[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

by **Harren Island** » Fri Nov 02, 2018 8:29 pm

Harren Island and its people were dragged into the modern era by force, leading to almost a century of turbulent and chaotic times. It now stands at a crossroads; contested by three different administrations that each believe they're the best option for the future and all of which intend to end this century of strife and herald an age of stability and prosperity for Harren Island.

Harrenian Hegemony in Exile -
The Premier and his fleet of coastal defence ships, destroyers, torpedo boats and light raiding craft have blockaded all of Harren Island’s ports, actively chasing off neutral shipping and sinking any craft that attempted to leave port. The Port Cities subsequently attempted a breakout using a hastily armed ad-hoc flotilla of fishing vessels but only succeeded in causing a minor ecological incident when oil spilled into the channel and blocking their own harbour entrance with their lost vessels. Over the radio and on repeat, Balthazar has broadcast the following;

“I, Premier Balthazar of the Harrenian Hegemony, rightful ruler of Harren Island, have been wrongfully ousted by dangerous terrorists who will seek to overthrow lawful governments across the world. These insurgent organisations, claiming to peacefully represent Harren Island, are illegal, treasonous, illegitimate and under sentence of death. I hereby request the assistance of nations willing to help put down all of these treacherous international extremists and promise the friendship of a grateful and powerful country in the years to come.”

Fig. Harrenian Fishing Trawler hit after leaving port at 1632hrs. Sunk at 1701hrs losing 102 hands. Photo taken by the blockading forces.

Balthazar slid his hands up and down on the wet railing, enjoying the feeling of his grip on the cool metal as he basked in the warm rays of sunlight shining down on him and his fleet. He breathed in the salty sea air and tasted the tang on his lips as he gazed out past a rusty anchor chain and over the sharply-angled prow of his flagship, the HH Ascendancy, his largest Coastal Defence Ship. It was obsolete by any international standards and was laughably pathetic compared to any modern warship, however, it carried large guns and suited his purposes for now. He constantly compared it to the Super-Battleships of his dreams, ones he'd create, ones that could contest the Oceans against the other powers and forge an Harrenian Empire as large as Valyrien, if not larger. It only takes a great visionary to build a country into a superpower.

He considered having another one of the Port Cities bombarded to hasten their inevitable defeat but decided against it; he'd already used up enough ammunition on the capital and he needed to keep a supply available to deal with any shipping that dared to try and run the gauntlet. He snarled to himself as he stared out over the lapping waters to the buildings on the coast. These damned rebels had cost him time. For what? He had initially laughed when he noticed the rolling blackouts, amused by their inability to maintain even the simplest things without his leadership but now it irked him that they had been able to cast him out at all.

Someone would be punished for that and dearly. They jeopardized and delayed Harren's glorious future for nothing but selfish desires. He spun away from the railing and angrily marched back past the forward turret and made his way to the bridge. Everyone he passed snapped to attention, including the Captain when he arrived. Disregarding them all, he clicked his fingers and ordered, 'Fire a single broadside into the City. Remind them that destiny is waiting.'

Harrenian Confederacy of Port Cities -
Having only just recently converted into a direct democracy, hundreds of sweeping changes were rapidly proposed, voted on and implemented across the entire Confederacy. At first, these were quality of life improvements to rescind some of the worst policies implemented by Balthazar and that improved things. Unfortunately, a lot of decisions were made without consideration to larger issues or how they’d effect society as a whole and this has led to, among a list of other issues, rampant hyperinflation, rocketing crime rates and failures to provide essential services. A few influential speakers started to sway votes towards more sensible choices before Balthazar’s Blockade jeopardised what little progress had been made and threw them into a state of anarchy. With the fishing fleets trapped and virtually no agricultural infrastructure to speak of, the Confederacy has declared a state of famine.

Fig. One of the empty state-run shops. Food banks and national stockpiles are similarly empty. Photo taken by a local.

Alex had risen up with the rest when Balthazar was overthrown, he had taken up his rifle and joined the Citizen Militias, he had even fired it at a State Police Unit that had been trying to maintain order even though he didn't believe he'd hit anyone. Now he wondered why they had ever done it. He was hungry and whilst he had a say, he didn't have a meal.

*Ding* Alex glanced down at his phone and opened the Confederate Politics App.
STATE PROPOSAL - Consider Negotiations with Balthazar. (Yes/No/Abstain)
He hovered over yes before deciding against it and clicked 'No'. He wasn't desperate enough yet to consider that. 'No' won by a significant margin and Alex smiled, another win for this system. There were problems of course but no system was perfect and there are teething issues to work out. He laughed at that, teeth, was everything about food?

Checking the new public forums, he found a trending video with over a million views discussing the situation, laying out the facts as they were commonly known and projecting possible futures depending on state choices. The point on the video that raised the most controversy was the statement, 'If the Confederacy continues to be paralyzed and fails to take any relevant action in time, the famine can only lead to cannibalism and an eventual restoration of Balthazar regardless of the Confederacy's desires'. Alex was about to post a comment in response when he had a better idea.

He rapidly typed out a Proposal in the App, whilst his stomach rumbled, and submitted it.
*Ding*
STATE PROPOSAL - To prevent worst case scenario, make cannibalism punishable by death. (Yes/No/Abstain)
Alex smugly clicked 'Yes'. That eventuality had to be prevented at all costs and it seemed like the people agreed with him because the law passed pretty much instantly with almost a unanimous vote. There, worst case scenario prevented.

In her home, the creator of the video stared with incredulity at the App and the most recently ratified law. How could people be so fucking stupid? She stared out her window at the City and the hordes of people mobbing around like ants in the streets below protesting about the shortages and cried, howling in rage and frustration before breaking down and laughing hysterically. They finally have the freedom to govern their own lives and this is what they make of it?!

*Ding*

She threw the phone out of the window.
She followed.

Harrenian Heartlands -
The Heartlands had foreseen a food supply issue after being cut off by the Port Cities and had already instituted an emergency rationing system and an agricultural development program prior to Balthazar’s Blockade. However, these last minute measures have only put a dent in the issue and the Heartlands are long way from becoming self-sufficient. In addition, they’ve begun the construction of defensive lines and positions in case of an attack from the Confederacy that vastly outnumbers them. The University of Harren has released the following press statement;

‘We are aware exactly how vulnerable our position is, especially given the recent state of affairs with Premier Balthazar’s Blockading forces and the desperate situation they have caused in the Confederacy. We are actively seeking out allies ’

Fig. Defensive position somewhere in the Heartlands. Photo provided by the Harrenian University.

University Director Nathaniel Lockwood straightened his suit as he descended the stairs to the conference chamber. He'd been constantly darting between meetings, dealing with issues as they cropped up and making preparations to weather the coming storm. Stopping outside the door, he pulled his comb out and tidied his hair before steadying himself and walking through into the crowded room, snaking his way to the podium at the front and testing the microphone.

'Ladies and Gentlemen. I shall be honest. If the Confederacy were to invade tomorrow morning, it would be over by noon. We don't have the time, materials, industrial capability or manpower to establish a significant defence but hopefully our very public efforts to do so will delay any potential invasion for as long as possible. We need to use each and every second to improve our position. Today, we shall plan exactly that, our long term survival strategy.'

Four hours later, Nathaniel left the meeting with a feeling of cautious optimism. He headed to the dining hall in order to get his day's ration and take a moment to reflect on the decisions made. It was determined that three things were necessary to give the Heartlands a fighting chance; a source of food until self-sufficiency is achieved in eighteen months, a supply of heavy weapons to decimate the militias the Confederacy could muster, and the destruction or obstruction of Balthazar's fleet to relieve the entire situation.

To those ends, feelers were being extended to mercenary groups and foreign nations across the world. The flaw in the plan being; the Heartlands can't promise much apart from antiques and treasures recovered in dig sites and the recently discovered library and even then, nothing can be provided up front due to them being entirely cut off in the middle of Harren Island. Negotiations were going to be difficult or costly. Or both.

by **Auruum** » Fri Nov 02, 2018 11:27 pm

Undermine City, Pillar of Kings

Once more the Big Six were convened, Draga being holographically projected in her usual seat as she was in the Gadgetzan Territory overseeing a Diplomatic Summit. The Trade-King would start the meeting off in the usual manner, opening up the meeting to any Trade-Prince who wished to report any news. The usual reports on economic growth and diplomatic relations to ensure that Aurum's existence and continued progress was unhindered, until Trade-Princess Genova Bladebane spoke up. "A few of my Mercenaries and Privateers apparently picked up on two different messages from a small island up north. An Island called Harren, used to be a nest for Pirates up north and remained largely unnoticed for most of it's history...Until just recently." Genova smiled and clicked a few buttons, bringing up a display with a brief summary on Harren, including the Island's geography, and images of individuals and events as Genova spoke about them. "The Island was briefly brought under the rule of a 'Premier Balthazar' who was something of a societal scholar before it seems the power went to his head and he began passing laws which began to strangle the people. Eventually a rebellion happened and he took the tiny island's military and went into exile, After that the Island broke into three pieces. Balthazar wants his kingdom back and seems happy to sit with his fleet and starve out his kingdom until they beg him to come back, The, at one point, Influential Port Cities which have become a Confederacy, with a direct democracy that has proven to be completely incapable of proposing, voting, and ratifying sensible laws until it was too late. They are starving, but their fancy smartphone apps let every single bumbling moron with thumbs get to suggest a law, or vote on which suggestions get made into a law." She paused as several of the Big Six snorted or snickered at the silly notion.
"And then there is the Heartlands, Mainly centered around a University farther inland. They want to run things, but they are outnumbered and pretty much trapped, That said, they are handling the lack of supplies far better than the Port Cities are. Granted they are still doomed without help."
The Trade-King spoke up next "You said you caught two messages from this island nation, What were they?"
"Well one was Balthazar basically sentencing anyone who wasn't himself to death and claiming the island was full of terrorists. He promises, And I quote, 'The friendship of a grateful and powerful country in the years to come'. The other message was from the Heartlands, they are offering payment to help secure themselves further. They claim they have treasure and artifacts, as well as ancient books."
A number of eyebrows perked. Genova smirked. "I propose we help these poor humans with their burden of treasure, and gain yet another Ally, one that is grateful, and firmly under our thumb. Compared to the Hegemony, or the Confederacy, Our way is sure to be generous, a welcome change to the strangulation, and far too good of a deal to pass up."

