Anarchy in Rome, A Sack Amidst Plague [MT-PMT, CLOSED, IC]

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Sat Jun 05, 2021 4:11 pm

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Do not lie in his defense, majesty. He will be given to us, and he will die. There is no other option.

GREAT BOUNTIFUL EMPIRE OF THE UNITED TURTLES, MUSHROOMS, AND MEN OF TURTLESHROOM
THE CROWN
HMSM TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

TO THE ROMAGNITE CROWN AND THE ROYAL COURT THEREOF
YOUR FRATERNAL MAJESTY:

Adelphopoiesis is an ancient rite of declaring one to be a "blood brother", a person who shares a deep, platonic adoration and bond, in the same way a man would his biological brother or sister. It was an action of declaring one equal to their own family, and pleding an eternal bond of mutual protection, advancement, and brotherly love between two men that, before the eyes of the Church, are spiritual siblings. To use Adelphopoiesis as a cover for a sodomite union would be a capital crime in TurtleShroom, as it would be incestous.

Sodomy is not love. Homosexual intercourse is not love. An sexually active union between a man and a man is not love. If you want to argue this case, take it up with the God you claim to serve.

The notion that you, claiming to be a Catholic, would dare insinuate a sodomite "union" to be anything less than the absolute abomination it is to God, as outlined liberally in the Bible you claim to read, casts the clear and irrefutable fact that your soul is in immediate jeopardy. Repent of your sins and learn to read the Bible and your own Church's doctrine.

No altar in Nationstates can wash your hands and loins clean of the sin of sodomy. Only sincere, heartfelt repentence and the conviction of the Holy Spirit, and the forgiveness of God, can accomplish that.

Pledging an abomination's oath in God's face incurs His Wrath. Bastardizing Adelphopoiesis is even worse. Perhaps this is why Borgian Italy is in flames: the infiltration of the homosexuals and sexual deviants have caused God's judgement to curse them and all in them. Many Catholic denominations have homosexuals infiltrating their clerical ranks solely to have sex with men. If the Borgian See is harboring sexually active homosexuals in its clergy, the future of our two nations will not be bright, no matter what the papists of this Great Bountiful Empire say.

If you are a sodomite, then our potential for cooperation will be out of neccesity and not out of respect for a fellow Brother In Christ and his kingdom. In my country, such an abomination would land you in prison, not a throne, becUase TurtleShroom is a Christian nation.

Nonetheless, we are confident that the Holy Spirit will guide the Papal Conclave to appoint a Bishop of Rome that conducts himself in a manner worthy of the Bible and his office as a clergyman. For this reason, we are, and remain, committed to your endeavor for a fair and doctrinally recognized election of a Pope.

We will say this again.

The Great Bountiful Empire is more than happy to provide, at our expense, a fair and impartial trial for Virginio Orsini-Borgia at the Steele Pact Court of Arbitration, under the Catholic Bylaws of the TurtleShroomer Rite, or under any other court of law outside of the Borgian See and her vassals and, of course, excluding the World Assembly. If he is convicted in a fair and impartial trial, he will be extradited to face his execution at your hands.

To the gentlemen cosigning the Romagnite King's letter, rest assured that we, the TurtleShroomian Crown, will personally and immediately hold court with Virginio Orsini-Borgia to bring forth your accusations and we will compel him to personally write to you his defense in his hand.

The Pigs' Feet Memoranda stand. Corruption, sodomy, and orgies are rotting the Borgian Papacy to the core, and even the most conservative man in the Papal Conclave, Cardinal-Primate Icfella's personal choice for Pope, dared mock God by declaring himself Pope without his denomination electing him. He paid the price in blood.

We seek a fair trial for the Sack of Rome and will take every step neccesary to allow for one to take place if you and your coalition, oh King, are willing to face a just tribunal.

Virginio's irresponsibility and neglect of the Condotierries, as well as his personal witness to the murder of the Antipope, would be crimes in TurtleShroom as well, and there would be, under TurtleShroomian law, a direct line to the execution chamber if it could be proven that he knew the sack would become a rape fest and he didn't prevent it.

TurtleShroomian Law is Christ-centered too, and you will find that if the evidence speaks of Virginio's crimes. We ask that you grant Virginio a trial under a neutral party and truly commit to making sure he is brought to justice, whatever that justice may be.

May God bless you and your enlightened reign. We wish you and the Romagnite patriots the best and hope you can assist us in righting the wrongs done to your great nations.

God bless you,
HER MOST SOBER MAJESTY, TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, IMPERATRIX, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Fri Jun 18, 2021 9:59 pm

The Amphitheatre of Capua, Caserta, Italy

Caserta surrendered quickly as both armies approached her. The Brotherhood of the Caveja as well as Soter's Ferraran-French army had coalesced around the region in the past three days. Both were encamped at separate places within the city, and tension was in the air like fog in the early morning. The armies dsitrsuted each other immensely. Soter's forces saw The Romaganols as brigands, whilst the Brotherhood saw Soter as an ambitious usurper with foreign occupiers. Neither side wanted to be there, but their leaders had decided they had to be, to come to some agreement for the fate of Southern Italy. The Kingdom of The Romagna and The Pontificate of Soter II were soon to face down the same enemy, the occupation forces of Turtleshroom in Amalfi. Naples was largely abandoned by its leadership, so its fall was hardly a matter of course. It would be the resistance in that peninsular republic that would be of issue. Soter II wanted to rid Italy of its final bastion of defiance, and King Paolo wanted to take revenge on one more enabler of his great enemy's escape.

It would come to a surprise to many, then, that King Paolo has accepted this conference. He'd been in communication with the Empire of Turtleshroom for some time. Entertaining an alliance, negotiating for the seizure of Virginio Orsini-Borgia. His brothers had negotiated alongside him. Yet it had all come to naught. Paolo had weathered multiple insults from the Turtleshroomer Tsar, but had finally drawn the line at being called an abomination. Standing before his whole army, he'd printed off and publicly burned it before them. Turtleshroom and Amalfi had, in his view, chosen war. Chosen their destruction and the inevitable sacking his armies had been promised.

So the conference had been set. Carefully negotiated by intermediaries of Cardinals Medici and Montalvo, they'd decided the leadership of all parties would meet on neutral ground. Not in a church nor in any royal estate, but in an ancient ruin, the Amphitheatre of Capua. Neither the pope nor King Paolo would have their titles legitimized by architecture, and the open setting would allow for a secure watch by all parties involved. The meeting would be livestreamed for public viewing as well. Thus the place chosen, the Amphitheatre in which the infamous and failed slave rebel Spartacus had once fought would be a reminder to all foreign powers of the unified stance both factions placed on the slavery issue. A great pavilion had been set up in the center of the place so that all members could sit and discuss terms in the shade. Great flags flying the Virgin Mary and The Cock of the Caveja flew on the arena. Six seats were placed in the pavilion, three on either side of the pavilion. All took their seats opposite from each other. Paolo sat across from Soter II. Both were armored and both were crowned. Soter in his tiara, Paolo in the wrought iron crown. He was flanked by his brothers. Soter flanked by the Duke of Orleans and by a late arrival and surprise to everyone, Cardinal Pierre d'Euse-Borgia had finally reappeared. He'd seen the writing on the wall, it seemed, and thrown his lot in with Soter II. Everyone knew he'd have sided with Calixtus had he been on the winning side. Still, here he was.

Tension still hung in the air before Lord Malatesta broke the silence.

"How long do we think Naples will last before it falls?" He said. "A day? A week?"

"We intend to move into the city tomorrow." The Duke of Orleans responded. "Most of the nobility have abandoned the city. It will fall quickly. The issue is Amalfi."

"This is true." Lord Riario said. "We need to agree on how this will be done."

"We see it as a simple matter." Soter II said. "Acknowledge our pontificate and you shall aid us in the assault."

"Bold, Pope Soter. Bold." Paolo replied. "If only it were that simple. You were not elected via conclave."

"You weren't crowned by a bishop nor given sanction by a pontiff." Soter replied. "Kiss my ring, and The Romagna is yours."

"I was acclaimed by the lords of that and by its people. That was enough." Paolo said curtly. "You seized power by force, with no authority."

"We are the voice of the living God. Proclaimed by the Virgin herself. This is the seat of Saint Peter." Soter II tensely. "We will occupy this chair until our death, and we shall rain hellfire down on all who oppose us."

"Ooh. I like him." Malatesta said with a smile. "But no, we will not easily submit to you, O Savior."

"Enough." d'Euse interjected. "No one needs to submit to anyone. Not yet. Not while our enemy sits at our door. Let us work together as equals for now. Two corps. 25,000 strong apiece. It will be enough to break them."

"The slimy worm of a spymaster makes sense." Riario agreed. "Let us cross the bridge of leadership when we get there."

"I am in agreement with the worm and the Lord of Forli." The Duke of Orleans said. "We have the right amount of forces to destroy this so-called Dogaressa. We, however, ought to discuss the outcomes."

"We have no desire for Amalfi itself." Paolo said. "You may occupy it on your search for Calixtus. He's surely on the run by now."

"You only want the Dogaressa and the Turtleshroomer elite with her?" Soter said "We have our own bones to pick with them. They want us dead. Very much so."

"Then we can split who gets to kill whom." Malatesta said. "We want the leaders. You can execute their soldiers."

"That is uncivilized, Lord Malatesta." The Duke of Orleans said with shock. "Prisoners I could abide, but not wanton slaughter."

"We will do to them what they did to Rome." Malatesta replied to the duke. "I don't go back on my promises."

"What of the Dogaressa? She could be a source of great intelligence for our anti-slaver enemies." d'Euse asked. "Killing her would be fruitless, and only serve to draw Turtleshroom's further wroth."

"The Dogaressa is not to be killed." Soter interjected. "d'Euse will get all of us more from interrogating her."

"The 'pope' is right." Paolo said with a sigh as Malatesta became visibly upset. "She is not to be harmed."

"You have offered no protection for her child, your holiness." Philippe of Orleans said with worry. "She has recently given birth to Orsini's grandchild."

"Grandchildren." Riario interjected. "There are three. All sons."

"The children are of no use to me." Soter replied. "Do with them what you will, and face those consequences yourselves. I wash my hands of the matter."

"Beatus qui tenebit et adlidet parvulos tuos ad petram." Malatesta said. "We also ask for one boon from you."

The Duke of Orleans sat in stunned silence.

"That being?" Soter said.

"The right of parley with Amalfi." Riario said. "Lord Malatesta has a gift for the Dogaressa, and seeks to try to get an amicable surrender. Failing that, we want free reign of Amalfi when it surrenders. Only then, what's left will be yours."

"Or so he says. We know you have a penchant for the dramatic." d'Euse said. "We're going to be left with burnt our ruins, aren't we?"

"You may try." Soter replied to Riario. "In return we want your promise that if you find Calixtus V, or whatever he calls himself, that you shall transfer his custody to us."

"Agreed." Paolo replied quickly. "We will only recognize your pontificate, however, if there none others left to claim it. We're pragmatic enough for that."

"This works for us." Soter said. "We will say the same for your crown."

The rest of the discussion centered on logistics and other minor political considerations. In an act of friendship, Pope Soter II issued a minor dispensation declaring that the Dogaressa's marriage was invalid. Her children were stripped of all rights, and she was charged with fornication and sodomy (the irony of the latter charge was not lost on the Pope, as Murat was sent into a fit of laughter when he read it) with now dead Vincenzo Maria Orsini-Borgia. As the conference concluded, the armies packed their things and moved towards Naples. The cock and the mother of god were to oversee the destruction of that ancient city.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Sat Jun 19, 2021 1:58 pm

GREAT BOUNTIFUL EMPIRE OF THE UNITED TURTLES, MUSHROOMS, AND MEN OF TURTLESHROOM
THE CROWN
HMSM TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

TO THE SONS OF ITALY, TO THE ROMAGNITE CROWN, TO AN ANTICHRIST, TO THE KING OF NAPLES, TO THE MOST SERENE REPUBLIC OF AMALFI, TO BORGIAN SPAIN AND BORGIAN FRANCE, AND TO THE BROTHERS IN SISTERS IN CHRIST FOLLOWING THE CATHOLIC DENOMINATION OF THE WORLD.

GENTLEMEN AND ANTICHRIST:

The cries for vengeance against Virginio Orsini-Borgia and the impasse and unwillingness to give him a fair trial have neccesitated changes in our official policy.

I and my fellow Sovereign Emperors will be holding court tomorrow to determine the extradition of Virgino Borgia to the Kingdom of Romagna for his execution for the sack of Rome.

Despite his protests and in protest of our Spiritual Advisor, Cardinal-Primate Icfella, I personally agree that his unwillingness to even write to you in his defense has reenforced the Crown's skepticism and has the Crown questioning why we are harboring this man to begin with.

It is for this reason that we are requesting the immediate presence of a Romagnite courtier or the Romagnite King himself, at Romagna's discretion, to appear before the Tsardom as we hold court.

We ask that this man be dispatched to counter Virginio as the Devil's Advocate. He shall be a man of sexual purity, having never engaged in sodomy or homosexual sin.

Since you will not give him a fair trial, in our authority given to us by God in the Divine Right of Kings and with the overriding Consent of the Governed, our ultimate source of temporal power, as vested to us in the Constitution, we will be doing so instead.

While the good Cardinal-Primate and the Catholic clergy of TurtleShroom insist we act against this judgement, we are a Protestant nation with no loyalty to a Pope. We will not allow such ridiculous popery that is entangling us with Virginio to cause us to act in violation of our Constitutional duty as the public advocates of TurtleShroom and the protectors of this nation, nor our conscience.

I must also warn you about the rumors of your plans for Amalfi. You have no understanding of the political climate in that region. Are you aware of the embezzlement that the Doge of Amalfi performed? The people's money he pilfered? The TurtleShroomian Ministry of Domestic Affairs has been in close cooperation with the Amalfite financial crimes investigators and have arrested and expelled many in the Doge's circle. The Doge of Amalfi restricted the rights of the Patrician Families, curtailed enfranchisement of the merchants, and used fear and suffering to keep in power. He cheated on the past two elections, and his drunkenness needs no introduction.

There is a statue of Dogaress Mei Lee Icfella-Borgia outside the Doge Palace. Do not consider the Dogaressa to be an occupier. Ever since she shot the Doge of Amalfi in rightful self-defense, her role in purging corruption has won her the opinion of all of the Patrician Families of the Most Serene Republic of Amalfi that weren't swept up by the Doge's corruption.

The people of Amalfi are not being occupied against their will. We have stirred up a sense of nationalism, a deep pride behind what the Maltese Cross of Amalfi stands for, and much like the citizens of Romagna have declared their duke a king, Amalfi now sees in itself a Most Serene Merchant Republic.

You will face the entire population of Amalfi. They are an united front behind their recognition as a Most Serene Merchant Republic and they will not allow their wealth and city to be destroyed without a fight. You are endangering millions of innocent lives and the lives of TurtleShroom's military advisors.

Be aware that cavalry can be defeated by a TurtleShroomian bolt-action rifle, let alone the masterpiece of arms that are the Kalishnikovs. Where you fight in Napoleonic Squares and man horses, TurtleShroom fights a guerilla war with a mechanized cavalry, seasoned by the brilliance of the Khans of old- like the Crimeans that fought the Doge of Genoa centuries ago -and boasting the righteous cause of the Old South and the Slavic warrior spirit. Even now, the Rebel Yell, that War cry of TurtleShroom's cause, echoes on the Italian penninsula. Every day we wake up, the Christians among our men gladly rebel against Satan and against corruption, searching for Christ as soldiers and brothers.

The people of Amalfi know right from wrong. Every Amalfite a patriot, every son a gun. We have armed the people of Amalfi and have reconciled slave and freeman through a fair compensation to the rightful aristocrats that rule the republic. While there is much prejudice remaining, the willingness of the newfound freemen to die for Amalfi and their sovereignty, as well as the successful repulsion of an Antichrist legion a few weeks ago only strengthen Amalfi's resolve.

To an Antichrist, we restate our assertion: TurtleShroom's Christian population does not apologize for allegiance to the Bible. I doubt you have raised a Bible since your surgeon raised his scapel.

ALL MANNERS OF TESTIMONY MUST BE ESTABLISHED BY TWO OR MORE WITNESSES.

