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1935 - The 3rd Great Cataclysm - IC CLOSED per Sign Up

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Sun Apr 21, 2013 9:15 am

Jurano – Capital of Visev Region, Western Aezakmi – Winter 1935 - Map
It was so quiet in the city these days. Many things had changed in recent times, of course, but for some reason the change that most bothered Koba Davguritch at the moment was the simple absence of activity. He didn’t have a good view of Ortra street from his current vantage point – a barred and grimy cellar window – but it was good enough to see that the vast space was completely empty. The new, extremely strict curfew barred people from leaving their homes at all without a valid work permit twenty-one hours out of twenty-four. To see Ortra street, the largest and busiest concentration of shops and markets in Jurano, completely deserted at fifteen o’clock made Koba feel like a stranger in the city of his birth.

“Watch out, here they come,” announced Enriga, a wiry, magnificently bearded tobacconist three times Koba’s age, and the custodian of the dusty cellar in which the dozen-strong cadre of resistance fighters were huddled.Koba peered cautiously through the thick, dirty window glass, and he could just see a party of Triuvian soldiers coming around the distant bend in the street.

“Alright, time to draw,” Enriga declared, holding up a gnarled hand and a dozen matchsticks. There was a grave silence as the matches were collected – Koba could faintly hear the arrhythmic crunching of boots on the snow-dusted flagstones, getting nearer.

He drew his matchstick and held it up – it was only half a matchstick. Koba stared at it for a moment then, gathering his resolve, nodded slowly.
“Right then. No time to waste.”
Enriga grinned and slapped Koba on the back.
“That’s the spirit,” he said, taking a big, heavy revolver from a rickety corner table and pressing it into Koba’s hand which, he was proud to reflect, hardly trembled at all.

The sombre quietude of the matchstick ritual dissipated instantly. The cramped cellar erupted into activity; weapons were hefted, hats pulled low, scarves tightened, and a burly middle-aged bicycle mechanic whose name Koba couldn’t remember eased the cellar hatch open, taking care not to make a sound. With a silent, disciplined haste the party emerged into the cluttered alleyway behind Enriga’s tobacco shop and took up their positions. Koba turned the revolver over in his hands; it was a big black Kadram, practically an antique, and he wondered if he might have felt a little less apprehensive about what he was going to do if the gun actually had any bullets in it.

He had barely a second to think, however, before Enriga was nodding at him from his position behind a frozen water-butt. Well, this was it then. He hefted the oversized pistol in his hand and, taking a deep, chilly breath, strode down the alley and out into the barren expanse of Ortra street with as much brazen confidence as he could fake.

The Triuvian patrol was less than twenty metres up the street, but Koba was surprised to make four whole strides before he heard the first cry of
“Stop! Curfew breaker!”
Koba swung around to face the half-dozen soldiers, doing his best impression of a rash, incautious scofflaw betrayed by his overconfidence and caught unawares.
“He's armed!” one of the soldiers exclaimed. They began fumbling clumsily for their rifles, and Koba decided now was about the right moment to fling the empty revolver away and bolt back into the alley. With a clatter of boots and a chorus of incomprehensible Triuvian yells, the patrol chased after him. Koba made it thirty metres down the alley before grabbing a drainpipe and swinging himself into a deep doorway. He heard the patrol tumble boisterously into the alley in hot pursuit, and then he heard their tone change abruptly as a dozen men leapt out from behind the drifts of trash and urban detritus and began laying into them with improvised cudgels.

Koba seized the axe handle that had been deliberately stashed in the doorway and rushed to join the fray, but by the time he arrived the fierce melee was all but over. He saw the bicycle mechanic swing a table leg into the kneecap of the last soldier left upright, and Enriga cracked him hard over the head with a pry-bar as he went down. Everyone was breathing as heavily as if they’d just run a marathon, and a few of the resistance men were nursing injuries. Their six victims lay sprawled at their feet, and the group stared at them as though not quite believing what they had just done.

Enriga wasn’t the sort to waste time staring, though; he tossed his pry-bar aside and seized a soldier by the coat.
“Quick, get ‘em into the cellar, and get these uniforms off before they bleed all over them!” he ordered. “And Koba – go get my Kadram, will you? I’ll want that in a minute… good job as the bait, by the way; I reckon you’ve got talent.”

Still twanging with tension from the adrenaline rush, Koba hurried back to retrieve Enriga’s pistol. Everything was going to plan so far; he just hoped their good luck would hold for the rest of the day…
Here's the first dispatch from Aezakmi; inspired by Wonderchicken I've put it in spoiler tags to keep the thread nice and neat. I think I'm diving right into the story a bit recklessly; I'll try and include a bit more background information in the next dispatch, but I wanted to bang this one out as quickly as possible just to get started. I'll work on some more dispatches from other regions, and I'd like to work out a way to tie it in to the main Cataclysm story somehow.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Lowell Leber
Minister
 
Posts: 2123
Founded: Jan 27, 2010
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Lowell Leber » Tue Apr 23, 2013 6:53 pm

"Interesting...quite interesting" replied Sir Bench. "But alas it is getting late. I hope you gentleman do not object to me taking my leave until the 'morrow?"
Last edited by Lowell Leber on Thu Apr 25, 2013 6:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
IC The Leberite Empire


New Nicksyllvania - Unjustly Deleted 4/2/11

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Kholdlands
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 189
Founded: Oct 11, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Kholdlands » Sat Apr 27, 2013 10:15 am

June 9, 1935
7:00 am
Kholdaira


He had been waiting patiently reading his newspaper when the hotel clerk pointed out the two diplomats to him as they were leaving the dining hall. When he saw them he gave a quick nod to thank the clerk and then turned to walk off across the lobby. He hoped would be able to start things off on a good foot. As he approached them, he inhaled deeply thinking about what he was going to say, he had been rehearsing it in his mind for the last hour.

Wonderchicken wrote:

"<Can I help you with something?>" Kucsin asked as the figure drew near.



”Yes as a matter of fact. My name is Marek Norr and I am here on behalf of the Foreign ministry’s office and I would just like to formally welcome you to the Federation of Kholdlands. At your leisure I would be pleased to escort you and your companion back to the office again that is if you are ready. We will meet with our diplomat for Wo’n Darshekeen and the head of the department who would also like to meet with you.”

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Mon Apr 29, 2013 8:01 pm

Koba felt as though he'd gained a lot of perspective in the past half an hour. He'd been told that the dead man's uniform he was wearing was a perfect fit, and it was true that he couldn't find anything that was obviously too big or too small about it, but if this was what the Triuvian soldiers had to wear every single day he could almost bring himself to feel sorry for them. He'd worn third-hand work overalls that were in better condition and less uncomfortable. He could only be thankful he hadn't had to take the poor devil's underpants. The rifle and pistol he carried gave him similar impressions to the uniform - their previous owner had clearly done their best to look after them, but no amount of care could redeem them of their cheap, shoddy nature.

As they'd walked it had begun to snow; by now it was getting heavy enough to seriously limit visibility. This was all to the good as far as the resistance fighters were concerned. Koba glanced to the side, and could just make out some of the twenty or so of their comrades as they shadowed the uniform-wearing group of six carefully through alleys and side streets.
"Look sharp, it's not far now," said Enriga.
Koba strained his eyes, and sure enough something up ahead was coalescing out of the blowing snow, right in the middle of the street. It could only be one of the guardhouses the Triuvians had erected at every entrance to the south shore dockyards.

They got to within fifty metres of the fence when a searchlight snapped on, swung sharply around and caught them in its glaring beam.
"Who goes there?" somebody yelled, in mangled Aezak.
"You're up, Koba," Enriga whispered. Why the hell, Koba reflected, did he have to be the only one here who'd learned to speak basic Triuvian in school?
"Street patrol!" Koba yelled, giving it his best, well-practised Triuvian farm-boy accent.
"Advance and be recognised!"

