Tales from Greater Dienstad (short stories only)

by **Mokastana** » Fri Jul 10, 2015 8:48 am

OOC: This thread is dedicated to any short story ideas that you may have had, but didn't really warrant an RP or didn't quite fit in one. For example, many of mine will probably be historic tales from Mokan history, or a celebration for a holiday. Feel free to post what you want, but a few rules:

1) These stories are Cannon. mostly it will entail events that only happen in your nation, but if others are involved please check with them to make sure it's alright. For example, a story about a single soldier's terrible night while serving on the South Greal front might not warrant a discussion, but if that tale involved stopping Knights Templar from deploying nerve gas, you may want to talk or RP that.

2) Keep it to one(or two) posts. GD and other regions have some very talented writers, some guys(and girls) who can write epics that keep you on the edge of your seat. If you can, keep your stories to one or to posts. Length in the post can be as long as you want, I just don't want entire pages of this thread to be filled with one amazing journey, then in the middle is someone else's unrelated story, now lost and out of place.

3) Give your piece a title/tag the author. Give us something to look up or find your tales by. I'll create a short format to begin them with, but this way we can find them later if they come up.

5) Legends and folklore are fine After all, the stories your people tell each other gives a bit of insight into their lives and views of the world. Just preface it with a tag, such as "folklore", "religious tale" or "legend". I'll add the Tag you give it next to the link under your Author name in the Index

5) Have Fun! I know it's a generic lame rule everyone posts, but this is meant to be chill. Maybe a story was so good it spawned an RP, Awesome! Feel free to link it in the story and continue it! I'm gong to try to keep an up to date index on the main page and highlight new stories, and probably create a separate thread for comments and feed back soon. For now, feel free to comment if a story is good, we all like feed back, but I'll find a solution if it gets out of hand.

Header for use:

Code: Select all: [size=150] [b]TITLE:[/b] [b]AUTHOR:[/b] [/size]

INDEX:

Aeyariss(Aey):

AHSCA:

Deamonopolis:

Esalonia:

Ghant:

Kuronami

Mokastana:

Morrdh:

New Aeyariss:

Palmyrion/Merrion:

Premislyd/Estovnia:

The Qoryx:

Wanderjar:

by **Mokastana** » Fri Jul 10, 2015 9:20 am

TITLE: 1866, Long Live The King
AUTHOR: Mokastana

The Republic had seen better days. Scarcely 20 years old and already rebellion had broken out all across Gran Mokastana: Separatists in MejicoNorto along the Morridane Border, rebellion the native Natul nations of the center, and Peruvian rebels in the far south.

Two years of war had taken its toll on the loyalists in the North, and soon their ruling families and leaders had talked of joining the rebellions instead of fighting them. Rather than face full blown revolt in the Mejican territories, the Republic accepted peace. MejicoNorto and the recently formed Ingenious State of Azteca were given the independence they desired. The Ruling Family in Centrillo, with their two front war finally over, stayed loyal to the Republic. The more democratic Governor of Baja on the other hand, with only one border to Gran Mokastana by Centrillo, chose independence. Knowing the Centrillo families wouldn't march on Baja, the Republic granted them formal independence as well.

Meanwhile, in El Sur, leaders from all over the Southern Territories met per request of Lord Felipe of House Castille, Lord and Protector of Colombia Province. The Lords of The South gathered in Castle Verde's Grand Hall, the very same one they met in not 30 years ago to declare open rebellion against the Old Empire. Many faces were now older and harder, and yet some had been replaced by those younger and newer. Officially, they met to discuss how they would continue the fight against the rebellion in Peruvia, especially now with their armies returning from the rebellions in the North.

While waiting for Lord Felipe, they laughed and gossiped with one another, scheming and planning like usual. General Lopez of the Castille Family Army shared a drink with Lord Bravos of House Lomengo(Lord and Protector of Venezuela Province), discussing his stories of the Mejican campaign. Lord Victor of House Rosas(Lord of Northern Colombia and vassal to House Castille) was making a deal with Sir Fredrick of House Perez(Warden of El Frontera, Vassal of House Lomengo) for horses to help secure the border.

Yet all alone stood the Lord Gaspar of House Borbon(Lord and Protector of Peruvia Province). His son had been left behind, fighting the rebels who were laying siege to Cuidad Ecuador; the last piece of land he could claim sovereignty over. He was here to gain support against the rebels, but no Lord would approach him. It didn't matter, he knew Lord Felipe would intervene soon enough.

As if on cue, the doors to the Grand Hall opened, and Lord Felipe Castille entered. Silence swept through the crowd as he walked among them towards his throne at the head of the Hall. Behind him his personnel guards and a messenger followed, the messenger's uniform and emblem marked that he was sent directly from the Senate itself. No doubt the Republic had ideas of their own how to handle the Peruvian Rebellion.

Only Lord Felipe's guards and the Republican Guards flanking the messenger carried weapons. All others were banned from the Hall. Felipe's guards because this was his home, and the Republican Guard because they were not required to obey a Lord's request. Once Felipe sat down, he motioned towards the messenger and began:

"My fellow Lord's and Ladies, the Senate had graced us with its presence. They come bearing news regarding the Capital's plan to deal with the rebellion in Peruvia."

The messenger cleared his throat, scanning the crowd. The Southern territories were some of the most populated in the nation. This room alone commanded nearly half of the pre rebellion Republic. Now it was probably more. He would have to show them the Republic still held power, even here.

"I have a message for Lord Gaspar of House Borbon, Lord and Protector of the Peruvian Highlands and the Burgandy Mountains."

Lord Gaspar stood up straight, his title expended ever since the castle of House Burgandy went up in flames with the Family Burgandy inside. Formally House Burbon had been just their Vassal, so it had fallen to him to bring vengeance and rule over Peruvia. The fact a separatists Republic now ruled the Highlands and its Burgandy Mountains, one without Lords or ruling families, showed how well he handled those responsibilities.

"Lord Gaspar of House Borbon, You are to accompany me and the Republican Guard to the front. There we will head to Cuidad Lima to broker peace with the new Republic of Peruvia. You are requested by the Senate to forfeit your title and lands, and in exchange will be given a new position in the Capital."

All eyes turned to Lord Gaspar, the once broken man walked up to the messenger and his Republican Guardsmen, looked them over, and spit in the messenger's face. Before anyone could react, Guardsmen seized the rebellious Lord. Barely had they thrown a punch before a voice from the front bellowed:

"STOP! This is my home, you shall not spill blood here."

Lord Felipe stood up and walked towards the scuffle. Lord Gaspar with a Republican Guard on each arm. Heavy breathing from Gaspar as he caught his breath. The messenger knew this would be a tense event, but he knew the Senate could not show weakness here:

"My Lord, this man is under arrest for assault on a Representative of The Senate, and, if he refuses to cooperate, treason."

"My Messenger," Felipe spoke calmly, "the Senate brings disturbing news. Forgive us for the outbursts, but you can understand how we are insulted. One of our own was killed by these Rebels, and you wish to set them free?"

"The Senate wishes to end the War, it is not worth the cost to reclaim Peruvia.The Presiding Senator agrees."

Lord Felipe nodded, then turned to Lord Gaspar.

"Lord Gaspar, my people have bled and died for you. We have served the Republic together since its foundation. The South will not take this insult in stride. "

Taking a step back from both men, Lord Felipe went back to his throne, where he signaled the guards by the Grand Hall doors. On cue, they were opened, revealing 12 soldiers dressed in Castille colors, rifles out and bayonets mounted. Felipe's own guards drew pistols on the Messenger and his security.

"The South has been the backbone of the Republic since its foundation." Lord Felipe's tone changed from diplomatic to iron willed. "Today, we answer the Republic's betrayal of our families. House Burgundy was slaughtered by these rebels. I will not sit by and let them escape."

The first Republican Guard went for his pistol and the Castille soldier's shots reverberated through the stone hall. It only took a second and a hail of miniballs for the Republican Entourage to fall, even the messenger was wounded on the ground. Smoke and silence hung in the air, the ringing of everyone's ears gave a few minutes for the wounded republican guards to bleed out or be stuck by bayonets. As the ability to hear returned, the first voice to speak was Sir Fredrick, Warden of the El Frontera.

"My Lord, killing a Representative of the Senate is...."

"Is what, Sir Fredrick, Treason?" The daggers that were Felipe's eyes turned towards the knight, "It is only treason if the Republic can enforce it. The Republic has shown that it is incapable of ruling its lands. Why should we support it? Gran Mokastana needs a proper leader, not a committee hiding on an island."

The messenger, who had only begun to regain his hearing, scanned the bodies of his guards and blankly looked towards Lord Felipe Castille.

"My Lord, what have you done?"

Lord Felipe turned his gaze, he would deal with the knight later.

"I have decided the South has had enough of Northern incompetence destroying our nation. House Castille is now in formal rebellion against The Republic. We no longer recognize its authority. "

The only sound in the hall was the faint ringing as it faded from everyone's collective mind. Finally, one voice spoke up in the smoke.

"House Lomengo shall join House Castille in rebellion against the Senate."

Lord Bravos of Lomengo smiled as he spoke. An arranged marriage between their houses had been made a few days ago, cementing their alliance. The heir to House Castille would have a Lomengo bride.

"House Rosas is sworn to House Castille and shall remain so."

Another voice, another promise.

"House Borbon pledges support to House Castille! Hail Lord Felipe, King of the South!"

Things began to look up for Lord Gaspar. If the Southern Families rebelled and made revenge their priority, he may get his lands back soon enough.

"King of the South!" The other Lords joined the chat. Only the Lomengos and Roses knew this was the plan all along. Rebel and declare Felipe King, then overthrow the Republic once and for all.

That night, the messenger was jailed, he would be sent back in the morrow to tell the Senate the South was in Rebellion. A Coronation ceremony was held, where the present families swore loyalty to their new King, even Sir Fredrick. Yet the King had one final announcement as the celebrations came to a close.

"General Lopez, approach your King.... and Kneel.

As Commander of the Army of House Castille, you have served with us faithfully for many years. I've seen your martial ability first hand in the War of Liberty. Your success in the Campaigns against the Natul Nations only continues to demonstrate your skill to lead and conquer. The rebels in the North fear Southern generals more than their own government. Thus I knight you, Sir Lopez, and declare you Lord of the Mountains Burgandy, Protector of the Peruvian Highlands. Arise Sir Lopez of the new House De Montana."

The murmurs among the crowd spread and died out as all eyes turned one again towards Lord Gaspar, everyone wondering how Gaspar would react. Before he could, the now King Felipe spoke, with his new knight at his side.

"Lord Gaspar, you failed to hold your own lands and now my Royal Army will be shedding blood to control it. You will swear loyalty to House De Montana, and the Peruvian Highlands will pay tribute as required, or I will have you imprisoned, is that clear?"

Gaspar gave a defiant look, until his eyes crossed the still stained floor where the Republicans had been shot down just hours before. Breathing heavily he knew he had no allies left.

"Yes, my Lord... My King... Yes, El Rey de La Mokastana."

"Good, now that we have cleared that up, every Lord is to dedicate a Portion of their army to serve under Sir Lopez De Montana in the Royal Army. Together, they will reclaim Peruvia. Lord Bravos, tomorrow you will head home a prepare your ships, and rally to the Castille Navy. We will sail directly for the Capital."

My Lords, the South has and always will be the backbone of Gran Mokastana. The northerners have failed at ruling and now have allowed numerous territories to secede. I have been declared King of Gran Mokastana, with the support of my fellow Lords and God above. For my first Royal decree, we will unite the Empire, crush the rebellions and restore Gran Mokastana to her rightful gory!"

by **Wanderjar** » Sun Jul 12, 2015 11:02 pm

TITLE: Daar Waar die Tekkie/At the Point of Contact
AUTHOR: Wanderjar

Dawie Retief, Staff Sergeant of B Company, 2nd Battalion, 533rd Wanderjarian African Rifles regiment, had never seen anything like what he now beheld. From the back of an open top two and a half ton truck rolling steadily down the narrow dirt trails commonplace along the south Greal-Wanderjar border savannah, he and the men in his charge observed, awestruck, the devastation being wrought upon the Stevidian colonial garrison. It appeared as an enormous, violent lightning storm, with dozens of flashes in the distance, consuming the horizon for as far as their eyes could witness, followed by the angry roar of thunder which filled their bodies with its deep bass.

'My god,' one of his troopers whispered. 'How can anything survive that?'

'Hopefully they can't,' Dawie snapped. 'Now shut your fucking mouth kafir.' Dawie was a platoon leader and senior non-commissioned officer in a peculiar unit of the ADF: all of it's junior enlisted, and indeed some of its NCOs, were blacks. In a nation which stringent apartheid policies such as Wanderjar, the idea of blacks and whites serving together was a peculiar one, and yet the Wanderjarian African Rifles regiments saw numerous blacks serving predominately under white guidance and observation, and were mostly successful combat units, at least against the Dienstad African National Congress insurgency. This new war in South Greal would be the first time these units faced a conventional military foe.

Several hours passed. The trucks had stopped, refueled, and continued on as the sun continued to wane into pitch darkness, save for the brilliant flashes of bombs and cannon erupting further south and west. Sooner than Dawie would have liked, the troops reached what had been established to be the front, the long line of trucks and armored vehicles comprising their south bound column halting abruptly. They were motioned to exit their vehicle by a white Wanderjarian trooper, and several hundred men disappeared into a tall grass meadow to await instructions.

Dawie walked to his platoon leader, 2nd Lieutenant Marick de Villiers, a newly minted junior officer straight from the Imperial Military Academy at Magersfontein. The kid, only twenty-one, was clearly terrified. The war had broken out mere weeks after his arrival at his first command, and Dawie was still cleaning the wetness behind his ears when the mobilization orders had arrived. It was too late for that now, the kid would have to sink or swim.

The jaded platoon sergeant had found it peculiar for a Magersfontein man to be assigned to the WAR, but after getting to know the lad, he learned why: he sympathized with the blacks and wanted to improve their lives. This bit of knowledge earned 2nd Lieutenant de Villiers some unbecoming nicknames, but Dawie supposed it would make him a better officer in the long run if he actually had some feeling for those under his command. Now, the kid kneeled in the grass, wide eyed and staring anxiously at the flashes, now not so distant and loud enough to require speaking somewhat louder than a muffled whisper.

'Sir,' Dawie said, kneeling beside the young officer who jerked slightly at being unexpectedly pulled from his dark reverie. 'You're going to need to liaison with the captain. We're probably going to be advancing soon.' The kid looked briefly at his platoon sergeant, confused. 'God damnit, get your shit together; we don't have time to fuck about!' Dawie slapped the lieutenants helmet which shocked de Villiers but got him to stand up, straighten his brown fatigues, and hurry off to find their company commander for further instruction.

Dawie then went about meeting with his four squad leaders. Three were white, one black. Each, even the kafir, he had to concede were good men and able leaders. His platoon had forty-three officers and men. Each squad leader, a sergeant, stated firmly that their men were ready to go, whenever the orders came. They did not have to wait long. Captain Harold Parker, their company commander, called his company NCOs to move with him to one of the trucks. Once everyone had gathered around, he proceeded to pull a map and order two black enlisted milling nearby to hold it against the chassis while he showed his subordinates their instructions.

'Men, our mission for the evening is to seize this village. The Stevidians call it Yorktown, but our maps list it as Saalsveld.' The assembled officers and NCOs nodded. 'It's not especially large, but this road leads through it and the scout battalion reports theres a Stevidian Colonial mechanized infantry company holding it. Most of the people are suidafrikaners, so they're sympathetic to us. We guess theres about two hundred fifty Stevidians dug in around the city and holed up inside of it. Our battalion is going to advance and clear them out to make way for the rest of the Corps to move through to the south.' Captain Parker turned to face the map again.

'As we have no heavy weapons, the 88th Lancers were so kind as to give provide fire support for the mission. The outer defenses are going to be pummeled by artillery and mortars before we move in, but once inside there's to be no fire support: we don't want to destroy the homesteads of people who like us.' Everyone nodded their agreement, albeit most barely concealed the concern on their faces.

'This is going to be a simple movement to contact, gentlemen,' he stated flatly. 'We're going to advance down this road, push through the defenses and clear the village. The Lancers will be providing a company of armor to assist in this.' He gestured with his hands in a pushing motion, 'the armor will roll up first and destroy their frontal emplacements not taken care of by the mortarmen. The African Rifles then will move under their suppression fire and storm the town. Is that understood?' Everyone nodded their agreement, only just visible in the darkness illuminated by Parker's flashlight.

