RCN 2021 Worldbuilding (MT, RCN Only)

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


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Posts: 54
Founded: May 01, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Attancia » Tue Apr 20, 2021 11:18 am

The Vatican, Mankus, Attancia
18th of April, 2021

Sixtus Memor, the Pope’s public manager, dashed quickly through the halls of the Vatican. A sight to behold, the temple was lavishly decorated with symbols of the Messiah and Mary, Mother of God, carved intricately into the ancient stone. But Sixtus had more important matters to attend to. He glanced quickly at his phone. His screen was flooded with notifications from every site on the internet: From 3chan to Singer[1], his daily news compilation, and even the Righteous Inquisitors of Christ the Intelligence Department of Attancia’s Home Security department. In front of him, now, was the door to the Pope’s room. He quickly muted his phone with a hand gesture then tucked it into his silk pocket. After letting it read his finger print, scan his iris, test his blood type, and after going through several keys, he thrust open the door.

“Your holiness.” He muttered as he rushed over to the Pope’s bed, turning the lights in the room on. “Your holiness, I require your immediate attention.”

Eugene Accassus, who was exceptionally young for his role – being only 35 – woke up. “Good morning, Sixtus. What is it?” He clambered out of his velvet sheets. Though he was a public figure, and was often seen as surprisingly attractive for a religious leader, even he couldn’t escape the trap of bed hair. His brown hair tangled itself over his tired-looking face. “And why this early in the morning?”

“Apologies. The matter is of significant importance. Last night, though we may have been asleep, Furby Island was awake. Literally, obviously, due to time zone differences. And during that period, an anonymous figure on international message board 3chan-“ Sixtus was cut off.

Eugene looked at him. “You mean to tell me I was woken up at 6 in the morning because of 3chan?”

“Once again, I apologise. It’s much more complicated than that. An anonymous figure known as “DAnon” – short for “D Anonymous” – created a post on the message board that labelled hundreds if not thousands of international and local figures as paedophiles. That includes you. Every single member of the College of Cardinals. Every single member of the College of Theologians. High-ranking and low-level church officials. Hundreds of Furbish politicians on every step of the political ladder.”

Eugene looked back up at Sixtus, after absorbing this information. “And people believe this?” He took his phone from his oak bedside table and turned it on. Instantly, he received the same tsunami of notifications as his public manager. “Shit.”

Sixtus continued. “It gets worse. Allegedly, everyone accused is involved with running an international child trafficking ring. They’re sent via Furbish trains, plains, and even boats all across the world. The military convoys that the Furbishmen have been sending near our waters are also filled with children.” The old man was nearly out of breath.

“One major problem, I think,” began the Pope “is the previous – and correct – allegations that have been made against this church. We have had to expel enough of our members because of genuine paedophilia. Those who seek to destroy us might take this and use it. They might think we weren’t successful in our purging.”

“Yes, your holiness. I concur.” Said Sixtus.

“I think the best course of action would be to send adverts everywhere, alerting the world of our innocence. We needn’t get involved with more drama. That’s for the Prime Minister.” Decided Eugene.

“I think that would be best.” Said Sixtus, walking towards the door. “A wise and measured decision. Well done, your holiness. I will see to it immediately. Oh, I must tell you. They’re calling this thing “paſtrygate”, after a Furbish pastry store called “Comete” that is, according to DAnon, involved in this scandal.”

“Ironic. That was one of my favourite places to visit when I was promoting Attancian Catholicism in the Furbish Islands.” Replied the Pope. Sixtus exited the room.

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Fri Apr 23, 2021 7:46 am

Fort Hillen
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Evening, Friday, 23 April 2021

Paſtrygate was going viral in not just the Furbish Islands, but other parts of the world. Finishing his usual nightly routine, Yuri Lenin went to the /p/ board of 3chan, and nearly all posts were about paſtrygate, as they have been for the last three days. When he tried talking about paſtrygate, to his coworkers, all of it was treated like a joke. “What a bitch” he thought as he recalled one of them laughing harder the more times he said he was serious. The manager walked by them at that moment, and joined in laughing when he tried to explain it to her. “Attancian Pope involved in paſtrygate” was the title of the top thread. The first post showed a picture of the now Pope enjoying a pastry from Comète, the bakery which gave the name paſtrygate. “Holy shit this goes way deeper than I thought” thought Lenin as he scrolled through, “it all makes sense, no wonder why pedophilia is a problem in the church”. The next posts mentioned an advertisement campaign done by the Church, seemingly in response to paſtrygate going viral, or “just covering their asses”, Lenin thought, but unlike many who saw the ads, he knew better.

Reading the next one, he saw that it had made the national news. He knew he had to see this, so he turned on his TV to FBC, or Furbish Broadcasting Corporation, the government owned public broadcaster which owns several television and radio channels, with many forms of entertainment but most notably news. Many often joke that their reporters are able to figure out things before intelligence agencies. Flipping to their news channel, the anchor, Philippe Chaufourier, a reporter who delivered the evening news every day for four and a half decades, and has along with his French accent practically became the face of FBC news, talked about something unrelated then moved on to paſtrygate.

“Paſtrygate, a conspiracy theory about a child sex trafficking ring run across the United Provinces by government officials and other elites, has continued making the front pages of the internet, with more users claiming to dig up more evidence of it. These new users do not include GAnon, a user who claims to be a Furby City based gendarme who after sending post upon post of supposed evidence of the ring, vanished just as quickly as he came on. Believers of the conspiracy have speculated what happened to him, ranging from him being blocked from using the internet by the Gendarmerie to the Gendarmerie arresting or assassinating him. Despite the inconsistencies and factual errors in his posts, including the fact that policing government buildings is the responsibility of the FSA, not the Gendarmerie, and most labeling him as a troll, he receives a large following on far right wing sites like 3chan.”

Lenin was shocked hearing this. This reporter attempted to slander GAnon, the brave whistleblower who helped expose the ring and which possibly cost him his life, as some troll. “No wonder why I quit watching this” he thought.

“Most proponents of this conspiracy theory are on the far right, including supporters of Alternative for the Furbish Islands, though AFTFI leadership stated that there was no evidence.”

“Fuck AFTFI” thought Lenin, who up until reading the post by GAnon supported them without hesitation. This was not some conspiracy theory either, there was so much evidence for it everywhere to anyone who bothers to look. “He is definitely in on this” thought Lenin, “of course he would be, who would want to sleep with him”, then angrily typed a post on 3chan about him, not knowing that he has been married twice and has three kids, and ignoring what he continued to say.

“Among those accused by GAnon were members of the Attancian Catholic Church. This follows a recent conviction of two low ranking church officials in Sandavel for child molestation, and brought back discussions of child sex abuse done by the Church. Seemingly in response to this conspiracy, the Church began an advertising campaign declaring that they were not part of the conspiracy, though this campaign has made much more of the world aware of the conspiracy and the Church’s child sex abuse cases.”

“Shut the fuck up boomer.” thought Lenin as he grabbed his remote and switched the channel. He flipped through until reaching Akas News, a far right channel with questionable accuracy on many of their stories. They were also talking about paſtrygate, though with two commentators shown on either side of the anchor.

“As many have said over and over, there is no evidence for this conspiracy theory.” said the man to the right.

“There is lots of evidence, everywhere you look. All those pictures of nervous looking kids being escorted by train station or airport staff. The fact that the politicians always are seen at the same few places. The trains, there is no reason for why anyone would use locomotives when electric multiple units are much more effective, they must be hiding something in them. And the Attancian Church has been in hot water over accusations of pedophilia in the past. There is no other reason for why we are sending ships over there.” the men on the left of the anchor replied.

“Finally, an unbiased look into this.” thought Lenin as he turned to his screen after sending his post.

The man to the right said “All of this so-called evidence could be explained for reasons not involving some child sex trafficking ring, and all of this is just some coincidences. You could think of any claim and you will be able to find evidence supposedly proving it.”

“And I could say the same thing about evidence the earth is round.”

“The difference is that evidence for paſtrygate is cherrypicked, everyone is ignoring evidence that this is false.” The man on the right looked more frustrated. “Running out of excuses” Lenin thought.

“What evidence? There is more that there is a ring. Look at GAnon, a gendarme just confirmed all of our suspicions.”

“That is not a gendarme, it very obviously is a troll. He has so many facts wrong about the Gendarmerie. For example, the FSA is in charge of policing government buildings, so there was no way he would have been guarding some brothels inside.”

“That is what the Gendarmerie wants you to think.”

“That seems like such a small thing to lie about to cover it all up if it was happening. Why would they go through all the trouble, and wouldn’t it have been leaked by now?”

“It has been leaked.”

“By a single person, allegedly, and only when this conspiracy theory began to go viral. Why did GAnon choose to leak now and why is there only one person.”

“They may have paid off or threatened all of them or outright censored everything.”

“Then how did this one get past all of that?”

The man at the left side was unable to answer, and changed the subject to more evidence. Lenin watched their debate to the end, and then began to scroll further through 3chan, uncovering more evidence. He looked at the time. He was supposed to be at work early the next day, but he did not care as he went deeper into the rabbit hole. More posts came from alleged whistleblowers, including more who claimed to be gendarmes, sailors from the navy describing kids being dragged aboard their vessels, Attancian Church officials, and a few politicians. They were naming names, some backed with evidence or pictures, some not, but nearly every notable person mentioned in the threads, some causing more discussion than others. The Attancian Pope was a source of some of the larger discussions, having an entire thread dedicated to him, full of pictures of him at Comète, and more threads were dedicated to pointing out lies in the advertisement campaign the Church began in response. Every world leader had a dedicated thread showing how they are part of the ring, just below the Pope was one about the crown prince of Fluvannia, followed by the emperor of Logar, then the emperor of West Phoenicia, king of Dunfern.

Ville de Marchand
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Noon, Wednſday, 26 June 1873

Steam continued rusing from the chimney of the train while it pulled to a screeching halt at the depot. “This has to be it” thought the gendarme, looking at the paper in his hand. On it was a timetable for the army railroad. A westbound freight train arrived on time, and on it should be a mail car, hopefully with a letter to a specific address, and hopefully he will be able to search before it is delivered with the rest of the letters. Judging from his order and a telegram from the Noorderstein office, they too were in a hurry, and did not want Furby City to find out. Folding the paper and putting it in his bag, and rifle in hand, the gendarme walked to the entrance of the building attached to the yard. Like most warehouses built by the army railroad company, or any other railroad, it was built to be as elaborate and beautiful as possible, to attract the attention of customers from the many competing railroads.

“Bonjour” said a man at the front desk.

“Good afternoon” replied the gendarme, “who do I speak with to get access to the trains?”

“I will contact the supervisor.” said the man. He turned and walked through a door and returned some time later.

“How may I help?” he asked.

The gendarme introduced himself and showed his badge. “The train that just arrived has mail from La Nouvelle-Lyon, correct?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“I need to search that train.”

The supervisor braced himself for what he knew was about to be a heated argument. He wanted nothing to do with the stadtholder or the Gendarmerie, his private army in all but name. He was probably there to dig up dirt on an opponent or looking for propaganda against the French speaking population. The supervisor could turn away the gendarme if he did not have a warrant, but on the off chance he did, he definitely had a good reason to be there. He asked “Do you have a warrant?”