Koba led the group forward cautiously. Two Triuvian guards with rifles levelled came into view - as they recognised the uniforms they lowered their rifles and visibly relaxed.
"It's getting pretty bad out there," one of them said. "Did you have any trouble?"
"Not much," Koba said, as confidently as he could. "But we did get the feeling people were creeping around, almost like we were being followed."
"Are you new here, soldier?" the other guard asked, with definite suspicion in his tone. "I don't think I've seen you before."
Koba groped mentally for something to reply, but fortunately their shadowing group of resistance fighters chose that moment to open fire.
"Fuck! Get to cover!" the first guard yelled. Koba and the others were only too happy to obey, jumping behind the sandbag shelters as the incoming pot-shots intensified.
"So they really were following you, huh?" the second guard asked.
"Very likely," Koba answered, only a second before Enriga drew his Kadram revolver and, with astonishing nonchalance, shot both guards from behind, one after the other.

As the two former guards slumped, he pulled a small electric torch from his pocket and blinked it twice in the general direction of the gunfire, which abruptly ceased.
"That's right, you'd better run, you damn cowards!" Koba yelled as loudly as he could.
"Good work, Koba," Enriga hissed, hastily topping up the chambers in his somewhat awkward weapon. "Now get your ass up that watchtower, and don't hesitate!"
He didn't hesitate. The guard up the watchtower was still swinging the searchlight around wildly, looking for the source of the pot-shots, and Koba scrambled up the ladder as quickly as he could, waiting for the dreaded sound of the telephone he knew was there. Any second, it would start ringing with the dockyard head of security on the line.
He reached the top, shoved the trapdoor open, and came face to face, yet again, with the end of a gun. This was too many times in one day, he thought to himself. As before, the guard relaxed when he saw Koba's Triuvian uniform.
"All clear out there?" he said, holstering the pistol he'd just been brandishing.
"I think so," Koba reported. "I think they ran off."
"Hah, typical shit-for-brains Aezak cowards," the Triuvian said, turning back to the searchlight.

This last remark did make it slightly easier for Koba to do what he did next, which was to draw his own Triuvian pistol and shoot the guard in the back of the head. His victim jerked, slumped to the floor, and then the telephone started ringing. Trembling only slightly, Koba turned the cumbersome electric light off and gingerly lifted the handset.
"What's going on out there, gate six?" a crackly but clearly gruff, irritated voice demanded immediately.
"Just a few idiots taking pot shots," Koba lied. "They've run off, they didn't hit anything."
"Right. Good. Keep your guard up and notify me at once if they come back."
"Will do, sir," Koba said, and hung up.

Everyone was waiting when he got back to the ground, including the twenty plain-clothed guerrillas that had been following them. Enriga looked him over, noting with satisfaction the lack of blood-stains.
"All went well, Koba?"
He nodded.
"Excellent. It'll be plain sailing from here, my lads - we all know the plan? Right. You have the charges there, Sasha?"
One of the plain clothes men - the owner of a boot repair shop, Koba remembered - nodded and put down two large, heavy-looking, battered briefcases, and a young man next to him, his apprentice, Koba guessed, put down two more.
"Nice, very nice," Enriga said, cracking his knuckles gleefully. "Sasha, you and your men just head toward the centre and raise as much hell as you can; don't hang around long, and get yourselves out safely. We'll head to the docks and get to work, don't wait around for us."
There were affirmative noises all around. Koba picked up a briefcase - by god, it really was heavy - and set off, heading south to the quay where, they knew, a new, huge shipload of Triuvian ammunition had just arrived that afternoon...

**EDIT: And now, an all-new War Map (click for a larger version):
Image
Last edited by Aezakmi on Tue Apr 30, 2013 11:53 am, edited 3 times in total.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Tue Apr 30, 2013 2:34 am

June 9, 1935
07:01 hours
Kholdaira

Kholdlands wrote:”Yes as a matter of fact. My name is Marek Norr and I am here on behalf of the Foreign ministry’s office and I would just like to formally welcome you to the Federation of Kholdlands. At your leisure I would be pleased to escort you and your companion back to the office again that is if you are ready. We will meet with our diplomat for Wo’n Darshekeen and the head of the department who would also like to meet with you.”

Makan put one hand on Kucsin's shoulder and extended the other to Norr. "<I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Norr. I am Makan Kazdin, and I bring the greetings of the Kingdom of Darshek. My associate, Kucsin, and I were just leaving for the Ministry Office, and will be pleased to accept your company.>" Kucsin scowled ever so slightly. Makan noticed, and whispered "<At times, I think you want someone to attack me, just so you can play a hero.>" Kucsin's eyes flashed to Makan, and a sheepish expression came over him as he cleared his throat, gave a slight bow, and took a step back. Returning his attention to Norr, Makan added, "<We had planned to walk. Would you care to dance us?>"

At this, Kucsin cleared his throat again and, nudging Makan, offered, "<I believe the word you want is 'join,' Kazdin. Would you care to join us...>"

Realizing it was his turn to feel silly, Makan said nothing further, but simply gestured ("After you...") to the door.


Lowell Leber wrote:"Interesting...quite interesting" replied Sir Bench. "But alas it is getting late. I hope you gentleman do not object to me taking my leave until the 'morrow?"

Bacs turned his attention to the artful time piece on the wall above the bar. The hour was indeed advanced. Funalo was trying desperately to hold on to consciousness.

"I apologize for keeping you," Bacs said. "At what time shall we expect you?"
Last edited by Wonderchicken on Tue Apr 30, 2013 11:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Lowell Leber
Minister
 
Posts: 2123
Founded: Jan 27, 2010
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Lowell Leber » Tue Apr 30, 2013 3:12 pm

@ Wochik: "If it would not inconvenience you perhaps an early start, say about 0900? Or whatever suits you, as I am at your service and you are a guest of His Majesty." Sir Bench waited for Bacs' reply, hoping he chose to go with the 0900 start to the day...


Socialist Party HQ
Newcomerstown, L.E.


"I understand that the 'elites' are also allied with our comrades in Aezakmi, but they have been so far unwilling and most likely unable to render material support to the cause. And this is why our committee is exploring the forming of 'Comrade' regiments to aid our brothers and sisters in their struggle against the Triuvian hordes..." And so another skeptical question was answered by Zeb Roth, a fast rising member of the Socialist Party and the most decorated of many of the veterans that were in the ranks. To be honest Zeb was not nearly committed to the Socialist ideas as many of those in the party, but he was a man of action who needed an outlet for his energies. And unbeknownst to many of his fellow party members he still had ties with key members inside the Imperial Army which could help the Socialists' cause now and more importantly in the future.

"But shouldn't we focus on politics here at home? I mean if we are going to fight oppression shouldn't on fight in on one's own doorstep? " brayed a man who look as unkempt as he was probably unread. Cheers throughout the room went up to this questioning.

Zeb paused, thinking of the how easily the Imperial Military would slaughter this riff raff in the event of armed insurrection. And these men had no idea that the Socialist's did not enjoy nearly the level of support with the public that they thought they did, especially in the rural areas inland where the majority of the population lived. If the nation was to accept any level of Socialism, than Socialism would have to prove its honor to the nation as a whole. And what better way than being in the vanguard of aiding steadfast allies such as those battling in Aezakmi...
Last edited by Lowell Leber on Tue Apr 30, 2013 4:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.
IC The Leberite Empire


New Nicksyllvania - Unjustly Deleted 4/2/11

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Tue Apr 30, 2013 9:11 pm

Lowell Leber wrote:@ Wochik: "If it would not inconvenience you perhaps an early start, say about 0900? Or whatever suits you, as I am at your service and you are a guest of His Majesty." Sir Bench waited for Bacs' reply, hoping he chose to go with the 0900 start to the day...