Hours Later...

A small fleet of Airships was prepped for takeoff, One cargo ship, stocked with equal parts food, weapons, and other essentials. Enough for ten families. Another ship was filled with roughly forty Mercenary Soldiers, Goblin, Orc, Troll, and even a number of Enslaved Hobgoblins. And finally a number of escorts were prepped to make the long flight to Harren Island, a Diplomat, by the name of Gazziks Sparkrocket preparing to make contact with the Heartlands as they neared Harrenian Airspace.

The Escort craft would kindly broadcast a radio message to the Exile Fleets. "One bullet pings off our armor, And we'll sink every single trash barge in your fleet. Be Smart, Balthazar. Have a Lovely Day."

by **Iryllia** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 4:24 am

Our story concerns three, all entirely unrelated or so each would have you think. Three who'd been told at least once in their life: "May you ever live in interesting times." And my oh my, were these interesting times. Although many would look elsewhere to cite higher levels of "interesting." To those stuck in the now, it was plenty interesting.

We shall look to the first of the three.

The Diplomat

Lieutenant Kathrin Naumann had been, emphasis on the had, a minor clerk at the Iryllian consulate to the Herren Hegemony. Established in the last few of the Hegemony's ascendancy, the entire nation occupied the barest footnote in Iryllian foreign policy. All the way off on the other side of the world, a little backwater island playing dictator. Something worth having an open dialogue with but, well. A good place to put people who were being issues.

She cut a rather dashing figure in her uniform, a heart breaker and heart maker back in the academy. Good looks and a silver tongue, fiery red hair and eyes that were often compared to the sea. Which was complete crap in her opinion, since when was the sea green? Especially here, crystal blue and flowing. Why not the trees or the leaves? Much more romantic.

Kathrin herself landed the spot here with a dreaded mix of being new, and quite possibly having an affair with a General, who's wife happened to be her boss a few rungs up the chain. Something something the price of ambition, see. Her plan had been to sleep with the geezer, get him to sleep her name into the dispatches his wife got, get a nice cushy posting in Chargren or whatever and live up the big city life in somewhere half way civilised.

And so here she was, in the middle of nowhere, under the dumbest captain she'd ever heard of, let alone meet. In a position where career advancement was measured in decades. Technically, in cases of emergency she was something like fifth in line for head of the contingent here. She'd found this out reading dusty old documents she was pretty sure she shouldn't have been reading but was certain no one else in the place had.

And then this whole revolution thing happened.

Details were unnecessary, needless to say the rest of the consulate didn't survive. A dreadful loss, surely but their sacrifices (and lack there of) would not be in vain. Kathrin had proclaimed this at some point. Probably. What actually mattered now is that she, in one hundred percent official capacity laid out in documents that tragically had to be burned when the consulate was overrun by blood thirsty rebels, was the official voice of Iryllia. Guiding the Hegemony in this time of crisis.

And now all she had to do was wait for the Premier to summon her, the message petitioning a meeting had been laden with promises and potential sly bribes. All perfectly capable of being for fulfilled once she got the proper facilities to contact Iryllia.

Of course.

But now, out story pivots to the coast, to the next character in our story.

The Smuggler

Valentina Innokentievna, known to the people here as Valya, was many things. An entrepreneur, or maybe a merchant. A great surveyor of large piles of cash. A robin hood, a thief. Perhaps a scoundrel. Smuggler, she was a smuggler. A good one she told people. She worked for one of the biggest crime syndicates in the charter. The Iryllian Government. Not officially of course, none of this was. She hadn't been home in over a decade, nor did she want too because she was technically dead.

Technicalities aside, she operated here as the end of one very long tendril coming down from Central Rusina. It was a nice place here, warm, naive and possessed something that was almost better than Aurumite gold to her. No, not Ruons. A tinpot dictatorship. Revolutions were exceptionally profitable thing. She'd organised the "finding" of a lot of crates that fell of the back of trucks. shipments of fish that weighed far more than a crate of fish ever should. Forged documents, passports. All, for a price of course. A very good price. She'd become very rich off of this whole venture and was looking to get out.

Hard thing to do when all the ports were under blockade.

Six foot two, black hair and tanned skin wore jeans and a t-shirt, a faded combat jacket rested over the seat she was sat out. Blue eyes surveyed this fresh mob marching loosely down the street. She sat in front of a ruined cafe, one that had been hit by the shell fire when Balthazar had pulled out. She checked her phone, the public forums had been lighting up ever since the morning. A video circulating, well structured. Laying out seemingly accurately the situation and where it was heading. A grim picture for sure.

People were getting desperate. Desperate people would pay good money for things. She reckoned she could start getting food shipments in from Rome, maybe Tai Ruka. Nocturnalis or maybe even Asgareth. Small scale stuff, haul it up on ropes from the cliff sides were the blockade wasn't as present. Something that had been niggling at the back of her mind, the way this country was being run. This weird app thing. Policy by all at the press of a button. It didn't seem to be getting anyone anywhere. Everyone just said things and assumed that'd fix the issues. No one seemed to be doing anything. No order, hence the protests. But there didn't actually seem to be a government. Just this stupid app thing.

The politics were beyond her. She was just a simply smuggler after all, and this place was running out of food. People would pay good money for food. And here came the person she was going to talk too about the food.

She was going to be very rich when she got out of these.

And now, we shift further inland. To the last of our three protagonists.

The Spy.

The Spy was, as all great ones were. A student.

Normal procedure for Iryllian spy teams were groups of three, set up somewhere with the minimum of equipment. Usually either ethnic converts or whatever. They went off and did their thing and all was well and merry.

This spies name, or one of them at least, was Ashley. A short, scholarly looking person with large round brass framed glasses. Always in the background, in the corner of the lecture theatre. A soft voice and a face that was completely unassuming. They were, as many others were, a member of an archaeology team, tasked with plumbing the depths of these fascinating ruins. Their job as a spy was to compile and send back the data recovered from these ruins. A fair few artefacts had already been sold on the open markets. Relatively minor in comparison to the troves unearthed in recent months.

Yet so much of it was just being sold. Sold out of desperation. Even as the country around them was coming to pieces. Ashley worried, mildly, that her document on the almost complete findings in the dig sites would become all that was left of this frankly fascinating country. Left in some confidential archive to be lost to time forever. As their own country pawned off their findings to just survive.

Ashley had been studying these ruins for a long time now. They reckoned they'd only just scratched the surface. These ancient catacombs dug deep into this earth. Perhaps salvation lay deep at the centre of this maze. Ashley was going to find whatever that was first. It'd be far better than whatever muscle pawning off precious history could buy.

Find it. Preserve it.

Then figure out what the hell to do next.

by **The Black Hand** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 9:11 am

Unknown Time, Unknown Place, Unknown Location

Darkness. That was the first impression that the temple of the Black Hand gave. Oppressing, all-consuming, darkness.

The great underground cavern was etched with arcane symbols that ran all around the rough stone walls in no clear pattern, but nonetheless drew the eye like a fly trap draws its prey, with equally unpleasant consequences. The carvings seemed to head towards a large, crude alter that dominated the central chamber. Whilst unremarkable in of itself; the deep red stains mixed with various other fluids spoke to a much darker purpose than mere decoration. Slowly, a single light began to flicker, revealing a figure at the head of the altar. The figure slowly raised a palm, and motioned towards the darkness. A light, at the opposite end of the cavern,grudgingly glimmered into existence, revealing a second figure. In turn, a third light began to flicker. Within moments, several hooded figures materialised out of the dark.

“Greetings brothers.” The figure at the altar intoned solemnly. “We come from far and wide to answer the summons of the master.”
“As he calls so we shall answer.” Recited the others in a monotone voice.

“First we must address the state of our other good works across the globe. How faired our efforts in Caerlegion?”
“Speaker, they went as foreseen.” Said one of the figures stepping forward. “Under our influence King Llewyn sent word to Asgar, Rome and Avldsnes. The results have been most favourable…”

“Likewise in the brewing conflict, lord Speaker.” Interjected another of the cultists. “We have ensured lasting hatred between the Romans and Acadians. The stage is now set for the second phase, by the leave of the master of course…”
“With regards to Rusina, my lord.” Added the furthest member who had been standing in the shadows. “They continue to fight, much as they always have, over small clumps of sand and mud.” He cackled loudly. “Indeed, I dare say, that if we were to cease interfering, they would continue to fight, so great is their newly re-discovered malice.”
The cackling was soon joined in by the rest of the group. “Truly the master is all knowing!” One exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed he is. For even in his absence, he is aware of your failings.” Replied the speaker ominously. “Tell me, who else knows of your mistakes in Oceanion?”
An awkward silence descended on the room, the nervousness of the cultists clearly noticeable despite their features being obscured.
“Thankfully for you all The One intervened on our behalf.” Continued the head cultist. “The mistake has been rectified and the guardians will bother us no more. The efforts on Friendly Island however... The master had devised a bloodbath yet I hear Asgareth and Rome have ceased sending men. Why?” The question echoed around the chamber and the silence deepened.