“I do not have a warrant nor do I need one. Let me in now.” said the gendarme.

“You do, according to the constitution, and every court case where someone like you tried to break in without one.”

“Do you want to be arrested for attempting to slow down a Gendarmerie investigation? Let me search the fucking train!”

“You have no grounds to arrest anyone. Get out.”

“I demand to speak with whoever is in charge here!”

The supervisor sighed. “Wait a second.” he said and left to find his boss. He was a commissioned officer, unlike most staff in the yard who were civilians hired by the army. The man at the desk waited uncomfortably, and silently prayed that the situation will be resolved in a way that will not involve the angry gendarme firing a shot from the rifle he held. He heard footsteps, and the supervisor came back with his boss, who was wearing the army dress uniform, and the gold stripes on his sleeves showed that he was a first lieutenant. “Good afternoon” he said in a southern accent, “How may I help?”

“I need to search the mail train that just came in. Has mail from La Nouvelle-Lyon, correct?”

“Do you have a warrant?” asked the lieutenant.

“He does not.” said the supervisor.

“Because this is urgent.” the gendarme said, “Let me into the train before all three of you are arrested for impeding this investigation.”

“How am I involved in any of this?” thought the man at the desk, but he decided to keep his mouth shut instead of angering the gendarme even more.

“What are you investigating?” the lieutenant asked.

“None of your concern.” replied the gendarme.

“He has no grounds to arrest us, we are well in our right to not allow him to search without a warrant.” the supervisor said, annoyed at the gendarme.

“Fucking sharls” the gendarme muttered under his breath.

“Unless you have a warrant, we can’t let you in. We have a very tight timetable.” said the lieutenant.

The gendarme realized that the lieutenant did have a point, and all of the mail would have been gone by the time he did get a warrant, but he did have one other option. “Do you have a pen?” he asked.

“Why do you need a pen?” said the lieutenant. He immediately realized why, seeing the gendarme pulling a checkbook from his bag. The lieutenant grabbed a pen from the desk and handed it to the gendarme.

“Is there a fine for being late?” asked the gendarme.

“No idea, give five hundred guilders to be safe.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” thought the supervisor, seeing his lieutenant taking a bribe and slowing down the freight so the gendarme can do his search.

The lieutenant placed the check in his pocket. “I apologize that these two have been slowing you down, but I will take you to the train.”

The lieutenant and gendarme walked through a small maze of corridors, until they reached one door, where the lieutenant took out his key and unlocked. The men walked across the yard to a train which just arrived, and walked into the mail car. Its walls were full of shelves stretching from the ceiling to the very bottom. A few men inside were still sorting the mail, some to be sent to the post office in the city, and some sent to a train that will go further south.

“Which letters are going to this town?” asked the gendarme, who was still holding his rifle.

“These boxes there.” pointed one of the men in the car.

“Dump them out here and look through every one of them.” he said. The men were all surprised. They had a tight schedule and had to sort through the mail quickly before the car was sent off to the next city along its route, and their boss, who was standing right in the car, knew that better than any of them, but since he did not object, they had no choice but the follow the gendarme’s orders. “Give me any letter from this address.” he said, reading the address off his paper.

In no time, two men grabbed a box and dumped the letters on the floor of the car, and looked through them. The lieutenant and gendarme stood by and patiently waited. The lieutenant knew his superiors will be mad when the train arrives late, though he can easily fake the logs and say the train arrived late, and if anyone caught him he could easily put the blame on one of the supervisors. 150 guilders was a large sum of money, money that can easily by him a new house or hiring a second maid to clean up his house better. Bribery was a common trick done by gendarmes to quickly search whatever they needed at any time, helped by their deep pockets, sourced by ever increasing taxes and extortions of the non-English speaking population. Since the rebellion began, arresting and seizing the assets of people, usually northerners, became another source of income for the Gendarmerie, which only served to anger them even more. It was probably the cause for why a captain deserted, and took his whole company with him.

“We found two letters to your address.” said the man, as two others picked up the box and moved it back to its place.

“Great. Read me both of them word by word.” the gendarme replied.


“This is an order.”

Carefully, the man unfolded the first sealed letter and skimmed through it quickly. “This one does not have anything-”

“I don’t care, read it to me word for word!”

The man sighed, and began to read a letter clearly only meant for the eyes of the sender’s wife. The gendarme began to turn bright red, and everyone else tried to hide their embarrassment while he continued to read. The man looked up, trying his hardest to not laugh at the look on the gendarme’s face. “Do you still want me to go on?”

“Yes, go on!”

After finishing reading the letter, the man looked up and could not help but laugh when the gendarme turned even redder. “What is so funny?!” he shouted, which only attracted the attention and laughter of everyone else in the car except for the just as red faced lieutenant.

“I told you there was nothing useful in the letter.”

“Read me the other one.” said the gendarme.

Carefully, the man opened the letter and read through. This one, along with messages to the rest of his family, the sender wrote exactly where he went and what he was doing. He planned on storming a concentration camp, hoping to be the spark that begins a revolt against the stadtholder made up of more than just the Dutch rebels in the north. He then said that he sent more letters to major and local newspapers all over the country. Some may be on that train, and the gendarme will undoubtedly order another search across all letters in the car to make sure word does not get out. Thinking quickly. the man said “I have no idea what it says, looks like it is written in Occitan or something.”

“Give me that!” the gendarme said as he grabbed the letter, “Anyone here know Occitan?”. The rest of the men in the car shook their heads. “Very well” the gendarme said as he grabbed the first letter, then turned and began to leave.

“But the sender-”

“The sender is going to be shot at dawn for desertion, I do not give a damn about how much he complains! Good bye!”, the gendarme then ripped up the first letter in front of them and threw it all on the floor, knocked over a few boxes, spilling more mail on the floor. “Fucking sharls” he muttered under his breath, “always work to slow us down. Each and every one of them need to be shot”.


“Whoever told you this was Occitan is a fucking liar” thought the gendarme as he reading through the letter sitting at his desk. He spoke French and Occitan, and was given this letter to translate by the gendarme standing outside the door. “Our friend sent his company to storm camp III and free the swarats in there when he was ordered arrest more.” he said.

“What?!” shouted the gendarme at the door, loud enough to attract the attention of most in the room.

“Judging by the fact we heard nothing, he succeeded and God knows what he’s doing in there.”

He shook his head. “There better by an available group of gendarmes or soldiers from the Army on leave, if Furby City catches word of this-”

“I’m afraid he forced our hand in that too. He said he sent letters to newspapers all over the country, hoping to start a nationwide revolt against the stadtholder. Furby City will know and we just have to pray they spare us.”

“How convenient, had one of the sharls at the train been able to translate we would have searched the mail and took the letters before they were able to be sent out. Give me that.” he walked over and took the letter from the other gendarme and stormed away, before he could respond. Sitting at at the desk, he put his hands together and prayed that Furby City would not drag him into this. He likely was not, since the camp was closer to Noorderstein than Ville de Marchand, though since the northern rebellion began the stadtholder’s actions seemed more and more erratic.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Fri Apr 23, 2021 8:30 am, edited 1 time in total.

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The Dodo Republic
Posts: 138
Founded: Feb 22, 2021
Right-wing Utopia

Postby The Dodo Republic » Mon Apr 26, 2021 11:08 am

New Dodoia System, planet Lovonor. April 26th.

After ten years of flying through space, the New Dawn probe has finally entered orbit around the blue green planet Lovonor. Its mission, is to land two small flying probes on the planet's surface in the hopes of finding life. Along with an orbiter that will guide the probes direction while taking observations on the planet that the probes cannot observe. The probe itself sports the most advanced artificial intelligence ever made. In fact the entire mission will be done by the robots, as at 5 light years away, it is hard to fix issues manually. The orbiter is the first to depart from the "shell" spacecraft that acted as the transport. A long robotic arm separates from the shell and releases the orbiter into space, the probes solar panels unfolding to catch the rays of Lovonors two suns. The orbiter would run its supercomputers as quick as possible as it is the one to command the probes too their landing spot. This would take several minutes, scanning the planet and watching weather patterns for the best landing sight with the most to offer.

Soon enough the order is given. Two more robotic arms rise above the shell with a small spacecraft on each. The spacecraft then launch from the shell. Thrusters on the back lurch them forwards towards the surface. From the moment they then enter the atmosphere, they go silent until breaking through to the other side. At around this time, the orbiter would then begin to transfer data back to Earth, where many wait in anticipation.

Ryan’s Air and Space Complex, northern Dodoia.

Hundreds sit jam packed in a massive control center, journalists, scientists, eneginers, and government officials including the president staring at the almost movie theater sized TV. “The probes have gone silent. Entering atmosphere” someone would mumble into a headset. Some scientists would click buttons on their computers in response. “Wait, hold on”, the same person muebles. “We are getting signal again, probe 1 has landed, 2 isnt far behind”. Claps come from the room, but they are still quiet, the cameras have yet to open, the first glimpse of what might be the greatest discovery in the history of mankind might only be an hour away.

Back on the Lovon surface, the capsule of the first probe splits open to reveal the actual blimp-like robot inside. First off though, the robot has to boot its systems before inflating the airbag on its back. First off go the scanners, temperature on the surface. 69 degrees fahrenheit. Then the robot's head untucks itself from the capsule. The camera in its almost bird shaped head connected to a flexible tube like structure begins to run, and the data is sent to the orbiter, then finally beamed to Earth.

“SYSTEMS BOOTING”, the message would come up on the massive control room TV. Everyone leans in a bit closer and the room goes silent. “LOADING DATA”, the screen would then flash. Eventually, the camera flickers open. Grainy at first, the lenses self adjust. Gasps come from the room as the first glimices come in. Lovonor is in fact a planet with life. The stunned room watches as a twilight background shines on a purple plain of tall alien plants, almost like purple worms sticking out from the ground. In fact, out of all the plants in the vision of the robot, most are a purple color. Then, as the room finally gets its head around what they are seeing, the robot's head turns sharply to the left. Through the brush, a small creature comes out. Brown in color, the organism has one small leg and has two tails. The top one being longer than the bottom. Its head almost looks like that of a dragon. The animal itself looks no bigger than a chicken. Cheers come from the room with this new sight documented. The creature would stare at the robot for several seconds and then would disappear into the tall purple brush. With that the camera would shut down again to keep systems in check as the bag inflates.

Final cheers would come from the room before all eyes would then turn to the president seated in the back. “Congratulations my comrades… We. The Republic of Dodoia has single handedly made the greatest discovery in the history of mankind. Pat yourselves on the back comrades. It has been the greatest of honers watching history with you.”

The probe will most likely explore the planet for several weeks or if possible months, along with its counterpart that will take a different course to cover the most distance. Scientists will analyze the film and data brought in as it transpires but it will probably take many years after the probes go inactive before things are truly revealed. For the meantime however, the Dodo Republic and the world can rejoice.

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Mon Apr 26, 2021 8:08 pm

The Dodo Republic wrote:-snip-

This is a modern tech roleplay, this is too futuristic. Voided.