Bacs stood, pausing for a moment. He knew what he needed to do--he didn't need Funalo to tell him he had to offer his hand to the Leberite--but a part of him still resisted. As pleasant and genuine as Sir Bench had been, Bacs still had to force himself to do it. He took comfort in the hope he felt that Jonathon would not notice the delay or, at least, would not interpret it unkindly. "We will be ready at 09:00." As his hand extended, Bacs even allowed himself a smug chuckle at Sir Bench's reference to so late an hour as 09:00 as being "early" to a soldier of the Vushicskah Fa.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Wed May 08, 2013 7:50 am

War Map
Lazar Kurilkov, First Minister of Aezakmi, stood at the window of his official chambers in Parliament House and looked over the city of Erivaya as the afternoon's last sunlight faded. For the most part, the war had not made it as far as Erivaya, but he could nonetheless see, or perhaps only feel, in some vague empathetic sense, that it was a weary city. The Triuvians might not have been laying siege to it, but Erivaya was no less a city at war; not as scarred and bloodied as Mutamsk, maybe, but beset by the seemingly omnipotent malaise which had been crippling the country for more than two years.

At the very least, it was a good deal emptier than it had been - the young men had been drafted, the mothers and children had been encouraged to remove themselves to the countryside - practically the only people left were the young women who worked at the factories, the middle-aged 'essential workforce', and the ever present social flotsam of people too poor, too stubborn or both to be dislodged from their native habitats by something as trivial as a major war. The joie de vivre of the everyday had vanished - there were no more bustling street markets, no more opulent shop-fronts, no more gaudy light shows or glamorous party-goers - food, fuel, funds and festive spirit were all in cruelly short supply.

But despite all the hardships Erivaya, and Aezakmi as a whole, persevered. People put aside their troubles, cast off their nostalgia and carried on, because the alternative was simply unthinkable.

Unthinkable for most Aezaks, maybe, but as First Minister, Lazar Kurilkov had to think about it every day. Mere survival was slowly bleeding his country dry; the notion of victory seemed a glimmering speck on a distant horizon, whilst the prospect of defeat seemed to loom larger each day. Aezakmi could not afford a war of attrition much longer, especially with half the country occupied by the enemy. Something had to change - if nothing else Aezaks, soldiers and civilians alike, needed something to give them renewed confidence and hope. Perhaps it was time, Lazar considered, to take a step almost unprecedented in Aezak history and look abroad for help. When the Triuvians had first mounted their enormous attack, that devious snake Kiranjaya III had not only waited until the most powerful foreign nations were neck deep in conflicts of their own, he'd even fooled Aezakmi into sending her troops on a wild goose chase overseas, leaving the western coasts practically unguarded.

Now though, the situation had changed. While Aezakmi and Triuvia were both mired in a war longer and harder than either had expected, the foreign nations had made peace, albeit an uneasy one. They were rebuilding their strength, and if they were sensible, Lazar reasoned, they'd be looking for allies. Aezakmi had historically not shared much in common with most of the powers on Voreia and Cela - not only had Aezakmi and her surrounding hegemony been staunchly isolationist, Aezak socialist tendencies had been quite incompatible with the prevailing ideals in the East. Now, though, times were changing; Aezakmi had made great progress opening up to the world until the invasion had intervened, and Lazar had heard stories of fully-fledged socialist movements cropping up even in what he thought of as quite conservative nations like Lowell Leber.

Perhaps it was not so airheaded to imagine that help might come from abroad. He strode over to his desk and activated the intercom.
"Nadia, could you please see if the Foreign Minister is still around?"
"Yes, First Minister," his secretary replied.
Lazar waited impatiently while Nadia telephoned the relevant office. He watched, through his excellent window, as the last traces of the sunset haze drifted away and the stars, all the brighter thanks to the scarcity of city lights, began to glimmer through the gaps in the patchy layer of night-time clouds.
The intercom crackled to life again.
"Yes, First Minister, the Foreign Minister is still... oh, damn!"
He wondered at this exclamation for half a moment, but then he heard it too - the mournful and unmistakeable cry of air-raid sirens.
"Damn those Triuvian sons of pigs!" he cursed, sweeping the day's notes from the desk to his briefcase and grabbing his coat from the rack. It had been some while since there had been an air-raid, but he chastised himself for not being more alert. The Triuvians almost always attacked at this time of day, so that they'd have the setting sun behind them on the flight out, and glaring into the eyes of any interceptors. Erivaya was an inconvenient target for them, but it was the capital, and all the more attractive for that simple reason.

Before he'd even crossed the room the door was thrown open by his personal bodyguard, Karolin Henriksen, a towering specimen who looked capable of breaking lesser people in half yet, Lazar privately thought, quite graceful for all her intimidating size.
"Ready to go, sir?"
"Yes indeed," Lazar sighed, shrugging on his long coat. He could already see the probing searchlight beams lighting up the clouds, and hear the irregular thumping of anti-aircraft cannons opening up.
Karolin quickly chivvied Lazar and Nadia down the bustling stairways to the building's lower foundations, which had been thoroughly reinforced and pressed into service as Parliament's bomb-shelter. During the peak of the war over a year ago, full sessions of Parliament had even been held inside it, albeit quite cramped ones.

The sussuration of the throng was filled with the same sense of frustrated resignation that had been gnawing at Lazar upstairs - the humiliating impotence of hiding below ground while the damned Triuvians dropped their bombs aggravated the war-weary malaise almost to breaking point - indeed, a few people were already yelling angrily at nobody in particular.

One such person was the Foreign Minister. He was holding forth vociferously on the subject of the Air Force and their general incompetence to his bodyguard and anyone else who would listen. Lazar strode over to him and cut deftly through the rising tirade.
"Holger! Just the man I wanted to see!" he said heartily.
"What's that?" Holger Zaitsev said apprehensively. "Oh, First Minister! Yes, you wanted to see me earlier?"
"That's right. I was meaning to ask you, how's our stock with the Eastern powers these days?" Lazar asked.
"Beg your pardon, Lazar?"
"How do we stand internationally? What's the feeling toward Aezakmi in Lowell Leber, Wo'n Darshekeen, Nullarni - places like that?"
"Oh... well enough, I suppose. Pretty ambivalent, as far as I know. If you mean the war, then sympathies seem to be on our side in general, but the prevailing attitude seems to be that Zakad is a bit too far away for them to get involved," Holger said cautiously.
"Hmm... the way I see it, in these modern times of ours the world is getting smaller and smaller; nothing is really 'too far away' anymore. Perhaps they ought to be more concerned," Lazar mused.
"You want to appeal internationally for war aid?" Holger asked, surprise plainly evident in his expression.
"You don't think it's a good idea?"
"Quite the contrary, I think it's an excellent idea," Holger said enthusiastically. "You know, we probably stand a pretty good chance, too; even some token help would do wonders for morale, you know."
"You're not wrong there. You really think we might get help?"

Lazar was surprised and encouraged by Holger's evident optimism. As the bombs and anti-aircraft guns boomed overhead, they made their plans to dispatch appeals for aid around the world, to nations and likely-looking socialist movements alike. After all, Lazar reasoned, a few refusals couldn't very well make things worse, and even half a shipment of second-hand boots would go some way toward raising people's spirits at this point...
This may be slightly rambling and incoherent, as it was typed under the influence of considerable sleep deprivation! Also, I apologise for not actually writing out proper diplomatic help requests; I came to the conclusion that this post was getting quite loquacious enough as it is :)
Last edited by Aezakmi on Wed May 08, 2013 8:05 am, edited 2 times in total.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

User avatar
Kholdlands
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 189
Founded: Oct 11, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Kholdlands » Wed May 08, 2013 10:25 am

Marek nodded politely. He didn’t want Makan to fell too embarrassed about a small translation error.

When Marek had first entered the hotel in the early hours of the morning, the streets had been deserted and quite. Now the city had come to life, and people going about their daily business.

“You chose your hotel wisely. It is only a short walk from here.” Marek said, over the sound of diesel engines as they coasted along down the cobblestone street. He nodded towards the large granite building.

“Shame though, it is a nice day. Just enough overcast to provide a little shade. How way your voyage? You have come very far; I hope the Adranian ocean wasn’t too rough.”