'Alright people,' he said flatly. 'Let's get to work.'

***

The village was about six kilometers from the lead element of the advancing Wanderjarian forces, down an old poorly maintained dirt road. The town itself was fairly small, the dirt road bisected the town evenly, though several connecting streets and alleyways efficiently allowed it to sprawl outward; a very Germanic village design. Dawie however was unable to appreciate this from his position over a kilometer away, hiding in the unkempt tall grass which littered the savannah.

The mortars began to fire, pounding the perimeter of Saalsveld with 60 and 81mm high explosive shells. The platoon sergeant was disinterested in providing battle damage assesment so he largely ignored the brilliant flashes of death being brought down on the town's defenders; he'd seen it plenty before in a long career with the Afrikaner National Army.

What concerned him was his overwhelmed platoon leader, the kafir soldiers he was expected to look out for, and the lack of available fire support once the assault was under way. None of this mattered, his opinion was irrelevant, but it meant that this could possibly devolve into a drawn out, bloody fight for a town of nebulous importance. He discarded these thoughts from his mind as he checked his sides to make sure none of the frightened kafirs had decided to run in the darkness. Life for blacks under the Nationalist government of Wanderjar was certainly unpleasant, and the Stevidians held no racial apartheid laws. So there was certainly fear of mass desertions by Wanderjarian African Rifles troopers hoping to get a better life with the Stevidians.

The shelling stopped as suddenly as it began, and all was silent save for the cries of wounded, shouts of officers and NCOs rallying the stunned defenders, and all against the crackle of growing flames from dried grass caught fire. He could just make out the silhouettes of numerous men running about, their task or destination unvisible. This noise was quickly drown out by the roar of engines: the Lancers tanks had begun to move into striking position. Shortly thereafter, the coaxial and hatch guns of those rolling steel leviathan's opened up with a fierce and deafening roar. Some of those silhouettes dropped violently and others stopped moving.

The lead tank had advanced half the distance when a rocket flew from somewhere within the town. It impacted the tank violently though seemed to cause no significant damage. The tank's main gun roared in reply, striking whatever the origin of that rocket was and no doubt making them regret having dared challenge the might of the Wanderjarian household cavalry.

Lieutenant de Villiers exclaimed, 'Fuck! They're not supposed to fire into the town! We have to stop them!' he started to get up and Dawie grabbed his shoulder and threw him down, hard, into the grass.

'Don't fucking move you dunce!' he hissed. 'Let them worry about it, how about you and I just try to stay alive?' The lieutenant's face belied a look of fury at being so handled by an enlisted person, but said nothing. Dawie returned his gaze to the armor which continued ahead. Finally, the twelve tanks moved into a line, their machine guns still firing at unseen enemies. Suddenly, a whistle blew: the signal to advance.

All down the line, Dawie heard and indeed joined in a chorus of 'Advance!' cries by officers and NCOs. The African troopers and their white leaders stood quickly, bayonets fixed to the end of their SLRs, and at slightly quicker than a jog hurried towards the village. As they neared the tanks, the group broke into a hard sprint to reach the relative safety of the buildings themselves, and cover.

A sniper, hidden in some top floor or attic, fired a quick shot which dropped one of the black troopers further down the line. He dropped silently and was quickly ignored by several hundred others rapidly advancing. They reached the town's outer perimeter within minutes, and Dawie slammed himself into a wooden building's rear wall, willing himself tighter to the protection. De Villiers was close behind, and Dawie nodded to his commander. The officer did not return the gesture, a slight Dawie ignored. He pointed to one of his squad leaders and pointed for him to move down an adjacent alley with his men to clear a route of entry. Meanwhile, every other unit was performing similar actions across the entire front.

Small arms began to bark angrily from both Wanderjarian troopers and the Stevidians. Dawie inched his way ahead, peering around a corner and looking down the wide boulevard to see what lay ahead of them. As he pulled his head back around, a round took out a chunk of the wall, making the seasoned NCO shout a stream of expletives. Another rocket fired further from within the town struck the same tank, this time penetrating its armor and detonating it. The roar nearly knocked Dawie off his feet, and he saw several black troopers stumble. Still, they pressed on into the town.

Within the first few minutes, the entire northern perimeter of the village had been secured, most of the defenders having fled to deeper in the town while the few that remained were neutralized. A few troopers led out a couple Stevidian defenders, their hands firmly over their heads and faces sullen. They were led into the darkness down towards the main force, and were quickly out of Dawie's sight.

Dawie clinched his SLR tightly and went through the alley he'd sent his squad leader through minutes before. The man was kneeled between the two buildings, directing section leaders and preparing them to assault buildings across the street. The road was neither overly large nor narrow, and the building immediately before them was a bakery. On both sides of its entry were large glass windows that the troopers stacking up to storm were desperately trying to avoid. The door, itself glass, was smashed by the back of a troopers SLR and through the hold the six men went. Shortly thereafter flashes erupted from within, and after several long minutes, four troopers exited.

'I'm sorry sergeant,' one of the black troopers said to his squad leader. 'Mufani and Nkosi did not make it.'

'That's alright lad, keep going,' Sergeant Walvis said sternly. 'Take down the next building over,' he pointed. The troopers nodded and proceeded to storm it too.

'Going to be a long night, Timothei,' Dawie snorted.

'Aye, Staff Sergeant,' the squad leader replied. 'It sure looks that way.'

****

What the scouts had failed to recognize was that while yes, there was only a mechanized infantry company defending the town itself, an armor battalion was bivouac'd nearby. When the battle began, this battalion was immediately put on alert and proceeded to move to assist it's infantry attachment. As the infantry was being overwhelmed by sheer numbers, the armor commander wisely hoped to move under the cover of darkness to strike the Wanderjarian force from the west as they advanced south.

Dawie had all but taken control of his platoon, while the pouting de Villiers stood nearby, watching helplessly as his platoon executed the orders of the senior NCO. All sense of fear at the battle raging around him had faded into a quiet fury at the platoon sergeant for usurping his authority. The newly minted lieutenant saw staff sergeant Dawie directing a squad to cross yet another road to continue the advance through the town, and decided to confront the man. He straightened his uniform, adjusted his helmet and smartly walked to Dawie and grabbed the NCO's shoulder.

'Listen sergeant,' he began, emphasizing the rank. 'I-' a crack sounded and caught the lieutenant below the left shoulder and throat, dropping him to the pavement. Struggling for breath, he could just make out Dawie screaming for a medic before he passed out.

'Fucking sniper, somebody find and kill that motherfucker!' Dawie screamed, moving back to the safety of yet another alleyway. Two white troopers, medics, hefted the mewling lieutenant onto a stretcher and hurriedly carried him away. Dawie began to turn his attention to the task of fighting this battle when several thunderous explosions erupted to his rear.

'What the-' one of his troopers began, looking curiously to the north. More explosions sounded and Dawie sprinted back to the towns edge to see what was happening. What he saw terrified him: four of the twelve tanks were aflame now, the others desperately trying to form into position to engage the new threat. Dawie realized then that the Stevidians had flanked them, and this was a battle he wanted to be nowhere near. He returned to moving deeper into the town.

Captain Parker had established a command post in one of the perimeter buildings and had seen the attack. Immediately, he radioed in the coordinates and pleaded for fire support. Because of a moratorium of artillery having been put on this area of attack however, the request had to work its way up to Corps level before it would be approved, wasting precious minutes that they didn't have.

Another Wanderjarian tank burst into flames, meaning that half the company had been wiped out in a matter of five minutes. The Wanderjarian tankers however were giving as good as they got: once the enemy was located their return fires hit their marks, leaving several burning wrecks in the distance. More Stevidian armor approached however, and soon the entire company of tanks were aflame; and dozens of Stevidian tanks boring down on them.

'This is Koevoet Six Actual,' Parker screamed into his radio. 'We need to be reinforced! Stevidian armor has destroyed our tanks! Move the Lancers forward! Over!' Parker was straining to remain calm, yet he knew the fear in his voice was showing. The men in his command post stared in horror at their company commander.

'Koevoet, hold tight,' Parker recognized the voice of his battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Henricus Brand, 'Help will be on the way. You and all other elements buy time and keep pushing! Out.'

'We're fucked,' one of the young white troopers moaned. Parker didn't reply, merely stared out the window as dozens of Stevidian tanks rolled forward, their hulls illuminated by the flames of Wanderjarian armor.

[End part One]

by **Morrdh** » Tue Jul 14, 2015 11:08 am

TITLE: Dauntless
AUTHOR: Morrdh

Wing Commander Roland MacGregor had always hated wearing spacesuits, he understood the necessity of wearing one to avoid a rather unpleasant death in the cold hard vacuum of space but at the same time he still hated the sense of enforced isolation a suit provided. Presently he didn't have much choice in the matter whether he could wear one or not. His vessel, the Orca-class frigate HSS Dauntless, was about to go into action and Royal Space Force regs required all crewmembers to be suited up during combat operations in case of hull breeches. The time saved by simply being able to snap shut the suit's visor meant a much greater chance of survival if the worse happened as opposed to having to hastily don your suit.

But it didn't mean he had to like it.

Ignoring the suit's criminal lack of basic comfort and how the chair straps prevented him from eking a scant trace of comfort, MacGregor glanced pilot's station in front of him to determine the Dauntless's progress and reread his briefing letting his co-pilot fly the ship. The extensive asteroid belt of the Gilbert System was not only known for 'storms' caused by rogue rocks but also for it being a heaven for pirates, given the hazards of the belt it was notoriously difficult to flush out the pirates but at the same time the pirates were typically only a minor nuisance to shipping. Every so often a bunch of pirates would try to step up a league, in response the Royal Space Force would despatch a small taskforce to deal with the threat before it became a major problem. A few months back a bunch of raiders had tried attacking and hijacking some of the tankers operating out of the Sullivan Colony refineries, despite the pirate's limited success in the venture somebody in the higher reaches of the RSF had decided that the pirates warranted being taken down a peg...or twelve dozen.

So here MacGregor found himself, taking the Dauntless into the belt along side her sister ship, the HSS Valiant, to attack a pirate base that had been identified by Intel to be the home of the raiders in question. The two frigates were backed up by a squadron of missile armed Viper F.2 starfighters which were presently ranging ahead through the belt, their carrier was waiting outside the belt with another squadron on standby. In additon there was a Bayleaf-class transport outside the belt with a company of Royal Space Marines onboard and landers to ferry them to the base so they could capture it. The long, sleek Vipers, almost like a dart with a rocket on the back end, would launch the attack first with their missiles to catch the pirates off-guard and to allow the two frigates to move up to lend support with their own missile batteries. But first they had to get through the belt, a job made more difficult by having to operate in radio silence. Dauntless' navigator plotter was working overtime to make sure they didn't collide with a rock and was expectantly good and he had to be, poor navigators didn't last long in the RSF.

"Sir," The navigator plotter called out, interrupting MacGregor's thoughts. "We're in range, Vipers already engaging."

"Right, gimme something to shot at." MacGregor called out.

"Aye sir." Responded the navigator radar, effectively the Dauntless' gunner. "Detecting two vessels, profile suggests frigate sized."

"No target locks or jamming detected." Reported the space electronics officer, who was in charge of ECMs amongst other things and assisted the ship's engineer and sixth crewmember. "Looks like we caught the bastards on the khazi."

"We have missile lock!" Called out the Nav Radar. "Ready to fire on yer orders sir!"

"Very well, fire." Ordered MacGregor before he felt the ship shuddered as missiles were launched from the Dauntless' forward battery, through the slit of hardened glass that was the cockpit window he could see the missiles' exhaust as they shot through the inky blackness. Up ahead he could see the engagement between the Vipers and the pirate base, there were flashes of explosions as missiles hit home and the barely visible tracer fire from the starfighters. The pirates had little in the way of defences, their two ships were already burning husks after being hit during the initial volley of missiles and their few starfighters were proving to be no match for the Commonwealth squadron. It was pitiful really, akin to stepping on a bug but this was the closest the RSF ever got to actual space combat for there was nothing even remotely close to the fleet battles in more conventional naval warfare. As a result it didn't take long before it was over and the marines were given the go ahead to begin their boarding action, something that MacGregor didn't envy as he knew it would brutal close-quarter fighting.

Still, it made a change from the mundane routine of a typical patrol duty.

by **Esalonia** » Tue Aug 04, 2015 7:53 pm

TITLE: One Of The Boys (Part One)
AUTHOR: Esalonia

Sigma/TUCARELLI Base
Somewhere in Esalonia
SGM Co, Maxinne Denise N.
23rd TAELI Regiment

TUCARELLI. The United Commonwealth's Army's Elite Light Infantry. I, II, and III Brigades, 15,000 personnel, enlisted and officer, male and female, newbies and veterans. Having served under the Cutthroats during the First Esalonian Civil War, Maxinne was one of the few young veterans in her unit, having served as a 19-year-old special force soldier during the civil war that changed how Esalonia fought her wars. Currently Maxinne held the regional record for the longest sniper kill-2,950 kilometers, using a M567 .587 Demonfeller monolithic bullet shot at an anti-human insurgent in Lorewood, passing through several leaves before hitting the target: a leader of an insurgent company, which was afterwards wiped out as the troops under her command, the Special Action Company III, alongside the Special Armored Squadron III, charged, with her keen eye seeing the insurgents in pitch black as if they were exposed by broad daylight. She can very well remember that shot-the recoil was enough to give her a brief amount of pain after the shot, as if a horse kicked her on the shoulder.

She stares at the mirror, with a medal bearing the old emblem of the Esalonian Special Forces-the now-defunct Cutthroats, the first special forces group in Esalonia. On the back of the number was laid the date of her father's death, which she can call everytime she had trouble with her life. The golden medal made a sharp contrast with the olive green t-shirt she was wearing, the contrast only reduced by the tarnish on the medal, a result of about 20 years of contact with her hands.

Facing at the mirror, she looks shell-shocked, her eyes projecting a thousand-yard-stare at something only three feet away from her. In her mind however, it was like her reflection was accompanied by visualizations of her best and worst memories-straight Director's Lister for two grades (7 and

. Two fundays where she led her team to first place in the obstacle course. The feeling of having a crush for the first time. But all that was about to change-she can remember getting pregnant at just the age of 14, and having to drop out from school to prevent getting shame on her.

Flash back to 1994 Esalonia.

Verona, District 7, Esalonia
Greater Dienstad

An 18 year old girl, whose name was Maxine Co, stares at the mirror in front of her. Her room was not of posters of Backstreet Boys, but rather a room that seemed to be of a boy's-gaming consoles, both mobile and stationary, a desktop, a bed of bland color.

"Maxzy come here!" her mother commands from the living room. Maxzy hides the medal into her t-shirt and opens the door, to see her mother with her stepfather, on a couch. On another, but smaller, couch, was a man in black denim jacket and black and white t-shirt, engrossed on the TV. "Got any San Mig Light, babe?" her mother asked. "No." she replies, shaking her head.

"Hey Maxzy," says her step-father, Anton, while handing her a wad of cash. "Why don't you go down and get some San Mig."

"Go get it yourself." Maxine rudely replies. "Oi. What did I say to you about talking to Anton?"

"Why don't Anton's poodle go? Three's a crowd, innit?" Maxine replies, and the man who was watching TV earlier gives an ice-cold stare at her. Maxine did not get intimidated, though.

"Why don't you go down and get some San Mig, then get some sweets?" Anton says calmly, still handing out the wad of cash. Maxine just gets it, with a sullen face and grabbing movement as she quickly grabs the wad of cash. "And while you're gone, I'll show your mom how good three is for a company." Anton says, while starting to kiss Maxine's mom. A baby in the background cries, and it was her younger brother: Porter.

Maxine leans forward on to Porter and silences him with a pacifier.

The Midnight Prince (a pub in Verona)

The Midnight Prince is a still-working pub in Esalonia, with its black exterior covered by yellow decals saying of good quality alcohol here. Inside was a concoction of a smell-cigarette smoke combined with the scent of drunkenness was the perfect concoction for a pub, a pub that Maxzy loved visiting, and drinking a pint of beer with her two friends: Gregor and Vaughn.

"So, if Anton is treating your mom so badly, why doesn't she leave him?" Vaughn asked, to which Gregor answered a rather hugot answer: "Low self esteem. That's her problem."

"Come on. Maxzy's mom is well fit." Vaughn answered, and Vaughn and Gregor made a fistbump. "Don't get offended, bruv."

