction: genetic materials exchange DNA.

2. Endospore

- A dormant thick-walled membrane (Extreme, environmental, disinfection, radiation, dericcation.

- Can withstand pressures.

ex. Clostridium botulinum "Botulism," food poisoning.

Archaebacteria:

"Extremophiles"

-Volcanic crater/hot springs
-"Thermophiles"

Hydrothermal vents
-"Hyperthemophiles"

Frozen/frigid
-"Psychophiles"

Salty
-"Halophiles"

O2 free envvironment
- Nethanogen

Acidic "(pH-0)"
- Acidophiles

Biotechnology:

Sewage treatment
Bioremediation
Transgenic

Saturday, June 18, 2017
4:07 PM

Took note of the fact that he forgot when Carl Woese and George Fox as he soon as he was on his way to the Town Meeting Hall Park, only remembered the lack of punctuation in several sentences, a colon for "Biotechnology," and the fact that the "Acidophiles" on "Acidic '(pH-0)'" was out of place, an "Enter" key away on the board.

"4:02 PM," said the watch on Harold's wrist. A different day certainly but around the same time as yesterday they were last here.

"We just hard our test this Friday and I failed," Kennedy said to Harold, who was surprised himself with a gaping mouth.

"Wha-Wa-Why?" asked Harold, Kennedy never failed to impress his teachers and students with his wit and tongue but this time he seems to have lost his touch. That is what Harold believes at least.

Kennedy opened a new tab on his browser and gestured for Harold to come closer, to look in what he was about to present, "Let me enlighten you with this:"

MY ONLINE JOURNAL

✏ Writing Settings | ✏ Writing Tools | ✏ Help

Quiz #1, Biology 103. On the Origins of Life and Prokaryotes:

A descendant of the Ancestor Prokaryote - Mitochondria
Genetic material, Prokaryotic - Cytoplasm
Protein filament for adhering - Pili/Pilus
(?) B
(?) C
(?)B
Atlantic Ocean - Halophiles
Hot Spring - Thermophiles
Antartica - Psychophiles
(?) L
70s - L
(?) L
Forms of Biotechnological Use for Bacteria (13-15) - Sewage treatment
- Bioremediation
- Transgenic bacteria

"...What am I looking at Ken?" Harold asked Kennedy again, "Ken" apparently.

Ken pushed the laptop of his lap and steadied it to position on the green grass below them, preparing to say, "Let me explain then: So, we mourned the people who died in The Rainbow Hull, late actually since it happened last month, it's been three weeks already."

"Two weeks actually," corrected Harold.

"Nearly three weeks, I meant-So as I was saying: We then, after the end of the mass and the victims' friends and family speaking, we realized something-We apparently had quiz in Biology at the time," Ken paused, trying to make sure that Harold comprehended.

Which he did and said, "K-K, go on."

"I checked my quiz before our bio teacher did," typical Ken, thought Harold, "So the first question was, like, was to give an example of a descendant from the prokaryote. For some reason I answered 'Nucleus.' So in my notes, MY NOTES, not YOUR BROTHER'S NOTES HAROLD. In my notes, it was one of the examples given. Like it was like: Nucleus, Chloroplast as it is in Botany, and Mitchondria as it is in Zoology."

"And what's wrong?" asked Harold, growing impatient.

"Our teacher didn't accept it and so it helped me to get a failing grade of five over fifteen," answered Ken with reprehension.

Snickering, Harold said, "Yikes," proceeding to roll back into the grass.

He stopped rolling on the grass, "So..."

"So, then, on to the next question which was asking about a genetic material in a Prokaryote. I answered 'Flagellum.' And it was wrong. Answer was 'Cytoplasm.' Then on the next one, a question about a protein filament adhering objects together. A question I didn't answer because I forgot-Humiliating. 'B-C-B' I forgot too, at this moment I mean-Meant to say," Ken paused, closing his laptop's top cover.

Ken continued, "Then we got the three questions on the different sorts of organisms, the one with the 'Philes' if you know. So the first one asked about what organism would live in the Estour Ocean, the answer to which is 'Halophiles.' The second one is about organisms in hot springs, the answer is 'Thermophile.' Then the last one on organisms in Septica, frozen and frigid environments."

"You got any of these right?" Harold wondered if Ken got at least one, or two if lucky.

Ken sighed, "None. And don't bother asking about 'eleven'-'ten,' eleven, and 'twelve.' Forgot the questions there but I got one write in that three,'" taking a deep breath before he continued, "Finally the last three asked about the benefits of bacteria in biotechnology: 'Sewage treatment,' 'bioremediation,' and 'transgenic bacteria.' That's the end."

Harold sighed too. Glancing at Ken, they began to stare at each other. Noticing just now that nobody's around. Out of nowhere, Ken loomed over Harold who was lying down on the grass. Harold, of course, felt what was gonna happen. Ken closed the distance between them with his lips on Harold's. Tongues crashed, mouths touched. These series of events provoked a question from a flustered Harold, after that moment ended, "So...Does this mean we are dating now?"

Provoking not a word from a breathless Ken, not a word but a smirk.

