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Tales From the Elvarya [Elvarya Only]

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]
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Nerodanus
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 492
Founded: Jul 27, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Tales From the Elvarya [Elvarya Only]

Postby Nerodanus » Mon Jul 17, 2017 9:07 pm

May Day, 2010. Drakodia, Nerodanus.

Viktor's slowly opened his eyes, his body splayed across the seat of his Tank. Smoke filled the interior of the now damaged vehicle and his ears rang as though a flashbang went off nearby. Light filled the inside of the tank as a pair of hands reached in to pull him out of the tank. Coughing the ringing dissipated and his eyes adjusted to the light. Looking to the person who held him he came to see the familiar face of Corporal Ruslan.

Viktor sat up from the mans arms and looked to the sky, the explosions of anti aircraft fire filled the blue sky as gun fire echoed in the distance, where Communist forces fought through the city to reach the Palace. Looking to Ruslan he spoke. "Corporal, the tank is busted. We hit a land mine. What are my orders?" Reaching to his side the Corporal brought an AK-47N up to his side and thrusted it into the Lance Corporals arms. "Take the castle." was all he said before hopping off the tank and making his way through the destroyed buildings to the heart of the city.

Looking down at the weapon in his arms Viktor loaded it and turned the saftey off before hopping down from the destroyed tank and running down the same path as the Corporal. As he moved the sound of explosions and gunfire got louder. Jumping behind sandbags he rejoined the Revolutionary Forces entrenched in the buildings surrounding the Palace. Leaning up a bit Viktor brought his gun to bear and fired into the enemy lines.

In the distance Maxim Kuznetsov looked over the city from the mountain top, relaying orders to the men behind him on what to have done. Turning his back to the city he began to suggest a plan of action to break the deadlock currently going on before the sound of an explosion unlike many others reached his ears. Turning around his jaw dropped as a small mushroom cloud formed from the now nearly entirely destroyed Palace.

The battle for Drakodia, has now truly begun.
Last edited by Nerodanus on Fri Apr 20, 2018 7:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
Pronunciation: Nero-Dawn-Us
I do not use NS Stats
Nerodanus is a Democratic Nation
Nerodanus follows its own form of Communism more related to Socialism than Communism
Leader: Maxim Kuznetsov

Pro: Socialism, Democracy, Linux, Abortion
Against: Unregulated Capitalism, Facsism, Nazism


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( -_-) (-_Q) If you understand that both Capitalism and Socialism have ideas that deserve merit, put this in your signature.

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Germeria
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 48
Founded: Jul 29, 2014
Left-Leaning College State

The Coronation of Heinrich von Aelstun

Postby Germeria » Tue Aug 22, 2017 12:53 pm

Worms, Germeria, St. Jan Zbyrski's Basilica Cathedral, April 15th, 1663.

Ser Friedrich Mont of the Imperial Guard watched the coronation from his corner in the great cathedral, looking at the many lords and ladies that lined the pews and extended from the building to the bustling square outside. It was an explosion of color, all the different nobles bringing their most exotic clothing and fine jewelry in hopes of impressing the boy-Emperor. Even from his vantage point on the upper floor of the cathedral, the smell of the various foods and gifts reached him, and his stomach grumbles lowly.

He quietly entertained the thought of sneaking off and indulging in some of the delicacies and the entertainment. After all, eleven of the twelve Imperial Guardsmen surrounded the soon to be Kaiser, stationed strategically around the dais at the head of the basilica, all within a moment's notice of the boy, ready to intercept any threat. Mont noticed that the only exception was Joran z Creshyk, the Bourhmeni fighter that killed Ugo the Bold nearly thirty years before. Fighting for the reformists, he managed to evade capture until the Peace With Honor was signed, and was pardoned of all crimes before hence. As the High Priest continued with his chanting, Mont noticed that one particular Guardsmen was absent.

"Guarding His Majesty from Gargoyles and buttresses, are you?" said a voice behind him. Mont needn't have turned to recognize the man. Johannes von Moltke, the Kaiser-Killer, and the only Guardsmen from before the Great War started in 1619.

"You never know Moltke, gargoyles are known to swoop upon the unsuspecting." Johannes moved next Mont and mirrored the other man's stance.

"Yes, swooping is bad," he murmured, scratching at his grey beard. Despite his age he was still fit and lean, and Mont didn't doubt that the oldest among the Guard could still ably fight off at least half of the newer guards at once. Mont looked at the boy kneeling before the High Priest. No older than fourteen years and barely taller than 5 and a quarter foot, he knew from experience the boy was smarter than years and in a way the cloak and crown fitted him more than than sight alone would lead many to believe.

"What do you think of this boy Emperor? You've had the most experience with royalty out of all us," spoke Mont. Johannes scratched his beard again, eyes never leaving the boy.

"I've served four Kaisers, soon to be five, and killed one of them to boot. I've fought wars for two, stopped a conspiracy against another, and through it all? Not much changes. The man does, to be sure, and the court gets a bit more different and new with each one, but the problems remain the same. The same petty lords cry and scream over hurt pride, the same clergymen hark on and on about duties and oaths and damnation, and each and every lady has their own unique brand of seduction and temptation." He turned around so he was leaning against the railing on his back, arms crossed and looked to Mont.

"But this boy, Heinrich? I feel something else, a different sense of purpose and drive. There's a man locked in there, an ambitious man, and I think you know about it too." Mont looked uneasily from Moeltke to the boy, nay, Kaiser down on the floor. When Heinrich fist approached him with an offer of placing a capable emperor on the throne after the death of Jurgen I, he didn't expect the boy to nominate himself. But his plans had worked, his rivals had failed or been humiliated thoroughly enough to leave him be for the time being, and now whenever he looked into the boy's eyes he felt a chill go through him, a creeping coldness that never left when they were in the same room.

"You knew his grandfather, yes? The Archduke Ferdinand, that is," questioned Mont. Johannes nodded mutely.

"He was an old war friend, from the Great War. I fought with him against King Jiri, and was there when he was justly rewarded by Henry. A shame what happened to his son, but the little lad seems to have taken well to his grandfather's lessons." The two remained quiet while the High Priest finished, and then waited with bated breath as the Imperial crown was place on Heinrich's head. The boy rose, now as emperor than as child, and the basilica erupted into cheers and applause. The two men watched as the Kaiser greeted his new subjects, content to watch.

"Gott schütze den Kaiser," said Johannes.

"Gott schütze den Kaiser," Mont replied softly.
Proud Free Market enthusiast
Fierce Caesarist and Bonapartist republican
"In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins." - Ulysses S. Grant
"A leader is a dealer in hope." - Napoleon I Bonaparte

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Adfrana
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Posts: 57
Founded: Feb 02, 2014
Moralistic Democracy

The Seeds of Rebellion meets the Snows of Revenge

Postby Adfrana » Sat Sep 09, 2017 8:24 pm

Journal Entry - Month of Snows
Lord-Sergeant Bryan Cragston of Lionscrest Regiment

My heart aches for home, for the piercing blue sky, the raging yellow sun and the immaculate green of the rolling hills of Kingsgate Fields have all but fallen to the dawn of winter, when the dense snows are known to bury men while they stand. My darling wife Katlina and my baby boy Arthur, how I miss them. I've been the servant of the sword and shield for too long, for I can barely remember their faces. I departed Lionscrest to fight for my Baron two summers ago and have not looked upon their faces. When this war began, I led brave, experienced, and heaven-worthy Knights to battle to fight and die for their Baron. Now, what's left is nothing more than indentured servants, rapers, murderers and peasants. I, Ser Fallus and Ser Templeton are all that remain of the original regiment. Now, our Baron and his seat of power, Cordon, have both fallen. Within a fortnight, the castle that was regarded as the "Pearl of the North" had been smashed and burned, the ground within and without salted, the grass dead and brown. They not only smashed our army, burned our stronghold, but killed the very ground our Baron lived upon. Little remains of our forces, besides the Lionscrest Regiment. Days ago, we met with the Lord-Sergeant of Echohold Regiment, whose men barely numbered more than fifty, who instructed us to abandon the province and march for Maloria to muster the defense of their castle with that Baron's men. I spit on his cowardice and struck his head from his body. I shall not abandon my home and any Kaldwin men are more than welcomed to meet his fate. Of course, the battle


Lord-Sergeant Bryan dropped his quill and jolted his head upwards, hearing the screams and steel-clashing of war. He jumped from the side of his wooden framed bed, knocking over the writing table his entry was in. He couldn't see from the insides of his command tent, but he knew the screams of battle were coming upon him, like a silent serpent encroaching on the spider's domain. Ser Bryan, fresh from his chainmail and plate armor, swiped his sword and scabbard and tied the cracked and worn leather around his waist. Wearing no defense would help him none, but he had no time. He rushed out of his tent to see the horizon. His tent sat upon a hill, giving him a view of his entire encampment, all four hundred men. Towards the tree line, he saw a cavalry unit of forty horses storm the outer perimeters of the camp, striking down the ill-prepared boys with ease. As the charge broke off into two forces, the loud battle cry of an entire horde of Kaldwin men emerged from the deep forests, a sea of red and black bearing the red Lion of Kaldwin.

"Ser Bryan, the fight goes ill below. We must muster the men!" Cried out Ser Templeton, his bastard sword drawn, adorning his rough black chainmail with a single worn breastplate bearing Cordon's White Eagle on it. Ser Fallus approached from behind him, wielding his war axe, wearing the black chainmail and Gold thunderbolt of Stormwatch, a small town on the western coastline.

"Archers to your marks! Archers, to me! To me!" the Lord-Sergeant cried out to the tents and men surrounding the hill, watching as the Lioncrest soldiers attempted to put up a defense, though they were outnumbered ten to one. One by one, young boys and old men mustered near the command tent, forming five lines of ten archers, bearing their crude longbows and iron arrows.

"Nock arrows!" Bryan ordered soundly, watching as the men placed arrows on their strings and resting against the wood. The boys look frightened, tears in their eyes as they knew death was coming, either by a Kaldwin man's cold steel, or Ser Bryan's blade for cowardice.

"Draw arrows!!" Screamed out Bryan as he drew his sword from his scabbard, resulting in a wave of scared and tired men drawing their blades, ready to die with honor. The archers pulled back on their bowstrings, putting the arrows' feathers right to their chin, aiming high in the sky, just high enough that the arrows would land dead center in the Kaldwin force. Below, he watched as the outer camps were all but demolished, with hundreds upon hundreds of men in the vanguard, even more behind them.

"Loose!" The order rang out and his archers did not fail him, they unleashed the fifty arrows out towards the Kaldwin dogs.

"Forward!" As Ser Bryan let loose that last word, a dark cloud emerged from the forest, densely black and fast in speed, it rose high towards the light grey cloud layers, creating a wide shadow upon his men.