I the Tsarina, personally, have absolutely no doubt that you saw a vision that day. Where my fellow TurtleShroomers debate its existence, I in my prayers have inferred otherwise.

You are no greater than a Mussulman, whose vicious "prophet" received a vision from Satan in impersonation of the Archangel Gabriel. Like Muhammad, your vision cannot be checked, verified, or otherwise countered by any Christian in Heaven or Nationstates. You did not see the Virgin Mary, the greatest example of a woman that a human can emulate, but rather, a twisted replica of of the Virgin Mary that any Christian could have seen right through. You are either aware of this or were raised up as an Antichrist by your own volition.

If you had allegiance to the Bible, you would recognize your quadruple blasphemy: your violation of Catholic bylaws to install yourself as the Bishop of Rome, your obscene insistence of transforming a healthy heterosexual relationship into a make-believe sodomite "union", the existence of a bishopress period, and your attemplt to validate it by a vision from the Prince of Darkness.

You are the very embodiment of that which corrupts the Catholic Church, a product of the global homosexual infiltration of Catholicism that has destroyed her reputation and violated the littlest of them. You are an enemy of God and the Virgin Mary would not glance in your direction unless you repented.

If you do not change your ways and acknowledge your sins, Hell will not be able to contain the magnitude of your mockery of God.

We now return to our original reason for penning this declration.

We go back to our original statement: we will try Virginio Orsini-Borgia in his role as a Courtier. The Constitution of the Great Bountiful Empire gives us this right and we ask that he be "prosecuted" by an Italian gentleman worthy of the King and people of Romagna.

Popery and corruption is the very thing that Martin Luther fought against. Now you have your chance to fight for your denomination.

We ask that you Dispatch a Romagnite man to the TurtleShroomian Crown's royal court to accuse Virginio Orsini-Borgia. We will pay for this, compensating all expense to and from Romagna to assist in his travels.

You have until midnight tomorrow. Failure to show will reflect poorly on you and allow Virginio to give a defense of his actions without evidence being shown to illustrate his crimes. We will judge him by his merits and the weight of the matter that threatens our military advisors in Amalfi and the innocent lives of the heretofore mentioned republic.

We, the Tsars of TurtleShroom, declare this in unanimity. With the consent of the governed, by our Constitution, so be it.

One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism.
HER MOST SOBER MAJESTY, TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, IMPERATRIX, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

Meanwhile, the fax machines of the King of Romagna, the French delegation to the north, and the King of Naples rang, providing a small printed card...

Code: Select all: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I speak anonymously, on behalf of the TurtleShroomian Spy and Stalker Service. I am not authorized, nay, I am forbidden by the Crown from using this channel. The Crown has not asked me to send this and I would probably be imprisoned if they knew. We of the TSSSS are willing, if the Crown denies his extradition, to kidnap and ship Virginio Orsini-Borgia to Romagna for his execution. The silver platter will be the size of a man. We will do so on a single condition: kill an Antichrist. If you kill Black Soter and her allies, Virginio is yours.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Sat Jun 19, 2021 4:48 pm

ACTA DIURNA BORGIAE

NAPLES SACKED!

Pope Soter's Armies, Alongside Those of Romagna, Sack and Burn Naples as French Stand Aside

Naples, Italy-It is our mournful duty to announce to the world that the city of Naples has been ravaged, burned, and largely destroyed by the combined forces of The Romagna, Ferrara, and Modena, almost on the exact anniversary of the fall of Rome. The city fell quickly, with its skeleton force of a garrison putting up minimal resistance to the 40,000 soldiers storming the city. Duke Ferrante of Naples, aged only 11, has fled to the island of Capri in the custody of his tutor-chaplain Archbishop Giovanni Pietro Carafa. The child duke will likely be safely ensconced for some time, as none of the Papal Claimants have earned the loyalties of the naval forces (largely based in Venice). The island of Capri, infamous as Emperor Tiberius and Pope Helius' orgiastic pleasure retreats, sits a mere twenty miles off the coast of Naples and the Turtleshroomer redoubt of Amalfi. It was likely chosen as a standing rebuke and symbol of defiance of the papal claimant Soter II, lying just outside of his reach. The Romagnol, now in command of several airwings, may put them at risk regardless. It has been announced that Ferrante is staying in the Villa Jovis Solis Invictis, built by Pope Helius on the ruins of Tiberius' infamous villa overlooking the cliffs of Capri. Neapolitan users on social media have expressed deep concerns for the welfare of the Duke, given malicious rumors that have heavily circulated about the Neapolitan Archbishop, though none have been conclusively verified.

No one knows the current location of the papal claimant Calixtus V, but he was last seen fleeing the city in the early hours of yesterday morning. It is assumed he will be joining the other leading members of the Neapolitan family at Taranto in the coming weeks. Citizens who had the means have been fleeing the city for weeks. The poor, the elderly, and the sick have been abandoned to the slaughter. Carrying with them the pestilence of COVID-19 to the small villages and towns of our Italian boot. Case numbers in the rural towns have skyrocketed because of it.

The ravages on Naples have been continuous over the last 48 hours. The Romganol armies descended from the north to the southeast, from Caivano to Cercola. Soter II's armies of Modena and (recently inherited) Ferrara ravaged from west to south, from Villaricca to the Port of Napoli. Street by street, neighborhood by neighborhood, the armies swept through. They seized anything of value not bolted to the floor and burned what they could not steal. Initial reports that damages are expected to be in the billions of NSD. The Neapolitan Armory has been raided, her munitions and artillery seized intact and split evenly between the Romagna and Soter II's armies.

This all stands meek against the sheer human loss that will likely only be truly assessed in the years and decades to come. Their entire army burst into the city and now every spot was a scene of mass slaughter; for the Romagnol especially, eager to return cruelty for cruelty, slew everyone they encountered, sparing without distinction not a child, not a woman, not an elder. Following suit was the Papal armies of Soter II. Both dissolved as the day wore on into naught more than a massive blob of rage and violence. Reports have leaked that those not killed have been shackled and prepared for sale elsewhere in Italy. Only the French have stood aside in this orgy of destruction. Duke Philippe, horrified by what he was seeing, first attempted to restrain the soldiers from murdering the citizens of Napoli, but when no one paid any attention to him and he saw that the fury of the allied armies against the Home of Orsini was not to be controlled, he stationed heralds and troops to cry aloud and tell the Neapolitans to take refuge in the churches of Christ and claim sanctuary from the marauding enemy. Guarded by French troops, thousands of lives were packed in dozens of churches, and spared the horrors that were inflicted on thousands of others. God rest all of the souls lost!

Who then, is to blame for this? Reports indicate that the forces of Rimini, those loyal to the Lord Malatesta and the Lord himself, whipped their compatriots into the initial fury as the armies broke the garrison before them. Pandolfo Malatesta has a history of being an eager plunderer, so it comes to no surprise that he initiated this purge. He has been seen looting and murdering at the front lines. This rage, like a disease, spread quickly through the armies of the Kingdom of Romagna and into the Papal forces of Soter II. Order collapsed as the sins of greed and wrath befell the judgement of mortal men. Paolo Borgia, their king, has not been seen. Unconfirmed sources say he has refused to witness the sacking and has not left his tent. Lord Riario also participated in general looting, but not the wanton murder of Neapolitans. Soter II initially tried to restrain his armies, but quickly washed his hands of the matter. Detractors on social media have criticized him of willfully allowing this to occur, if only to be symbol of his masculinity. His dominance over Italy. Soter II was reportedly seen in a loud verbal argument with Duke Philippe of Orleans and with Joachim Murat over the matter. Threats of a return to France were reportedly made.

All are responsible. Only the Duke of Orleans is blameless. War makes monsters of us all, it seems. The orange glow of the fires shall illuminate the hidden depravties of mankind for days to come.

Top Comments (350,000)

CardinalJoaquindeMontalvo_Borja
I may have sacrificed my journalistic imparitality and integrity for this article, but it had to be done. I cannot in any good faith condone the actions of my compatriots in The Romagna this week. What happened to Naples is wrong. Nothing more. Are we no better than Orsini?

NeapolitanIceCream1422

Has anyone seen REDACTED NAME? My son? I haven't heard from him in two days. He said he was returning to save our dogs. Please! Anyone with any information, please help!

NamelessCanine

May God Honor The Fallen! Long Live the Duke of Naples! DAMN THE BLACK POPE! Turtleshroom should leave Amalfi and strike the menace down, soon!

ChokeACokeACola

Uh, rumors? They're only rumors because The House of Carafa is powerful and dangerous. There's a reason why no one has come forward. Look up the Unsovled Case of the missing altar servers. Google it! It has the archbishop written all over it! SOMEONE REALLY NEEDS TO GET HIM AWAY FROM THE DUKE OF NAPLES!

Click to see more...

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 2:09 pm

TURTLESHROOM II wrote:*snip*

An Official Declaration From The True Pope of Rome

To Tsars of Turtleshroom,

Hold court all you like, we will not send any of our own to be imprisoned or held hostage by a power that seems obnoxiously determined to alienate itself from any ally it is scrounging to find in this terrible conflict. We encourage this trial, but it matters little to the people of Italy. As you've seen, the House of Orsini is no longer welcome in this, our fair peninsula. Their properties have been seized, their lands forfeit, their monuments destroyed and ancestors disinterred. The people of Rome and Romagna saw to that themselves. The Colonnas in particular are just jubilant. Do with him what you want, but if he returns to Italy in any form, he will die.

As for Amalfi, we are writing in an attempt at amelioration and diplomacy. We are authorized to negotiate terms of surrender of the city by our temporary alliance with the acerbic lords of the Romagna. We've given up rights to negotiate directly with those occupying the city so that we may contact your government instead. We are aware of the former Doge's deplorable rule and of his greed. We have higher concerns at this juncture, which includes bringing peace to Italy and ending this damnable era of chaos. Amalfi's surrender will speed up this process. They have no casus belli besides their own defense. The cause of the Antipope Calixtus V is broken. Naples has fallen. Her duke taken flight to an island fortress, her city devastated and destroyed. If Amalfi resists our forces, they WILL suffer the same fate as Naples. They cannot stand against them. Even if you enlist every man woman and child. What is the population of Amalfi? 5,000? It is nowhere near the glorious past it once held. We have two corps worth of men and women. 50,000 who have already gorged themselves on Naples and are eager for more.

We offer these terms. Surrender Amalfi and the Dogaressa may maintain her titles and rights in that place. The city shall be spared and our armies will move on to secure the rest of the Neapolitan peninsula. The city will be indemnified for all assets squandered by the former Doge, with each of the great mercantile families receiving a stipend for the period of 30 years. The Dogaressa will also receive an immediate lump sum of her choice from the Vatican banks as well of her choice of lands seized from her brother-in-law's family. As for the Empire of Turtleshroom itself, we request that they vacate any and all military forces from Italy, but a a small cadre military advisors to Amalfi may remain. We do not request recognition of our pontificate if it conflicts with the religious sensibilities of your Catholic population, but merely a return to the policies set during the previous pontificates of females.

Refusal of these terms will see Amalfi taken by military force. The Dogaressa will be labeled as a traitor against the Papal Empire and executed as such. Her people will be subject tot he same devastation as Naples, and there is nothing that we could do to stop it. Negotiations for surrender can only be taken with us through these letters, as we've given up the right of parley in person to Lord Pandolfo Malatesta. The man is cruel and capricious, so please be wary of him. He will not negotiate any alterations to the terms given above. We were misinformed about the children of the sisters in Amalfi. It the wife of Vincenzo Orsini, Mary Icfella, whom was annulled of her previous marriage and the rights of her children forfeit. The Dogaressa and her children are not affected by that previous decree.

Thank you to your Most Sober Majesties for considering these terms, if you do. If you do not, we still wish to give you one more act of mercy. Should Amalfi insist on resistance, at the very least, please vacate Mary Icfella from the city as soon as possible. We've contacted King Viracocha of Spain. He has guaranteed the safety of any foreign forces taking ship and leaving Italy. This would include the Turtleshroomers who would leave if surrender was accepted. If not, at least put her on a boat immediately. Being the wife of Orsini's son and the mother of his heirs, her life and the lives of her children are at risk if she stays in the city. We have heard this from the mouth of Malatesta himself. She must flee the city.

And finally, attached to this letter (tied to the multiple wax seals that come with Papal letters) is a fax received in the Romagna and in the offices of our French allies. The Duke of Orleans brought it to our attention. It seems Catholic extremists in your nation are moving to have someone murder us, in return for kidnapping and shipping Virginio Orsini back here to be murdered himself. Our intelligence officer is investigating the source. His suspicions center on the soon-to-be former Cardinal Jason IcFella, though they are not yet confirmed. We recommend, purely as advice, imprisoning him until this can be sorted out.

From,
His Holiness, Pope Soter II, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Son of the Mother of The Church, Chosen Visionary of The Sanctified Intercessor and Mother Of God, Shepard of the Flock of Jesus Christ, Sole and Most Sanctified Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Duke of Ferrara, of Reggio, and of Modena, Territorial Abbot Emeritus of Pomposa, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God.

Cosigned by,
His Serene Highness, Philippe IV de Bourbon, Duc d'Orléans, d'Anjou, de Chartres, de Valois, de Nemours, de Montpensier, Seigneur de Joinville, et Comte de Blois, Le Monsieur, Maréchal de France, Secrétaire d'État de la Guerre, Chevalier de l'Éperon d'Or, et Chevalier de l'Ordre Suprême du Christ

His Fraternal Highness, Paolo Borgia, King of Rumâgna, Duke of the Selfsame Province and Prince of Ravenna, Prince and Grandmaster of The Brotherhood of The Caveja, The Eldest Brother, General of The Father, By Apostolic Authority and Noble Election Sovereign of Imola, of Forli, of Sasso Ferrato, of Fermo, of Fano, of Cesena, of Pesaro, of Rimini, of Faenza, of Montefiore, of Sant'Arcangelo, of Verucchio, of Catezza, of Savignano, of Meldola, of Porto Cesenatico, of Tossignano, of Salaruolo, of Monte Battaglia, of Forlimpopoli, and of Bertinoro, Protector of The Republic of San Marino, and Territorial Archbishop of Subiaco

His Fraternal Excellency, Francesco Riario, Count of Imola and Lord of Forli, The Middle Brother, Magnus Commendator of The Brotherhood of The Caveja, and General of The Son

His Fraternal Excellency, Pandolfo Malatesta, Count of Rimini and Cesena, The Youngest Brother, Lord Marshal of The Brotherhood of The Caveja, and General of The Holy Spirit

This Letter, delivered by Neapolitan slave who'd been chosen specifically to be freed when he arrived in Turtleshroom, was inside a gilded box bearing the golden insignia of House Colonna-Borgia. Outside the box was a note that read "We will give his widow the rest of him at Amalfi". Inside was the Pope's letter and copies of the fax, wrapped around what looked to be an advancely decomposed human foot.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Tue Jun 22, 2021 3:01 pm

GREAT BOUNTIFUL EMPIRE OF THE UNITED TURTLES, MUSHROOMS, AND MEN OF TURTLESHROOM
THE CROWN
HMSM TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

TO THE SONS OF ITALY, TO THE ROMAGNITE CROWN, TO THE KING OF NAPLES, TO THE MOST SERENE REPUBLIC OF AMALFI, TO BORGIAN SPAIN AND BORGIAN FRANCE, TO A REPRESENTATIVE UNDER AN ANTICHRIST, AND TO THE THE GENTLEMEN AND NOBLEMEN ALIGNED WITH THE HERETOFORE MENTIONED MEN.

GENTLEMEN:

Peace be with you.

For the sake of the Bible and an actual commitment to the shared Church doctrines of all of Christendom, I address you and not an Antichrist claiming to be the Bishop of Rome. Greetings.

Do you dare insult our hospitality and people by accusing us of being willing to kidnap an innocent man representing the cries of justice in your homeland? TurtleShroom has never broken a treaty since her inception in 1796 AD, and we have an absolute respect of the integrity of diplomats.

Moving on from this matter, your threats are credible and the Crown unanimously agrees that entering into negotiations to protect the millions* of souls in Amalfi and TurtleShroom's fifty thousand military advisors.