"I'll take that as a yes and no. But I'm not gonna be one of your 'stress-relievers' at night so don't expect anything right away. Anyways, we can't since I'm underage and you're above that for two years now," warned Harold on a disappointed Ken whose smirk turned into a concerned look composing of him scratching his neck and the other scratching his knee, perhaps indicating that he is concerned about himself. In this case, perhaps about what he has just done.

by **Christoslavia** » Tue Jun 20, 2017 2:28 pm

Title: The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors
Author: Christoslavia
Synopsis: An unsuspected raid in the heart of Forzera

Time: 24:00
Location: Nicrashny Building, HQ of the Power and Prosperity Party (Uralskoyan front)
Operation Midnight Dreary

"Delta 1 this is Delta Actual do you read over?"

"Delta Actual this is Delta 1 we read you over"

"Copy, continue on approach, radio silence in 30 seconds"

"Copy, Delta 1 out"

"Alright, radios off, silencers on, Bravo is situated in the McNichols Building across the street, Alpha goes in from the roof. Quick and Clean, do not kill Pyotr Reznikov"

The 2 stark black vans pulled silently up to the gated complex, with one guard inside the booth half asleep and barely mumbling the words "ID Please"

The man looked up at his monitor which was fed by the camera adjacent to the booth, but it was black, silent, like the night, like the vans, and like the next thing he saw. The man whoever he was died instantly, the bullet went through his occipital lobe and straight through the frontal lobe, exiting out between the eyes, no time to react, no realization of death perhaps either.

He crumpled softly onto the desk as two black clad men exited the van and found the controls for the gate,

"Cameras are down, we're clear"

The vans continued on as the shiny metal gate retracted surprisingly quietly, and an automated voice system portrayed as a soft spoken female uttered

"Welcome to the Nichrashny Building, Headquarters of the Power and Prosperity Party, please enjoy your visit, and on to glory"

"I fucking hate that thing, gives me the creeps"

"Cut the chatter, we're here"

Out of the first van came Delta Team, and the second came Charlie. Each dressed in black tactical gear and armed with the X-200 PDW, complete with integrated silencer and subsonic munitions.

The building had 13 stories and a parking garage, their location. From thermal scans approximately 55 people were still in the building ranging from interns to party officials to janitors, each one was a security compromise, each one had to die. This was like a false flag in practice, but more a concern of National Security.

The men and women soon to sweep the building were agents of Domestic Espionage and Covert Action, or DECA, the elite, and top secret Christoslavian domestic intelligence force that dealt with terrorists and dissenters in oft illegal and secret ways. No one on these teams officially existed, which is why they were perfect for deniability ops such as the one soon to unfold.

"Sync watches"

Sync

Delta 1 looked down at their watch, 00:00:25

In five seconds, the power to the building would shut off unexpectedly, a power outage? perhaps. A deliberate sabotage? More likely

Night vision goggles down, execute op, Alpha gets the security room top down, destroys security hard drives and video, we go in from the bottom obtain files and hard drives, Bravo with sniper support, meet in the middle, capture Pyotr Reznikov, Chairman of the Party

At the first elevator, their first unlucky victim, half asleep like the guard was, she held Zevreti coffee in hand. Confused as to why the elevator wasn't working, she turned around, and immediately her eyes became saucers, her hands trembled with fear, the coffee spilling all over her blouse, droplets on the concrete floor.

No mercy, no survivors...

Main Conference Room
Pyotr Reznikov

"And so, we have orders from the top, this is the moment we've all been waiting for, SUPREME OVERLORD will fall and Uralskoy takes it's proper place as the greatest nation on Aurus. All we have to do is our pa-"

The low whine of failing power droned in the room as the lights shut down completely, someone tried flicking the lightswitch several times to no avail

"What the fuck was that? Power outage? We have a damn backup generator."

"What do we do?"

"Hold on let me ca-Cell service is down what the hell?"

"I'm not getting anything either"

"Sir, the doors locked!"

"Damn magnetic doors, why don't we just have wooden doors, alright everyone sit tight we'll think of something"

20 minutes later

Floor by floor they moved silently, like predators, pumas in the eastern jungles that stalked their prey from above and below, always watching. Room by room, the agents took their time in a professional and thorough manner. Every door was checked, every nook and cranny of the building like clockwork.

On the ground floor, Bravo took care of the receptionist and front security, crumpled masses in pooled blood lying on the linoleum, also unaware as to their deaths, they did things quickly, and occasionally that entailed peacefully also. The detention camps were another story.

Interns on computers or at a coffee pot, staffers chatting in the hall, janitors mopping the floors and cleaning out the shitters, one by one they fell, no..they broke, like fragile vases.

14 agents gathered outside the central conference room. Data drives had been obtained, files confiscated, the Gendarmerie and Interior Ministry would come in *officially* to raid and sweep this place by the morrow, but we already had everything we needed, and not everything related to politics. Some of it was more...sinister, and secret. Cryptographers back at MoI would have a hell of a lot of fun with what we were bringing.

Charlie 3 took their place, the power to the door was activated for a few seconds, enough time for the 14 agents to storm in, as this happend the chatter behind stopped immediately

"Oh thank God, are you here to get th-"

3 seconds, all it took was 3 seconds. 12 bodies strewn across the floor and conference table. And the 13th, Pyotr Reznikov, froze in terror at the head of the table.

"No..."

Delta 7 brutally shoved the man into the table face first, then produced a peculiar smelling rag and gorged it in Pyotr's gaping mouth. Chloroform. Violent but necessary. Once he passed out, the comms rattled back to life

"Exfil on the roof, Mission Accomplished"

by **Springstile** » Fri Jun 23, 2017 9:39 pm

Title: At the Constituency Office IV
Author: Springstile
Synopsis: A moment inside the Rivershoe Town Meeting Hall.