Arrows....

"Forward!! Quickly now!" Bryan ordered, sprinting past his troops, attempting to outrun the storm of arrows that were descending upon them, enough to wipe out his entire Regiment in a single wave. The Knights followed just as quickly, the remaining 341 screaming and running behind them, desperate to find some kind of protection. Banners of the White Eagle rippled in the wind and brave men ran down the hill with it in their weak hand and their sword in the strong. Ser Bryan bent downwards and scooped up a wooden shield with an iron perimeter, bearing the white Eagle displayed. He rose it high as the whistling of the arrows grew louder. He kept running as the arrows dug deep into the light cover of snow, and most burying deep into the bodies of men. The screams of bravery were reduced to the ghoulish shrieks of demise. Bryan kept running, eight arrows digging deep into the wood, one breaching very close to his hand. While his force was greatly reduced by the arrows, those still left rose from their shields and pushed forward towards Kaldwin's scourge. Songs would be written of this battle, how rebels, even though greatly outnumbered and with no high leader, still acted with bravery and courage in the defense of their home.

Ser Bryan, followed by both Ser Fallus and Templeton, let out a blood curdling war cry as their steel impacted with the blades of the Kaldwin Army.


******

Blood seeped from Ser Bryan's mouth as he groaned and gritted his teeth in pain, crawling on his belly towards his command tent, which was only a few feet away. Around him, he could still hear the death wails of his men, crying out in pain, bearing arrow wounds, gashes in their bellies, deep cuts to their shoulders, legs and arms. One by one, he heard them all go silent as soldiers from Kaldwin's Army scoured the field of dead, sending their spears through the faces of the wounded rebels. Ser Bryan was not without his wounds. Dug into his back, three arrows protruded out from his flesh, a gash from an axe was present in his leg, and a slash upon the chest from a clever swordsman.

Onward, Ser Bryan crept closer and closer to his tent, his gloved hands burying deep into the snow and dirt, trying to wiggle through the sea of dead men and arrows.

"Here! We found him!" Yelled a soldier from behind, his accent thick with that of a man of the coasts, most likely from Daleford or the Seafort. The men picked him up by the neck while another lifted him by his shoulder, squeezing tight, causing pain to flare from the wounds there. Bryan let out a strained growl and groan as he was turned around and placed on his knees, the men keeping his arms extended outward. That's when he saw.

A man approached him, wearing a full suit of black plate, embroidered with a Red Lion's head upon the breastplate. His helmet was just as extravagant, with it shaped in the form of a roaring Lion. His armor was clean and new, signs that this man was important enough to hide from his Lionscrest men. Slowly, he removed his helmet, revealing that it was Ser Jyris Kaldwin, second cousin of Prince Petyr Kaldwin. Of course, a fucking Kaldwin.

Ser Jyris approached Ser Bryan and knelt in front of him.

"You're Ser Bryan Cragston, aren't you? Stories from the peasants call you the White Eagle of Lionscrest? How sad. What happened to the brave men of Lionscrest Regiment? Two years ago, I could hear the girls of Daleford swooning over the thickly built knights of Lionscrest. Is this all that's left? Boys and tired old men?"

Ser Bryan didn't respond, night couldn't respond. He was so weak that he only had enough energy for a few number of words, and he needed those too dearly to waste his energy spitting in the man's face. Ser Bryan's fight is over. Ser Jyris seemed quite surprised to see that the White Eagle of Lionscrest had no words for him.

"You are going to die this day, don't you realize this? Have you no words for me? No curses to shout, no vile words that need spitting?" Jyris rose from his knees and gloated as the last man of his Regiment screamed his last breath away, giving way to silence.

"In Lionscrest.....my wife Ka-...Katlina and my boy...Arthur...tell them I love them..and I will see them again....pl-...please." Ser Bryan managed to mutter out, oozing blood from his bottom lip onto the cold ground. This received a second kneel by the Lion Knight, giving him a look of sincerity.

"Ser Bryan...you've lost your war, your men lay dead. It seems your reputation was false. You were always known as the thick headed man who killed a thousand Lion soldiers, spitting on their corpses one by one. To hear you now, save the insults and curses and jokes for the grave, and your last thoughts being of home. Of your wife Katlina and of Arthur. It's touching. By my honor, I will deliver this message to your family. They will know how you fought till the last man, and your mind was on them. They will know of you, because I will send your mind to them. Die now, Ser Knight." Ser Bryan's eyes went wide as Ser Jyris plunged a dagger deep into the man's throat, blood splattering out with immense pressure onto Jyris's armor. Ser Jyris grabbed ahold of Bryan's hair, grasping his head tightly as he worked the knife through his neck and carved the spine from the head. With a quick tug, Ser Bryan's head was removed from his body, the blood still shooting out in waves. Ser Jyris lifted himself and the head. He looked at his messenger and tossed him the head.

"Take that to Lionscrest. Find his wife and child. Give that head to them and say no words." Jyris then turned the opposite direction and gave an order to his men.

"Gather the rebels and burn them. Except for Ser Bryan. Bury him, for he was still a Knight and fought with honor to the last." Ser Jyris Kaldwin said before turning and walking back down towards the forest where many lines of horses stood, awaiting the return of their commander and their next target: Castle Whitewall, another traitorous Baron deserving of a good beheading.
Last edited by Adfrana on Sat Sep 09, 2017 8:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Jord
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 25
Founded: Feb 26, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

August 15 1990

Postby Jord » Mon Sep 11, 2017 9:15 pm

Jon held his breath as he manned his mounted turret atop the trench, happily gunning down the terrorists who dare go against the queens light. Among him were his fellow brothers and sisters in arms of the Jord Valhallan Ice warriors 15th company, each with a rifle in hand and spilling terrorist blood in the name of Queen and Country.

Ever since the first attack weeks ago, when these so called "freedom fighter" made their day view by setting off bombs in the capital, killing 20 citizens and injuring 3 times as many, the soldiers of Jord have made it their mission to go out and eliminate these terrorist if its the last thing they do.

As Jon continued to fire upon a group of enemy riflemen, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Commander Erik of the 15th company standing right behind him.

"Whats the situation soldier?" He asked.

"They just keep coming sir, I swear these dammed terrorists seem to have forces that could match our number sin our company alone," Jon said as he reloaded his gun.

Commander Erik scowled as he watched the terrorist forces hide behind the recognize of exploded cars, helicopters and other debrief, trying to save themselves as they spray and pray at the 15 company.

"These damn cowards, hiding in their little hidey holes and terrorizing Jord and her people. The Queen gave them a chance to bend the knee and surrender, and what do they do? Spin on her words and threaten to kill every man, women, and child! And they call themselves men!"

Just as he finished his sentence, a shot ranged out as a newly made bullet hole found its place right to the side of the commanders head.

"Frakking savages," He muttered, pulling out his pistol and headhunting an enemy who tried to bayonet charge the front lines. The rest of his body being shredded by machine gun fire and turned into a red cloud.

"I couldn't agree more with you sir," Jon said as he resumed fire upon the enemy.

As the battle ranged on the terrorists numbers fell with grace. In the name of the Queen, the men and women of not only the 15th company, but every army will destroy these terrorist savages and bring peace to their country, all in the name of Queen and Country.
Last edited by Jord on Mon Sep 11, 2017 9:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Novo Razcon
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 55
Founded: Nov 10, 2017
Authoritarian Democracy

Postby Novo Razcon » Fri Nov 10, 2017 8:33 pm

Elvarya Update:

A journalist hastily types something on a laptop, waiting for Novo Razcon military forces to come. She knows they're coming, she knows they'll kill her. The Fall of Razonica wasn't like how historians told it; Razonica was evil, the Crimson Union was good. The Civil War tore apart Razonica, and Novo Razcon was one of the subtler factions. It saw the war coming; it saw the fall of Razonica, so the rebellion waited until the fall to make a move. After all, why burn troops on something you know will end poorly. The war had ended, and Novo Razcon took power as one of the successors.

*POUND POUND POUND*

They planned on reforming the empire under their Glorious Emperor, and their regime could be described as

*CRACK*

Oh God, no, PLEASE NO!

*BANG*

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Arkhon Federation
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 51
Founded: Feb 13, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Arkhon Federation » Sun Dec 31, 2017 2:10 am

Amare was tired, he had been working all day in the mines for the past week and was anxious for his day off. His aching muscles roared as he walked home, wincing with each step. The dirt path that curved through the jungle between the mines and his community was narrow but large enough for military jeeps which passed him occasionally. He enjoyed his walks home. It was his time to think without the noise of the mines, to conspire with the jungle around him, and to venture into his life. As he turned the corner to his community, he was confronted with a Scotish soldier who asked for his identification. There seemed to be more soldiers the past week than normal. Mostly, they left the Tadbueze alone, but occasionally, a soldier would be drunk or angry and would hurt his people. Thankfully, today the soldier was sober and he quickly checked his ID and sent him on his way. It was a quick walk through his small community. A sickness took many of his people months ago and his community shrunk by at least half. He walked to the rear edge of the community till he reached his home. It was a meager thing, mostly a hut built from dry mud and housed under straw.

His wife would be preparing dinner inside, and he was eager to fill his stomach. His wife worked at the clothes factory three times a week so that they could afford the new Scotish tax. The rest of the week she tended the garden and took care of the local kids that lived in their community. The garden was small and pitiful, but it was enough for the two of them. They had lived in Tadbu for their entire lives. His wife was the daughter to a once powerful plantation owner, but he lost his fortune to drought and disease. It was hard for her to adapt to such a poor existence but she seemed to prefer life as a poor wife than a poor slave. Amare himself was always poor. His mother died in childbirth and his father never paid much attention to him. He would find work in the city and then take his little earnings back home for his father for him to spend it at the bar the next night. For food, Amare would steal from the surviving plantations and would visit Mother Telly each day for a piece of bread.

He entered the hut and was confronted with the smell of stew. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside he saw the pot above a suffering fire and his wife washing carrots and dropping them into the thick boil. It was warm in the hut, almost too warm for Amare who preferred the cold. He greeted his wife with a kiss and then departed to fetch water from the well. When he returned he placed the pail of water near the fire to warm it and began to change out of his work jumpsuit into something a little more comfortable. He took the water and washing his face and hands. He could never wash the coal from under his fingernails but at least his palms would be clean. After he was finished washing and settled alongside his wife the stew was ready. He and his wife filled their bowls and sat across from each other. He began to say grace when they overheard commotion outside.