One of the cultists immediately threw himself in front of the speaker “it is my fault my lord!” He said prostrating himself before the altar. “I tried to persuade the Imperiali to follow through on his son’s madness, however he would not be swayed.”
A second figure stood forward. “With Asgareth backing down the Prince Nero also saw no reason to escalate matters. These bouts of rational thought are something I fully intend to… correct, Lord Speaker.

The Speaker remained silent for a moment observing the prostrated man. “This is a great shame.” he said, his tones laden with disappointment. “With the Romans and Asgarthians withdrawing the Skjouldurians will be forced to yield, furthermore the Valari will see no reason to intervene. The One does not appreciate failure.”
In a few swift movements the Speaker was towering above the kneeling man, and in one foul swoop sliced his throat from ear to ear with an ornate dagger.

“With the sacrifice of this lowly servant I channel the great prophet!” The speaker exclaimed. “The one who relays the voice of The One, and master of us all!”
“Glory on to him, Glory on to him. We await his coming!” The assembled host chanted, as the unfortunates blood pooled on the stones of the altar. The stone slab itself started to glow with a horrible red aura, which spread to the carvings on the walls causing the whole cavern to be illuminated in the dreadful colour.

The light suddenly coalesced into a great ball above the altar and began to change shape. Randomly at first but soon it became a great red skull, eye sockets ablaze with unholy fire. Which, in an abysmal voice, spoke to its congregation.

“Speaker… your followers have summoned me at an opportune time. There is talk of war brewing between kinmen on an island not too far north of here. Such delicious turbulence so close to our holy site is nothing less than a sign from The One. We cannot allow such a glorious event to go to waste. Go, my disciples. Fulfill the wishes of The One. Ensure the sands of Harren are forever tainted with the blood of their own.” With a booming laugh, the skull exploded into nothingness, blinding the congregation with its ungodly power.

Their orders received the cultists faded back into the darkness whence they came. As the light gave way to the dark the Speaker smirked to himself. The people of Harren would soon feel the icy grip of the Black Hand. Whether they knew it or not...

by **Asgareth** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 1:50 pm

Asgar House, Asgar, Asgareth
The Imperiali was in a meeting with Rufus T. Perkins. As a result of the rest of the cabinets current absence from the capital, he had also requested the presence of his second son, Yulta Ross. They were discussing a troubling report from the Commander in Chief of the Isles of Gespe and Leximus, regarding a small nation by the name of Harren Island.

“This… Balthazar? You say he wants to establish Harren Island as a global empire?” The Imperiali quizzed, studying Rufus.
“Yes, my lord. Some say he dreams to become bigger than the Valarisk.” Rufus responded solemnly.
“And in so doing, outsize the Asgarthian Empire.” The Imperiali interrupted. “Tell me, are the Archonian Isles secure?”
“With few threats in the area, they are secured, my lord. If this Balthazar did try anything, the fleets and ground forces stationed there, and in Point d’vur, would be more than enough to repel any invasion.”
“Good. But still, the idea of a dictatorship in that area proves challenging. Tell me about… these port cities."

"Well, and I should say, I may have misinterpreted the report. But it would seem they are a... democracy. A complete one. Their people vote on everything - should the grass be cut, should the mountain be moved two miles north, should the island move to Rusina. It is a peculiar system, my lord, and one that I will never quite understand."
"No, nor will I. Only the insane would suggest democracy. Yulta, what of these heartlands?"

"Simplistic enough, father." Yulta began. "The heartlands appear to be overrun by students. The troubles they cause there are most likely drunken antics, much like Axic and I got up to in our youth. Small population centre, unlikely to be able to cause a real fight."
"So a lost cause then?" The Imperiali asked.
"I'm afraid so."

The Imperiali paused for a moment
“Our path is clear. In this instance, we must support the democratic right of the Harrenian peoples. Perhaps they will remember our graciousness, when Asgareth calls upon them to do so.”
“Well, they are in the grips of a famine. Balthazar has blockaded the island, preventing essential aid. The international community appear unmoved by these actions.”
“Send them grain, milk, ale. The essentials. The Isles of Gespe and Leximus, along with Point d’vur can provide the airlift. Regular supplies will weaken Balthazar's blockade, as well as buy us good favour with this weak democracy."
“Father, why do you wish to stand against a dictator? You have never before stood for democracy."
"It is not democracy that I am standing for. If Balthazar comes to power, he threatens the Asgarthian isles in Archon, and the Roman mainland. This, we cannot allow to happen."

by **Caerlegion** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 2:10 pm

The Kings private chambers, Pembroke Castle

The night was silent and the air was thick with anticipation, the King was pacing frantically outside one of his chambers. There was an almighty scream piercing from the room, the King demanded to be let in but was advised by his most trusted advisor Mark. The King finally sat down after heeded Marks advice. The screaming continued for another 20 minutes until finally all fell quiet throughout the castle. Everyone was on tender-hooks as to why it was so quiet, then there was a deafening cry from inside, the King let out a huge sigh of relief and was beckoned in by one of the highly trained nurses into the room. Llewyn walked slowly over to the bed and saw his son for the first time. His wife was holding that precious child with the most tender and loving hold. The King looked at his son and proclaimed “My son, out of my entire kingdom you are my most treasured possession” Llewyn said in a soft tone. He turned to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. Before anyone can speak the King announced that his son was to be Aurelius Ap Llewyn, Prince of Caerlegion, Duke of Brecon. Just as the King was holding his son, the brother of the Queen, the Roman Imperial Prince Drusus entered the room and everyone was shocked that Drusus has been sober for 2 hours as he wanted to hold his nephew, mainly to check that his nephew did not have webbed feet. The King took back his son to hold his most treasured possession. Just as the King sat down, Mark Anthony entered the room and informed the King of a developing situation.

The War Room, Pembroke Castle

After General Mark Anthony pulled the King away only hours after his son was born, he told the King that news was spreading from the Roman Court of a situation in the Harren Island near Rome. Mark laid the situation in basic terms for the King, the previous dictator was overthrown and now he’s blockading the Island, the Islands themselves have split into two factions, The Heartlands and the Coastal Ports. Then Mark received word that the Goblins gotten involved and they was supporting the Heartland, given the recent history war between the two nations the King saw this as an opportunity to show the world the true might of my armies. “Mark, you are to sail immediately take a few ships and your army to support the coastal ports” Mark nodded and bowed to the King and left to prepare the Caerlegion men for the trip to the Harren Island.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 2:12 pm

Imperial Palace, Nova Roma, Imperium Romae in Perpetuum

The Prince Gaius Octavius Nero Filius Caesaris was exhausted. Following Caesar’s return from Campaignia for the wedding of his daughter Nero thought his workload would have been lightened, instead even more duties had been devolved to him. Whether this was a test to see his capacities as heir or a punishment for some slight he was unclear. One thing he was sure about however was that his insistence to review every document requiring the Imperial Seal was stupid.

Just as he braced himself to return to the stack of documents on his desk, he was interrupted by Prefect Aelius Sejanus the head of Praetorian Intelligence. To the prince’s despair he was accompanied by a slave carrying yet more documents.

“My prince.” Sejanus announced, closing the door behind him. “The latest security reports per your standing request.” Nero sighed.

“Summarise it for me.” He said tiredly. “I still haven’t okayed further relief efforts in Ravenna yet…”

“As you wish sire. Some reports regarding the nocturnal affairs of several high-ranking senators and business magnates, how much the Prince Drusus has charged the Imperial Treasury this week, latest military positioning in Gaul, Intelligences predictions for the Asgar city hockey derby…I’m sorry sire they should have been removed.”

“Leave them in.” Nero said dismissively. “I made a few bets with Trajan and I want to know my chances. Anything actually interesting?”

“Well there is one thing.” Sejanus said vaguely. “One of our fleets has intercepted a communication from a Balthazar who’s used to rule a nearby island nation.”

“Used to rule?” Nero inquired. “What happened?”

“A revolution sire. His people apparently ousted him after he tried to make them all slaves. In response he took the remnants of his fleet and is choking his people off. He’s offering massive future rewards for anyone willing to restore him.”

“Nothing wrong with slaves.” Nero muttered, turning back to his papers. “Anyway, we can’t allow civilians to riot so close to the Imperium, it might give the plebs ideas.”
“As the prince commands.” Said Sejanus sycophantically. “I’ll have appropriate orders drawn up and delivered to you at once.” Nero groaned at the thought of a bigger pile of papers.

“Just use your best judgment. I’ll send a secretary to you with my seal later this afternoon. Take care of these as well will you.” He said waving towards the slave.

Sejanus bowed acceptingly and left the room with his slave in tow. Absorbed as he was by his work, Nero could be forgiven for missing the small smirk on the Prefects face as he strode out the door.

I.R.S. Valentinian, Approach to Harren Island

Praefectus Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa twisted his ring thoughtfully. He had been ordered to take a small squadron of his fleet to assist in the restoration of the rightful ruler of Harren. He would have preferred a larger force, but Sejanus’ orders were clear. Limited assistance only for now, the palace didn’t want to spook other nations into doing something rash.

Agrippa was also confused as to why he was receiving his orders from the head of intelligence, not Caesar or one of his sons as was the norm for one of his rank and social standing. Speaking of which a fleet prefect being given a few carriers and their escorts was near unheard of, but apparently the madmen Nero was supporting could use the advice of an experienced officer. Particularly one who had served as a governor during his senatorial career.

Speaking of madmen, it was probably time to send that message he was given to Balthazar before the barbarian did something stupid….

by **Friendly Island** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 4:55 pm

Friendly Island, East Coast, Coast of Endless Sand

There is an acrid scent that blows in with the salty sea air, the scent of fire and suffering wafts from island to island. The ash carried by the winds drifts into the jungle and condenses into small clouds that hang under the trees. The smell of ash and hurt oozes from this growing mist, causing some heads to turn and eyes to gaze. The distant neighbor now looked again as a new strife arises on the other side of the water. Last time there was rising conflict on the nearby island the Friendlies did nothing, and soon the scents that blew across the sea were of "progress" and pollution. They began to talk about what horrible changes may befall their neighbors of they did not act.