"That's all right. One of these days I'm gonna smash his face into a hard wall..." Maxzy said, with a mix of dreaming into the tone. "You mental, cuz?" Gregor replied. "He'd get that lot to do you,..." Gregor says as he points at a man sitting on a couch across their table, who then stares at the trio "...and pretend he knew nothing..." Vaughn interrupts Gregor with a soft elbowing. "...about it."

"Hey you? You think you can talk shit about us and get away with it just 'cause our guv'nor's banging Maxzy's mom?" the man, whose name was Macky, said. "Pretty much, yeah." Maxine replies. Afterwards he stood up and angrily approached the trio, his eyebrows and forehead angrily crooked. He leans forward onto the table, placing his palms on the table. "You guys just overstayed your welcome. Now go on and leave." Macky gestures with his hand to command them to leave, which the trio obeys-but not before Maxine stands up and reaches out to something behind Macky's back while apologizing.

"Oh, come on, let's just go, it's not worth it." her friends complain, sensing a potential bar fight-Maxinne is no newbie, she's a veteran of bar fights. Maxinne stands up to Macky and looks at him right in the face. She afterwards reaches, with utmost sleight of hand, for something at Macky's back while at the same time apologizing. "I'm sorry about that, bruv." Maxinne walks away afterwards.

Outside the pub, Maxine's friends take a walk, their hands inside their jacket's pockets. Nearby was a yellow sports car of Italian origin. "They weren't that worth it, bruv." Vaughn says. "It's freezing...why're we walking?" Maxine says, while displaying Macky's car keys she robbed earlier while inside the pub and apologizing to Macky. "You jacked his fucking car keys, bruv?" Gregor asks, his left hand pointed at the pub. Vaughn points at the keys and shakes his head left to right. " Yeah. Now we're gonna nick his car."

Maxinne presses the remote unlocking button on the car keys, and the car sounds a beep, signifying that the lock has been unlocked. "Shit." Vaughn exclaims as he hurries to get inside the car alongside Gregor and Maxinne.

by **Esalonia** » Thu Aug 13, 2015 8:37 am

TITLE: One Of The Boys (Part Two)
AUTHOR: Esalonia

Listen.

Outside the pub, the tires of Macky's car screeched as it drifted, with Maxinne at the driver's seat. Maxinne somehow knew how to make a car drift. "Hold on boys." Macky says as he stands up and goes out of the pub and spots Maxinne drifting Macky's car, to much of Macky's disgust and Maxinne's joy.

"Hey! That's my fucking car! Hey! Hey! Maxzy! I swear you want to fucking stop it! Hey you, Maxzy, you're a fucking dead bitch! Stop it!" Macky swears as Maxinne drifts his car, with Maxinne poking her head out of the car and mocking Macky with a peace sign.

"Floor it, Maxzy!" Vaughn joyfully shouts as he bangs his fists on the dashboard, and before they leave they laugh, mocking Macky so much that he calls Anton after he screams "Maxzy you wanker!"

"Hey yo Anton, look it's me. Maxzy just stole my fucking car, yo. I've come outta the pub and he's done 15 fucking donuts on my face and he's drove off. No I can't have it! He's disrespecting me, and that means disrespecting you-" Macky is interrupted with his car being driven backwards as Maxzy engages into a car chase with a police cruiser, with sirens on full blast and lights ablaze. "Oh. Hold up."

Maxzy drives the car backwards and into the larger avenue, where she is greeted by intense traffic, from double-decker buses to the jeepney dwarfed by the double-decker buses. As Maxzy, Gregor, and Vaughn drive backwards, they taunt the police that are pursuing them, and when they reach an alley, Maxzy spots a fox she is about to hit-and she did not. The car bumps on a dumpster with a loud thud accompanied by the quick crunching of metal and shattering of the rear windshield, with a lamp post collapsing on them.

"Oh man. Foxes are vermin, cuz. You should have driven it over." Vaughn says, while Maxzy breathes heavily, grasping tightly the steering wheel, building up on anger and anxiety as she decides quickly what to do. "I'll sort this, get out of the car." Maxzy commands-but is not obeyed, so she shouted, with much anger: "Just get outta the fucking car!" her friends finally obey, and Maxzy drives at the police that were pursuing her.

by **Mokastana** » Tue Dec 22, 2015 10:12 pm

TITLE: Just so you know...
AUTHOR: Mokastana

Warehouse District
Cuidad Ecuador
Sur Region, Mokastana

The ice cold water hit the spy's face hard, shocking his system awake and forcing him to look around. Three, four, no five men stood around. Weapons in their hands ranging from assault rifles to machetes. Table across the room. The spies hands were bound with rope, digging into the flesh. No serious wounds yet. Then the smell hit, coppery at first, but the stench grew, rot and blood and fecal matter filled the spies' nostrils.

"Hey, Amigo, you awake yet?"

A man stood in front of him, unremarkably thin for the locals of this hellhole of a country, but better dressed than the jeans and a T shirt wearing gunmen around him. The one talking had at least a collared shirt, cheap slacks, and a machete in his left hand.

"Good, good, Welcome... Welcome! You made it to Mokastana! Congratulations! Look, I know you came a long way to make it here. I am really impressed you did. Allow us to welcome you!"

The man smiled broadly, pointing the rust covered blade at the spy's chest.

"You're lucky Charlie spoke up before we killed him, you remember Charlie right?"

The man turns around towards the table, the source of the smell becomes clear as a row of heads face forward, eyes void of life or direction. A few still drip fresh blood and the bodies are nowhere to be seen. The Spy's contact in country, a man only known as Charlie, his head was the farthest from the left, a smile had been carved into the face.

"Yep, he told us you were a 'intelligence officer' from a foreign land. Well, he told my men that, I wasn't there, but when I heard about it, I figured I might as well as come down and see for myself. Nice collection of Passports by the way. Some are clearly things of beauty. I would love to get my hands on whoever makes these for you. Governments get all the best toys. Hell, we aren't even sure if your collection of Gold Labors is real or counterfeit, but we'll find out soon enough.

Look, I'll be honest with you, I don't care what country you come from... United World Order, Macabees, Imbrinium, Stevid, doesn't matter. You're a spy and I have my orders on how to handle spies. Especially ones that tried to go through Rosa Family territory without paying off the Rosa Cartel first. Did you really think you could sneak in and ignore the biggest Cartel in the West?

So let me tell you what's going to happen to you next. We are going to cut on you for a bit. Then we are going to burn the cuts so that you don't bleed out and add a few branding for good measure. After that, we'll lock you up in a shipping container with a few kilos of Cocaine, and in a couple days the Federales will come and pick you up. They will know you are a spy because we will tell them. They will interrogate you, and probably execute you. But consider yourself lucky Amigo! the Federales are a lot nicer than we would have been if you were just a drug runner or a slaver. You get to keep your hands and tongue.

As for your feet, well, the Federales don't need to hear anything they say, and we don't want you running off. So they will have to go. It was nice talking to you, but I do have a busy schedule. I will leave you in the hands of my men here, I hope they will be good hosts. Have a pleasant day!"

by **Mokastana** » Thu Oct 20, 2016 1:46 pm

TITLE: Welcome to the Farm
AUTHOR: Mokastana

“The Farm”
DFSC Training Ground
(Departamento de Farmacia y Sustancias Controladas)

Well hidden in the jungles of the Venezuela, the various buildings and barns that made up the entrance to the Farm looked old and worn. These wooden structures rot away as well-polished military vehicles drive by, squads of soldiers march in the spring mud, and rifle fire is heard in the distance. This would be the only parts of the farm anyone could see without access to the complex, and usually even getting this close without reason was enough to warrant an arrest.

Beyond the old buildings and over a few hills, one would be able to see the modern office buildings of the Lead Campus, where new recruits and visitors would start. This was where they would be processed before access to the heart of the Farm. On over 40 acres of land, sealed away from public access, the DFSC had hidden obstacle courses, artificial drug camps, intelligence operations, and even the mock up of a small town, all ready to train new recruits. This was the home for the elite drug enforcement and control forces of the People's United Federation, The Department of Pharmacy and Controlled Substances, or DFSC as their Spanish Acronym would read. Whether taking down a cartel leader, or simply ensuring a pharmacy company followed regulations, these are the forces that ensure every drug leaving the PUF homeland is properly regulated and accounted for. If not, they made sure it didn't leave at all.

Foreign intervention regarding the Cartels was frowned upon, for Mokastana was no longer a backwoods fledgling Republic, but a minor power in Dienstani Politics. It didn't stop the occasional government from trying, but to the PUF, the Cartels were strictly a domestic affair. However, out of their kindness they would occasionally host foreign agents at a lecture hall in the lead Campus. Giving Foreign Powers a quick course on Mokan and Federal Intelligence regarding the biggest known cartels. It was mostly Embassy Security Agents or their Drug Enforcement counterparts who came to visit. The information was always changing, so the briefing was often updated, but always followed a familiar script:

“Welcome, my name is Captain Ernesto Carrillo and I am here to give you a brief overview of the known influential cartels of Mokastana and the PUF as a whole. I am sure many of you know of the historical major Crime families of Mokastana, the Escobars, the Montanas and Lomengos before they went legitimate. Back when a few powerful families controlled the drug trade. Those days are over. The major players of the 90’s are all gone. Instead there are now dozens, if not hundreds, of smaller families, each forging alliances and smuggling goods out there own way. Most times it's a perfectly legal farm that just sells some product under the table to avoid taxation, but occasionally, we get the Cartels that operate entirely off the books. Those are the new threats.

Yes, as many of you are aware, the exportation of certain drugs for recreational purposes is legal in the PUF. We regulate and tax the industry, because as long as foreigners want to get high, there will always be someone selling it to them. You may disagree with this, but we've lost enough lives because foreign governments disagree with their people getting high. That said, the legal exports are only exported to nations where they are legal, and we intend to keep it that way. This is where the Cartels come in, especially the ones I'm telling you about today.

When it comes to the Cartels, new ones rise and fall every day, and alliances between families come and go. Many of the current Cartels are the survivors of the three year long Drug war, which was a civil war in all but name. 437 airstrikes, 27 amphibious assaults, 67 major battles including a Siege of the Surian Capital of Bodega. 8,700 Federal Agents and Soldiers killed. Today, all of the most dangerous threats of five years ago are now gone. The key families who used to rule the drug trade are gone, and those that are left know better than to openly challenge the government on such a scale. Those who are left prefer to hide in the shadows, believing that the less the public thinks about them, the less we will do to hunt them. And that is partly true. Ever since the Battle of Bogota, no single Cartel has launched a military attack against the government. A year after the execution of the last member of the Cortez Crime Family, we finally removed the marital law seen in Suria and portions of Aqua Anu. Certain drugs were legalized and taxed for recreational use if exported. That doesn't mean we won the war, but now we can fight the criminals on our terms and our terms alone. No longer do they bomb government offices or shoot Federal Agents in the street. They know we have no problem retaliating with artillery, air strikes and assassinations of our own. And that, is a win in of itself. We will continue to do our best to combat the cartel problem, but as long as someone here can grow the raw materials that someone over there wants, they will abuse the system to make money.

To begin, we start with the largest known Cartel, operating not far from here, the Zaragoza Cartel. Operating here in Central Suria, it is the largest in Mokastana and has taken over a large portion of the operations left after the fall of the Cortez Crime Family. We estimate they control just under half of the Cortez Cartel’s previous empire. The Family head, Sebastian Zaragoza, was even a Cortez Family Lieutenant before his own rise to power. Unlike their predecessors, the Zaragoza Family avoids open conflict in the streets. They don't gun down police officers, instead they will likely bribe a police chief or Judge to get their way. It's how they survived the Drug War, and because of that, they were lower priorities compared to the more dangerous ones. They will still use Assassinations as a tool, but often as a last resort. Because of their ability to hide behind local law enforcement, they have proven difficult to pursue. Especially since the public interest tends to focus on smaller, louder Cartels.

The second largest in Mokastana Proper is the Rosas Cartel. Operating in the West of Suria, they control most of the smuggling trade out of Ecuador City. Since Ecuador City handles far more sea trade than any other Surian city on the West Coast, most of the smaller Peruvian and Surian Families rely on them to get their goods out of Mokastana. This makes the Rosa Family very influential despite how small their own operation is. Unfortunately, they too have learned the lessons of their predecessors and don't get their hands dirty if they can help it. However, bodies that belong to other Cartel Families have been known to wash ashore north and south of the city. While most Zaragozas will surrender to police when it's clear they are surrounded, a Rosa will often fight back when cornered. A Zaragoza will take the fight to court, while a Rosa will end up dead before getting there. The Drug war killed off a lot of their hitmen and lieutenants, but it left the clever ones they had alive.

There is another Cartel in southern Suria, the Acosta Family, which handles similar import and export operations in southern Peruvia. Intel seems to conclude they have a deal with the Rosa Family about who controls which Port cities. The Acosta Family knows they are a small fish in a big pond, but they are bigger than most of their fellow Peruvian Cartels, so they deserve a mention.

In Aqua Anu, recently the Masamune Cartel has risen to power, assuming control of the many operations left by the fall of the Zaibatsu Cartel. They are still relatively young, but they have the recourses to become a powerful faction in the future. Along with them, we have the remnants of the Blades of Zabe Cartel, the only major power targeted by the three year drug war still in operation. A quasi terrorist organization, they are merely a shadow of their former selves, but are well known for their cruelty and brutality. This particular Cartel is still our top priority.

While these are the big names, in the last few years we've noticed a trend of smaller crime families popping up throughout Mokastana, Belmotin and Aqua Anu. None have the organization or strength of the old cartels such as the Zabastu or Cortez, but they have routes and connections we never expected. While in the old days we just needed to investigate a few high ranking members, these days we have to find dozens of smaller fish.

Ironically, with the fall of the big names domestically, we've caught a trend of crime syndicates rising up internationally. In the West, we have the Tsarina Cartel in Zvezda and what's left of Red Star Union, and numerous gangs growing in Val Verde, one we even found importing drugs to Mokastana. In the Former nation of Firmador, we have what might be called a Narco State in the form of the Somoza Cartel. These new international crime organizations represent a need for international cooperation, which is why we invited you to meet with us this day. ”

by **EsToVnIa** » Mon Oct 31, 2016 8:29 pm

TITLE: The Flames Burn Brighter
AUTHOR: Premislyd/Estovnia

The water was up to Drato's lower calf. The murky, brown liquid sloshing in his boots which each step the 19-year-old took. His pale blue uniform was soaking wet, clinging to his skin and causing him to shiver in the cool, crisp autumn air. It was hard to believe that it had been a year already. A year since he saw his family, his friends, his girlfriend. Everybody he held dear to him. He wouldn't be seeing them any time soon though; he hoped at least. For five years the country had been embroiled in civil war, Masqusanis Klaniasko and his Socialist Workers' Vanguard Front had long ago seized the upper hand. The majority of the country was under socialist control, and therefore firmly under his control. All that remained was the Erisian isthmus and the Ecclesiarchial controlled Lampetian peninsula that stretched towards Nicaro.

Drato's personal views were largely indifferent. He wasn't fighting because of proletarian camaraderie or belief in the emancipation of all workers from the bourgeoisie. No. He was fighting for vengeance. Justice for his family, friends, his village that were slaughtered a year ago. Apostasy was what they officially said shortly after they rode in on their jet black mares. Nobody had rejected their heinous accusation in a time they deemed fashionable, so they just starting firing volleys into the crowd. Drato had only survived because him and his childhood friend had been hiding in the woods nearby.

Porana, Salisia Free Republic
11 April, 1914

The sound of horses could be heard a ways off in the distance, the thudding of their feet stamping against the dirt road was unmistakable to anybody who lived in the countryside. At first, they seemed to be out in the distance from the little hamlet, but soon enough, 13 figures atop black horses were seen approaching from the eastern road. Their metal breastplates shone brightly in the midday sun. Fitting given the large, yellow sun that was painted on them. The women soldiers of the Ecclesiarchy rode through the village all the time. Most of the time not even paying the villagers any attention, sometimes it would be an ambulance and would requisition the hamlet's doctor or they would take supplies.

They rode into the hamlet's square, stopping before the hamlet's modest temple to Julios, before dismounting. The leader of them, a young, tall, somewhat curvy woman with ashen hair done up in a ponytail, looked around the square before walking into the temple. After only a few moments, the temple doors burst open as the temple's clerics and initiates were pushed out and onto the earth of the square. The leader of the group quickly barked orders at the other women, who immediately followed them. Three of the larger women held them down and handcuffed them, while the other nine held up their bolt action rifles to ensure none of the clerics and initiates tried to run. By now a large portion of the town had shown up to the square, this large of a commotion was enough of an event that deserved everybody's full attention. Never mind the fact that none of the villagers spoke a single word of Alemannic.

