The Vale Sparks (Alitheia Only, Diplomatic, IC)

[Empire of Donner land]

"The Nations of the Vale are a messy bunch, left behind with little assistance or guidance from a war which in the quick peace agreement they could have been easily forgotten, and in most cases were." - Ambassador Selhg
Banner by Ubaria

---

The Sarrukh Vale

03/16/2019

---

The Sarrukh Vale is a region of Helsa, located in the South East on the geographic boundary with Ashai. The Sarrukh Vale consists of 4 distinct locations and nations, the Velmiran Coast, Ostiran Basin, Rukh Plains, and the Krasnian Woods. The Sarrukh Vale shares borders with the UoAE, Vanquaria, Donner Land and Erebonia. Of the four states that inhabit this region, three of four are landlocked, with only Velmira having access to the Ocean. Additionally, the Sarrukh Vale is an important economic location due to its geography allowing for land vehicles to bypass the sharp mountains on the Vanquarian-Donnish Border, providing much of the trade that the nations here can't get from the ocean.

The reason the Nations here came into existence in this Region is due to the Erebonian War in the 90s during which the Erebonians had conducted a military campaign that successfully occupied much of Southern Helsa and the Sarrukh Vale. However, the Erebonian victories slowed to a halt when their assault through South Donnerland hit a standstill into a stalemate, and Donnish Forces, with assistance from their allies elsewhere, such as the Valaran Empire in the sea and Anowan ground and air forces as well as Air Strikes made by other allied nations, made a successful counterattack liberating much of what was occupied.

With the Erebonians now losing the war, and the Erebonian Monarchy collapsing as well as having setbacks on their other fronts due to partisan activity and loss of morale, they sued for peace. In exchange for the end of the war, Erebonia was reduced to its pre-war territory, paid war reparations, had some of its military dismantled, and had military officers responsible for War Crimes in South Donnerland tried in Donnerland, as well as occupied by Donner Land and Valaran with the Valaran Military pulling out of their occupation in 1999 and the Donnish by 2001 after an extended 3-year occupation of Erebonia and then the creation of a Demilitarized Zone on the Donnish Erebonian border.

But the most important, yet forgotten part of this peace, was the creation of four states in the Sarrukh Vale. Velmira, Rukh, Ostir, and Krasnia. Immediately the bricks fell into place for failure. Firstly, managing the ethnic boundaries in the region was near impossible, especially with the destruction caused by the war and the early onset of ethnic violence and conflict in 1998. The newly liberated Sarrukh Vale had Militias strike claims as to who owned what and where until peacekeepers arrived to settle everything down for good and transfer powers to the newly independent states. This alone had impacted borders and claim disputes for the years to come.

Secondly, Velmira was given the full coast and access to the Ocean Trade as well as a small though not insignificant Natural Oil Supply and Industry that thoroughly boosted its economy in comparison to the already shaky economies of Ostir, Rukh, and Krasnia. This caused widespread jealousy and unrest amongst the tetrarchs, as the three other states looked to the trade incoming and outgoing too and from Ashai on land routes through the Sarrukh Vale around the Donnish Mountains. Not to mention, the Nation of Valaran is already a large partner of Velmira, with some denizens of the Vale, largely from Ostir or Krasnia, blaming Valaran for somehow giving bias towards Velmira in the peace talks and ensuring their superior economic position. This was only inflaming tensions even more.

Thirdly and finally, the creation of these independent states was rushed due to a deadline, in which hostilities would begin yet again if a deal was not signed. The dealmakers broke common formalities and other rules in order to make it on time and not prolong the conflict. The consequences of which were that the Vale was incredibly rushed to make time for the more important parts of the deal. That being the creation of a DMZ, occupation law, dismantlement of Erebonian War Materials, this only being part of the main objectives that had to be done in such a timeframe. Corners were cut.

Now with the Velmiran President dead by an Ostir Nationalist Terrorist Car bombing in the capital of Tirgade, these tensions have been inflamed, even more, now threatening all-out war. Velmira and Rukh have given nearly impossible to complete demands to Ostir for their crimes, but Ostir has denied they had anything to do with the bombing and putting blame on Velmira and Rukh for their mistreatment of Ostiran minorities. The problems caused in the 90s by this peace deal are now creeping up again, and this time in finality.

---

OOC

---

This RP takes place for characters in Abula City, UoAE as parties from all involved nations arrive for talks once more to attempt to create a deal that stops further tensions from exploding into war. The last meeting that occurred did not achieve anything after Rukh and Velmira doubled down on their demands, and following the news getting out of the failure, an Ostir Militia Unit had attacked and occupied a Velmiran Town after reportedly being harassed by Mortar Fire from it. 3 Ostir Militiamen were killed in action, with one wounded, and 2 Velmiran Soldiers wounded additionally in the counter-attack that cleared the occupation. Additionally, the Velmiran President is unable to attend due to being killed by the aforementioned Terrorist Car bombing, and instead, other officials must come in his place

With the disaster that was the meeting two months ago still fresh and peoples heads, they return to the UoAE to yet again attempt one last time to prevent a bloody war from occurring and causing large scale damage to both people, their livelihood and the economy of Helsa and Ashai.

As this happens, events may unfold elsewhere in the world, what events unfold, is up to you and whoever you cooperate with. This RP focuses on Diplomacy first and foremost, however, players may communicate through written diplomatic dialogue such as telegrams, etc but primarily through the "Vale Conference" from character to character. However, to avoid people talking or writing over each other, it is expected that people take turns replying when writing for characters speaking at the Vale Conference. Situations or Diplomatic Correspondences outside of this are free reign and may be posted whenever appropriate.

Since this isn't a war RP quite yet, no detailed applications are needed, simply do an introductive post, etc and get into it. Use the discord to communicate OOCly either privately or openly.

Welcome to The Vale Conference.

---

Rules

Typical rules and etiquette applies, but aside from that is the aforementioned turns on posting specifically at the Vale Conference location in order to prevent people from being posted over and potentially ignored. A turn order should be decided for the Vale Conference, if a turn order cannot be agreed upon, I will roll dice using a D20, and the people with the highest numbers will be able to discuss and write first at the Vale Conference with tiebreakers decided with more D20 rolls. If you are not making a post for the Vale Conference specifically, do not worry, you will be allowed to post without restriction. I will keep the turn order pinned in the Canon Construction Channel.

Additionally, while I am allowed secondary arcs and plots to play out during the conference, the Conference is the primary plot, and as such, I suggest prioritizing it over a secondary plot if you have one in order to keep the RP going. Thank you.

[Empire of Donner land]

Abula City, UoAE, Vale Conference

---

03/16/2019 - 12:30 PM Union Western Standard Time

---

The Conference Hall was alive with the chatter of more than a few dozen envoys, officials, aides, and diplomats. The parties involved sat in their labeled positions around the oval table, surrounded by a battalion of news reporters, journalists, and cameramen all with flashing cameras and asking questions were ushered out as the Vale Conference would begin on schedule. As the politicians and diplomats waved their goodbyes to the prying eyes of the public world, they sat down to begin the down and dirty work of diplomacy behind a closed door. Even without the crowd, the room still felt rather full, and to some of the cold-acclimated Donnish, even stuffy.