I have decided, for the sake of expedience, on behalf of TurtleShroom, that I will personally travel to Borgian Italy to negotiate the reduction of TurtleShroom's military presence in Amalfi and a pledge not to commit TurtleShroomian boots on the ground to attacking any part in the war. Allowing your soldiers to march through Amalfi and open the city gates to the forces of the powers that be, without risk of danger to any party, is a fair and acceptable decision.

As you have already seen, neither the Great Bountiful Empire nor Amalfi have fired a single shot, except to deter raiders and bandits from the north. The Constitution of TurtleShroom does not allow us to wage offensive war without a vote from either the people or the Parishes and administrative bodies of our realm.

I ask, at the negotiation table, that a representative of an Antichrist be dispatched in the stead of the "bishopress" herself. As TurtleShroom does not recognize her as a clergyman, let alone a Bishop of Rome, and because her actions and lifestyles are so antithetical to TurtleShroomian belief, we cannot recognize her word, signature, or claim to sovereignty under TurtleShroomian law. A person in her stead will need to sign off on anything.

I hope that you, as gentlemen, nobility, and my fellow Brothers and Sisters In Christ, will allow me safe passage as a Sovereign Emperor of the Great Bountiful Empire of TurtleShroom, and will protect me from any violence or radicalism that could endanger my person.

I look forward to meeting you and am pleased that your commitment to a peaceful resolution in this standoff has been deemed relevant to the interests of all involved.

We reiterate our desire that you send an advocate for the peoples of Borgian Italy and the Romagnite Crown to "prosecute" Virginio Orsini-Borgia. He has kept too quiet and his steadfast refusal to answer our inqueries have worn our patience to the bone. It is only in the interests of his granddaughter and our papists that we have no already turned him over to you. We are delaying the vote for this reason. As I, the Tsarina of TurtleShroom, am personally coming to you and showing my trust in the honor of your peoples, I hope that you can likewise dispatch a Romagnite to the two Tsars I am leaving at home in a similar gesture of mutual trust, that we may solve the Virginio Question once and for all.

We, the Tsars of TurtleShroom, declare this in unanimity. With the consent of the governed, by our Constitution, so be it.

One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism.
HER MOST SOBER MAJESTY, TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, IMPERATRIX, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

P.S.: I am one hundred eleven years old. I hope your facilities can accomodate a cripple.

P.S.S.: The TurtleShroomian Crown is humbled and immensely grateful for your notification of an act of espionage and insubordination within the Spy and Stalker Service. We recognize the code on the fax machine header as a TSSSS office, and can even pinpoint which office. We will earnestly begin an investigation into such actions. Please be aware that Cardinal Icfella was praying in Oakwood Cathedral at the time the message was sent and, because the fax machine orginated from a TSSSS branch, he cannot possibly be the man to send this. As the alleged individual has essentially committed what is an act of war, when we find him, he will be yours.

* = { OOC: I was under the impression that Amalfi was a large city, like it was in RL. }

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Mon Jun 28, 2021 12:23 pm

TURTLESHROOM II wrote:*snip*

An Official Declaration From The True Pope of Rome

To Tsars of Turtleshroom,

We find your requests to be amenable and well within the bounds of what we shall term Turtleshroom's "turning of the cheek policy" she has held to pontiffs she does not agree with. We welcome your sober majesty with open arms, and will accommodate your needs as best we can, and are guaranteed safe conduct by both ourselves and by His Most Catholic Majesty, King Viracocha of Spain. Anyone who so much as tries to harm a hair on your venerable head will see the wroth of our church and our armies.

We had intended to have this meeting somewhere under close watch, like Viterbo, but have recently learned that the Duke of Naples (young though he was) ordered the death of his chaplain the Archbishop of Naples and fled the Italian peninsula into the hands of his cousin, the Queen of Spain Maria Luisa. It seems she has been running a smuggling ring for some time, and shipping vaccines into Italy via our friend the Cardinal of Avignon. There is some indication that the boy will abdicate his titles within the next week.

Regardless, to put an end to what looks like rambling exposition, we have decided that instead of Viterbo we shall host your conscript majesty on the Island of Capri. The island is accessible via a sea port, it is within 18 miles of Amalfi and of Naples, and it is bears a palace that can hold any attendants and equipment you might need for your stay plus any and all amenities of an island pleasure villa. Pope Helius I lived on the island for eight years before his early death. To speak for us, we are dispatching our Gonfaloniere Joachim Murat, the Prince of Pontecorvo and Brezza. He will be accompanied by Francesco Riario, The Count of Imola and Lord of Forli to represent the Kingdom of The Romagna. Murat will speak for us as if we were there. So long as speaks only of a peace settlement in Amalfi. Any words of Naples and its rule are his own and best ignored.

Thank you,
His Holiness, Pope Soter II, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Son of the Mother of The Church, Chosen Visionary of The Sanctified Intercessor and Mother Of God, Shepard of the Flock of Jesus Christ, Sole and Most Sanctified Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Duke of Ferrara, of Reggio, and of Modena, Territorial Abbot Emeritus of Pomposa, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Mon Jun 28, 2021 3:22 pm

A simple fax was all that replied to the letter.

Code: Select all: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you for seeing reason. I am humbled to stay at your provided location. My delegation will contain me, Cardinal-Primate Icfella, security staff, and the Voivode-Atom, the highest ranking commander of the Oriental Gentleman's Order of the Guards of the Nuclear Football, accompanying me with the "Nookular" Football, in my position as Designated Survivor. I hope you have a banquet. -HMSM TSARINA TAMMY OLVIA, IMPERATRIX, HEAD HUMAN OF ALL TURTLESHROOM

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Mon Jun 28, 2021 4:03 pm

Havana, Cuba and Santo Domingo, Hispanola

Coana's plan had been painstakingly compiled, directed, and communicated with her conspirators. She had always been meticulous in her plans, she had to be. Being born a slave and escaping had forced her to hone her skills in order to survive. She'd lived for years on the Hatian side of Hispanola before being captured and sold to the Spanish black markets in her youth. She'd then grown up in an obraje in Guinea, seeing the worst cruelties Spanish masters inflicted upon her and others. Death and pain, sorrow upon sorrow, were the flowers of her youth. She'd forgotten whom her parents were long ago. All she knew was that she was of creole descent. Her name was fully Anacoana, after the Taino leader, but she shortened it when she escaped for the first time. In her teen years she escaped dozens of times. Each time she'd been captured she'd been subjected to abject cruelties and beatings. It was only through the mercy of God that she hadn't been killed. Obraje labor was never meant to last long. Yet at that time the import pool had been stopped by Stefano de Medici-Borgia's failed attempt to build a space-elevator in Equatorial Guinea some twenty years ago. The Vatican Bank had bought up the entire labor pool six years running. Obraje owners foundered without access to readily available labor, and were forced to put in new protections for their laborers to keep them from dying like flies. Some had said that was Stefano's intent...but Coana hardly believed he cared at all.

Each attempt brought new cruelties, new depravities, and new lessons. She'd been resold several times. She tried to escape from the all, especially from the masters who'd preferred her as a lover to an obraje labrorer. Until finally, she'd escaped a few years ago. This was the story she'd told King Viracocha when she met him in Seville during a play last year. Her life had within her, birthed a dark melancholy as well as a ceaseless ambition and dogged determination. She escaped because she'd clawed her way out, with all she had. She did not spend her life with her head hung in shame. She refused to do so. She charmed a king, because that's what she wanted to do. She could have hardly afforded those theater seats, but she scrounged and stole what she could. She knew it was he that she wanted. She had the name of a queen, and she determined to be one in truth.

And now she was. While she shared the title with two other women, Viracocha had told her she was the only one he'd married out of his own choice. Three Marriages for three different reasons, he'd said. Maria Luisa for Spain, Laila for Diplomacy, and his Donita Coana for Love. He'd been enchanted by her beauty that night at the theater, but had fallen in love out of equal parts wonder and empathy when she'd told him his story. Viracocha was an odd man, she'd thought, but he was a king. That's what mattered. The only part of the story she'd left out was her military service. She was, until their dissolution in the Sack of Rome, a Sister of Saint Michael. She'd joined not long after her escape, posted to Spain. She'd quietly abandoned the service when Rome fell. She saw the writing on the wall.

The skills she learned from them, however, were carved into her mind. Which is why she now sailed with the fleet that was sailing to her home region. Her plan was coming to fruition. Stepping on to the platform of the carrier, Coana watched as the harbor of Havana grew as this half of the armada approached the shores of the great island. The armada came to a halt and formed a blockade of the harbor. One of the battleships opened a salvo of its guns into the harbor to signal their arrival...

Meanwhile

Claudio Bautista Castro y Grajales made his move when the guns signaled him to do so. He was the nominal head of Government, but in the last few decades, the politburo had been siphoning away power from the Castro family. Cuba was rapidly decinging into a state truly ruled by the workers. Claudio was not going to stand for it, and thus ever since lockdown began, he'd been in secret negotiations with the King of Spain through his new wife, this Coana woman. She'd intended on conquering the Indies without aid, so in Claudio's eye betraying his people and seizing power was a means of saving them in a way. A twisted way, to be sure. Claudio has kept the politburo and all the various functioning of Government in a continual revision of the constitution for the past week and a half, just as he'd been told to do. The army was called in several days later, and none had been allowed to leave. The councilors of state were exhausted, mentally and physically. Weakened for the Spanish arrival. He'd considered contacting the Mexican Bonapartists before, but they'd ignored his communiques. At least the Spanish were in action.

Claudio had gotten his rest between daily meetings with generals and officers. He notified them of the coming invasion, told them to expect landings in Manzanillo, Guantanamo, and Santiago. They were not to resist and to welcome Spanish forces with supplies and celebrations. Cuba had been liberated from godless communism, he told them.

The same was being said about democracy by the President of The Dominican Republic. Coana had formed this conspiracy in her homeland, and it was only meant for that one island. Claudio had found out via his intelligence officers and signed on eagerly. Half of her fleet would be subduing that island as well.

He adjusted the medals as his men formed up in front of the government buildings in La Habana. Stirring his horse, they stormed in with weapons at the ready. The Politburo, tired and confused, panicked at the sight of armed guards filling the chamber. They rose from their seats and fled towards the exits. Other guards and Spanish troops met them and arrested them. Others tried to jump from the windows. They were pulled down and handcuffed.

Claudio shouted orders to his men to be gentle. The traitors to God would be tried soon enough. He finished with a flourish, brandishing his saber.

"¡Camaradas de Cuba! ¡Has sido disuelto! ¡Saca estos mamaguevos de aquí!"

Hundreds were arrested, and few died resisting the guards. Coana held a private audience with Claudio later that evening. She bore him declarations from the Spanish King, ennobling him as Duke of the Union of Cuba, Marquis of Bayamo and La Habana, and supreme governor of the island. He'd answer to Queen Coana of Hispanola, the appointed Vicereine of New Spain. She was now a queen in of her own kingdom in her own right.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Fri Jul 02, 2021 9:36 pm

"Did y'all hear what happened in Cuba?!"

One of the Chancellery Guardsmen looked up from an English language copy of a Borgian newspaper.

"There are a lot of Cuban and Hispanic states in Nationstates. Which Cuba?"

"The relevant one! Borgian Spain has conquered the Cuban state they once held as a colony!"

:shock:

The spit take was as hilarious as one would expect, especially from an Empress. Her thick Russian accent was always worse when she was alarmed.

"What was the Borgian Spanish King thinking? No, nix that, he wasn't thinking. There's no way this won't end awfully. I've never known a Cuban that didn't value their freedom and sovereignty; there is going to be so much bloodshed in the streets..."

The Tsarina turned to look out the window. The Imperial Crown of TurtleShroom, resting upon her trembling noggin, reflected the outside sun over the clouds.

"Were they commies?"

"Yes."

"So Borgian Spain just thinks that the diehard extremists in the Cuban Army will roll over and accept a reactionary bourgouise rule? That the people, who have been brainwashed for decades, will suddenly allow the aristocrats of old to control the Means of Production? The same people that the apparatchniks in the schoolhouse indoctrination classes taught them to hate."

The Tsarina chucked to herself.

"I mean, there's no question that a neo-feudal Borgian Cuba would be freer than a Red Cuba. I just don't see how Borgian Spain thinks it can, first, assert its independence on a fierce and proud people that probably either threw them out or were conquered, and second, undo the sixty years of Marxist anti-aristocrat brainwashing. It's absurd."

"Absurd it is, madam.*"

"Say, are we almost at our destination?"

"Yes my Tsarina, we're fixing to land now."

"Great!"

The descent of the small, Air Korena government charter jet was uneventful.

"Well gentlemen, it's showtime. Boris, Jung, Timmy, are you ready?"

Boris, a grey spotted mushroom, was a security detail. He wore the usual pickelhaube helmet and carried the average armaments of a TurtleShroomian infantryman: an automated AK-74 rifle, a double-barreled shotgun on what constituted his "back", and a side arm. The latter two were suspended by a belt fastened to the stalk of his fruiting body. He was wearing the mushroom equivalent of the same ceremonial order of dress that the Tsarina, a retired Five-Star General, had on.

A sexy Korenanese flight attendant, boasting very high heels and a very tight uniform- conforming to TS standards of modesty by not showing cleavage and the skirt covering the whole buttocks -opened the door to where a grand staircase would normally be wheeled up. Thankfully, the aircraft was wheelchair accessible for the Tsarina's convenience. She was helped onto a chair lift and slowly lowered to the ground.

The silence was interrupted by trumpets, as some of the support staff had assembled with said trumpets, as well as an air horn. The trumpeters played four Ruffled Flourishes and initiated the Royal Anthem of TurtleShroom, where the air horn was also featured.

Timmy was the Chancellery Guardsman, seven feet eight inches tall, with shaggy brown hair that extended to his cheekbones. Replacing the ordinary TurtleShroomian cokebottle glasses were a pair of sunglasses accomplishing the same magnification.

Jung, a member of the Order of the Nuclear Football (which consisted entirely of members of one family), had the privilege of being the head of his bloodline and being the Voivode, the ceremonial "grandmaster" of the Order. Whereas other Football "knights" simply wore long, bright-orange cloaks, the Voivode's robe, without a hood, had unique trim and was held together by frog-styled buttons. He had a long, silver staff topped with a traditional nuclear symbol, a yellow and black sash worn form shoulder to hip, and a really, really cool hat emblazoned with a skull. As was the case with his family, his short, black hair was gelled and spiked up underneath his hat.

Most importantly, though, was what was handcuffed to his wrist. A shiny metal briefcase in the style of "Deal or No Deal" was the Nuclear Football of TurtleShroom. When a high-ranking TurtleShroomian politician (or royal) travelled, the Football travelled with them in case TurtleShroom was nuked or the government was otherwise wiped out at once.

The young Cardinal-Primate Icfella, who was known for easily tripping, slowly made his way out as the last man off the plane.

{ OOC: I have already written this, but I wanted to repost this to remind you of Icfella's appearance. }

In all, there was the Tsarina, Voivode Jung, Guardsman Timmy with three other human Guardsmen, and Boris. All of them looked around the airport tarmac, eagerly waiting for the Borgian representatives that were going to take them to the insular palace. Millions of lives and all future diplomacy with the Borgian See were at stake, and the TurtleShroomers were eager to present their best side and show these Italians some TurtleShroomer Southern Hospitality.

* = The use of "lord" for anyone except God and Jesus, even among nobles, is considered taboo and disrespectful in TurtleShroom. Instead, "Gospodin" (the Russian form of address for a boyar and Russian term for "my lord") is used for "lord" while "sire" and "madam" are the royal equivalents of the commoner's "sir" and "ma'am". The manner of address for an Emperor of TurtleShroom is "His/Her/Your Most Sober Majesty".

by **Allanea** » Sun Jul 04, 2021 5:34 pm

OOC: With the permission of the Il Borgia Vaticano player, I am hereby posting this update.

IC:

The Guinea Rebellion

The country burned. First, in the flame of dozens of small slave uprisings. The police and troops that were sent in to squash them discovered – usually too late – that the men and women that had for years toiled in the church's endeavors without resistance were not merely acting in an outburst of anger – their actions had been coordinated and planned. Barriers had been placed across roads, hidden traps placed on the approaches to the slave quarters, tools and gear set alight. Sniper fire – who is helping them? Who is giving them guns? – took out ranking Gendarmes. Soon enough the rebels were beginning to show up in numbers and with weapons – some with guns seized from their fallen enemies, others with improvised submachineguns that had come out of basement workshops, and yet others with brand new rifles.