"Pri d'ordonia cumi nastri maei gloria Eklesiastika, Lusea XXI, es so morti condamnata pena apostasiam." the leader shouted, pulling out her mauser pistol and flipping the safety off. Her voice was authoritative, booming out throughout the village.
"By order of our most glorious Ecclesiarch, Lusea XXI, you are all sentenced to death for apostasy."

As her voice echoed through the quiet square, some of the initiates started visibly shaking as tears started to stream down their face. The crowd murmured in Salisian, the Slavic language spoken by the peoples living there. Most of the villagers had no clue what was going on. The only word some of them could understand was "apostasiam" -- apostasy. A grievous accusation that carried weight no matter who it was against.

A gun shot cried out, silencing the entire crowd, which was by now nearly the entire town. The temple initiate that had been farthest most right laid slumped over in a lifeless heap in front of the leader, the back of her head revealing the damage that the gun shot had done. The eerie silence was only pierced by more gun shots as the leader of the women walked behind each knelt cleric, pressing the gun against their head and pulling the trigger. After about seven or so shots, she muttered a few words under her breath and threw the jammed pistol on the ground. She briskly walked over to one of the other soldiers and grabbed a Pattern 1914 Enfield from the soldier closet to her. She pulled the bolt of the rifle back and quickly slammed it back forward, a metallic clacking emanating from the rifle as she did so. Satisfied with the rifle, she proceeded to execute the remaining four members of the clergy.

Handing the rifle back to the soldier she took it from, the commander moved in front of the deceased clerics and initiates. She gazed over the crowd, her steel eyes piercing through every man, woman, and child present. Visibly sighing, she brushed a stray strand of hair up behind her ear with her gloved hand. She turned to the woman nearest to her, presumably the detachments second in command, and addressed her.

"The entire town must be cleansed." the commander said, her Alemannic having a distinct northern accent. "The blasphemies these people have heard from the viper tongues of the apostates cannot be unheard nor forgotten. Lock up as many women and children as you can in the temple, then burn it. Shoot the rest."

"Burn the temple? Palatine, we need Julios's favour, I fear degrading his temple will only anger him." the second woman responded. She was shorter than the commander and had a slightly more muscular build.

"Yes, Knight, burn the temple. If Julios has a problem with it, then he can quarrel with Lusatae." the commander responded somewhat agitated.

"By your orders, Palantine." was all that was said.

As the knights began to corral the women and children villagers into the temple, the palatine spoke to the remaining people who had been damned to the firing squad. She tried to keep up the aura of innocence and that the villagers would be fine and that they were safe. When the temple was packed with people, one of the knights grabbed some petrol and proceeded to douse the occupants in it. Satisfied, the knight exited the building and barricaded it while another stood watch with a lit torch. The remaining knights stood around the crowd, boxing them in the square. After a brief conversation between the palatine and her executive commander, the palatine spoke to the crowd.

"In accordance with the sublime codex, and in the power vested to us by our most blessed sovereign and rightful ruler of Alemannia, Ecclesiarch Lusea XXI, the chancery, and the very Gods themselves," she began with. She wasn't speaking Common Alemannic nor Salisian, but English with a posh accent, seemingly contradicting the authoritative tone of her voice and her prose. "I have deemed the occupants of this town to be irredeemable from the heretical teachings spewed forth by the apostate witch that led this temple. All of you are sentenced to death for your crimes of apostasy, blasphemy, and heresy. Those locked in the temple will be purified in holy fire, cleansing their souls of all heresies that they were fed by witch. Unfortunately, you will not be given the same luxury as them. You all are hereby sentenced to death by firing squad. May Plutanus grant mercy on your heathen spirits as you wander Orcus."

The knights that had surrounded the 50 or so people in the square opened fire as soon as the palatine had finished giving her verdict. Shots rang out long into the distance as the villagers dropped to the ground, the dead weight of their bodies smacking the stone that made up the square, creating loud thuds with each body that fell. After about 30 seconds of continuous fire from the rifles, the men and few women outside had all been killed. All that was heard were the muffled cries and screams from the people trapped inside the temple. The palatine nodded at the knight holding the torch, who threw it through a window. The dried out wooden framework of the temple easily caught fire, with the whole thing becoming engulfed in orange-red flame in a matter of minutes.

No words were said as the Ecclesiarchial inquisitorial detachment mounted their horses and rode off.

by **Palmyrion** » Wed Nov 02, 2016 7:32 am

TITLE: Goodbye Old Lover
AUTHOR: Merrion

Two lovers - the Lakán and his widely publicized girlfriend, Elizabeth Cristal - looked at each other with a mixture of sorrow and joy. Sorrow reigned high, the mood itself being a contradictory juxtaposition of the romantic scenery - calm moonlight, little to no waves striking the cliff edges down below (the waves thus making a music not too fast or not too slow in tempo), a playful wind enticing the lovers to make love (indeed a "forbidden fruit" that they have already eaten, much to the dismay of both of their families). Sorrow immediately dominated their minds and hearts the moment the Lakán and his commoner lover saw each other, and for good reason.

"Bakit mo ako iiwan?! Pinaasa mo lang ako! Akala ko maging forever na tayo! Kahit napakahirap maging Lakambini, pero lahat gagawin ko para magmahal! (Why are you leaving me! You just made me rely on you! I thought we were going to last forever! Being the Lakambini* may be hard, but I will do everything to love!)" Elizabeth screamed with sadness, anger, and dismay, after Alexander declared that he is breaking up with him. "Sinabi sa akin ng pamilya ko. Hindi raw karapat-dapat na maging tayo. Mababa kasi ang tingin nila sa iyo. Sabi raw nila hindi ka dugong bughaw; kung magpapakasal raw ako sa hindi dugong bughaw, mawawasak ang pamilya namin! (My family told me. It is not right that we would be together. They have a low view of you. They said you're not of royal blood; if we marry then our family will be destroyed!)" the Lakán replied. "If that's so...are you willing to step down for me, your highness, let Elizabeth III take the throne?" Elizabeth asked, in a low tone. "Ano? Pabayaan ang aking mga responsibilidad? Para sa ano? Pag-ibig? Oo, mahal kita. Pero may trabaho ako! May trabaho ako bilang pinuno ng dominyong Palmyria! Akala mo madali ang pabayaan ang responsibilidad na iyan?! Hindi! (What? Abandon my responsibilities? For what? Love? Yes, I love you. But I have a job! I have a job being the leader of the Palmyrian dominion! Do you think it's easy to leave such a responsibility? No!)" the Lakán replied angrily.

"That's it. We're done." were the last words that Elizabeth said to the Lakán. Alexander was left wide-eyed in confusion as to what happened, and he just remained that - wide-eyed in confusion. Everything that was said, done, and heard, roared in his mind, bringing to the surface of his eyes a well of tears, which he fought back with great strength. But, no matter how emotionally strong a person is, tears will always flow. It took him nearly an hour of clouded thought about the breakup, just looking at the sea as the PRW Angeli Tanalgo sailed just 10 km from the coast, until the dam of his eyes made way for bitter-sour tears. He felt empty. His beloved Elizabeth, whom he saw as the future Lakambini of the Royal Federation was gone and it felt like somebody gouged out half his heart, shut down half his brain, and killed half of his soul. At the same time he felt full. Full of anger. Full of sorrow. Full of pain. Full of sadness. Full of every bit of negativity that entered the large wounds of the remaining half of him that still stayed alive and present in him.

*Lakambini - a noble title given to the wife of the Lakán; equivalent in other monarchies is queen, empress, etc.

by **EsToVnIa** » Sun Nov 06, 2016 9:55 pm

TITLE: Untitled
AUTHOR: Premislyd/Estovnia

Transcript of State Tribunal for Upholding National Harmony Case No. 817F.
Location: Palace for the Just, Karsea, Alemannia
Date: 6 August, 1932
Prosecutor: Astion Pellelus

AP: What is your name and age?

Accused: Kaivus [inaudible], 35

AP: You have been charged with possession of counterrevolutionary propaganda and spreading of counterrevolutionary ideals. You are found guilty and hereby sentenced to death effective immediately.

Accused: [inaudible] ... the book is my son's. [Son] got it from school.

AP: Extend the charge to the accused's son.

Accused: No... [inaudible]... he's just a child, he doesn't know any better.

AP: Add new charge... child negligence... [inaudible]...

Accused: [Expletive]... I am a good father. Ask anybody.

AP: You have been found guilt of child negligence. The punishment for which, under the Proclamation of Emancipation of the Worker and Proletariat, is... [inaudible]... the severity of the original crime supersedes [new charge]. Therefore, the [original punishment] stands... Please remove the accused.

Transcript of State Tribunal for Upholding National Harmony Case No. 817F-1.
Location: Palace for the Just, Karsea, Alemannia
Date: 8 August, 1932
Prosecutor: Astion Pellelus

AP: State your name and age.

Accused: [inaudible], 12

AP: Speak up, boy.

Accused: Tielian Kesariasko

AP: You have been charged with possession of counterrevolutionary propaganda and spreading of counterrevolutionary ideals. You understand that this is a serious crime, yes?

Accused: Yes sir. I found the [contraband] in a storage closet at [school].

AP: So you admit to the charge. [Inaudible]... you are found guilty of [charges]... and are sentenced to death, effective immediately.

Accused: [Inaudible]

AP: Please take the accused away... Thank you...

Transcript of Ecclesiastical Tribunal for the Combatment of Heresy Case No. 622D.
Location: Acropolis of Hymetheus, Perifapol, Alemannia
Date: 12 April, 2005
Prosecutor: Lady Inquisitor Raquela Statin

RS: Name and age.

Accused: Vinko Krivic, 52.

RS: Prefecture of origin.

Accused: Salisia.

RS: [Accused], you have been charged with disturbing the peace, desecration of a temple to Our Most Holy, and possession of heretical objects. You are found guilty of all accounts and sentenced to death by fire, effective immediately.

Accused: I die knowing that my soul will find eternal salvation with the Lord, that is more than what you pagans can ever hope for.

RS: Your soul is damned to the void between the realms of the dead and the living. You betrayed the state, Our Most Holy Ecclesiarch, Alaryna VI, and the religious institution of our fine, socialist republic.

Accused: ~~Say hello to Satan for me when you meet him, pagan.~~

RS: Plutanus will judge how he sees fit, Christian... Take him away (Accused visibly struggles against guards).

RS: Burn that heretic first.

by **Palmyrion** » Sat Nov 12, 2016 4:07 am

TITLE: Elizabeth: The Birth and Early Days Of A Legend
AUTHOR: Palmyrion

Liganes saw better days. It saw better days when it was the largest port in the entirety of the Romani - Mar'si Union. It saw better days when it was the center of the now-defunct Royal Galleon Trade Company, when it was the most heavily-guarded coastal city of the Royal Federation, guarded against Spanish hit-and-runs and privateers attacking Liganes every now and then, with the royal capital of Benevolencia and the Royal Citadel placing second in terms of troops and ships stationed in the area.

In certain it saw better days than this - looting, rioting, clashes between armed protesters and the Lardite military police.

This was the first sparks of the then Palmyro - Lardite War, a religious war in which a united front consisting of Christians, Muslims, and (highly - conservative) Marshites faced the Lardite menace that was trying to exact upon the Palmyrian people the Lardite faith. Aided by a multitude of neighbors - the Nihonese, and nearby Romani - Mar'si Union members (Romandeos & Holy Marsh), the Lardites were easily pushed away from power. It was also in this crucible that a legend was born.

A woman looked carefully at the child that she used to carry for nine months in her womb. This child, fairer than the fairest full moon on a pitch-black night, was crying in the arms of the midwife that helped this woman give birth to this child, a baby girl that, to much of the mother's and the midwife's oblivion, will soon become a legend in Palmyrian history. This moment of wonder heavily contrasted the scene outside - chaos, strife, war, the rising sparks of a war incoming that would soon engulf Palmyrion in the second-largest flame that is set to engulf it. "Ma'am, what do you name this child?" the midwife, apparently a Marshite (she had the ID of a "Special Privileges Marshite" - a Marshite that was allowed by the Lardite administration to live), asked, to which the mother replied: "Elizabeth."

Elizabeth G. Tanalgo grew up with a strong affinity to the sea, even if the seas of Liganes soon became a hotbed of war as the war between the Lardites and the Allied Freedom Front. Her father had died 3 months before she was born, as the Lardites cut his head off and put it on a stake, then paraded around "as deterrent". Her mother fished every early morning in the sea, and she usually took to the seas with her mother.. The sea was her home, her dominion, so much that she would at times stick shells to her head, make a crown out of shells, and self-declare herself as "the Bride of the Great Union Ocean", all the while her legs were buried under a pile of sand patterned to a mermaid's tail.

by **Palmyrion** » Sat Nov 19, 2016 8:41 am

TITLE: Elizabeth: The Metamorphosis Starts Now
AUTHOR: Palmyrion

Elizabeth G. Tanalgo grew to be a beautiful woman - that is, many of her neighbors described Elizabeth as "white-skinned, with a grand slender figure, and a well-molded face", with wits to match. She was a beautiful woman of her age - at just the age of 16, so many men of higher nobility have asked for arranging a marriage with Elizabeth and their sons (who were just as old as Elizabeth herself, give or take a few years), yet they were all rejected. Elizabeth was waiting for the man that she would eventually call her "soulmate", but she was waiting, not looking.

Would her soulmate find her; What would his role be in her life? Will he spur a change for the better...or for the worse? In the meanwhile she thought little about her soulmate as she drew the calm skyline of that beach in Liganes, all the while a war raged in other parts of Palmyrion as the People's Front approached their main goal: victory. She could remember very well every now and then a shell hitting the beach, a dead sailor washing ashore, or a piece of metal from a sunken ship float ashore.

But the scene was already becoming one of peace, as Elizabeth relished the feeling of Liganes' wet white sand squishing her feet as she walked down the beach, reminiscing for the day what came, what is now, and what is about to come.

3 May 1953
21:00 Palmyrian Standard Time

A team of People's Army soldiers walked down the beach one night as part of a routine patrol. The soft squishing of their boots into the sand was quite an insignificant feeling for them, for the soldiers channeled their senses into the patrol mission. Even the soft song of the waves and the gentle touches of the wind never did any distraction. They could see from their location a row of fishing boats parked by the shore, anchored to the ground by small anchors so that the boat won't float away, alongside with it the livelihood of a fisherman. "Magpahinga muna tayo dito. Mag-cycle tayo ng overwatch. Ikaw ang mauna, Lauzon. (Let's rest here for a while. Let's cycle overwatch. You go first, Lauzon)". the team leader commanded, with the rest of the team (except for Lauzon) placing their rifles by the fishing boat muzzle down and resting for a while. "Roger that." Lauzon replied.

Private First Class Lukas Lauzon was the eccentric one in not only his squad, not only in his platoon, company, but also in the entire battalion, if not the regiment or the division. He was an ambivert leaning mostly on the side of introvert; sometime his mind is worlds away, sometimes it has laser-sharp focus on the situation (mostly the former). He looked out into the sea instead of attending to his watch, his eyes scanning the horizon.

It was then, that his eyes caught the figure of a woman: white-skinned, with a grand slender figure, and a well-molded face. It was just a glance, his eyes on sentry mode that it took the mesmerizing figure as insignificant, a fatal distraction even, but every now and then his eyes would steal a glance on this woman. By the looks of the woman, Lukas could judge the age: someone in her late teens to early twenties. His eyes scanned the surroundings, but stole a glance on this woman every now and then - even if his eyes themselves judged this woman as a potentially fatal distraction. Who could this woman be, his heart asked his brain. Does it look like I know this woman's name, heart, I'm trying to focus on important things here, take your romance nonsense elsewhere, his brain answered to his heart. Soon the glances became short looks, and the short looks became laser-sharp eyes looking on the woman as if the woman was of particular interest. "Lauzon! Ano 'yan?! (Lauzon, what is that?)" his team leader asked, his focus on the woman snapped as the team leader called his attention. It was certainly destroying his bliss, a rude intrusion into his moment of personal thought into something quite potent in either wrong or right hand: love. "Uh, wala sir. (Uh, nothing sir.)" Lauzon replied.