As the hushed whispers between parties quieted down in multiple languages, the Donnish Diplomat Proen Trorehn stood up, making sure that their microphone was on that fed to the translator, who would then repeat his words to the other parties of the room. Of the parties, he could see in the room three that concerned him the most. The first being the Krasnians next to him on his right. Ever since their liberation and Government formation in the 2000s, they had been in a political position no nation prior to 2016 Second Helsan War had ever been in with the Donnish Government, a close Warm Protectorate underneath the then 4th Empire of Donner Land and Sattelite State. Although the relationship was not formalized, the bricks were being laid for the groundwork of a continued symbiotic relationship. The Donnish gained a buffer state to protect their South Border from the Dominion, while Krasnia was afforded protection and military training as well as limited subsidization and exclusive arms trade. Donner Land's goal was to keep Krasnia to itself and out of armed conflict or prevent a conflict in the first place, as unlikely as this seems.

Secondly, to his front left across the room, was the Anowan delegation, which from the start had made their support for Ostir very clear, so much so that they had been briefed to him as a rogue element that could potentially undermine Donnish Goals in the region to achieve there own, and with relations souring between the two since the Crisis in Grunalia this was a distinct possibility. Should this be allowed to happen, he thought, Krasnia could be in danger of being pulled into the Conflict itself, bringing in the Donnish Military, and eventually, P.A.C.T through the activation of the oh-so trending in the news "Article One", bringing the entire (or at least, some of PACT) to bear on the region, that or it would spell the Alliance's Doom by fracturing its interests. Donner Land's goal with them would be to ensure that they do not attempt to endanger Krasnia's position in the Sarrukh Vale.

Thirdly was the Valaran Delegation, they were in a tricky spot despite being one of Donner Land's few allies that had a useful and overbearing naval presence compared to the Donnish Navy, as well as a Political Ally. However, with the Erebonian War creeping up to cause this mess, Valaran was now caught on the opposite side from Donner Land politically, having to back up their partner in the Sarrukh Region, Velmira. Velmira's President being assassinated gave them a moral high ground, though Ostir had repeatedly said they had nothing to do with the Car Bombing done by Ostiran Ultra-Nationalist Terrorists and created their own soapbox by declaring that Velmira and Rukh were mistreating Ostiran Minorities in their territories. Despite this, Rukh and Velmira have repeatedly given Ostir a number of demands concerning the cessation of any and all disputed territory, as well as Velmiran and Rukh Ethnic Territory. The Council's goal here for him was simple, make sure the Valaran Government was still on their side in the theatre, remind them this, and potentially have them speak out against their Velmiran Partner and Velmira's Ally, Rukh, to attempt to avoid the breaking out of armed conflict.

In summary, get the Valaran Government to agree with him, keep the Anowans out of it, and keep Krasnia safe and a Donnish Protectorate, with the secondary objective of stopping a War in the Sarrukh Vale from breaking out. Simple sounding, but not very easy in the grand scheme of things.

Trorehn cleared his throat, "Thank you all for attending this conference in the hopes of brokering a Peace Deal for the Sarrukh Vale, as a moderating voice at his Conference on the Sarrukh Vale, I would like to welcome you all to Abula City in the Union. Of course, none of you are here for the sights, we're here for Business, as is the Military Republic of Donner Land. So, to begin this meeting, I am to state our stance on this Region." Trorehn sat back down.

"As you know, the Military Republic of Donner Land is very interested in keeping Krasnia a neutral and unaligned party in these matters, but, the best way to do this I believe is to ensure that no conflict period occurs in the first place. As such I would like to bring up these measures, that the Civilian Council believes, will assist. For one, we would like our Allies, Anowa, to not participate in War Materials sales or lease to the troubled nation of Ostir. What this situation needs is not more weapons flooding into the region, but peace and understanding.

Secondly, we are of the firm belief that Velmira and Rukh are absolutely not in the position to be making such demands of Ostir, and that these Demands are simple early twentieth century tactics to bait Ostir into an Armed Conflict, in an attempt to make them appear to be the 'good guys' in such a War. These demands should be withdrawn to make an attempt at honest diplomatic dialogue that achieves the goal of Peace and Prosperity in the Region.

Thirdly, we would like to make it concretely known that Krasnia has no grounds to be involved in this conflict regardless of peace being achieved this day or not on the basis that Krasnia has relatively been withdrawn from Vale Politics as of late and before the tensions began. Additionally, as far as we can tell, Krasnia is not the problem or a source of a problem in the Region, nor is it a threat. Our military presence in Krasnia as well should not be cause for alarm, as it is reactionary to tensions building in the Sarrukh Vale."

[The United Remnants of America]

"Diplomacy is the art of letting someone else have your way." – Sir David Frost

---

Deputy Ambassador Anton Nikolia

---

Medford, Alenterra, GRCS

---

3/16/2019 - 05:30

---

"What are you doing?"

"I'm pulling out my phone. I can have an Ostiran diplomat here in twenty minutes who will be much more amenable to our offers."

"You wouldn't. The Ostirans are-"

"I would, and I can. We are equally sensitive to the plight of the Ostiran."

The diplomat from Rukh was an older man. His thick mustache was going grey and his bald head shone in the dim lighting. His lip noticeably quivered as Anton Nikolia sat calmly across from him with cellphone in hand.

Of course Nikolia wasn't going to be calling an Ostiran official so early in the morning, and he didn't even have an Ostiran conflict, but this man from Rukh didn't need to know that. The GRCS had been open about attempting to support both Sarrukh nations for years. But Ostir was heavily backed by other nations. And poor little Rukh was backed only by an old Remnant rival that was asleep at the wheel during a time of crisis. The Remnant leadership knew it was time to strike and turn the tables, especially after the brutal war in Modeno.

The room was a nice parlor, lined with dark woods and carpeting and nestled inside of a nondescript government building in the city of Medford. Medford was one of the major city-states of the GRCS nation of Alenterra. Alenterra itself being more a collection of coastal and near-coastal city-states run by patrician families and pseudo-crime syndicates than an actual, functional nation. But they had a strong trading and mining industry, and they were founding members of the GRCS, as former Remnant colonies.

Medford was the perfect place for a quiet, out of the way sit-down with one of Rukh's senior diplomats. Even better, he was here at the same time as that meeting in Abula should be starting. And if this man was here with Nikolia, it meant he wasn't at a chair that a much less experience Rukh diplomat would be sitting at during the conference. Nikolia concealed the genius of this decision behind a placid smile. While Nikolia was cajoling and pressuring this man, his younger, and more aggressive, counterpart, would be doing the same at the official conference. A lovely play.

The Rukhian man blinked, and Anton knew he had the man.

"If your government is also supportive of Ostir's actions, then how can my government trust your offers?"