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Political Columnist
Posts: 2
Founded: Dec 23, 2014

Postby Kevoria » Thu Apr 29, 2021 2:31 pm

Ivory Mansion, Boria
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
April 29, 2021

The Donna Ayla Sozon sat at her desk, her aged yet steely-eyed Foreign Affairs Minister Dimitri Alceo sat across from her. It was noon as denoted by a half-full glass and a half-empty glass of vodka sat on the desk near each of them respectively. The murmurs of the day's going-ons and current national affairs filled the air along with Alceo's cigarette smoke.

"How's the speech coming along with the Senate?" Alceo asked, finishing off the last of the sixth cigarette that meeting.

"It's being written but I'm still waiting on your results," Ayla replied, picking up her glass and looking over it like it was one of few friends she had in the world. She knew that the speech this early with no results would light the powder keg of the Senate too early. "Speaking about that, what's the reception to our economic offers with other nations?" She inquired, leaning back in her seat and looking over at her foreign minister.

"Good..." Alceo started with a sigh as he grabbed his glass. Ayla knew it was not good with that sigh. "... With some of the smaller, third-world nations. We can expect a whole .05% growth in GDP." He knocked back the rest of the vodka as the donna looked over with concern.

"What about the rest of the world?"

"Nothing. Lorgar and Phoenicia busy posturing with themselves on how great of nations they are. The rest of the world is busy with internal problems of their own. Apparently, the Furby Islands was caught with a ship of dinosaurs and Attancia has helicopters flying around it. Speaking of Attancia-"

"Wait - what was that about dinosaurs?" Ayla stopped him.

"Rumors, don't worry about it. Problem just a ship of iguanas. Speaking of tumors and Attancia, have you checked 3Chan?" He asked, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"The Hell is a 3Chan?" She asked.

"It's a website that a bunch of loner losers frequent- looks that's not important. What is important is that some user on there has a huge list of high-level individuals from across that involved in a child trafficking ring. Most news networks are calling it a hoax but the sensationalist news cycles are picking up, calling it Paſtrygate or something." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his news feed, he leaned over the desk to show her the articles about it before an advertisement from Attanica proclaiming their innocence started to play.

"Oh. Sorry." He said, skipping the ad before showing her the news articles. Each time he moved to a different headline, the ad tried to play, only to be skipped again. "We'll talk about that in a moment."

"Just tell me I'm not on that list." Ayla said, sinking back into her chair as she reached for the half-empty glass.

"Footnote, barely noticeable." Alceo said, garnering a sigh a chug from the Donna. As put his phone down on her desk. "You know who's not a footnote and barely noticeable?" He reached for the bottle and refilled his cup.


"Wrong. Eugene Accassus, A.K.A The Pope." He said as he passed the bottle to Ayla to refill her cup. The ad on the phone began to play again, leading Alceo to skip it again.

Ayla looked over at the phone with irritation before focusing back on the task at hand. "Okay so?" She asked her cup refilled Kevorian Gold. "Every Pope is accused of stuff like this. It basically comes with the position."

"Well last time it was confirmed and last time they had to kick a lot of guys of the clergy. And those ads that were just playing were them playing the innocence card. Full blast, you couldn't five minutes before seeing it again."

"So what are you getting at here?" She asked, sliding the bottle back to her desk.


Port Illgari, Illgari
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
April 22, 2021

Another night, another unregistered ship floated into the harbor for Vasilisa to "inspect." These were becoming more and more common. Apparently, there was a big push way above her head to encourage more international trade which meant more ships coming and going through the ports. If that was true, they'd need more inspectors soon.
The usual inspection occurred, although the act had gotten stale so the storming of the ship occurred before the captain could draw a gun on her.

She pulled one of the container doors open as the captain was held at gunpoint behind her. She shined her flashlight inside to the small, emaciated figures react and recoil the light.

"What the fuck..." She said as looked in before reaching for her pistol and turning the captain, rage in her eyes.

Ivory Mansion, Boria
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
April 29, 2021

"That's horrible!" Ayla shouted as she got up from her seat. "What happened to the kids?"

"Taken in, fed, setting them up with orphanages still." Alceo said calmly. "The most of the crew is in custody too, sans the captain."

"Where-Why was the ship even there?" Ayla asked, Alceo calmness not being well received by her. "We move a lot of illicit stuff, Hell, I'll admit that even some trafficking occurs but child trafficking is a hard fucking no."

"Probably one of the new trade partners trying pass some stuff off through our open trade laws." He replied. "But here is the thing, while a child trafficking hoax that is being reacted heavily by the Attancia Chruch-" The ad began to play again, leading to another skip by Alceo. "We also have a ship of kids that was heading out east."

"And...?" Ayla waved her hand, hoping he'd get the point.

"What if the ship was heading to Attanica-" Ad began to play before skipped." What if it was heading there and the world found out?"

"It'd be a PR Circus, probably another purge in the Church ranks. " Ayla answered.

"Exactly, something the Church does not need!" Alceo said as he stood up, getting a bit more animated.

"But was the ship heading to Attan-" Ad played, skipped. "There?"

"It could have." Alceo looked over at the Donna, as the gears turned in her head.

"I think I'm starting to get what you're getting at here." She said with a nod. "We could appeal to At- them for some economic help, subsidies, so forth if we let them know we quietly prevented another crisis situation for them."

"We do that, write it off as us appealing the pious nation for their aid, maybe even some missionary work help with the morality of the average Kevorian?" Alceo said with a shrug.

"Sure, get it done," Ayla said as she took a chug of vodka before setting up her cup down. "Make whatever deals you have to with them. If they want a church on every street, go for it."

"I'll get on the horn with Attancia right now-" Alceo said before the advertisement started to play again. The Donna brought her fist down on the phone before Alceo could skip it. There was a moment of silence as the two looked between each other before looking down at the shattered phone.

"Sorry." Ayla replied.

With his phone out of commission, the foreign minister resorted to the old fashion letter to send his proposals.

From: Dimitri Alceo, Minister of Foreign Affairs of The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
To: The Holy Dominion of Attancia

To Whom It May Concern,

The United Isles Republic of Kevoria writes to you on this day of April 29th, in the yeard of our Lord 2021, in great concern. We hope to be writing to you, not as nations but as brothers and sisters under the care of God.

It has come to our attention that certain accusations have come to the surface, defaming many leaders across the world, including members not only of our United Isles Republic of Kevoria but also of the Holy Dominion of Attancia. We stand with you in solidarity that these accusations are nothing more than unfounded falsehoods.

However, there are those to seek to undermine the integrity of our great peoples. A cargo ship was recently searched in our Port of Illgari and was found to be carrying dozens of young children, some as old sixteen and some as young six. Rest assured that perpetrators on the ship were apprehended and the victims are being well cared for. But, we do feel we must tell you the course of the ship would have brought somewhere well within the coastal waters of Attancia.

Please, understand that we are in no way accusing anyone of The Holy Dominion of Attancia, especially within the Chruch itself, of receiving such an illicit cargo. But, we do feel that news organizations would be willing to sensationalize the matter to further slander not only the names of both our great nations, but the Chruch itself.

We are willing to ensure that such details remain confidential between our peoples, preventing such a false outcry against the Church.

In return, we simply ask for aid to reach the spiritual and economic prosperity of your people. Economic support through investments and subsidization as well as spiritual support through missionary work would be greatly appreciated and bring the peoples of our nations together, strengthening the diplomatic bonds between us.

We hope to hear from you soon on this matter.

Dimitri Alceo
Minister of Foreign Affairs
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Sun May 02, 2021 7:04 pm

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Late Morning, Saturday, 24 April 2021

Carolien Grotendijk typed away at her notes in her office at the Gendarmerie headquarters. Being the spokeswoman of the Gendarmerie, every day she was either speaking at press conferences or preparing for the next one. Few realize how difficult of a job being a spokesperson is, answering questions to reporters who act like vultures, and choosing words carefully to leave no ambiguity. She heard a knock on her door, and said “come in!” in Dutch. While not all speak even some of the major languages spoken in the United Provinces, the meanings of commonly used words and expressions are generally known. Grotendijk continued at her notes, expecting an officer from the public relations branch to ask about one of the upcoming press conferences, all marked on the calendar on her wall.

“Good morning.” said an officer who entered the door with several papers. “Sorry for the short notice, but we are having a brief press conference in two hours. Here is the information about it.”

“In two hours? What’s so important to have it quickly.”

The officer looked at the papers in his hands. “Something about… a scandal involving a pastry shop?”

“Then why are we involved in this?” Grotendijk asked as she stood up to look at the papers. After reading for a few second, she said “The fuck?”

“Not sure what kind of idiots believe this or why we need a press conference when everyone else took to social media, but dunno. I was just told to hand you these papers.”

Grotendijk looked them over again. She recalled something about a government run child sex trafficking ring, and how every law enforcement agency has already said on social media why this is not true, but did not think much of it until she looked over these papers. Any person or establishment which someone claimed was involved received death threats, and plenty of people already attempted to investigate various locations, all ending in them being sent home. After briefly rethinking all her life choices, she opened an empty document and began typing.

The two hours passed quickly and before she knew it Grotendijk sent her notes to the teleprompter and made her way to the press conference room, crowded with reporters from national and local news networks as usual. Just outside the building a fleet of satellite trucks sit parked, delivering the feed from every camera to its respective company’s broadcasting center, with the exception of the Gendarmerie’s own camera, which streamed the conference directly to various video streaming platforms after editing elsewhere in the building. Microphones from all networks sat on the podium. From everything she knew about this scandal, believers could not be reasoned with and think any evidence against it is a cover up. Grotendijk took a deep breath and hoped the reporters were sane, then began to read from the teleprompter.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. We have been aware of accusations from anonymous posters on 3chan that the government and other powerful individuals are behind an international child sex trafficking ring, in what they call ‘paſtrygate’, after Comète, a bakery in the Parliament building which, according to them, has a brothel in its basement. This is nothing more than a conspiracy theory, and one which has no evidence. Besides an anonymous poster who claims to be a gendarme exposing the entire thing and people involved. This poster is a troll, and his posts are filled with too many inconsistencies to be a gendarme, among which include him claiming to guard brothels in government buildings, though policing government buildings is the responsibility of he FSA, not the Gendarmerie, and the fact that Comète does not have access to any basement. Another poster admitted he had no direct evidence of this conspiracy when questioned by the Gendarmerie. This conspiracy does have some very real consequences. Any person or establishment which has been accused of being involved has been harassed, on social media and outside, and many have received death threats. The FSA and Gendarmerie will always be on guard to protect against any attacks. We are now open for questioning.”

“Let me get this straight, there are people who think there is a nationwide child sex trafficking ring? What evidence do they have if they are confident enough to start sending out death threats?” asked an FBC reporter.

“There is none” said Grotendijk, “outside trolls on 3chan.”

“Are there any notable people from other countries implicated?” asked another reporter.

“Many, including leaders and entire governments of every country, such as Attancia’s entire government and all church officials, emperor of Logar, crown prince of Fluvannia, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Attancian church officials have been involved in cases of pedophilia in the past. Are you sure they are not involved in any ring?” asked that reporter.