The names of foreign agents were heard in whispers first, and then in rumors, and then in reports. Not, of course, their real names, but the names of the mythical figures which they had picked out for their covers. Team Harpax had transformed now – Commodore Landorf was now Commodore Punia, leading a host of escaped slaves through the country, leaving behind him pillars of smoke and fire. In the island section of the country, a Lieutenant Crixus baptized himself in rebellion and battle.

The path of the rebels was that of destruction. In part it was the sheer anger of the slaves, an anger the Allaneans would not be able to contain had they wished to. Where the rebels passed, they left behind them burning homes and farms, their former masters and overseers hanged or broken on the wheel, the implements of their labor transformed now into tools of torture. Churches burned - many of the men had been slaves of the Church for far too many years to view it as an oppressor.

Other things, the Allaneans destroyed themselves, with great deliberation. They knew perfectly well that it was wholly possible the war would be lost yet. Effort had to be taken to make it difficult for the Borgia Vatican to re-enslave their new allies – even if this meant that many of the guilty would go unpunished, or that the country would pay a price. Therefore fire had to be the means not only of vengeance, but of purification.

* * *

In the colonial capital

It was incredibly hot. Tobias Landorf – Commodore Punia – suffered quietly as he stood on the hotel roof, sweat soaking into his uniform, running down his face, soaking his gloves. Yet despite this suffering he was smiling. On the horizon he could see the clouds of black smoke, rising from the municipal buildings and the court. His men had been methodical – they removed the construction records and blueprints for their own use, and set everything else alight with flamethrowers and thermite grenades. The city's court records, its property registers, all these were now burning. Computers melted in their casings, paperwork turned into fine ash, fire consumed furniture and fittings alike.

Commodore Punia turned to his subordinate. "What do you have for me, Manneh?"

Jato Manneh was a local man. Body turned muscled and lean by years of hard labor, he had been a crew foreman in the past life. Now he fought at Punia's side, wielding a rifle and a curved sword with equal ease.

"They are coming, Commodore. They will not leave us alone. They will be here with a fleet."

"I am not surprised at all. They are not the sort to leave such a thing alone, and slavers rarely are. Slavers are a cowardly lot, but the dissolution of slavery they fear more than even death itself."

"What kind of sense does that even make?" – Manneh asked – "What is the purpose of dying to keep whipping somebody?"

"Do I look like a philosopher to you?" – Punia laughed – "No, friend! I am a soldier. You should ask me about choosing a dive mix or where to plant the explosives. Why do slavers do what they do? I know that they're creepy bastards who want to be in charge of other people more than they want anything else, and I know that many slavers have literally given their lives rather than give up slavery. I propose to you that we will offer the King of Spain's troops the same bargain. But I propose also that we will plan for the worst as well as the best."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that we should round up every plane that can be gotten, any cruise ship, any such means, and fill them with women and children and old men and get them out of here. Every plane that leaves before the fighting starts in earnest is going to be a victory regardless of what happens next."

Jato Manneh gave a simple, solemn nod. "And what of us here, Commodore? Was all this for us to be run over by the Spanish again?"

"You can call it that." – Punia smirked. "But look at me, Manneh. Do you think I have come here, into this infernal heat, into the jungle, just so I could cause some havoc in slaver-land?"

"No, but your superiors- "

"Oh you're that kind of bore. No. There's going to be a relief fleet sent this way, and even if it does not get here for some incredible, verdammte reason, we're going to make life a living hell for any Spaniard who lands here, so that they find real Hell a relief when we send them here."

"And how do you plan to accomplish that?" – Manneh asked.

"I will accomplish this by using what's already here. That's to say, you."

"Me?"

"You. Jato Manneh. Have your men commandeer all the concrete in the city, all the mixers, the excavators, the cranes. We have perhaps two weeks, at the most, before the fleet arrives here. Let's get to work."

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Wed Jul 07, 2021 9:21 pm

TURTLESHROOM II wrote:*SNIP*

The Helian Villa of Jove, Capri

The reception for the Turtleshroomer delegation in Naples was drab, compared to the usual kinds of receptions the pontificate would hold in times before the plague and before the war. They were allowed to do their ceremonial entrance, with minimal attendance by any officials of the Papal States, before being quickly whisked away in an armed motorcade to the harbor. They took a longer, safer, and cleaner route through Naples. It was not enough to shield the delegation from the horrors of the Sack. Bodies littered the streets, others hanged from the buildings. Smouldering ruins choked the sky in smoke and gas. Soldiers roamed the streets with their Colonna manufactured mass drive rifles, ready to kill anyone they deemed a threat. The motorcade only made one stop to pick up their escort. Though even he was unaware he'd been picked to do it....

Cardinal Pierre d'Euse-Borgia emerged from the police station furious that his interrogation had been interrupted. His Cardinal's robes were on, but the darkened red patches were clearly not the same dye as the Cardinal's robe. It was blood. Shouting at the officer French, he uttered some furious dark curse or threat. To everyone in the motorcade, it seemed as though the threat seemed very real. The color in the officer's face completely emptied. He trembled as he handed the papal bull commanding d'Euse to act as escort to the Cardinal. d'Euse's reputation as an intelligence officer, interrogator, and doctor had garnered him the nickname 'Le Nécromancien'. The Necromancer. Rumour abounded that'd he'd brought the woman who'd posed as Mei-Lee Icfella back to life four separate times during the time he'd interrogated her. He was a short but stocky man, with ice-cold and fierce blue eyes that suggested the devil more than God. Few liked to be around him for very long. This is more than likely why he was chosen to be the escort. Pope Soter II detested him.

Taking his seat on the motorbus with the Sober Majesty and her entourage, Cardinal d'Euse apologized for his appearance and their lackluster welcome. Things had been hectic, and he was in the middle of interrogating and abolitionist foreign agent when he arrived.

"I know your government is abolitionist, your most sober majesty." Pierre said. "But I will refrain from speaking on this in the name of diplomacy going forward."

He inquired to their trip and their recent news, and how they'd discussed about the Spanish reacquisition of Cuba and Hispanola.

"From what our intelligence service has figured our, Your Sober Majesty, the armies and former presidentes of both republics have colluded with the Spanish Freedwoman Queen." Pierre said with disgust towards the Spanish. "They feared rising democratization and thus preferred colonial rule to that. Castro has been in direct communication with King Viracocha. They're both drafting a constitution that would preserve the socialist institutions in a Christian monarchical framework. This comes of little surprise. King Viracocha was deeply red liberal firebrand in his youth. I'm sure you're familiar to the Sobornoye Ulozheniye? This constitution will be similar to that. The population of Cuba are to be reconstituted as socialist serfs. Working for high pay and strong welfare systems. That island will be pacified faster than one will expect. The real challenge isn't Cuba. It's retaking the other half of Hispanola. Haiti will not fall without a fight. That's for damn sure."

The delegation and the cardinal set off from the harbor of Naples. Their short boat ride, escorted by Spanish patrol boats, circled around Capri before entering the personal and secret harbor of the Villa Jovis Helis. The massive romanesque and solar-motifed villa rose above the steep cliffs of Capri. It's magnificent marble and gilded statues overlooking those who came upon it from above. After they landed, the delegation were lead up the stairway carved into the cliffs of Capri so one could go directly from the Villa above to swim in the sea private below. There was also a luxurious grotto carved into the cliff, but this was for less than wholesome purposes, and thus would not be shown to foreign delegations. Aware of the Tsarina's advanced age and weakened condition, she was carried up the steep stairway in a palanquin by servants, who held her aloft befitting her position as a monarch. Cardinal d'Euse hovered around the palanquin, taking note of the Tsarina's vitals and asking her medical questions (both out of concern and curiosity of her venerable age). He was a doctor, and wanted to ensure her safety.

When they finally reached the courtyard of the villa, almost everyone was visibly wretched from climbing those cliffs. The villa on level sight was not imposing like it was when viewed from the sea. It was opulent. No, not opulent. It was absolutely radiant. The marble and metals used in it's construction were purposefully put at angles that reflected the sun's light and made the pleasure palace seemingly glow. It was if it had been pulled from heaven itself. A sun on earth. The courtyard was a miniature copy of St.Peters' circular colonnade, but instead of a obelisk, the center of that circle had a great golden statue of Pope Helius I. It was more a Greco-Roman statue than a papal one. Helius stood tall, wearing both the Papal Tiara and the Solar Diadem of Helios. That was all he wore, for like Greco-Roman statuary the Pope was nude. Yet unlike Greco-Roman statuary, all parts of the anatomy were...realistic...or at the very least idealized. The statue stood upon the rock of Saint Peter, with the keys of the church on a necklace. Pope Helius's hands stroked the strings of the lyre of Apollo. This colossus, just taller than Michelangelo's David, was the perfect embodiment of how Helius had saw himself. It was a stark contrast to the terrible age that overcast Italy today.

The welcome they'd not received on the tarmac waited for them in that courtyard. A contingent of French cuirassier guard cavalry played a bugle to announce their arrival, and the envoys of Pope Soter II were waiting in front of them. Francesco Riario stood to the right, cool and collected, in the romangol extremely tight hose, doublet, coat and sword. He wore modern loafers with his hose. His clothing was what everyone in power except the French wore, from servants to nobles. Every regular citizen dressed 'modernly'. The only major change to these 16th century clothes was modern manufacturing, zippers, buckles, and the use of translucent chiffon for the hose and codpiece. The latter of which both scandalized and erupted into high fashion quickly before COVID-19 hit last year. Riario's own hose too was chiffon.

Prince Joachim Murat was himself an icon all unto his own, much like his namesake. He awaited the Tsarina's palanquin atop a pure white destrier, with a a male lion's skin as a his saddle, it's face and mane hanging down below the horse's neck. He wore the same hussar uniform his namesake wore at the Confernece of Tilsit. The only difference being he'd replaced the ostrich feathers with those of a peacock's and several birds-of-paradise. Getting off his horse, gave a curtsy and swish of his sword, and genuflected before the palanquin and kissed the Tsarina's hand. He then went to her attendants, the voivode, her most important guards and finally Cardinal Icfella and gave each of them a kiss on the lips. It was the Kiss of Peace, followed by a "Pax Vobis".

"Bienvenue sur la sublime île de Capri, votre sobre majesté." Murat said with his dashing smile. "I am Joachim Murat, Prince of Brezza and Pontecorvo, son of Joachim the Ninth Prince Murat and rightful king of Naples. I, as Gonfaloniere of The Holy Mother Church and Consort to the Pontiff, have been chosen to speak for him here today and days to come to settle terms of peace between our two peoples. Francesco Riario here speaks for the Romagna and its king, Paul I. We've taken care to ensure that you have a safe, comforable and let's be honest enjoyful time here at Pope Helius' pleasure villa. We shall begin negotiations immediately whenever you're ready, Sober Majesty."

With another bow and flourish, Murat led them all inside. Peace was the aim, and he'd be the one to achieve it...as long as he got Naples in the end. That's all he really cared about.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Sat Jul 10, 2021 7:06 pm

The Voivode and the other TurtleShroomian guardsmen sat at the very back of the bus. The humans were snoring loudly. This trip had taken some time, as the Borgians had taken in the TurtleShroomers deep in Naples to avoid seeing the carnage of the cities. Driving on narrow roads through the gorgeous Italian countryside, they stopped to allow Cardinal D'Euse to board the bus.

As always, the Cardinal and the Tsarina, as well as their entourage assembled, wore their full vestments. The Tsarina wore her military uniform

The Tsarina, eager to hear about the political shenanigans this far-flung Papacy had been doing and the conquests of absurdity they had wrought, immediately brought up the inside job in Cuba.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:"From what our intelligence service has figured our, Your Sober Majesty, the armies and former presidentes of both republics have colluded with the Spanish Freedwoman Queen." Pierre said with disgust towards the Spanish. "They feared rising democratization and thus preferred colonial rule to that. Castro has been in direct communication with King Viracocha. They're both drafting a constitution that would preserve the socialist institutions in a Christian monarchical framework. This comes of little surprise. King Viracocha was deeply red liberal firebrand in his youth.

The delegation listened quietly, exchanging glances and sipping the Coca-Cola and water provided to them.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:I'm sure you're familiar to the Sobornoye Ulozheniye? This constitution will be similar to that.

The sticky, soda spit take committed by Cardinal Icfella was lucky not to land on any Italian delegation, instead spewing droplets on an empty bus seat.

"Your Eminence," Cardinal Icfella said between coughs, "we TurtleShroomers know full well what that Council Code did. It's taught in our schools for a reason..."

He paused, finally in control of his breathing after nearly being strangled by his drink.

"It's taught as what not to do. Our Orthodox Brothers and Sisters In Christ are Old Believer; they consider Russia to have fallen as a state after Tsar Peter, who they call an Antichrist, subjugated the Russian Church and made the country into an embarassing imitation of Europe. Our schools have entire chapters explaining Peter's mistakes and his successors' failures. The Council Code is chief."

Tsarina Olvia concurred.

"The Council Code abolished the Yuri Day, which was a release valve for serfs to escape tyrannical lieges and find better lieges. It also made it impossible for a serf to leave their lot by basis of hereditary serfdom."

Here she leaned forward, her frail, trembling head balancing the Crown of TurtleShroom.

"You are Italian, surely you remember the Roman Emperor Diocletin's Dominus Era? That was when the first building blocks of feudalism began. Plebians were suddenly tied to the land and locked under the job their father had. The result destroyed the conscript morale in the Legions because they no longer had any skin in the game. Where before they would fight to defend their plebian land and their families, now they gutted the spirit of Roman comraderie."

She crossed her arms.

"I don't think you need to be reminded what happened a few decades after he died."

The awkward silence persisted for a moment before the Necromancer resumed his explanation.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:"The population of Cuba are to be reconstituted as socialist serfs. Working for high pay and strong welfare systems. That island will be pacified faster than one will expect. The real challenge isn't Cuba.
It's retaking the other half of Hispanola. Haiti will not fall without a fight. That's for damn sure."

Cardinal Icfella and the Tsarina looked at each other as if they had been cursed out in a language neither understood. They looked back, their wide eyed expression clearly visible from their heavy cokebottle glasses. Icfella was silently thanking God that he had not taken another sip of his drink.

The Emo-haired Cardinal was similarly speechless until he finally mustered some words to say.

"You WHAT? You... you actually think that you can subjugate HAITI? I mean, there are plenty of French black islands, and most of them have something in common. A slave rebellion."

"Both the Borgian See and Borgian Spain are slave states, something that I, and the TurtleShroomer Rite, was unaware of at the time we entered into Full Communion with the Borgian Vicar of Christ. We probably would not be here today if we knew that at the time."

Interrupting Icfella's thought process, Tsarina Olvia's thick Russian accent did nothing to obscure the serious tone of her voice.

"TurtleShroom's papists may have forgiven that, but the Haitians haven't. The resistance to slavery is the bedrock of every French black island in every tropical sea of Nationstates. Many, many nations have arisen from that exact human 'stock' by literally stacking their foundations with the bodies of their former masters. Tell me, Your Eminence, do you remember what happened to the Frenchmen in Haiti? ......you don't want to know what happened to the Frenchmen in Haiti. The sons of the Dixie aristocracy were told this story when we evacuated them and they tell their children it to this day."

The Tsarina's tone became harsher as she spoke to the Cardinal.

"Look at me, Your Eminence. I know that you don't have a say in this matter, but I respect the aristocracy and landed gentry of this land and Borgian Spain enough to tell you now: don't mess with Haiti.. You will be digging your own grave."

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:The villa on level sight was not imposing like it was when viewed from the sea. It was opulent. No, not opulent. It was absolutely radiant. The marble and metals used in it's construction were purposefully put at angles that reflected the sun's light and made the pleasure palace seemingly glow. It was if it had been pulled from heaven itself. A sun on earth.

The Italians' intent to impress the TurtleShroomers worked perfectly. At the top of the stairs, the TurtleShroomers simply stared at the stunning, magnificent palace in front of them. Even Boris and Timmy, both well-disciplined and trained in protecting the Crown, could barely maintain their soldierly "poker face" as the building shone in its glory.