The trap was baited. Time to close it on the prey's neck. But slowly.

Nikolia's words flowed like honey, "Ostir is a nation of opportunity, yes. But they are supported by members of the international community we would rather not see have influence over any nation in the Sarrukh Vale. Your country, on the other hand, has been left turning in the wind, and my government's heart goes out to the plight that Rukh is now experiencing."

"There is no plight. The Dominion will-"

Nikolia leaned in, verbally cutting the man off, "The Dominion has left you to rot. They are a declining empire in the throes of stagnation and decline. They sought to force your loyalty through giving you their scraps with one hand and threatening invasion with the other. Your nation was a pawn in their game."

Silence. The man from Rukh said nothing.

"But," Nikolia continued, "The Dominion, from what I understand, isn't even present at the Abula Conference. You are being left out to dry, your cries for help unheard, and your needs unmet by a benefactor who no longer cares whether you sink or swim, as they themselves are struggling not to drown. Without that generous hand, this conference will almost assuredly be a diplomatic failure for Rukh. What my nation is offering your government and your people, is a new hand. Rukh has been slighted by its neighbors repeatedly over since its formation. I am very much aware that the Rukh people want to see a future where their children do no need to fear Ostiran invasion, Dominion expansion, or the occupation by foreign powers. Of this subject, my government shares a mind with your own. This is why I was tasked to get you to meet me here today on this important day, to make you understand the veracity of our claims, to understand that this is not empty politicking, but a true goal of the GRCS to support the nation of Rukh against the hungry gazes of foreign eyes."

The man's mustache moved as he clenched his jaw. Was that a drop of sweat on his forehead?

All my government asks," Nikolia was nearing the end of his sales pitch, "is that Rukh publicly distances itself from the failing Dominion in favor of the GRCS, who truly has the future of Rukh in mind. All we ask is that a the Abula conference, the delegation from Rukh allows the Remnant delegation to look out for their interests in order to begin the healthy and beneficial mutual relationship that the GRCS innocently seeks, and Rukh is so deserving of."

The trap was closing. Nikolia could see the man's throat tightening. His mouth opened once, then closed without a word being uttered. He hesitated. Nikolia had him.

"Of course, if you feel this is not made in good faith, I can call this meeting to an end, and I will be offering the same assistance to an Ostiran ambassador within the hour." Nikolia unlocked his phone and started scrolling through his contacts for the nonexistent number. "I'm sure he will be much more open to-"

"Wait," the man from Rukh held a hand up in a warding gesture, "you have given me much to consider, and much to confer with my government and colleagues. Would you allow me to confer with them before I issue a response?"

"Of course. Please, take your time, Domnul Ciobanu."

"Thank you."

As the man rose from his chair and turned to leave the room, Anton Nikolia allowed himself a small smile. In his mind, the trap snapped shut on the mouse's neck.

[Imperial Valaran]

“Prologue: Grasping for Change”

Kalati, Velmira
25/02/2002

---

“Seriously, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Sure you can.” Aurens leaned back in his seat. The plastic chair creaked slightly. He raised his glass of Sirraki “brandy”, the ubiquitous clear liquid that people everywhere in Velmira grimaced as they drank it. The swill was about the only industry to emerge unscathed from the fighting. The Vale was divided on everything else, but everyone drank Sirraki. And grimaced while they did it.

Grigore didn’t answer. Smoke swirled up from the small ashtray, and from a cigarette in his hand. It irritated Aurens’ nose that he almost coughed, but he ignored it. “Come on Grigore, you must know something.”

Around them was the hubbub of a port city. Kalati was a vaguely charming place, the sort with quaint cafes and pleasant vistas in place of real attractions. It catered to tourists more than its industrial cousins did, both Velmirans and now, maybe foreigners. Nice place to be stationed, if a bit cheap; a venue for holidaying on a budget. Even the petty corruption had a salubrious air to it.

They sat outside, on one side of a cobbled street. The other side ended with a straight drop into the harbour waters, a muddied turquoise. Fishing boats listed and pitched, strung together. There was a lot of small watercraft, from maritime taxis and ferries to a smattering of pleasure boats. A flock of yachts grazed out to sea, their sails dotting the ocean front as sheep would clutter a hillside. To Aurens though, there was a gaping absence. Kalati was currently a port without activity. Well, without much real activity. It lacked the booming horns of tankers and cruise liners. In place of their magisterial presence, there was simply a void: sea, sky and gulls. Even the flock of yachts looked largely stationary.

This lack of activity probably explained the general exodus of the population to the quayside cafes. There wasn’t much to do, except drink and grimace. Cars had at least returned to the city, and a number were clattering along the cobbles. Most were Unification Era antiques, stubby with features that were obsolete three decades ago and aesthetics that were obsolete three centuries prior. A couple were off-brand imports, practical Donnish types, or snub-nosed Valaran electrics. Sometimes it was a police vehicle, be it state, federal, municipal, military, republican. Velmira had a lot of police forces. More rarely, a couple of peacekeepers would stroll past, guns swinging by their side, chatting in regular rotation of languages. None of them spoke Valaran anymore, which made Aurens feel relaxed. Valarans could be a problem.

“I know why you Valarans like Velmira,” Grigore finally replied.

“Well I suppose that’s something,” Vans, Aurens’ partner mused.

“You like Velmira because you think it's an easy place to do business. Good food, nice climate,”

“—shit alcohol.” Vans raised his glass and smiled.

“Its nice enough that you don’t realise you’re being fucked. Really it's just a rich man and a poor girl. You think she actually likes you, when you flash your cheques and she squeals.” He drained his glass in one instant, grimacing as he did so. “All she is doing is taking your money, and all you’re getting is pisswater Sirraki.”

“In this analogy, are you the squealing girl?” Vans joked.

It was misjudged. Gigore smiled without any warmth. “You know, Aurens, your partner’s pretty funny. Pretty shitting funny.”

He reached for the bottle sitting between them. Aurens passed it to him, frosted glass and with a label that had curled up and was half-hanging off. Mass-market variety. Grigore took it and poured himself a half-measure into his tumbler. He was a mid-ranking official, the sort with retirement plans rather than promotion prospects, and screaming children to take care off. Aurens knew they were screaming, he had heard them himself. Grigore had six, two little terriers, two dumb louts for sons and two dumb daughters who thought dressing like a whore was being adult. Grigore probably didn’t want to spend his retirement with them, but he could see the writing on the wall. The new Velmira had no room for the Unification era bureaucracy. There was a clear-out coming, so the new players could make room for their own patronage circles, one with sharp suits and hunger in their eyes.

“In fact, he’s the funniest spy I’ve met.”

Aurens pushed back his hair. “We’re not spies, Grigore. We’re friends.”

“Of course not. Be a shit spy if you admitted to being one.” He took a swig of Sirraki and grimaced again. There was a loud squawking to his left. Gulls had begun swarming over a vacated table. Vans looked up in annoyance at the noise. But Grigore had glanced right. A large black car had gone past, somehow gliding on the cobbles. It was the sort officials had, the ones connected enough to bribe their way through port duties.