RIVERSHOE TOWN MEETING HALL

Amelia Hinterkaifeck and her brother, Prancer, gathered their friends Harold Endhall and Escotch "Ken" Kennedy at the Town Meeting Hall, this time inside, at the Community Hall where some other people gathered to wait for their business there or just talk or even just loiter.

OFFICIAL JOINT STATEMENT OF THE MINISTRIES OF EXTERNAL AFFAIRS, JUSTICE, INTELLIGENCE, AND INTERNAL AFFAIRS

With the consent of the National Assembly in a unanimous vote and by the Decree of SUPREME OVERLORD, hereforth the Power and Prosperity Party and all affiliates are deemed illegal. Any person affiliated with the party in official capacities are hereby deemed guilty of treason, conspiracy, and espionage.

Following a raid on the PPP Headquarters in the dawn hours by the National Gendarmerie and soldiers of the Interior Ministry, explicit proof has been uncovered that the PPP operates as a front for Uralskoyan expansionist ambitions, and that several massive acts of terrorism and cyber theft were planned by the PPP to assist Uralskoy in it's ambitions of expansion and to prevent Christoslavian assistance with Szarkatian rebels. We demand all persons affiliated with the PPP to please turn themselves in to the nearest Gendarme Station or Interior Ministry Office/Base or be subject to further persecution and the charge of evading the authorities.

Uralskoy wil not subvert Christoslavia from the inside, these recent discoveries have bolstered our efforts against the Uralskoyan threat, and assure that Christoslavia will remain committed to the protection of its citizens, and Aurus at large. If you have any information about persons affiliated with the PPP,
please report it to the nearest legal or military authority, or call 302, or submit a request at the official websites of the aforementioned Ministries.

We ask all our people to stay strong in the face of this blatant violation of our sovereignty, and to stay vigilant against further subversive actions. Glory to the Empire, and Glory to the People!

"Pfft. Boring, there's a point to why we say 'B-I-F', 'Blessing Is Friday'," Prancer said, looking at Harold and Ken read the news article on Ken's laptop. Amelia just sat next to Prancer. All of them were at the benches, Prancer and his sister on it while Harold and Ken are on the floor, the former cuddling the latter. Cuddling has revealed that the former is perhaps shorter and the other otherwise and so, taller.

Watching them from the safety of their bench, Amelia and Prancer were concerned. The former and self-proclaimed elder of the siblings said and scolded Harold and Ken, "Hey, P-D-A is really something we're not supposed to see in public spaces like this."

"Sorry-Hey, what's that on the logo, the Christolavian logo," pointed out Harold, figuratively before actually pointing.

Ken squinted, trying to make out what Harold noticed, and said then asked, "You me-Ah-Wa-What? What's THAT supposed to be?"

"Looks like characters, letters on the Eagle?" answered Harold, now looking for the answer that will conclude the discovered mystery of the letters before it potentially drags.

"Ya, what the fuck. That's some weird shit right there," said Ken.

Adjusting his reading glasses, Harold scrutinized the suspicious characters on "The Eagle."

And read aloud, "C-Ca-Can-Cav-Cano-Cana?" confusing Harold, Ken is confused.

Ken now laughing at Harold's attempt of getting the word on The Eagle right, Harold stuck himself in the word, immediately concluding, "Christolavians may be powerful and full of secrets, making them great in keeping secrets, among 'other' things but they are poor in the aesthetics department, logo-making."

"I think a believer of Brain-from-Body Seperatism's the logo-maker," or otherwise known as "B-B-S, wonder how far can we go backwards."

"Harold, it's just some characters, letters that make a word we couldn't understand on some country's symbol. B-B-S isn't it. Perhaps somebody just forgot to remove a layer," suggested Ken.

"I'll have to agree on that," said Prancer, who now is paying attention as he peeked to see The Eagle, in order to see the characters - The word in question.

Finally bored, Amelia said, "Nothing much to say since it's not in Springstile, their thing-Probably?" And let's go, it's Three o'Clock and I don't want to stay her until the sun sinks."

"Hey, what do you got on that other tab?" something excited Prancer, taking control of Ken's laptop, glancing at the rest of the web browser as he clicked on the other tab, revealing another news article:

NEW VYMARIAN SUPER WEAPON

12:00pm, Monday, June 19th, 2017
Gerald Vebeto, Vymarian National

Vymarian scientists have been working under the government to conduct new experiments on new types of chemicals to further buff Vymarian military expeditions. The new chemical is a mix of White Phosphorus and Chlorine, leading to a greenish white tint. Giving it a nickname called "Greenhouse Gas".

Many of the aspects of the new gas has been kept secret, for reasons unknown. However, what is known is that the gas will be deployed into artillery shells and bombs, which the strongest, General Akimbo states "Has a hypothetical diameter of a mile". Few commanders and higher ups have gave an opinion on the gas, but the ones who do simply state they hope it never has to be used.

Prancer with his sister's curious eyes now next to his, Harold, and Ken read the article.