The Tsarina and Icfella both smiled, quietly whispering about the upcoming banquet and how amazing it must be. The Italians, if they listened, would have heard a mountain of praise at the beauty of the structure.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:The courtyard was a miniature copy of St.Peters' circular colonnade, but instead of a obelisk, the center of that circle had a great golden statue of Pope Helius I. It was more a Greco-Roman statue than a papal one. Helius stood tall, wearing both the Papal Tiara and the Solar Diadem of Helios. That was all he wore, for like Greco-Roman statuary the Pope was nude. Yet unlike Greco-Roman statuary, all parts of the anatomy were...realistic...or at the very least idealized. The statue stood upon the rock of Saint Peter, with the keys of the church on a necklace. Pope Helius's hands stroked the strings of the lyre of Apollo. This colossus, just taller than Michelangelo's David, was the perfect embodiment of how Helius had saw himself.

Cardinal Icfella immediately recognized the Latin inscription as reading "POPE HELIUS I". The beaming smiles on the TurtleShroomian delegation were wiped at the site of the statue, as they were visibly offended at Pope Helius' giant..... lyre.

They kept quiet, judging the arrogance of this man that apparently once represented the Catholic Church and what might be his closeted paganism. They both hoped that Helius didn't commission his own statue and this his name meaning "sun" was referencing King Louis of France's absolute monarchy and not a Roman pantheon. Timmy smirked, but didn't really make any display.

The attitude of the Voivode and Boris was less prudish. The Vovoide and Boris both snickered as they slowly moved with Timmy at the back of the delegation briefly forgetting to watch for their surroundings as they, whispered to each other about Helius "compensating for something".

-and speaking of compensating...

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Francesco Riario stood to the right, cool and collected, in the romangol extremely tight hose, doublet, coat and sword. He wore modern loafers with his hose. His clothing was what everyone in power except the French wore, from servants to nobles. Every regular citizen dressed 'modernly'. The only major change to these 16th century clothes was modern manufacturing, zippers, buckles, and the use of translucent chiffon for the hose and codpiece. The latter of which both scandalized and erupted into high fashion quickly before COVID-19 hit last year. Riario's own hose too was chiffon.[/url]

The Voivode and his mushroom compatriot quietly excused themselves as they found a place out of earshot to vent their laughter. An actual codpiece? A translucent one? Thank God he had underpants under that! Their sides were in orbit! After about five minutes or so, Boris and the Voivode would silently return to their stations, the Voivode's Oriental complexion tinged with faint redness. Boris was glad that fungi didn't have blood, or he'd be red-faced and crying.

Cardinal Icfella, the Tsarina, and Timmy were all offended, but also slightly amused. Before they could comment anything rude, the whinnying of a horse caught their attention.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Prince Joachim Murat was himself an icon all unto his own, much like his namesake. He awaited the Tsarina's palanquin atop a pure white destrier, with a a male lion's skin as a his saddle, it's face and mane hanging down below the horse's neck. He wore the same hussar uniform his namesake wore at the Confernece of Tilsit. The only difference being he'd replaced the ostrich feathers with those of a peacock's and several birds-of-paradise.

The smiles on the prudish TurtleShroomers and their guards were back. This time, though, it was not of mirth or laughter, nor discomfort, but of actually being impressed. Prince Murat's horse was gorgeous, something that Cardinal Icfella said outloud, and the Prince's outfit was similarly stylish.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Getting off his horse, gave a curtsy and swish of his sword, and genuflected before the palanquin and kissed the Tsarina's hand.

Recognizing the custom, the Tsarina outstretched her hand expecting him to take it as was done in TS- TurtleShroomian human women did not shake hands with men -but she elicited a slight gasp and put her left hand on her cheek as the Prince kissed her hand. She was visibly flattered, blushing slightly, expressing a sincere appreciation for his chivalry. Prince Murat was clearly pleased with himself as the Tsarina took his clasped hand with her left, nodding and smiling a wrinkly smile.

"Such a gentleman! Who might you be?"

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:He then went to her attendants, the voivode, her most important guards and finally Cardinal Icfella and gave each of them a kiss on the lips. It was the Kiss of Peace, followed by a "Pax Vobis".

The Voivode and Timmy both had their mouths covered by Cardinal Jason's hands before they could shout. The Old Believer Orthodxy had the Holy Kiss exchanged in front of the cheeks. Icfella knew this and looked to them both, the unspoken words revealing that this was an ancient Church custom he had studied. This was, though, the first time he saw it done this way.

Removing his hands from his compatriots, Icfella leaned forward and replied into the Prince's right ear...

"-and with thy spirit."

He smiled as the Prince recognized that he knew what the Pax Exchange was. The Tsarina was happy he didn't kiss her!

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:"Bienvenue sur la sublime île de Capri, votre sobre majesté." Murat said with his dashing smile. "I am Joachim Murat, Prince of Brezza and Pontecorvo, son of Joachim the Ninth Prince Murat and rightful king of Naples. I, as Gonfaloniere of The Holy Mother Church and Consort to the Pontiff, have been chosen to speak for him here today and days to come to settle terms of peace between our two peoples. Francesco Riario here speaks for the Romagna and its king, Paul I. We've taken care to ensure that you have a safe, comforable and let's be honest enjoyful time here at Pope Helius' pleasure villa.

The TurtleShroomers appreciated his warm welcome, though the Tsarina cocked the scattered white hairs that made up her eyebrow.

"Wasn't the King of Naples hidng out in Borgian Corcisca?"

This thought crossed her ancient mind, but neither her face- beyond the eyebrow -nor her mouth led the Prince to know she thought about it.

"I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, Your Grace. Cardinal D'Euse-Borgia. Mister Riario. Your servant* is Tsarina Tammy Timmynevya Olvia, Sovereign Empress of and representing the Great Bountiful Empire of the United Turtles, Mushrooms, and Men of TurtleShroom."

"With me is His Eminence, Cardinal-Primate Icfella, Voivode Jung Jung of the Oriental Gentleman's Order of the Guards of the Nuclear Football, and the four men of my esteemed Chancellery Guard, plus the honorable mushroom patriot."

Timmy, Boris, and each of the other three Chancellery Guardsmen gave their names and extended the traditional TurtleShroomian bow, which was a Western bow. Voivode Jung would extend an Eastern bow out of habit. In TurtleShroom, bowing was normally followed by an immediate handshake between two men and two women, or taking a lady's hand otherwise, but not in this aristocratic setting. The Tsarina, being in a wheelchair, was unable to curtsy. She just smiled.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:We shall begin negotiations immediately whenever you're ready, Sober Majesty."

With another bow and flourish, Murat led them all inside. Peace was the aim, and he'd be the one to achieve it...as long as he got Naples in the end. That's all he really cared about.

[/quote]

"Your servant* is honored to be here and, to be honest, your servant has been thinking about the banquet since boarding the plane back home. We have a hour or so to kill before the discussions can begin. As we have already discussed, your servant hopes to begin the discussions after the feast. The Dogaressa of Amalfi and the Merchant Patrician patriarchs of Amalfi have informed me that they will be arriving tomorrow morning."

A beeping sound was heard. The Tsarina looked to the large-faced analog watch on her wrist and the second, larger digital watch above it. The second one was beeping. That meant it was time for her next dosage of medicine.

"Don't worry about that, it's just my pills. Timmy will deal with that. If your servant could walk, she would carry my bags herself, and indeed, we are all humbled by your offer to do it for us. Now, let us go inside!"

Cardinal Icfella smiled widely.

"I can't wait to see what this place looks like from inside! I hope there's a pool!"

* = Biblical term dating to the Bronze Age, used by people when kissing up to their betters. All TurtleShroomian government officials use this when interacting with any creature residing in TurtleShroom. However, they never use it to foreigners on foreign soil. Yet, in the Tsarina's case, foreign use of this is a custom of the original Fascist Servant Party and not the Crown. Old habits are hard to break, even when they break the royal protocol that TurtleShroomers follow.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Tue Jul 20, 2021 6:44 pm

Allanea wrote:Snippy 2: Electric Snipaloo[/align]

Bioko Island, Spanish Guinea

After more than three weeks of doddering travel, the second Spanish Armada has arrived. The newly freed people awoke that morning to see the might of Spain's Armada. While nowhere near the strength of the British Fleet of old, the armada was still a formidable force, especially by its rejuvenation by Carlos V. Citizens across the island woke up that morning to similar sights. From Malabo, to Luba, to Riaba and even those with strong eyesight on the peak of Pico Basile...all saw groups of ships blocking the harbors of the capital island of Equatorial Guinea. The island had quietly been trapped by the naval power of Spain.

The fleet dispatched by King Viracocha had been smaller than the one under his freedwoman Queen's, but the armada had picked up reinforcements from Rabat, as the Sultan had promised King Viracocha aid in crushing this revolt. Morocco was an influential slave trading power in its own right, and feared rebellions amongst their own abid populations. This fleet was a diverse effort in the parties interested in putting down this rebellion. The vast majority of the ships were Spanish, with a secondary majority of Portuguese, Morrocan, and a few Dutch vessels. Dutch involvement was limited. They themselves also profited from the trade, but chafed at the thought of operating under Spanish command. While formally in the same nation, The Low Countries were administered by Papal overlordship rather than Spanish. The current chaos in Italy had pushed them closer to Spanish influence, and the Benelux resented this.

The armada, in its totality, was 120 ships strong. There were ten cruisers and the twin aircraft carriers, Reina Isabella and Rey Fernando. These aircraft carriers were small, but maneuverable, each having their own airwing(s) when needed. The other 107 vessels were groups of destroyers, submarines, frigates, patrol ships and armed troop transports. Sitting outside of Malabo, just outside of defensive fire range, was the flagship of both the Spanish Kingdom and the Papal Empire itself. Nuestra Señora de la Santísima Trinidad was the only ship of her kind. Dubbed the 'Longinus Class MD-Battleship' by the Pontifical Navy, NSST was a massive undertaking, designed together by Stefano de Medici-Borgia and King Carlos V in their waning years. She was constructed in Alicante, filling the role of terrifying symbol of Pontifical and Royal Authority. Continuing the Hispano-Portuguse tradition of overly armed and overly armored sailing bricks, NSST bore four main batteries of gigantic mass drivers, alongside multiple missile systems, torpedoes, and antiaircraft weaponry. When fired, the main guns launched a 35 pound ferrous slug at speeds several thousands of miles per hour and at enormous distances.

As the day went on, the guns never did fire. Unease fell over Malabo as the great floating fortress sat malevolently in the seas opposite of it. Sitting in the third deck highest above the others, her admiral sipped a Port wine while taking in the view of this otherwise scenic island. Juan Luis de Teruel Moctezuma y Franco, Duque de Moctezuma de Tultengo, was a preeminent member of the Spanish nobility and a veteran of the navy for over thirty years. Sipping on his wine, he opened the communications channel with the fleet's subcommander.

"Sir, we are ready to move when you are." He said. "We've filled the harbors and can have boots on the ground by nightfall, with air support and fleet support."

"We will do no such thing." Admiral Juan Luis replied. "Give order for our patrol flotillas to instead sink any vessel within twenty miles of Bioko's shoreline. I want our submarines to institute a cordon a sixty miles out."

"Of course." The commander said curiously. "We're blockading the island? Our forces could sweep over it and dismantle it quickly."

"Against a conventional enemy, yes." Juan Luis said with another sip. "But this is no regular enemy. They're freed slaves, galvanized by liberty, hope and foreign intervention. It will be a nightmare to take them as they are now. We will break their will first."

"How?" The commander said with some indignation. "You make it seem like they're quite strong."

"They are." Juan Luis said. "However, they have a weakness we may exploit. Bioko is the capital and home of this revolution and 70% percent of their food supply is imported. What little food Bioko gets is either through little subsistence farming or fishing."

"Thus the harbors are blockaded and any vessel trying to leave shore will be sunk."

"Exactly. Relay these orders to our ships. Bombardments will begin at sundown, and will only be done so during the night. It shall last until sunrise. This will alternate every few days, with bombardments lasting from dawn till dusk. We will allow them no night's rest."

"Yessir."

"Moctezuma out."

As the sun's rosy light dipped beneath the horizon, NSST's main guns all four tri-tipped turrets turned towards Malabo. Juan Luis finished his wine and gave the order. The mass driver fired a full broadside into the harbor and into the city skyline. Entire buildings were torn to shreds, ships burned, and skyscrapers collapsed from the impact of the ferrous slugs. Juan Luis relaxed, opened a new bottle of wine, and waited for morning to come.

by **Allanea** » Fri Jul 23, 2021 9:29 pm

Malabo, Equatorial Guinea

The child looked like she was asleep, curled up in the wreckage, her knees pulled up to her chest. There was no visible injury. And yet her body did not heave with the rhythmical surety of breath, nor did her wrist throb with the steady pulse of a heartbeat. Her hair, her skin, her clothing were the same light grey of fine concrete dust. A torn schoolbook lay nearby, also caked in dust – 'Learning to Read Common', it said, and 'This Book Belongs To ' Commodore Punia praised the gods in his heart that her eyes were closed.

"We should bury her." – another of the combat diver said. It seemed pointless – doubtless there were hundreds, thousands dead throughout the city, could the Allaneans personally bury each and every one? – and it was also correct. Yet Puinia shook his head.

"Not quite yet." – he responded. He turned to his men. "Form."

They stood in formation there, in the ruins, the child's body before them. Without being told, ten men moved their rifles to attention. Punia spoke.

"Look at this. Look at her. We have all read about the crimes of slaver-kind in theory, we have heard about numbers – this and this many killed, this and this many kidnapped, tortured. Now the slaver displays to us their practice. What is implied in slavery – no matter how calm, how quiet, how benevolent – is this sort of shit. What is implied is always I will murder you if you try to leave. Even now they wait off this shore, with their ships in plain sight, preparing to murder more children. This is what sorts of people they are. They have preferred to murder thousands, and doubtless will proceed to murder thousands more, to cling to the oppression of millions, against even the commandments of their own religion and their own Church. But I ask you not to think of these as numbers. I want you to think of Chidey Amasu. She was eleven years old. She was learning how to read in Common. Now. Before we move on. I'd like you to take a minute to think of Chidey Amasu. And in the future. If we ever have any doubts about what we are doing – think of Chidey Amasu."

There was a minute of silence. It seemed to last hours.

* * *

In his attempts to intimidate the rebels, Admiral Juan Luis had made a grave error – though time would tell if that error would translate in fact into defeat for him. Still, the reality was that in allowing his ships to be visible from the shore, he had allowed his ships to be photographed. Long, heavy camera lenses with cameramen trained to operate from concealment – as if they were carrying weapons, not cameras – tracked the enemy ships. Unseen and unheard, they took image after image.

By evening, the Cretoxyrhina and the Elitist had left port, and vanished again into the blue darkness. Urgent, encrypted messages were sent also to the Brittanian government, requesting an expansion of the relationship between two countries, and some very particular favors. But until the issue would be settled, the only thing remaining to the defenders of Malabo would be to suffer, and to wait.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Thu Aug 05, 2021 11:01 am

TURTLESHROOM II wrote:*Snip*

"It has a pool in the back, with an enormous fresco of Poseidon as it's flooring." Murat responded to Cardinal IcFella "There is also even a fashion runway, in which Pope Helius personally dictated the year's fashion trends. Ironically, for staff and occupants at the villa, the place was basically a nudist colony."

Murat gave off a joyful laugh as the delegation entered the Villa Jovis Solis Invictus. The palatial interior was just as elaborate, ostentatious, glorious and scandalous as one would expect. While a rococo benefactor personally, Pope Helius had been adamant that the villa be done exclusively in ancient Roman styles and motifs. Each wall panel was exquisitely painted with individual friezes. In between the friezes, on the borderlines, stood busts of various leaders. Former pontiffs, emperors, and monarchs. The friezes themselves were definitely meant for a Leader's pleasure retreat. Each frieze depicted the carnal act in explicit detail, with every possible position, number, orientation, and arrangement being included somewhere in the villa. Rumor and legend say that Pope Helius served as model for most of these friezes, though the historical record denies this. Soter II had ordered that they be covered, lest the Turtleshroom delegation be horrified, but Murat had countermanded the order. He believed that if they truly wanted peace, they'd get over themselves. Or at the very least, the shock might throw them off at the negotiating table.