His watch soon ended, with one of his teammates going next. "Sorronda, ikaw ang sunod na magbantay. (Sorronda, you're next to watch.)" his team leader called out Private Christian Sorronda, a man that Lukas would describe as "thin, slender, yet well-muscled, with a penchant for playing the guitar". Lukas could only look at the woman so wonderfully, but when their gazes met, he immediately looked away.

"So, when did you begin service, Lukas?" asked Elizabeth as she walked alongside Lukas at the beach in Liganes. Lukas just took a 3-month break from the service when he started to "court" Elizabeth - to much of her parents' oblivion. Lukas looked at her for a bit - 3-5 seconds approximately - and looked away, laughing, his cheeks blushing a romantic shade of red, before telling her, "Been in the Commie Army since 17. Drafted during a minor insurgency. Parents died in it." replied Lukas as his blushing cheeks faded into the tanned flesh of his cheeks.

"Sounds like a disaster. You became an orphan. Amazing how you're able to get by." Elizabeth replied, apparently impressed with such a feat for the time - it was hard for 18 year olds to find jobs in the urban areas, and even harder was it to find jobs or even make a living in the rural areas; if the rural flight wasn't to blame, then only God knows.

"Luck and pure skill, I guess?" Lukas asked, smirking while blushing.

"I guess so." Elizabeth gleefully replied. From the distance she could see her mother tying up the nets they used during the day; for Lukas it meant the nerve-wracking moment of truth, whether or not the mother of Elizabeth will approve of him, and for Elizabeth it was an exciting moment to introduce her "boyfriend" to her mother.

Elizabeth came home from the market to a village wrecked by the People's Army. Elizabeth knew that the village was harboring soldiers of the Centrist Front, and tried her best to hide the fact that her cohabitating partner was a member of the Centrist Front. Walking down the snowed-out road leading to her house, Elizabeth tried not to think of her partner's potentially horrible fate, but such a bitter thought remained nonetheless. But what was killing her was the thought that their 4-month-old baby boy, Christian, was one of the casualties of the village raid.

What she found in her house was a real nightmare. Her heart pounded hard and fast as she saw her bloodied husband sprawled on the soil like a starfish, and listened to the desperate cries of her beloved baby boy. "Lukas! What happened?!" Elizabeth said as she knelt and placed Lukas on her lap. "The commies - they know the Front. Take Christian, take whatever you can, leave me for dead, remember that I love both of you" were the last words of Lukas before he breathed his last puff of frozen air.

At that point, Elizabeth had enough. She had enough of the catcalling of the People's Army soldiers that abound every nook and cranny. Enough of the rationing of food by food stamps. Enough of a hefty monthly tax that kept their family near the poverty line. Enough of an oppressive regime that banned all religion. Enough of an oppressive regime that did not care about its citizens. Enough of an oppressive regime that deceived the people into the grand pyramid scam that was socialism - in reality, state capitalism wrapped nicely. A flood of tears welled up and burst through her eyes, but that didn't stop her from taking Christian out of his crib, and grabbing her partner's rifle with her right hand while breastfeeding her baby with her left. She didn't mind to take all the necessities out of her house, she simply went to the nearest camp of the Front or the nearest Marshite Ranger outpost, whichever she knew of.

by **Morrdh** » Mon Jan 02, 2017 7:27 am

TITLE: Reflections
AUTHOR: Morrdh

Morrdun Tower
Morrdun
Commonwealth of Morrdh

A stiff breeze blew snow flurries into a complex series of spirals round the courtyard as a car, a polished black Rover P6, pulled in and stopped close to the main entrance of the Tower. In the wooden guard huts that flanked either side of the entrance a greatcoated soldier stood ramrod straight, both had wooden stock L1A1 SLRs by their sides with the rifle butts resting on the ground and fitted with white ceremonial slings. A suited figure emerged from the car, showed their ID papers and was ushered inside where they were greeted by a senior member of the Tower's staff. "Ah, Prime Minister. Her Excellency is waiting for you."

"Very well," Nodded Prime Minister Edmund Vermillion. "Lead on please."

"Certainly sir." Replied the butler. "This way."

Vermillion followed the butler as he left the entrance chamber, though couldn't help but notice a pair of sliding metal plates that flanked either side of the inner door. The Primer Minister knew these to be slots in the thick stone walls through which heavy 50. calibre machine guns, located in antechambers, could be fired to defend the Tower against would be attackers. All the entrances in the Tower had these sort of defences, the antechambers themselves could only be accessed by thick steel doors that could only be opened from within the antechambers themselves. In turn the antechambers were linked via secure telephones to a control room located in the bowels of the Tower's basement level. Combined with the warren of towers and servant corridors it was a side of the Tower that the public never got to see or even know about. The public side of the Tower's defences were the countless soldiers dressed in rifle green Dress Uniforms, wooden stock SLRs and black spiked pith helmets¹ that bore the Vicereine's royal crest. Nearly every doorway was flanked by a pair of these soldiers, all standing ramrod straight and billeted in the adjacent Coldridge Barracks. As a concession in light of recent regional events a SAS team was billeted within the Tower itself close to the Royal Chambers.

The butler strode on, leading Vermillion through a large foyer and up a grand staircase that was again flanked by a pair of soldiers in rifle green Dress Uniform and black spiked pith helmets. Normally the upper floors and part of the ground floor was off limits to the general public and tourists, though the occasional special tour would allow the public a glance at other areas of the Tower's keep. Being the head of Her Excellency's Morridane meant that there was very few restrictions for Vermillion, though the butler made it difficult for the Morridane Prime Minister to go wandering off on his own. But Vermillion had come here to speak to the Vicereine, so any notions of plumbing the secrets of the Tower were pushed to the back of his mind as he followed the butler to a pair of wooden doors. The butler paused briefly to knock on the door and entered the room before announcing. "Your Excellency I present the Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Edmund Vermillion."

"Thank you Lockwood, you may leave." Nodded Vicereine Lothwyn Boudica Cathmore II, only briefly glancing up where she'd been working at her desk. She waited until the butler had left the room and closed the door behind him before speaking. "Vermillion...why do you darken my chambers with your presence?"

"A pleasure as always to see you Your Excellency." Answered Vermillion, taking a seat in a nearby armchair. "A mutual subject I'm sure, the future of our country."

"Mutual in some respects yes, though our visions differ."

"I know you question the wisdom of our involvement in some of the recent conflicts that have plagued this region, though I may possibly admit some regret over the course of action that was taken in certain instances." Vermillion stated. "But even you can't fault the strides taken in the social development of Morrdh, chiefly the improvements in welfare and healthcare services I've overseen during my tenure."

"Yes...I'll admit you've gotten the trains to mostly run on time." Replied Lothwyn. "The Provost Council² keeps me appraised of most of Morrdh's internal affairs, but thats not what you're here about is it?"

"I assure you Vicereine that this is most certainly not a social call."

"Then why are you here?" The distrust in the Vicereine's voice just noticeable as she spoke.

"The future Your Excellency, the future." Answered Vermillion, knowing that the Vicereine had never really liked or even trusted him. "Or more accurately regional relations going forward, especially given recent tensions and conflicts both in Greater Dienstad and further afield. We enjoy friendly relations with the Lamonians and the Mokans, relations strengthened further by their involvement with the CCA³. But other powers in the region will have a potential impact on Morrdh's future."

"Yes, especially since your actions have caused relations with the Imbriniums to go so swimmingly well...."

"Quite..." Said Vermillion before continuing on. "Relations with our old colonial master of Stevid, waxed and waned as they have over the years, are warmer than they'd been for some time. Though we have to be wary going forward Your Excellency, I fear the growing influence of the Church will corrupt the Stevidian government from within. There is still some bad blood between us Morridanes and the Stevidian Church, I also suspect more than a few within their hierarchy have long memories...especially when it comes to your infamous ancestor⁴."

"The Provost Council agree that the power of the Stevidian Church has been growing, though the Council doesn't quite share your feelings."

"We shall see Your Excellency." Vermillion replied. "Though the fact that some of the biggest players in the region such as Stevid and the Golden Throne are monarchies is something we could play to our advantage."

"What are are you suggesting Vermillion?" Asked Lothwyn. "This better not be another of your folly."

"Your Excellency, I'm sure that some of the Provost Council will share my...concern that you currently are without an heir."

"Not this again..." Sighed Lothwyn. "Whether I have an heir or not is my own personal choice."

"Your Excellency, as your Prime Minister I must stress that you're almost upon the cusp of turning thirty and have yet to even take a suitor. Without a direct heir the line of succession is extremely complicated and theres no telling upon who's head the Morridane Crown will land." Vermillion's burst of emotion surprised both of them, though the Prime Minister calm himself a little before he continued. "A union with one of the other Dienstadi royal family would strengthen ties with their respective nation, be it Stevid, the Golden Throne or dare I say Imbrinium. In fact such a union may even allow us to influence things on a regional level."

"I see..." Said Lothwyn. "I'll take your advice under consideration but at the end of the day the choice is still mine, are we clear on that?"

"Yes Your Excellency."

"Good, now if you'll excuse me I still have plenty of work to do." Lothwyn waited until Vermillion had left the room before reading through what she'd had written of your letter, that letter once finished would be sent to the Imbrinium king via diplomatic channels.

'Your Majesty,

It is regretful that a rift currently exists between our respective countries following the recent conflict in Mordent, a rift that I hope in time will be healed. Though it has meant that news of Prine Augusto has been slow in coming through, however I have not been able to find any further news on his condition. My thoughts are with him and I wish him a speedy recovery, but above all I hope he remembers our...'

- - - -
1. Based heavily on the 19th Century British Army Home Service Helmet.
2. The Provost Council is made up of viceroys/governors known as Lord Provosts and the lower ranking Provosts. It is a body that advises the Morridane Crown in a similar fashion to a privy council, but made up of the Crown's representatives in the provinces and territories of Morrdh.
3. Commonwealth Colonial Authority, an space colonization organisation founded by Morrdh in the 1950s.
4. Robert Cathmore, anti-Church activist in Stevid during the early 1800s. Sentenced to penal transportation to Morrdh where he led a success revolt against Stevidian rule, then founded the Morridane Crown by becoming the first Viceroy of Morrdh and married the daughter of the chief of the native Genchi tribes.

by **Kuronami** » Fri Jan 13, 2017 5:01 pm

TITLE: Making Friends: A Handmaiden's Tale
AUTHOR: Kuronami

Yuki began her day like any day waking up before dawn to attend to the needs of her mistress, Himiko Daidouji. But today wasn't going to be just any day for Yuki because in a few hours she'd start to school. Yuki had been in and out of school since she was a child, depending on the needs of her and her late mother. Some times it was work or starve and when her mother died she had to live and survive on her own. But now under regular employment with the royal family of Amaterasu Domain in East but Kuronami but with perks most handmaidens didn't get. Free room and board, free meals and regular pay. Himiko insisted her little maiden go to school in exchange.
Himiko was awe struck a year ago by Yuki's uncompromising honesty by returning quite a bit of money to her and not asking for anything in return, a little girl in her situation.

In the early morning hours Yuki rolled a tray of tea and breakfast for Himiko, giving a gentle rap on the chamber doors. The recent death of Former Emperor hung on her head always afraid she'd have to come across the same sight of her mistress' lifeless body. Dark gloomy thoughts she always tried to keep banished from her head. The reassuring sound of "Enter" came and Yuki allowed herself to enter the chambers. "Good morning, Hime-sama. I have breakfast"

"Punctual as always, Yuki-chan" Himiko smiled with a giggle in her voice

"Thank you, Hime-sama, I try my best."

"Oh today is your first day in school isn't it? Here you are working."

"I do have a job to do first, Hime-sama."

"Your job will be here when you're done you need to get ready, Yuki-chan"

"D-don't worry about me, Hime-sama I'll be ready and on time as promised." Yuki was still very nervous about going back to school. She'd had her ups and downs before in schools and this was one hand picked by Himiko so no doubt other children from affluent or high end families would also attend.

"Speaking of, I'll be working out your schedule so you'll have adequate time to work, study and have some free time. Lots of clubs you could join you know. I was in the calligraphy and coral club myself"

"You, Hime-sama? Wow I just thought as a child you'd be so busy learning state matters. After all you could be an Empress someday"

Himeko laughed a little "Oh I think onee-chan has me beat to that position. I mean maybe Governor, maybe but given we have our new Empress on the throne that won't be happening any time soon"

"Still you were almost considered after all! Your sister, I mean Her Lordship seems to like being Governor."

"That she does and that's why she put me up for consideration still, heaven forbid, anything should happen to Fine-chan I would imagine onee-chan and the Regional Assembly would put her up for consideration. But let's hope that doesn't happen."

"Of course not!"

"Anyway, shoo with you, go get ready for school!"

"Ah yes, Hime-sama." She bowed and left Himiko's quarters.

After a quick bath a change of kimono she quickly prepared her meal for the day packed it in a bento and made the short walk to her school. Given it was the middle of the year just a new semester she was introduced to her class by their teacher. "I'm Yuna, Yuki." with a bow she continued "Let's have a good semester together."

"Thank you Yuna-san." Her teacher thanked and she continued on "But given you are new may you tell us a little more about you? Unless you're not comfortable of course."

"Oh, well..Last year I gained employment with the Daidouji Lordship family. I'm a personal handmaiden to Daidouji, Himiko-denka."

The class quietly murmured; how exciting was it to have someone so close to the highest family in the domain.

"Thank you Yuna-san, please take your seat now."

The days lessons proceeded on during the lunch period the students who had food of their own stayed in the classroom to eat others went onto the lunch hall to buy their meals. But Yuki couldn't get away from the barge of questions from curious students between classes but it seemed lunch brought her some quite reprieve. "Hello" a kind voice of another classmate, Harukaze.

Yuki had to try to be as polite as she could "Oh listen I really can't answer any questions about what the Daidouji family are like. As a maiden I should be in their trust--"

"No no." Haru waved her hands innocently "I don't want to ask questions, I was hoping I might be able to sit with you."

"With me? I think that will be okay."

Harukaze took a seat. "Harukaze but please just call me Haru or Haru-chan if you feel so inclined" She smiled at Yuki. "If I may call you Yuki or Yuki-chan."

"Oh well sure I don't mind."

"Then that settles it, we're friends now, Yuki-chan. I know your a maiden to the very important family but I was hoping if you have any spare time you might like to come with me to Lionhead Park on Sunday."

"I've never been to an amusement park before. Well I'll check and let you know tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Fine with me."

The two girls began talking more getting more and more acquainted with one another. Harukaze was from a moderately well to do family but far from the exceptional wealthy Yuki thought the students here would be, she liked animals, cats in particular, summer was her favorite season, she learned her favorite songs, books, movies. By comparison Yuki seemed kind of boring next to her only could talk about a life of work. "Well that's why you have me as a friend now! Actually why don't I just give this to you now." She pulled a gold ticket to the Lionhead Amusement Park. "This is your ticket just in case one of us is running late. Don't lose that now."

"I-I won't."

More chatter followed by the end of lunch then return of classes but after school the girls chatted a while longer neither seemed ready to leave just yet enjoying one another's company. "Oh I should go I'm already late!" Yuki was embarrassed to admit she lost track of time. "Of course, sorry if I kept you so late. See you tomorrow then."

Yuki with a spring in her step ran on home enthusiastic that evening she told Himiko all about her day. "Of course you can go. We have plenty of staff who can fill your position for that day, as I said I want you to have some personal time."

Yuki was thrilled she could tell her new friend she would see her Sunday. "Then it's a date as they say!" The two had a great day on Sunday and days since had been great. Yuki still held to her stub as a memory of her best friend she met that day, her first day of school.

by **New Aeyariss** » Mon Feb 13, 2017 11:18 am

#Legend

TITLE: Asuka Monogatari (The tale of Asuka Period)
AUTHOR: Unknown ( New Aeyariss ), dated 1634 A.D.

PROLOGUE

The Akagi castle bells, with loud noise ringing
The ringing of the bells, passing through everything,
Like trees at the autumn, their leaves shedding,
And regaining their old glory, at the very spring,
So is the cycle of nations, and of human virtue,
They break apart and unite, as is in their nature,
No one is exempt from Heavenly Father's law.

A virtuous sage ruler, established power great,
He restores prosperity, extinguishing war and hate,
A great and prosperous nation, like a Yakusugi tree,
Corrupts it self with pleasures, becoming raging sea,
Virtue is forgotten, decays governance and art,
For soon the entire state, will surely break apart,
Being devoured by strife's ever hungry maw..