“Surely there must be something you can tell us,” Aurens tried. “I’ll buy Maskha a present.”

“She hates your presents. You never buy the good stuff. You Valarans are cheapskates, cheaper than a Krasnian wedding.” The squawking grew louder.

“I’m offended by that, Grigore.”

“Be offended then. You’re offended and I’m poor. We’re all miserable until the day we die.” A waiter had arrived to shoo the gulls away. They angrily beat their wings around him. One nipped at the tablecloth.

“That’s not very cheery of you, Grigore.”

“You want cheery? How about you stop giving me shit first. Its not cheery to be harassed by spies. People notice. They think I’m an informant.”

Aurens surpressed a sigh. Being sweated was tiresome, and it was too early to get drunk. “Grigore, how about a car. Mashka likes cars, doesn’t she?”

That stopped him. He squinted for a moment. “One of the foreign imports. Not whatever shit you still make.”

Aurens shrugged, as if it was no trouble. “A foreign car then. Artalian. Big, black beast, like what your ministers use. No chauffeur, but we’ll throw in a little champagne too. Palmarian champagne is her favourite type, isn’t it? Would Mashka like that?”

“What do you say Grigore?” Vans chipped in. “Are we worth your trouble now?”

Grigore paused. He gave a low look around, like an interior policeman was about to stroll into view. Aurens and Vans kept their gazes level. “Alright. What do you want?”

Aurens fixed him with a low stare of his own, the sort he imagined that spies used. “The contacts first. Anyone in your department worth a damn. Anyone in local administration as well, and if you have people in the Party…” Vans had gotten out a tablet. The ashtray clinked as it was set aside. “I want to know where to find them, and how they do business.”

Grigore screwed his face up in thought. He seemed to have started sweating. “Alright. My list of names isn’t what is used to be, but I know some of the big shots. What else?”

Aurens shifted in his seat. “After that, tell us about the north. Tell us about the border.”

* * * * *

“You didn’t have to give him a car.”

Aurens and Vans were back at their hotel. Aurens was unpacking. He kept his elbows in, taking his time to position various items around him. It was still afternoon, but the curtains were drawn. The ceiling light gave the room a sallow glow.

“He would have gone for something cheaper.” Vans began again.

Aurens unzipped his travel suitcase, taking out a small clothes bag. Even for long stays, he rarely unpacked anything if he didn’t need to. In his profession, it paid to be able to move at short notice, but mostly was about minimising hassle. Aurens was a believer in the path of least resistance, even if he paid extra for it. “I’ll wait for them to take it out of my bonus, I guess.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; they’ll take it out of mine. I’m the lower-class social democrat stooge. You’re the one that can at least act upper class.” Vans paused. “How do you plan on getting it through customs?”

“I was going to buy two, and give one to your guy there — Niki right?”

“Yeah, Nikita. He might still ask for cash.”

“Well, we’ve still got a few thousand Marks lying around somewhere. That’s enough as a downpayment. I’ll wire in the office for the rest of the funds for the purchase.” Aurens removed a pressed white shirt with black buttons. He carefully laid it on the bed, before reaching for the next item. It was a dark grey suit. It reflected the light to the point that it almost shimmered.

Vans glanced at the suit. “That looks smart. Got a date with Velina?”

“Something like that.”

“Have fun. When did you want to arrange a meeting with this Nikolaev?”

Aurens thought about it. “Let’s say two weeks.”

“Two weeks? Isn’t that a bit long?”

“I’ll need to set it up carefully, that’s all. We don’t want to mess this one up.” Aurens paused. “Besides, two weeks is enough time for Grigore to get his bribe. I suspect he’ll blab to Nikolaev that we’re asking about him, so it would be good to show we held up our end first.”

“I see.” Vans looked a bit uncertain. “Just as long as I’m in the call.”

Aurens looked up and smiled. “Of course. We’re partners.”

* * * * *

“You know my father disapproves of you.” Velina spoke GSC with only a slight accent. Although many residents of Kalati had learned the trade language, speaking it so well was the sign of a good education; the sort only the elite possessed. Velina could afford to appear other than her nationality, and in a country broken by the violent birth of nationhood, that was a mark of status. The sort of status an outsider would miss. Only small words slipped her up. Things like saying “an” in front of a consonant. When speaking fast she might forget and roll an “r”. The mistakes were easily missed in the flow of conversation. Aurens had to listen carefully to hear the imperfections. It was like noticing a hairline crack in a polished mirror.

“Starting the foreplay early?” Aurens had a gleam in his eye. He imagined his breath smelled of cheap petrol fumes that bad Sirraki gave off. His shirt had two buttons undone, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his suit. His left hand gripped the frosted rim of a tumbler, filled with far too much Sirraki and far too little tonic. His right was draped around his girlfriend.

His vision flashed dark, then pink neon, then a streetlight glare. It illuminated Velina in pulsing rhythms, making the sequins of her dress sparkle, even after she had stopped dancing. Music pounded into his eardrums. It was the sort of repetitive EDM beat that came from Artalia, or was a local imitation of something that did.

Aurens reclined back on a chair, one of a row that snaked around the club. Velina had been dancing in front of him. Other couples had a similar arrangement, the men seated, almost still and the women writhing. For women without partners, or simply preferring to be in the pulsing heart of the music, they also danced in the centre. When he had first arrived in Velmira, some four months back, Aurens had tried dancing there as well. He didn’t quite understand the glares he received at the time, but he had since learned. In Velmira, the men didn’t dance.

Velina leaned over him. “He gave me a lecture tonight on Valarans. Said you’re all exploiters. I didn’t think he was going to let me leave.”

“Your old man sounds tough,” Aurens murmured.

“He’s just old-fashioned. Everyone was taught you were all imperialists, who exploited others.”

Aurens kissed the side of her neck. “Well you are being colonised.”

“That doesn’t even make sense Aurens.”

“Doesn’t it?” His hand slid around her waist, pulling her down onto his lap.

“No it doesn’t.” Suddenly she pushed away. “Why did you even come here anyway? This club is for dickheads, the sort of people you bribe. Is that why we’re here, Aurens? Is this another part of the job? Who are you spying on?”

“I’m not a spy,” Aurens replied instantly.

Velina’s eyes flashed, and it wasn’t the neon lights. “Stop with this bullshit. You turn up in Kalati, dressed like shit but completely stacked. You sneak around lunching with boring officials, promising them whatever. We’re still under occupation, but half the officials in Kalati drive black Artalian cars.”

“The bribes are for the port contract-”

“How much do you even need for that? You must have bribed enough for a hundred contracts by now.”

Aurens scowled. Even in the strobe lighting and with the pulse of music, a few faces had turned. “Well your country has a fucking mountain of hoops to jump through. Besides, Sianar and KDX are bribing too, its bloody competitive. Not that you would know. Your dad is the sort to get the offers for free. You’ve never had to try and weasel your way into where you don’t belong.”