Murat led the delegation to out of the building proper to the great peristyle garden that served as the heart of the villa complex. Instead of the usual Dorian, Ionic, or Corinthian columns the peristyle was held up by sculptures. Atlantids and Caryatids alternated as the columns all around the garden, facing inward. No two looked alike, as all were sculpted from actual subjects. The eastern half were famous celebrities, A-list actors athletes and singers, who'd been invited to perform and stay at the villa. The western half adult stars, known only to the internet. Murat smirked as he looked to see any recognition from the delegate's faces. Rare plants from all over the world had been brought in, and a great fountain pool sat at the garden's center. The delegation was brought to the northern end of the garden, after having been given free reign to explore the flowers and fruit trees. There the columns formed a semicircle in which tables were being placed between them, with beds being placed behind the tables. In the pool directly across from the semi-circle, brought specially from Florence, Donatello's David would overlook the peace talks.

In between whispers of "Is that...Evans?", "That's definitely...Kit", and "...ree-Stallion?", Murat put his fingers in his mouth and made a full on loud whistle.

"...onaldo. At least his face is done well this time."

"I forgot to tell everyone that photography of the colonnade is explicitly forbidden." Murat said with a flourish. "By law and by papal decree. Yes, Helius took the time to write into papal law. You can be excommunicated for disseminating images of these intimate architectural additions."

"He actually did something papal while he spent the last half of his reign holed up here?" d'Euse said with contempt. "That's a fact I didn't know."

"I'd honestly be more worried about the crippling lawsuits these people would hurl at you." Riario said with a laugh. "So we're having a symposium, Murat?"

"Correct!" Murat said, announcing to everyone gathered. "Each triclinium will be for you to recline on. Food will be served as hand food for you to reach over and eat at your own pace. Special arrangements will be made for the Tsarina as she so desires."

Everyone took their places as a feast was laid out before them. The Tsarina and Murat sat together at the center of the semicircle, with the Papal delegates on the right side and the Turtleshroomers on the left. Cooked pheasant, thrush, songbirds, oysters, snails, lobster, shellfish, venison, wild boar, and even peacock were served as the main courses alongside rare fruits, and snacks. Foie gras and the Ortolan was also available, though technically banned by sumptuary law. On every table was the Borgia favorite, roasted chestnuts. Mulled wine, made at the villa, was to be served liberally.

Taking the napkin off of his head after eating an Ortolan, Murat turned to the Tsarina.

"We're here to negotiate a treaty of both peace and friendship between our states. A conflict between friends hurts everyone. In my powers in representation of the lawful pontificate, I'm to make this preliminary offer. Status quo ante ponticialis. Turtleshroom returns to the status it held during the reign of Papissa Clementia XV, with some new concessions we hammer out, IcFella remains a cardinal, and Virginio Orsini remains in your custody under permanent exile. Shall we begin?"

by **Allanea** » Sun Aug 08, 2021 2:04 am

Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Proverbs 16:18

The Spanish forces had planned well for intimidating the Guineans. Their ships loomed over the horizon, visible in good weather, and the shells whistled over the cities in a harvest of death. Black, sooty smoke rose from the ruins of several factories. In the morning, the residents wailed over the ruins, or clenched their fists in fury as they dug up the broken bodies of their loved ones, only to bury them again. Many had left the cities. They had to depart under the shadow of night, to minimize the chances they would be spotted and slain.

Some began to whisper about the Allaneans. What were these foreigners doing? What could they even do to stop the bombardments?

But even in the face of this adversity, even as men and women cursed him and spat at his shadow, even then Commodore Punia remained calm. He had already used his mightiest weapon.

The Spanish forces had planned well for intimidation. Their ships loomed over the horizon, visible in good weather, and they were indeed seen. And those who had seen them had spoken. Brief, tight-burst messages over satellite radios, taking less than two seconds to send, contained all the knowledge that was needed.

Four aircraft, flying in from the South of the Britannian Isles, arced out over the ocean. They were black, each shaped like the tip of a broadhead arrow. Their flight was arduous – five hours' flight just to begin to approach their targets.

They would strike at dawn, firing their weapons from the longest possible range. At dawn, Punia pressed a switch on his SATCOM radio, sending a brief burst message – Roncesvalles

It meant that the warships were still visible to his scouts.

And the missiles were cut loose – sixteen from each of the four aircraft. The weapons had been budgeted out with royal generosity – twenty-two for the Reina Isabella, twenty-two for the Rey Fernando, and twenty distributed with fairness and equality among the armed troop transports. They sped towards the enemy craft, still following pre-recorded coordinates. When – if – they arrived in range, terminal radar guidance and camera image comparison would kick in.

"What are the Allaneans doing indeed," – smirked Punia.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 1:01 pm

Allanea wrote:Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Proverbs 16:18

The Spanish forces had planned well for intimidating the Guineans. Their ships loomed over the horizon, visible in good weather, and the shells whistled over the cities in a harvest of death. Black, sooty smoke rose from the ruins of several factories. In the morning, the residents wailed over the ruins, or clenched their fists in fury as they dug up the broken bodies of their loved ones, only to bury them again. Many had left the cities. They had to depart under the shadow of night, to minimize the chances they would be spotted and slain.

Some began to whisper about the Allaneans. What were these foreigners doing? What could they even do to stop the bombardments?

But even in the face of this adversity, even as men and women cursed him and spat at his shadow, even then Commodore Punia remained calm. He had already used his mightiest weapon.

The Spanish forces had planned well for intimidation. Their ships loomed over the horizon, visible in good weather, and they were indeed seen. And those who had seen them had spoken. Brief, tight-burst messages over satellite radios, taking less than two seconds to send, contained all the knowledge that was needed.

Four aircraft, flying in from the South of the Britannian Isles, arced out over the ocean. They were black, each shaped like the tip of a broadhead arrow. Their flight was arduous – five hours' flight just to begin to approach their targets.

They would strike at dawn, firing their weapons from the longest possible range. At dawn, Punia pressed a switch on his SATCOM radio, sending a brief burst message – Roncesvalles

It meant that the warships were still visible to his scouts.

And the missiles were cut loose – sixteen from each of the four aircraft. The weapons had been budgeted out with royal generosity – twenty-two for the Reina Isabella, twenty-two for the Rey Fernando, and twenty distributed with fairness and equality among the armed troop transports. They sped towards the enemy craft, still following pre-recorded coordinates. When – if – they arrived in range, terminal radar guidance and camera image comparison would kick in.

"What are the Allaneans doing indeed," – smirked Punia.

Malabo, Equatorial Guinea

While surrounded by dozens of destroyers and frigates, with anti-missile weaponry of her own, the NSST could not prevent all from landing. Several patrol boats were hit, and the Fernando took damage to its flight deck. It would take weeks to fix it. Her air wings would have to stay aloft for now, and were being scrambled to repel these foreign fighters. Duke Juan Luis paced the command deck, ordering officers and rerouting ships to further strangle the island. These foreigners had clearly managed to escape the blockade. They would not do so again. Any vessel leaving the island would be sunk. From skiffs to row boats. They'd all be fired upon going forward.

"Where the hell did those missiles come from?" Juan Luis demanded of his intelligence officers.

"Admiral, Spanish communication outposts detected very short burst SATCOMS coming from the far north." The yeoman replied. "The missiles too came from the north. An long range air strike was sent from that direction."

"Hmm." Duke Juan Luis grunted with consternation. "Bring me those intelligence reports from the Congregation of the Inquisition."

"Yessir." The Yeoman replied. "Commander Sun is ready to begin."

With a flip of his hands, the admiral gave his approval whilst he read the reports. In Malabo, a new front was opened by Commander Sun Lu around 3 AM. As the NSST and other frigates rained a new torrent of death and fire upon the city, four VTOL gunships took off from the NSST and hurtled towards Malabo's coast-adjacent airport. The fortified airstrip returned fire upon the gunships, destroying one. The others hovered under fire from its forward batteries. When the doors open, figures entirely cased in synthetic ballistic polymer weave armors jump and land on the defensive positions erected around the airport. Guns from the navy begin to offer them suppressing fire as these warriors fanatically storm across the airport, killing all in their path. Some aren't even using their guns, merely butchering the men with swords. Those who do use them to deadly effect. For the sisters alone wield the Papal Empire's sole Mass Driver rifle. People hit by them tend to end up a red paste.

When it begins to register whom these zealots are, many rebels begin to drop their weapons and outright flee. It becomes clearer when the officers land behind the initial onslaught. For they bear a cloak over their armor, white with a red cross resembling a sword, with the shape of a fleur-de-lis on the hilt and the arms. Knights of Santiago, but not any honored member of nobility. This was a battalion of warriors. All were courageous, fanatical and ruthless. The Sisterhood of Saint Michael the Archangel. Whilst the main branch in Italy was all but dissolved amid their responsibility for the sack of Rome, the Spanish order was put under the aegis of the crown, and made knights. Now they were to be the hammer of the crown. Two regiments had been dispatched with the fleets. Commander Sun Lu, originally born in China (The Sisterhood was an international Nun order after all), commanded this one. The assault was going swimmingly. The airport would fall within an hour or so. Holding it would be the challenge.

Giving a kick that crushes the radio operator's throat, Sun Lu announces to the fleet and to Malabo that their airport has fallen. She then cuts it off as the Sisters occupy the airport.

Back on the NSST, Duke Luis finishes reading the reports and sighs.

"Sir, Commander Lu reports success." the Yeoman said. "We can begin to land the airwings on your order."

"Soon, but I want to hold the airport a bit longer now before we land them." Duke Juan Luis replied. "Secure it. Open our own SATCOMs with the Crown. Quipu code."

"Yessir." The Yeoman said. "That's quite a secure line."

"Yes." Admiral Juan Luis replied. "The missiles. The ship sinkings. It's the Allaneans, not the British."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It fits their MO. Obsessive compulsive abolitionists. They're also tied diplomatically to the British, and this seems like they're techincal capacity."

"The Crown must act. This is a clear contravention of The Royal Decree."

"By God, they will."

Havana, Cuba

Standing before the newly established Cortes of Cuba, the newly minted Grand Duke Claudio unveiled his great reform before the newly minted nobles and Vicereine of the Spanish State of Cuba. El Código del Consejo de Cuba was a massive undertaking. Claudio had consulted the Vicereine Coana as well as legal scholars from both Spanish and Cuban Marxist schools of thought. The book describing the laws and regulations was a half a foot thick. In essence it turned the vast majority of the population excluding merchants, officers, nobles, clergy, and academic (Doctors) into serfs. Bound to whatever service they were employed, their status will be inherited by their children, with no freedom to travel or choose their employer. In return for this state of obedience, every serf was guaranteed education, healthcare, insurance, housing and food. While there was no income, serfs were free to make money in any way they could, and could buy their own freedom. Freedom would also be offered to those who showed educational brilliance or potential for command in the armed forces. They would be manumitted and given positions at universities, in the church, administration or army. This novel constitution would be the guiding light that bound old Cuba to the new. The leaders on Hispanola, however, had rejected it as 'horrifying'. They were to return to colonial institutions. Both were to answer to the Vicereine/Viceroy, to be based back in Spain itself.

The pacification of Cuba was largely successful, but still ongoing. In the previous month protests had erupted across Havana. They'd be crushed by force. Hundreds dead, hundreds more imprisoned. Guantanamo was the toughest nut to crack. Sisters of Saint Michael assaulted the fortress for days, before storming the place and butchering every personnel inside. The use of Chlorine Trifluoride grenades led to a blaze that lasted for days. Even the concrete burned under the vigorous fluorinating agent. All the prisoners would likely be sold abroad.

Haiti, however, seemed to be a tough nut to crack. A scheme to assassinate the president of the republic had gone well, as had the initial invasion. Hispanola was fully overrun. An insurgency in the interior was resisting bitterly. Massacres had begun to occur on both sides of the conflict. Disease was now spreading like wildfire. COVID devastated the population that continued to protest against occupation. Vicereine Coana put her fleet around Haiti in blockade and coordinated airstrikes on rebel positions. Defoliants were being used to clear the central forests, followed by fire. It would be a bitter war, but it would be won.

by **Allanea** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 3:14 pm

Of course, Punia was disappointed. Eventually, a SATCOM tightburst was sent out – perhaps two hundred words of text, concealed among a few thousand kilobytes of trash message, existing merely to further confuse an enemy decryption machine. BDA: Results limited, no capital ship losses observed among the enemy… Punia knew, of course, that a second air strike would be soon prepared and launched, and that aid was on its way. Still, the saying goes: first tie the camel down well, and only then entrust it to the will of Allah.

The Allaneans, and those of the former slaves that had the courage within them to fight, had prepared Malabo for a vicious contest. Even now work was still being done. Building interiors were being reinforced to turn bedrooms or offices into bunkers. Deadly traps were built, landmines and improvised bombs were hidden the most surprising places. Punia now spent several hours each day instructing the best of the men in the techniques – how to turn a manhole into an anti-vehicle weapon, how to booby trap a door, how to lift a floor panel to turn into a pressure plate.

Of course, at this point the survival of Punia and his compatriots depended on the actions of others. They know that in the British Isles, a second strike is being prepared, that submarines are steaming towards them across the seas. They knew also – though they spoke of it not – that sometimes in such circumstances aid did not arrive. Sometimes the cavalry did not come riding from across the hill, pennants streaming, and all that remained was honor, and freedom, and death.

You pays your money, and you takes your chances.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Fri Aug 13, 2021 9:39 pm

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Soter II had ordered that they be covered, lest the Turtleshroom delegation be horrified, but Murat had countermanded the order. He believed that if they truly wanted peace, they'd get over themselves. Or at the very least, the shock might throw them off at the negotiating table.

It was only a matter of time before one of the TurtleShroomers complained. As the frescoes only grew more profane, the TurtleShroomers had stopped letting their guard down and put aside their chuckles and small talk; they began to pray quietly that this wouldn't cause a diplomatic row.

Putting on their best faces, the clear and present disgust by all the TurtleShroomers present was masked behind various disciplinary trainings: the military for the Tsarina and Boris, while Timmy and the Guardsmen had their training to thank. Where some of them had snickered when out of view, this situation was one of offense and they could not afford the same lax attitude as when they had laughed about the codpiece. The Voivode wasn't visible in his prudishness, though being several generations a TurtleShroomer, it affected his worldview.

"ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT!"

Swiftly rushing his right hand to his white gallero, Cardinal-Primate Icfella yanked it off and clutched it in his right hand, his peeved expression visible even though his Emo bangs obscuring his left eye.

"HAVE YOU BROUGHT US TO A BROTHEL?! I'm sorry, I didn't know we were going to the flipping PLAYBOY MANSION to discuss church matters! Why, God forbid me for what I am about to say, but I-"

WHAM!!

In his anger, the good Cardinal hadn't realized where he was going and smacked right into the doors leading out of the palatial halls and into the central villa. He landed on his backside and his glasses fell off. Boris, being the kind fungus he was, telekinetically picked them up and handed them back to him. The Cardinal-Primate placed his Gallero back on his head and fixed his glasses, dusting off his vestments before following the rest of his delegation into a gorgeous view.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Murat led the delegation to out of the building proper to the great peristyle garden that served as the heart of the villa complex.

[...]

Rare plants from all over the world had been brought in, and a great fountain pool sat at the garden's center. The delegation was brought to the northern end of the garden, after having been given free reign to explore the flowers and fruit trees.

[...]

In the pool directly across from the semi-circle, brought specially from Florence, Donatello's David would overlook the peace talks.

The TurtleShroomers felt more relaxed when they were shown the decorations in the villa. The fountains in the main pool were exquisite, and the use of individual statues of men instead of pillars to hold up the colonnade was fascinating, but it's too bad they were naked. The TurtleShroomers were grateful that they would have their backs to them; if they weren't, the moving of the chaises wouldn't take long.

The Donatello statue was the exception, but that piece of art was legal to be displayed in even TurtleShroomian art history books because of its significance.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:The western half were adult stars, known only to the Internet. Murat smirked as he looked to see any recognition from the delegate's faces.

Not one statue on the left half elicited a response from the TurtleShroomers. Murat must have laughed top himself, as he rightly assumed that he TurtleShroomers only saw "prominent Borgian statesmen, nobles, and aristocrats".

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:There the columns formed a semicircle in which tables were being placed between them, with beds being placed behind the tables. "So we're having a symposium, Murat?"