The steel will crash with steel and cycle repeat again,
Leading the entire land, through hunger strife and pain,
And among the flames, virtue and honor are set ablaze,
Like a tsunami wave, great heroes from the people rise,
What was once divided, whole quickly becomes again,
A new glorious hero ends conflict, hunger and pain,
And bright burning comet - was of his coming sign....

Deep beneath, in an orchard where cherries bloomed,
A warrior in red armor, his eyes into the sky lifted,
His armor crimson, like in blood it was covered,
In his hand a spear that mighty blows delivered,
Spear that had lotus engraved at the head's base,
It's iron color deeply contrasting with warrior's face
It was evident, that he was a lord with long reign....

His name was Murakami, ruling over Hara domain,
A rich and prosperous land, by sword he did gain,
A man of great integrity, honor and virtue,
Many eagerly said, that he was good by nature,
By his posture enormous, almost two meters in height,
Mere sign of his armor, caused among foes fright,
Respect of many warlords did he gain....

He stood and looked into the sky, comet's fiery tail,
Enormous fiery serpent, like a burning flail,
He turned look into the ground, knowing the truth,
That great Akahoshi shogun, despite greatness at youth,
Corrupted at old age, and heavens took away mandate,
For his lack of care for his subjects, and murders deliberate
And that the great turmoil was about to begin...

He said to himself, "The time is now at helm"
For too long the greedy lords, destroyed the realm,
Through their hungry greed, lust for riches and power
We find ourselves broken, in the dark hour,
Someone has step in, restore glory of old,
For now the time of honor, is about to unfold
When to grave will march last of Akahoshi's kin....

From behind the scenes, rules Soga Ishiro's seed
The dark curtains that cover, every dishonorable deed,
Cover shedding of blood, of countless people innocent,
People who forgotten women, and after boys they went,
Like a pack of hungry wolves, they devour the virtuous,
Taking away every echo of old times, old times glorious,
And their evil deeds chills me to the very spine...

The Shogun has no power, and soon he will be dead,
And when he is no more, the flames of chaos will spread,
For the pack of wolves, knowing that tiger is no more,
Will become ten times more hungry, ten times than before,
But I see a sign from the heavens, that tells me to go east,
There will I find the answer, for which I greatly thirst,
The answer of what action shall I take... "

Then a second warrior came out to the lord,
Wearing red armor, on his back great sword,
Heavier than stone, that no man him aside,
Could even lift up, let alone make sings wide,
But he like a bear, such was his great strength,
Ruled over the blade, blade of enormous length
A blade cleaving through men and horses alike...

His name was Dage Mugen, a great general
Born a poor samurai, until his lord in battle fell,
Now having ascended, from the bottom of the men,
He wore the great sword, as thankfulness token,
Leading his warriors to battle, with loyalty and honor,
Only one other retainer, could field such great valor
But he was no match in using the blade...

"Why are you troubled", Mugen asked his lord
"I know that Shogun illness, and the coming discord
The vultures will soon gather, from entire land,
Great time of strife, surely is at hand,
But you are Akahoshi's kin, for his daughter,
Is your very own wife, what cause further,
That you yourself will Shogun be made?"

"I know yet of that", replies the great general
"But for House Akahoshi, it will surely fall,
As much as important, who will as Shogun reign,
At this very moment, Heaven gives me sign,
I need to go east, and follow the comet,
There answer to my questions, I will finally meet,
As this is a very important sign... "

So they mount they horses, and east ride,
Focused on their task, putting politics aside,
When arriving at the coast, Murakami sees,
The comet disappears, and on shore a man lies,
A man with white skin, like not seen before,
Curious Murakami, moves to see more,
Unaware what his actions will soon begin..

On a brazen coastal sand
Of the beautiful island of Murakami's domain
Lied the Admiral Yi's destiny
And so again, on the same sand,
Lies the key to restoring Nifonese glory!

by **Aeyariss** » Wed Feb 15, 2017 2:21 am

-snipped-

by **Mokastana** » Wed Feb 22, 2017 8:50 am

TITLE: One last Drink
AUTHOR: Mokastana

The man sat in his office, an empty glass tumbler in his hand. The large oak desk before him was a relic of times past. Days of optimism, when the chair behind it was occupied by men who believed in the good of mankind. People who believed that hope sprung eternal, and a democratic republic was the best form of government. Men that believed a government could, if it tried, avoid the pitfalls of civil war and mindless death. In other words, fools.

Unfortunately for their legacy, the man who sat behind the desk today knew better. Military junta, Theocracy, Democracy, or Hereditary, the people could always be made to bend to the will of their leaders. Anyone who doubted that was welcome to count and personally view each of the caskets coming home to the People's Unified Federation.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow the Senate will vote to remove me from power. A... minor inconvenience…. given our achievements.”

The man pulled the top from a beautiful crystal decanter set, and poured out a liquor more expensive than its crystal container into his empty tumbler. These hands that spent their childhood digging holes, without the luxury of a shovel, to plant crops, now held a single glass more valuable than any farm he grew up on. He took a second to admire it, take in the little intricate details carved into the cup, highlighted by the dark background of Rum behind them. Despite his life's work, the bourgeois were still bourgeois. He brought the dark colored liquor to his lips. This Rum was good, even better than the stuff his Grandfather went to war over. In that Great War, thousands of Mokans died so that the Aristocrats of Morrdun could drink in private while publicly condemning the “Mokan Poison.” At least today, they died for a much more noble cause.

“We still have quite a bit of influence in the Senate, and the war is being hailed as a victory. You are a War Hero. They may vote you out of power, but at this point it's all just theatrics.”

“You and I both know it's… so much... more than that. They will try to make an example of me. Military intelligence dug up more than they needed to ensure that. They will probably even investigate Gorbechov's heart attack, thinking I did that. The Senate already knows they can't trust the MBSA.”

Eyes turned to Director Francisco, who merely nodded in agreement before responding.

“I'll be stepping down, better to look ashamed for ignorance than guilty.”

“What? We can still win this,” the third man argued, “the Senate will back off, or we will make them.”

But the man behind the desk cut him off: “Do you propose ‘another’ coup Señor Cruz? More death on Mokan soil? Do you really think we can bend the entire Federation to our will?

Here, let me break it down for you: Yes, I... we... have a lot of influence in the government and military. Yes, I could convince a portion of the Islander Army to back us, we might even take control Mokastan Island and Juventud before the end of the day. The Marines and the odd General returning from the Wars would back us. Factor in refugees and promise support to the Tatom intern government, and ideally, we'd have a few million troops ready to enforce our will. Many of those would be already be combat experienced and mobilized, against Reserve Guard Units trying to pull up their pants. Hell, we could probably even take Mejico in a fight. But let me walk you through why that won't work!”

The man called Cruz tried to speak up, but the man behind the desk cut him off, continuing with his rambling:

“Do you dare to think the Surian capitalists would accept my coup? A Socialist fighting to become a dictator? El Sur Del Gran Mokastana would back Mejico against us. And what the External Armed Forces, whose leadership is almost entirely Gorbechov’s pupils. What about the conservative government of Wellovia? Which possesses a secondary military command center for just this very reason. Even if Rosewell did back us, the Wellovians would seize the orbital fighters at Silvertol, balancing out the Space Front. Even if Franscico's meager security held the Spaceport, they would just shoot down anything leaving it.

The Anuiens won't back us, not with a damn Villa sitting on their Throne. Paradisa will follow Aqua Anu. And who do you think the the Belmotins will support? The stronger side of course. That's five nations with the Federation’s strongest troops vs our… optimistically… three nations, one of which would be occupied. Which would mean dedicating forces to pacify Mejican insurgents.

I won't even start on the possibility foreign intervention.

Our best case scenario is civil war, and after all the work I put into this nation, I will not sacrifice that out of some selfish desire to stay out in power or out of prison…. No…I think one attempted coup per presidency is enough.”

The man behind the desk finished his drink, before pouring himself another.

“Instead, let us celebrate our achievements and what we have done for the PUF, regardless of whether we will be thanked or not. What we did… gentlemen... was bring a future to the Federation... We brought the Cartels under our collective thumb, destroying the dangerous ones and weakening the rest, with many now in our service. We brought National Socialism to its knees, forcing them on the defensive half a region away. We liberated Castleclose and broke Castille de Italia. Raised a new generation of Jaguars to defend our country. We taught our children about real war. We saved this Federation from becoming stale and weak...

I accepted my fate the moment I ordered the attack on the Castillian Capital without the Senate's approval. I could no longer work in the shadows to guide Mokastana and the Federation, I had to take command myself. And tomorrow, I'll give this Federation one more sacrifice...myself…. so that my work will live on. It will be men like you, Commander Alberto Cruz, who continue my work. Remember, this isn't about personal pride or power, this is about guiding the People, kicking and screaming if need be, towards its proper fate. Never forget that.”

*****

Later that day, the man sat alone in the office, paperwork piling up, things he could worry about tomorrow. His door creaked open, and an older gentleman walked through. An old friend, if the man behind the desk ever had one, he smiled to the newcomer:

“Ah, Charles Villa, a pleasant surprise, I wasn't expecting you.”

Charles looked over the old man behind the desk his brother once occupied and felt disgusted. The stretch of Rum filled the air, and the old man slouched in his chair, slack jawed but smiling. Charles retorted with a less than enthusiastic response.

“Did you forget I had scheduled a meeting?”

“No, I never forget things like that, I just wasn't expecting you to actually… grace me with your presence. Tell me, how is Aqua Anu this time of year? Are you enjoying retirement as the Queen's lackey? ….What happened to you Charles, you were a Socalista, and now your granddaughter is a Monarch, is this what you expected?”

“Life is never what any of us expected.”

“Who would have guessed that we, ignorant peasants, would one day rule the world?”

“Milano, you're going to be kicked from power, probably arrested. I'm here because Parliament wants to ensure the SWA won't try a coup. You aren't planning one, are you Milano?”

“Do I look like I'm ready to build fortifications and storm Parliament? I fought to keep those Assholes in power when the Cartels wanted to burn this place down. You see this eye? I paid for our… democracy...

We both have the scars of making this country what it is today. Shrapnel in our backs and bullet wounds on our chests. I wouldn't destroy my life's work to stay alive. You know that! And you know I know you know that! So tell me, why are you here?”

Charles chose to stay near the door as the drunk waited for another answer. Seconds ticked by as both stared at one another, until finally, Charles spoke:

“I had to see for myself, know for myself. Why did you do it? You've always been a careful son of a bitch, tensions with Castille were high enough you could have faked something better, why abuse your power like that and go down?”

Milano looked towards the empty Decatur, then back to Charles.

“Pull up a chair, old friend, if you want to know, I'll probably be talking awhile.”

“I'd rather stand.”

“If you insists” Milano paused, raising his also empty glass tumbler, admiring it's intricate beauty one last time before casually dropping it to the floor. It shattered with a loud crack. Charles flinched, but maintained his stoic composer.

“We were meant to die a long time ago. You killed your first man at what? 13? 14? For me it was 17, late bloomer but there was a lull in the wars. We fought to bring socialism to our island, only for those right wing Pendejos take it all over once again, but we killed them too. We did a lot of killing, but while you Villas decided to compromise and work with our enemies, I never could. I dedicated my life to ensuring Socialism would exist in Mokastana, no matter the cost, but then I saw a bigger problem.

We killed the local warlords, but now we were on the International Stage, Castillians were close and they hated us. In the West Fascists and Extremists were gaining power. Did you know the Nifonese consider diversity immoral? The Golden Throne began sleeping with our political enemies while Cartels bled us dry. What good was the internal struggle for socialism when any number of external causes could kill us?

I spent the last decade in politics fighting Cartels and making us powerful. I did my work in the spotlight while others worked behind the scenes.”

“You're not answering my question.”

“Fine, you want the truth. The absolute truth. It's the same reason why your brother died of heart failure and you've debating putting that that gun if yours in your mouth and ending it all.

I am tired. Tired of fighting, but unlike you Villas, I didn't quit when there was still work to be done. I couldn't. Look around you, we now have the largest class of future Jaguars ever seen in our lives, our enemies are on the run, and we proved our influence over the East. I gave the Federation the gift of a future, a pause between threats. Tomorrow someone else will take the mantle, but for now my work is done.”

“You started a war illegally just so you could retire? Are you mad? Insane? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“The difference between you and me, Villa, is that I know the world will bend to a strong enough will. You just have to push in the right way. Does my… as you say, retirement plan… surprise you? You've seen my work over the years. Why would you expect anything less? This way no one would drag me me out of retirement like I've seen happen so often to you.”

Charles stood there speechless. It was true, he had seen the gruesome scenes left by Milano’s people during the Political Wars. Back then Charles just thought he was a necessary evil, a monster that could be unleashed on high profile targets. Even after the war he blended into peace almost too easily, Charles always knew Milano was a monster behind his smile, but never did he expect him to be so open about it.

“You're going to jail for a long time my friend.”

“I doubt it, I've done too much publicly to get the full treatment for treason. You know how many Anuiens vote socialist due to my Anti Cartel work there? My imprisonment would be bad for the Federation. Naw, I'll be kicked out, given a no name position in the Socialists Workers Party, or Army, and be left to rot. That's all. Then you'll never hear from me again Villa, isn't that what you wanted?"

by **The Qoryx** » Fri Feb 24, 2017 7:21 pm

TITLE: One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts
AUTHOR: The Qoryx

The Night Before

It was a bustling Friday night in Fedala, and the financial district had turned into more of a nightlife scene now that the bankers and brokers had gone back to their sprawling estates in the suburbs. One of the more modern hotels located in the downtown core - the Preciados - was nearly fully booked as usual, and the Oxigin Bar on the ground level was very busy, even for a Friday night. Johann looks up from his cocktail to glance around the bar. The ambient purple lights are just illuminating enough that he can see a majority of the faces in the room, but he cannot see the person he is looking for. He takes another swig, and is just about to get up when the person he is looking for walks in the door. She looks radiant in a stunning, blue silk dress with diamonds encrusting the top half, accented with a lovely silver fur neck wrap. It had become a little chilly outside, courtesy of the light rain that had manifested itself earlier in the day. Thankfully, the bodyguard with her was carrying an umbrella under her coat, shielding the two of them from the rain. Taking her seat at the end of the bar, he looks over and smiles at her, and she returns a warm smile. “Perfect,” he thinks to himself, “let’s see if I can work this.”

“Would I be able to get another please?” he asks the bartender in Díenstadi. “And another for my friend over there, on me.” His retina scan had already been done when he walked in, so the bartender already knew who to charge it to. As the drinks are prepared, he exchanges another smile with the woman at the end of the bar, but adds a little twinkle of interest in his eyes. She smiles warmly back and fiddles with her hair. He gets up and takes a seat next to her just as the two drinks are set down in front of them. She laughs that he timed it so perfectly, and accepts the glass. The two clink glasses and take a swig. “You have a very good taste for drinks, my friend. The question is, can you make some of your own this good,” she asks rhetorically, smirking. He laughs softly and extends his hand, “My name is Johann - Johann Gwerder. Are you enjoying Fedala, Miss-?” “Rioin, De Rioin. Pleasure to meet you Herr Gwerder,” she replies, shaking Johann’s hand. “That’s a very different name to those I usually get around here, where are you from?”

“The De’Soirvam, in Northern Jesheoda.” That was all he needed to hear. This is the person he is looking for, and from the place he was informed she is from. “Wow, an exotic and a beauty! How has someone not swept you off your feet already?” he canders, jokingly. “Hah, a wonder indeed. I just came here for a quick drink before going to my room, would you care to join me upstairs?” Johann nods and raises his glass a little to De. They finish their drinks together, and walk over to the elevator, exchanging looks and smiling. “I have a specialty cocktail I can make just for you. Would you care for a taste?” he lingers on the word cocktail, and she giggles a little before they exit the elevator together. She says something softly to her bodyguard, who takes post outside her room. “There, I made sure our evening isn't disturbed by my guards.” Johann smiles widely, and enters the room after De.

A fairly large hotel room that is exquisitely decorated, Johann begins to wonder what De does that can afford a room like this. Not allowing himself to be distracted for too long about such minutiae, Johann swiftly moves to the kitchenette to prepare two drinks. A blackberry-bourbon cocktail known in his native country as a “Rauchenwaffe” or “Smoking Gun”, for its charred cinnamon stick sitting in a red, heavily alcohol-laden drink. Bringing them out and setting them on the desk, he notices soft music playing, indicating that the drinks will have to wait. De comes out of the washroom in a white satin nightgown, half undone already. Johann goes over to her and kisses her passionately. Discreetly, he moves his hand to her heart, holding it there while they kiss.