“My family’s lived hard too-”

“Yeah, in 1997. That was five years ago, Velina. Your father never really lost his connections. Face it, you’re stacked too, you just don’t dress like shit.”

Velina stepped back. “You foreigners really think you know us, huh?”

“Maybe we do. I know people the world over, they’re no different.” Aurens stood up. He kept scowling. Sometimes Velina reminded him of the privilege back home. Damn nobles who think they have it hard. “I don’t want to argue about this. Let’s go for some air.”

She looked up at him. It the dark, her gaze seem to bore into his skull. “Why do you even date me anyway? Is that so you can get close to my father, or his friends?”

Aurens felt his scowl fading into something else. He took a swig of Sirraki, half-savouring the bitterness. At least the drink kept him grimacing. “That’s not why I date you.”

“Why then?”

Aurens set his drink down and stared back at her. “It's not why.”

Velina stared back. The lights turned their faces purple, then briefly gold. “Fine. I suppose an spy like you needs his secrets.”

Aurens opened his mouth to reply, but let it drop. He had noticed a hairline crack. Instead, silently, he took her hand, and pulled her into an embrace. They kissed, and Velina closed her eyes, her back to the dance floor. Aurens tried to do so himself, tried to lose his tradecraft honed edge-

His jacket beeped. He almost didn’t hear the sound, but the vibrations pounded his chest. He looked up over Velina’s shoulder. “Who is that?”

Velina turned and looked, squinting through the club miasma. Aurens was pointing at the stairs to the VIP section, located two floors above the main club area. The guards had waved a man past. A small entourage followed him up the stairs. “That guy up there? I think my father works for him. He’s like a big shot.”

“Mind if I go speak to him?”

Velina looked back at Aurens. He was pushing it too far, he knew he was. But they both knew he wasn’t in Velmira for games. “Don’t take too long. Or I’ll go find someone else to suck off in the toilets.”

Aurens chuckled and downed his drink, this time smiling through the grimace. “Please. The toilets are too dirty for you.”

* * * * *

A bodyguard immediately blocked Aurens’ way as he entered the VIP lounge. The pat-down was intrusive, but quick.

The VIP looked up. He waved Aurens’ forward. “Do we know each other? Someone tells me you’ve been asking around town.” The man’s voice was low, and the words rolled out slowly. His accent had a regional tilt, but it was… northern, Aurens thought. Not from Kalati.”

“Not until now.” Aurens stuck out his hand. “Aurens.”

“Nikolaev.” The man gripped it. “You’re a Valaran. What firm?”

“Industrial representative for Tyrvas Enterprises. I’m in town for—”

“The shipyard contract, yes.” Nikolaev spoke quickly.

Aurens smiled. “Oh, so you’ve heard.” He affected a dismissive tone. “Normally I wouldn’t be called in for this sort of thing, but for some reason there’s been competition-”

“I hear Sianar Heavy Industries will be awarded the contract.” Nikolaev interrupted him again.

“But the announcement is not for weeks.” Aurens tried not to frown. The VIP was seeing how he would react.

Nikolaev smiled. “All the same, I hear.” His cronies grinned as well. One of the girls giggled.

Aurens kept smiling. Bastard. “I see.”

Nikolaev motioned suddenly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sirraki, please.”

Nikolaev motioned to the bar. He didn’t speak as the alcohol was brought over and set on the table, two shot glasses and a crystal bottle. Aurens kept silent as well. It was not an occasion where he spoke first. They downed the shots together. The Sirraki was pure, a line of fire down his gullet. Aurens made an effort to suppress his grimace. Nikolaev gave no expression as he downed it.

“So why have you been asking around for me?”

“I hear you’re a man of influence. Someone worth talking to.” Nikolaev tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the remark. “Do you deal in shipbuilding yourself?”

“I do. But not yours, I’m afraid. We have no formal relationship.”

“I’d be very happy to see that altered.”

A crony spoke up. “I’m sure you would.” He spoke the Grey Sea language a thick northern accent, not a native of Kalati. It was very different to Nikolaev’s.

Nikolaev turned to him sharply. He spat a few words, too fast for Aurens to make out, and the crony seemed to shrink in his seat. “You must excuse him. He doesn’t know how to deal with foreigners.”

“No harm done.” Aurens poured Sirraki into the glasses again. “You’re not from Kalati, are you?”

“I’m not. You have an ear for our accents? That’s unusual.” Very unusual for a foreigner.

Aurens brushed the compliment away. “Somewhat. I can’t tell which part you are from.”

“Even my countrymen can’t. It is not a very… cosmopolitan place.” They took another round of shots. Nikolaev did not immediately speak afterwards. He seemed to be choosing what to say.

“Word is that you are a spy.”

Aurens chuckled, but he noticed the cronies were listening intently. Even the girl had stopped smiling. “Everyone in your country seems to think so. I’m not even asked anymore, it is just assumed I am one.”

“You must pardon our assumptions.” Nikolaev didn’t seem to be asking for forgiveness. “We simply find it hard to imagine why you would be so curious about Velmira. Or so knowledgeable on our accents.”

“You are entirely right to be suspicious,” Aurens replied. “I merely think it is best to get to know the country where I am stationed, and it's people as best I can.” He paused. “In the Empire, at least in our capital, I am looked down on for my accent. The elites speak differently.”

Nikolaev studied Aurens for a moment. “Here, before we embark on a deal, we first become friends.” His expression turned distant. “It is not… not how we do it where I am from, or how it is done in Valaran I’m sure. But it seems best to follow… local customs.”

He motioned again, and the bartender brought a disc-shaped silver platter. The crony on the right took it, and began to create white rows, all pointed inwards like clock dials. Another gave Nikolaev a note. Aurens caught a glimpse of the number 1,000 printed on the side. Nikolaev rolled it carefully, then passed it to one of the girls. Giggling again, she took it and snorted one of the lines from the platter.

The platter was put on the table in front of Aurens. The note had been left on one side. It slowly began uncurling, like the label from the cafe.

Nikolaev looked at Aurens. He leaned forwards, one hand clasping his empty shot glass, the other gripping the seat.

“Shall we become friends?”

[Imperial Valaran]

‘Wish Wash Washing Wishing Machines’

Abula City, UoAE, Vale Conference
03/16/2019 - 12:34 PM Union Western Standard Time

---

Ambassador Dietrich Stavan rose to speak. “I wish to thank representative Trorehn for his speech, and for a chance to speak at this Conference.” Stavan paused for effect. “Assembled delegates of the United Nations, this marks is a grave occasion.”

“What a load of crap.” Adair watched the Ambassador start his speech. He was three rows from the back and twelve from the front, the angled conference hall making the podium and its figure seem distant. Not the words though. They echoed back and forth through the speakers positioned around the hall, and in the little headphones the desks were issued with, and approximately half of the delegation was using. Adair’s headphones lay discarded in front of him, but he hadn’t switched if off, so if he listened closely, he could hear the same droning twice over. Just in case he was that into masochism.