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Wed May 08, 2013 6:23 pm

9 JUN 35
10:15 Local Time
Pardek Nahkh Kotchfa (PNK)
Office of Glinu Ehcsacsi
Chief Operating Officer of PNK


"<Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Glinu.>" Ruben Hahnahkehneh1 was an unassuming man. Small in stature and not especially athletic, or even very coordinated, he was not the kind of person one could pick out on sight as occupying high office. He liked it that way.

"<When the Hafdsraeg of Foreign Affairs calls on me, I usually find it in my interests to at least lend an ear. What brings you to Pardek, Ruben?>" Ehcsacsi demurred as she took a sip from a glass of water on her desk.

"<I trust you are familiar with the conflict on Zakad.>"

She nodded. "<Who isn't?>"

"<You know that things are not looking altogether well for Aezakmi, who I might add...>"

"<Is a friend to the PowerSeat, yes, Ruben,>" she interrupted. "<Get to the point.>" Hahnahkehneh took a moment to sit down on the leather sofa near the center of the office, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped down the lenses on his spectacles.

"<They've reached out to us,>" he finally said. Ehcsacsi digested that for a moment. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"<And?>" she prompted. "<I trust that if we were simply making the foolhardy decision to rush to the military aid of another so-called friend, you would be in Hacs-Tolahkh and not my office.>"

"<Just so. Imagine the public reaction if Kah Nexhur Cseen were to simply announce that our friends across the sea have been invaded and have asked for our help--ignoring the fact that it is all true and verifiable.>"

"<He would have difficulty holding the PowerSeat, that is certain,>" she nodded. "<Which brings you to me.>"

"<Which brings me to you,>" he agreed, sitting forward as she strode to the chair opposite him. "<Aezakmi is not Kievistan. The...improprieties...of that relationship are nowhere present in this matter. Triuvia is guilty of aggression, and more to the point is meeting with success. Thanks to a Kah Ahnto'nee Nahcs who shall not be named, we'll never get the public to support sending Wochik soldiers...>"

"<But Wochik materiel,>" she finished the thought for him, "<would be more palatable.>" She stood and crossed to the door, opening it for a moment to bid her secretary clear the day's schedule, then closed the door and smiled, "<Let's discuss how this is going to work.>"

1 - Looks like a mouth-full, it's pronounced hah-KNOCK-eh-neh.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Wonderchicken
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Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Thu May 09, 2013 4:50 pm

Kholdlands wrote:“You chose your hotel wisely. It is only a short walk from here.” Marek said, over the sound of diesel engines as they coasted along down the cobblestone street. He nodded towards the large granite building.

“Shame though, it is a nice day. Just enough overcast to provide a little shade. How was your voyage? You have come very far; I hope the Adranian Ocean wasn’t too rough.”


"<I found it pleasant, to be frank.>" Makan smiled. "<One might say I was raised at sea.>"

"<Many of our people are,>" Kucsin added. "<In the Kingdom of Darshek, the sea is never far.>" As the group reached the consulate, Kucsin paused to allow Marek and Makan to enter ahead of him. Reflexively, his eyes swept the street before he turned and strode indoors. Makan was chatting, as well as he could, with Mr. Norr.

"<...true it seems a shame to waste a day like this indoors. But, I don't doubt our countrymen might see things differently should we fail to accomplish the tasks before us.>" Kucsin rolled his eyes and simply followed the two men.
Last edited by Wonderchicken on Sun Sep 03, 2017 11:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Keddikan
Secretary
 
Posts: 39
Founded: Nov 05, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Keddikan » Fri May 10, 2013 11:17 am

Suite 3 - Hyoumen Living Quarters - the Underground of Gluw1
5:46 AM
9 June 1935


Hotara Sohma sat on her bed reading while playing with her long auburn hair. She set down her book momentarily to look at the clock. <Huh,> Hotara thought, <Kitchen doesn’t open for another fifteen minutes. Eh, I can wait, breakfast goes until 0800 hours... but I have nothing to do. May as well just go down now.> She shrugged and got off her bed. She went through her normal morning routine -- taking a shower, putting her Hyoumen uniform2 on, brushing her teeth, tying her hair back -- grabbed her backpack and walked out the door.

She walked down the hall towards the Mess Hall. A few other members had already gathered,but no higher-ups had made it. She was the only one. Hotara chuckled to herself. It didn't feel like much time had passed since she had donned the white uniform of a Hebi3, second only to a Ryuu3. Sure, she did get weird looks when she was promoted (after all, she was only fifteen), but no one questioned the Ryuu's decision besides Hebis and occasionally Taigas. Hotara prided herself for holding such a high ranked position, especially at her age and with only two positions to fill.The only thing that bugged her was that she didn't know who the other Hebi was. No one knew who the other Hebi was.

Soon, the Mess Hall opened for breakfast. Hotara quickly grabbed her standard breakfast and sat down at her usual table. Taking out a planner, she mapped out her day. <Mostly free... besides that meeting at 1400 hours. I could probably go to the training center at 0900, I'll go shopping in Gluw after the meeting...>

"<Hey, Tara!>" a familiar voice called out. Hotara looked up to see her friend Kazumi Sato walking towards her. Kazumi was a Inu, and she wore her green uniform with as much pride as Hotara did. She sat down across from Hotara and took a bite of her egg sandwich. "<So what's this about a meeting today?>"

"<It's just a planning meeting. Now that we have a member inside the government.>"

"<We've had a him on the government for a week.>"

"<I know. But Ryuu wants it today, and there's no changing his mind.>" Hotara paused to take a bite of egg. "<If it were me, I would have waited a month, maybe two.>"

"<Well, Ryuu is Ryuu. He's got some plan in his head.>"

"<I hope it works.>"

-------
Aboard Lufeer
8:12 AM
9 June 1935


Yarchu Fehzik lay on his bunk, looking over his papers. Name, Yarchu Fehzik. Age, 20. Home Nation, The Empire of PDHTN. <No. That's a lie.>

Yarchu put down his papers and sighed. He had been in the VF for a year and a half. He had been considered for a promotion twice, but both times a Wochik had been selected over him. "<Why do I still do this!?>" he yelled to no one.

"<You say something there, Khobruhp?>" Khobruhp Jahncs asked, poking his head in.

Yarchu froze, clutching his false papers. “<Nothing. Just mumbling to myself.>”

Jahncs shook his head. "<Whatever.>" Jahncs left, leaving Yarchu on his own. Yarchu lied back down and took a deep breath. He forced himself off of his bunk and over to his footlocker. He opened it up and stashed the papers in, taking a photo of his family out. He smiled a little when he saw it. The picture was taken when he was seven, the year he decided to one day leave Keddikan. Behind him was his mother, Atsuko. To the right of him was his younger sister, Ren, and behind her was his father. His father's face was blotted out with ink.

Yarchu hated his father. His father was one of the reasons why he left. Being part of the government meant that his father was usually absent, and, like most fathers, wanted Yarchu to follow in his footsteps. Yarchu scowled and put the photo back. He took a deep breath to calm himself. <Don't think of him. He's behind you now.> He looked at his watch, noticing he had ten minutes until his shift, closed the locker and locked it, then ran on deck.

“<Hey! Fehzik!>” Aylik Veykush, the Kah Khobruhp over Yarchu’s post, yelled at him from across the deck. “<About time you showed up!>”

Yarchu sighed and rolled his eyes. “<You’re crazy, Veykush. I checked the duty roster five times. I checked the time ten times. I know I’m not late.>”

“<I’m just messing with you, Fehzik,>” Veykush laughed, “<You’re five minutes early.>”

“<Darn straight I’m not late.>”

“<Oh, Fehzik,>” Vaykush said through fading giggles, “<You say the strangest things. Now, you have bombs to take care of.>”

“<I'm going, o masterful one.>”

1 - A small city in the NW corner of Keddikan. Pronounced exactly like Glue.

2 - The uniforms looks similar to this, but without the R, pokeballs, and the female’s skirt has been changed to knee-length shorts. The color of the unform changes with rank.