“As far as we have been aware they are not. Pedophilia among their clergy have been isolated cases, not the rule, and the church was quick to disavow members accused.”

“How are we sure that the government is not involved in a cover up and all supposed evidence against is planted?” asked the reporter from Akas news.

Grotendijk hated Akas. They were a far right news network which frequently made up or exaggerated facts while ignoring ones, all to fit their far right narrative. They always questioned everything she said or took it out of context. “No, there is far too much information-” the teleprompter said the time was up. “We will not be taking any more questions. Thank you to everyone.” said Grotendijk as she walked back, to some reporters shouting their questions, the loudest voice being from Akas.

Fort Hillen
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Afternoon, Saturday, 24 April 2021

Yuri Lenin woke up slumped over on his desk, covered in his bodily fluids. On his computer before him a 3chan thread was open, one with evidence of how the Donna of Kevoria was involved in the Furbish lead worldwide child sex trafficking ring. He did not have much time to think as he noticed his phone ringing on his desk, while he was still wearing his wireless earbuds. “Shit” he thought when he saw the time. It was the early afternoon, when he was supposed to be at his job that morning, and he somehow slept through his alarm. Even worse, it was his boss calling. He scrambled to press the accept button but it was too late. He quickly tapped through to get to the voicemails, then pressed the newest one, from a few seconds before, from his boss. “Good afternoon Yuri. This is the second time you did not show up at your shift without anyone to cover for you. If this continues, there will be consequences.”

“Fuck her” he thought as he listened to the voicemail. He sent her a text with an apology and saying this will not happen again, which she replied to almost instantly. “Why won’t you do your fucking job?” he thought.

Turning back to his 3chan thread, Lenin refreshed it, seeing many more posts added from when he read the thread while drunk the night before. He then clicked away and skimmed through some of the thread titles. “GENDARMERIE TO HOLD PRESS CONFERENCE ON PASTRYGATE” read the top one. Comments on the thread said it was happening in only a few minutes. Lenin quickly flipped the channels to Akas, and the Gendarmerie press conference room was already shown.

. . .

He knew it, they are behind a massive cover up, there was no other reason for why it would be shut down after a question from the Akas reporter. During the conference Lenin discussed everything with others on 3chan, who all pointed the signs on the spokeswoman which showed she was nervous because she was lying to the entire country. Her moves were not surprising, dismissing paſtrygate as just some conspiracy theory, and slandering the brave whistleblowers as some trolls, and spinning information. Comète may not have a basement, but clearly did have a backroom politicians were going into.

Exiting the thread and scrolling though more, Lenin saw an even more shocking one, titled “Confeſsion: I am a aide who was involved in paſtrygate. AMA”. English was clearly not his first language, as shown by his incorrect usage of the ſ, though being a native Russian and Dutch speaker from the Dutch part of the Furbish Islands, Lenin ignored that. The aide to an NP or Senator admitted to being at the brothels, and said nothing due to pressure from the rest and being threatened with losing his seat, or worse. He gave many names of politicians he remembered seeing, including many from Alternative for the Furbiſh Iſlands, and many of the same names as given by GAnon. Lenin dug further, discussing more about this, losing track of time, and staying well past midnight despite knowing he had to work the next morning.

Ville de Marchand
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Early evening, Wednſday, 26 June 1873

As she swept the floor to the apartment, Marie Donnet heard a knock on the door. While this was not unusual, she had a gut feeling something was wrong. The person knocked hard and was not stopping. “Madame de Flandre, someone is at the door” she said.

“I will get it.” said Roselyne de Flandre as she walked across the room to the door. “Hello?” she asked, opening the door, and met with the barrel of a musket at her face.

“Are you the wife of Jean de Flandre?” shouted a man holding the gun, who wore a Gendarmerie uniform, and spoke French with a very heavy English accent.

“Captain Jean de Flandre” she corrected in Marchand French.

“Silence!” he shouted, “You are under arrest!”

“What are we under arrest for?” she asked.

“None of your concern.” said the gendarme as he grabbed her and pushed her to the side, while another gendarme pointed his rifle at her head. The gendarme who knocked on the door walked inside and pointed his gun at Donnet and shouted “Everyone in this house is coming with us!”

“I am only Monsieur de Flandre’s maid-” started Donnet.

“Shut up, you are also coming with us!” the gendarme shouted as he pushed her to the side, in front of the gendarme pointing his gun at de Flandre. Another gendarme followed the first, both searching the house for any more occupants. Two more who were standing outside walked in to board up the windows and nail a note to the door stating the apartment and everything inside was seized by the Gendarmerie, written in French and English. The landlord will be angry, but there was nothing he was able to do about it. When the two gendarmes came out again, they had six children with them, who were placed in the front, and all eight of their new prisoners were put in handcuffs and kept in the view of one gendarme who was polishing the bayonet fixed to his rifle, all sitting silently and afraid of what was to come.

The four gendarmes left after they sounded like they ransacked much of the apartment. “What are we under arrest for?” de Flandre asked again, despite Donnet trying to signal her to stop.

“I said, this is none of your concern. This way, all of you.” the gendarme said, leading them to the stairs. When they reached them, a short walk down the corridor, they heard another set of footsteps ascending.

“Who are you and what the hell do you want?” came an angry voice from a man as he reached their floor. De Flandre recognized him as Jérémy Brosseau, the landlord. Behind him was one of their neighbors, who must have complained about the noise without realizing who was making it. He flinched upon seeing the gendarmes, but Brosseau did not.

“They are under arrest and their apartment and belongings will be taken by the Gendarmerie until further notice. Now get out of my way.” said the gendarme at the front of the group.

“Show me your warrant.” said Brosseau, looking at the gendarme in the eye and not backing down.

“I do not need to show you a warrant.”. He narrowed his eyes and gripped his rifle tighter.

“Then you have no grounds to take my apartment and arrest its tenants. Release them now and get the hell out.”

The gendarme began to raise his rifle, but Brosseau still did not move, knowing that the gendarme is not going to shoot him. Realizing this, the gendarme reached for his satchel on his side. “Do you have a pen?” he asked.

“Why do you need a p-” Brosseau stopped when he saw the gendarme taking a checkbook. He shook his head. “I am not taking bribes.” he said. “fuck you DDT[1]” he thought, as he stood in front of the stairs, staring at the gendarmes, while they stared back at him, unsure of what to do. None of them noticed the neighbor who quietly walked past them to his own apartment.

“You will get out of my way, NOW!” the gendarme shouted, breaking the tense silence.

“No.” the landlord replied softly.

Almost immediately the gendarme grabbed the barrel of his rifle and hit the landlord across the head, then grabbed him and shoved him out of the way. He signaled and the rest of the gendarmes, with their new prisoners, descended down the stairs. Brosseau stood for a moment, recollecting his senses, then looked through a window at the gendarmes entering a coach waiting for them on the street, driven by another man in a Gendarmerie uniform. His head still hurt, but that gendarme clearly did not intend to seriously injure or kill him. “Fuck these letags[2]” Brosseau thought, “they are never going to seize my property”. The landlord noticed the door to the de Flandre family’s apartment was locked, and had a sign saying they seized it. He ripped the sign off, then unlocked the door with his key. There, he saw the apartment completely ransacked, though nothing was stolen except for the family’s key. Gathering everything valuable and placing it in a box, he carried it to the ground floor to a closet in the basement. He would need many more trips and maybe some help, but will move everything away before the gendarmes return, keeping it safely for the de Flandres until they return, if at all. From the little he heard, they mentioned something about Jean de Flandre deserting, but he must have done much more than deserting if they wanted to capture his wife and children.

[1] Dominic Drumpf’s thug, gendarme, usually corrupt one
[2] white Anglo-Saxon Protestant

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Civil Servant
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Founded: Dec 20, 2020
Capitalist Paradise

Letter to the Furbish Islands

Postby Logar » Mon May 03, 2021 7:15 am

Imperial Palace of Villanova, Logar
May 3rd, 2021

On the rainy morning of May 3rd, the day was grey and lightning was thundering. All the windows of His Imperial Majesty's seat were closed, no guards were outside the imposing palace in the very center of the imperial capital. August was inside his office as routine not sat on his chair but looking at the heavy rain that hit a big part of northern and northeastern Logar. There was no clear sign that the rain would come to an end as quickly as it fell, and while the rest of the rooms in the palace were perfectly warm, His Majesty's office was cold and dark due to the lack of luminosity and the emperor's will to simply not turn his office's heater on. August's backs were in pain due to his old age, the Emperor, for some odd reason, felt that his time on this earth was ending. After his insight, while enjoying the rain falling on the window, August IV directed himself to his chair, where he sat down with his hands on his lap. After a couple of seconds, August finally decided to get a paper and his known fountain pen to start to write a letter to another close nation to Logar, the Furbish Islands.

Your Excellency the Stadtholder of the United Provinces and Territories of the Furbish Islands,

In order to achieve a better understanding and economical stability of our two great nations, I propose to your government, and to your people, an approach between both our governments. Regardless of our differences in ruling and ideologies, I am sure that we, together and willingly, can establish a healthy and durable relationship, for the sake and security of both our populations. With faith, we can lead our already thriving nations to a brighter future. I hope that someday, we could reunite in order to give a beginning to our relationships, for the good of the people and prosperity of the country. The Imperial Palace of Villanova, my house, is always open for new friends.

August IV, Emperor of Logar
Imperial Palace of Villanova

As soon as His Majesty finished his writing, he stared at the paper adorned with several elements in red, golden, and black, the colors of Logar, plus the personal arms of August IV, the arms of Logar, and the shield of the Government at the top. He just let the pen rest on the rather thick paper for a couple of seconds before grabbing an envelope from a drawer and putting the letter to the Furbish leader inside it. On August's workbench, a telephone was at his disposal in case the monarch needed to contact any other telephone inside the palace. Instead of walking directly to the Postal Services Office, August IV decided to telephone the office to his bidding. August IV reached the black telephone slowly and had to grab a piece of paper in his suit pocket because he could not remember the exact number of the office. The paper contained the number of some very important rooms of the palace and then finally telephoned the postal office. Postal officers knew only the emperor could telephone them since the Royal Office was the only room to have that ability. After three or four seconds, the call is attended:

“What is your will, Your Majesty?” said Postal Master, Rodrigo Alves.
“Postal Master. I have a new task for you. Please, come to my office immediately,” said the Emperor in an affirmative sounding.
“Right now, my emperor,” said the Postal Master as August IV ended the call after.

Alves quickly walked to His Imperial Majesty's office, expecting another secret task from the monarch. When he reached the royal office, the doors were protected by the imperial royal guards, whose as Alves reached closer opposed the Postal Master's advances, positioning their stun pikes as an "x" in front of the doors, preventing Alves from entering.

Alves let out a sigh. “The Emperor wishes to see me,” said the Postal Master looking directly at the lifeless, black visor of one of the guards.
“We did not receive any command from His Imperial Majesty,” affirmed the guard Alves was looking at with a very deep voice.