"Correct!" Murat said, announcing to everyone gathered. "Each triclinium will be for you to recline on. Food will be served as hand food for you to reach over and eat at your own pace. Special arrangements will be made for the Tsarina as she so desires."

It took a moment for the TurtleShroomers to make a connection as to what they were looking at. The Cardinal-Primate knew fluent Latin and could tell the history of Catholic Christianity effortlessly, but his understanding of Roman culture was elementary at best. Where any Italian state worth its salt taught its children about Rome as if it was theirs (for it is), TurtleShroomers learned about Rome in a historical setting: the military studied its tactics, the Catholics studied the Councils, and the rest of the country studied its history and impact on the world.

That's when Cardinal-Primate Icfella had an epiphany.

"I recognize this! It's like in the cartoons, where the fat Emperor would lie on his side and be fed grapes, right?"

As if on cue, rolling tables and beverage vases answered his hunch correctly.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Everyone took their places as a feast was laid out before them. The Tsarina and Murat sat together at the center of the semicircle, with the Papal delegates on the right side and the Turtleshroomers on the left.

It took some time for the TurtleShroomers to be explained the basics of a Roman symposium- it turns out the cartoon image of being fed grapes was accurate -although Icfella's comment basically gave them the mental image they needed. The Tsarina was the only person not to have a chaise lounge to recline on; she was gently lifted out of a wheelchair and placed onto a beautiful, plush chair made of thick cushions and upholstery of the finest furs. Timmy and the other Guardsmen, all being over seven feet tall (with Timmy being four inches short of eight feet), hung comically off the chaise lounges. The Italians had planned ahead and gave them plush footstools and Ottoman coffee tables so their feet would be comfortable.

Murat was clearly the Symposiarch here, and the brief introduction had given the TurtleShroomers the understanding of the title.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Cooked pheasant, thrush, songbirds, oysters, snails, lobster, shellfish, venison, wild boar, and even peacock were served as the main courses alongside rare fruits, and snacks. Foie gras and the Ortolan was also available, though technically banned by sumptuary law. On every table was the Borgia favorite, roasted chestnuts. Mulled wine, made at the villa, was to be served liberally.

The TurtleShroomers were stoked at the meals, which had been conveniently labelled for them. They were about to be disappointed with only wine when out of the corner of his eye, near the wine vessels, Timmy noticed an additional Krater vase being kept chilled... but what was that dark color?

No. It couldn't be! Could it? It was COCA-COLA!

That was exactly what it was. The feast was impressive enough, but the TurtleShroomers had expected water. The time it took to purchase and distribute that much Coke, much less hold it and chill it in an authentic Roman serving vase, was a step of hospitality above what they had expected. Anyone able to read expressions would have noticed the change in their posture and eyes. Murat, if he watched the TurtleShroomers' body language, would have instantly recognized that whatever frustration that they had about the frescoes had washed away; the TurtleShroomers had forgiven the slight and were ready to approach with an open mind.

Tsarina Olvia, meanwhile, now very relaxed, daintily crossed her legs at her knees and laid her bony arms on the arms of the luxurious chair. A servant poured some Coke in her goblet as she looked at the table.

To her, the Ortolan and Foie Gras in particular stuck out. The Tsarina, being accustomed with TurtleShroomian law, immediately recognized that those two dishes would be contraband in TurtleShroom. She assumed that it was lawful here and didn't think of anything else, beyond the fact that placing the towel over one's head when it was eaten was a representation of shame. She whispered to the other TurtleShroomers about avoiding those two items. She didn't need to go into detail on how they were made because they took her at her word for it.

Boris laid his fruiting body on one of the chaise lounges and sighed quietly. Eventually, when there was an opening, he spoke up.

"Noble See-im-poe-see-ark?" Boris said quietly.

Murat turned his head to the mushroom and acknowledged his question. He needed to speak because his face was covered, like a veil, by the linen napkin under which he was eating his roasted, tortured bird.

"I hope I ain't interruptin' anything just yet, but as y'all can see, I ain't no man. Or turtle. I... I'm a fungus. I decompose things, so... if y'all have anything... y'know... somethin' rotten, somethin' I can... break down? Garbage, puhhaps? Somethin' fermented? If y'all don't mind, I mean..."

"Pass the peacock, please." Cardinal-Primate Icfella said, trying to break the silence.

A few minutes had passed as the TurtleShroomers enjoyed helping themselves to the banquet. Cardinal-Primate Icfella went straight for the peacock again, having tasted it when he first travelled to Borgian Italy.

The Tsarina, being simple in her comparatively Spartan barrack mush, slowly savored the ham and venison, marveling at how amazing they could turn simple pork and deer meat into a masterpiece. She was never a rich woman and before her anointment as Tsarina, she had not seen the inside of anything this fancy. Indeed, this entire brothel was fancier than the Pauper's Palace...

Jung dove into the exotic fruits, which reminded him of the delicacies his mother would fix him when he behaved well.

Timmy, on a dare from one of his fellow Guardsmen (who himself had stacked his plate with lobster and chestnuts), tried the obviously nasty escar-

"BY VIOLET'S PONYTAIL, THIS IS DELICIOUS. HOLY MERCIFUL GRAVY."

The others looked at him.

"GLOB, IT'S LIKE I'M EATING BUTTER*."

He scooped several more escargot platters onto his plate and crammed three into his mouth, only barely swallowing them before he spoke again.

"THIS IS AMAZING. I HAD NO IDEA THAT SNAILS COULD TASTE LIKE THIS."

Several more escargot were eaten as Timmy continued to talk about it. Timmy finished yet another chalice of Coca-Cola, still beaming.

"ESCARGOT IS MY FAVORITE FOOD NOW. HONORED SYMPOSIARCH, I SEE WHY YOUR PEOPLE LIKE THIS STUFF. WOW. I NEED THIS RECIPE."

Eventually, the others ignored him as he said some more things about the snails. Still, the other TurtleShroomers immediately decided to try the escargot and similarly shocked responses of its taste rang out. THAT'S what a snail tasted like under a skilled chef?

A few more rounds of Coke ensued as the banquet waned on. TurtleShroomers got up at dawn and went to sleep after dusk, so they had higher nutritional needs, so gluttony in TS was a bit different, as TurtleShroomers defined it as "eating more than you need" versus "eating enough that others are deprived".
Cardinal Icfella, who once felt guilty when he ate too much at the time he was sent to a Papal Conclave, wasn't even thinking about it as the servants placed his every desire on his plate.

With the foreign delegation having their guard let down and having been whined and dined into a state of delight, Murat knew this was time to make his move. He was just finishing yet another Ortolan bird.

Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:Taking the napkin off of his head after eating an Ortolan, Murat turned to the Tsarina.

"We're here to negotiate a treaty of both peace and friendship between our states. A conflict between friends hurts everyone. In my powers in representation of the lawful pontificate, I'm to make this preliminary offer. Status quo ante ponticialis. Turtleshroom returns to the status it held during the reign of Papissa Clementia XV, with some new concessions we hammer out, IcFella remains a cardinal, and Virginio Orsini remains in your custody under permanent exile. Shall we begin?"

So much so was she caught in the matters of food, the Tsarina had actually forgotten why she was here to begin with. That snapped her back to reality. Swallowing the shrimp she had in her mouth, she wiped herself with a linen napkin. Taking a chalice of Coke, she pondered the reclining Murat's proposition.

"We propose our counteroffer." the Tsarina said, her Russian accent flavoring her words almost as much as the banquet flavored itself. "First, you recognize Amalfi as a king-level Most Serene Republic, equal to Pisa or Venice. Second, you recognize House Icfella-Borgia, under the matrilineal line of Dogaressa Mei Lee, as a Great House and thus Merchant Republic Patrician Family of Amalfi, along with the recognition of the freed slaves as citizens of Amalfi and thus under your protection. Your servant need not remind you that she was elected Doge in accordance with the laws of the Merchant Republic! When the Dogaressa arrives, she will bring Boy Fang, who will discuss slave matters further. Third, you grant TurtleShroom a Most Favored Status at Amalfi; Mei Lee and the Amalfite Patrician Families will clue you in on the sweet deals we can establish together."

She looked to Riaro.

"Amalfi's sovereignty has become a deep issue to us because our presence has galvanized a national spirit, just like what happened when the Romagnites, for the first time, united their entire region. You wouldn't deny the Amalfites that national pride and sense of purpose, would you? Finally, you hold a real Papal Conclave with the Romagnites as host, with a College of Cardinals electing a true Pope in accordance with your denomination."

She ate some chestnuts before continuing.

"In exchange, we will immediately remove our soldiers from Amalfi and grant your peoples safe passage. We will turn over the rest of the dishonorable Condotierries we have detained to the mobs of Romagna. We will formally recognize Prince Murat as the sole legitimate King of Naples. -and lastly..."

Here, the Tsarina leaned forward.

"Virginio Orsini-Borgia is yours."

Cardinal-Primate Icfella gasped.

"My Tsarina! Why would you do that?!"

"All three of us were unanimous on this, Your Eminence. Virginio has not even sent so much as a message to Borgian Italy in his defense. His estate was put to the torch and his large extended family, now out of house and home, are in Amalfi being sheltered in hotels. Does he care? Has he said anything? NO! He's said the same excuses since you took him out of here. Oh sure, he's nice and smart and kind when we hold court, but the fact that he has not defended the honor of his own dynasty reveals his character. His family is homeless, but what has he done? Played his fiddle while his own dachas** burned? If he was innocent and did nothing wrong, he would defend his honor as any chivalrous nobleman would. Virginio's actions have proven that he knew exactly what happened in Rome. If he will not declare his innocence, then neither will we."

"-but, but, what about Mary?"

"Safe as always. Virginio's family will be safe too."

The Tsarina looked to Murat.

"Symposiarch. Your servant wants you to promise her, AS THE RIGHTFUL KING OF NAPLES, that you will allow the Orsini-Borgian line to be protected and left alone in the Most Serene Republic of Amalfi. Amalfi may be independent of your realm, but she borders you and your army has historically secured her. Virginio's entire family will relocate there, to an estate we'll pay to get. As for his grandchildren, Mary has done nothing wrong and neither have her children. When we give you Virginio, we want your word that the entire Orsini-Borgia line will be safe and free as citizens of Amalfi. You will recognize Mary's union and her children as legitimate."

Boris spoke up.

"-and his estates?"

"Forfeited." the ancient human replied. "Everything outside of Amalfi goes to whoever the Borgians decide they go. As Virginio Orsini-Borgia is the head of House Orsini-Borgia, and as the TurtleShroomian Crown is his liege, the Bylaws of the Court of TurtleShroom give me authority to act on his behalf when speaking to his de jure liege, which he signed onto when he became a Courtier. Plus, even if I didn't, the Constitution of TurtleShroom allows the Crown to negotiate foreign treaties with the advice and consent of the Congressional Duma or the Boyardom. Or both. I have every right to do this."

The Tsarina drank some Coke and continued.

"As for House Orsini-Borgia's unpressed claims to any extant title, including but not limited to any kingdom, republic, realm, or estate besides the plot of land his bloodline will get in Amalfi, we agree to forfeit every single one. Any action Virginio Orsini-Borgia, or his grandsons, take to press a claim will be invalid in the eyes of TurtleShroom and your Papacy will be illegitimate because they will no longer have a claim."

She finished her presentation.

"Thus ends our counteroffer. After hearing your reply, your servant would also appreciate talking to Cardinal De'Eusse and the esteemed Symposiarch in private, after dinner. Pass the lobster and chestnuts, please, and may your servant be provided with another refill of Coke?"

* = { OOC: This was actually my real life response to trying escargot. IT WAS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. It is one of the best foods I have ever eaten, though it doesn't trump my favorite food, which is steak. I guess my Dixie heritage can appreciate escargot being A VEHICLE FOR DELIVERING BUTTER. }

** = { OOC: This term is an old Russian word for a vacation home, especially the land on which it sits. Tsarina Olvia's sheer age and her being raised in a remote location (even by TS standards) meant she spoke Russian at home and remained largely exempted from the Dixie supplanting of TS culture. }

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Sat Aug 14, 2021 11:18 pm

TURTLESHROOM II wrote:
Il Borgia Vaticano wrote:*Snippity Snip

Villa Jovis Solis Invictus, Capri-The discussion thus far, beneath the stone eyes of the world's naked stars, had proved immediately fruitful. Francesco Riario's eyes lit up when the Tsarina offered Orsini to them. This is what he'd personally come for, in the name of his king and of vengeance. Cardinal d'Euse merely smirked knowingly to himself. The offer was clearly bait. All three men considered the counter offer as the main course was served. Murat downed three glasses of Neapolitan wine as the chattel servants served these elaborate meals. Two whole swans, roasted and seasoned were placed for people to pick at (with a garnish of ostrich Eggs Benedict), but each were given a plate of meat that was cooked in the form of steak that had been diced for easy eating by hand. It was also well cooked, admittedly a bit tough, but nonetheless exquisite. Murat declared it to be the Papal States' rarest delicacy, nay, the rarest delicacy in the world. Mammoth, cloned and butchered, smoked and seasoned and cooked according to ancient traditions.

Eating another morsel of Human's ancestral meal, Murat stood and bowed to the Tsarina.

"Your counteroffer is good, but there are a few things we ought to negotiate. Fir-"

"We immediately accept the offer of taking Virginio Orsini into custody." Francesco Riario interrupted. "As well as the renunciation to all titles they'd formerly possessed in Italy as well as their possessions of property."

"That's nice and all Riario, but you must remember that we aren't taking any deal as a carte blanche" Murat re-interrupted. "First of all, we do accept terms allowing for the elevation of Amalfi to equal status with Venice, as well as the matrilineal line of Icfella-Borgia. We only ask that her children do not ever take the name Orsini in any form again."

"No one cares for the slave issue in Amalfi." d'Euse said with chagrin. "They may keep their freed status, so long as they do not agitate the other bonded laborers of Italy nor breech this issue ever again."

"I concur. Turtleshroom shall have its special status in Amalfi." Murat said. "The government, as a fief of the Papal Dominion, will be advised by a Papal Legate. In the case of Naples and the Ors-"

"They are to leave Italy." Riario interrupted again, this time with a righteous and justified indignation "I can count on my right hand how many Orsini are left alive. We've hunted the rest and killed them, I'm not sorry to say. I swore an oath before Christ and my brothers that I would hunt down any who remained in the boot of Italia. I would not go back on my word to God, nor make a false promise that would inevitably be broken to your most sober majesty. Give the Orsini asylum in your nation or elsewhere, but they cannot stay in Amalfi as that is Italia, and my duty would be to hunt them."

"Riario, I have had enough of your undermining m-" Murat was not allowed to finish.

"The question of Naples isn't even to be discussed, Sober Majesty. The title is in fact vacant. The Kingdom of Naples and Sicily is, as you know, is an ancient papal fief. The young duke who formerly held the title has abdicated and fled back to his Spanish cousins. Pope Soter II retains the title as overlord until he grants it to a new duke. It will not be Murat, whom was expressly told not to bring it up with your Sober Majesty."

Murat was too stunned with anger to continue speaking.

"We both speak the will of the pontiff, regardless. You request a papal conclave in Amalfi. It is unneeded. As it has been known, the Brotherhood of the Caveja has been collecting bishops, prelates, and cardinals all across the Italian peninsula for over a year. They have been kept, not uncomfortably, in lock in key in the city of Viterbo. We hold a quorum of the College of Cardinals as it currently stands. Such as it is that most of them are Italian. The Kingdom of Romagna in holding this quorum has come to terms with the Romans in order to bring peace to Italy at last. As soon as these negotiations come to an end, for better or for worse, the Cardinals will hold a vote to legitimize the elevation of Soter II as pontiff, the creation of an alliance with Romagna, and the Commune of Rome will be dissolved. In return the Brotherhood of The Caveja will be legitimized, The Crown of Romagna legitimized, the papal guard of Sergius and Bacchus will be reconstituted.

Viterbo, also holding many important bishops and archbishops, will as agreed play host to an ecumenical council. The idiocy that got us into this mess, what constitutes Borgia, will finally be defined. I personally would suggest that the offer of 'ignoring' a heretic pontiff and going to a status of Sede Vacante be heeded by the Turtleshroomer's August Empire."