3 - Hebi and Ryuu are ranks of the Hyoumen. Ryuu is the highest rank, then Hebi, Taiga, Inu, Uma, Nezumi, Saru, and Hitsuji is the lowest rank. The colors are black, white, red, green, gray, brown, purple, and blue, respectively.

4 - Khobruhp and Kah Khobruhp are equal to Seaman and Petty Officer in the VF.
Last edited by Keddikan on Mon Jan 13, 2014 7:33 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Coccygia wrote:Johnny Rhombus
The Rich Port wrote:"In Keddikan, Future Shock is enforced by our many, many kill-on-sight laws"
Umbra Ac Silentium wrote:"Civility is for the servants."
Thrinia wrote:YESZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ MASTAH!
Mashmaru wrote:Usually told to an unruly child: "Beware of the Keddik mother, child. For if you do not behave she will come and do unmentionable things to you."
Mashmaru wrote:
Keddikan wrote:*Sends a bunch of Keddik mothers to battle*

*Sends in the bravest and greatest warriors of all of Mashmaru. At the look of the Keddik mothers they sully their pants and start to run away like scared children. The leader shakes his fist in the air and screams:*
"We will not forget this breach of the Geneva convention!"

User avatar
Kholdlands
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 189
Founded: Oct 11, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Kholdlands » Tue May 14, 2013 5:34 pm

June 9, 1935
7:10 am
Kholdaira


“Indeed they wouldn’t, we have much to discuss.” Marek replied as they entered the well furnished lobby. As the party cross the lobby and up the stairs Marek noticed the curious glances from other aids such as himself. He smiled inwardly, he was the one trusted enough to meet the diplomats and everything was going well. He could feel a promotion around the corner, perhaps they would send him abroad to somewhere in Vorea or Cela. Far and exciting places, and best of all he would be paid.

They walked up a short flight of stairs in the middle of the lobby into a narrow hallway. At the end were the double doors of the Foreign Ministers office. A black plaque with the name Michael Altrok written in gold letters rested on the wall to the immediate right of the door. To the left at a desk sat his secretary who gave Marek a quick nod signaling that the Minister was waiting.


“Alright here we are.”
Marek nocked loudly.
A short moment passed before Marek heard the words

“Come in.”

Marek pushed open the left hand door and the three men walked in. Standing near the desk at the end of the room stood the Minister and one of his diplomats, Robert Tragelik if Marek recalled properly.

“ Makan, Kucsin, may I present to you our foreign minister Michael Altrok and our new diplomat to Wo’n Darshekeen Robert Tragelik."
Marek looked over towards his boss. “Lord Minister, I would like you to meet Makan Kazdin and Kucsin the representatives from Wo’n Darshekeen.”

Hey sorry Wochik, I couldn't find Kucsin's last name anywhere.
Last edited by Kholdlands on Tue May 14, 2013 5:36 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Wonderchicken
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Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Tue May 14, 2013 10:21 pm

Kholdlands wrote:
Hey sorry Wochik, I couldn't find Kucsin's last name anywhere.

That's because he doesn't have one, so no worries :) Surnames are not always a given in Wochik culture, and I have a growing list of "stand-alone" names like Kucsin.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Sun Jun 23, 2013 8:14 am

Winter, 1935
Oundst Forest, ~40km north of Mutamsk
Temporary encampment of a tank company from the 64th Armoured Battalion, 31st Mechanised Division, Aezak 12th Army


Movement, that was the thing, Private Lupar Arrick told himself. He had to move, or else he feared that his extremities would begin to freeze solid, and the job of gunner and mechanic in a Type-26* tank was quite difficult enough without having his fingers snapping off. Even at the best of times his job was abundant with opportunities to incautiously have digits removed. His driver, a chill-seasoned native of Ruvaria, had told him that the cold would, at least, numb pain and slow down bleeding. This was pretty piss-poor compensation in Lupar's opinion; he'd grown up among the tropical forests of Gomolemo.

He was just checking over his poor, frozen engine in the brittle cold and weak light of pre-dawn when he was distracted by bustle and excitement coming from somewhere behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that a supply wagon had arrived - five wagons, in fact. He hurried over - supplies were always good news, and always much better anticipated than orders. They had orders aplenty, but supplies had been growing increasingly precious. While the wagon drivers tended to their horses, crates were being hefted down and cracked open by enthusiastic soldiers, supervised half-heartedly by a resigned-looking quartermaster's deputy. Lupar joined the excited throng waiting to see what gifts the forward supply base had seen fit to bestow upon them.

"Grub!" someone announced, prising the lid off a crate filled with shiny tins and brown-paper oblongs. They looked slightly unfamiliar to Lupar, and apparently he wasn't the only one.
"Never seen this kind of rat-pack before," the lid-lifter said, examining a can. "They've got some sort of odd writing all over 'em," he observed, scratching his chin.
Lupar shouldered his way to the front and took another can, scrutinising it as if it were some enigmatic archaeological discovery.
"That's Wochik writing, that is," he concluded, recalling the unique and, to him, strange-looking alphabet from a brief introduction to Wo'n Darshekeen in secondary school. Noises of astonishment and incredulity spread through the crowd.

"They're from Wo'n Darshekeen? Can you read the label? What's in them?" the crate-opener asked, still staring hard at the can in his hands as though he expected to spontaneously acquire x-ray vision.
"Can't read Wochik," Lupar admitted. "But there's Nullarnish on here as well; I think it says it's pork and baked beans," he said, squinting at the two unfamiliar alphabets and trying to recall more of the microscopic Nullarnish vocabulary he'd been given in school.
"Foreigners** are sending us beans?" someone asked incredulously.
"That ain't all they're sending," said another industrious crowbar-wielder, triumphantly holding up one of the small white boxes with which his crate was tightly packed.
There was a unanimous cheer and an enthusiastic surge forward as the packets of cigarettes were distributed. There were, remarkably, plenty to go around, and Lupar stuffed them hastily into his pockets. As he did so, he looked again at the alien labelling and felt his spirits rising.
"Looks like we're not alone in the war any more," he opined optimistically. Suddenly Mutamsk didn't seem such a depressingly long way off after all.

*My apologies to the Vickers-Armstrongs Company and the Bolshevik Plant of Leningrad for unabashedly ripping off their tank design, but I'm not very good at meticulously inventing original fictional military hardware. The 'T-26' here is meant to be, plot-wise, an indigenous Aezak contraption; I'm borrowing RL designs merely because I'm incredibly lazy :-) .
**An Aezak word that might be more accurately translated as 'foreign devils', 'gaijin', or 'goyim'
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Wonderchicken
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Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Mon Jun 24, 2013 2:37 pm

2 AUG 35
WDN 58 Lufeer
250km north-northeast of the Korsa Islands


A part of Vahnik Kehtahl was anxious to be done with this cruise, though not from any dislike for the nature of the task at hand.

After KAN Zervahli's relatively successful visit to the Armed Republic in June (meaning, of course, that relations between the two countries were, at least, no worse than when he had docked in San Leberdino...), Lufeer had been recalled to the Ivoah for maneuvers (and, of course, to return Zervahli to the Home Land). Over the following weeks, Lufeer and his pilots had trained endlessly in the South Ivoah and Rather Annoyingly Large Seas, fine-tuning and rehearsing navigation, launching, and landing protocols, techniques, and procedures. It had not been popular with the crew, but drills never had been. The important thing, to Kehtahl, was the marked increase he had seen in proficiency. Naval aviation was still in its adolescence, but he had been starting to feel some real confidence in the people under his command.

That had been cut somewhat short, however, when he had been ordered to Aihah Nahkh to take on a very special cargo of 25 E-1 Ehkehcseetol1 fighter aircraft, to be delivered to the warring nation of Aezakmi. Kehtahl did not begrudge the Aezak nation the use of Wochik arms. The E-1 was the newest airframe from the Pardek Nahkh Kotchfa, designed to take and deliver a serious beating, and letting the Aezaks use them in combat would provide the heads of the Pahtu Icskah Fa valuable insight into the strengths and weaknesses of their new weapon.