As soon as the guard finished his sentence, both doors are opened by the Emperor, who gestures to Alves to enter the office, which is quickly attended by the Postal Master. August goes directly to his workbench and sits on his chair while Alves waited for the monarch to say something, looking directly at August as the old man sat. August then finally looks at Alves with the enveloped letter on hands; the Postal Master already knew what was gonna be asked of him.

“I see, you already know what this is, don't you?”
Alves then answers, “yes, my emperor.”
“Very well, then you already know what to do,” said August IV as he hands the envelope over to Alves.
“It will be done, Your Majesty,” affirmed Alves before leaving the room with the envelope in hands.

Alves had to open the doors of the office by himself while August, still on his workbench, took care of official duties. As the guards closed the doors Alves directed himself to the Postal Services Office, where he was gonna arrange that the letter would go to the hands of the Furbish stadtholder safely, or he would probably be secretly executed if the contents of the letter leaked. A special airplane owned by the Crown was designated to carry the letter to the Furbish Islands and so the next day the letter was already making its trip to FI, carried by the special airplane that contained the lesser arms of August IV on its fuselage. The day was bright and clean, perfect for the operation.

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Tue May 04, 2021 3:38 pm

Fort Hillen
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Afternoon, Sunday, 25 April 2021

“Good afternoon Yuri. This is the third time this month and second day in a row you did not show up to work, after you promised this will not happen again. Do not show up to work tomorrow. Your final paycheck will be delivered by mail.” Yuri Lenin hardly processed the voicemail, as he was heavily hungover, so he listened again. He fished out a pack of marijuana cigarettes from his desk, lit one, then when he was done he threw it across his apartment as he did every time. Listening to the message again as he became more awake, he knew he got fired. He scrolled to his boss’ number on his SMS and texted her “hope you and your family are run over by the tram” then blocked her. “At least I don’t have to deal with any more selfish customers” he thought. He turned to a jar sitting on his desk, full of a couple hundred guilders’ worth of coins and notes. This was the only money he had left. He could collect unemployment benefits, but that would not last enough to pay Fort Hillen rent. Finding a new job will be difficult after being fired.

Having nothing else to do, Lenin cracked open another bottle of vodka and drank it, and went to 3chan. A thread was already open, full of pages of discussion about the previous day’s press conference. Refreshing it showed much more, mostly from users from abroad, but some insomniac Furbishmen as well. He read through all the replies, all noticing small signs from the spokeswoman that showed she was lying. As he clicked away, he went to the top thread, titled “paſtrygate whiſtleblower aſſaſſinated”. The post, sent early in the morning, showed the screenshot of an FBC article about Ignacio María Rodrigo Téllez de Rello y Deba, a gendarme who was found dead in his car days earlier, with an image of him. The Gendarmerie said it was a suicide, but the article mentions he was shot twice in the back of the head. A link to the article was posted, but when he clicked it his screen said “page not found”. The next post said they deleted it quickly, and pointed out how in the image it showed he was on 3chan, writing another post which was signed GAnon.

Lenin felt his blood boil again. Two whistleblowers were visited, and one of them was assassinated. Every thread was about him. One post linked to several of the Gendarmerie’s social media accounts, each one stating “We have no record of a gendarme named Ignacio María Rodrigo Téllez de Rello y Deba who was assassinated. There is no record of anyone with that name who has ever served in the Gendarmerie.”, along with an image showing signs that the screenshot of the article and image of the gendarme was edited. Not long after, the Gendarmerie and many government accounts posted an infographic about how to detect fake news and edited images. Another user replied that among these signs, the gendarme’s initials spelled out “I M RTRD”, adding to the list of signs this was a troll. His blood boiling even more, Lenin had enough of just reading and discussing about paſtrygate in the sidelines. He needed to expose those in the government involved, so the people will see for themselves and take action. He knew where he was going to look first, in Comète, the bakery where the scandal started.

Clicking to /b/, a general discussion board, Lenin started a thread asking for where in Fort Hillen he could get a firearm. He needed a gun, but it was too difficult to get one legally. He needed a license, which takes a three week long background check, and a reason, and guns which he would be allowed to buy were not much use anyway. He refreshed constantly for a minute after posting until he saw one reply, “Be careful Anon, the feds are watching this”.

“He’s right” thought Lenin as he closed the thread. He spent several minutes thinking about how else he could get a firearm, then remembered about someone he went to school with, who became a drug dealer. He may have some connections with a firearm dealer. Lenin opened his browser again and clicked on a different platform, one which he hardly opens, but still has many of his former friends added. The first thing he saw was thousands of notifications, gathered from years of not visiting the site, mostly his family and old friends who wanted to check up on him. He ignored all of them as he scrolled through his friends list. Adriaan Septer was the name he was looking for, who was near the bottom. He was doing seemingly well, and he was online. Lenin went to his direct messages and sent a simple “Goedenmiddag”, or good afternoon.

“Hey Yuri” came an almost immediate reply. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How have you been?” said the next two messages.

“Not well. I was just reading about a child sex trafficking ring the whole government is involved in and got fired from my job.” Lenin responded.

“That is not good to hear. I hope you are doing alright.”

“Do you know of any firearm dealers around here? I am going to Furby City and investigating.”. Lenin was not worried about anyone reading in, as despite some requests from a handful of vocal politicians, the company running the platform has end to end encryption for direct messages, and does not plan on ending it.

“You are better off buying a gun in Furby City. But what about this child sex trafficking ring?”

“Read about it in 3chan. News got out about a gendarme who was assassinated for exposing the names of politicians involved in this. Do you know of any dealers in Furby City?”

“Okay. I will find out. Is there a time we can meet up to discuss it?”

“I am free any time.”

Septer gave a certain time and location, in the middle of a park where they will not be seen. Lenin set an alarm to remind him to take a shower and get dressed before, but in the meantime, he looked for ways to get to Furby City. He did not own a car because buying one was too expensive compared to using public transport, partly due to taxes which make cars expensive to discourage their use in urban centers. By plane was the most expensive, also due to taxes placed for the same reason. High speed trains were much cheaper, and slower trains were cheaper than those though they take longer and have more stops. Though the slowest, taking twenty hours including waiting for a transfer, and not a smooth ride due to the infamous poor quality of Furbish roads, taking a bus was the cheapest. Lenin could not afford to waste any money, having no idea how much buying a gun will cost. After meeting his old friend, he planned on buying some food at a store to eat along the way, and a body camera to record the evidence he finds. “For the kids.” he said.

Camp III
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Tueſday, 24 June 1873

A steam train blew its whistle, which was heard throughout the camp. Captain Jean de Flandre drank his fourteenth cup of coffee of the night as he stood at the gate of the camp. The train came to a screeching halt inside the camp, and both drivers waved to de Flandre as they exited. “Bonjour!” he shouted.

“Bonjour!” one of the drivers shouted back. Mathieu Lucy and Fabrice Leclère each made the trip to this camp many times before, and tried to take their eyes off the sights inside. But they could not help their curiosity after being told their strange order. The camp looked completely different. Inside, people looked like they were having a better time, and speaking with guards who were carrying large crates of supplies. None of them looked exhausted, except for the captain who greeted them.

“Captain Jean de Flandre, Gendarmerie.” said the captain, introducing himself.

“Liberator of Camp III” said Leclère.

“And defender of democracy.” added Lucy. They saluted him. “What exactly happened here?” Lucy asked.

“Drumpf wanted me to throw more men into here.” said de Flandre, “So we stormed the camp and intend to free everyone there. Colonel Bessette sent you here?”

“Colonel Bessette? Our orders were given by General van Aarle.” replied Lucy,

De Flandre’s eyes widened. “He is in on the plan?”

“He is, and said he will support anyone else who attempts the same until Furby City catches wind of this.”

“That is good to here. How much supplies did you bring?”

“Every car is full.” Leclère said.

De Flandre looked at the train and back at the engineers. “Including supplies at the camp, this is going to last us about a week unless we give the rations that were being given. Van Aarle is able to send another train soon.”

“He is. With the embezzling going on few will notice, and he’s easily bribed and threatened a few officers to get this one sent.” While most may be surprised at the statement, corruption was far too common in the United Provinces.

“Any extra guns and space for the twenty or so captives we’ve taken, and the corpses, including their and our own men?”

“We have a few Gatling guns and rifles, and a car where we can lock all your prisoners.”

“Captain, the reports are all ready.” came the voice of second lieutenant Jordan Duverger, who was running to the platform carrying a large stack of papers.

“Thank you” said de Flandre, “get every available gendarme to unload this train.” He then turned back to the engineers at the train while Duverger was shouting the order to the camp. “I spent all night describing conditions in this hellscape and talking to as many people as I could. This is the evidence against the guards when they are court-martialed and against Drumpf and his cronies should any of them be put on trial. Had my men write several copies and translations. Keep them safe.” He handed the papers to the engineers. “And spread the world about this. I sent letters to my wife and the press, but any of them can get intercepted.”

Leclère and Lucy stood speechless for the moment, seeing the captain several steps ahead of anyone else. Leclère took the papers. Lucy took out another letter from the locomotive. “Van Aarle asked us to give this to you.”
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue May 04, 2021 3:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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West Phoenicia
Posts: 1236
Founded: Jun 25, 2017
Left-Leaning College State

Postby West Phoenicia » Wed May 05, 2021 9:33 am


Greetings from West Phoenicia.

The Empire of West Phoenicia strives to make diplomacy important. Diplomatic relations are important to West Phoenicia.

We are looking to expand our friendship and diplomacy to other nations. Only through unity and open dialogue can nations flourish.

West Phoenicia humbly offers an embassy exchange with other nations and invites you to sign up.

Cardinal Jack Portland, Minister of Foreign Affairs

West Phoenicia has Six embassy districts. Please assign one on your application.

Embassy Grove

Embassy Grove is located in the city-state of Jackson, West Phoenicia.

Jackson is the home to the central government, banking sector, Supreme Court of West Phoenicia and major government departments and the country capital of Melbourne-Haven.

Diplomacy Court

Diplomacy Court Embassy Sector is located in Agape.

Agape is the religious capital of West Phoenicia. The Pontifex of the True Path Church residence is located here and is the primary location of religious devotion.

Diplomacy Crescent

Diplomacy Crescent is also located in Jackson, West Phoenicia.

Diplomacy Crescent Embassy Sector is located in the province of Vicksburg Junction of Jackson. An outer province that is home to many of the nobility class, picturesque mountains, forests and country healing centres and temples.

Celestial Court

Celestial Court is located in Antebellum Territory

It is home to the defacto Government if Jackson was to fall. It boasts grand architecture and home to many of the rich and powerful families in West Phoenicia

Dove of Peace Road

A smaller embassy sector is located in the Scarlett Orient Isles, a former external territory of West Phoenicia; now classed as an official city-state. It is famous for its open markets, scenic countryside and multicultural atmosphere

Paradise Road

Paradise Road Embassy Sector is located in New Elysium II, Olympia Hills. The home of the Entertainment industry and pop music industry. A wealthy city-state of decadence, wealth and dreams coming true.

