When a Heart Wishes for Blood(IC|Closed)

[Criska]

Things had changed quickly in Criska following the Banquet. Rapidly. The mood of the people changed from one of jovial happiness to anger and outrage, massive demonstrations took place not against Criska’s government, but against Pacificora; a country that lay far away based on islands in the Pacific. The shift in mood had come from the influence of a single character among the Crisk Aristocracy. Lord Vyrin Dolor. Young, ambitious, athletic, he was the pedigree of the growing number of Crisk Supremacists. Emperor Derrick Oktarian tried his best to keep the people at bay, calling them to remember the horrors of war from the civil that had brought their once mighty Empire crashing down like an avalanche down a mountain side, but the people refused to listen.

Criska had gone silent with the Pacificans. Merchant ships were turned away or their goods seized by dock officials. There hadn’t been any talks between the Crisk and Pacificans in nearly two months, and things were reaching a head. The Emperor watched as the people who had once been willing to listen to screamed in rage and anger about how the Pacificans were going to take advantage of them, had corrupted the Imperial Family. They threatened to overthrow the government and all the progress that had been made in the last decades over a case of envy from a Crisk Lord.

The Emperor had been forced to act. He chose the course of stability. He had chosen the path of war. In his last public statement he had said one simple statement; ‘You brought this upon yourselves.’ Their path was set, and their plan had been made. Strike hard and fast against the Pacificans source of pride, then retreat back to port and await retaliation. The Crisk knew they would not win a war against Pacificora on their soil. Without the Crisk Air Force being able to operate en masse in the area their soldiers would be sitting ducks awaiting their own destruction. They decided to wage a war of hit and run strikes until the enemy grew frustrated enough to attack them directly, out of range of their own air power, and prove their strength in a feat of arms.

They had gained the opportunity. The Great Pacific, the pride of the Pacifican Navy was patrolling the waters around Corinava, and the Hymn of Strength and it’s cousin the Oath of the Dawn were poised to strike their rival in brutal fashion, with support from their fleet; the Flaming Hand, a force of twenty destroyers, fifteen frigates, and four cruisers, and fifteen submarines. They had their commands, awaiting their moment to strike.

Pacific Ocean, near Corinava
Hymn of Strength(Dasta ur Vatra)
Briefing Room
07:15

The Hymn of Strength and it’s cousin to it’s left rear were mighty vessels, the decks of the carriers filled with aircraft being prepared for launch in the rising heat of the morning. The sun was out and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. A beautiful day for both pilots and sailors. But today was going be a day remembered in crimson, not the warmth of the morning sun.

Four full squadrons were sitting in front of a large screen, to the right of the screen a Crisk aristocrat from a well-off munitions company was standing in forest camouflage at a podium, looking at the eighty people seated before him. He didn’t know how many of them would return from their mission and wanted to remember their faces and had studied their names. He didn’t want any ghosts haunting him when he returned home to Ianaa. The screen flashed into life, glowing the color of blood with a white Crisk dragon in the center until it changed into a map of the surrounding area, focusing further in onto a live satellite feed of the Pacifican fleet to their east. As several target markers appeared the officer began speaking. It was routine that they gotten the same briefing everyday. Today the waiting was finally over.

“In less than twenty minutes you will take off from the deck of their carrier to strike a blow that the Pacificans will feel in their being. A few months past an officer bragged about this carrier to our officer cadre, and today we send it to the bottom of the Pacific; a fitting place for the vessel known as the Great Pacific to lie.”

The screen changed to a rough profile of the carrier, dotted circles appearing around areas expected to munition and fuel storage areas, the great turbines the propelled the Great Pacific, and the bridge, as well a box outlining around the water line of the vessel. “It will be the duty of Vammor Squadron to launch anti-ship missiles at the vessel in an attempt to hit the bridge of the carrier. If we can shatter their communication with the rest of the vessels in the fleet and their radar they will be sitting ducks. Leviathan Squadron, your role will be to attack the water line of the vessel, we don’t want this carrier damaged, we want it on the bottom of the sea. Black Squadron will aim at missile carriers near the carrier to ease on the pressure on the attack squadrons. Knight, your role will be tasked with gaining air superiority over the air space.”

The officer paused as the display changed to a diagram of the Pacifican’s fleet formation. “You will have the support of four squadrons from Oath of the Dawn; Valkyrie providing air superiority with Desta and Vampiric squadrons helping with the destruction of support vessels, and Fang providing assistance in striking the water-line of the carrier. There will be attacks coming from the Crisk fleet focusing on the Great Pacific. This operation is key to the overall strategy that High Command wishes to adopt. Your aircraft have already been prepared. For the Emperor.” He finished, giving the Crisk salute.

“For the Emperor!” Eighty voices chorused, both male and female.