The E-1 was not designed for carrier use, however, and their delivery was to be kept out of general knowledge, meaning that they all had to be stowed below decks. There was still just enough room for Lufeer to keep his regular complement of naval aircraft aboard, but not room enough to launch or retrieve them. The carrier would be little more than an oversized ferry for at least half the journey. Kehtahl had tried to get the E-1s moved to more conventional khotehlolahtum2, but had been cut short. Top brass had insisted they travel aboard Lufeer.

Kehtahl checked his thoughts again. He wasn’t especially worried about having to defend his boat. Whether the Triuvians knew what he was up to or not, he doubted he would see hostile aircraft east of the Zakad mainland. Submarines might have been another story, but, then again, Lufeer’s group included 11 Lahkocsah-class sinker-hunters.

No, Kehtahl’s main concern with being unable to use his pilots was that it meant they had little to do but swab decks and twiddle thumbs. He worried what loss their skills would suffer from so much neglect, and began planning out the drills he would start running the instant he had delivered the E-1s and put back to sea.

1 - The stonefish. A literal translation of the name would be "hell fish."
2 - Cargo ships (kho-teh-LO-lah-tum).

Image
Last edited by Wonderchicken on Mon Sep 04, 2017 12:10 am, edited 5 times in total.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Kholdlands
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 189
Founded: Oct 11, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Kholdlands » Sat Jul 27, 2013 2:32 pm

June 9, 1935
7:15 am
Kholdaira


Michael walked across the room and extended his hand. “On behalf of my King and country, I would like to officially welcome you to the Federation of Kholdlands.”

Robert followed suit,“I’m glad to make your acquaintance. We are glad to hear from the Kahpokahnahcs of Wo’n Darshekeen. We are eager to hear what you have to say. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a couple of chairs in front of Michael’s desk. He nodded to Norr, who gently closed the door behind them and then sat down.

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Thu Aug 22, 2013 8:35 am

Winter, 1935
South Jurano Dockyards
Jurano City, Occupied Aezakmi


The four lesser apocalyptic horsemen of Confusion, Panic, Disarray and Shouting were running rampant. Fortunately for the cadre quickly coming to think of themselves as Enriga's Squad, this was exactly what their plan depended upon. Gunshots seemed to be sounding from every direction, every few minutes the sharp bang of a hand grenade would add to the cacophony, and by now there was an impressive fire rising to the north.

All the Triuvian soldiers Koba and the others had encountered had been hurrying toward the confused and scattered fray, not even bothering, in their panicked haste, to notice the group of disguised, briefcase-lugging guerrillas hastening in the opposite direction. The party rounded a corner at a high-speed stumble, and at last, the Surly Mermaid, a large, ageing merchant steamer, came into view. There were no lights on the ship, but Koba could still see the distinct silhouettes of two guards at the bottom of the gangplank.

Enriga's group moved confidently up to them, with Koba, much to his consternation, in the lead again.
"What's going on out there?" the guard on the left asked him, with anxiety riding every syllable.
"Looks like local guerillas - but it might be a commando raid," Koba reported dutifully. "We've been sent to secure the ship; the Aezaks might try to attack from any side," he told them, gesturing up the gangplank.
"Yeah... yeah, good idea," said the less inquisitive guard on the right. Any suspicions he might have been nurturing seemed to be rapidly evaporating under Enriga's fearsome scowl, whose stolen uniform had been hastily promoted to Sergeant back in the cellar.

Enriga, Koba and the rest hurried unopposed up the bouncing plank. The decks were completely devoid of crew, and Koba joined the others in gratefully putting down his heavy briefcase by a hatchway.
"Koba, stay here with me. The rest of you, search the ship for crew," Enriga ordered quietly.
"If we find anyone?" someone asked.
"What do you think?" Enriga replied, with as much frustrated sarcasm as he could muster. "Get moving, Koba; tell those two clowns down there that the Sergeant wants to see 'em in the ship, toot sweet." He indicated the dark main hatchway into which the rest of the crew were vanishing, and then stepped through himself.

As he clomped back down the plank, Koba felt more than slightly worried about how much of a calm and professional murderer Enriga was turning out to be, especially for a friendly, gregarious tobacco merchant.
"You fellows should head up there and get warm - the Sergeant wants to see you," he said, businesslike. They didn't even spare him a glance as they scrambled up toward the promised warmth. Koba only felt an icy chill when, on the ship, behind him, there came two gunshots, a shout, and then a third, final shot.

Koba was starting to suspect that he wasn't cut out for this murderous business. There had always been tall stories among the city's children about 'The Old Man at the Cigar Shop', they said he used to be a spy, or a mercenary soldier, or an expert skirmisher in the last war. Koba had doubted those stories like he'd doubted most of the others, but not any more. He waited pensively in the cold, smoky wind, trying to look as guard-like as possible as he slowly froze in the shoddy uniform. He watched the progress of the chaos around the dockyards - the gun battles seemed to have relented, but he could hear more of them out in the distance. Fights were breaking out all across the city, he knew. This was pretty much the largest resistance operation he'd heard of so far, and here he was, right in the middle of it.

More time passed, and Koba watched the progress of the numerous fires that had been set around the sprawling warehouses. A lot of them seemed to be under control, but he was pleased to see that at least two important-looking buildings were being completely engulfed in black smoke and flashing flames. He watched them for a lot longer than he'd expected to, in fact - something must have delayed the crew on the ship. He hadn't heard any more gunshots, but if they didn't turn up soon, there might be troubl...

"Hey! You, over there!" someone shouted. Koba went rigid. The shout had originated from an irate looking Triuvian soldier who had just appeared from around a corner.
"Yes sir?" Koba said, standing to his best estimation of attention.
"Sir? Sir?" growled the Triuvian. "Don't you 'Sir' me, Private! I'm a goddamn Corporal, Private, so you call me Corporal, Private!"
"Yes s... Corporal! Sorry, Corporal!" Koba managed.
"Right then, you! What's wrong with this picture?"
"Pardon, Corporal?"
"Don't you play dumb with me, scumbag - why is there only one of you?"
"I don't know, Corporal," said Koba, momentarily confused by the question. "You'd have to ask my parents,"
"Don't you try to get smart with me!" screamed the Corporal, suddenly incandescent with rage. "There's supposed to be two on guard duty, you useless grub! Where the hell is the other guard?"
"Well, si... Corporal, he just..." said Koba, inventing desperately.
"Who is he?" the Corporal demanded. "I'll damn well shoot him myself! Speaking of which, who the hell are you? I've never seen you before, and I know damn near everyone!"
"Well, Corporal, I'm..." Koba tried.
"Come on, you inbred bastard!" the Corporal raged, by now projecting flecks of spit. "Answer me when I ask you a goddamn question!"
Koba opened his mouth, but didn't even get time to produce a sound before the Corporal was off again.
"I'll shoot you myself, you quavering afterbirth! Bloody well speak up right now, or I'll..."

Koba never found out exactly what the Corporal would have done, because he was interrupted mid-sentence by a gunshot. It had come from Enriga's antiquated pistol, with its owner standing at the top of the gangplank, looking irritated. The Corporal, who was now silent and missing significant portions of his brain and the back of his skull, collapsed in a heap. Koba wrenched himself away from the unpleasant spectacle and saw the increasingly terrifying Enriga stomping down the boards.
"Any trouble, Koba?" he asked, laboriously ejecting an empty bullet case.
"I felt that go past my head!" Koba protested.
"Well? It didn't look like our friend there was about to offer you a rose and a box of chocolates," Enriga said sarcastically, giving his victim a kick. "Never mind that, we've got to get moving, hot foot. Those fuses weren't very long!"

As he said this, the rest of the group emerged from the Surly Mermaid's corridors and stampeded down the gangplank with distressing urgency. Koba had to hurry to keep up with them as they ran from the ship, and he had to keep on hurrying for a lot longer than he'd anticipated.
"Those bombs couldn't have been that big!" he gasped, now almost sprinting.
"They weren't," the runner beside him said. "But all those stacks of high-explosive shells in the hold were bloody massive."
All of a sudden Koba seemed to find his second wind. A few Triuvian soldiers shouted questions, but they were completely ignored.