“It is quite perfunctory.” Vans spoke. He was seated to Adair’s right. They were far enough back to make these sorts of comments in peace. The first row were for the representatives to the UN and national leaders. The next was national aides, and the row behind that was the aides to the aides. Two rows for journalists, and then you hit the loose topsoil of such events: international observers. They were the enthusiasts. People who treated diplomacy like a hobby, or betting sport.

Naturally, the rows were half-empty. No one bothered turning up to another indeterminable Sarrukh conference. If the definition of insanity was doing the same thing expecting a different result, then the assembled delegates, and the unassembled enthusiasts, were very much sane: after twenty one years of the same thing, no one expected a different result.

The issues of the Vale circled round and round, like clothes in a washing machine that never stopped washing. President Bulganin’s death was an explosive headache, but it hadn’t changed that. Why would it? The problems went beyond any one leader, they were located in the very foundations. Foundations formed from the slurry of the 1990s, the mortar being blood and the cement being indifference. The mixture was all wrong, full of impurities. The borders of the new states had been decided arbitrarily, a halfway house between wartime positions and ethnic maps from the 1960s, because the 1960s was the last time anyone had made a proper map of them. Then they had been flash-dried, frozen into place by a lethargic international intervention. Various great powers had deployed planes and peacekeepers several years after fighting had begun, for the Vale had been an afterthought to Erebonia. They had at least stopped the bloodletting, but by then the borders were all bent out of shape, the land lined with scars. The peace agreement too had been conducted without proper care or thought. It was officially an interim decree, hashed out between Donnish and Valaran diplomats over fine dinners at Abula. The hard questions were been left to future conferences to resolve.

Everyone knew it was kind of shit. There had been no UN to monitor it, and no nation had truly shaped it either. But now that the mix had settled and solidified, it was beyond alteration. To challenge it, to point out the cracks and flaws in design, would be to undo the edifice, to risk the entire structure collapsing. Remaking it would require more bloodletting for mortar, more of the preceding chaos, and the subsequent stamp of foreign boots. So Rukh would fume, and Ostir would threaten. Krasnia would make stern pronouncements, its stubbornness a reflection of its vulnerability. And Velmira would alternate between angry spasms and languid disdain. Everyone would carp and criticise. Their rage would reach a crescendo just in time for a local election, and or spark suddenly in response to a provocation. But no one would push too hard. The angry statements and the occasional bursts of violence were all delivered with a form of impotence, and would subside after each election or pointless controversy faded. The clothes spun round and round. The Vale would simmer, but it could not boil over.

“More than perfunctory, it's downright cuntish,” Adair replied. “I thought Ministry folk could at least talk. That’s their whole damn selling point, that they’ll drown you in words.” Hopefully this Conference would be drowned. Watching the ambassador move, it felt like they were already underwater. A conference of the fish, discussing kelp. While the sharks swam to the side.

The ambassador prattled on. Something about the “grave matters” and “solemn duties of the internal community.” Ministry types only used the words “international community” when they wanted to make a joke. Maybe Stavan was making a joke. Those two, overly long words were the punchline of every tragedy for three decades. And this was a convention of stand-up comics. Or at least people who would get the joke.

“They say Hesseren will remove him in the fall.” Vans spoke again. Adair wondered how connected Vans really was. He came across as yet another brusque, well-meaning social democrat, with coarse emotion, a clear judgement for what was ethical and no judgement for what was expedient. Each came with a grimace for all the trappings of Valaran power. Reasonable people. But dumb people.

“Hesseren should have removed him earlier. It sets the UN up badly.” His hand itched. He stared at a green EXIT sign with some hatred. “Holdovers from Alstan should have been purged two years ago.”

“It isn’t as simple as that-” Vans began.

“It bloody is.”

A figure moved into the seat to Adair’s right. He had his face turned away. “That space wasn’t for you.”

“Shame. It is now.” The figure and unbuttoned his jacket, revealing some bulk. Aurens had a reputation as an upstart and adventurer, but if his current nature was to judge by, he lived life well, and increasingly from a stationary position. His face still had a mark of handsomeness, though now it was lined and had a certain worn nature. At least his hair hadn’t fallen out.

“Making a personal appearance, Aurens? Didn’t think a Director of the mighty Agency would grace us with his presence.”

“I thought I would come and enjoy myself.” Aurens turned and smiled. He looked over. “Good to see you Vans. It has been some time.” Vans didn’t reply. He fixed his gaze in front at the ambassador.

Adair’s face screwed up on mock-confusion. “Enjoyment? Here? You spies are crazy.”

“Well, let's just say I’m expecting some fireworks.” Aurens kept smiling. It was a very full smile, the self-contented cat-with-the-cream expression of someone who knew too much, and couldn’t help but letting others know that he knew too much. The opposite of what a spy was meant to do. But Aurens had been successful—far too successful. The kind of success that made the establishment suspicious. They had a knack for detecting when someone had risen too fast to make sense.

Adair suppressed a twinge of annoyance. This was just how some people were like. He changed the subject. “That’s a nice suit.”

“Thanks. I had two flown in from my tailor. They were modified versions of the ones made for the Emperor.” Aurens flicked a pudgy hand. “Less staid of course. Edric dresses very tediously.”

“Of course.” Adair smiled politely.

“Still, the formality is an important aspect.” Aurens pointedly glanced at Adair. “A lot of elites prefer not to bother with such care to their appearance. A depressing sign of the times.”

“Unlike you, I was a peasant once,” Adair pushed his hair back with one hand. He had long ignored barbs over his dress sense. It was only something a certain breed of Valaran cared about. Ones with more to prove.

“I’m still a peasant,” Vans interjected.

Stavan paused. It was not the point in a speech that one would have expected a pause, or maybe Adair had simply tuned it out to the point that he didn’t know. “Assembled delegates, I would now like to cede my time to someone else.” A figure had arrived at the base of the podium. Someone well suited, in his early forties. “Many of you know who he is, but for those who do not: Dimitry Nikolaev is a member of the Velmira Parliament, a former Mayor of Kalati, and as of two days ago, has been appointed Minister of Defence by acting President Korovich.” Stavan left the podium, leaving it the new figure,

Nikolaev looked young. He had slicked back hair, a grey suit that shimmered, and a black shirt underneath. There was a leanness to his form that did not come with age. He was someway between a fashion model and politician, slightly too old for the former. Perhaps too harsh as well; certain severity of expression could be detected on Nikloaev’s face, even twelve rows back.

Nikolaev stood for a moment on that stage. It was the moment all the cameras would capture, their lens contracting as they zoomed on the face, the slicked blond hair and sharp suit, as the Minister stepped into the spotlight. Nikolaev scanned the room. His eyes seemed to fix briefly on the twelfth row, and Adair thought for a moment he was looking at him. But no, it seemed Nikolaev was gazing at someone else, close-by. Then he drew back.

“I speak for a country that is grieving.”