Flight Deck of the Hymn of Strength
07:35

Flights of A-6Es, MiG-29Ks, and F-35s were flying overhead. The roar of jets was near deafening, drowning out almost all other sounds. Captain Vance Ryken sat back in the chair of his Fulkrum K, a grin behind his flight mask. This is what he had spent five years of his life training for. The time had come to see if that training was going to have a payout.

>>>This is Flight Control. Knight’s 1 through four, prepare for take off.<<<

“Let’s get this show on the road.” He muttered to himself. Crewmembers slowly backed away from his aircraft, then his aircraft shot into the air. The Flight Controler quickly sent up the other sixteen members of his squadron, and the fleet of one-hundred-and-sixty aircraft began moving to their operational space. Pacifican radar operators within Corinava had taken notice of the aircraft moving for their forces and began scrambling jets as fast it could.

“This is Knight 1 to all units under my command. Remember, finger-four formation, keep each other covered.”

Five tense minutes passed.

>>>This is Black Four to all units. Picking up five Pacifican aircraft closing in fast from the south, over.<<<

>>>This is Valkyrie Leader, I see them. Knight you are closer to being able to engage them. They are closing with Leviathan squadron quickly.<<<

“This is Knight Leader. Moving to engage. Knights 9 through 20, stay in formation. Everyone else, move to engage, over.” Captain Ryken began maneuvering through the other aircraft, followed closely by seven other MiG-29Ks.

The Pacifican interceptors reached the squadron of A-6Es seconds before Ryken and his fighters.

>>>Leviathan Four is down!<<<

>>>So are Five and Ten!<<<

Three Prowlers were falling from the skies, quickly becoming balls of fire before disintegrating into smoke and shards of metal. Two ejections were made.

“Knight 1, engaging. All Knights, engage.”

One of the Prowlers launched flares, but a second missile struck the aircraft near the center of the aircraft. It exploded instantly.

>>>Leviathan Leader is down!<<<

Then the counter attack began. A fifth Prowler went down but Ryken didn’t hear who it was. Another launched flares and prevented his own destruction. He got behind one of the Pacifican fighters who quickly began climbing, calling for assistance. One of the interceptors began attempting to follow the MiG up, but a burst of machine gunfire struck it’s fuel, and fire immediately began to shoot out of the aircraft. The Pacifican interceptor turned belly side up as it’s lost it’s thrust, then began a dive straight towards the ocean. It never made it. It exploded viciously feet above the surface of the water.

Ryken got a lock onto the interceptor. Take this you bastard. He fired one of his missiles. In response the Pacifican leveled off it’s climb, then launched flares. Damn it. Leveling off it’s dive however, also sealed the interceptor’s fate. Before it could take advantage of it’ ability to dive down on the MiG Ryken opened fire with his gun, ripping holes into the underbelly of the aircraft. Immediately the pilot began making a V-line for it’s base, but it never made it. Ryken shot his second missile at the aircraft and destroyed it’s engine. The aircraft seemed to almost push the front end of itself forward for a moment, then disintegrated, the pilot slowly making his way back down to the surface of the water on a parachute.

The other interceptors had been dealt with by the time his dog fight was over. Several squadrons began reporting engaging the Pacifican navy vessels. There was a brief moment of calm after he rejoined his formation, then the Crisk navy began launching its missiles, and it’s fighters their own. The Pacifican response was swift. Anti-air missiles were shot into the air, and all hell broke loose. The skies filled with smoke.

[Pacificora]

7:40pm, 3rd of March, Pala, Pacificora

Shahriar Boris Henrik Vilaró, General Vilaró, Mr Vilaró. Your name changed depending on your situation, but to many, Shahriar was simply Shah. But not in this building, no, in this building he was Air Force Command Officer Vilaró. The youngest in history to ever serve in the Air Force Command, the group at the head of the Air Forces. Today though, he was no longer just a person sitting at the table, today, he was planning a war.

Hundreds of thousands stood outside the government building tonight. Burning flags, burning masks, all either honouring the death of soldiers, or protesting the governments slow and what they though of as pacifist reaction. But what Shahriar had in plan was far from pacifist.

He strode into a room flooded in the constant shouts of military officers from all over the country. There was a map of Pacificora sitting beside a map of Criska on the far wall, a massive whiteboard covered the left wall with an outline of Criska, and on the right wall there was a coffee machine sitting on a table. The president stood constantly pointing at the map of Criska arguing with a senior officer. Shahriar took his seat beside some rather loud and belligerent officers from the navy.

<Zariff>"Silence!"

Everyone's head suddenly turned towards President Zariff standing at the podium.

<Zariff> "With our glorious aircraft carrier sitting at the bottom of the ocean, our Air Force is no longer as capable of anywhere near as many strikes. Our nearest air base is on Carinava, alalongside the biggest naval base for our nation. May we go to war, we simply won't have enough funds to rebuild Aircraft carriers, so we will have to do without them.