They'd only just made it back to the gatehouse when it happened - the ground shook, something seemed to slap Koba right in his internal organs, and the loudest noise he'd ever heard crashed into his ears like the end of the world, destroying all other sounds and leaving him deaf and staggering. He tried to shout something - possibly it was 'holy shit' - but he could hear no trace of his own voice over the high-pitched ringing that seemed to fill the world with bright light.

Struggling to regain his scattered wits, Koba looked around - the others looked just as stunned as he felt, but they were, at least, still stumbling forwards. Only one thought propelled them; they had to get away from the docks, and probably the city, as quickly as possible.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Sat Aug 24, 2013 12:58 am

Winter 1935
Tanesija, Free Aezakmi


The coastal city of Tanesija had been, before the war, a bright and eclectic place, renown for its broad beaches, extravagant architecture and seemingly endless street carnivals. As it had done everywhere else in the country, the grey spectre of war had smothered any vibrant colours and festive spirits - but today, something seemed to have swept away the grim malaise. The good times had miraculously returned to the streets of Tanesija, and even the weather seemed to have sensed the cheerful zeitgeist. A bright, mild, beautiful spring morning had appeared over the subtropical metropolis just as the much-anticipated Wochik cargo ships had come steaming into the harbour, and practically the entire city was turning out to welcome them.

Aezaks traditionally had a reputation for mild xenophobia, but there was no sign of that in Tanesija today. Literally every main street was bedecked with hastily-made banners, bearing hundreds of enthusiastic slogans like "Welcome Wochik Friends!", and "Victory through Alliance!" Bright banners glared from every light-pole and large building. People had put on their fine clothes and taken to the sunny streets, waving crude, home-made Wochik flags and making awful but sincere attempts at singing Wochik songs. Entrepreneurial folk had filled the avenues with stalls and clattering barrows, selling the widest variety of food and trinkets that the war-rationed economy and robust black markets could provide. Whole bands of buskers stamped out ragtime and jazz on every corner. The city's barkeeps and brothel owners were busily sweeping their floors and polishing their windows in anticipation of brisk trade.

In the Narvskaya Navy Base, where the Wochik convoy was due to dock, Air Force Squadron Leader Karina Chelyisk was being dressed. She was finding this process slightly annoying - she liked to think that she could put on her own dress uniform as well as any other officer, but the brass had insisted. There were going to be important foreign officers there, and more to the point, there were going to be photographers, newsmen, politicians, diplomats, and dignitaries of all kinds, and that was that. So here she was, standing in the middle of a room being dressed by a busy team of people - measuring, adjusting, polishing and straightening with frantic precision, like robins building a nest. One of them was even hard at work delicately painting makeup onto her face, which was an entirely new and mildly disconcerting experience for Karina. Not long before, the frenzied clothiers had been speculating about concealed corsetry and high-heeled boots, and she'd had to pull rank before they'd even listened to her objections.

She was, probably for her sins, to be the official 'First Aezak Pilot' to operate the new Wochik-supplied aircraft. She was eager to see the machine and try it out, of course, but the inescapable propaganda circus made her 'historic opportunity' much less enviable, in her opinion. She wasn't going to be flying the 'E-1 Ehkehcseetol' today, of course, just 'inspecting' it, making today's mission almost entirely a photo opportunity. She supposed that it must all be necessary and important, but that made her no less uncomfortable with the knowledge that many of her friends were fighting on the front line while she was posing for cameras.

In a couple of hours, the Wochik boats would be docking, and Squadron Leader Karina Chelyisk would be right there among the Official Welcoming Party, rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Marshal of the Air Force, the Minister for the Military, the Foreign Secretary, the First Minister, and just about every other dignitary of any status who'd been able to get in. After standing around mixing with the gentry for a while, she'd finally get to have a close look at the new aircraft that the people were hoping would hasten the salvation of their nation. Karina certainly hoped it would be as good as everyone was saying.
Last edited by Aezakmi on Sun Aug 25, 2013 10:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Mon Sep 02, 2013 4:52 pm

4 AUG 35
WDN 58 Lufeer
Tanesija, Free Aezakmi


Khaics Dee'Ahn, Executive Officer aboard Lufeer, was one of the the few hands left in the VF who had served since before the Second Cataclysm had come to a close. He had never seen combat, but had long since given up trying to correct the khotpuracs-tum1 who constantly asked what it was like. Consequently, he had been to Aezakmi before. He had never seen combat, but he knew what it could mean being a foreigner in the southern Zakad, and he wasn't necessarily looking forward to shore leave.

Being an old hand also meant that Khaics was something of a connoisseur of the pre-foreign-port VD-film barrage. The films had changed, some, in the last decade, but sailors’ responses had not (and probably never would). There were still all the same conversations he had heard a hundred times before from invincible youth about knowing the difference between safe and rotted fruit. He knew there would be some in the room with him who would one day regret their disbelief, and others who never would. For his part, he had to tip his cap to the filmmakers’ creativity. This film had actually been mildly entertaining. As the lights came up, he stood and made his way to the door of the screening room, slightly more affected than most of his shipmates, though only from an artistic, cinematic perspective. At the bulkhead, Khaics paused to sign the ledger to verify that he had been present, then made his way to his duty station.

The various decks and corridors of Lufeer were abuzz with conversation as Khaics made his way topside.

"<...heard we’ve been shipping foodstuffs here for a month...>"

"<...think we’ll get dragged into another war…?>"

"<...have you looked at those ‘Hellfish’2 fighters? There’s not an engine in production that could haul that kind of weight...>"

"<...hoping to find some nice Aezak stitchery for my girl back home...>"

"<...hoping to find some nice Aezak girl for my stitchery back home...!>"

Khaics allowed himself a smile and climbed the ladder to the next deck. Once he was high enough, he took advantage of the option of a little fresh air, stepping through a hatch to continue his climb up Lufeer's "island" structure. As he cast his eyes across the harbor, however, the sight that met him stopped him in his tracks. Had the experience struck him some twenty years later, he might have started humming the theme to "The Twilight Zone." As it was, he had no point of reference for what met his eyes. Everywhere he looked, he saw the gold, green and blues of his home country's emblem. Across the waves, he could hear Aezak voices singing Yujikfuh Wo'n Darshek. The incongruity of it all, when held up to his previous visits, made him weirdly uneasy, and he could not help but stare across the water as he continued his climb. Vushvahkh Kehtahl greeted Khaics upon his arrival on the bridge.

"<Can you believe this, Vahkh-Naydar? All over a squadron of untested aircraft and three ships' worth of beans!>" Kehtahl clucked his tongue and took another sip of coffee. "<And I thought it was silly for old Nehnik Laifu to come out of retirement and sail with us. I sense we shall be very glad he did!>"

1 - It's embarrassing to admit, but "khotpuracs" is what took this post so long. It's the KR equivalent to "newbie" or "greenie," and I knew I had used it before, but I never recorded it in the spread sheet and couldn't find it in C2.
2 - Hellfish is a literal translation of Ehkehcseetol, though the English name for the animal is stonefish. The Ehkehcseetol is built with a rather optimistic future powerplant in mind, and is packing significantly more firepower than is necessary (or prudent, given its current powerplant). We'll be trimming it down before we lose too many to its woeful air-superiority role flaws.
Last edited by Wonderchicken on Mon Sep 04, 2017 12:22 am, edited 1 time in total.
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Aezakmi
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 356
Founded: Feb 28, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Aezakmi » Tue Sep 03, 2013 8:27 am

04.08.1935
Narvskaya Navy Base, Tanesija
Free Aezakmi


First Minister Lazar Kurilkov would not have believed it was still technically winter. When he'd left Erivaya the previous night it had been freezing, but now, standing here at the dockside of the Narvskaya navy base, he was already beginning to sweat into his suit. Looking out over the water, he reflected that the base's harbour had been embarrassingly empty when he'd arrived; everything that the under-prepared Aezak Navy had been able to spare had long since been despatched to the Veditevian and the southern seas to fight the Triuvians. An awful lot of those ships were now at the bottom of those seas, Lazar reflected bitterly. Kiranjaya III had built himself a formidable fleet, and his investment had paid off and then some.