A small band of deerfolk gathered on the shore, the guardian beasts of the nearby groves arrived as well. They spoke without words, all of their thoughts and concerns being listened to by the rest of the group. A rising tone of urgency permeated the conversation and some of the child-like people grew animated, waving their arms and stomping their cloven feet. It was decided that visiting their neighbor was the only proper thing to do.

With just a breath and a whisper in the wind the band of fawns stepped off of their island and into the densest part of the thickest jungle on the neighboring island. Upon landing, seven of the twelve sat down, their breaths had escaped them. The whole party was sweating, and though they lived in a hot jungle, this was not typical. After a short while they regained their composure and they began to sing to the forest, to the jungle, to the trees, asking what was happening to the land and where the jungle was hurting the most.

by **Harren Island** » Sat Nov 03, 2018 9:32 pm

Harrenian Hegemony in Exile -
Whilst Balthazar hadn’t had much to do whilst on board the HH Ascendancy, especially after the Confederacy had wizened up and stopped attempting breakouts, he didn’t immediately accept Lieutenant Naumann’s request for a meeting. Partially to increase his social standing in any potential negotiations and to give him time to research as much as he could about her. Going in blind would be a sure-fire way to end up humiliated or worse. Balthazar decided that the more he read, the more he liked her. It seems that she had ended up at the consulate on Harren Island due to a failure in political manoeuvring at home but, remembering his flight from the Capital, one mistake shouldn’t taint the perspective of her abilities.

He accepted her request and invited her to the Captain’s table for dinner. When she arrived, he instantly saw that she was beautiful and had a certain cold ruthlessness in her eyes that he recognised, a drive beyond mere existence and an air of extreme self-confidence. She was dangerous and that aroused him but he suppressed his reaction with a snarl as he pushed himself to his feet, “Be seated and speak. What do you offer the Harrenian Hegemony?”. If her promises proved to be more than just hot air, she could be a very useful ally. If not, she’d be useful in other ways.

A claxon sounded across the fleet as a cloud of Airships flew over the waters into Harrenian Airspace, drawing Balthazar quickly to the bridge in time to be treated to a smug, snidely and nasally voice over the radio, "One bullet pings off our armor, And we'll sink every single trash barge in your fleet. Be Smart, Balthazar. Have a Lovely Day." The Captain was about to say something to Balthazar but was silenced before he could when Balthazar slammed his hand down on the table and roared, “Do you see how they disrespect us? They care not for our sovereignty, our peoples, our rights or our future. They spit on us. Have a lovely day. Have a lovely day?! This is an act of war! Bring them down! I want them dropping like meteors in the sky, wreathed in flames and screaming, begging and sorry for insulting us.”.

The Captain swallowed his words and issued orders to start training guns on the Flotilla above before voicing his concerns, “Sir, whilst I will naturally comply if you give the order I feel I have to remind you that our navy just isn’t designed for this. We frankly won’t hit them with our big guns and even if we manage to land hits with machine guns, which is unlikely at this range, the fire will be completely ineffectual.”. Balthazar stared up at the Airships with vitriolic hate, feeling as if even if the laziness of their motion was taunting him, mocking him. His lips curled as he internally screamed “FIRE!” in his mind, wanting to hurt them with every fibre of his being. With an angry shake of his head he regained his composure and gruffly spoke, “HOLD your fire. You are right Captain and I thank you for your candour. We need more officers like you to grow our Navy into the powerhouse it will become.”

Balthazar was still fuming on the bridge when another broadcast, this time to the Confederacy from the Asgareth Empire, announced support for his enemies, publicly denounced him and stated intentions to have him executed for war crimes. After his previous rage, Balthazar handled it with a cool calmness that terrified his support staff. Cautiously they informed him about radar contacts indicating that the promised airlift had begun. Internally, Balthazar added Asgareth to the growing list of enemies that would soon be conquered and added to the glory of the Harrenian Hegemony. He pulled up maps and lost himself in expansive future plans for invasions of the Archonian Isles, Point d’vur and oh so much more.

Fig. HH Ascendancy. Flagship of the Harrenian Hegemony. Almost sixty years since its commissioning but recently renovated.

The Captain knocked eagerly on the door to his estate room, glad to finally have some good news for the Premier. Hearing a tired, “Enter”, he moved in and snapped to attention with a salute, noticing that the room was piled high with maps and plans, before proudly declaring, “Imperium Romanorum stands with us! Their Naval task force will be rendezvousing with us shortly and I have begun preparations to receive their envoy.”.

A fire leapt into Balthazar’s eyes and he clapped the Captain on the shoulders as he guided him out of the room from behind, not even bothering to shut the door as they made their way towards the bridge, “Excellent. Excellent. It has come to my attention that our Grand Fleet should be led by an Admiral, not just a Captain, especially when we go to meet our close friends. I hereby promote you to High Admiral Gregory of the Harrenian Grand Fleet.”

Balthazar stood on the bridge like a statue staring out at the waves and the coastline but not seeing them, he saw only his visions of a future within his grasp. It was happening exactly as he knew it would. Recent developments had merely been a step back before a giant leap forward. A necessary hiccough on the long road to greatness. He was brought out of his reverie by a series of reports from his northernmost blockading force.

+++ Naval detachment detected approaching from the West +++
+++ Caerlegion colours +++
+++ Warships escorting transport convoy +++
+++ Approaching Port. Requesting confirmation of standing orders. +++

Balthazar was done holding his forces back. It was time to show strength and a willingness to protect his dominion from would-be interlopers and those who support traitors or more vultures would come to pick at his holdings.

+++ If Caerlegion breaches the blockade zone, engage and broadcast the following – Harrenian Hegemony and its ally the Imperium Romanum will not tolerate blatant acts of war. +++

Untroubled, Balthazar left the bridge and prepared for his meeting with his new allies. They had much to discuss, about the reclamation of Harren Island and then global expansion.

Harrenian Confederacy of Port Cities -
Lydia was slowly building up an anonymous online reputation from her bedroom as one of the primary movers in the Confederacy, growing to prominence in local politics. Things had fallen apart and people had stopped listening when starvation had set in but things were now changing. Whilst she was pretty certain that nothing would be normal again, at least not for a long time, the constant and substantial quantities of supplies airlifted in by Asgareth, swiftly nicknamed the Esgarthi Skytrain, had restored a semblance of public order.

Fig. One of the food shipments delivered by Asgareth prior to distribution.

After Asgareth’s declaration, an almost unanimous vote passed within the first ten minutes, ‘Yes’, to the proposal to form a ‘Combined Esgarthi-Harrenian Taskforce’.

Lydia sighed. This kind of proposal was endemic and entirely useless because no one would do anything about them unless cajoled and so she updated her website; she released an article detailing what she believed necessary for an Esgarthi-Harrenian Taskforce, such as the formation of a national military beyond ad-hoc militias, among other things. Within the next few hours multiple legislations had passed to do with her suggestions, such as ‘Yes’ to the formation of a national military. She would then release more articles detailing the steps necessary to succeed with those endeavours.

Realising the amount of influence she was developing, Lydia started using her website to poke holes in the plans and suggestions of the other influential speakers in the Confederacy. She would release articles detailing every little flaw in their proposals and why they’d make for poor choices. This had a knock-on effect of slowing down decision making – a significant percentage of the population would wait for Lydia’s analysis before voting on proposals. She couldn't dictate policy on her own, yet, however her influence was growing.

Through this roundabout and remote style of government, the Confederacy began to slowly grind into gear, guided along by Lydia, an eleven year old girl too young to vote who suffers with a crippling fear of public speaking and social encounters.

Rumours of a Caerlegion fleet en route spread like wildfire among the Port Cities. People say that the ships are filled to the brim with food and that they'll smash apart Balthazar's blockades with ease. Along with Asgareth, Caerlegion is swiftly voted an Ally and invited to a publicly broadcast meeting in the ruins of the Capital.

Harrenian Heartlands -
News of conflicts along the coast and aid being sent to the Confederacy relaxed fears throughout the Heartlands; whilst the Confederacy may decide to invade some time in the future for other reasons, the immediate and desperate threat from a starving populace was at least being mitigated. No one was out of the woods yet but an air of positivity started to pulse through the Heartlands. A hope for a future that may yet come to be.

The Airships were impressive to be sure, nothing of their ilk had ever sailed through the skies above Harren before and the people were both awed and overjoyed to see them. Students celebrated as if their troubles were over but Nathaniel and most of the staff knew better. Whilst he was glad that their call for aid had been answered, especially by an advanced nation such as Auruum and in such a rapid fashion, he was worried about what it would cost and whether they were seeking to establish a puppet or protectorate on Harren Island. Worries that would have to wait.

As of yet, the Heartlands had no Airports but that wasn’t a problem because the open countryside and its rolling fields made for satisfactory landing sites. Nathaniel had them directed to a landing zone next to an old hilltop temple, hoping to make at least something of a unique impression upon the Goblin delegation. He’d also decided to host their initial meeting at those ruins as well, demanding that the Archaeological department bring a diverse and representative collection of relics, artefacts, treasures, tomes and scrolls from the digs to display to their guests and an expert or two to detail them at length.

Nathaniel straightened his suit after the downdraught from the great landing Airship and strolled forwards to greet the representatives as they disembarked, not rushing or appearing overeager but ensuring to display his appreciation and joy at their arrival.

“Greetings, I am Director Lockwood and on behalf of the Harren Heartlands I welcome you to Harren Island and thank you for your rapid response to our request. Please, follow me, we have prepared local refreshments and have much to discuss.”