Prancer laughed hysterically, "Ugh-Ooh-Haa-Wow-Wow-WOW. Before-BEFORE-Ack-Before anything else-This reminds me of that girl, Dan Dirks was it? With the presentation on the allotropes, covalent compounds, and combination reactions-," and with a snap of a finger, "'The Phosphorous Presentation!' That's it."

Ken browsed in his computer through his documents and opened a file with a presentation program, reading the first slide, "'Reaction of White Phosphorous and Chlorine:' Upon being brought together a lump of white phosphorus and chlorine gas react in flame."

"Ah, non-metals eh. Two turned covalent," added Ken.

"Also, the article's kinda misleading if you only read the first paragraph," furthered Ken.

Harold snickered, holding Ken tighter in embrace despite the fact that he is too weak to apply any pressure to be felt by Ken who then found it cute so he pretended to be hurt by muttering "ouch," before Harold said, "'Further buff Vymarian military expeditions', would be interesting to see what happens afterwards there than 'Knoll's Wine, Cheese, and Anthrax Party.'"

"'Many of the aspects of the new gas has been kept secret, for reasons unknown'-Right, what's the point of keep the rest secret when some are already on paper. Talk about the fine line between political finesse and open government here," said an unknown voice, apparently belonging to the Representative for the Municipality of Rivershoe, Gordon Goway, who apparently took a seat behind them, on the same bench were Prancer and Amelia were.

Ken and Prancer were surprised, almost jumping to stand and look who was behind them, only to move forward, bending their bodies to that direction and the laptop's top cover too. Harold and Amelia smiled and greeted, "Afternoon, Sir!"

"Afternoon Mister Endhall and Miss Hinterfeck, Hinkai-Feck? Sorry I've forgotten," said Gordon, smiling at his young guests, "I see you are friends and with others. Sorry if I disturbed, interrupted," nodding he stood up and went towards a hall that led inwards into the Town Meeting Hall, "Further chit-chat's not gonna be possible sadly, got work to do and home awaiting. Also, have a nice evening Mister Endhall and Mister Kennedy," winked Gordon, making Harold smirk and Ken look at the Representative in confusion.

"'Greenhouse Gas', pollution looks green now? I thought it was brown and black," asked Prancer, who now has the laptop on his lap.

Sighing, Amelia answered Prancer's question, "It's called military genius, you could tell from that question and understanding alone-What you just said. God, what happened to 'The Pyramid' of this article? The Five Ws? And what's the point of talking about somebody else's opinions when it is not even quoted, not summed into one quote? I can assure you that Genesis Langman from the school newspaper, in spite of being a stalk-A Christian weirdo who's deficient in the idea of being a human being, would write better than this," annoyed, Amelia looked away.

"Genesis couldn't write this, he barely can speak English," snickered Prancer as Amelia looked at him with a frown.

by **Aemen** » Mon Jul 10, 2017 11:13 am

Title: Theological Flavour
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: A journalist interviews a recent convert to Heroicism in an attempt to understand what draws people to the religion's doctrine.

Lidia adjusted the microphone on her jacket’s lapel before checking the spotlight beaming down from the stand behind her left shoulder. She flicked her shiny brown hair to the side and looked up at her gum-chewing cameraman, who was holding a sheet of paper in front of his camera lens.

‘How are we on that white test, Eddie?’

‘All done, Lid. It just doesn’t like that cream wall at the back.’ said Edward, chucking the sheet to the side and adjusting the zoom.

‘We’ll touch it up later if we have to,’ she changed her focus to the reason, the purpose, the very object of her intentions for getting out of bed today: James Baxdale, a recent convert to the new and fast-spreading Aemen religion of Heroicism.

‘Okay, we’re rolling.’

‘Great. Uh... this is Theological Flavour, episode one, take one, Heroicism. So, James, tell us what Heroicism is all about.’

James fiddled with his hands before thinking of what to say, his eyes darted around the room before he calmed his movements and focused on Lidia.

‘Uh, well, Heroicism is… it’s difficult to explain. It’s all about inspiration, motivation, emulation and being proud about your past. When it started it was all about worshipping the deeds of war heroes and the war heroes themselves for who they were. We revere them, they are our gods, our drive, they unlocked themselves and history will remember them forever. It’s not all about kings and generals now though; playwrights, scientists, engineers, astronomers – pioneers in their own right – we remember them all and aspire to become like them, so that we, too, may take our place among them.’

Lidia nodded along in an empathetic manner, something she was used to doing.

‘And what made you want to get involved?’

‘I was… well, I was down on my luck. I’m a musician and it’s hard enough to get by on that kind of income these days, but I was really wondering if it was what I wanted to keep doing. Now I was lucky – I was born into a family with money in Erus, so I could do that sort of thing, but I didn’t know it was such a competitive world. Heroicism introduced me to so many people in similar circumstances who did succeed, and now we worship them, study them. We remember them for the way they changed or defended our nation and strive to achieve the same.’

Lidia rubbed her index finger along her lower lip. ‘What about scriptures? We’ve heard that there are things known as the Grand Accounts? Can you tell us a bit more about that?’

‘The Grand Accounts are original writings about our deities, some are even written by them. They’re contemporary, created during the era. That’s the only pure way to get the best sense of who these great men and women were.’

‘James, some would argue that, particularly for a lot of kings like Hyrian, that the accounts are inflated or romanticised to fit in with the way these individuals saw themselves or wanted others to see them. Don’t you think that warps the truth about them?’