Riario returned to eating. Shuffling in his pocket, he handed a small scroll to a servant, to be delivered to Murat. On the scroll were the sacred seals of the Pope. This was an official, legal, document. A papal decree. When Murat opened it, all the color drained from his handsome face, and he downed another three glasses of wine. What it contained was not known to anyone else, but to everyone watching, it seemed it was clear enough it was not good at all.

d'Euse, always deductive and too clever by half, surmised quickly what had just occurred. You cocked it up, you damn fool. Riario carried that missive all the way here. He told himself mentally. It needn't have ever seen the light of day. Murat, once again from everything to nothing. Damned fool.

It was an annulment.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Mon Aug 16, 2021 7:43 pm

Say ye, ‘er that yet quivering mass of flesh:
“God is avenged: the wage of sin is death”?
What crime, what sin, had those young hearts conceived
That lie, bleeding and torn, on mother’s breast?
Did fallen Lisbon deeper drink of vice
Than London, Paris, or sunlit Madrid?"~Voltaire, 1755

Les Cayes, Haiti- Damiano Rodriguez knew victory was in God's hands. He knew god would ensure that the righteous cause of Their Most Catholic majesties would be assured. How could it not be? The forces of Cuba, Spain, and his own Dominican comrades had rapidly overrun the Haitian's in the north of the country. Port-Au-Prince was under siege and blockade, and now he and his battalion were beginning their incursions into Les Cayes. Cap-Hatien had surrendered without hardly a fight. Sure, the advance had slowed as the Haitians actually began to organize a resistance, but they'd not halted them yet. Sure, they'd turned guerrilla. Attacks were stifling supply line, kidnapping and dismembering collaborators/soldiers, and undermining scouting efforts. Rodriguez still slept soundly in the house they'd commandeered that morning as a siesta. The Sisters of Saint Michael were deployed to counteract the guerilla insurgency. Yet all would not be well. The raucous cataclysm awoke him from his siesta around 5PM. Terra ceased to be firma. The Earth shuddered with such a violent rage that it seemed as the whole world was to split in twain. Damiano grabbed his supplies, weapons, and whatever he could and sought refuge beneath an altar found in the home. There he prayed for salvation. What had been done to incur God's wroth? Who has sinned as to bring such calamity upon the world? Was their cause not just?

He prayed as the foundations gave way. He prayed as the light of life left him.

"Ecce enim Dominus egreditur de loco suo ut visitet iniquitatem habitatoris terrae contra eum et revelabit terra sanguinem suum et non operiet ultra interfectos suos."~Isaiah 26:21

Clairvius Felix knew that victory was in the hands of the Loa. He knew that the Loa would intercede for the Hatian republic to Bondyé, that the righteous cause of freedom paid in blood before would do so again. How could it not be? Haiti had suffered much in her times of independence, but she was independent. She must remain so. The Haitian people would hold out. They threw back Napoleon. They threw off the chains of bondage. They withstood American occupation. None shall be reduced to such a thing again. Even though the Dominicans promised that any new chattel would be imported from many countries, and that Haitians could profit from it themselves, this notion was categorically rejected. Thus the insurgency was born. They were hitting back and hitting hard. Supplies destroyed, prisoners liberated, enemies and collaborators torn to pieces with machetes. Priests who were collaborating with the papists were numerous among those victims. Sure, half the country was under occupation. Sure, enemy had deployed the infamous brides of Aagou, who were ruthlessly butchering Haitians who resisted occupation. Rumors had it that the Bizango society had reemerged, and bokors were turning kidnapped victims into drugged zombis as spies and assassins. A necessary and temporary evil. It would not matter in the long run. Haiti would endure and repel her invader. Felix sat in his snipers' nest and took out two of the enemy in satisfaction. Yet all was not well. The raucous cataclysm sobered his satisfaction around 5PM. Terra ceased to be firma. The Earth shuddered with such a violent rage that it seemed as the whole world was to split in twain. He watched as numerous buildings were violently torn from their heights. Wood splintered and cement buckled as the rage of the Lwa was felt across Les Cayes. He already knew thousands were going to die. Why was Aagou so enraged? Had there been an improper ritual? What evil had invoked this great cataclysm? Was the cause of freedom not righteous?

He prayed as he picked through the rebel to find survivors. He prayed as the bullet from one of those sisters found him.

"It is I who am the gunner of God; when I roar the earth trembles."~The Chanted Phrase of Those Possessed by the Lwa Aagou, Lord of Storms and Earthquakes. He Whom is Syncretized with Michael the Archangel.

by **TURTLESHROOM II** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 10:02 am

Code: Select all: !! Prussian Discipline was the best in the world, but even they shattered in front of Napoleon. Every free Haitian state in Nationstates did not. The genocide of slavers committed in Haiti was so great that TurtleShroom's descendants of Dixie aristocrats still tell the story to their children. Haiti did not accept living like that. TurtleShroom fought a Future Tech alien invasion to a stalemate and surrendered on favorable terms. We would never merely bow to an invader. Free Haitians are just as zealous. Do you think this foolish exercise will be the same as in Borgian Cuba? The earthquake in Borgian Haiti is the wrath of God, punishment for slavers invading a state where a slave rebellion was a total success. You know that God does not see this war as righteous. It's not the same as in Borgian Cuba. It's not the same in Borgian Dominica. Those wars were not evil. The war on Haiti is EVIL. The Great Bountiful Empire of TurtleShroom urges Borgian Spain to withdraw from Borgian Haiti immediately, apologize to the Borgian Haitian people, and be grateful for their legitimate colonies in Borgian Cuba and elsewhere. Borgian Haiti cannot be allowed to be put in chains. Not again.

by **Allanea** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 1:39 pm

Office of Baroness Priscilla Conde, Minister of War

The Baroness leaned forward, elbows on the desk, her brown eyes growing wide.

"And you are positive that this BDA* is accurate?"

The officer shrugged uncomfortably, he was no more pleased with the results than his superior was.

"Lady Conde, we have verified this with satellite photography. The slaver craft are not only not yet sunk, but they're holding position."

"You would think a missile attack would be a subtle reminder to park elsewhere." – Priscilla said "In any event, I want these flat-tops** dead. Talk to the Dragonhawk regiments. I want them to dump so many missiles on those flat tops that explosive traces will come up in dolphins' bloodstreams in the Pacific."

"Lady Conde, the enemy flattops are in the Atlantic. Near the African coast, in fact."

"That's the joke, Captain Anderson. That's exactly the joke."

* * *

The two bombers into the grey skies and circled, turning South. They were vast machines – larger than most airliners, the vast planes were raised aloft by eighteen high-power turbofans, struggling against the air as they pushed the long, dart-like structures into the skies. But once the planes were high enough, and flying over open waters, a whole new set of engines kicked into gear. Forged in far-off Lyras, in Osmouth Arsenal, nuclear ramjet engines would keep the planes aloft now. The air behind the machines seemed to scream as the bombers climbed and climbed, accelerating as they did so. Eventually they were moving at double the speed of sound – over the South Atlantic, circling in a broad, enormous half-loop, and then finally decelerating for launch.

A thousand miles from their target, they began to drop out their payloads – dozens, hundreds of missiles. As the weapons accelerated, they sped forward on satellite guidance along, maintaining radio silence throughout most of their journey. Their trajectories had been pre-planned by software to ensure that although they were not all launched precisely simultaneously (at such a payload, to launch all at once would be impossible altogether) the missiles would arrive at their targets – the Reina Isabella and Rey Fernando.

As the missiles swept forward towards their targets, of course the Allaneans expected that the stealth features of their design, the radar-absorbent coating, and the like, would delay detection – but in truth, it was inevitable that the missiles would be detected, if not as far off as perhaps they would otherwise have been.

And one would not want to be in the place of the radar operations on the two Spanish carriers when they saw it – three hundred contacts, some low, some high, converging on their ships.

*BDA = Battle Damage Assessment, militarese for having someone check whether your attack was successful or not and report back.

**Flattop = aircraft carrier.

by **Il Borgia Vaticano** » Wed Aug 18, 2021 7:05 pm

Allanea wrote:Office of Baroness Priscilla Conde, Minister of War

The Baroness leaned forward, elbows on the desk, her brown eyes growing wide.

"And you are positive that this BDA* is accurate?"

The officer shrugged uncomfortably, he was no more pleased with the results than his superior was.

"Lady Conde, we have verified this with satellite photography. The slaver craft are not only not yet sunk, but they're holding position."

"You would think a missile attack would be a subtle reminder to park elsewhere." – Priscilla said "In any event, I want these flat-tops** dead. Talk to the Dragonhawk regiments. I want them to dump so many missiles on those flat tops that explosive traces will come up in dolphins' bloodstreams in the Pacific."

"Lady Conde, the enemy flattops are in the Atlantic. Near the African coast, in fact."

"That's the joke, Captain Anderson. That's exactly the joke."

* * *

The two bombers into the grey skies and circled, turning South. They were vast machines – larger than most airliners, the vast planes were raised aloft by eighteen high-power turbofans, struggling against the air as they pushed the long, dart-like structures into the skies. But once the planes were high enough, and flying over open waters, a whole new set of engines kicked into gear. Forged in far-off Lyras, in Osmouth Arsenal, nuclear ramjet engines would keep the planes aloft now. The air behind the machines seemed to scream as the bombers climbed and climbed, accelerating as they did so. Eventually they were moving at double the speed of sound – over the South Atlantic, circling in a broad, enormous half-loop, and then finally decelerating for launch.

A thousand miles from their target, they began to drop out their payloads – dozens, hundreds of missiles. As the weapons accelerated, they sped forward on satellite guidance along, maintaining radio silence throughout most of their journey. Their trajectories had been pre-planned by software to ensure that although they were not all launched precisely simultaneously (at such a payload, to launch all at once would be impossible altogether) the missiles would arrive at their targets – the Reina Isabella and Rey Fernando.

As the missiles swept forward towards their targets, of course the Allaneans expected that the stealth features of their design, the radar-absorbent coating, and the like, would delay detection – but in truth, it was inevitable that the missiles would be detected, if not as far off as perhaps they would otherwise have been.

And one would not want to be in the place of the radar operations on the two Spanish carriers when they saw it – three hundred contacts, some low, some high, converging on their ships.

*BDA = Battle Damage Assessment, militarese for having someone check whether your attack was successful or not and report back.

**Flattop = aircraft carrier.

Malabo, Equatorial Guinea-The contacts appeared on their screen just before all hell was unleashed on the Spanish armada. Dozens of missiles rained in a hurricane of violence and destruction. Admiral Duke Juan Luis saw it all unfold with utter fury and equal dejection. The Anti-Missile systems of the NSST went into overdrive, pouring gire and launching counter missiles. It was too little too late. Several destroyers and frigates were hit, most sunk, some damaged. The Isabella took damage, but the worst would be felt on the Fernando. The carrier lurched as the missiles struck its hull. Alarms were sounded and the ship began to evacuate. A few managed to float off in barges, but the rest of the crew would die soon enough. A series of explosions carried a blaze through the ship, before the vessel itself began to capsize and sink. It was lost.

The NSST, mostly unscathed, coordinated the airwings as they launched from the Isabella and now from the airport of Malabo. The fleet was restructured, tighter and closer to the island of Bioko, but now in continuous movement. The airwings were to patrol the skies and ensure the superiority of Spain over the seas. Such procedures should have been done from the beginning, it occurred to the admiral. He had not thought it necessary with these rebels. His tenure in command will likely be soon cut short.

These were Allaneans. He was sure of it. He notified the king post-haste. A similar message was dispatched to France. While he personally doubted it, Duke Juan Luis considered that they may have violated the kingdom's airspace in doing these attacks. Either way, Louis XXII ought to know.

Meanwhile....

Commander Lu's corps of Sisters had swatted away every attempt to retake the airport like they were flies. The sisters thought them pathetic. While incompetent in their static hold of a blockade, the fleet had managed to strangle the island and weaken its inhabitants. When the missile attack hit the fleet, Lu watched from the airport and responded as soon as ordered by Duke Juan Luis. After the jets were scrambled, The Sisters of The Archangel enacted their revenge. By cover of darkness, two squads of infiltrators slipped into the city. These were the wounded and the most zealous of the battalion. They intended to die that night, to be martyred in a righteous and holy cause. These women of shadow, dealers in death, poked about the ruins of the buildings shelled in the previous weeks. They hid objects beneath the concrete, in the mailboxes, collapsed roofs, and even in the corpses still lying in the streets. One squad was ambushed and killed, their devices taken by the rebels back to their camp. They chucked a few into the sewers.

Heading back to the airport and grabbed some heavy packages before returning to the city. When all was said and done, they approached a medium sized rebel camp, dwelling beneath the protective halls of a church that had been avoided by the guns of the Spanish Catholics. The zealots had no such reservations. Pulling the triggers on their devices, chemicals spewed forth and immediately became alight with flames. Substance N, Chlorine Trifluoride, 'The Fiery Wroth of Uriel'. The Zealots unleashed the righteous fires of heaven upon the heathen rebels. The ones in the immediate vicinity burned alive in their sleep. The great heat of the burning woke the others, who quickly took arms and killed these maniacal women. They were killed quickly. The flames, however, weren't stymied. They grew. They consumed. The concrete floors burned. The glass stains melted away as the glass itself burned. The holy water in the fonts burned. Men burned. Everything drowned in flame. Across the city, the objects blew, unleashing more and more of the substance all over the city. By the next day's noon half the city was alight. Thousands more would die as the chemical reactions unleashed toxic gases. Hellfire paid for Hellfire.

Meanwhile (The Sequel, coming soon!)....

Cardinal d'Euse-Borgia excused himself from the dinner to use the restroom. Murat still looked like death, whilst Riario was actively and lively discussed the terms with the Turtleshroomer delegation. Walking through the halls to the nearest bathroom, he was disgusted by the depravity plastered on the walls around him. He even put on gloves to avoid touching anything he considered...degenerate. May god prevent another such as him. he thought to himself. Approaching the urinal, the cardinal relieved himself. A few moments later, a young Romanian manservant entered the room, and utilized the urinal directly next to him. A violation of the unwritten laws of manhood to some, to those who lived in this villa an invitation, but for d'Euse it was a necessity at the present moment. Both men stared at the wall before the cardinal broke his silence.

"Is it done?" He said without moving. "Correctly."

"As you ordered, Eminence." Said the youth, unmoving himself. "We followed your exact instructions, down to the minuscule measurements."

"And everyone was given it?" Pierre asked with concern.

"Yes, everyone. Even you."

"Good." Pierre said shaking himself twice. "It took too long to measure it out for each of the humans involved to get it wrong."

"What exactly is 'it', if I may ask?" The servant said flushing his urinal.

"You shouldn't. Knowledge is dangerous." Pierre said with a smirk "Then again...Much like the Coke, Cantarella is a classic."

"Diet Coke, your eminence." the servant said with a quiet laugh. "Is that why the dosages were so small?"

"Correct." Pierre said. "You are too clever by half. Cantarella is slow but potent. Everyone will be violently ill within the hour. Approaching death within two, unless...?"

"Unless we serve the final round of drinks. I've already given the order for that round, on you." He said. "If the negotiations go well. If not, we wait for two hours."

"None will die, but it will be as though death was absolutely near."

"None will know the suspect."

"Except the one I accuse."

"Ingenious." The man said. "How else may I serve you, eminence?"

Pierre led him into one of the stalls. The servant, expecting this, followed eagerly. The Romanian had been paid handsomely for his service. He'd also been cajoled into doing so by the threat of Pierre holding his sister captive. She would be released soon. Mostly in one piece. She'd been a rebel infiltrator, captured not more than a few months ago. Her as a hostage ensured his loyalty. He had ties to foreign princes. He was d'Euse's perfect tool. Yet...as with all tools...they have a time of usefulness. His was done. Pierre subdued him, and injected him with a lethal dose of heroin. He'd be found in due course. Dead from an apparent overdose. It was not an uncommon fate for servants of this Villa. Switching out his gloves, he rejoined the others at dinner. Knowledge could be intensely dangerous.

Anarchy in Rome, A Sack Amidst Plague [MT-PMT, CLOSED, IC]

The Conference at Caserta

NAPLES SACKED!

The Coup of 28 June

Anarchy in Rome, A Sack Amidst Plague [MT-PMT, OPEN, IC]

The Treaty of The David of Donatello (Pt2)

'Mini-Post': Haiti

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