Fig. Hilltop temple. Site of negotiations between the Harrenian Heartlands and Auruum

by **Skjoldur** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 10:22 am

Skjoulderian Western Coast, Varamon Beach, town of Ostergotland
Freydis sat in the town square observing her War-Band. After been ordered to return from the Friendly Island she and her crew had sailed back the Skjouldur, they had been lucky however they had run into some old friends. Freydis examined her goblin heads smiling to herself remembering the kill, when it came down to it the Goblins were a cowardly race. Her thoughts were interrupted by a shadow that fell across her. She turned around to see Urlf the wolf leader of another War-Band. Urlf the wolf was one of the most brutal raider that Skjouldur had ever produced, he often said that if there was someone left alive or a building still intact after he had raided the place then he would consider the raid a failure. His face was weathered after 40 years at sea and he was missing at least 7 teeth and the ones he had left were black as night itself. He was truly a vile man but a good leader and raider, that’s how he survived.
“Greetings” said Urlf a large smile beaming from his face “now what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”.
“What do you want Urlf?” said Freydis choosing to ignore the jibe
“Well, you know what I want” said Urlf raising his eyebrow “but I guess that’s not what your asking?”
“What do you think?” said Freydis mockingly
“Well you never know” said Urlf shrugging as he said it “anyway I come with a message from the king”
“Really” said Freydis her interest perked “what does he want?”
“A raid” said Urlf the malice clear in his voice “apparently that prick Quintus manged to convince are king to help out a dictator somewhere, apparently, we are supposed to offer to raid and kill his enemy’s in exchange for gold”
“And if he refuses?”
“Well” laughed Urlf “we asked the people who oppose him whether they want to take the deal, and if that doesn’t work we do it anyway, no point going all the way over there and not killing anything”.
“Ok” said Freydis trying to process all this “and both of us are coming, who’s going to lead?”
The smile dropped from Urlf’s face “well apparently the king was very insistent that you lead, something about not wanting to much blood shed and PR nightmare, I don’t remember”.
Freydis grinned “well then Urlf, set up your War-Band and let’s head off”.

3 miles off of Balthazar flag ship the Ascendency
The two war bands approached cautiously, they had heard about Balthazar and his trigger-happy fingers, they sent messages of parley and flew the white flag. Freydis herself sent two messages of greeting. With the main fleet in view the 50 raiding ships stopped waiting for the reply.

by **Valyrien** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 10:32 am

Empire of Valyrien, Rin, Imperial Palace

Valyrien had in recent history experienced corruption and internal strife in the very heart of Valyria, making them sympathetic to the Harren situation, but it had been dealt with by Valari hands who destroyed the cancer instead of allowing it to flee and spread or letting other lesser surgeons get involved and start slicing away at Valarisk flesh.

“The behaviour is simply unacceptable, the region is host to Valarisk allies and as such demand stability!” the woman paused to slam her hand into the table, sending the ash from her cigarillo flying.
“Quite, we are all disgusted by the behaviour...” Another mused, who casually brushed a few grains of ash off the grey uniform, thankfully not leaving any smudge of dirt.
“It’s the behaviour of vultures, drawn to the oozing carrion. You can be disgusted all you like, but don’t blame them, it’s in their nature after all.” A third answered, nursing a sweaty glass of whiskey.
“With a nation this bitterly divided, recovery won’t be easy in the case of a single faction achieving a one-sided victory. Compromise and reconciliation is what Harren need, they can’t afford to get rid of their intelligentsia in the heartland, nor alienate the populace of the port cities...” There was a pause, allowing the gathering to consider what had already been said.
“Harren has entered the international stage where the shepherds need be as vicious as wolves in order to protect their flock... Premier Balthazar may have turned on his sheep, but can he simply be replaced? Can Harren produce another wolf before the other powers start tearing it apart?” The man continued, sending a smug glance at the woman seated in the slightly fancier chair at the mention of wolves.
“Mhm... It is as you say, Môrkerheim, but not as easy as you make it sound.” Came as a reply from a different corner of the table. The man sported a rather impressive beard, one which he refused to shave despite the difficulties in getting a proper gasmask seal. “The newly acquired pets of her Imperial Majesty seems to already have established a presence in the Heartland, I purpose arranging for something similar in nature but with a neutral stance to provide not only food, but medical assistance. A few field hospitals should do the job before we’ve had time to establish something more advanced.”

Unknown Location

The Valarisk broadcasting station was still a rather bizarre and obscure choice for radio, but it was still just as reliable, able to be heard on most places around the globe even when all else failed. The Imperium had once interrupted the endless cycle of music and propaganda to announce operation Redbeard to the audiences of the world and little about the programming had changed since. The usual orchestral was suddenly cut short on this day however, the speakers blaring a pompous intro, followed by a man who spoke in Rusina Standard, seeming to intentionally using as thick of an accent as possible. “Citizenz af ze world! Ve stand before a humanitarian crisis! The situation in Harren haz grown unacceptable and as such, ze Great Empire af ze North vill act! Valyrien vill establish a limited number of field hozpitals in the Harren Isle under a neutral banner, protected by ze Valarisk military! Any hostile action towards these brave and selfless heroes will be condemned and brutally avenged!” The announcer paused to take a deep breath and pause for some imagined dramatic effect as a short music piece filled the gap.

“Ze provisions and medical aid provided by the generous Imperium vill be shared vith all three of ze Harren factions on the basis of each’s requirement and dire need. This is a privilege not an entitlement and will easily be revoked!” The announcer continued to marching music, but the gist of the information had been relayed and few cared to listen closely any further.

The Harren Island, Unknown Location

It was a pretty quiet day, the Aurummite’s had just moments earlier been hard at work with heavy and loud machinery to construct an appropriate runway without pause and finally turned them off, allowing a moments rest for those nearby to hear their own thoughts once more... That was until the deafening engines of a massive cargo plane seemed to make the ground rumble. The plane Valarisk, wearing the black sun of Valyrien made contact with the ground rather ungracefully, not showing any signs of slowing down even when the runway had grown dangerously short. The first landing attempt was aborted, as was the second and betting had begun taking place by the time of the third as the pilot seemed dead set on making it this time. A group of goblins and orcs looked on with anticipation as the plane forcefully landed and successfully stopped short of a few meters from the edge... It would seem one of the goblin engineers won big by betting against the others.

Figure 1. Valarisk Military Cargo Plane

The cargo was hastily unloaded, including a number of vehicles painted with a Red Sun symbol to signify their humanitarian intention. Mixed in with the trucks and machinery were heavy tanks as well, sent with the intention of providing security for the humanitarian personal.

Different teams made their way towards other locations around the island where their help was most needed, reaching out to the local community leaders to establish themselves and their humanitarian intentions.

by **Asgareth** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 11:14 am

Command Central, Isle of Gespe, Archonian Isles

The Commander in Chief of the Archonian Isles, Supreme-General Yaznon Paltri, was in a conference call with the Imperiali. He had been filling the Imperiali in on the events in Archon, as well as reporting the safe return of the Imperiali's heir from a magical island to the west of the colonies.

“You’ll be pleased, no doubt, to hear that your son Axic has returned to Leximus.” Yaznon started. “He said he would pop over to Gespe in the morning, though I doubt he will. My vice-commander reports he is currently in the local pub, and has just offered drinks for a week.”
The Imperiali coughed, uncomfortably. “Has he indeed? That’ll be another hefty bill, no doubt. I suppose I ought to be keeping a closer eye on him.”
“If it were to please you, Imperiali, I could always have him sent back to the mainland. Tonight, if necessary.”
The Imperiali paused in thought for a moment. “No. Axic should remain in Archon. He can assist you in overseeing the current conflict. Indeed, involvement in a small-scale conflict will teach him some valuable lessons.”
“Understandable, Imperiali.” Yaznon continued. “Well, the airlift has gone as intended. Asgarthian supplies are frequent; some 50 supply planes fly twice daily, with double that number of fighter escorts. Thankfully, your graciousness has persuaded the Romans to allow us to fly directly over their ships with no exchange of fire. Naturally, whilst we would defeat them should it come to it, the loss of life on both sides would be such a waste between allies.”

“I’m glad that bald fraud saw sense. It was foolish of him to decide to side with a man who would quite happily take over Rome. Now, about Balthazar.”
“He most likely knows about our airlift by now. If he doesn’t, he must be even thicker than the Skjoldurians; and that would take some doing. He may try to convince us to halt supplying the island, perhaps make a few idle threats towards Gespe and Leximus. But I feel a public broadcast to the Archonian, and Epiloan territories, for that matter, may help to put the local civilian populations minds at rest.”

“Naturally, my lord. Perhaps it is also time for the Crusader and for ACNC to ramp up their propaganda against Balthazar.”
The Imperiali nodded, in agreement. “I understand the Skjoldurians have also joined Balthazar’s cause?”
“Indeed they have. No doubt, the Romans told them to. Last I heard the Skjoldurians were easily bribed; gold and teeth. That is all they seek. As for the Caerlegions, I understand they intend to join on our side.”
“Do they indeed? How… interesting.” The Imperiali commented. “I must confess, they are the least admirable of our allies to side with in this brewing conflict. In my mind, they are little more than Roman puppets at this point. But what of the goblins? I hear they support the heartlands?”

“Indeed they do, my lord, and it is for this reason I suggest we ignore them for the time being. The heartlands are weakened by their mere presence. Any attack on Asgarthian aid would merely paint them in a poorer light.”
“And the Valarisk?” The Imperiali enquired.
“Reports suggest they have also begun humanitarian aid, predominantly in the heartlands.”
“Valarisk? Humanitarian?”
“My thoughts exactly. An eye must be kept there, at the very least.” The commander finished.