The first thing we should consider is a severe bombing campaign of Ciradon with the Thunder, Hornet, Wasp, Bee, Gale,and Gust squadrons backed up by Hawk and Kite (all divisions in the Pacifican armed forces have nicknames to make everything easier, go to my RP ORBAT fact book to know which is which)."

<Ardabar (Airforce Commander)> "Send Poltergeist and Beholder first to identify all strategic bombings. We might not come out of this with all of our planes so let's make these strikes count."

<Costiniano (Foreign Affairs Minister)> "Also send a single plane from Hurricane to try and get all Pacificans out of that damned nation."

<Fahrihd (Naval Commodore)> "Does anyone know the position of their air bases?"

<Zariff> "Not exactly, Crisk intelligence regarding the position of bases is extremely well kept, but we can track them down with our recon squadrons."

<Vilaro> "Will we be bombing the Imperial Palace?"

Zariff's expression turned paler, to a nearly pasta like colour. He knew those people, they had been accommodating to his son, his... his son had fallen in love on those roofs. He still talked about her, Aria, the girl behind the mask.

<Vilaro> "Zariff, this isn't a time to make choices based on morality or sentimentality, this is a time to make tactical strikes on a nation that has stained our pride and honour. Firebomb the place and send Arrow in to clean up the 'mess'."

<???> "You talk of them as if they are animals, inhuman..."

The entire room turned to see Xari standing at the bottom of the staircase leading to the bunker.

<Xari> "You'd be destroying people's homes, their lives..."

<Zariff> "Xari you should leave..."

<Vilaro> "No, let him stay, and let's see if he can handle war."

everyone in the room moved away as Vilaro approached Xari, towering over him like a hound to a pup. the thousands of voices outside could still be heard.

<Vilaro> "What do you think those voices want, hmmm? Do you think they're protesting the lack flowers on display on National Boulevard? Xari, those men and women want war, want revenge, and we will give them what they want."

<Xari> "It doesn't give you the authority to bomb that palace though, if we bomb them back, that shows we are no better then their vulgar government."

<Vilaro> "that is.. that is not how... That isn't... how a damn WAR WORKS! People already died you twit, our people, and if we don't do anything its only going to keep happening! We can't trust them, they are a vulgar race and must be punished!>

<Zariff> "Vilaro, are you suggesting..."

<Vilaro> "Wait, are you accusing meow advocating for genocide!? Of course not! Who in all hell do you think i am!"

<Xari> "I'll tell you who i think you damn are. Your a coward! you are unwilling to admit to the damn atroc..."

The rest of the words died out in a ocean of voices that began to erupt. no one single stood out, it was just an infinite sea of voices. Mari was dragged out of the room screaming "THEY ARE POEPLE TOO! THEY ARE POEPLE TOO!".

Zariff made a decision in that moment. He had vowed that he would never connect his personal life to his work life, but this time was an exception. Xari wasn't trying to protect Criska, Xari was trying to protect Aria.



The Hornet Squadron was approaching Criska in the night, along with its many sister Squadrons to the Northwest and Southwest. But this squadron had a special visitor moving in the head, the Nighthunter, Pacificora's, currently at least, fastest plane. it was scheduled to move ahead of the rest of the Squadrons in 5 minutes. Tonight, it was piloted by its usual pilot, Ugaz Nurzhan, one of the most skilled flyers in all the world, not for military planes though, or otherwise that twit Vilaro would have already conscripted him, but he also had a special guest.

<Nurzhan (over the radio system)> "This is Nurzhan speaking. Nighthunter to prepare for skipping. Bid you all a good night. Keep order Arson in mind."

And with that the plane was off, with its beautiful black design fading into the horizon. its normal job was to impress, but today, its job was to steal.



The Crisk Emperor wasn't, currently at least, in the imperial palace. He was in an office, in the Crisk Government building, sitting in front of a television. And Xoan knew this, the entire Speculux force knew this. everything had already been carefully planned previous.

Anyway, know, it was showtime.

On the Emperor's television, the program suddenly changed to someone in a completely black mask. in the background, the Pacifican coat of arms surrounded by lines of code was projected.

<???> "Emperor, we are from an anonymous part of Pacificoran Armed Forces. This is a warning, in 2 minutes, Pacifican planes will be put on radar. all of the electronic locks on your doors for this office have been locked. in 1 minute a black plane is going to come into view of Ciradon. That plane will then disappear from sight. You will not be harmed. Your niece will not be harmed. Your niece is not going to stay here, and in 6 minutes you will understand why. Your niece is being moved to the neutral territory of Junnul, a small series of islands off the coast of Corinava. This is for the safety of your niece, and the Crisk Imperial family, if it needs to be rebuilt. You will see a corpse that resembles your niece, this is not your niece. all genetic tests will say it is, but it is not. take refuge in the knowledge of your niece's safety. the reason we are telling you this? no one will believe you..."