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Posts: 47
Founded: Nov 03, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Dunferm » Thu May 06, 2021 8:10 am

Grenery Street, Borough of Albhen, the City of Ravenspire, Dunferm.
9:31 AM, 23rd of April.

Lewis N. gazed at the brick house which was standing in a silent posture in the middle of Greenery Street, with little life being seen, or heard. This quiet house was his office, or more officially, the building of the Political Office №6, his employer. After crossing the dull corridors and unsolicited security checks, he reached his work-desk.

- There is a special assignment for you – said his supervisor, Walter D., a tall man, even by Dunfermian standards, in a brown suit and with the face of a bored tourist – and of course, it would the Furbish.
- The Furbish?
- One Furbish man decided it’s the best time to post conspiracy theories on the day of Neuman’s conviction, of all days.

Neuman, this name he heard a lot in this building, from what his troubled memory could scrap, Neuman is the name of one of the biggest far-right politicians in the country, and when he was indicted of child molestation, the entire house started to monitor the National People’s Party of Dunferm – a new incarnation of the banned Movement for National Democracy.

He started to scroll through 3ch, a breeding ground for the political fringe of the country, until he found what he was searching for – a lengthy part of the so-called “Paſtrygate Investigation” – another product of feverish imagination of the Furbish People, and now this “investigation” covered the man a conspiracist certainly loves: the Sovereign.

Paragraph by paragraph, this “investigation” was telling a story worthy of a bestseller – of how the ‘camarilla’ of court dignitaries, famous politicians on the left, barons, gentry, and of all people, booksellers; created the unseen web of underground brothels filled with child slaves. An exciting story, full of unexpected turns, misinterpreted letters, and amazing misunderstanding of how the law enforcement works. In the last paragraph, the author, or “D-Anon”, named Alexander II as the architect and grey cardinal of underground brothels of the upper class. However, Lewis knew the real author. It wasn’t certainly the mysterious “D-Anon”, but someone he knows very well, whose style and trail of thought he can easily recognise among the many – Troy Sayvrat, a grandchild of a migrant, who, by irony of fate, became a local leader of the far-right in Ravenspire, before Lewis helped police to sent him to jail for larceny. He run linguistic analysis with the help of his computer, comparing the present text with his early writings, and the results of his analysis were what he expected. His frustration with his work was replaced with joy of hard work.

- Sir, I know who the author is.
- Speak up.
- Remember the time when we worked on St. Ninian’s Road case?


The Citizen
6th of April, 2021 AD

News in Brief: Today the grand jury indicted Troy Joshua Sayvrat of multiple charges, including murder, incitement to violence, leasing-making, and association with terrorist groups. Troy Sayvrat is leader of Whitehill chapter of the National People’s Party, and editor of far-right online magazine He previously was convicted of arson and is suspected to be one of the writing authors behind the “Paſtrygate”. The National People’s Party Central Office refused to give any commentary.
Last edited by Dunferm on Thu May 06, 2021 8:47 am, edited 5 times in total.
Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.
Natum videte regem angelorum.

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Fri May 07, 2021 8:48 pm

Logar wrote:
Your Excellency the Stadtholder of the United Provinces and Territories of the Furbish Islands,

In order to achieve a better understanding and economical stability of our two great nations, I propose to your government, and to your people, an approach between both our governments. Regardless of our differences in ruling and ideologies, I am sure that we, together and willingly, can establish a healthy and durable relationship, for the sake and security of both our populations. With faith, we can lead our already thriving nations to a brighter future. I hope that someday, we could reunite in order to give a beginning to our relationships, for the good of the people and prosperity of the country. The Imperial Palace of Villanova, my house, is always open for new friends.

August IV, Emperor of Logar
Imperial Palace of Villanova

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Afternoon, Friday, 7 May 2021

Stadtholder Richard Melberg sat at his desk in his Capital District office. Across from him was Georgia Pascarelli, a Member of Parliament from the Progreſſive Party representing Southampton, or better known by her other title, Miniſter of Foreign Affairs. Being in the cabinet was not one of the easiest jobs, requiring being both the head of an executive department and attending Parliament meetings to debate and vote on legislation. Unlike many legislatures, the Furbish Parliament was not as strict in its rules, which results in perpetual meetings between elections, and MPs walking in and out as they please, sometimes for a few minutes to get a coffee, sometimes taking days or weeks of vacation, then participating in debates remotely through a camera and microphone set up by aides, resulting in their constituents questioning why they are paid such a high salary, among the highest for any legislature in the world, while not even taking into account other benefits they receive. Government ministers had better reason to not be present all the time, being busy in their own meetings and running their departments.

A letter sat on the desk between Melberg and Pascarelli, authored by the Emperor of Logar, which has been a longtime ally of the United Provinces, asking to continue the relationship between both countries. “Logar has been and will be an important ally, but it is high time we acknowledge their human rights abuses.” Pascarelli said.

“Indeed” said Melberg, “this has been a large mistake made by our predecessors. Worrying they will fall back to Attancia.”

“Logar needs us on their good side as much as we need them. And they have little to gain for falling to Attancia.” said Pascarelli. “Speaking of Attancia, they have started becoming more belligerent lately. We need all the help we can get.”

“We do need all the help we can get but not at the expense of human rights abuses anywhere.” said Melberg. Pascarelli nodded. The Stadtholder, while being the head of state along with the monarch, is in practice at the mercy of the Prime Miniſter and the rest of the cabinet. This was not a problem when both belonged to the same party or generally agreed on most issues, but when they did not, the Stadtholder had the unfortunate task of being the face of the country abroad in policies he did not agree with. Though both Melberg and Pascarelli were members of the Progreſſive Party and agreed Attancia was becoming a growing threat, though dealing with them would be a topic of a future meeting involving many more senior officials. “I am drafting a reply.” said Melberg, while typing on his laptop on his desk, which he turned to Pascarelli, and they discussed the contents further. After some time, it was printed on a paper with the Furbish seal, signed by Melberg and Pascarelli, then placed in an envelope.

Pascarelli shook hands with Melberg and left carrying the letter, and gave it to a bureaucrat who placed it in a special bag, then placed it in a government mailbox for the postal service to send to the Furbish embassy in Logar, where the ambassador would hand the letter to their emperor.

Your Excellency Emperor of Logar,

Our governments have enjoyed a decades long alliance which we hope may continue, eſpecially now to counter the looming threats of the Attancian government. However, the differences between our ſyſtems hinder the improvement of relationship between us and the eſteemed government of Logar, eſpecially conſidering the matters of the reſpective governments in handling the ſyſtem of elected officials and civil rights in our reſpective conſtitutions.

Richard Melberg, Stadtholder of the United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands
Georgia Pascarelli, Miniſter of Foreign Affairs of the United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Tueſday, 27 April 2021

Only a couple of minutes into his bus ride, Yuri Lenin realized why it was the cheapest of all modes of transport. Nevertheless, he still sat through the bus ride, and did the only thing he has been able to do in the past few days, reading about paſtrygate on 3chan, and occasionally reached for a joint or vodka bottle from his bag, or looking out the window to avoid bussickness. Being on the back of the bus, and furthest from the driver, he was able to do whatever he wanted. His bag was under the seat in front of him, holding all the supplies he needed, including a power bank for his phone and a camera, and his jar of money. His apartment was in a state of disrepair and will be worse due to him leaving, and he will use up most of not all the money in the jar, though he did not care. Regardless of what happens the next day, he will not have to worry. He will either become a hero across the entire United Provinces or imprisoned as a martyr.

Like every day in the past couple weeks, the /p/ board of 3chan was full of threads with discussions about paſtrygate. A general discussion megathread was created, though it did nothing to stop the smaller threads from flooding the front page. A recent post in the megathread listed several articles from FBC News relating to this scandal. Lenin clicked and read through each one.

“Dover Man Attempts to Exchange Newborn Son for Coffee” read the first one. Some person who was clearly drunk attempted to order a coffee and exchange his newborn son for it after reading about paſtrygate. It ended in the man’s arrest for attempted child sex trafficking, though the prosecutor may not press charges because he seemed drunk. Lenin rolled his eyes, knowing his arrest was part of the government’s coverup efforts.

“Former Dunfern Politician and Editor Indicted on Multiple Charges” read the next. Lenin clicked the article, and read more when the word “paſtrygate” caught his eye. The politician was indicted on many charges including murder and association with terrorist groups, but he also made a many paragraph long post pinning much of the Dunfernian elite behind paſtrygate. Even though he signed the post DAnon, the article says his style was far from the style of the real DAnon.

“Leaderſhip of Minor Far Right Populiſt Party Agree With Paſtrygate” read another which caught Lenin’s attention. The leadership of a small party, called Furbiſh Iſlands Firſt, which splintered from Alternative for the Furbiſh Iſlands, stated they agree with paſtrygate. They received much support on various social media platforms for it, mostly from former supporters of AFTFI angered with the party calling paſtrygate a conspiracy theory. “I know what party to support if I make it out alive” thought Lenin.

“OPINION: Furbiſhmen are not Being Radicaliſed by Paſtrygate” another article. “Attancian Government Begins Advertiſing Campaign Following Accuſations of Paedophilia” read the last article in the list, which had a picture of their current Pope at Comète, a bakery which has been at the center of many of the paſtrygate accusations. Lenin did not bother reading much about the last two. He went back to the front page of /p/ to see a new thread just posted, titled “GAnon’s final poſt”. The post, along with the image from the deleted FBC article about GAnon being assassinated, said “I looked cloſer at the image of Ignacio Deba and made out what he was typing before he was martyred.”, then followed with the contents. He said that he knew he was being watched, and knew of more whistleblowers who were killed. He himself was ordered to carry out one killing, against another unnamed whistleblower, but refused, and paid the ultimate price for.

Standing outside the bus terminal, and outside Fort Hillen for one of the few times in his life, Lenin knew why the interior cities were left poor, it was for the benefit of Furby City. He knew what he had to do, check into a cheap hotel, meet with a firearms dealer in an alley later that night, then visit Comète in the Parliament building the next day. He already had a map of possible hotels and public transport to take. His only problem was finding something to do for the next few hours until he is able to check into a hotel. “I should visit the building to know where everything is and plan my search” he thought, “then perfect my manifesto”. Before he started, he prepared a post on 3chan to send when he acquires his gun. “Anons, it is time for paſtrygate to reach its concluſion. Check the news in Furby City tomorrow.”

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Civil Servant
Posts: 7
Founded: Dec 20, 2020
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Logar » Sat May 08, 2021 2:38 pm

Imperial Palace of Villanova, Logar
May 8th, 2021

Rodrigo Alves, the Postal Master of the palace, walked from the Postal Services Office directly to the emperor's office, holding a letter he had just received from the Furbish embassy in Villanova, a letter that was reportedly directly from the Stadtholder, who has answered August IV's letter. As usually, the Emperor's Office was guarded by two Imperial Royal Guards, and as Alves approached the office, he fanned the letter he had received and, as both guards noticed the seriousness of the letter, they knocked on the door and simply hear "enter" from August IV. As the guards opened the doors, Alves quickly entered the room as guards closed its doors.