Skies over the West Rusinan Sea
The Asgarthian airlift had been going on for three days. In that time, the 16th and 17th wings of the 15th Asgarthian Air Navy had successfully carried out eleven missions. The 17th wing, led by Wing Commander Tynak de’Lance had flown five of these. Regular flights at 9am and 6pm had been carried out, in an attempt to provide enough supplies for the starving population of the port cities. The wing were currently on their final mission of the week. They had left Gespe 20 minutes ago, and were currently heading directly over the Roman fleet. As had been arranged, the Romans and Asgarthians did not exchange fire, with de’Lance sending the all-too familiar reminder.

“This is Wing-Commander Tynak de’Lance ,17th wing of the 15th Asgarthian Aerial Navy. Roman ships below are reminded not to open fire on Asgarthian aircraft. Failure to comply with this agreement, will result in a state of war between our nations.”

The three groups continued to fly in formation, eventually landing in the Port Cities. Here, they swiftly distributed more supplies; predominantly bread, vegetables, milk and ale. Within an hour, they had dropped everything and were back over the seas. Once more passing over the non-violent Roman ships, they swiftly found themselves in safety on the Isle of Gespe. There, they quickly landed, left their planes, and changed. Tomorrow, the 19th wing would drop supplies, providing the 17th a much needed rest break. For Tynak and his squad, this meant it was time to sleep.

by **Auruum** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 12:25 pm

Harren Heartlands

Almost immediately after landing, Construction began. Harrenians were almost ignored as the Goblin engineers rapidly built a runway for any future shipments or vehicles, The supplies and the Mercenaries were then unpacked and ready to move out, Gazzik Sparkrocket standing up in front of the Orc and Goblin soldiers to officially greet the humans at their chosen meeting place, an ancient ruined temple filled with a selection of choice artefacts and trickets as well as the Director, Nathaniel.

The mercenaries brought the supplies and arranged them in a similar fashion on their side of the Temple before taking up positions and standing at attention, The goblin Diplomat stepped forwards, adjusting his suit and tie before extending a hand up towards the human to shake, while his shark-like smile was flashed in greeting. "Good evening, Director Lockwood!" He'd say before clapping his hands together. "Well, Time is short, I'll get right to it. Aurum wishes to make a deal with the Heartlands. Of the three factions here, Your University has made the smartest long-term choices, and you are striving for progress and continued growth of your nation. Aurum sees a lot of similarities between itself and the Heartlands. You just had the great misfortune of being LITERALLY surrounded by morons. We can sympathize. Plus you're all a bunch of School nerds and that tickles me a bit." He'd snicker for a bit before continuing.

"So, Our offer: Military Support to keep Balthazar's Fleet of rowboats and the Confederacy's rampant Idiocy at bay, Plus some help becoming self-sufficient, helping to lay out infrastructure and proper sustainable resources and food, as well as a frequent supply drop until the Heartlands are no longer dependent on our support. At which case, Aurum will continue to support the Heartlands until Harren Island becomes united under the proper government, Once this is achieved, Aurum and Harren Island will become close allies. The details are ofcourse up for negotiation so a proper contract can be drawn up, But I'm sure that we can be civil, generous, and most importantly accommodating." The Goblin said with a smile.

At the Aurummite Airstrip in the Harren Heartlands

"C'mon baby...C'mon baby...Third time's the charm."
"He's not gonna land that thing, not on the runway..."
"Shut up Rog!"
"He's right, Izzy, That plane is not landing on our runway."
"If he does he's not landing completely on it..."
"All of you piss off! He's gonna do it this time..."

The sound of the Cargo plane became louder as it came in for it's third landing attempt. Soon tires squealed and for a moment it looked like it was a failure again before the plane began to really slow down. Everyone cringed and waited for the plane to keep going past the runway. When the sound finally stopped, One goblin Engineer cried out in victory and justified bragging.
"EAT MY HAIRY GREEN ASS! HUNDRED MEGABUCKS! PAY UP, BITCHES!" was cried out as two goblins and an orc begrudgingly forked over the cash they gambled to their coworker, who quickly began to dance and brag some more.

A Troll Mercenary greeted the Valarisk Humanitarian aid before reporting back to Gazzik, he'd have to deal with it after the negotiations. One never interrupted a goblin as they prowled their favored environment...

by **Harren Island** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 1:44 pm

Harrenian Nature -

A singing echoed out through the jungle from voices that had never been heard on Harren Island before. They sang of the primal truth of nature, the elements, sun-kissed growth and the heartbeat of innocent life. Animals quieted and even the wind seemingly stopped rustling through the leaves to listen and soak in the melodies.

For thousands of years, humans have existed and prospered upon Harren Island, it has been a long and storied relationship where developments were slow and done with care and forethought, mostly enhancing its natural beauty instead of tearing it down. Prior to the arrival of the pirates, progress had paused for almost eight hundred years; the people lived feudal lives, focusing on the nuances and perfection of their craft and the slow pace of their comfortable lives.

That had all ended a century ago. Rampant industrialization, urbanization and infrastructural development has entered a state of overdrive. The Island has gone through more change in the last few decades than in the entirety of its known, millennia long history.

The forest had grown eerily quiet. Nothing moved and even the air seemed to still in an unnatural manner. A cold shiver ran up his spine as he carefully clambered over a log, even though the sun still shone down through the foliage and created spots of bright and warming light, things weren't right and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

A weird, discordant tune drew him onward. Theodore wiped a cold sweat from his forehead as he tried to control his breathing, nothing was making a sound apart from the tune ahead. Carefully picking his way forward, he tried to find a clear line of sight to the source without giving away his movements. He'd never heard something like this before and it unnerved him.

Finally, he managed to catch a glimpse of fur and movement in the distance, he stopped and raised his rifle to use the scope to see what was causing it.

Deer. What? There were no deer on Harren Island. Was he hallucinating? He put the rifle down, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before taking another look. Yep, there they were and it seemed like they were singing. Well, singing or not, that's a lot of meat and a single one would feed his whole family. He steadied his rifle and aimed centre-mass on the closest one, spotting a white tuft of fur to aim for, letting out his breath slowly as he gently depressed the trigger.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 3:08 pm

I.R.S. Valentinian, Harrenite Blockade.

The orange, yellow and red planes meandered over the fleet like particularly stupid birds. They’d been painted in the Asgarthian national colours to avoid the ire of the Roman guns but just looked like they’d caught fire. Agrippa found himself half wishing they had.

The Praefectus turned back to his dispatches from the capital and scrutinised his orders for any potential loopholes. No such luck.

To Praefectus Marcus Vispanius Agrippa

Salvete.
Caesar has been communing with the Asgarthian government and an agreement has been reached to preserve the alliance despite our differences in this conflict. Whilst I personally would enjoy seeing Ross’s bloated face explode with indignation, father disagrees.

I trust you will be able to achieve total victory despite this minor setback.

Prince Octavius Nero.

Agrippa sighed. This might actually require effort.

“Sir!” called the ships Trierarch, striding into the Praefectus’ ready room. “We should be approaching Balthazar’s flagship soon. I’ve relayed instructions for him to expect a helicopter to fly him here.”

“Good. Escort him to the rear briefing room. The opulence should impress him, or not. Either way we get to take the measure of the man. Anything else?”

“The king of Caerlegion has sent a fleet to try and break the blockade. Obviosity we don’t want to have to crush them but…”

“We can’t have our chosen regime collapsing just yet. It would be bad form however to crush the fleets of the Lady Agrippina’s husband. There might be some eyebrows raised back in Nova Roma.”

Agrippa pondered the problem for a moment. “Send Navarch Lucen with a carrier and a few destroyers to intercept them before they get too near. Inform the Caerlegionares that Caesar has invested Balthazar as the rightful ruler of Harren and they’re to proceed no further.”

The Trierarch saluted and marched out the cabin. The Praefectus sat down at his desk heavily, brought up a hologrammatic image of the island and mused on the situation for a while.

“Presenting the honourable Marcus Vispsanius Agrippa: Praefectus of the VII Classis and emissary of the divine Gemellius Caesar!” Declared an aide to the Harrenite leaders announcing his superior’s arrival. Agrippa strode in flanked by two marines and sat at the other end of a long table.

“Premier Balthazar.” Agrippa said formally. “You asked for help and the Imperium has responded. How may we be of assistance?”

“First of all, let me thank you and mighty Caesar for your support of the righteous and legitimate government of Harren Island.” He began to declaim. “Together our mighty nations will overcome all those who challenge me! For your help the great library will be at your disposal and whatever else you might want from it. Furthermore, I would like to add that…”

“Yes, yes very nice.” The Praefectus interrupted, before Balthazar really got going. “But what are your more…current issues?”

“The intrusions of Asgareth, Aurrum and Caerlegion are intolerable!” The Premier said angrily. “We need to crush these foreigners before they can break my stranglehold over the populace. They need to know hunger! They need to know fear! Only then will they see that I’m their only hope and return to their proper place under me!”

“Indeed…” Agrippa replied cautiously. “Unfortunately, the Imperium Romanorum is in an alliance with Asgareth and the new heir of Caerlegion is the grandson of Caesar. Overt military actions are out of the question. But we’re more than happy to sabotage their efforts to aid the rebels. I have a healthy complement of marines onboard and the Roman air force has substantial experience in bombarding urban areas. Provide us a list and we can do the rest…

Balthazar frowned deeply but his face suddenly reversed into a smile. “I thank you for your candour Praefectus. I will have my people prepare some suitable targets for your forces. Perhaps great Caesar would send a legion to assist me take my realm back?”
“I will forward your request to the Imperial Palace, but I can assure you Rome will be unwilling to send substantial ground forces whilst the other belligerents are restraining themselves to…humanitarian works.” Agrippa shuddered.