Programming goes back to normal, doors unlock, no evidence left behind. Xoan knew it was fun to be in Speculux, Pacifica's secret force. There is no proof to its existence, and all investigators found nothing, everything is hidden.



Ciradon is not the same, and will never be the same. the Imperial palace, obliterated, mostly at least. the docks, gone. There are very few casualties, but buildings lie in ruins, important buildings too. The Crisk heir found dead, all signs point to drug overdose before the bombing, but her dead body had been damaged in the blasts.

Speculux knew how to play the war game.

[Criska]

Avismare, Ciradon, Ruins of the Imperial Palace

Lord General Omare stared the scene with bitter eyes. Behind him Derrick was in tears, devoid of any other feeling than sadness. Tyrea, his sister, and his most trusted captain, Maerfore were among the broken bodies lying about the palace. A third of the Royal Guards were among the corpses being pulled from the ruins as well as a multitude of servants. Parts of the building were smouldering still. Omare believed that Aria was among the dead, the silver mask was shattered and most the girl’s body had been destroyed.

The ruined building had collapsed. Marble columns had fallen, sets of armor shattered, hundreds of priceless paintings destroyed. The final keep of the military, it’s winding halls, the pets, the pains of glass, the massive chandelier, all destroyed in a harsh, bloody moment. The center of the military and government obliterated. The only thing still standing was the winged statue of the Ascended, her right hand holding a banner torn by shrapnel, a halberd in her left with gouges of the white stone missing from it’s back.

There was no collateral damage. Whoever did this had handled it with extreme tact. Omare took note of it. They needed to up their security ten-fold at least. They were sending a message. A fitting response to the sinking of the Great Pacific. A message for a message. Pacificora had earned themselves Vyrin Dolor as more than just a simple man out to prove supremacy. He believed Aria was dead, and he didn’t care if the evidence pointed towards drug overdose. This was about vengeance now. A mortal enemy had been gained.

The Air Marshall looked with disgust in his eyes as he looked the skies. “Emperor Oktarian,” Meran Dravar began. Derrick turned his head to the commander, taking in his soot covered uniform that had once been a pure white; his mask was white with engraved scars outlined in black along the his left eye and right cheek. “We have to respond. This is not the time for mourning, that will come after this is done. We need to call the generals together; here if we must. We need to get assesment of what is happening. The First Air Wing failed to respond to the attacks, I will personally remove their commander from command, and fill in until a suitable replacement can be found. His incompetence is unacceptable.”

“Marshall Dravar, I need you to contact the commanding officers, with your permission, Emperor, I will take command until you feel you are able to return. You need time to grieve, but we have a war to continue with. The Great Pacific is at the bottom of it’s namesake, we succeeded in our main objective for the opening overture. We still don’t know when the final will be heard.”

“You have my permission Maxim Omare. Meet at Valgruse Air Base just outside of here for now. Here is not safe anymore.”

“Yes, Emperor!” The two officers of the top brass replied simultaneously. They began departed swiftly heading for the Air Base outside of Ciradon.

Derrick cried out in a mix of fury and sadness. His voice echoed through the ruins of the compound. He had warned the people. He had given them every chance to turn from this course but they followed Vyrin’s lead like dogs. Just like the soldiers had followed the Traitor General forty years ago.

This was unforgivable. Vyrin would pay in due time, but no one harmed his family and got away with it. “Dravar! Make Pala a place of ruins for me!”

Dravar grinned. “By your order, Emperor!”

The slight against his pride was beyond understanding. In his mind his heir and niece had been kidnapped. His sister was dead, and his friend was dead. He had been unable to protect his family, and while he blamed himself for it, he lusted for his own vengeance. The Pacifcans had exploited him and they would pay the price. He had helped them when they were forced to leave, gave the president's son and his advisor a place to stay, and this is how they replied?

I did not want this war. But by the Ascended they will pay in blood for this. Blood for blood. Ash for ash. Fire for fire.

Avismare, Valgruse Air Base, Headquarters

“Get out you pathetic waste of a commander before you leave this place lifeless! Your incompetence has been noted you failure!” Dravar’s voice was contorted with rage and he forced the former commander of the First Air Wing; General Darian Vurse out of his base, his hand near his pistol for the entire time. Vurse dashed out of the building and into his car, heading for Fort Tarix for a lesson competence.

The base was filled with the sounds of jets preparing for take off, crew members dashing from aircraft to aircraft, the resounding clanking noise of pilots rising the metal ladders to their cockpits. Infantrymen stood guard and radar operators stared at their screens with an intensity only matched by automated defenses searching for targets.