“Yes, Postal Master?” said August, who was sat while writing possibly a decree at his workbench.
“My Emperor, the Furbish Islands issued a response to Your Majesty's letter,” answered Alves as August kept his head down, writing whatever he deemed necessary.
Upon hearing the news, August brought his head up. “Where is it?” questioned August as Alves gave him the envelope.
“Stay there, sit if you will,” said August as he then grabbed the envelope and took the letter out of it.

As August examines the letter, he smirked, imagining that the Furbish reaction to the Logarian empire would be like to what he was glancing at. "They for sure prevailed the same", he imagined. After ending his reading, August laid the letter on his workbench and glanced at Alves.

“Did you read it?” contested August to Alves.
“No, sir, I haven't!” exclaimed Alves soon after being questioned by the Emperor.
“Well, you didn't lose anything,” said August IV. “Leave me,” finished him, soon after the monarch said so Alves leaves the office and directs himself towards the Postal Services Office.

August prepared himself to write another letter, this time a abrupter and succinct one. With paper and pen on hands, August positioned his hand on his head, trying to think of something to write majorly focusing on the future of the Logarian monarchy. He soon starts to write.

Your Excellency the Stadtholder of the United Provinces and Territories of the Furbish Islands,

I surely comprehend your concern about our system and our very own way of conducting our intern policies, and I positively comprehend your hesitancy in firming a stronger alliance between our countries, one, that in my belief, could last not decades but centuries. However, I cannot risk that this centuries-old monarchy ends in a blink of an eye because of any foreign nation, regardless of foreign affairs status. Nevertheless, I am still hopeful that our relationship will endure still. It's a shame, truly.

August IV of Logar
Imperial Palace of Villanova

In all due process, the letter was sent to the Logarian embassy in the Furbish Islands and posteriorly to the Stadtholder.

User avatar
Furbish Islands
Posts: 1218
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Sun May 09, 2021 8:50 pm

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Evening, Tueſday, 27 April 2021

Hugo Roosenhaan was on the end of his shift and was just about ready to go home. He was done with the tasks he needed to do, involving monitoring the internet and investigating some crimes in a cubical with more gendarmes doing the same. With less than twenty minutes left, he decided to look through 3chan again. There was likely nothing new besides more information about paſtrygate, despite it being debunked by every reputable and less than reputable news organization, government body, and political party, including Akas News and Alternative for the Furbiſh Iſlands, the groups more likely to spread conspiracy theories. Instead he was proven wrong by the newest post. Roosenhaan sighed, he did not want to do anything else this late, but if he does not then he will be responsible for anything that happens tomorrow. He paged his officer, who also looked like he was done for the day. “Please tell me this is important.” he said.

“Read this post.” said Roosenhaan.

A post was on his screen reading “Anons, it is time for paſtrygate to reach its concluſion. Check the news in Furby City tomorrow.”.

“What the fuck is that guy trying to do?” said the officer.

“I have no idea,” Roosenhaan replied, “but tell the FSA to get more officers in the Parliament building tomorrow. Especially around Comète.”

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Wedneſday, 28 April 2021

My name is Yuri Lenin.

I come from Fort Hillen, Noord Wageborg.

Today I am in Furby City to inveſtigate what has been known as paſtrygate, the worldwide government run child ſex trafficking ring.

The government and elites were kidnapping kids from acroſs the world to take their innocence right before our eyes. They killed everyone who ſpoke out, including Ignacio Deba moſt recently. This can no longer ſtand.

This is for thoſe who ſpoke out and were ſilenced.

This is for Ignacio.

This is for the kids.

If I get tortured and killed, let me become a martyr like Ignacio and the other whiſtleblowers before me.

Do not let my death be in vein.

Do not let them ſilence you.

Yuri Lenin hit the send button on his phone inside a bathroom stall of the Parliament building. Below his manifesto was several links to livestreams on different streaming platforms, all of them streaming from his phone, and the footage coming from the camera on Lenin. As he learned the day before, the public WiFi was not the best, but there was good cellular data connection. This would be expensive, but bills no longer mattered. Below those links he had copies of his manifesto uploaded to other social media platforms and document hosting sites, in case any get deleted. Replies were immediate as were viewers joining into his livestream. As Lenin opened his briefcase, all of the viewers had a good view of his gun, a foreign made semiautomatic assault rifle with bump stock, and several magazine clips, likely smuggled from abroad as they were all illegal in the Furbish Islands. They were made from a variety of materials, which was how he was able to bring it past the metal detactor. Next to the gun was a bayonet, which was also illegal. Lenin put it into his pocket. Replies came pouring in, most similar to the first comment, “Do it puſſy, you won’t”.

“I will.” thought Lenin. He opened the door to his stall and walked out. Immediate panic ensued among those around him, all trying to take cover or get out of his way. “I am not here to harm any of you!” Lenin shouted in English with an almost incomprehensible Dutch accent. Being the most spoken language in the Furbish Islands, it was most used on the internet and sites for many communities like 3chan. From his time on 3chan, Lenin was able to read and write in English decently well, but has hardly spoke it as he almost never left Fort Hillen. Lenin repeated himself in Dutch, hoping at least a few would understand, as Dutch was also understood by a majority of Furbishmen. His words still seemed to have done nothing, as people continued running for cover or towards the nearest exit. Some dialed for the police or tried to contact a nearby police officer. Lenin noticed there was more police than usual in the building that day.

Lieutenant Johann Rutters trudged along the wide corridors of the Parliament building’s visitor center. He already was having a strange day, likely the strangest since he joined the FSA over a decade ago. He was supposed to have the day off, but was called in by one of his commanders the previous night, saying they needed backup because of a potential security threat. That morning, he and other officers were briefed on what it was. A conspiracy theory known as paſtrygate went viral weeks before about a child sex trafficking ring run by the Furbish government, and one of the locations of the child brothels is in the basement of Comète, a bakery in the Parliament building, which is where the name came from. A few posts were shown from 3chan, an imageboard that has become a breeding ground for the far right and conspiracy theories such as paſtrygate. The last one, made the night before, said “Anons, it is time for paſtrygate to reach its concluſion. Check the news in Furby City tomorrow.”, which the FSA and Gendarmerie believe meant a possible attack at Comète or elsewhere in the Parliament building.

Built and expanded only thirty years before, the Parliament building’s visitors center was created as visits to the building increased. The main entrance is still at ground level, but it lead directly to the underground visitors center, through the metal detectors. Next to it was the other entrance, from the underground portion of the Capital Diſtrict Tranſit Centre. It is the stop or terminus to many rapid transit, tram, and bus lines traveling to points all over Furby City, and some suburban rail lines. Past the entrances is a large open space, filled with benches inside and lined with storefronts. The ground level hosts a small museum with paintings and artifacts from Furbish history, and past it the large meeting room for Parliament. Higher levels have committee hearing rooms, and below is a network of tunnels and people movers which connect the building to the Senate building, and to MPs’ and Senators’ respective residences and offices.

This layout is known well to the FSA, the country’s civilian police force, which was tasked with protecting government buildings. Rutters stood far away but in full view of Comète, a small bakery with its only location in the building, allowed only because Parliament wanted some small businesses in the building. As he walked around, screaming from the men’s restrooms caught his attention. People were running away in all directions, followed by an overweight man carrying what looked like an assault rifle with a body camera on him. “Armed gunman at men’s restrooms.” Rutters said at his radio and ran to the man’s direction. “Approaching Comète” he said, judging from his direction. He drew his handgun, loaded with two blank rounds followed by four live ones. “Drop your gun!” Rutters shouted in Enlish, then repeated in Dutch.

“I am not here to harm any of you, do not shoot!” Lenin shouted in Dutch. To the officer chasing him. He started to run. He nearly missed his location, but stopped in time. Among the rows of entirely glass walled storefronts was a bakery, on top of the door saying Comète. “I am not here to harm any of you. Where is your basement?” shouted Lenin as he walked in, pointing his gun forward as he looked around.

“There is no basement.” replied the cashier.

“Then where do you keep your child sex slaves?” said Lenin as he pointed his gun forward.

“There are none here.”

Lenin walked aside and took a look around. Some people sat at a few tables eating, but all carefully grabbed their belongings and left, hoping to not be noticed. Some more dropped everything and ran out. Two people sat behind the store counter. A door lead to the kitchen in the back, but that was the only one besides the entrance. “That must be it” thought Lenin. He picked up his rifle and first fired at a phone to make sure they could not call anyone, then kicked open the small door and walked behind the counter. “Do not fight back” he said to the frightened cashiers, “I am not here to hurt any of you.” Kicking open the door, he saw the small kitchen, with walls in a completely different color than outside, and a frightened baker, but no more doors. “Get down!” he said then fired into the walls of the kitchen. “There has to be a secret entrance somewhere” thought Lenin. He continued to spray bullets, into the ovens, refrigerator, and the cooling rack, with no luck. His gun quickly ran out of ammunition, so he quickly reloaded with another magazine, then walked back outside the kitchen.

“See, we told you s-” a cashier said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Lenin said. He fired his gun into the walls and into the floor, not hearing shouting over it.

“Every available officer go to Comète immediately.” Rutters said on his radio. “Drop your gun!” Rutters shouted to the gunman, now standing at the entrance to Comète, in full view of the him as he was emptying his assault rifle into the floors and walls of the bakery. He realized the gunman probably did not hear him, so he fired two warning shots, with his handgun pointed away so the gunman will not think he was attacking him.

The gunman stopped shooting. “I do not want to hurt anyone. Now tell me where you keep your child sex slaves.” he said.

“There are no child sex slaves in here, you saw for yourself.” said Rutters. He kept his gun pointed at the gunman, and was now approached by more officers to his sides, all with handguns aimed at the gunman in the bakery.

“Help me find the secret entrance. This government run ring must end.”

Another Dutch speaking officer translated Lenin’s words into English, and the rest of them looked like they wanted to slam their heads into a wall. “Oh my fucking god” Rutters said under his breath. “There are none. Now drop your gun.” he shouted to the gunman. He wondered if the camera on him was only recording events for later or livestreaming it to an audience, and if it was, who was watching and what their responses were.

Seeing as he was completely surrounded by armed police officers, Lenin lowered his gun and placed it on the floor, then removed his bayonet from his pocket and placed it besides, and put his hands in the air. “Shoot me! Arrest and torture me!” he shouted, “And make me a martyr!” The officers did not, instead they rushed towards him, putting away handguns and one handcuffed him. Another took off the camera, looked around it, then located the off switch and flipped it, abruptly cutting the feed from the livestream. He was quickly escorted out of the bakery, and following an orderly evacuation, the bakery was closed off, and so were nearby businesses. Lenin was walked outside the main entrance where a small police car was already waiting for him.

Only three blocks away in the Gendarmerie headquarters, Hugo Roosenhaan watched the stream when it stopped while looking through 3chan. “That’s a wrap” he thought. Going back to 3chan, he saw it was now flooded with threads about the stream. The top one said “Yuri Lenin was a hero whoſe lead we muſt follow. Do not let them ſtop us.” The next thread said “This was clearly a falſe flag meant to discredit our inveſtigations. Do not let them fool you.”. Both threads had a lot of users in agreement, including DAnon, who sided with the first but commented on both. One thing was for certain though, Lenin was wrong, the conspiracy was far from over.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue May 11, 2021 2:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Posts: 54
Founded: May 01, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Attancia » Tue May 11, 2021 11:23 am

Kevoria wrote:With his phone out of commission, the foreign minister resorted to the old fashion letter to send his proposals.