Worried, Amare peeked from the door to see what the source of the loud noise was. It was dark outside but a light was coming from a large fire in the middle of the community. He saw three Scotish Jeeps full of soldiers accompanied by a tank. His stomach began to hurt like it did when he was in danger in the mines. He went back inside the hut and began to collect food while telling his wife to pack and quickly get ready to leave. They filled two bags with food and memories and opened the door to escape the pending onslaught. They timidly stepped outside the hut and scanned the yard to make sure no one was watching. As they slipped away, a soldier spotted Amare as he left the hut. He heard a gun fire and bullets hit the mud wall. They broke into a sprint and entered the jungle. With the light from the fire, they found a worn path and set to follow it. After running a great deal of running, they stopped along the path to catch their breath. Amare noticed that his wife was covered with blood which was flowing from her leg. He bent down to look at the wound. He found that the bullet tore right through the tissue and to the bone. Once she noticed the wound, she screamed. Amare quickly placed his hand over her mouth so she would stop shrieking. She whimpered but obeyed, and winced at the pressure when Amare examined the gash. There was nothing he could do for her there, and he could only temporarily stop the bleeding. He picked leaves from the neared tree and ground them up in his hands. He then took the leaf mush and pressed it into the lesion. She grabbed his shoulder so hard it cramped, but she did not scream, and Amare was grateful for her acquiescence.
He took off his shirt to clean the blood off her trembling skin and then wrapped her leg tight. Since he knew she could no longer run or walk, he helped he limp down the path. The jungle seemed to get darker and darker as they moved away from the community. After a while, Amare relaxed, it seemed that they evaded the soldiers.

For the rest of the night, Amare and his wife slowly walked the jungle path. The moonlight led their way and the jungle seemed to envelop them as the walked further into the wilderness. After some walking, they would stop and sip water and take little bits of their food. They had ration to make it last until they reached another settlement. Amare knew that the path led to another small community, but he did not know how far that community was. The path began to wind and make sharp turns to make way for oppressing jungle. His wife was becoming pale, and they were taking more breaks than before. They continued to press forward, slowly, but steadily. That was until she collapsed. Amare ran to her and poured a significant amount of water into her mouth. She swallowed and then gasped for air like there was none left. Amare dragged her to the side of the path and positioned her in a sitting position. They remained there for a long time. They sat there and listened to the noises of the jungle. There was a silent understanding that she would not be able to go on. The cold air on Amare's hot body felt good and he soon felt sleepy. He tried to stay awake, but it was like he was being dragged into the darkness. He opened his eyes one last time before he drifted to sleep. He dreamed of sun baking mud. The mud was of his hut and was warm and safe. The mud was love and shelter and full. He heard voices in the mud. His mother's, wife's, and his own. Calling him, encouraging him, guarding him.

He woke to a sudden noise. It sounded like a tree crashed against the jungle floor. His wife was barely conscious but she woke as well. Amare slowly glanced down the path to fund a military jeep and two soldiers walking toward them. He could not move or talk. He tried to warn his wife and move his legs, but his body was not responding. All he could do was watch the soldiers get closer and closer until they stood directly in front of them. They peeled his wife from his arms and placed her on the ground beside Amare. He turned his head to look at his wife. He looked into her eyes as she looked into his as if they were saying goodbye to each other. Tears were falling from her eyes when she turned her head. She never liked to let Amare see her cry. One of the soldiers saw her wound and told the other. They laughed and the young one raised his rifle, Amare managed a scream, but the gunshot echoed louder than his voice. Amare could not turn his head to look at his wife. He was covered with her blood and crying himself. The older soldier picked Amare up by his underarms and dragged him to the jeep. They threw him into the back of the jeep and chained him to one of the bars. He turned his head as to not look at his wife but the young laughing soldier grabbed his head and made him look at his dead wife. He could not see her face because the bullet tore it from her. The soldier laughed and slapped him hard. Defeated Amare coiled into a ball and closed his eyes terrified.

The Jeep moved fast through the Jungle. They passed several small communities, each enduring the same fate as his own. The path emptied onto a road which was only occupied by military vehicles. Amare saw no civilian cars like normal, just blue Scotish jeeps and trucks each full to the brim with people. After driving on the road for a good amount of time, the jeep along with several other military vehicles stopped at a train station. All of the people inside the vehicles were unloaded and herded into a cattle train car. The Car stunk of death and the people were packed so tight in the car Amare could not breathe. The train took forever to stop. Once it did, the people in the train were unloaded from the car onto a platform. The woman and girls were separated from the men and boys. Each group was placed in separate pens lined with barb-wire fences and make-shift towers. Once in the male pen, Amare moved to the western-most fence to see the female pen. Females were being led onto a platform by the dozen and shot to death. The females in the pen either crying in terror or trying to avoid being chosen but soldiers would grab them, throw them down, and shot them on the spot if they did not stop squirming. Amare could not believe what was happening. He did not understand why the soldiers were doing this to his people. In the men's pen, they were not being led onto a platform. Instead, soldiers were gathering them in pairs and leading them into a building. He was not sure what was inside the building, but he was scared to find out. As the sun moved in the sky, Amare became accustomed to the screaming and gunshots coming from the female pen. Most of the men in their pen remained silent and stone-faced. A few men tried to attack a soldier and escape, but they were shot and hanged from the towers.

The sun was setting when a guard picked Amare. The Soldier led Amare into the building and into a grey room. The room was furnished with a metal table and metal chairs on either side. The soldier sat Amare into one of the chairs, closed the door, and stood century in the corner. The room was cold and the metal chair chilled Amare's hot skin. He was glad that he could no longer hear the terror happening outside and conformed to bitter silence. On the other side of the room was another door and after a while, a man dressed in a white coat holding a vanilla folder entered the room with it. He briskly walked to the chair across from Amare and sat down. He opened the folder and began taking notes. He would glance up at Amare and then back down to his papers - all the time scribbling on them. This made Amare angry, he felt like the man was seeing right through him without notice of him.

"What are you doing?" Amare asked in a disquiet tone.

"I am observing." Answered the man.

"Who are you?"

"I am doctor Luke Whiteney."

"What are you writing?"

"I am simply taking notes, I will also ask you some questions, but first, notes."

The doctor spoke without interest which made Amare even angrier. He did not understand why he would be taking notes. Why could he not take notes somewhere else? The doctor looked up and placed his pen down on the table.

"What is your name?"

"Amare."

"How long have you lived in Tadbu?"

"My whole life - why?"

"I will get to that. Do you have any children?"

"no"

"Do you have a wife?"

"I did"

Amare looked away, holding back tears. He did not want to look weak in front of the man.

"Is your wife dead?"

"Yes, your people killed her."

"I cannot say that my people killed your wife, I am merely a doctor from a country in the west. Have you ever heard of the Arkhon Federation?"

"No."

"Well - that is where I am from. Did you have a job?"

"Yes, I am a coal miner."

"How long have you been a coal miner?"

"Since I could work."

"How long is that?"

"About 17 years."

"Very good"

The doctor picked up his pen and continued to take notes. He finished and looked up.

"Can you stand up for me please?"

"Why?"

"I need to examine your health."

Amare pushed away from the table and stood up. He was a head taller than the doctor who had to look up to talk to him. The doctor examined his teeth first. The doctor took a mirror attached to a stick and placed it into his mouth turning it to see all of his teeth. He then took a light and looked into his eyes and ears. Then the doctor asked him to strip. Amare was not comfortable and refused. The soldier then stepped forward and ripped the remaining clothes off Amares body. He felt bare and open. The doctor sat back down and began writing more notes. He then closed the folder and produced a needle from his pocket.

"I am now going to take some blood."

"Why?"

"Because it will let us see if you have diseases."

"I don't want you to take my blood."

"Well, then I am going to have to force the needle in to gather the blood, which will hurt a lot more."

Amare did not want to be held down so he granted the doctor to take the blood. It was not painful, but the pressure was uncomfortable. After the doctor collected his blood he thanked Amare and left through the same door. Amare just stood there waiting. The doctor came back quickly and told the soldier something in a foreign language. The Soldier grabbed Amare and took him to another room. This room had nothing in it but a drain in the center of the floor. A man dressed in a blue jumpsuit walked into the room and attached a long green snake to the wall. The snake then started spraying water on Amare. The water was freezing cold and it burned Amare's skin. The water stopped and the man threw a white power on him. Then he continued to spray Amare until all of the power vanished. The man took the snake from the wall and left. Amare waited a long time in the room. He was dry when the soldier came back to get him. The Soldier led him through a maze of tunnels until they reached a white door with a small window. Once inside the room, the soldier placed Amare face down on a table. Then the soldier strapped Amare on the table so that he could not move. This frightened Amare because he could not see what was going on. He heard the door open. It sounded like another man had entered the room with a cart full of metal. The man moved the cart close to Amare. Amare then felt a needle enter his neck, Amare tried to get out of the table, but he was fastened too tightly. His neck became numb, he could not feel anything. The man then took the metal from the cart and opened his neck. He could feel the cold metal inside his body, but he felt no pain. The man then placed something inside his neck. He felt the weight of the object on his skull. The man then placed the metal back on the cart and began to seal the skin. Amare was glad that the man was fixing his neck, but he was worried about the object he placed inside. Amare heard the cart move away from him and then the soldier unstrapping him from the table. Once Amare was free, he saw that the man was also wearing a white coat. The man introduced himself and hold Amare that he has been saved as a slave of the Arkhon Federation. He went on the explain that the object in his neck is called a tergum stun device which lets the Arkhon Federation control their slaves. Amare was terrified to learn that they could kill him at any time because of the object and that if he tried to dig it out, he would also die. The doctor then made him sign a document and then injected him with a green liquid. The last thing that Amare remembered was the doctors face and he drifted asleep.

Amare will wake up in the Arkhon Federation to begin his work in Arkhonian mines. He will be fed three times a day and will be treated with clothes and shelter. The Arkhon Federation bought 13 million slaves from Tadbu and transported them to the Federation. Many of the slaves share a similar story with Amare. In the end, the Federation will make a 1.2 billion mark profit from these slaves keeping the slave market thriving.
"Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect." - Mark Twain

Approved by, The Federal Chancellor of the Arkhon Federation


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Nerodanus
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 492
Founded: Jul 27, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Nerodanus » Tue Jan 23, 2018 1:09 pm

Date/Location Unkown. Post Razonican War.

Time had been lost to Turína. When Razonica lost the war and the Razma Tribal lands had been overrun with Neroian forces, she was unable to make an escape and was subsequently captured. Maked and Drugged, she awoke an unknown amount of time later, thrown in a damp prison. The air was warm, and had a slight salty taste to it. One of the Neroian Islands no doubt.

However that was at least months ago. Declared a Top Level Terrorist by the Neroian Government for her role in the Razonican War, she was sent to the Maximum Security Prison Nerodanus kept on the Islands, Kopeysk Prison. Known to house the most dangerous and non-rehabilitatable criminals, it was not a place someone wanted to see the inside of.