He pulls the trigger. As she goes limp against his mouth, he pulls back his hand a bit and fires again into her hand, then her other hand and finally one into her temple. He puts away his gun and turns up the music a bit. Now alone in the room, he communicates what he needs to and slowly finishes both drinks he prepared. After about an hour or so, he cleans himself off, turns off the music and puts his coat on. He exits and nods at the waiting guard. “She's sleeping now, and you may want to give her the rest she..really needs.” He winks and turns to head to the elevator.

The Next Morning

Junior investigator Matthias Soro turns to his supervisor and scratches his head. “I don't get it. Why the four shots, so meticulously placed, and why then do the same to the guy standing outside? He'd have to be standing very close to both, and given that nobody heard anything, it just doesn't make sense.” His supervisor looks to be thinking very hard before noticing a man standing in the hallway inspecting the other body, and starts heading towards him. “Ah, you made it. Natalie Berentz, supervising investigator for this scene on behalf of the Crown.” She extends her hands and shakes his. “Gotfried Helmut, I specialise in foreigner deaths under special circumstances. This, Frau Berentz, is a case you would do well to close immediately. Suspicious death, no leads, case closed. It's not worth finding the people responsible, trust me.” Intrigued, she instead prods for information. “Do you know what happened here, then?”

“This was a hit. The four-shot tactic is a trademark for one organisation, although it likely wasn't carried out by them. This would be an indirect hit.” Natalie shakes her head, disappointed that she has to be the one investigating this scene. “Which organisation is that, Señor Helmut?” Gotfried frowns, not wanting to share the burden, but the determined face of the Macabean woman made it hard for him to contain it. “These two are Jesheodan. Which organisation they're a part of I don't know but they're classified as international criminals, and while away from home suddenly find themselves dead? Not a coincidence. Likely Qoryxen intelligence or maybe Themisi. Who knows.”

Natalie’s eyes widen.

“Exactly; if you are not welcomed somewhere by them or if you owe them anything, this is your option B. Trust me when I say you don't want the bother. Do you have their names, by chance?” Natalie searches for the names in her tablet. “De Rioin is the lady in the room, and this man is Uri R’Baed. Likely her bodyguard, by the attire.” Gotfried nods and looks at the two bodies quickly. “Would you mind if I take pictures of the two, for my records?” Natalie nods and gestures for him to feel free to. “Is there anything else I should do here by your estimates, Señor?”

Gotfried quickly snaps pictures of the two, then heads back to Natalie. “Bury it, and move on Frau Berentz.” “Understood. Matthias - close the investigation and clear the scene as soon as possible. Bury anything that builds a case. Pleasure meeting you Señor Helmut. As much as I hold nothing against you, I really hope we don’t ever meet again in a professional capacity.” Gotfried laughs and shakes her hand warmly, before turning and walking to the elevator. After exiting the elevator, he calls a number on his mobile. “Es ist vollbracht. Einfacher als ich erwartet hatte. Ich sehe dich am Flughafen.” he ends the call and gets in the waiting Mercedes-Benz sedan, which pulls out into the cars and disappears into the morning commuter traffic.

by **AHSCA** » Sun Feb 26, 2017 2:06 pm

TITLE:One True Love
AUTHOR:AHSCA

For as long as he could remember, Tama was in love with Ru. She was the equivalent of a girl-next-door to him and for as long as he could remember Ru never seemed to show the same interest in him. They were kind of friends, growing up and going to school together but it seemed Ru never saw him more than just that. But no more, it was now or never he had to finally win her over and he was going to do that by proving he was a man to her. He first joined the army but even that didn't seem to impress her when he told her.

"Ah you would have served sooner or later" She seemed to casually brush off. Turning her head away to Tama it appeared just another obstacle but it wasn't as though Ru too didn't have her own feelings. She liked him too but she didn't like the idea of him joining the army. She of course respected the men and women who pledged to protect AHSCA but she never had a stomach for the idea of killing another person. She also hated the idea of marrying a likely fisherman when he'd be in reserve. But as Ru was brought up she'd never stand in the way of a man with a calling so it was best to simply play it off as she wasn't interested.

Tama wasn't giving up. One quite evening in his bunk he laid, contemplating what it would finally take to win the heart of the girl he loved. "Mmm I got it!" he rolled right out of bed moving over to his bunkmate. "Cinque, Cinque wake up, come on up!"

"Ah what what?" Cinque grumpily asked him "What time is it, it's not already first call is it?"

"No idea and no it's not. But you know I've been working to win Ru over so I might marry her right?"

"Yeah so what?"

"So I figured, she's an old fashioned girl! Raised a certain way expects certain ways she's cut from an old cloth."

"What's your point, Tama?"

"She needs a dowry of some kind"

"I think that's not what you're thinking of"

"A token something to really show I'm a man to her. Something I can show love. Folks where you come from, they like to give rings or jewels right?"

"Yeah an engagement ring"

"Right. But here tradition dictates that something be offered to her or the family. Her ma and pa are long gone so it's just her so I need to really offer her something."

"What are you gonna give her, a ring?"

"No, no. Gotta give her something really shows the effort I go to, to get it. Fish, the biggest one I can catch!"

"Think a gem or ring be easier"

"Exactly that's too easy. Not to mention would eat up my pay for the next 6 years maybe. No it can't be bought it's gotta be caught."

"You're out of your mind, Tama"

"I told you when we first met I was crazy for her. If I keep getting turned down sooner or later some other guy is gonna come along and get her. But I know how to treat her. I know all her likes, dislikes I know everything about her and I know how I feel about her!"

"That's gonna require some deep-sea work."

"I got my leave coming up. I'll do it then"

"All right man I guess I got your back on this. I think a ring be easier"

"See that's why I'm native and you're foreign"

There was more Cinque could say to retort that but he'd be up all night and with Ranks in a few hours best he get sleep.

A few weeks went by since that night, leave for Tama was growing closer to an end out on the open sea he hadn't had much luck. Mostly small stuff, he wasn't leaving until he had something he deemed really worthy for his girl. But looking out to the horizon it wasn't good a large storm was no doubt coming.

Back on shore Cinque too as enjoying his leave though he did wonder and think about his friend out there by himself. "Cinque?" The young voice of Ru took him up from his meal. "Ru, fancy seeing you here."

"I was looking for Tama, have you seen him? I heard he was on leave but nobody in his village has seen him."

"Oh well..." Cinque wasn't sure what to say he didn't want to spoil his friend's hopeful triumph "I think he's out to sea"

"Why is he out there?" She suddenly grew tense and worried

"uuh something about helping on a crew that was short a man"

"uuugh idiot we're on the cusp of a major storm and he's out to sea! I'll kill him if he makes it back" Ru quickly turned and stormed away

"Wait!" Cinque called after her but it was too late she'd vanished into the crowd. Ru's discussion of a major storm were accurate as the next few days the islands were battered by a tropical storm. Tama rode it out on the sea and now moved back into port at long last, at his feet a large sword fish, several meters long and several kilos heavy. He dismounted the little boat with the bohemith on his back that was nearly as large as he was. "TAMA!" The shrill high angry voice of Ru

"Ru"

"What's this about going to sea!"

"Last I checked you aren't my mother, Ru I'm able to make my own decisions"

"Only a fool like you would go when there's a hurricane approaching!"

"Yeah it got rough out there but I made it through. If I didn't know better I'd say you were worried about me or something!"

"Of course I was worried about you! In fact before you left I was gonna come ask you about courting me but now I'm not so sure that I want to court such a fool."

"Well I'll do you one better." he slapped down the fish at her feet. "This large fish. I went out to sea to catch it. I fought through heat and sun then furious storm to get it. I got it for you. Ru I'm gonna go for broke here, I want you to marry me" her grabbed her hands. Now Ru stood in awe and amazement. "I got a fish, I joined the army, if you don't see me more as a man than before I don't know what will get you to see me as that."

Ru looked again speechless and in awe. "I-I never saw you as anything less, Tama. You were a man and you didn't need to do anything foolish to prove it to me. All I want is for you to be a man who will love me and be with me. I don't want you to be away on a beach in some war or out to sea where I'll wonder if you'll come back to me" Tama pulled her into a kiss "If I can do those things, is that a yes?"

"It's a yes Tama. I love you"

It was sealed the two were always meant to be together and now they were to join in bonds of matrimony.

by **Deamonopolis** » Mon Feb 27, 2017 2:14 am

TITLE: The Origin of Weird
AUTHOR: Deamonopolis

"Say, look at this!", a finely dressed gentlemen exclaimed to his beloved female compatriot, as they were gazing upon a wild stretch of unspeakable land, shaped as if it were a nameless maze of M.C. Escher, or better put: non-Euclidean through-and-through without losing intelligibility. It seems perfectly logical to be honest, a fourth-dimensional space, why not? Such trivialities may matter for the casual visitor to this strange land, this weird place, but that is of no consequence to the many people who inhabit these strange shores, shores that do not exist to be quite clear, for what is usually called a 'stretch of land' is in fact an ocean without shores that is encompassed by what is commonly called 'earth', 'the world', and so forth. Because of this strange inversion of what is commonly held to be common knowledge, for lack of a better phrase, people question the possibility of this place, in its stead, they proclaim the impossibility of everything within, and place the without at the center of their imagination, nay, their everything-and-anything - their reality.

This land is better known as 'Deamonopolis'... Some heretics contend that this country is a fiction, a bunch of bits, bytes and graphics in a computer simulation, a game started in late 2002! What folly! Don't they know that the Creator of such a simulation would be God? God isn't a mere human - saying so is blasphemy of the worst sort -, and of whatever substance God is shaped by, it doesn't waste time playing games. Anyways, this country, shape or form, was named as such for reasons best left undiscussed. The man - whom we shall name Abelard - and his girlfriend, - let us call her Joan - knew only too well why such things shouldn't cross one's lips too lightly. But no matter how familiar they are with the ever shifting landscape, the purple trees, blue grass; fauvistic fantasies painted by the Demiurge, on a canvas that is layered to infinity, and every stroke of the divine brush adds a new layer but does not replace one reality with the other, fain I say, only develops reality into the multifold of things we witness with our eyes, senses, yes, with our mind. Because that is what holds everything together: Mind. Yes, though it would be quite arrogant to say so, but to Abelard and Joan it is likely to be the absolute truth of this particular universe: Deamonopolis is the mind that dreams up all other nations. No question about that, however, who dreams - or how to define 'dream' - aren't easy questions.

Restless dreaming, and that includes all the wars, all the histories, from ancient to modern, that includes future events, space travel, wars between galaxies, different cosmic systems, going beyong time travel, and indeed even going back in time before time was crafted by the Demiurge. If it can be imagined, it is most certainly possible. "Let us suppose the following," Abelard said, while he and Joan sat down in the red grass - the color had shifted just moments ago -, both looked up, and saw the cubic shaped clouds gliding by, through a brightly lit nightsky straddled with oblong stars, radiating an as yet unnamed spectrum of light. "Imagine! What if its true, what if this place is the result of some Creator making up this on the fly, as if... Perhaps we didn't even exist before this divine message, this canon, was made up in the heavenly mind. Suppose thats true!... I know it's not true," he added rapidly, as if suddenly thinking it would be wise to add the orthodoxy to what otherwise would be considered a major deviation from revealed truth.

Joan looked frightened, as if strung by a fiend. She wasn't ready to hear such heresies, she wants to make love to the man she sees as his future husband, not indulge in his dangerous fantasies... Quite so, she tried to change the subject, but how to stick with a single subject that deals with an ever-changing 'world'? Somewhere, deep down inside, she was curious nonetheless, and curious to see where Abelard's mental explorations would lead. "Darling, but something doesn't feel right..."

"What do you mean?" he inquired.

"How do I put this..." she looked around, a bit uncertain, looking for the right words, "Yes, what I want to say is... If this place really is the mind that dreams all of it, the world I mean, isn't it possible that we only dream ourselves? As in, Deamonopolis dreams Deamonopolis, and a country called The Macabees, The Macabees, Stevid, Stevid, and so on?"

"Could be, but that assumes an unnecessary doubling of reality."

"How do you mean?" she asked, guessing what to read in Abelard's mind with her piercing eyes.

"Because we know we're the dreamers my love, we are lucid dreamers - we are aware of our mind doing all the work the others cannot do, are incapable of, are too incompetent of doing... You see, if some other country comes up with this radical idea, 'hey, we are dreaming up the whole world!', then you'd say that's quite the original thought, but before that country, or rather that glimmer of thought, has already sprung up here in this infinite void, a void devoid of nothingness. Before others think it, already has everything here been developed to its utmost consequences, to its utter ends. You see?"

"Well, sort of. -Ish. None of them know what they are? But... I know this is heresy, but what if all are on their own, what if the rumors are true and every country in this strange world, where nothing is what it seems... A world of appearances, yes, and every country has its own Demiurge... Is that possible?"

"In theory anything is possible because it can be imagined. But let me put it this way. Say this conversation we are having right now is, as we speak, being typed up by a godlike figure, a pseudo-demiurg who thinks of him- or herself as a great writer or something, at the very least, worthy enough to imagine us having a conversation and typing and writing... But that is an infinite regress! So this pseudo-demiurg moves forward in time to foresee what we are going to say, typing faster than he or she can... Imagining that this conversation must be, logic necessitates it, preordained, a pre-existing thing in the mind of this so-called god, yet nobody minds the mind - but where does that thought come from? I have no idea! Not even the mind of this supposed creator knows what it knows about is. That's not very godlike, is it? So in order to conjure us as by cheap wizardry even a child sees through, it must think itself thinking about us ahead of itself, that is, ahead of time itself, all the while writing in his or her here-and-now whatever I am saying right now... Well, it's obvious, that godlike figure must have already moved ahead in time to know where this conversation is heading... Doesn't make sense to me. No my love, nothing of that sort is happening here. We are dreamers, but we aren't being dreamed, that's for sure," he pledged, not as much to fall in line with the orthodoxy, but rather to convince himself such-and-such is the case.

"As much as I want to be comforted by your talk sweetheart", she said while holding onto Abelard, "I find it difficult to believe..."

"That's the problem! It always comes down to belief. But I don't believe I love you, I know it for sure!" Several quick kisses were exchanged, not the sort that vibrate with tender love, but rather, tensions building. "But our Demiurg is writing too, but His writing makes more sense, because He exists outside time. Where He exists, there is no time. What he writes in his Holy Book... Call it the Bible, the Qu'ran, the sacred Hindu texts or the Zen Teachings of Master Lin-Chi - what have you! - but His book doesn't have a set number of pages. One page is enough."

"Just a single page?"

"Absolutely. You see, our Demiurge writes infinitely on the same spot. While we need chronology and ever more space to write, a single line will do for Him; The One as it is often called. And he stacks words like he paints the canvas of the cosmos, ever putting layer upon layer upon layer..."

"Love", she said with a sad look on her face, "But what if our little chit chat ends? What will happen to us? Are we going away...?"

"Oh no! Don't be afraid!" and he held her hands, smiled, and went on: "In the mind of the Demiurge, we won't disappear, we cannot disappear! Because He can re-read what we have said and done, and so we exist forever."

"But what if he doesn't re-read what he writes and just goes on forever? And what about this god? What you just said... Isn't that the same as a human who writes this story on the go, just for fun, as if it were a game? None of this makes sense! Whatever your guesswork, your premise comes down to us dreaming the world, and the dreams are the result of a God, a pseudo-demiurg or the Demiurge - but isn't that all the same?"

"Perhaps it is..."

by **United World Order** » Mon Feb 27, 2017 10:39 pm

TITLE: Going Forward.
AUTHOR: United World Order

Reichskanzeli, Voss Street,
City of Berlina, Province of Central Germania,
United World Order.

13th, January, 2017.
Private meeting between Reichsfuhrer Oswald Grossmann and Deputy Führer Johann Kiel.