Dravar, Omare, and the supreme naval commander High Lord Admiral Jakob Resek stood looking over a map of Criska and Pacificora. “Lord Admiral Mallek reported from the bridge of the Hymn of Strength that the two fleets are enroute to the Bay of Cear where they will enter into a shorter range fighter escort territory. In twelve hours they will enter territory where we will be able to defend them with Gripens and Mordreds. Until then they have to rely on their own fighters and missiles to keep enemy forces at bay, as well the screening of their submarines.” Resek reported.

“Good, what will be our strategy following this? We can keep attempting to create havoc for their navy, but only sinking their vessels will not bring us the glory in this. We will not have shown our strength compared to their own.” Lord General Omare stated plainly.

“I have a way we can do that. Send the B-2s to bomb their capital and key industrial centers, and possibly even their port facilities. When they gain their nerve to attack use directly blow their ships away with the Olideration Squadron. Until then we keep their fighters at bay and their surveillance aircraft. Keep the XRV hidden in its hangar at Mount Duare along with its escorts.” Dravar suggested.

“A surgical strike isn’t an option, so I like that. If we had been going for a surgical strike we could have done much more and their leaders would already be our prisoners, but Derrick had insisted on the message. We need to raise our conscript forces as well, start sureing up our defenses, and keep all our bases on high alert. Resek, get the Kilbracht patrolling with the Black Vengeance around our waters, along with all available vessels. Nothing gets in or out of bays without us knowing about it. The people wanted a war, so they will be a part of it.” Omare’s voice was grim and filled with a wrath that could not be

“Where will we center our defences?” The voice was that of another Lord General; Vance Daemague. He entered as Omare finished his sentence, a look of calm and cool on his face.

“The forests around the natural harbours and cities. We will have static defenses in cities as soon as they land on our beaches and our heavy guns at our fortresses will be prepared with all due haste. The moment they feel secure we will open up on them with our artillery and they will feel our wrath.” Omare replied quickly.

“Perfect.” Daemague’s voice had a certain malice to it.

[Hyrka]

Hyrka, Lupus Province, Lupus

The entirety of the capital province of Lupus was a massive city. Titanic, gothic styled, skyscrapers pierced the sky and from the air it was a sea of gray. The city was an island connected to the flat, cratered plains of the mainland, by single mile-wide bridge simply called The Wolves Way, which continued deeper into the city along a gradually narrowing road as many smaller paths shot off of it at regular intervals like a massive artery. The city was a massive, fortified, federal center; great walls made to take unspeakable amounts of punishment stood around the island only breaking, and barely, at the three docking districts and the bridge. A second wall stood at a manmade rise on top of which a four-tiered fortification stood bristling with anti-air weaponry.

The massive province-city was a symbol of who the Hyrkans were as people. Martial beyond measure, and ever-faithfully giving their adoration to a goddess of war and honor called Orzhova, whose great black cathedral stood near the center of the city; a fortress of it’s own. Orzhova was easily comparable to the Ascended; both were winged beings dressed for war, but with one stark difference. Where the Ascended was said to have been semi-diplomatic Orzhova was a black winged Angel of Death, who was dedicated to battle and war. The Cathedral was spired by a massive statue of Orzhova, a long sword drawn and held towards the sky while wearing form-fitting armor, her wings detailed with black iron.

There was a massive gathering of people near the massive bastion that served as the center of government known simply as it’s namesake; The Bastion, or by those who preferred to call it by it’s appearance; The Black Citadel. The sea of pale were before a great stone dais as the red banners of the Lupan City-state flew in great gusts of wind, the flag of the entire nation waving proudly in the air behind the main dais.

A single man stood behind a podium made of metal; a large obsidian skull staring at the sea of Hyrkans before it placed in the center of the podium. The man wore black armor fit for a mid-medieval battlefield; both plates and gambeson, a longsword sheathed at his side.. The overcast sky gave the man a distinctly ominous appearance. He stared at the world with emerald eyes, black hair, and short, mostly stubbled beard. Flanked on either side by similarly armored knights wearing hooded great-helms, with tabards featuring the crest of Hyrka, and with zweihanders on their right and left pauldron respectively. Behind them the walls of the Bastion stood, hiding the bastion behind it. Cameras rolled. This was the first speech Duke Volker von Krige had given since the failed ousting of the Crisk nine years ago.

“The Crisk refuse to show their miserable faces once again!” His voice rang out in Hyrkan Gothic through the square. “They hide behind masks and do not share their faces after a shameful display of strategy and forethought! They strike out against the Pacificans at the whim of a envious lord! It is a disgrace, a pathetic excuse to bring war upon the land! Orzhova looks upon them with nothing but contempt, as do I.” He looked around the crowd, one of his hands at the hilt of his long-sword.