‘I don’t think that at all. I had reservations at first, but when I spoke to people about it I realised it was just another way of being closer to our gods; they had a hand in crafting that narrative about themselves and were so respected that, even if it was untrue, those versions survived and captured the imagination of humanity’s descendants. It takes someone of great power and status to enhance the truth for such a long time.’

‘Finally, do you think that Heroicism has a place outside of Aemen? We know that you and other Aemen Heroicists worship Aemen heroes, but that won’t appeal much to, say, the Wankans, the Gauliscians or the Demetish. How can it possibly spread beyond the empire’s borders?’

‘Well, Heroicism is such that it’s adaptable. We, as Aemen, worship Aemen heroes, have an Aemen religious head in the Emperor and our places of communion are themed in this… style of… well, it’s like a hybrid of Heer, medieval and colonial Aemen all in one. Were it to gain ground in other states, then I expect they would suit it to their own heroes and their own culture. I can see it spreading far – it may take time, but I don’t see it being confined to Aemen for long.’

by **HMS White Whale** » Thu Jul 20, 2017 9:06 am

Title: The Revalucion of Tenochte
Author: Tenochte
Synopsis: Fleet Admiral Rasmus Mardh, with the help of the underworld boss Fidel Ruiz, has begun his coup against the tyrannical leader of Tenochte, only to be met with greater resistance than expected:

The building shook. Rasmus Mardh stood firmly as plaster fell from the basement’s ceiling. He brushed the dust off the map in front of him and straightened out the pieces he had set there to represent el Caudillo’s guards and his own elite marines.

“Did someone squeal?” Asked Fidel Ruiz, one of the remaining mob bosses who was backing Mardh’s insurgency.

“Idiota. How in the hell else would they know we were coming?” Another blast shook the basement, again knocking over the carefully placed pieces. Mardh swept what remained off the table and ran his hands through his hair. “If I find the bastardo that ratted on us, I'll kill him myself.”

The plan was supposed to be simple: Mardh had been stationing fewer and fewer soldiers inside the capital until all that was left were Longfang’s personal guard and the marines under his own direct command. Longfang never had much of an eye for the military, so he wouldn't have noticed by himself, and anyone that would have had silently supported his actions since the beginning. Mardh’s marines were the best trained and best equipped in all of Tenochte, so the handful of guards shouldn't have been a problem. The issue is there wasn't a handful of guards, but General Navarro’s entire battalion.

“Calm down, amigo. We’ll pull this off yet.”

“Don't you get it? If we fail we’re both fucking dead! That puto will have our heads on pikes on his doorstep until he can't handle the stink.” Mardh’s eyes narrowed on Fidel: “You were supposed to have eyes inside el Caudillo’s complex, so tell me how that many men got in under our noses?”

“You know as well as I do that there're tunnels connecting the complex and the old forts. None of it matters anymore! All that matters is we get past Navarro’s men and find Longfang.”

Mardh reluctantly took a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll deal with the matter at hand. You-” Mardh pointed towards one of his men he had decided to keep as guards, “get me a phone, I'm going to give our beloved general a call.”

“Amigo,” Fidel looked startled. “You're not thinking of surrendering, are you?!”

Mardh chuckled as he took the phone from the marine. “Surrender? To that culo? Not a chance in hell. If there's anything I know about Navarro is that he's a greedy, little coward. I'm just going to offer him a deal he can't refuse, and that, incidentally, I can't deliver on.”

“So what're you going to do? Kill the poor chico when you get the chance?”

“Welcome to the world of politics, me amigo,” Mardh smiled, “I hear it can be quite cutthroat.”

by **Norvosa** » Thu Jul 20, 2017 5:10 pm

Title: Martyr
Author: Norvosa
Synopsis: A rogue Tribune who dared challenge the oligarchy that has corrupted Norvosa's democracy steels himself before the coming storm.