“A disgusting use of resources.” Balthazar agreed. “If we’re done here. I have a rebellion to put down. Please extend my warmest thanks and friendship to Caesar and I look forward to fighting alongside you on the battlefield.”

“As do I. Please allow my men to escort you to the helicopter. Keep it in fact.” He smiled. “Consider it a gift from the Roman people. I hope its of use to you.”

As the Premier was escorted out Agrippa leaned back in his chair. The fellow was clearly a megalomaniac; if not actually insane. That didn’t matter however, despots were inherently more predictable than peasants.

by **Skjoldur** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 3:17 pm

The small coastal town of Nara about a mile away from Balthazar fleet

Urlf stood on the bow of his ship grinning from ear to ear and the shells flew past him. He had decided to take the direct approach. Relying on the speed of his ships and the relative weakness of his enemies he had charged straight in with a few of his ships staying behind to bombard the town. As Urlfs ship crashed into the docks he jumped out eyoileggingu in one hand machine gun in another. After mowing down four or five enemy troops he stretched out both his arms and gave a long and haunting laugh.
“Kill them all” he bellowed at the top of his voice “take what you want, the strong take the weak give”.
His men charged in taking no prisoners, anyone stupid enough to fight died where they stood, the ones hid were mostly spared, somewhere taken back to the ship to be sold on the slave market. Mostly however the Skjouldurians were focused on the loot. The took whatever they could, family paintings, nice looking stones and anything shinny. They also burned down every building they could. Throwing oil over the buildings and setting it alight.
After an hour one of the raiders found Urlfs enjoying a barrel of ale sitting on a pile of dead bodies. He gestured to Urlf to follow him. The raider took him to a warehouse where a large pile of supplies had been stored. Urlf said astounded “what in the gods hell is this?”
“looks like some of the supplies that those fat drunkards from Asgareth trying to help those poor villagers”
Urlf couldn’t contain himself anymore and burst into fits of giggles. “Are you telling me that those idiots tried to help these people and we just took their shit, that’s hilarious”. Urlf looked the supplies up and down “ok take what we can store and burn the rest, make sure you take a video and send it to the Asgarethians though, that will be a great story to tell the guys when I get home”
“Yes sir” said the raider exasperated “what do you want to do with the survivors?”
“eh who cares?” replied Urlf now disinterested and wondering where he left his ale “you guys chose, if we run out of room we can throw a few overboard”.
Urlf walked off feeling happy about how today went and knowing he was going to get really drunk tonight.

The coastal town Erinyes 5 miles from Nara
Freydis sat in the bushes watching the guards pass. She felt good about how today was going. After a short but stern talk to Balthazar the self-proclaimed ruler of this island. They had come to the agreement that the Skjoldurians would raid the enemy series at will keeping whatever they wanted. Balthazar had promised to reward Skjoldur handsomely all though Freydis did not trust him as was preparing to launch all hell if they were betrayed.
One of her lieutenant tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the sea. A small flashing light blinked three times then was out, the signal. Freydis signalled her men forward, they started to climb through the ruins taking out the guards one at time. At the same time the raiders sent their small landing craft silently coasted through the water. By the time the boats arrived Freydis and her men had reached the shore and pretty much taken out most of the guarding troops. The landing party then marched through the street entering houses and taking what they wanted, some of the stronger men and the more attractive women were taken back the ship and in 30 minutes they had pretty much taken the entire town. After the raiders found the Asgarthien supplies Freydis herself decided to perform a show for the towns people.
She piled the resources in the centre of the town, after gathering all the towns people she stood up on a stone a yelled “what you have just experience is the might of Skjoldur and Balthazar, if you want us to leave and never return you will bow to the will of Balthazar when he turns his eye to you. We will take your resources, we will take your people, we will take whatever we want and there is nothing you can do to stop it” as soon as she stopped speaking two raiders set fire to the supplies sent by Asgareth. She then walked by to her ships with men taking all their plunder with them, she was looking forward to the next raid and she couldn’t wait to take her 10% of the plunder.

by **Caerlegion** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 3:24 pm

HMS Owain Glyndwr, The Flagship of the Caerlegion Fleet

His Grace General Mark Anthony was sailing with a sizeable fleet towards the Harren Island to help the Coastal Ports defeat the evil Dictator. Mark was the second best strategist in Caerlegion after the King, normally His Majesty would be there but was unable due to the birth of his Son Aurelius but he knew the His fleet and Men would be in safe hands with Mark.

30 Minutes later, the North West Seas, Harren Island

The Caerlegion fleet was making good time towards the Island, until they saw that the Dictator had been supported by the Roman Fleet. Mark was taken back by this development and he ordered the fleet to stop so he can asses the situation. The fleet came to a grinding halt, he was soon swamped by the commanders of the fleet to discuss their options. Then a lookout alerted the Commanders of an approaching enemy ship, so Mark sounded ‘General Quarters’ and he readied the Navy to prepare for an attack. Just as the tension was mounting Mark took hold of binoculars and looked at the approaching ship, sailing under a white flag along with Roman colours, Mark ordered the Fleet to stand down and to prepare for the Roman arrival. The Romans finally arrived and they was escorted by Admiral Dai Jones to the conference room deep in the bowls of the Owain Glyndwr, there they was greeted by Mark Anthony. Much to Marks surprised they wanted to talk about the treaty that was signed between the two nations and how this would be overcome. But as time progressed this quickly turned into the two men getting drunk and smoking cigars.

Finally, the Romans left and Mark decided that he will use planes to drop some of the navy biscuits that was in the stores to the Coastal Ports until a solution could be found. For now the Caerlegion fleet is in a stand off just off the waters of Harren Island.

Whilst Mark was deciding what to do the phone rang, it was the King inquiring as what has transpired, Mark replied;

“Your Majesty, the Romans have turned out and is supporting the Dictator, we are at a pickle as to what we can do. I have helicopters dropping some naval biscuit but this won’t last forever”

The King back in Caerlegion sighed heavily and gave Mark new orders;

“I will be sending more ships stocked with food along with HMS Prince Aurelius, our new aircraft carrier to support you. Until we can sort something out DO NOT ENAGAGE THE ROMANS, so keep broadcasting your position to them at all times, this includes Planes and men.”

“Yes Your Majesty” Mark replied. “This is worse than we tried to fight the Goblins” Mark said jokingly

by **Friendly Island** » Sun Nov 04, 2018 7:58 pm

The Friendlies felt ill, out of place, isolated. A strange unknown song called back to them, and it frightened them. A shudder runs through their bodies, and their song into the trees takes on a sorrowful, quiet tone. Some cracking, sickening call broke the song and they stop singing.

A shot rings out. One of the faun feels a strange sensation in his chest. He looks down and sees blood running down his stomach, dripping off his legs. He tries to take a breath, but the air escapes him. He gasps again. His eyes close and he starts to drop to the ground. His voice remains silent as the others sing a song of his life, which echoes a memory through the trees. The Friendlies start directly singing towards the man, trying to get him to listen to the story of the life he ended.

by **Harren Island** » Mon Nov 05, 2018 3:41 pm

Harrenian Confederacy of Port Cities -

Harren Island’s ‘Airforce’, if it could even be called an Airforce, had never received anything beyond minimal funding or support due to Balthazar’s Naval Focus and it only consisted of a single squadron of thirty planes, or at least it did until the Capital was levelled. What remains are twelve, ancient and rugged, single engine biplanes in the cool blue Harrenian colours.

Whilst the Confederacy was being internationally ridiculed for its many stupid decisions, even they knew that their ‘Airforce’ couldn’t take on enemy aircraft, even if they somehow won the lottery and found a low-flying enemy transport or unarmed vessel slow enough to catch, they wouldn’t be able to bring it down with their unreliable, low calibre machine guns. Therefore, they had decided to convert them for a special mission.

The Machine guns and all extraneous components including the radios were removed to save weight, the traditional cool blue was deliberately mottled to more accurately represent the colour of the surrounding seas from above and makeshift external fuel tanks were installed to greatly increase their range. After conversions were complete, the fuselages and wings were loaded to capacity with bombs and explosives.

The Pilots understood their mission; they had been specifically selected from those who had voted for and truly believed in these emergency measures and knew that there was no other acceptable way to stop the Air Raids. They would fly far out to sea using their extended fuel reserves, split up and circle out wide and come up behind the Roman fleet whilst barely flying above the waves to try and avoid enemy radar. The Carriers must be sunk at all costs.

Isadorios had seen his city burn, buildings collapse, bodies rotting in the streets and starving people rioting over Esgarthi supply shipments. Order had almost come to the Port Cities, that was, up until the air raids and bands of marauding raiders, reaving and raping. Everything else could be weathered but if the Roman Aircraft were allowed to continue attacking with impunity, the Confederacy would inevitably fall and it just seemed like the international community didn’t care enough to truly intervene.

‘Oh, a jet just dropped a 250kg bomb into your apartment, destroying everything you ever owned and killing your entire family? Here’s a hospital and some food. That solves everything. Don’t mind that next wave of bombers, they’re not important.’.

He spat on the ground. The Valarisk could end it all now and prevent more suffering but they won’t, making them just as bad as the Romans and deserving of the same treatment. Isadorios slid the flight helmet down onto his head, flattening his hair and making his ears feel snug and warm. He gripped the rim of his Biplane’s seat and hoisted himself up with a step on a wing that flexed and creaked under his weight and that of the bombs.

Before he climbed inside he gazed around, knowing it to be the last time he would ever see his homeland, drinking in every detail and burning it into his memory forever. The lines of sullen engineers and mechanics who had made the mission possible, the forlorn militia troops pitying the pilots for their imminent fates, the scared and desperate civilians praying that their mission would work and the last rays of sunset shining in steeply as if to help guide them up into the sky. Settling into his seat, he stretched and sighed before the launch flag was waved in his direction. His engine caught instantly, revving into a thrumming roar that pushed him back into his seat as he thundered and bounced down the hastily repaired airstrip. Pulling back, he felt the mass of his laden craft resist as it laboured to get up to speed, finally dragging itself skywards with what seemed like pure force of will. For Harren.