The cell was a quiet one. Not that there wasn't people to talk to, there were many convict within speaking distance. It was a matter of speech. Not many knew the Raz tounge, at least here it seemed. Even fewer of the guards did. She wore a orange t-shirt and orange pants, with a identification patch sewn on over her left breast. Her hair had been cut short, not a radical change but a change. A Buzzer opened up and announced that it would be free hour, one of several hours during which Prisoners were allowed to free roam the Prisons Library or play basketball in the courtyard. Despite this, guns were almost certainly always trained on her and her fellow Prisoners. The free hours were a recent addition, due to good behavior from the inmates.

Getting out of her bed she slowly peered out. She had been made a target by the other prisoners for her affiliation with the Razma and what happened during the war. With a majority of the prisoners being Neroian, it wasn't easy for her. They may be criminals, but they were Neroian Criminals! She often found herself the target of a stray punch, followed by angry shouting at how the Raz and Razma had the audacity to attack a Neroian ally. Though the guards were always quick to react, it made her cautious.

Turina made her way over to the Library. Recently a computer had been installed with access to news only. It was almost a run for her, finally able to learn the date and ongoing events. Reaching the computer she sat down and opened the clock and read the time.

9, December, 2018: 15:37

Her heart skipped a beat. It had been almost a Year since she had been captured. Quickly navigating to the search bar she entered in "Razonican Empire" and hit search. Hundreds of articles loaded before her. Her eyes flashing down the titles alone.
"Razonican Empress Commits Suicide"
"Razonican Empire Fractures, Land Taken by Entente Forces and Successors"
"Razma Tribal Land Falls Under Neroian Jurisdiction"
"Razma Granted Raz Technology Shuts Down with Collapse of Razonica"

She read through as many news articles as she could, catching up on everything that had occurred since her imprisonment. The Balance of Power, her Cousin, and her own people. She looked to the guards around her, now more terrified than ever. There was no hope for her People, they had established themselves as barbarians in the eyes of the world. Nothing more than a weapon to be pointed.

The Bell rang shortly after. Getting up Turina made her way back to her Cell, laid on the bed and closed her eyes, falling asleep shortly after. When she awoke, the bed she was in had been replaced by a dark room, mostly metal, with several figures in it with her. Her hand had been chained to the table, and her feet to the chair. One of the figures approached her and sat opposite of her, opening a book. Looking her up and down he spoke softly, as though she was a child. "Lets make a deal."
Pronunciation: Nero-Dawn-Us
I do not use NS Stats
Nerodanus is a Democratic Nation
Nerodanus follows its own form of Communism more related to Socialism than Communism
Leader: Maxim Kuznetsov

Pro: Socialism, Democracy, Linux, Abortion
Against: Unregulated Capitalism, Facsism, Nazism


[_★_]_[' ]_
( -_-) (-_Q) If you understand that both Capitalism and Socialism have ideas that deserve merit, put this in your signature.

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Futrellia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1603
Founded: Mar 29, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Futrellia » Mon Feb 12, 2018 6:42 pm

3 Miles east of Fort Varlholm (F-SOD HQ)
Aboard V-42 Condor VSTOL "Black One"
0431




The loud repetitive booming of the rotor blades above left no room for thought as Sergeant Matthew Baulder tried to filter out the screaming sounds of the Condor. Baulder had been abruptly awoken from his slumber by a phone call from the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Smith. For one, a phone call at 2am from the Lieutenant Colonel instead of the Company's Captain was unusual in itself. No one, aside from the Company commanding officers, were permitted to interact with the Lieutenant Colonel, it helped by reinforcing the chain of command. The phone call, which lasted an extraordinary forty-five seconds, detailed that Baulder had to be in fatigue dress and waiting for a Condor to pick him up on Pad 6 by 0245 Baulder responded with the usual "yes, sirs", and that was it. The call ended, he rose from his bed, took a quick shower, and dressed up in his freshly washed pair of SODCUs, heading off towards Pad 6.

Upon arriving at Pad 6, the Condor had already been waiting, the VSTOL's gunner awaiting by the left side door. Disembarking from a complimentary PZ-42 LAV sent to him by the Lieutenant Colonel's request. As he approached, the Gunner confirmed his identity and directed him aboard. Without wasting time of allowing him to situate himself on the lightly padded bench, the Condor rose up and left the confines of Camp Harrison, one of the many Marine Corps stations located across Futrellia. He had only been told what he needed to know, that he would leave Camp Harrison in Central Futrellia and make his way to Fort Varlholm in Western Futrellia, home to the Federal Republic's special forces, the Federal Special Operations Division, or F-SOD. At that point, Sergeant Baulder lost all ideas of what could be happening to him. Wearing one of the headsets given to him by the Gunner, he was informed that he would be landing at Varlholm within thirty seconds. Being so far from his home camp, he hoped he wouldn't be here long, as he wasn't permitted to bring any kind of additional clothing, utensils, or hygiene supplies. As he was approaching one of the landing pads at night, he looked towards the Gunner, wearing his typical EVO helmet, his face covered, but he could still point out the rank adorned on his SODCU plate carrier. He was a Corporal, nothing more. Simply a grunt, like him.

"Corporal, any idea why why we're at Varlholm?" He asked the Corporal. The Corporal slowly turned his head towards the Sergeant, shaking his head no. He figured the Corporal's lack of voice wasn't by his doing, and decided to not ask him anything further. He watched as the blinking red lights of the platform grew closer and closer, the groan of the rotors growing lower and lower as the Condor gently landed on the platform. The door slid open, revealing three men, one an older gentleman, adorning standard SODCUs and a Red Beret, the standard beret of an F-SOD operative. It didn't make any sense. Sergeant Baulder wasn't the most outstanding Marine. He saw some combat against the Regentists at Haemia, saved a few people, but other than that, he didn't give himself much credit, the Army almost took most of that. Baulder rose from his seat and exited the Condor, straightening up his body and saluting the officer, he could see the patch of a Lieutenant General, one of the cream of the crop of Federal command. The Lt. General reached out to shake Baulder's hand, taking it firmly.

"Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Sergeant. I'm sure you're pretty confused as to why you're here. I'll explain as we go. On the move, Marine." Said the Lieutenant General, walking down the stairs leading to a single LAV. He climbed in the backseat after the Lt. General, staying quiet the entire time. He knew better than to speak until spoken to.

"I'm Lieutenant General Culver, Commander of the Special Recon and Unconventional Warfare Divisions of the F-SOD, or you're new boss. What is said in this vehicle is protected under Code 61. You know what happens to soldiers who betray Code 61?" Asked Culver to Baulder, Baulder responding with a "yes, sir". Code 61 is a special operations code that protects verbal transfer of top secret information. Any soldier in violation of Code 61 is immediately court-martialed and sentenced to a minimum sentence of 75 years at the Pennington Military Prison.

"Good. You've been chosen to be apart of a little known secret among several nations, called Task Force Atlas. Composed of the best of the best of Futrellian, Adfranan and Razorian military forces. For now, it's only you and four others, but you are going to be trained by the best of the F-SOD. You'll operate above the lines of public knowledge, in areas where we wouldn't send anyone, not even FSOD operators. Any questions?" He asked nonchalantly, like it was asking Baulder to join the Honor Guard for his Company. Baulder was speechless, he was expected to lead PT at 0600, then start on some target practice with a few of the Privates, now he's been selected for a Task Force that has been given wider authority than the F-SOD?


"Sir, I'm just a Sergeant. I'm not Special Forces, I-"

"You don't have to be Special Forces, but at the end of this training, you will be more than that. Your service record is impeccable. Been in the 21st Mechanized Battalion since you enlisted in 2016, saw some good action in Haemia during the Crisis, even fought off more than 30 Regentists to buy 130 Razonicans to escape capture in Haemia. You are the model Marine, and you're gonna do more good than you thought was possible in a short time. We'll have a bunk set up and your personal belongings transferred here. Out." Culver said, the LAV stopping at a large facility within Varlholm.

Sergeant Baulder exited the vehicle, as it sped away quickly into the night. Sergeant Baulder turned to see the double doors leading into an undisclosed building. Without any choice, he entered the building, seeing a long hallway that detailed the history of the Federal Special Operations Division, which led to a larger room, empty, with four other males, dressed in various fatigues. Two were Adfranans, dressed in the typical woodland camouflage gear that was typical for Adfranan Army personnel, another that was dressed in the new RACUS uniform, a small Razorian flag adorning his left shoulder and another soldier wearing the Futrellian SODCUs, Federal Army boys.

"Ah, this must be the new guy." Said one of the Federal Army soldiers. Baulder approached the Army soldiers, as they were the most familiar to him.

"Staff Sergeant Walter Jacobs, 29th Motorized Infantry Brigade. That guy is Lance Corporal Peter Lonthan, 59th Aviation Brigade. And you are?" He said.

"Sergeant Baulder, 21st Mechanized Battalion, 13th Marine Infantry Division." Baulder replied.

He turned to the others in the Task Force. The Razorian was bald, a younger man, a stern face. He stayed quiet, his eyes closed. The two Adfranan men looked stern and serious, probably because they were representing their little humble abode of Adfrana. Had to make an impression. For now, this was all of Task Force Atlas, until the training would begin.

*** Part 1
Last edited by Futrellia on Mon Feb 12, 2018 6:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Caerion
Civil Servant
 
Posts: 9
Founded: Feb 16, 2018
Ex-Nation

Short History of Caerion

Postby Caerion » Fri Feb 16, 2018 9:30 pm

Before the Caerion, the nation was not controlled by a government. It was made up of several sovereign tribes that would frequently war with each other. The tribes did not have communication with the rest of the world until a tribal member came back from a hunting trip terrified. He told his people of aliens that traveled fast in boxes and in the sky. He told his people of smooth, ground and huts that were as tall as the sky. Naturally, the people were terrified, but also curious.

Once the tribes found that there were other people living in the world with great power, they decided to unite and form a government to protect their land. The government would be known as the Commonwealth of Caerion and would be ruled by King Dudan.

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San Laozan
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 4
Founded: Feb 18, 2018
Ex-Nation

Independence

Postby San Laozan » Sun Feb 25, 2018 1:34 pm

Independence day, June 23rd 1816. Ciudad de la Santa Papa, San Laozan.

Carlos stood on a balcony over looking the main plaza in the city square of the new capital. Before him were thousands of people crowding the plaza and flooding the streets around. The atmosphere was one of celebration. Today marked the end of a 10 year struggle for independence. The people, his people, had managed to shake off the bonds of foreign imperialism. Carlos could feel the hope in the air. It was time to begin his speech.

"Friends, Laozans..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Countrymen..." This won a cheer from the crowd. Carlos waited for it to die down. "Today we celebrate victory over the chains of oppression. After the longest ten years and the deaths of more good people than stars in the sky we have received our freedom. Tonight the leaders of our rebellion will draft a constitution describing our freedoms as a people. Tonight we can celebrate our victory. But more importantly we must remember those lost. And we, as a nation, must promise never to let our proud people slide back into tyranny lest these deaths be in vain! Now Laozans! Go onward for we have much work to do!" Carlos smiled as a cheer rang out from the crowd. He turned and went back inside. It was time to write a constitution.