“Grieving for a man shot cold three nights ago. President Bulganin was never perfect, but he was our democratically elected leader. An honest man, who stood up for our nation at every turn. Who died for Velmira. By murdering him, our enemies have denied our right to choose our own leaders — the right of all countries. Velmira grieves for our leader, but we are mourning much more than that.” Pause.

“We are grieving for peace as well. The peace Bulganin fought hard to preserve, that was shattered by his death.”. Pause.

“But most of all, we are grieving for our future. A future that was stolen from us by this room, by men who claim to know better, who wring their hands as future is stolen from us by bandits, who is savaged before our very eyes.” Pause.

“I am grieving for our President.” But this room doesn’t grieve. You would rather shelter his assassins, than give him justice, give my nation justice.”

“I am grieving for peace. But this room doesn’t grieve.”

“I am grieving for our future. And this room,” he raised his hand and pointed at the delegates. The cameras swivelled with the gesture. “This room doesn’t grieve.”

“If you are truly here to resolve our situation, to lay rest the pain my country feels, then you should stop these condemnations. If you truly care about sovereignty, then you should respect Velmira’s sovereign rights as an equal nation.” Nikolaev’s voice turned low and quiet, almost guttural.” And if you truly care about peace, then you should hunt those dogs who attacked my country and gut them in the streets.” Nikolaev’s face had contorted into a snarl. It shrunk back, the canines retracting as the Velmiran reshaped his visage into the dapper mien of a career politician. “I hope the assembled delegates will decide the right course. Thank you.”

The gap between the end of the speech and the applause was too long. The audience seemed to half forget they owed him that formality, blinking past the speech.

Adair pushed his hair back. “Well that was a war cry.” It was the only thing he could think of saying. He felt as stunned as the general audience. They had just watched a shift in real time.

Vans turned to Aurens. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” There was accusation in his expression, and Adair detected that same genuine hurt all Social Democrats carried. Vans understood that Aurens was playing the game, and he could not bear it.

Aurens leaned back. “My employer is hosting an event this evening. Nikolaev will be there — you should come and ask him yourself. You’re both invited, of course.”

Vans scowled. Adair’s expression resembled a facial shrug. “Very generous of you.”

“Perhaps I will see you there then.” Aurens was taunting them again. After a speech like that, there was no other place to be. He made a move to stand. “Good day, Vans.” He inclined his head. “Lord Kalmers.”

Adair leaned back in his seat. There seemed to be confusion over who would speak next, now that proceedings had taken a hammer blow. Nikolaev wasn’t the first to grandstand or threaten at one of these, but he was an unknown quality. And there was a force about his words...

“Before you go Aurens, I want to know one thing,” Vans spoke quietly. “Back in Kalati, did you know it then?”

“You forget Vans.” Aurens had a cold expression. He did not look directly at the embittered Social-Democrat, but stared elsewhere. “In Kalati, we were all hungry.”

[Empire of Donner land]

Varhun, Krasnia

---

"Us Versus Them"

---

03/16/2019 - 11:34 AM East Helsa Standard Time

---

"There are a few weeks tops before they reach Varhun should they come in now." Triahn shrugged, a clear liquid oscillating and shaking in a small cup held in his right hand as he did so. It was Krasnian Vodka, the bottle stood on the wooded table surrounded by empty swivel chairs. Krasnian Vodka was good, with multiple brands, more so than what most other states in this region had, either due to the poor development from the war only 17 years before or simply because Krasnia just made the best drinks, Velmiran Liqueur was a close second though.

"Can we delay them any further? Guerilla Actions, ambushes, anything?" Krstić asked, he wore the markings of a Colonel, a few ranks above Triahn himself, given charge of organizing the defense on the Krasnian-Rukh Border at the strategic level. It would be strange for a Colonel doing this if it weren't that Krasnia's military was one of the smallest in the Vale itself, the only General Krasnia has, General Vasilije Petrović, is working as the Minister of Defense in the Government, and he took the flight to Abula with the President of Krasnia Sredoje Pap.

Triahn sighed and looked outside through the glass wall, placing his glass with an audible 'clink' on the table. They were at an Airbase in Varhun and outside the office wall window, a Donnish four-engine cargo aircraft was disembarking what looked to be a unit of Donnish Soldiers in uniform and cargo crates under netting, likely the last of the reinforcements requested to the Krasnian-Rukh border. "No, even if we did, it'd be a waste of manpower for the K.A.F, and it's not like you Krasnians just have a heaping supply of manpower lying around here. They'd get here an hour later, probably."

"Ha, I knew we should've invested more into cloning technology," Krstić joked, grabbing the bottle of vodka by the neck and pouring more into his shot glass.

"I hear those Squinties in Ashai really have an interest in that sort of thing, maybe you can call them for some help, eh?" Triahn slid his cup across the table to him, the sound of moist glass sliding on wood echoing in the empty meeting room. The shadows and light moved as the long rectangular blinds were blown by the air of an AC vent.

Krstić nodded with a grin, pouring Triahn a cup full and sliding it back. "Well, maybe when this is all over. I'm sure they'll have a place in the budget when we aren't buying your Assault Rifles." he paused, taking a fill of the drink, before speaking again. "Tell me, Lieutenant Colonel, do you think we can avoid war?"

Triahn chuckled, "Personally? I think this is just gonna go nowhere like all the other times. I wouldn't worry. Did you know most of the Troopers here treat a deployment to Krasnia as like a golden ticket? Most of the grunts on the border with Rukh are relaxing on recliners in the woods in their cargo pants and t-shirt," Triahn explained jokingly, before pausing, his smile quickly faded to a half-serious face "But they're being very professional also, I assure you."

Krstić stood silent, then chuckled all the same, with Triahn joining in. They laughed for what felt like a minute before it all went silent. The sounds of whirring engines of a cargo aircraft outside the building. "Perhaps you are right... never the less we must remain cautious. We'll keep the plan we have now for this, eh, 'what if' scenario," Triahn threw the last of what was in his glass down his throat, and placed it back on the table.

"Aye," Triahn replied.

A puzzled look suddenly came across Krstić's face, "If I could ask, Triahn, when we first spoke you spoke Krasnian. Where did you learn it?"

"I didn't learn it out of curiosity, I figured..." Triahn paused as he held his glass in his hand, toying with it, a doubtful look grew on his face, he debated if he should tell his story or to leave it at that, but he decided. "It was a necessity while on the job. It was two thousand two and I was just a twenty-two-year-old lieutenant."

[Urran]

Throw Them to the Wolves

Abula City, UoAE, Vale Conference
03/16/2019 - 12:45 PM Union Western Standard Time

"That was an impassioned speech, la?" spoke Takashi Shimura, one of the Urranese delegates asked his counterpart, turning his head slightly towards her, but sure to keep his eyes locked on the stage and the sad little man as he descended it. Applause was a courtesy, nothing more. If there was a people group that liked ceremony for the sake of ceremony and manners for the sake of manners, no matter true intentions, it was the Urranese.