The Reichskanzeli stood within the boundaries of Voss street and Wilhelm street and was a impressive compound which not only held the Reich Chancellery and the old Reich Chancellery now turned into a museum, but also consisted of a grand garden and courtyard area, a ballroom for larger events and several other sections of the Reichskanzeli compound which is still to this day the seat of power for the Reich and it's national government. On Wilhelm street which faced across from the Old Reich's Chancellery(Museum) was the building for the Reich-ministry of Propaganda and Enlightenment which was just a short walk away from the Reichskanzeli compound which was convenient since the two heavily depended on each other. Going down the hall way that would lead to the work study and personal office of the Reichsfuhrer otherwise titled as the Reichskanzler hung marvelously painted portraits of former Fuhrer's from past periods of the Reich. It also featured portraits of other notable Party members and civil servants along with generals of the past, the walk down the hall way covered several decades of history to the Germanic Realm of the Ordenite Nation and held quite a bit of nostalgia for any walking these halls. However no one was quite as comfortable then Johann Kiel who had served as Chief of the Parteikanzeli during Richtofen's reign as Fuhrer and now under Grossmann's became newly appointed Deputy Fuhrer second to only the Fuhrer himself. A sentry accompanied Kiel to the study and personal office of the Fuhrer where another sentry who was posted at the door, stood at attention before Kiel and then knocked before opening the door.

Sitting at the desk of what was the study room and office of Oswald Grossmann was none other than the Fuhrer himself who looked at Kiel, with reading glasses on however not because he absolutely had any trouble reading. He set the book down on the desk which was a special copy of Mein Kampf written by the Grand Fuhrer during the period that gave birth to the nation he knew today. A smile grew on his face as he rose from his seat pushing the chair back as he moved around the desk to meet Kiel face to face. Kiel stood stiffly before raising his right arm at an angle giving a salute to Grossmann, in turn he would return the gesture before the two would shake hands as give greetings.

"Herr Kiel! I've been expecting you my friend, how are you?" Grossmann started the conversation as Kiel removed his officer like cap which on the front bore the emblem of the Party. the both of them were in their respective uniforms which they wore day to day to be presentable to the public.

"...I've been well, Oswald." Kiel began while Grossmann directed him to a comfy seat where the study area was which was known by the vast array and size of the book shelves packed with books of all sorts. "How is the Fuhrer? You've been Fuhrer of our nation for almost two weeks, It's been manageable I presume?" Kiel sat down with Grossmann at the study area as a civil servant was let inside of the room. She carried a clear metal tray that had two glasses and a larger bottle of fine alcohol in it as the tray was presented to the two. Both glasses would be poured and passed out to both men as the civil servant left the room, leaving both the men to their privacy as they deserved.

Oswald took a sip of his glass before answering Kiel. "It's been quite the experience, god knows how many meetings I've had to sit in on over the last few weeks. I am relieved I've finally become the Reichsfuhrer of our people and state. I look forward to what this brings me." He said honestly and with heart as Kiel sipped his glass and looked around the room for a moment. The bustling streets outside of the Reichskanzeli could be heard indefinitely as these hours were the most vibrant, despite that Voss and Wilhelm street including Herman Goring street were sectioned off from the public and were garrisoned by the SS Leibenstandarte who regularly patrol these streets and the entrances to them thoroughly. The SS Leibenstandarte were one of the original SS divisions and served as a body guard unit to the Fuhrer since their inception and participated in combat as a elite force, however they now continue to serve their original purpose as a guard unit to the personal protection of the Fuhrer.

"I am hopeful that with your coming to power, perhaps their will be an end to these wars..." Johann responded while shifting in his seat. He took another sip of his glass as Oswald set his down on the coffee table put conveniently in the middle of them. The Reich had been involved with what is now known as Kashubia for at least five years and to some in the upper echelons of the national government, thought of those years as a burden on them and how difficult that sphere of their influence had been, and now with the war going on. Men like Johann Kiel were and had always been opposing of their involvement with Kashubia and that for all that those lands were worth, their ultimate plans were not being realized as sooner than many had hoped.

Oswald swirled the contents of his glass before him as he then looked at Kiel, "I had a meeting with the Oberkommando the other day, they tell me the situation in Kashubia is worsening by the day. How did we allow ourselves to get dragged into these petty conflicts?" he questioned Kiel before downing the glass whole of all it's alcohol content. The Federals and their allies had recently pulled off what was their Christmas offensive which was pushing the Wehrmacht inch by inch out of the east, seeing fighting occur for former battlefields like Gryazanaya and New Impen and even Uslan. It seemed that perhaps the coalition pitted against the Wehrmacht were too much to handle, that total defeat could be coming to the Wehrmacht and the Kashubian Republic. The Golden Throne had also taken advantage of the worsening situation in Kashubia, it committed it's forces to seizing Pezlevko and were also pushing for Rubino, which at any rate would fall before the end of January. The Wehrmacht were also still fighting in the vast jungles of Holy Panooly, it seemed that the Golden Throne had seen their Operation Wolverine and had raised them a lightening offensive not expected by the Kashubians or the Wehrmacht.

"Those capitalist scoundrels in Macabea, that's who I believe are the ones who led us to our fate. They've been in bed with the enemy for too long, and while we knew this? What did we do? Nothing..." Kiel stated with a more serious tone. "Richtofen must have been too blind to see it, right in front of our faces". Kiel further said as he took a sip of his glass and set it down again. Christian Richtofen had probably been the biggest advocate for normal and friendly relations with the Golden Throne, in the period when Kashubia was still under occupation and the Kashubian Republic was being formed, helped with large funds to help stimulate the local economy. He would be led to great disappointment when the Golden Throne had begun to turn it's back on the Reich and instead favored it's enemies, merely as massive staging grounds for a gargantuan war against a Gothic power known as the Scandinavians, a well known and infamous slaver empire, such governments had before been friendly with the Reich with that being the Ralkovian Empire. However the Reich's ambitions had shifted as of late and all it cared for was it's cementing of it's influence in Dienstad.

"Richtofen was right however, Johann. Aligning ourselves with the Golden Throne, who at the time were recovering from some war that nearly saw their nation destroyed. It had been betrayed by it's neighbors, but look what it has done over these years? Zarbia? Guffinglord? Now they are under the thumb of the same nation they sought to destroy and paid the price." Grossmann explained as Kiel listened. "At the time, aligning with them was the best foreign policy move our Reich could have done at the time." He finished. It was true, a re-surging Golden Throne was the perfect chance to align and seek the benefits to be had with such the relations had between the two countries, at least before things started going sour. However, Grossmann had Jogornos Andru Agostal close to his side metaphorically as the two had worked together during the time leading up to Richtofen calling for a succession from him to the new Fuhrer. That was his trick up his sleeve, for despite how the wars turned out, he was guaranteed with the private conversations had between the two that the Reich and the Golden Throne would see their relations renewed and expanded upon.

"Why do you keep him around?" Kiel suddenly spurted to Grossmann in a questioning like manner. Grossmann looked at him for a moment before responding. "Who?" he asked before Kiel continued. "The Jogornos, that Andru Agostal, why do you keep him around? He shouldn't be trusted being so close to you, I for one have my doubts about where his loyalties lie." He finished. Grossmann let out a silent sigh to himself as he thought over a response. Jogornos Andru Agostal was likely one of the most influential Macabeeans in the entire Reich, a close relationship that had been shrouded in secrecy even before becoming Fuhrer, a relationship that to this day Richtofen did not agree with.

"Jogornos Agostal is our ticket to keeping the Golden Throne on our side, forget the wars for right now, Kiel. Look at the future, look forward not backwards." Grossmann said. "He is the key to our expansion of our sphere of influence across the region at large, maybe even beyond. He is a trusted personal friend of mine, I know where his loyalties lie, and they lie with the future of Dienstad. The future of our race." He finished as Kiel stroked his wrinkling face while pondering on what Grossmann had just said to him. Perhaps he was right, the man was putting all his cards down on that man, and for his sake he was hoping he was doing the right thing.

by **Quirina** » Tue Feb 28, 2017 11:57 am

TITLE: The Vision of Saint Quirinus of Rome
AUTHOR: Not recorded (Quirina), circa AD 267

I, Quirinus, son of the Roman emperor, Marcus Julius Philippus, proclaim the Word of our Lord
In my lips I speak Truth, His Way, as His Life,
As Christ Jesus holds my covenant, judged by the Law.

In the night of the third of Quintilis, I awoke from a cold breeze,
Walking towards a the deserted plains, I see a gate, gold and high.
In its sight, was I amazed, nor any kingdom or empire possess such.

Thus says a man, "Come follow me, you who are covenant of the Truth."
And soon, the Gates opened with the clouds of the skies embracing the plains.
Upon such glory, the saints are beholding their communion with the Lamb
"Holy, Holy, Holy to our Lord, Righteous to give praise!" they exclaim.

A Thundering presence came from the Highest, a bright shining light
The saints and angels glorified His Presence
With my eyes unable to see the source of Such Glorious Gaze
My knees began to drop, cried and sobbed.
It was here, that I was before God.

Trembling, shaking, but rejoicing in my heart,
I stood, with the saints and angels, singing unto Him
"Holy, Holy, Holy to our Lord, Righteous to give praise!"
Upon my seventh exclaim, I awoke and prayed,
kneeling, crying, on my head,
by such Glorious Testimony.

by **Greater Themis** » Sat Mar 11, 2017 5:17 am

TITLE: The Second Step
AUTHOR: Greater Themis

Amongst the followers of the Old Gods, there was a belief that one could tell when the God of Death was present. Whether it was a shadow in the corner of one's eye, the grey mist that slowly descended on the deceased's eyes, or that feeling of something in the room; it was a difficult superstition to ridicule for those who had experienced death. Even the supposedly more enlightened believers of the Orthodox church, or those who had forsaken religion, gave in to folklore that had persisted over the centuries, of a woman cloaked in shadow come to claim souls, or that imported Dienstadi cultural icon of the 'Grim Reaper'.

That unnatural feeling was present with Inspector Aleczandra, as she sat at the end of a dying man's bed. In her black police uniform, two silver stars flanked by the silver bars of her rank, she almost blended in to the shadows at the end of the room, the dim reading light above the bed the only illumination in this side room. That light lit up the form of a human, pipework and cables springing out of every orifice, to monitors that blinked in a stack beside him. A uniformed nurse, his position denoted by his sky-blue tunic and shoulder tabbards, slowly drew up medicines by his bedside, fluids and drugs keeping the shell of the man alive and at peace as he slowly drifted into the eternal darkness.

The doctor in the intensive care unit had assured her there was no chance of a full recovery for the former Mr Hansen. In between him collapsing in the street, screaming that he had been poisoned, and the current hour, he had suffered a catastrophic bleed into his brain, bringing on seizure after seizure. By the time he was on the operating table, even the precision and skill of the neurosurgeons were not enough to roll back the damage done. There had been little they could do to a brain so damaged that he could no longer breath. The only decision now was for how long to keep him tied to machines, continuing life to all but his already-dead mind. And so, the question shifted to the how – what had caused him to shout poison? He wasn't one to ask now.

The Registrar-Medical had already been involved with the case; whilst normally buerocracy would intervene, it was assumed the man was dead already. Despite that, as he was still technically alive, it was the work of the National Police to investigate the circumstances. In Inspector Aleczandra's mind though, there was little to comment on. The glaring sign were a couple scars on the man's arms and feet, pinprick marks concealed from sight, but following his veins. Blood tests had revealed all the stigmata of an overdose, specifically of methamphetamine. A significant dose that would explain his apparent delirium, haemorrhagic stroke, and seizures. Whilst not fitting the profile of a drug addict, the Inspector knew not to judge. Crystal meth had a substantial following as a party drug amongst circles where cocaine didn't do the trick, as the fuel to parties and orgies that could last for days. For those into that scene, who could afford it, such a party buzz could eventually become less an occasional treat, and more a necessary habit. Especially for Mr Hansen. With an investment empire and deep personal pockets, the ability to work for days without sleep were certainly things that would have given him the edge in negotiating and deal brokering.

Besides, they had looked at the evidence. The man had disappeared off CCTV to duck into a private toilet in his offices, and stumbled out twenty minutes later in a state of delirium. They had found the paraphenalia of drug use, alongside an empty sachet, in the man's briefcase. Again it had tested positive for the drug. Nobody else in the area, no signs of a struggle, nothing suspect.

Outside the door, another officer of the National Police stood on guard, amongst the reduced light that signalled night time for the patients here. He nodded to the Inspector as she left the room, letting the door close tight behind her. Through the slat blinds, she could just about see the man, chest rising and falling mechanically, amidst a constellation of lights and screens.
''This is going to be pretty straight-forward. Occasional drug-using businessman overdoses due to stress from business deals going through. I've wrapped up all the ends on the ground, and with the doctors and medical notes here. Moral of the story, don't do drugs.''
The officer nodded, knowing look on his face.
''So that'll be us done here.''
''Good. I'll meet you at the car.''

The Inspector paced off, leaving the lone officer as he quickly paced for the toilet. His simple rank as an Agent of the National Police concealed an experience beyond his uniform, one that was based in a shadow world. Unlike the Inspector, he knew far more about the man in question than she ever would. Mr Hansen was, like many investors, a man with many debts in his company's name. As the owner, that made him liable. Debts racked up from living a high life, of parties, cocaine and luxury travel. On top of the world, he had assumed that the debts would go away, his company taking care of them, his future investments seeing him making even more money to pay them off.
An associate of his, an apprentice, had been there that day, entering the man's office whilst he was away. It was him who had suggested that Mr Hansen's recent drug habit could benefit for something far more potent. Pure crystal methamphetamine from an anonymous Mokan laboratory, proof grade, nothing like the low-quality cut the man would usually use. With a little added quantity to the sachet, the man had administered himself a lethal dose. Taking time to remove the miniature cameras he had installed a month previously as one of the building's contracted electrician, he had busied himself with his usual work, barely noting the commotion caused by his target's antics.
And so, through the man's death, his remaining assets would be liquidated and sold off by his creditors, as per the terms of his many loans and debts. Alongside the various fees and interest levied, there would be little left of the once-great estate of Mr Hansen. His company would also face being taken over. But that was another person's job. His work was over. He quickly typed a text on his small second phone, the one which would be burnt after the message he was sending.

''It is done. It is just a matter of time.''
He paused. His apprentice was a neophyte in his organisation. His intensive training, in a distant location in Qoryx, had forged an already exceptional warrior into a cold, killing machine. His field training, under close supervision by him and another colleague, was nominally just that, teaching him the practical aspects of infiltration, espionage and sabotage. For him it was all training, and not real – he had no idea that the man was actually dead. He had been averse to pulling the trigger, he felt – but at the same time, this candidate had initiative.

''He is ready for the Second Step.''

by **Palmyrion** » Mon Apr 03, 2017 8:36 pm

TITLE: Elizabeth: Tulog na, baby ko (Go to sleep, my child)
AUTHOR: Merrion

By 1950s law, Christian G. Tanalgo was an illegitimate child, a bastard in the Kogyokist and Marshite eyes of Palmyrion - but a human nonetheless, as the Progressive Christian Marshite Church christened this child 2 months after the child's birthday, the latency explainable by regular People's Army patrols sacking any house believed to be housing Christian fellowship meetings. His father de facto recognized him, but he was de jure a child not recognized by their father to be of his blood; this was because the nearest government facility where they can get paternal recognition forms was...500km away. That is how he's a Tanalgo instead of a Lauzon.

"Tulog na, baby ko," Elizabeth sang a lullaby to a 10-month-old Christian G. Tanalgo as she rocked him gently in her arms, while Christian cooed softly and reached for his mother by waving his arms towards her face. Finally Christian was asleep, and Elizabeth kissed him with a motherly compassion on his forehead, as she went to her superior. She was undergoing training as a seawoman onboard the Revolutionary Navy - back then, made of vessels on loan from the Marshite Navy, consisting of a mere 100 vessels while their enemy outnumbered their navy 10 times over.

Her training over, she went back to her lodge - a simple, olive drab-colored tent not too dissimilar from the Marshite Ranger tents around her, with the basic furniture and appliances - and carried her baby back on her arms.

"Christian, anak, let it be known that you were born and raised in a land of strife...this deluge of blood will surely end." she said compassionately to her sleeping 10-month-old baby. "Your father surely had to lay his life for all that he loved and cared for, which is us..." tears began to well up as her voice changed into a sad tone, "I know it's not yet the right time to know your father's fate, but you will know...in you his warrior blood flows...to you I promise that war will never lay its malevolent fingers on you..." Elizabeth began to weep lightly as she said these words to her baby, who was already struggling to sleep as he moved lightly from one side to another, apparently sensing his mother's deep-seated sullen sadness in her spoken words, "I will make sure that the life you will live will be one free of strife, one free of bloodshed, one where no harm will come your way..."

Tales from Greater Dienstad (short stories only)

Tales from Greater Dienstad (short stories only)

One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts

Who is online