His garden was the epitome of tranquility. The golden dangling orb in the west began its languid descent beyond the horizon, beyond the layered, snowcapped mountain ranges, accompanied by the roosting birds' delicate evening oration to Heliod. There was not another human in sight.
That is, save the Legionary in full combat gear, Heckler and Koch gripped tightly in his gloved hands.
He looks so out of place Fulvius mused, almost irritatedly like an errant stroke of the paintbrush on Mother Nylea's masterpiece.
'Sir.'
The gravelly, grave voice of the Optio interrupted his musings. Unwillingly, Fulvius pulled his gaze away from the vista to look at the soldier. Unshaven, bleary-eyed, the Optio looked like he hadn't slept for a week, which was true. He hadn't. The Optio had spent day and night, vigilantly watching the security monitors for any signs of approaching hostiles. Now, it seemed, his waiting had paid off.
'Yes, Optio.' Fulvius gave him an easy, disarming smile. With one hand clutching a glass of '87 vintage Capidavan Shiraz and the other behind his head as he languidly slouched in his deckchair, he was the image of calm.
'Contact, twenty five miles to the south east,' the Optio croaked 'they're two miles from the perimeter. They have IFVs, but they'll need to dismount; unless they want to go up the front drive.'
'Which you have mined I presume.'
'Yessir.' The Optio allowed himself the slightest smirk before resuming his somber expression. 'What now, sir?'
Fulvius chuckled as he took another sip of wine, swilled it in his mouth and gulped it noisily. 'Mi carissime, you know I don't know anything about fighting. I'm a Tribune; a man of words, not war. I can filibuster them to death if you want.'
The Optio did not return Fulvius' ironic smile. 'Contuberniums III and IV are in their line of fire,' the Optio said 'I can bring round-'
'Just leave me be will you.'
Fulvius heaved a sigh, drained his glass and stood up before smashing it dramatically. 'We're like that wine glass,' he said 'it's a shame when they break, but there are plenty more like it. If the Luculli and the Scaevolae want me dead, so be it. I won't escape them. They'll hunt me to the Underworld and back. But I don't matter, because like the wine glass there are plenty more like me.'
Plenty more like me who will lie forgotten in shallow unmarked graves he thought to himself but for an honourable cause. His motherland had to be freed from the clutches of the oligarchical Patricians, who had hijacked the democracy. They had perverted and debauched what was a pure, righteous system of government. But by challenging gens maior in the courts and the floor of the Assembly he had painted a target on his chest: the Patricians would not let such an affront linger. Fulvius was to be the first name in a long list of martyrs, and he was ready.
Fulvius looked the Optio straight in the eye, daring him to hold his gaze. He did.
'I'm an old, done, tired man,' Fulvius continued 'consider yourself dismissed, Optio Rufus.'
With that, he slumped back into his deckchair and closed his eyes. For a while there was silence, even the birds had gone silent. Then the gentle tramp of rubber boots filled the air, as the Legionaries that had taken cover behind the colonnades of the homestead darted off into the dusk.
Fulvius smiled. He opened his eyes and the vista was no longer tarnished. He could hear intermittent bursts of gunfire in the distance, accompanied by bloodcurdling yells and the dull thuds of grenades, but he was happy. After all, he had a view to die for right before his eyes.

by **Murovanka** » Mon Jul 24, 2017 9:58 am

Title: Wankenlied Chapter I
Author: Murovanka
Synopsis: Chapter I tells of the founding of the half-mythical Four Kingdoms of Wanka by King Muras.

Deutschsprachige nicht lesen. Ihr seid gewarnt.

Es ward einmal dvier Kenigreiche
den Völkern Wanka nach vier Stämme:
Vergen, Prußen, Sachsen Swaben
einst vereint in Götters Namen

Schwarze Zeiten hatten überrannen
des Landes und ihr Völkern
Muras Herr der Vergen und Schloss Wanka
Hörte im Nacht der Hellen Sterne:

Die Stimme Gottes des ihn besagte,
“Erhebt, ihr Retter meines Volkes
Der lang Sterbenwinter nacht
und des Licht des Lebens fahlt.”

“Morjen solls Du Erwählter
Söhne Gottes den Kriech führen
Die des Morjens zum Licht kommet
send mir treu und gerettet.”

Das Schloss Wanka war ne Pracht
den Gotte selbst hielt dort Wacht
Vier Türme ragten hoch:
Ost, West und Nord, letzter am Ford

Schützten den am Berg Trident
Nie besiegt der angetan
Im Süd der See Heim Gottes Seele
der den Himmelsturm bewohnt

In de Nacht kam angesturm’d
Drei Reiter aus dem Grund
das de Himmelsturm so starkes Licht
Waret von weitem klar in Sicht

Führte siet zum Schloss Wanka
wo am Morjen sie trat ein
dr Herr von Wanka bat sie rein
en Starker Edler den b’siegte kein

Die dreiet waren folgender:
Sachsenfürst, Albrecht dr Bär
Wilhelm dr Große Von den Prußen
Bertold Schnellkling von den Schwaben

Sahet Muras und staunten echt’
denn der edler Herr sprach Gottes Recht
“Folget mir ihr Söhne Gottes!”
Sie folget ihn der Herr wolles

Dr Sturm war an die Leut flohen
vor Kriech Pest und de Goten
letzterer des Teufels Werk
Armeen der Schlangen und der Toten

Furchtlos zon’ die Herren durchs Lande
Schlugen die Feinde ins Weit und Breite
Doch stellte der Teufel seine
Heeresmacht zum letzten Kampf

Die Nacht davor erschien im Treum
eine weiße Frau von wunderschön
Nahmt sei Hand und lächelte:
“Gebt nicht auf ich schütze Euch.”

Bei Gandar liess der Feind sammeln:
Schlangen Drachen Gotenhorden
Spinnen Toten Wendenmeuden
Muras droht’ der Untergang

Eins nach andern fiel’n die Herren
Albrecht Wilhelm dann die Schnellklang
Bertold’s Degen fiel dem Heulensang
Muras warder letzte Mann

Vom Himmel und die rote Nacht
flog daruntern Riesentier
Drea, an Adler, vom Gotte entsandt
brache Helle unds vliegende Heer

Muras kämpfte eins zu Tausend
Doch mit der schwarzen Adlerherrin
Schlug den Gotenfürsten Jac
und zerschlug des Feindes Macht

Der Adler lande nach der Schlacht
wo Sommer wieder heimgebracht
wandle sich in Menschenform
eine Maid, der Engel vom Treum.

by **Aemen** » Wed Jul 26, 2017 2:09 pm

Title: Ethos, Pathos, Logos
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: An Aemen commander lays the foundation for a new weapon of war.

‘There’s not much that frightens me.’

‘No? Our records say otherwise. It’s not isolated to you, either.’

‘Such as?’