From: Dimitri Alceo, Minister of Foreign Affairs of The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
To: The Holy Dominion of Attancia

To Whom It May Concern,

The United Isles Republic of Kevoria writes to you on this day of April 29th, in the yeard of our Lord 2021, in great concern. We hope to be writing to you, not as nations but as brothers and sisters under the care of God.

It has come to our attention that certain accusations have come to the surface, defaming many leaders across the world, including members not only of our United Isles Republic of Kevoria but also of the Holy Dominion of Attancia. We stand with you in solidarity that these accusations are nothing more than unfounded falsehoods.

However, there are those to seek to undermine the integrity of our great peoples. A cargo ship was recently searched in our Port of Illgari and was found to be carrying dozens of young children, some as old sixteen and some as young six. Rest assured that perpetrators on the ship were apprehended and the victims are being well cared for. But, we do feel we must tell you the course of the ship would have brought somewhere well within the coastal waters of Attancia.

Please, understand that we are in no way accusing anyone of The Holy Dominion of Attancia, especially within the Chruch itself, of receiving such an illicit cargo. But, we do feel that news organizations would be willing to sensationalize the matter to further slander not only the names of both our great nations, but the Chruch itself.

We are willing to ensure that such details remain confidential between our peoples, preventing such a false outcry against the Church.

In return, we simply ask for aid to reach the spiritual and economic prosperity of your people. Economic support through investments and subsidization as well as spiritual support through missionary work would be greatly appreciated and bring the peoples of our nations together, strengthening the diplomatic bonds between us.

We hope to hear from you soon on this matter.

Dimitri Alceo
Minister of Foreign Affairs
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria

The letter slid across Remus Benedictus’ glossy red-wood desk. He trapped it with his hand, and thanked the aide that had delivered it to him. He spun his velvet-coated chair 180 degrees and faced towards a grand window that oversaw the enormous Mediterranean gardens that belonged to his house. Below the window, there was a filing cabinet, made of a similar wood. He grabbed the brass handle of one of the draws and opened it, pulling out a small, thin, and blunt golden knife. With that, he slid the blade under the seal on the envelope and opened the letter. He intently studied the wretched contents.

“…as young as six… well within the coastal waters of Attancia… organizations would be willing to sensationalize the matter… slander the Church itself…” he repeated the phrases inside his head several times before he could properly comprehend what they meant. Remus was normally considered a sharp politician, but even he wasn’t free from moments of bluntness – especially when there is a very real chance a cargo ship packed with legitimate child sex slaves could have appeared on a shore in Attancia.

Remus turned to his laptop, manufactured by Attancian brand Everot Technology Operatur (stylised as ETO). He hastily copied the letter into an email and sent it to the cabinet with a brief explanation, then scheduled a meeting to discuss the issues. His letter opener clinked on his desk as he moved it up and down between his index and middle finger. Though terrible, this information could prove valuable and would provide Attancia a perfect opportunity to re-secure its foothold in the east, he thought. However, his jingoistic opportunism would have to wait.

Several days had passed and the talks on the issue had concluded. By unanimous decision, Attancia would agree to the Kevorian proposals. Firstly, Attancia’s government would refrain from engaging in any form of investigation affiliated with the ship. The risk of accidentally affiliating the government with sex traffickers would be too high. Secondly, Attancia would secure economic and religious agreements with Kevoria.

Remus unsheathed his pen and pulled out a piece of paper from in his desk. He clicked his pen on his desk while he rested his head on his fist. He pulled over the piece of paper and began to write.

Dear Dimitri and colleagues in the Kevorian government,

We greatly appreciate the kindness and understanding you have shown in alerting us to this most terrible discovery. Without the help from your excellent coastal services, the boat may have managed to sneak into Attancian waters – putting both of our governments and societies at risk.

You are correct in saying that the accusations against the church are false. From what I have been told, similar (though less frequent) accusations have been made against the Donna. It is practical that we should stand together against corruption, lies, and conspiracies such as this.

A good first step would be to adopt new diplomatic policies for our nations, working towards a more prosperous shared future free from slander and poverty. As mentioned in your kind letter to us, there are several ways of accomplishing it. Those most favoured by the Attancian government would be:

- Missionary expeditions to promote Catholicism in Kevoria
- Investment and subsidisation in Kevorian industries by both the Attancian government and corporations
- Military co-operation, such as constructing military bases in our sister nations and conducting joint drilling operations
- Staging open talks on our goal for a greater future
- Exporting Attancian energy to Kevoria
- Bringing technology to less developed regions of Kevoria, potentially through Attancian technology firms.

Ultimately, the decision about our next step is at the behest of the Kevorian government. However, we recommend that our suggestions should be heard by the highest levels of Kevoria’s elite. Creating an international alliance of like-minded influential figures is paramount to developing a greater future for both of our nations.

Perhaps, should the Kevorian government agree, should we organise an in-person summit?


Remus Benedictus
Minister of Foreign Affairs

Remus opened a golden envelope and slid the letter in. He pressed a golden bell on the side of his desk, which summoned an aide who came speedily. The aide took the letter and left the room, eventually depositing it in a post box at the gate to the estate.

From there, the letter would be picked up by an electric van, transported to the nearest post office, driven once again by van to the nearest airport, then a light aircraft would fly to Kevoria with it.

User avatar
Posts: 47
Founded: Nov 03, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Dunferm » Tue May 11, 2021 12:48 pm

Ravenspire City Police Service


From: Chief Provost of the City Police
To: All divisional commanders
Topic: Pastrygate Incident.

The incident that took place in the Furbish Islands recently shows the public danger that comes from the various national-populist political societies is evident, and the Ravenspire City Police Service has to take necessarily steps to protect the public from possibility of copycat.
  1. Beginning from 12th May, 2021 AD, all patrols in the operation zones of the targeted organisations are to be doubled. Patrols shall be equipped accordingly, and be prepared to apply necessarily force to protect the public from potential copycat crimes.
  2. All special task units are to be on full alert.
  3. All police officers who are associated with the Pastrygate conspiracy movement are to be redirected from street and special duties before resolution of the crisis.
  4. Stop and searches without reasonable grounds is authorised in the All-Angels Division.

Further measures will be communicated later, including co-operation with the Counter-Terrorist Unit of the Royal Gendarmerie.
The National People’s Party is also expected to be included into the list of proscribed organisations following the incident.

Yours Sincerely,
N. C. Damier

Chief Constable of the City Police
Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.
Natum videte regem angelorum.

User avatar
West Phoenicia
Posts: 1236
Founded: Jun 25, 2017
Left-Leaning College State

Postby West Phoenicia » Wed May 12, 2021 2:33 am

Summerland Complex: Palace of the Deputy Head of the United Pagan Faiths.

Asherah Grove, Baal Territory; West Phoenicia

August Moon wheezed as he tottered towards his chair in the religious palace residential gardens.
His attendants had hastily prepared his table at his favourite spot; under an old Oak tree.
Its colossal size and hanging leaves shaded him from the midday sun.
Every Wednesday at 12:30 pm, he would spend his lunch break breathing in the air that was fasting becoming cooler as Autumn slowly faded, giving way to Winter; while enjoying the meal his chef-prepared.

He was 55, his once chestnut brown hair was a distant memory, grey dominated his shoulder-length hair and it peppered his beard.
He eased his morbidly obese body into the chair with the help of two aides, in front of a table that held some of his favourite foods
A scrumptious golden roast chicken, a honey baked ham accompanied by a selection of roast vegetables and thick rich gravy, that smelt heavenly and inviting to the senses lay before him.
A three-stack rich chocolate cake topped with winter fruits as the piece de resistance sat at the end of the table, ready to be devoured after he had grown full from the savoury delights.

His physician pleaded for years for him to change his eating habits and go on a diet, that his health would suffer otherwise. August chose to ignore the advice.
It was advice he ignored, the gods and goddess would protect him until it was time to reunite with them in the Heavens.

After all, he was Deputy High Priest of the United Pagan Faiths, one step below Supreme leader, a spot which was currently filled since 2020 by High Priestess Avarice Nightshade.
Avarice replaced former leader High Priestess Margie Brixton, who stepped down after nine years of serving in the highest pagan religious post.

If anything was to happen to Avarice he would become the Spiritual leader of the pagan faiths.
While he waited her out for the top position which he felt should be his, he had the honour and distinction of the ministerial role of Minister of Pagan Faiths in the West Phoenician government.

It was a highly coveted role for all pagans who sought political office, but it was a role that was reserved for the deputy leader of the United Pagan Faiths.

The perks of being in both positions, a generous high figure six-digit salary, residence at Summerland Palace Complex.
In addition, he was allocated thirty servants, ten aides, three personal secretaries, and the protection of bodyguards at his disposal.

He thanked the deities every day for his comfortable and luxurious lifestyle.

The one thing he desired now, was to be the Spiritual leader of the United Pagan Faiths! A host of supporters stated the position should have fallen to him.
When High Priestess Margie Brixton stood down, he was expecting the council who elected the next leader to choose him; after all, he had been her deputy and the role naturally fell to the deputy.

August's mind raced back as he leaned over and tore a leg off the roast chicken, he took a large bite, ripping the flesh of the bone with his teeth.

Somehow, Avarice Nightshade bewitched the council, probably seducing all those who made up the 30 member council. She was offered the top role, by their divine will.

He held his tongue in public, appearing gracious and vocal about supporting her initiatives.
However in private, it was another matter, his staff and supporters felt the full force of his rants.
Avarice was young, she could stay in that position until she was an old woman. With her, in that position, he would be dead before she reigned.

That was not the only disturbing news.

Rudrapriya Bhattacharyya, his longest-serving private secretary and one of his staunchest allies, did not hesitate to pass along the information she had been told.
She was in a love affair with the captain of the guards, who looked after the security detail of Avarice Nightshade.

The guard was privy to a conversation Avarice had with her cousin Agnetha, a high ranking female druidess.

The two were secretly plotting to remove August Moon from his plum governmental role and that of the deputy role in the United Pagan Faiths, and have Agentha step into the role.

August fumed when he heard the news, he was prepared to make a public announcement to denounce the talk of his removal, and call on his allies for support to stop this witch from taking everything from him.

However, Rudrapriya suggested something a little more discreet. Avarice was taking everything from him, time he fought back, to keep what the deities blessed him with before she took it all.

What would you suggest? August had asked.

"We assassinate her, the deities will bless you for removing a usurper. You will be the next Supreme Leader of the United Pagan Faiths!

August Moon scratched his chin, could he pull this off?

Would the deities bless or curse him for this action?

He knew in his heart they would bless him, he nodded towards his personal Secretary for her brilliant idea.
Last edited by West Phoenicia on Wed May 12, 2021 12:40 pm, edited 2 times in total.



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