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Samania
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 2
Founded: Nov 24, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Samania » Sun Mar 04, 2018 8:29 am

King Ungadur I was the son of Narmos, a leader of Fzurian tribe called Ozghety. Ungadur is known in Samanian mythology and history (Since Fyuria is now part of Samanian Union and is the larggest state in that union) has a brave warrior who seceded in uniting all the divided tribes and made of them a nation. He founded the first Fyurian kingdom who he named Kingdom of Egmar. Ungadur also founded the city that is now named after him and is Samanian capitol and largest city.
He was born as a noble man and a son of a King. At that time Fyurian people lived in a couple of smaller states, and each of these states was ruled by an independent ruler. Ungadurs kingdom was called Silvia. Silvia and Wernia were the most powerful of all the other local states. But Fyuria also had a very powerful neighbour. This was Vezar who wanted for years to conquer all the land. When Ungadur became ruler of Silvia it was apperent that there will be war. Silvia and Wernia attacked Vezar with a united army. But this attack failed and they were defeated. King Ungadur was captured and Silvia was occupied. Wernia was destroyed and Wernias people killed, banished or soled in to slavery. More than five years Ungadur rotted in a Vezarian prison. He had no hope of escape until one day a news came to him in his cellar. Emperor of Vezar was poisoned, and now his generals were fighting for the crown causing chaos in Vezar and civil war. This was opportunity for him. He escaped his prison and runned back to Silvia. There he was welcomed by his people and seen has a hero, although they didn't recognise him at first. He soon organised an army who had soldiers from all over modern Samania. Because Vezar was in turmoil his rebellion spread throw land like wildfire. An army that was sent to fight him was soon defeated and one year after the start of rebellion all of Fyurian lands were under Ungadurs control. In a battle on the Inga river he scored greatest victory of his life. Great Vezarian army of 60 000 men was surrounded and destroyed. After this Vezar had no more armies to send and they were forced to admit defeat. After that Ungadur became king and created a great, united state under his control, it is then that he founded his great city.
Ungadur was so popular in his time and in years after his death that people named him the "Father of a Nation". He was a great military leader being victorious in many battles and being a symbol of honor and brewery for friends and foes alike. When he died, his body was taken to unknown location where it was buried with a lot of gold. All those who were present at the funeral swore an oath of silence to never reveal the location of their kings grave.

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Arkhon Federation
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 51
Founded: Feb 13, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Arkhon Federation » Sun Mar 04, 2018 2:31 pm

March 2, 2019

Mark woke up to a cold morning, the light that escaped the blinds was pale and reflected off the concrete walls into Mark's eyes. As he rose his alarm clock fell silent and his blinds rose. He could hear the coffee maker turn on in the kitchen which made him happy. As he walked to the kitchen, he looked out over the city. Mark had a great view, only a couple blocks from the national mall. The mall was alive, as the nation prepared for the first annual Arkhonian Games. Thousands of white tents were set up on the mall adorned with make-shift markets and restaurants. Although Mark was inside, he could smell the food and his dull morning became a little more interesting.

Mark turned the corner to his kitchen and grabbed a mug for his coffee and then turned to his fridge who greeted him as he grabbed the cream. He sat down at his breakfast table with his coffee, he pressed on the table to turn it on and the table lit up with his work from last night. He swiped his work away and opened his calendar. He was hoping he did not have any appointments so he could enjoy the festivities. As the calendar loaded, Mark looked back down to the National Mall; people were gathered in front of the new 2019 Cru.x. The car was the most advanced car on the market and everyone was buying one. The car ran fully on electric and had a semi-drive system. Mark would have to go down there to see it.

He looked back down at his table and to his great relief, he has no pressing work. Mark finished his coffee and headed to his bathroom. He undressed and commanded the shower to turn on, he cleaned himself and then asked his closet to pick clothes. Once he was dressed and ready, he headed down to the National Mall. As he stepped onto the street he was pushed into the crowds of people, moving like sheep to the capital. As Mark got closer to the mall, the music was getting louder and the smells sweeter. Mark saw the Cru.x from afar and began pushing a little more directly to get through the crowd. He got to the car in time to see a presentation, he was amazed and decided to buy one. He waited in line for a good two hours before he reached the computer. He swiped his card, and went on his way, excited for tomorrow when his car would arrive in his garage. Until then, he would have to enjoy the rest of the festival. He had all day until the games would begin.

The official Stadium was located on an island in the Pyik Sea, but since many Arkhonians did not want to leave the Federation, many decided to stay and watch it from the Arkhonian Coliseum and stadiums across the nation. The festivities in the Arkhonian Capital was centered around the Arkhonian Coliseum, where along with the official games, several gladiator games would be happening throughout the day. Mark was excited to see the Gladiators, so that's where he headed. Mark had yet to be inside the Coliseum since its remodel. The Stadium seemed to be twice its original size. People were flowing through the large columns in masses. Mark joined a group of younger Arkhonians who were ecstatic to see their favorite gladiators. As Mark passed through the columns, he looked up at the massive archway. He walked into the stadium and looked around for a seat. He was directed to the stairs and climbed all the way to the top. He found a seat and looked down to the floor. He was really high up, if it were not for the large screens, he would not be able to see the gladiators on the ground.

Mark enjoyed his day at the stadium, he watched several gladiators fall to others. When it became dark the stadium began filling with water. They were going to put on an ancient sea battle. This was a treat and the people began cheering wildly. The ships came out and battled each other, one sank, and the water turned red with blood, it was a sight Mark would never forget for the rest of his life. The Stadium was drained and Canons began ringing across the nation. The Offical Arkhonian Games were about to begin!

More people began filling the Stadium. Mark found himself between two really loud men who were too excited for the games. The Canons began again and the stadium fell silent. Echoing across the nation, the Chancellor appeared on the screen, welcoming the people to the First Annual Arkhonian Games. The people cheered and the screens changed to the arena. The Arkhonian Games had just begun!!
"Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect." - Mark Twain

Approved by, The Federal Chancellor of the Arkhon Federation


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Northeast Xeritae
Civilian
 
Posts: 1
Founded: Feb 17, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Northeast Xeritae » Sun Mar 04, 2018 2:36 pm

/skip


You are supposed to lock this thread.

it would be a good idea,if this thread is "closed."
On an alternative universe where Zeritae Had somewhat more lands in the northeast, and they eventually got harder to control leading to the independence of Northeast Xeritae.

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Novo Razcon
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 55
Founded: Nov 10, 2017
Authoritarian Democracy

Postby Novo Razcon » Sun Mar 04, 2018 3:14 pm

Northeast Xeritae wrote:/skip


You are supposed to lock this thread.

it would be a good idea,if this thread is "closed."


/skip

It's Elvarya only, so please buzz off.

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Varisis
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 5
Founded: Mar 15, 2018
Ex-Nation

Sunday Mass

Postby Varisis » Fri Mar 16, 2018 11:36 am

The High Priest looked over the massive crowd that filled the National Square. They were on their knees with the High Priest praying for Mrrya to send them protection. The crowd looked up into the sky together as if to try to find Mrrya in the sun. It was well known that you could not stare at Mrrya for too long or she would burn your eyes. So the people looked up as long as they could and turned their heads away. After the mass prayer, the people began to gather their offering and place them at the foot of the Grand Temple. The High Priests were standing on the steps thanking the people for their offerings. Once the people deposited their offering they left the temple and resumed their mortal lives.

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Krustevland
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 19
Founded: Dec 04, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Krustevland » Sun Apr 01, 2018 9:29 pm

The Day the Khaki Helmets fell, May 9th, 1949, Central New Kyoto
That day, there were massive riots across Hanaga, spanning across City to City. The Emperor in exile returned recently and parts of the Army defected, securing parts of Southern Hanaga, now the Military Junta was on it's knee's after 9 years, 3 months, 11 days of Military Rule. The people demand for the Emperor to be restored, and the Junta dissolved. I can remember the day i looked out of my House and walked to work, i passed barricades and men in Khaki's executing suspected Government Dissidents in the streets, and i remember rushing out of work after hearing that the Capital has collapsed.
I stil remember that faithful May 9th where i saw Type 3 Chi-Nu's with the words "Long Live the Emperor!" painted on it's sides while Junta troops fled to the Countryside following the Takeover of the major Port Cities, i tuned in to the Radio listening to the Declaration of the State and the Emperors demands for the Junta Troops to Surrender. After 9 Years... Hanaga can finally rest as a new Era of Peace begins.

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Dormior
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 4
Founded: Feb 23, 2017
Ex-Nation

Tales Post

Postby Dormior » Mon Apr 02, 2018 10:13 pm

James was a reporter for the Presidential Campaign. He stood in the crowd for President Franklin as he prepared to give his victory speech. The crowd was crazy as his supporters and staff rejoiced. James felt bad for the other candidate and his supporters, and he was glad to be on the winning side. The new President stepped out on the stage to the podium where he arranged his papers. He began his speech when a gun fired from the back of the crowd. James ducked and as he hit the ground he looked up to see the new president fall.

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Futrellia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1603
Founded: Mar 29, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

March 3, 2019

Postby Futrellia » Tue Apr 03, 2018 8:48 pm

16 miles north of the town of Pilgrim's Passage, Irsatus District
District Constable Irno Vergatta, Cruiser 387
Parked on the side of Route 156
3:42am





When it came to long nights on patrol like this, staying awake was the biggest concern for the lone District Constable, a District's police force, similar to a County Sheriff's Department. Sitting in the dark, nothing to hear aside from the heavy snow, quiet radio and smooth humming of the speed tracker, Constable Vergatta had been out here so long, he felt like he was sleeping with his eyes open. Every so often, a lone vehicle would pass by, it's headlights shining through the cruiser as it turned the sharp corner leading further down towards Pilgrim's Passage, a small town of 400 people, a mining town. It never failed that every car had it's flood lights on, trying to see through the heavy snow that plagued most of Irsatus around this time. Around this time, having Constables parked at every little nook and cranny of the cold district helped increase response time for accidents, which were frequent in remote areas, where first responders had the hardest times reaching as the heavy snow packed down onto the lightly traveled roads. It had been snowing for the past six days, temperatures had dropped into the negatives, and power problems were a constant concern as the power stations had trouble keeping up with the demands of the heating systems of the hundreds of thousands of homes inside the District. It wasn't uncommon for Constables to be dispatched to homes that suffered power loss to await power crews from any nearby repair stations. It was mostly to ensure that no-one froze to death in their homes, but it also brought peace of mind to some of the more isolated customers, such as Pilgrim's Pass, which was 58 miles away from the nearest town. Constable Vergatta didn't care about all of this. He had been a Constable for the past 15 years, joining the Tyderi District Constable Department at the age of 22. He chose Irsatus because he heard that the summers were beautiful. Nobody told him of what winter and spring were like.