The contractor began to list off several things that his interviewee immediately felt uncomfortable about. Things that were buried in his subconscious and were not at the forefront of his mind when he was initially asked the question.

‘I… uh…’

The interviewer continued.

‘…University debts, your final grade, the weight it will hold, the relevance of your skills outside of full-time education. Your biggest fear relates to your future and whether the money is actually worth it. You don’t want to be the family disappointment.’

The student shuffled in his chair.

‘Can… I have some… some water, please?’

‘Of course. We’ll take a quick five minute break.’

The student got out of his seat and left the bland room. Clearly it wasn’t well kept, being located in one of the older urbanised areas of Erus meant the modernisation of the capital had yet to fully revitalise the ailing structure, but it fulfilled its basic purpose. As the student walked along the creaking bare wooden floor, the interviewer typed the results into his computer and emailed his notes to his superior in the Ministry of Information.

In the rest of the building, the same thing was happening; university students were being asked questions, information was being fed back and shared between interviewers and the Ministry about the responses. What made them feel uncomfortable, what was their pressure point, their weakness, and the factors that had the greatest influence.

It was a mass psychological experiment funded by the Crown and under the direction of Group Captain Anthony Bernays and his newly established Information Control and Exploitation joint branch of the Aemen military, or ICE as it had come to be known. ICE was the Emperor’s response to the extraordinary speed and dissemination of information in the modern age and the new channels that were used to convey it. Social media, email, online news, mobile phones, they all required a new line of adaptation and opened up a new field of warfare. Working alongside all ministries, ICE was the new way to spread the Aemen state’s message; its task was to understand, to deter, to demoralise, to destabilise.

It wasn’t just foreigners, but their own as well. ICE’s testing ground was the Aemen population and the social groups that dominated its hierarchy. The university students came from many backgrounds, making their wants seem complicated on the outset and perhaps indeterminable as a group, but the Aemen culture provided the key, compounding their fears of familial disappointment, the scorn of their peers, a general sense, or lack of, direction in their lives. They were all valuable buttons that the Crown could push for a desired response.

The experiment continued throughout the day and the next morning Bernays and his staff pored over what their subordinates had discovered. They were assembling one of the largest databases of information for military use ever conceived. It was to be regularly updated and specialists were already being assigned to individual units, ships, brigades and squadrons to coordinate their actions with narratives from the government and brief commanders on understandings of their target audiences.

On the surface it didn’t seem like much, but to Bernays everything that the students expressed was something that he could use. Sometimes it would be simple, other times it would require elaborate and complicated planning. The one thing Bernays was sure of was that he would have plenty of opportunity to demonstrate his belief that traditional warfare was becoming less important in the current age; it didn’t matter who had the best weapons that made the biggest explosions, it was who had the best story with the more convincing message.

by **Aemen** » Sun Sep 10, 2017 9:01 am

Title: A House Divided
Author: Aemen
Synopsis: The former king of Aemen despairs as a visit from his brother shatters what little joy he has left.

Iringvat Palace
Erus

The rain was pouring down over the lawns of Iringvat, home to Prince Alexander and his wife, Mariana. The prince stared out of the windows of his grand apartments at the streets beyond the gated estate. There they were again, Crown Guard Watch Group Four, making their series of patrols on a route around the palace’s perimeter. They’d be followed in three minutes by Watch Group Five, and then Watch Group Six another three minutes after them. Alexander had been under house arrest in his glamourous prison for so long he had memorised their timings perfectly, knowing how many steps they were taking around a single lap of the palace’s enormous boundary and how much of a window there was when an area was not being watched.

He had thought about escaping before. Mariana was in no state to run, her bouts of depression since their son, the young Prince Hugo, had been taken saw swiftly to the demise of that plan. He, however, could slip over the gate in the small space of time he had and disappear into the streets of Erus, provided the Crown Guard in the garden didn’t catch him first. But even then, where would he go? No one was willing to fight for him, no one wanted to see him as king or emperor, and he would be abandoning his wife to the clutches of mental illness and his son to Theofilus’ design.

Alexander’s eyes moved across Iringvat’s pruned rose bushes to the main gate, where the Crown Guard present opened the barrier and let through a black, bulky car. It was inconspicuous and expensive enough for Alexander to know exactly who was inside. Not that he needed to guess; there was only one person who visited him these days.

The former king took a seat on the long comfortable sofa he had stood in front of, staring outside as he waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, there was a knock at the door of the room’s entrance and the prince breathed in the strength he needed to get through what was to come. It took all his willpower to not lash out, to not scream in rage or do anything he knew would put him in a worse position than he was already in. No small gratification against his visitor was going to help his situation, nor his family’s.

‘Come in.’ Alexander uttered, monotone, devoid of any care and warmth.

The door opened, held by a suited man with a white bowtie and holding the brass, curved door handle with a white-gloved hand. As he stood in the position for a few uncomfortable seconds, the source of all Alexander’s pain and author of his downfall walked past the butler and into the room. The butler closed the door, leaving Alexander and the Emperor alone together.

Theofilus looked about the room before his eyes settled on his older brother, who was already staring at him with deep, controlled breaths. ‘You’ve decorated again.’

Alexander looked away, out of the window at the intensifying rainfall. ‘I need to do something to keep myself busy.’

Theofilus nodded slightly. ‘And Mariana?’