“The Great Pacific, the pride and joy the Pacifican navy has fallen by surprise attack. It sits at the bottom of the ocean, never again to return, just as the Crisk’s flagship fell in it’s own waters a hundred years ago to be consumed by the icy waters of the Crisk Sea! Today we remember the weakness of the Crisk military! We remember their failures, we see the fracture in their own court, and see their weakness exposed! A mask torn from the face of a dishonored man!” The crowd cheered and the Duke smiled. If the Crisk could have been defeated by rallying speeches by his predecessors they would have fallen two centuries ago. “The Imperial Palace has been destroyed, it’s taint upon the earth, cut down by sabotage, and consumed by the fire of an explosion! Their heir is dead! The fool calling himself an Emperor,” He said Emperor is the lower version of Hyrkan Gothic to show his disgust, “has lost his sister, a portion of guard, his home, and the respectable woman who was to be his heir to the weakness of his own security! I bet their Ascended,” He spat the Crisk goddess’s name with hatred, “The tainted sister of Orzhova, looks upon him with the same disgust I do for his weakness and insolence!” The people were being driven to excitement by his words. It was no secret that the Hyrkans had been looking for a reason to go to war with the Crisk Empire for sometime already.

“It is a fitting punishment for for an unprovoked attack! We will join in arms with Pacificora against the fools who refuse to show us their true beings! Our army will march across Avismare leaving naught but the fires of justice in their wake!”

“Too long have the Crisk stood against us! Too long have they thought themselves superior in OUR ART! The Path of War was chosen by the fool Derrick Oktarian who dares to blight the titles of Emperor and Imperial, and we will meet him on the path, sword drawn!” He drew his black-bladed sword as he spoke, raising it the skies as trying to copy the pose of his goddess on the cathedral. “Our men and women will bring a burning retribution upon Criska, and right the many wrongs we have marked against them!”

“Our art is War! Our art is Battle! Our art is Conflict! They seek to show their superiority in our ways, and we will show them the true Masters of War! The true Masters of Battle! The true Masters of Conflict!” He paused, a fury in his eyes visible as cameras zoomed in on his face.

“It is said; The Angel of Death will Judge us by our deeds, and not by our words, so we will prove our strength in the fields of battle. We raise our blades with those of Pacificora! For Orzhova! For Hyrka!” The people began chanting after he finished.

“For Orzhova! For Hyrka!” Chorused thousands of voices, the sound of the voices echoing through the streets of the city-province.

Lupus, the Bastion, War Room

Volker was Warmaster first, then Duke. The middle-aged man was a charismatic, fiercely intelligent, and ambitious leader. He had risen through the ranks quickly, being the first commander under the age of sixty to earn both the Mark of Orzhova award and achieve the coveted rank of Warmaster. The former Duke, his aging uncle had resigned and given him the title to follow in his footsteps and lead Hyrka to glory.

He was alone in the room. The Reiksmarshall would put the plan into action when the time to invade came. He had already had Minister Silber prepare and send a message to Pacificora, detailing their offer of support, and a declaration of war against Criska had been drafted and only needed his signature to come into effect.

The map sat before him, a map that detailed every known position of the Crisk Armed Forces, their strength, and their access to supplies, every road, every bridge, every small line that was known to him was marked on the map in a way that would have been complete chaos to another general who looked at it. There were benefits to having people disguised as secretaries around an unmarried man. He knew he targets area quickly. The positions around the city of Daggit were weak, and even with projected increases in defense forces it was the most vulnerable area to attack. The natural harbor would force him attack over a smaller area, but they all meant his artillery could focus their own. He could pummel the beaches with missiles and air attacks against any Crisk position that showed itself, then move to directly take the city.

If resistances was heavy enough he was anything but unwilling to turn the port-city into a heap of rubble. If the Crisk were stubborn enough in the areas surrounding Daggit fire was good motivator to get people moving. If Daggit broke quickly enough he could get defensive positions raised quickly and dare the Crisk to try and force him off. Their Navy was still outdated compared to his own, and a duel of artillery was where the Hyrkans were best off. They wouldn’t be able to bring their armor to bear unless they got to Ira’Mor…

Then a spark was lit in his head. Crisk tactics were not suited for battles in the un-forested terrain around the industrial city. He could land his mechanized and armored legions there forcing a lower defense of Daggit, while having a distinct advantage in the sheer number of vehicles he could bring to bear against the Crisk. If he could force a war on two fronts by himself he could relieve possible pressure on his possible allies own Invasion plans.

He hadn’t earned the title of Warmaster for no reason. He knew his craft.

To: The Commonwealth of Pacificora; Whom it May Concern
From: The Grand Duchy of Hyrka
Subject: Support
Encryption: Maximum


It has come to the attention of the government of Hyrka that your people have been attacked unprovoked, and in dishonorable fashion by the Crisk Empire, otherwise known as the Realm of Criska. The loss of your men due to this cowardly attack is unforgivable, and must not be forgotten. The Duke; Warmaster Volker von Krige, is prepared to pledge full support to you in this war, and would like to extend a hand of friendship to your government.