Now the harbour looked much more impressive, filled as it was with intimidating warships. Unfortunately they were all foreign warships, but at least they were something. Hektor Abaziydov, Mayor of Tanesija, certainly thought so. He'd spent half the morning effusively welcoming the official party from Erivaya, and the other half rhapsodising about the visiting fleet, to the point where his strident enthusiasm was beginning to grate on the First Minister's nerves. Lazar had been astonished by the level of festive spirit already rising in the city, and he'd been even more astonished when Abaziydov had proudly proclaimed that the civic authorities hadn't officially organised any of it. In Tanesija, it seemed, any excuse would do, and the First Minister could scarcely object to people's celebrations, even though he knew perfectly well such largesse could only have been provided by the black market.

Still, even if he hadn't quite entered into the spirit of the occasion quite as much as the carnival-prone locals, there seemed to be at least one other guest who looked less cheerful than himself. He leaned discreetly over to Krupin Shafaqat, the Minister for the Military.
"Who's that glum-looking character over there?"
Minister Shafaqat looked over in the direction Lazar indicated.
"Hm... Air Force officer, that'd be whatshername Chelyisk... Karina, that's it. Test pilot for the new plane," he reported.
"Not exactly as ebullient as our friend Mister Mayor, is she?" Lazar observed dryly.
"Probably a bit more of a pragmatist than that venal tub of lard."
"You mean she's not salivating rabidly at the prospect of this magic bullet that will surely send the turnip-eaters running in terror? How unpatriotic!"

Minister Shafaqat only just managed to turn his snigger into a genteel cough, interrupting Mayor Abaziydov's flow but escaping with nothing more than an exasperated glare. To everyone's considerable relief he finally gave up extolling the virtues of enlightened foreign policy, and contented himself with watching the progress of the WDN Lufeer, which was being eased carefully into dock by a pair of tugboats. It was certainly an impressive construction; not exactly bristling with guns, but still just about the biggest ship Lazar Kurilkov had ever seen in person. The sailors that lined the decks looked positively microscopic in comparison. Lazar peered up at them, and couldn't help but notice the fresh, optimistic expressions most of them wore - it was a striking contrast to most soldiers he saw.

Sorry for this more-or-less 'filler post'; it's all I've got to show right at the moment. I am, however, hoping to begin the Jurano Resistance's time on the run (things are going to get pretty grim for them) and the Battle of Mutamsk in the next few posts; I will start moving this plot forward eventually, I promise!
Last edited by Aezakmi on Sun Sep 08, 2013 7:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
Map - - Coat of Arms
"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist." –Dom Helder Camara
"Freedom without socialism is privilege and injustice, and socialism without freedom is slavery and brutality." -Mikhail Bakunin
"Build a man a fire, and he's warm for a day, but set him on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Tue Sep 03, 2013 3:34 pm

Aezakmi wrote:
Sorry for this more-or-less 'filler post'; it's all I've got to show right at the moment. I am, however, hoping to begin the Jurano Resistance's time on the run (things are going to get pretty grim for them) and the Battle of Mutamsk in the next few posts; I will start moving this plot forward eventually, I promise!

Hey, don't sweat it. You're certainly kicking my writing butt :) One teensy tiny correction, though, if I may: Wochik convention is a little unlike other navies in that the first ship in a class is not referred to in the feminine. Lufeer is actually a "father-ship," so the Wochiktum will be referring to "him" instead of "her." All other Lufeer-class ships will be "daughters of Lufeer" and sisters to each other, so they'll use more conventional pronouns.[/super-picky-detail]
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Wonderchicken
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1300
Founded: May 06, 2010
New York Times Democracy

Postby Wonderchicken » Fri Sep 06, 2013 12:11 pm

4 AUG 35
WDN 58 Lufeer
Narvskaya Navy Base, Tanesija
Free Aezakmi
16:45 hours


"<Sad...>" Laifu remarked as he joined Kehtahl and Dee'Ahn on Lufeer's bridge and surveyed the view about Narvskaya.

"<I don't know,>" Kehtahl responded, raising an eyebrow and turning slightly to Laifu. "<I think it looks rather festive. I can't say I've ever seen a more enthusiastic welcome for the Vushicskah Fa, even in Aihah Dun.>" Vahkh-Naydar Dee'ahn felt it best to keep his earlier reaction to himself. Laifu gave his head a little shake and kept fiddling with his tie.

"<It's sad,>" Laifu said, "<because I've seen this harbor when Wochiktum had the strength in their knees to give aid to our friends, and the Aezaktum had no need of our help.>"

Khaics Dee'ahn scanned the harbor again, taking a more empathetic look, and had to agree with the Ambassador. Beneath the Green, Gold, and Blues were clear signs of a populace who had endured the hardship of a too-healthy war. He remembered his primary school days, learning about Bacs Lodahn, Tuvahn Darshek, Ehnin Umgahnai, and many more heroes of his home land, remembered for great deeds in war. They had not been blood-thirsty savages, but they had seen injustice, or their countrymen in peril--dire needs that could only be met with the sword--and had not hesitated to stand and stem the evil that threatened. It was part of the Wochik identity.

Ever since the Second Cataclysm, however, a new hesitancy had nested itself in the nation's belly. KAN Ahkhpunobacs had lied to his countrymen, had led them rushing into an unjust war with the belief that they were aiding their friends. The sting of defeat had been second only to the anger of betrayal, and even the men and women aboard Lufeer were not immune. Khaics, himself, harbored a seed of isolationism. Looking again at the scene before him, however, he felt a tug of shame for that seed. These people were friends to the Sons of Darshek, deserving of his help, and they had too long felt the Pahtu Icskah Fa's absence.

"<...and after the photos and speeches at the gang plank,>" Kehtahl was saying, "<there should be enough room topside to start bringing Ehkehcseetoltum onto the flight deck.>"

"<Will you be launching the display craft to be landed and brought to that tarmac?>" Laifu asked, pointing to the cordoned area where the E-1 would be displayed. Kehtahl shook his head resolutely.

"<If I had the entire flight deck and a head wind, I might try it. But these fighters are much heavier than I am comfortable trying to launch at dock.>"

"<The crane, then.>" Laifu nodded. "<You do have a pilot joining us, yes?>"

"<Of course,>" Kehtahl affirmed. "<And, per your instructions, he's been instructed to wear his A-class uniform.>" A slight tremor shuddered through the deck as Lufeer's moorings were secured. "<It seems the time has come to make for disembarkation. Vahkh-Naydar, you have the bridge.>"
Web Comic | Our Flag Is Not Islamic | Chickens? | Wochik Trivia | Thrinian Wochiktum | Sentinel of the Holy Grammar
Katothwa Re: Hase§ ga Hasaxet te
English: The Glory of God is Intelligence
Tavan: Te uomeva di ome hokueri ewhuei.
Cilnotuzian: U vzìleu sa Saom à u Ecnazeväcreu.
Tăkăracepĭra: Tămĕṕa ramĕṕĭcańa gecipăra ńeratĕ.
Cat: Ahuí A:hrx Cý:c

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Lowell Leber
Minister
 
Posts: 2123
Founded: Jan 27, 2010
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Lowell Leber » Tue Aug 01, 2017 9:25 pm

November 2nd, 1935
San Leberdino, Leberite Empire

It was only a day after the General Election and one could sense a palipable change in the mood on the streets. The results of said election were so far very close, but appeared to be leaning in favor of the Imperialist Party. Several more days would be needed to count all the ballots before all seats in the Imperial Senate could be determined. And while the events of the war in Aezakmi were overshadowing the election in the Leberite Empire, this election could set a new course of direction for the continent of Voreia.
IC The Leberite Empire


New Nicksyllvania - Unjustly Deleted 4/2/11

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