Alexander got up and walked across to the apartment’s drinks cabinet. A mix of gin, tonic and natural Aemen herbs filled two large highball glasses as the prince took one and walked towards his brother, passing him the concoction. ‘Not good, like I told you last time. I hardly know what part of the palace she’s in these days and when I do, she doesn’t want to speak to me.’

Theofilus took the glass and sipped from it, watching as his brother went back to the cabinet to get his own. ‘I remember when father made these for us on our eighteenth. It was probably the only time I saw him smile, and even then we had to coax it from him.’

Alexander was silent; he took his drink in hand and leaned against the cabinet. ‘What do you want Tavish?’

There were a few uncomfortable moments of silence as Theofilus looked around for a seat, before settling down on the sofa his brother previously sat on. ‘I’m not allowed to visit you anymore without wanting something?’

Alexander’s expression darkened. ‘The last time you came here you took my son.’

The Emperor didn’t say anything, taking another sip of his drink, before looking back at the prince. ‘You know why I did it-‘

‘-No, I don’t. Taking Hugo because you wanted an heir is not a valid reason for splitting my family apart.’

‘I am mending the rift in this family. Hugo is-‘

Alexander slammed his drink down on the cabinet, turning his back to Theofilus and lowering his head in anger, barely keeping his emotions at bay. ‘The rift… the fucking rift… you made when you ordered Diederik to attack Erus. That rift is your fault, you…’

The prince composed himself slowly as he turned back around to meet his brother’s eyes. ‘You’re the reason we’re at odds, Tavish. Not me.’

‘Do you really believe that? Do you really not remember how you betrayed-‘

‘I won’t hear this agai-‘

Theofilus stood up and raised his voice, its volume amplified by the high ceiling of the room. ‘How you betrayed everything our ancestors, our father, stood for? Our family is meant to rule Aemen and you were going hand it to the rabble.’

‘And you think you’re the one to keep that going with my son!?’

Again, there was silence. Both brothers stared at each other, an intense dislike looming in their eyes before the atmosphere felt some sense of relief. Alexander rubbed his forehead, looking back at his brother. ‘How is he?’

Theofilus let out a slight chuckle. ‘He’s, well, he’s good. He’s quite into his history and abacus.’

Alexander smiled. ‘My little mathematician.’

‘He’s good with sums for his age. The nannies tell me he loves bedtime stories about Hyrian. He’s an intelligent toddler for sure.’

Alexander nodded, his smile remaining on his face. ‘So… can I see him?’

Theofilus suddenly hardened to his brother’s question. ‘No… not yet. Not until he comes of age and can be… made aware of his circumstances.’

Alexander’s expression dropped, his mouth slightly agape. ‘What? What do you mean? How old does he have to be?’

‘Old enough to not need a regent should anything happen to me.’

‘You’re going to keep me out of his life for fourteen years!?’

‘He will know who you are; I won’t deprive him of that. But I have to mentor him for the inevitable. Hugo will be the mender of this schism in our family and having you and Mariana this close to him will only be a distraction.’

‘You…’

Alexander suddenly snapped; the usurpation, the house arrest, Hugo being taken away and now being forced to move from his home since he had finished university was all too much for Alexander’s usually tolerant nature to bear. He threw his glass at Theofilus, missing the Emperor by a wide margin before lunging forward and forcing his brother up against the wall, causing Theofilus to drop his own glass to the floor. He threw a punch, connecting with Theofilus’ cheek before the Emperor reacted and kicked Alexander across the room and onto his back.

Before he could climb to his feet to attempt another attack, Alexander heard the door to the room crash open and saw several Crown Guardsmen standing ready with their weapons trained on him. Theofilus raised his hand to them and they lowered their arms before the Emperor rubbed his cheek. No significant damage, but he knew Alexander could have hit harder if he wanted. Some part of him was still holding back.

‘I know this is difficult for you, but it’s what is best. For the empire.’

Alexander looked up at his brother, breathing quickly through gritted teeth, before he slowed the pace down. ‘For the empire…’ he said, nodding disapprovingly. ‘Where are you sending me Tavish?

‘Featherbow Lodge. I'm sure you'll have plenty of things to punch when you're somewhere so in tune with the natural world.’

Theofilus walked towards the door as the Guardsmen parted to let him through, closing the door to the apartment behind them and leaving Alexander alone, with nothing but his thoughts and emotions.

Featherbow Lodge. Alexander should have known as soon as his brother had told him. A rural retreat, isolated in the Forest of Sons, with an unpredictable weather system and no way to get to civilisation on foot. The number of guards could be halved, or there could be no guards at all, and the Emperor wouldn’t have to worry about him escaping, not that he did anyway, as there was nowhere to escape to.

This was to be his life, he could feel it, a prisoner in a luxury cell, unable to make a difference, incapable of helping himself or his wife, denied from his son. Alexander sat up, his head bowed as he stared downwards at the carpet as the last of his anger dissipated. He began to softly weep for the futures of himself, his wife, but most of all for his son. They were all subject to his brother's vision now, all pieces on his chess board, all subjects of His Imperial Majesty.

Snapshots of Life in Stille Nacht [Stille Nacht][Closed]

Snapshots of Life in Stille Nacht [Stille Nacht][Closed]

Town Meeting Hall, Rivershoe

Government Building, Genevieve

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Town Meeting Hall, Rivershoe

Town Meeting Hall, Rivershoe

Town Meeting Hall, Rivershoe

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