"The applause is empty." Replied his colleague. "Those that aren't shocked are likely bored to sleep, aside from a few bleeding hearts." The woman ceased her clapping and took a small sip of water from a bottle placed beside the plaque and flag labeling them as the Urranese delegation.

Unlike some of the other countries gathered, Urran had little stake in the game of political chess going on around them. It had sent its best delegates to deliver its message, though perhaps they had taken the role a bit too seriously.

"Eh? Ako, they called you." Shimura leaned towards his female counterpart. She had been too engrossed in going over her notes to pay attention to the announcements. She looked up towards the stage, something about another delegation needing more time to prepare. For what? She wondered, as far as she was concerned, the last speech sealed it. War was inevitable. Everyone was either so polarized that a simple speech would not change their minds, or simply did not care about the plight of an otherwise insignificant nation.

Ako Onada stood to her feet and calmly made her way up to the stage, being sure to bow to the announcer on her way. Her steps were deliberate, slow enough to allow tension to build, but not quite slow enough to cause any sort of inconvenience to those gathered.

She took a moment to take in the crowd before reaching up to adjust the microphone. She was a stern woman of average build of her race. Her complexion and hair seemed so youthful, although certain features in her face, like a longer face, hinted at her true age, a hallmark of the Urranese booming cosmetics industry.

She paid very close attention to the Valaran and Donnish delegations. In truth, were they not the only ones that truly mattered? Supposed allies locked in a game of 4D chess behind the scenes to ensure their own dominance in Vale. What they probably were not expecting, was a third party to make a play of their own.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, Distinguished Guests, and honorable leaders, thank you for giving me the opportunity to express the opinions of the Urranese state."

The speech had begun. Shimura made note of a change in the Valaran delegation. There was someone new there, someone he did not recognize. He turned his head before he was noticed watching them, but he was making a point to gauge the crowd. Urran wanted to avoid certain outcomes, if things started going south, phoning home would be paramount to plotting the next move.

"I am sure that our Unionist hosts and our friends in PACT will be expecting Urran to provide some form of aid in this matter, whether it be to offer our sympathy to the Velmiran state grieving the loss of an honorable man, or offering our support in policing the region should these important and well intentioned talks fail." Ako paused and looked around the room. As an emerging power Urran was a significant country and held some sway. She paused just long enough to lure the wolves into the light, time to throw them a bone.

"I am here to inform you, that we will not." Another brief pause to let them squirm. "The region of Vale is failing because your leaders did not have the foresight or intestinal fortitude to do what was necessary for lasting peace and security, and yet we hear whispers of asking for Urranese support?" She looked around the room, trying not to gaze too long upon those that the message was meant for.

"What many of those gathered here today did was simply to reset a clock. The timer it seems has run out, and you simply cannot flip the hourglass over this time. The sands of time have become too heavy, and the pot has already begun to boil. You cheated men out of their destiny, squandered the gifts of others, and caged the doves of peace. In haste you built a house without counting the cost, without looking to the future." She paused again to let the interpreter catch up and to let the magnitude of what she had just said sink in.

"The scales of justice that you used were applied unfairly, and now God has stirred up your enemies against you. Those responsible kicked the can down the road and applied the rule of law in a perverted way that benefited them for a time. Like a builder who cut corners in building a mansion, you built on an unstable foundation of lies. The cracks in the facade are beginning to show and you dare to ask your neighbor to help you pay the price to fix it?"

"Those that you wronged have gathered their strong friends and have come to collect what you stole from them and yet you ask Urran to offer its sons as sacrificial offerings on the alter of peace? A kingdom divided against itself is soon brought to its knees. What a man sows, so shall he reap. The hounds of war are begging to be set free, to re-right what has been wronged. Heaven has notched an arrow, and is displeased with you."

"I am here to deliver to you the message and mandate of the Republic of Urran. We will not be drawn into a mess that you created. To ask Urran to support either side would divide us between two of our well intentioned allies. We will not be martyrs for a cause that you had the chance to avoid creating, but chose to do so anyway. You created this problem, now it is up to you alone to fix it. Evil is always brought to justice in the end. I pray that heaven is merciful."

[Urran]

Kalati, Velmira
03/16/2019 - 10:45 AM Local Time

A boatswain's whistle sounded as the warm sun beat down on the colorful coastal city. While diplomats squabbled about the fate of the region in someplace far away, life in the sweet little town of Kalati carried on as normal. Fishing boats went out of the harbor for the midday shift as those from the previous night came in with their catch. It was quite a picturesque scene, really. Colorful little skiffs, sailboats, and trawlers and white washed buildings with burnt orange tile roofs. A quaint place to call home, really.

Today was no different from any other day, gulls still laughed in the air and fish mongers still chased away the stray animals that came into the market. Today was ordinary in every way but one. Today, they had visitors.

A large grey vessel, larger than most of the small civilian craft in the port, cut effortlessly through the calm, green waters of the harbor. Its red and blue racing stripe identified its allegiance. It was an Urranese Coast Guard Hida Class offshore patrol cutter, the RUCGC Akashi. The Urranese flag and Coast Guard Ensign fluttered gently in the breeze off of her stern. She was quite a pretty ship, grey white, well maintained and scrubbed clean as a whistle, the pried of her crew and service. It was a serene sight, seeing a comparatively large vessel move effortlessly through the sea, passing smaller vessels as she went.

"All clear, for port entry, Harbor Master has cleared us a spot right near the bar." Announced a young Ensign, keeping watch with a pair of binoculars to ensure safe transit through the channel. Getting to your docking station was almost always a challenge in civilian ports. Some numbskull was likely to cut in front or worse.

The Ensign's announcement was met with cheers by some, but a tired laugh from their salty captain. "Trust me, that stuff will burn a hole right through you. Kalati is full of piss beer and ugly women. Mind the markets, men. Might get ripped off."

A few of the deck officers chuckled. They'd all heard the stories. Kalati was a pretty city, but the alcohol was garbage water and the whores had more diseases than a MceeDee's toilet lid. Best to steer clear of both and just take pictures, maybe grab a bite. Food wasn't half bad. At least it was fresh.

Two harbor tugs came alongside and began pushing Akashi into place. A few of the newer hands steadied themselves against the bump.

"All that's going ashore, man the deck!" The announcement came over the PA. Around 40 sailors in tropical blue working dress uniform lined the bow on either side. A few of the crewmen staying aboard pushed the HH-65E helicopter out onto the flight deck, its glossy red pain gleaming in the sun. The visit was more than just a chance for the crew to stretch their legs. Urran,while not one to get involved in conflicts, was worried about the stability of the world economy in uncertain times. It frequented other ports to offer advice on port security and to show that it was willing to do its part in some small way.

While Urran essentially through Velmira under the bus in the political sphere, a cutter with a 76mm gun sailing into the region would let them know that it was at least watching.

As she was fastened to the dock, the town braced itself for 54 sailors that hadn't been ashore in almost 3 weeks. Things were going to get interesting.