The drums of war beat in a steady rhythm now, and Orzhova watches interest, and we seek to join your cause. We would be willing to offer our dockyards to you to assist in rebuilding your damaged navy, or soldiers to bring to bear against the Crisk, and our oath of loyalty to your people in this time of crisis and war.

All we ask for in return is a free-trade agreement between our nations, to establish an embassy with your people or send diplomats to your nation, and a mutual officer exchange program as we seek to better our understand on the art of war.

Thank you for your time,
With Honor,

Foregin Minister Alexandra Silber
Duke Volker von Krige

[The Selkie]

Elder Castle.
Fortham, Free Lands of the Selkie.
It was one of those days again. One of those days, where a young woman with red hair stood in front of the Elder Council and informed them.
If one asked a few of the Elders, this was getting a usual occurance.
Then again, in their lifetime, the world had gotten more complicated, so they were indeed in the need to be informed by one Miss Ida Feic of the Tribe of Antrim about what her boss, the rather elusive Benefactor, wanted to make known to the Elders.
The situation was... uncomfortable, to say the least: The Criskans, who were connected to the Free Lands by ties of economy and friendship, attacked the Pacificoran aircraft carrier Great Pacific, which served as both pride of their Navy and as a huge focal point of the Pacificoran Navy - with its loss, they were not beaten, not by a long shot, but hindered in their capabilities of power projection.
That was, at least, what the Benefactor's experts said.
It was also confirmed during the night, as Pacificoran planes attacked Criska and destroyed important facilities, including the Imperial Palace, and killing an important member of the Imperial Family, Princess Aria.
Criska would have to respond - including a response to a speech by the Duke of Hyrka, a certain Volker von Krige, that they would join Pacificora.
It was not the kind of situation, that was easily solved.
It was usually not the kind of situation, that the Elders wanted the Selkie to be in.
Still... ties of both friendship and economy bound Criska and the Free Lands together. They needed to decide for a course of action and that quickly.
After Miss Feic's report, the Elders dismissed her for holding council amongst themselves.
In the great courtyard of the castle, which was seat of the Council since times long past, which had withstood so many sieges, Miss Feic sat on a hayball courtesy of the stables in the sun, enjoying the rays of summer and the view she had on two of the Ambassadors of the Selkie training with their swords. Marla and Leonard were some of the best of their class - and it showed.
Suddenly, someone sat down on the hayball at her side with a great sigh.
Feic looked over to Donald Crionna, the Old Fox sitting at her side, watching the two sportspeople going at their training with the same rigorous dedication they usually showed as Ambassadors of their people.
"I hope you don't mind me sitting here.", the old man said with a smile.
Feic shook her head. "No, it's fine by me, Mister Crionna."
"Good.", he said and watched the two in silence for a bit. "Pity. That with Criska, I mean. They are good friends and partners. Pacificora is, too. We need to decide - neutrality or one side."
Feic nodded.
"Tell me...", the old man said, "Who would the Benefactor prefer?"
The younger woman took a moment to consider, watching a particular daring move of Leonard and Marla's counter to it. "He prefers to aid both sides."
Crionna laughed. "That's him alright!", he said, before he sobered, "It sadly won't be possible. The Elders have made their decision - they are going to aid Criska, but are currently thinking about how much they will get involved."

To: Emperor Derrick Oktarian, Emperor of Criska.

Return Adress: The Elder Council, Council Chambers of the Elder Council, Elder Castle, Free Lands of the Selkie.

Wednesday, 5th of Octobre, 2016.

High Encryption.

Your Highness,
in the name of the Elder Council and the Fifteen Tribes of the Selkie, I wish to express our deepest condolences about the passing of Princess Aria. Miss Leann had only good words about her.
Allow me, as a father who lit the pyre for one of his sons, to give you a piece of friendly advice: Let it all out. Grief now, grief properly and after that, make them pay.

As for indeed making them pay, the Free Lands will stand by their friend's side, if you wish us to.
But first, there will be a press release from the Foreign Office, asking both sides to show restraint and to cease the fighting, to reach a ceasefire agreement brokered by us - we would like to ask you to show interest, together with a list of terms for said ceasefire agreement and the peace following it, which Pacificora would never accept.
As they will deny these terms, we have a clean slate.
When they do agree to these terms, it will be even better.

I hope to hear from you soon,
May Carman Fea bless you,
Sullivan Tarra of the Tribe of Cavan
Elder of his Tribe,
In the name of the Elder Council of the Selkie.

Official Press Release of the Foreign Office

Subject: The armed confrontations between the forces of Criska and the forces of Pacificora.
Author: Donald Crionna of the Tribe of Louth.