Irno re-arranged himself in his seat, trying to return circulation to his legs after sitting in his cruiser for the past five hours. He reached down to the center console of his cruiser and picked up his radio attached to his base station.

"Cruiser 387 to 462." He spoke into the microphone, hoping to hear a human voice after a sentence of isolation in the cold, white darkness. He waited a few minutes, assuming that the nearest Constable, who was posted 30 minutes away to the east on Route 151, another secluded sector, was trying to regain his composure after being scared awake by the sound of his radio buzzing.

"Go for 462." Replied the voice. He knew the voice well. It was Constable Rast Montoya, the first friend he made after the shift to Irsatus. He remember Montoya used to call him city boy for the longest time.

"Rast, I'm really regrettin' this shitty posting. I should have stayed in Tyderi." He spoke over the mic.

"I'd rather be sleeping in the cold than chasin' down gunrunners and drug lords in Tyderius. My wife likes where I'm at, and honestly, you get used to the silence. Every so often, I get a speeder. Keeps it interesting, at least enough to keep you from discharging your weapon into your neck." Rast replied. Irno chuckled a bit on that one. He did have a point. Being a Constable in Tyderi District was pretty much just another word for being an officer for Tyderius Police Department. A majority of the District's Constables were stationed in Tyderius simply because of the size and corruption that ran deep within it. Police Department handled the city, Constables handled the docks and warehouses, where most of the drug rings and sex trafficking hideouts were. It was a dangerous job and Irno had alot of close calls, but his prior service in the Federal Marine Corps helped keep him cool under fire when most of the Constable Academy graduates were shitting their pants. He had to admit, after maybe another year or so, maybe he would wind down. He knew his wife would also appreciate it just the same as Rast's does.

"IDC to Car 387." His conversation was broken by the Irsatus District Constables Office. Perhaps his shift was ending early. New guy finally showing up.

"IDC, go ahead." He replied.

"Need you en-route to 4756 Route 157. Got a complaint of a masked man trespassing in their back yard. The female caller says that he keeps knocking on their doors and windows. She believes he's carrying a knife." This changed the situation completely. His eyes became focused, his sleepiness went away, and his brain began processing on all cylinders.

"10-4, IDC, I'm en-route." He responded, flipping on his red and blue lights and front and back flashers. He threw his cruiser into drive and got on the gas, his back tires spinning for a moment before grabbing enough traction to push him off of the side of the road and onto the pavement. He turned the sharp corner, praying that the tread on his tires would continue to hold and not force him off of the road. Route 157 had ran symmetrical to 156, yet he had to drive two miles down the road before he came into a little dirt road that would lead into Route 157. Constable Irno kept his sirens off as to keep from running the suspect off.

"Car 387, Pilgrim's Pass Police have been notified, they have units en-route." Said Dispatch over the radio. Pilgrim's Passage Police? More like volunteers with plastic badges and pop guns. Their PD only consisted of a few officers, lightly trained through the District's rural training program, that brought highly trained Constables in to train rural community law enforcement in the basics. Pilgrim's Passage had old squad cars, faulty firearms, and no tactical training. He'd be better off with Rast backing him up than a whole squad of PPPD officers. Merging onto Route 157, he began checking off mailboxes, which were few and far between this far out.

"2345......3945.....4475....Dispatch, 387 is arriving on scene." He said on the radio after seeing that he was closing in. He could see the outline of the house through the trees on the side of the road. No power, no movement from what he could see.

"Copy, 387. I'm can't contact the caller anymore. Proceed with caution or await Pilgrim's Pass officers to arrive." Said Dispatch. He'd rather trek it alone. He turned the lights off on his cruiser, slowly opened the door and scanned his sectors. The house, a white two-story home, a single car in the driveway, no lights, no movement. He reached back into the cruiser and pulled out the shotgun issued to every Constable. He checked for a 12 gauge round in the chamber and closed the cruiser's door. Slowly, Irno walked towards the house, his shotgun aimed downwards towards his front. He approached the front door, lowering the shotgun further, he knocked on the door hard three times.

"Irsatus Constables!" He yelled out, keeping his head on a swivel. He got no reply and knocked three times once more, repeating the yell. After a few seconds of waiting, he decided if something had occurred within the house, he needed to move fast as who he was and where he was had been televised to whoever was inside. He moved away from the door, creeping towards the side wire fence. Constable Irno moved to open a small door that led to the backdoor, turning on the flashlight attached to the bottom of the barrel of the gun. He raised the gun a little so that it was still aiming to the ground but not far away from a target in front of him. He could see footprints in the snow, several of them, marching in several different directions. Either who was back here was walking erratically, or there was more than one person back here. Irno continued walking until he turned from the side of the house to a sliding glass door, now shattered into millions of pieces. Irno could feel his heart beating furiously, his eyes darting back and forth as he entered the house, seeing a large kitchen, living room, and dining room from his view. Down the hall was a staircase, leading up to where he can imagine were bedrooms. He continued scanning his sectors, this time the shotgun leading his sight, ready to discharge a shell into anyone who came at him wrong. He cleared the kitchen, then the small enclosed dining room. He slowly and quietly walked towards the hallway, the flashlight lighting up the hall and half of the living room. He turned the corner, revealing the rest of the living room, where children's toys were strung out across the floor, a tray of sliced corn dogs sitting upon one of the cushions of a brown sectional couch. Children were present here. He turned around sharply to shine his light on the staircase.

At the top, a man, adorning a black hood, white mask, and a bloodied knife stood. His head tilted to the right a bit, giving him a creepy aura. Irno's eyes went straight to the bloody knife in his right hand.

"Irsatus Constable! Drop your weapon or I will fire!" Irno ordered. The man continued to stand there, not complying. Constable Vergatta slowly began to approach him, his shotgun aimed right at his chest. In a sudden burst, the man disappeared into the upstairs. Irno ran up the stairs, his shotgun still leading the way.

"Stop!" He yelled out. He immediately saw the bloodied body of a middle aged woman, a look of terror in her eyes, her body stiff and lifeless. He could here heavy footsteps behind him and turned quickly to meet the killer. The blade came down quickly on Irno's shoulder, sticking deep within. Irno repulsed the attack by turning the shotgun to the side and driving it upwards into the killer's chin, using his lower body strength to drive him back to the ground. The killer ungrasped the knife, leaving it within his shoulder. As the killer scrambled to get up, Irno took aim and fired off a single shell into the killer, causing the killer to jolt back and slam lifelessly into the ground. Irno gasped as he stumbled back into a wall and collapsed down. He yanked the knife out of his shoulder and reached up for the small radio adorned on his shoulder.

"387, shots fired, shots fired. Suspect is down. We have at least one KIA inside the house. Requesting EMS personnel and additional Constable units." He said quickly, panting.

"Copy, 387, help is on the way."

His mind darted back to the toys downstairs. He ignored the pain in his shoulder and rose from his seated position on the floor. He had to find out.

He rose and walked slowly to a door that had the name "Gracie" adorned on it. He opened it slowly, shining the flashlight down onto the floor. Tears filled his eyes and he slammed the door back. He held his head in his hand, trying to regain his composure. He reached slowly for his mic.

"Dispatch, make that two KIA in the house."

He could hear the sirens of Pilgrim's Passage PD inbound.

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New Neptunia
Attaché
 
Posts: 85
Founded: Feb 21, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

1992 Coup: An ordinary man's life

Postby New Neptunia » Tue Apr 17, 2018 12:54 am

Image

Recalling the events of April 18, 1992 - A perspective from Josuke Takashiro


I remember the days where we thought that our nation would come to the breaking point. An end to a civilization for a long time, our ancestors fought hard to built. Many of the generation at that time were to keep society stable, and as the bubble that kept us from letting our money loose bursts, we were left with depression and angst as the economy saw a decline. And I saw the proof of this when a building just collapsed next door, owned by a small insurance company of the old man that I know of. Of course I didn't hesitate to run and call for help, but by the time the authorities arrive no one was in the building. It was a strange thing for it to just collapse since it was recently built by him, or maybe he wanted it to collapse because of the economic decline. I wondered what happened to him, but they told me that he took his own life by jumping off from a bridge on the Yataku River. I wouldn't know why he would be willing to throw his life away that quick, but anyone who would take their own life by the Yataku River means that they've been cursed. At least to my own beliefs that's true.

The eerie sounds of flying aircraft took attention of many bystanders around, including myself. They were flying a bit too close to the ground, like they were on a chase for something. Everyone wondered why the military's been acting crazy for the past few days, with the Emergency Act being declared as they sealed off government buildings from the public by the use of the military. They wouldn't use the gates solely to keep everyone away from people inside, no they would use tanks, sandbags with gun emplacements like we're at war, it sends off the wrong message to the city despite calling it safety. I heard about this on the news as to why they did this, but I never paid much attention as much as I do to my own work, where I'm struggling to keep it as my pay would be less than what it usually is. I couldn't risk to go and loan to any insurance company, as they doubled up interests to whoever would try to loan at an amount bigger than what they can actually give right now. So I had to reluctantly call my sister from a telephone booth to lend me some of her money, and promised that I'd pay her back once I get things stable here. I even had to lie to her several times just so I can end this conversation quick and hear her say that she will. Well, she wasn't finished talking, as the telephone just cuts off and wouldn't work anymore.

I had no clue as to what happened, but only then I knew the reason as more of those fighter jets flew past roughly on the same altitude. With some of those specifically flying to buildings with cell towers, and each towers would be knocked down by the weapons they carry. I don't know what this was all about, but I had to run away from this like most of the people around me as well. I ran so fast and nearly fell each time I steer myself to every streets I go till I reach my home, and quickly sheltered myself in there from anything that was happening from outside. Hysteria took over my head, as I slammed the windows shut and locked any doors that would lead me to outside, and took haven to the best place possible in my house that was safe. That being my closet, as I wrapped myself with a thick blanket. Of course a missile hitting my home directly by logic means a blanket wouldn't protect me anyway, but it was the best comfort of safety I could ever think of till this all dies down.

...
Last edited by New Neptunia on Sun Jun 10, 2018 8:15 pm, edited 5 times in total.
The nation must be addressed as Fuso.
”No commitment to the people dooms a nation.”
Sokuji Kado
The State of Fuso
"no succ means no diplomacy"

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The Socialist Republics of Combrekniza
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 155
Founded: Nov 21, 2015
Democratic Socialists

1919, the day the Red Flag was raised.