In the name of the Elder Council, I wish to officially inform all involved and concerned parties, that the Elder Council wishes to ask both sides to cease the hostilities against each other. A ceasefire agreement may be made.
In order to broker such an agreement, the Elders and I myself offer our services.
We would like to hear the replies of both concerned parties as soon as possible.

Signed,
Donald Crionna of the Tribe of Louth
Head of the Foreign Office,
In the name of the Elder Council of the Selkie.

[Pacificora]

7:26pm, Pala International City, Pacificora

It didn't matter that they expected it. It didn't matter that they knew it would happen. It didn't matter that they had prepared for it. It was destructive, it was terrible.

Bombs well from the sky like rain. This wasn't the cherry picking style that the Ventolux airforce used, this was bombardment. The central boulevard of the city, National Boulevard, was no longer a place of rich culture and conversation echoing through the traditional walls of the buildings. This was a place of depression, of sadness, of death.

General Vílaro walked through the street approaching the brilliant parliament building, at least, it had been brilliant. A significant portion of the south wing had been hit by the bombs and now lay in ruins. This wasn't the lovely Pacifican skies everyone was used to, this was a bleak day. The sun didn't warm the sun only hurt, the light didn't guide it only exposed, Pala wasn't Pala, this wasn't Pala.

<Vílaro> "President Galar, I would like to inform you that the national airforce commission, the national army commission and finally the national navy commission all are enquiring as to your decision regarding a strike back."

Zariff turned to see the charismatic general from the Air Force Command. Zariff's expression and tone set as hard as stone.

<Zariff> "General, this is no time to plan a strike back, this is a time to mourn. These people are not ready to fight a war."

<Vílaro> "Sir, these people are ready to fight a war. We need to take advantage of their lust for revenge, we need to take adv..."

<Zariff> "What in the hell is running through that mind of yours?! This country isn't a damn machine general. You don't have the autho..."

<Vílaro> "With all due respect, sir, I do have the authority to make whatever claims I like. This is a time of war and we need a president who can damn handle it."

<Zariff> "How dare you! This is a time to respect the dead, not pray for their multiplication!"

Vílaro smiled, but not the normal, warm, Pacifican smile Zariff was so used to, no, this was a smile of greed, of need, of lust.

<Vílaro> "You don't understand how to play this game do you? Sir, this is war, and your precious rules have been thrown away, this is no time for some pacifist liberal, you need to learn how to play the damn game, or..."

His smile only became more dangerous. That's what it was, it was dangerous.

<Vílaro> "You don't play."



No amount of bombs or destruction prepared Pala for what happened that evening. People didnt want to mourn as Zariff thought, people wanted Criska to burn, people wanted Criska to bleed. Massive protest erupted in the streets of Pala saying that the government needed to strike back, this was a war not a trade of blows. No one should cross the paths of the Pacifican people, that no one should even dare. That say, President Zariff was forced to give special powers to all councils of the armed forces, giving them full permission to attack the nation of Criska. Today, Pacificora was officially at war.



<Xari> "She's alive! I need to see her I nee..."

<Zariff> "Xari, it's a foolish idea. She already has good service on the island and the company of a few workers we employed, she has company, she isn't alone."

<Xari> "That isn't the point! I need to see her, please. Please father please."

<Zariff> "Do you know just how many compromises I've already made for this little escapade of yours? I now have no control over the damn military!"

<Xari> "Please father, please."

Zariff couldn't believe his eyes. His son was desperate, his son needed to see that girl. He'd been miserable ever since the war started, he wasn't okay. It also wouldn't be horrible if his son was on the island, alone, away from this war. No child deserved to see what was going to happen here, and Zariff decided Xari should be included in that group.



Young Pacificans were moved from the prosperous northern islands to the mainland in the north, where the agricultural sector still ruled. This was a program instatuted by the President and supported by the vast majority of officials in both the government and the military.

Xari was to be moved to the island, but only on the condition that numourous other teens his age would be in the numourous surrounding islands that formed a small archipelago. These children and teenagers mostly included people from the Capital Pala, but it also included people from other major cities around the nation.

To: The Grand Duchy of Hyrka
From: The Most Serene Republic of Pacificora (Militaristic Branch)
Subject: Partnership
Encryption: Maximum

The Republic gladly accepts the support of your grand nation, and hopes this is the beginning of a grand partnership. We are very thankful that there is at least one other nation that sees our side of the story.

We would be more than happy to set up a free trade agreement between our nations, in the hope of establishing benefits for both sides.

In regards to the diplomats, we are more than happy to invite numourous members to Pala, or if you are looking for a more Militaristic instead of cultural area, our Protecterate Carinava would also be a perfect meeting spot.

Bless Warmater Volker von Kringe, bless standing up for equality and morality, bless Hyrka