Postby The Socialist Republics of Combrekniza » Wed May 30, 2018 7:37 am

Today is May 30th, 1919.
It was a bright sunny day and the streets are silent today after the Red Guard took over the City Hall, i heard that the leader of the Workers and Peasants party wants to meet the people for a special announcement later on in 12:00, if anything it could be an important message and it could affect our lives heavily as it could be the day where we stopped toiling in the streets hungry and unemployed and start a new era, a new time for us to march alongside each other against the government as we fight for the right to live and govern ourselves without those damn Neronians interfering.

It's 18:00, i'm thrilled to write that the man himself Fredrick Hauptman declared the Peoples Federal Republic along with a few Governors supporting him! But despite this i heard from him that among us lies traitors attempting to overthrow the new government and restore that damned puppet government, to hell with them. Should i be called up to fight for my new nation then so be it! I shall grab my rifle and then march alongside comrades to fight for my homeland, and against the foreign threat that remains which are the loyalists, Ehre sei der Arbeiterrevolution!

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Razoria
Civil Servant
 
Posts: 10
Founded: Dec 30, 2013
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Razoria » Sat Jun 02, 2018 4:17 pm

1000 Rheio Road
Lussendale, Razoria





For the past three nights, 1000 Rheio Road, formerly called Imperial Lane, renamed by Grand Duke Walther Lusengard in memory of his young brother, was alit with protests, hundreds of people bearing red flags of communism, signs declaring the Grand Duchy false.

Bearing makeshift weapons, molotov cocktails and communist flags, the horde of Red Razoria, a group of formerly peaceful supporters of Communism in Razoria, marched towards the Grand Ducal Palace, seat of the Razorian government and home of Grand Duke Walther Lusengard. The Lussendale Police Service had dispatched it's Riot units to deal with the rioters, but after three days and after constant firebombing, damaged property, and wounded officers, the rioting mob was only half a mile away from the palace. Razorian Defense Forces were dispatched to the palace with light transports bearing machine guns above their hoods. Cement blockades were placed at checkpoints along Rheio, the largest and most central road leading straight through the city.

Officer Verdon Caransis
Lussendale Police Department


"Unit 378 arriving at the scene now." Officer Verdon said as his cruiser arrived at Rheio Road, which was already crowded with Police cruisers and riot police recovering from a long night. Verdon looked down at his watch after placing the cruiser in park, turning off the blue flashing lights of his cruiser. The watch read 3:37 am, three hours after his shift had already ended. Working all day just to work all night again. Verdon was exhausted, drinking two cups of coffee at the station before departing for the riot scene. Verdon sighed and grabbed his vest. He opened up the door to screaming and shouting of the rioters, the squealing sound of the loud horn as the Riot Police battled with lines of disorderlys.

Verdon slammed shut the door and jogged towards the line of Riot trucks and police cars, a few officers that weren't able to get riot gear stood behind their cruisers with pistols and shotguns drawn. A few hours ago, the Police Commissioner ordered no further ground be given to the rioters and gave the Police authorization to use lethal force. For now, the lieutenants in charge of riot control wished to continue giving them every chance to disperse.

"Karsus! Karsus! What're we doing?" Said Verdon as he approached a uniformed officer, who was focusing his pistol between two trucks, keeping his focus.

"Standing our ground, Verdon. And trying not to get hit by a cocktail." Said Karsus.

"What am I supposed to do? I was dispatched for riot control, not for riot assistance." Said Verdon.

"Grab a vest and a helmet and get up there, brother! Make it fast!" Said Karsus. Verdon stood in silence for a moment before nodding and walking towards the Riot lines. He grabbed a heavy vest and a helmet with plexiglass visor permanently placed in front of the face. He took off his light vest and replaced it with the heavy vest, which had to have weighed thirty pounds. He slipped the helmet on and took out his baton. He had received riot training in the Academy, but he wished he would never had to use it. Riot control was a huge problem in the last days of the Empire. Riots were a day and night problem in several cities when the Empress went crazy. The riots in Lussendale were the worst and resulted in ten officer deaths and dozens of civilian casualties. Verdon had a close call when he and his partner were cornered by rioters responding to a physical altercation in an otherwise quiet neighborhood. His cruiser was set upon by dozens of rioters bearing bats and molotov cocktails. His partner was killed when he emerged from the cruiser bearing his baton, his head smashed open and beaten against the side of the car. Verdon shot down four rioters before being overwhelmed. He had suffered several broken bones, including his collar bone. He was left a bloody mess, fooling the rioters into thinking he was dead. He woke hours later after being left on the street, saving just enough energy to call in the attack to LPS. His body recovered, but his mind didn't. He spent most of the fall of the Empire on a hospital bed, watching the nurses and doctors dot back and forth, trying to save countless soldiers injured in the line of duty defending the crumbling Empire, fighting for a crippled leadership. When the war was over and peace had returned to the continent in the form of Novo Razcon, Razoria, and Varumia, he was placed on reserve duty to heal. This riot was the first call he received since the days of the Empire.

As he moved past the line of Riot trucks, he saw a flood of angry mobs, red flags and picket signs. They were clashing like a flood against the bright blue shields of the LPS Riot shields, throwing molotov cocktails against the shields, injuring several officers. The riot teams consisted of 50 highly trained Riot officers. Now, working towards day four of the riot, only 38 were available for use. The rest had been injured, a few of them with life threatening wounds. The riots were spilling over into other neighborhoods, and with no Riot forces to use in other neighborhoods, Officers were forced to use half-shields and facemasks against the hordes.

Verdon joined in the lump of Riot officers, pushing on one another so they could outpush the rioters. It wasn't long before Lieutenant Dowlgard ordered the riot units to evacuate to either sides of the street, forming a bottle neck. The units did slowly, trying to force back the rioters.

Thousands of gunshots rang out as the riot units moved out of the way, startling Verdon. Bodies dropped, hundreds screamed as bullets ripped through the Communist lines. It seemed that lethal force was now being used. Soldiers of the SDF had moved in to support Police fire as they fired on the communists. The mobs fled and scattered, fearing for their lives. Verdon figured it was about time, Lussendale Police under Imperial rule would have killed them all the first day after they began using molotov cocktails. Verdon never agreed to the pacifistic ways of Walther. As the soldiers and Police moved in to arrest the injured, Verdon moved forward, assisting the troops and Police in the area. The screams of the dying were heard and blood began pooling in the streets. This was the first recorded incident in civilian casualties since the fall of the Empire. It would seem that the once spotless reputation of Razoria was now smeared in blood. It could see the headlines now, "Civilian mob shot dead in the streets", "Riot results in bloodshed". The Lussendale Journal would paint the Police in a bad light, he knew it.

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Varisis
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 5
Founded: Mar 15, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Varisis » Mon Jun 04, 2018 6:06 pm

It was a beautiful day to celebrate the mighty god of Mrrya. People were gathering in their respected temples to worship together across the nation and now the world. Mrrya would appear on the horizon and the people would rejoice as Mrrya shed light on her people. The darkness withdrew as Mrrya's light fought off the evil spirits that plagued the night hours. It was time for the day, time for Mrrya's reign to begin once again. Music began to play in all of the temples and the people began to sing as their god rose to defend them. It was well known that Mrrya had to protect the whole world - but could not do it at the same time, so she ran across the world protected as much as she could each day - hence the night hours. The people understood and thanked Mrrya for her sacrifice.

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Futrellia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1603
Founded: Mar 29, 2013
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Futrellia » Sat Jun 09, 2018 5:13 pm

January 28, 2062
Toron Subway Line - Substation 43
Sal Asceria, Southern Futrellia





"To any who receive this message, if there's anybody left out there, let this be the last recording of the events that have occurred here and all over the world. My name is Connor Daniels, former Lieutenant General in the Federal Army, back when we still had one. I was one of the few officials allowed to operate within the Dark One Military Installation located under Tyderius that oversaw complete automation of the Federal Armed Forces. Prior to that, I commanded the 25th Armored Division stationed out of Fort Walters. I may be the last high ranking official within the Federal Military, therefore, I believe it is my responsible to record the happenings that led to the destruction of the Federal Republic. After communications with our allies were neutralized, we lost contact with everything outside of Vardes. We know both Arkhon and Fuso faced similar situations with their drones and know that they were most likely destroyed. We know a sizable portion of the drones from the 7th, 8th, and 9th Mechanized Infantry Divisions departed for San Laozan, the network went down before we could see what was going on up there.

Anyway, this all started on November 11, 2038. A corporation known as CyberLife partnered with Stratford Robotics to bring the Futrellian people androids to help them in their endeavors. These androids could do anything. They served food, cleaned up our messes, built structures, everything we didn't want to be bothered to do, they did for us. Unemployment skyrocketed as companies moved to Android workers, who didn't need to be paid for their services. The Federal Armed Forces eventually contacted Stratford Robotics to negotiate a contract to build infantry drones to replace the men and women used to fight for the Federal Republic. The multi-billion dollar contract was signed and in a matter of a few short months, Stratford Robotics introduced the AX-1 Robotic Infantryman, known as the "Robos" to the human soldiers. The AX-1s had a faster reaction time, better accuracy, didn't need to be fed or checked on, they were programmed to do a mission and they accomplished the mission in 256 of the 260 simulated combat mission trials. In the final test, a team of 5 AX-1 Robos were pitted against 5 of the F-SOD's best soldiers. In the simulated combat mission, 3 AX-1s were terminated while all five of the Special Forces soldiers were KIA, allowing the 2 remaining drones to accomplish the mission. I was only a First Lieutenant at the time so I had no say in the matter, but I despised the fact that we were being replaced by robots. My father had been laid off from his steel working job by a goddamn Andy and I would be damned if it would happen to me. A year later in 2039, the Federal Armed Forces ordered 5,000 AX-1 Drones for real combat tests during the Razorian Civil War. The Drones were deployed and in a matter of weeks, they had taken the Northern Front from Communist rebels, without a single Federal casualty. After that, it was on. The Military ordered a million units from Stratford Robotics, while CyberLife focused on keeping civilian Androids serving the public.

Let's skip a few years to 2043. I was a Commander now stationed at Fort Walters as the second-in-command of the 25th Armored. My superior was Lieutenant General Markus LeGrange, pro-Drone fucker. The 11th and 12th Armored Brigades were 75% Drone, utilizing human commanders and human support forces. The Federal Republic was at peace, exiting that damn Civil War only a year before. Human-driven tanks and combat vehicles were being replaced with Automated systems and a new big drone called theGX-7 Heavy Weapons Platform, massive machines capable of annihilating an entire Battalion before reloading. I hated them, I hated the idea of machines fighting our battles, and I let my voice be heard to General LeGrange. He told me to shut the fuck up and do what I was told. So I did. Civilian unemployment was at 56% and riots were setting in. People were pissed that their jobs were being taken and they couldn't do anything about it. So the government enacted a payment plan. Every two weeks, people would receive a check in the mail. It took a huge strain on the Government, and in turn, the military was down-sized. The entirety of the Sixth Field Army was disbanded and all equipment was sold to foreign countries. Stratford, with permission from the President, began selling Drones to foreign countries like Fuso, Arkhon, Razoria, Germeria, San Laozan, and Plyric. I was pulled as Second-In-Command of the 25th Armored and promoted to Lieutenant General. I and three other Generals were chosen to overlook the complete automation of the Federal Armed Forces. I was saddened to hear that the 25th Armored was now fully Drone.

There was a report hidden deep within sealed records that proved to me that the Federal Military lied about how many human soldiers died in Razoria. The report read that 24 soldiers were killed in the Northern Front and they weren't killed by Communists. Drones were malfunctioning in combat and re-registering Futrellian soldiers as targets. Those Drones were destroyed and Stratford Robotics was fined a pretty penny. The families of those killed were paid off in full, but the issue wasn't brought to Congress or the President. The Military buried the records of the soldiers, the Drones, the entire incident. I took the file with me and began fearing for my life. Unmarked cars were parked near my home for several weeks, I was tailed while walking on base, and received an ominous letter in the mail that instructed me to return the letter. I thought the problem was solved, there hadn't been an accident since. So I returned the letter to the Archives and the unmarked cars and tailers stopped. I even received a check in the mail for 15,000 credits from the Federal Department of Defense.

In 2045, a virus was released into Stratford's Drone servers from an unknown source. Federal Intelligence believed it was from an outside connected terminal. The Virus infected every server within Stratford and it trickled into all military systems. The Virus instructed all Drones and artificial intelligences to recognize all Humans as hostile. Stratford eggheads saw the virus and attempted to isolate it, destroy it. The Virus took control of the building's security systems and Drone security and massacred the entire building's human population.

All at once, armed fighting was recorded across every military base in Futrellia. Our greatest strength, the power that made other countries fear us, was now our downfall. Federal Military networks went haywire, confused troops wondering why their Drone allies were now trying to kill them. Fort Mallister was reporting their own Robos were targeting the command center of the base, fuel depot, and vehicle depot. Fort Benson reported that they were 80% combat ineffective, Fort Tyrus was offline, and Fort Varlholm was holding their own, but the Drones were gaining ground fast. After an emergency session of the cabinet, the President ordered the National Guard, which remained wholly free of drones, to begin offensive operations at Fort Varlholm immediately. Drones had outnumbered Humans 6 to 1 and considering we never expected them to turn against us, they had the element of surprise. Forts Smith and Dotson were both offline, the drone attack successfully destroying the command centers, barracks, fuel and vehicle depots, and armories. The National Guard rallied around the Reserve Stations as they had no drone presence and launched attacks against them, but they were also outgunned and outnumbered. The Liberation of Fort Benson failed and the installation fell to drone forces within the hour, costing the National Guard 1,457 soldiers.

It wasn't long after the initial attack that the cities reported deaths as well. Tyderius, Del Rekorsta, Vatolika, New Calica were all reporting their androids killing their owners and targeting Police officers for their weapons. When Fort Varlholm went down, the drones across that base targeted the nearest city, Mal Korego, with unrelenting firepower. Automated bombers and artillery vehicles bombarded the city throughout the night, resulting in 378,500 civilian casualties as the human forces within the Military attempted desperately to rally around the reserve stations, which were now being targeted by drone forces. I was still at Dark One, watching the chaos unfold. Watch human soldiers try to hold the line against massive amounts of firepower and artillery strikes, watch civilians run for their lives from their once loyal androids. We were getting information from other countries, specifically Razoria, reporting the same incidents with their drones. While only 30% of their military was automated, it was still enough to cause a fuckton of damage. In Arkhon and Fuso, the militaries were struggling against the drones, as their drones targeted critical leadership. We couldn't afford to spare a single man, so we abandoned our allies, closing our channels of communications and wishing them the best. Then it all got worse.

We were forced out of the command center and into the underground rail lane that connected Dark One with Fort Kondoria, an old relic of a military installation that was shut down after being used as a museum. Now it was just an old rock, steel and wooden husk of it's former self. The Military thought it would be useful to build an escape passage to the fort out of Tyderius should it be necessary. It wasn't until I was on the train that I realized why we were being shuttled out. The bastards gained control of our nuclear arsenal, hijacking the several nuclear silos and nuclear missiles on our naval ships. Their targets were Tyderius, Del Rekorsta, Vatolika, New Calica, and Nighton. It went off brilliantly. In a matter of days, we went from having everything to having shit thrown in our face. We lost our President, Congress, Capital and 38,202,937 civilians, that's the exact number. We arrived at Fort Kondoria and were met with a platoon of F-SOD operatives and a few dozen battered soldiers from Fort Tyrus. The power grid was knocked out across the country by the nuclear detonations, aside from the dozen drone factories that had a secondary and tertiary back up generators, still pumping out new drones. We had heard from an FSOD operative named Sergeant Mack that the remnants of the Federal military were rallying at Sal Asceria and that they would be heading there soon. I and the other high ranking generals agreed to go with them. A week after the bombings, the Forts were now completely controlled by the drones and the National Guard leadership went down with Tyderius. Sal Asceria was now the Military's last stand. We finally arrived at Sal Asceria via helicopter, barely making it through a drone security patrol, hunting down humans making their way to Sal Asceria. The city's skycrapers were nothing more than hollow shells after day and night bombardment and fires raged everywhere. In the mix were several tens of thousands of soldiers trying to avoid getting hit with falling debris or shells coming in. What remained of the 3rd Motorized Infantry Division, 35th Armored Division, 40th Armored Division, and the 47th Mechanized Infantry Division attempted to hold the city against all odds, an enemy that numbered in the millions. For the next few years, we conducted hit and run attacks in southern Futrellia, even linking up with a few Arkhonian soldiers escaping through the border. Now we"

Connor looked up from the laptop when he heard several gunshots from outside of the door. He jumped from the seat in his tattered civilian clothes. He opened the door and looked down the subway, seeing the flashes of gunshots echoing through the subway.

"Shit..." Said Connor as he turned to pack up his laptop, his bag and his C7 rifle.

"Drones have breached Sector C-8 and A-12, the border wall's been breached!" Said a voice over the handheld radio attached to his backpack.

"Sergeant Stern, get your squad to the north barricade! Here we go, people!"

"We've got drones in the subway! Shit, they're everywhere!" Said another soldier with large amounts of gunfire in the background.

Connor ran out of the substation and towards the nearest checkpoint.

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Kaladia
Civil Servant
 
Posts: 7
Founded: Apr 15, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Kaladia » Sun Jun 10, 2018 12:21 pm

Monarch's Demise


I knew the old man wouldn't last long after his fourth close call. His death doesn't sadden me as I've told the nation. What saddens me is the incompetence that his son carries to the Throne. He threatens to shift the balance of power. The Emperor is a figurehead position, now. I fear Casus will challenge my power, challenge the balance that has been in perfect alignment for centuries.

–THOMAS CASSINIO
PRIME MINISTER OF THE IMPERIAL CABINET (2013-)
PRIVATE RECORDING JUNE 10, 2019


June 10, AD 2019

"You always expect the worst, Thomas. The boy will fall in line and keep quiet if it means he gets to keep the Throne. This isn't the 15th century. The role of Emperor is nothing more than a PR position. The real power lies with you, Thomas." Said Zeno Zahn, Minister of Defense.

Thomas looked at Zeno with a menacing glare, then to Festinia, the Minister of Justice.

"You don't know him like I have. He's thirty two, young, reckless. He's spoken of the reformations he wishes to make as Emperor, Prime Minister be damned. He wants to turn our nation into a war-mongering, money-hungry state. I'll be damned if he turns our precious homeland into a Futrellianized hellhole." Said Thomas.

"I don't like suggesting these things, but we could always kill him..." Said Zeno, receiving a disgusted look from Festinia Schlera.

"I get you don't want a young Emperor, but have you spoken to him yet? Why are we suggesting regicide?

"Because if he's anything like his bull-headed father, he will resist my advice just as much as Titus did. I'm getting old myself, I won't be around to see the end of Casus's reign, therefore I need to make sure the next Prime Minister won't be pushed out of power. The world doesn't work the same way as it did. Casus's coronation will be soon. He will not disrupt the balance of power, if he does, I will kill him.

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Parawa
Political Columnist
 
Posts: 4
Founded: Jun 14, 2018
Ex-Nation

yo whats the history of this sorry ass excuse of a country

Postby Parawa » Thu Jun 14, 2018 9:16 pm

Image
"..Parawa's just a floating rock that's bound to sink anytime soon. We didn't care about it a whole lot, we didn't know why. Guess that's what history is for today." - Hern Schutser

"Nineteen Eighty Fuckin' Nine"
Port Gregory, Fantrica Island
Republic of Parawa
October 14, 1989




Every time someone walks out of their homes they're bound to be shot. It's what it always is in Gregory, locked at the tenth year of a horrendous conflict between many groups that splintered off from the government. No one knows the actual cause of the issue, but they all say it was an ethnic one. A few would say that they saw people committing massacres all over the islands, and that everyday there's bound to be more than just one dead body lying down on the streets, and a gun that's been tossed away for children to take. The journalists coming from all the corners of the world, at least the ones with the balls of the entire planet would say that every list of rules made by everyone is violated. Start with the first rule of not stealing someone's belongings, then to the last rule of not trying to kill every single person on this island.

Though what made at least half of the world aware of this situation is by this very same year: A year where the seas are threatened by constant attacks from pirates, and they're definitely not a rare sight these days. Parawans are often the faces of the international problem of piracy, but they're more recognized for racking up a reputation of kidnapping foreigners for money. All of this just to feed their families rather than pushing their reputation to the very end of the execution letters. Money's really hard to come by these days, and Parawans don't usually earn the same amount everyday compared to many nations out there.

When international trade took a noticeable hit, governments from across the world stated that enough was enough. They had it with this small stubborn nation who couldn't keep it's people under control, and the government was no exception for being condemned by the international community as they did too commit their faults like the rebels did. Rather than letting this collapse by itself, a military coalition both from Nerodanus and Germeria took their matters into own hands and ended this conflict in only five days. They swept in Port Gregory and took the capital in a matter of hours. It was that quick. Resistance became non-existent once the Parawans faced them, and the country was left almost entirely dependent on them.

The occupation by the coalition allowed the "right type of people" to take places and lead the government to new types of reforms. Port Gregory was being rebuilt overtime, as do some key industries this country used to rely on. There were a few people that resisted the occupation, but almost everyone on the nation didn't seem to know they exist nor would they give care. But if anyone wonders what happened to them, they were simply given the red carpet to their graves.

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