Fig. Photo of one of the Harrenian Island biplanes prior to Balthazar's exile.

by **Skjoldur** » Tue Nov 06, 2018 9:41 am

Harrenian Hegemony in Exile – Balthazar Command Ship the HH Ascendency
Rollo had been waiting in the cabin for an hour before Balthazar turned up. He had occupied his time by studying the ship and reading the latest reports about the humanitarian aid the Valarisk had sent and how the Carelegion had been stopped by one Roman ship. He had also read about the raids that Freydis and Urlf had been conducting. By now they must of destroyed every town and village on the western coast, Rollo chuckled to himself, Balthazar had signed his peoples death warrant when he payed the Skjoldur raiders to attack his them.
When Balthazar walked in, Rollo was immediately on guard. Balthazar had a wild look in his eye and was acting erratically, glancing left and right and refusing to make eye contact.

“Premier Balthazar” began Rollo nervously “I am hear on behalf of Skjoldur. We would like to clarify a few factors with you” there was a pause where Rollo waited for Balthazar to speak, when that didn’t happen Rollo continued “as you know we have already sent out raiding party’s to the port towns and cities, we are taking their supplies and demanding they bow to you as their rightful ruler”.

Balthazar finally looked up at that and with an evil grin across his face he said “why are you demanding sir? The people already know they just need reminding”.

“Quite so” said Rollo his nervously trying not to look at Balthazar “that’s why Skjoldur is willing to commit the troops you asked for, we are sending 50,000 troops to help the attack on the naval ports you recommended, we have already agree particulars with the Romans and with Carelegion and Asgareth pussy-footing around refusing to commit men the traitors at the ports will soon bow to you”.

Balthazar laughed clapping Rollo on the shoulder “that is good news, it really is” he paused for a moment “what do you plan to do with Auruum and the Valyriens?”.

Rollo smile faded “well as you know Skjoldur refuses to go to war with another nation over this island, however I shouldn’t worry. Auruum has already run away from a fight with us before and the Valyriens are on a peace keeping mission so as long as we don’t piss them off we should be fine”.

Balthazar laughed a long bellowing laugh “are you sure Auruum will run, they seem pretty keen to protect cowards inland”.

Rollo laughed “well they will have to ask Valyrians permission first, but yes when it comes down to it running is in Goblin nature, they cannot do anything different”.

After a few more hours of talking and ironing out the finer points Rollo bid Balthazar farewell. However, he couldn’t resist a final word.

“Now Balthazar” he said sternly “I would like to remind you that the only reason why Skjoldur is supporting you is because you are paying us handsomely, now say something would happen to the payment and it doesn’t reach us, well Skjoldur would have retaliate with more than 50,000 men if you get my drift”.
And with that warning he left Balthazar to ponder the day’s events.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Tue Nov 06, 2018 11:27 am

I.R.S. Cicero, Balthazar’s blockade.

Whilst a carrier in the navy might not have been considered as prestigious as one in the Legions, it did have its perks. That’s what Crewman Falco thought anyway as he took a healthy swig from his rum ration.

His section had just finished a series of battle drills and after a few hours crammed into a gunnery section with ten other guys Falco was enjoying some solitude on deck. All and all this wasn’t a bad deployment. The Cicero was assigned to I.R.S. Vitellus’ as part of her destroyer escort. Which meant no actual work and the fun of watching the fighters launch from the nearby carriers and see the explosions on the mainland, and not an Asgarthian in sight! The ship smelled enough as it was, and the cook probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with the food orders.

The sky was pleasant blue, if only slightly tinged orange by the flaming cities which were suffering from a peculiar mix of bombing runs and Skjoldur raids. He was just wondering how Balthazar was paying those brutes when he saw several low flying objects in the distance and they were getting nearer. At first, he thought that they were nearby birds but as they got closer it became apparent that they were too big for that. The shapes also looked familiar, for some reason they triggered memories of toys his grandfather had given him as a child. Then he remembered.

“Biplanes!” He said aloud, proud that he’d remembered. “Wait?... Biplanes? What in Neptune’s name are they doing out of a museum?”

The islanders. It must be, even the Skjoldur didn’t have biplanes. Mostly because the closest they ever got to air travel was a massive slingshot. But those flying tents couldn’t pierce a ships hull! Could they? If only he’d paid more attention in history class instead of scrawling tua matrem futui in all the textbooks. But no, they couldn’t do any damage…unless they were desperate enough to…

“Merda!” he shouted. He dashed to the nearest coms’ unit. If he was wrong, they might shoot down some particularly silly tourists but if he was right…” He keyed an all hands alert and drew a deep breath.

“Attention all hands! Attention all hands! Unidentified low flying objects approaching Roman perimeter from the portside! Possible suicide attacks imminent! I repeat possible suicide attack imminent!” A few moments of panicked silence passed before the comm cracked in response.

“Understood.” Came a clipped tone. “They’re too small and slow to appear on conventional radar but an intensive scan picked them up. A few more minutes and they might have been in range of the carriers. Goo…”
The roar of the ship’s missile launchers firing drowned out the rest of the transmission. Falco cheered as the missiles smashed into a few of the enemy aircraft and as their sister ship; the Cataline’s point defence tore another to pieces. The elation quickly faded however as the surviving enemy pilots, realising they were done for dived for the Cataline.

The ships guns did all they could to get them before impact. Even the bombardment guns took a few shots, but it was too little too late. Falco saw three fiery explosions breach the hull of the destroyer. As the Cicero sailed closer Falco soon found himself joined on the railing by more gawping sailors. They could all see the flaming wreckage of the outer hull and desperate fire control teams trying to control the blaze. For a moment Falco thought he could smell dinner then the sickening reality of the scent hit him…

“Mars almighty…I was going to transfer there next week.” Said a random sailor to Falco’s right.

“They’re fucked now.” Falco replied firmly.

“What do you mean?”

“Old Agrippa.” He pointed to the flagship, safe within picket lines. “He didn’t give a goblins shit about this place before. I bet he does now…”

An hour later.

Bzzt
Bzzt

Every Harrenite in the confederacy felt it. They had a message. If they were to examine their phones, they would find their screens had turned completely red except for a large golden eagle dominating the centre above the letters S.P.Q.R. A few confused moments passed before the image was replaced by one of a stern looking older man in an elaborate uniform, sitting in a large chair.

“I am Praefectus Marcus Vispanius Agrippa, emissary of the divine Gemellius Caesar and commander of the Imperial forces in this area. An hour ago, you, the rebels of the confederacy, launched an underhand and cowardly attack on our ships. In a desperate attempt to prevent the restoration of the rightful ruler of this dismal island you attempted to crash your pitiful excuse for an air force into my flagship. When that proved impossible you attacked one of our escort ships killing twenty Roman citizens!” He spoke calmly but the fire in his eyes burned in white-hot anger.

“As I understand it you all directly impact the decisions of your government, therefore you shall all share in the punishment. The city of Salome. From what little I have seen it is one of your oldest and most beautiful cities, steeped in the traditions of your people. Or should I say was? As of now aircraft from my fleet and the Imperium itself are reducing this once proud city to less than rubble. The people of Salome have not been given warning, they may even not know why this is happening. But you do. “The Praefectus’ normally impassive face broke into a vicious sneer.

“People of the confederacy I give you an ultimatum. Surrender. Turn your cities over to your rightful ruler. Throw yourselves to his feet and beg him for mercy as I assure you, you will find none from me. If you have not done this within two days, I will level another city, then another, then another. Until you give in or all die. It makes no difference to us.” He bashed his fist on his shoulder and extended his arm in salute. “Long live Caesar! And long live Rome!

by **Valyrien** » Tue Nov 06, 2018 12:36 pm

Coastal Town of Nara

A shadowy figure had climbed up on the rooftops with binoculars when the bloodcurdling screams had begun to fill the streets when the Skjoldurian raiders started their advanced with savage warbands deeper into the coastal town, having smashed through the starving militia’s attempt at a defence. Some of the buildings had been doused with oil and set alight, one could only imagine in an effort to send a message with terror... Maybe they had some Valarisk blood running in their veins after all? Still, the scenery was a little too much for the scout to stomach as he saw a certain Urlf drinking ale on top a pile of corpses.

Walking off, the thought struck Urlf that not all of the crews could be accounted for, the greed most likely gotten the better of them as they’d wandered a little too deep into the town... Still, no harm? It was doubtful if the demoralized militia had any more fight left in them. As if on cue, dust showered the Skjoldurian when a shell tore through one of the nearby buildings

Nara, Half an hour earlier...

Björn was starting to feel a little fatigued, having continued chasing the increasingly exhausted natives, who’d managed to avoid getting cornered in the initial fighting, further towards the outskirts. It would seem a large portion of the civilians and militia alike had sought refuge in a courtyard with a high, but thin looking wall on the edge of the town, a red sun marking the entrance. Maybe it was an improvised hospital of sorts? Still, they were trapped like rats and the bloodlust pushed them passed the gates and in their crazed state begin chopping and slashing away at those hold up within. Their initial guess turned out to be true, most of the occupants consisting of the injured from the initial confrontation and panicked families, but a few individuals stood out with their red cross symbolism and medical equipment. A man dressed in a long grey coat was focused on patching up a horrendous gash across the brow of a patient, reacting too late to dodge the Skjoldurian’s axe like many other medics and patients alike, all others scattering and running further into the compound. Most of the Skjoldurian group pressed forward towards the larger tents whilst two remained on guard by the gates to avoid any ambush from behind. Björn, the de facto leader pushed the canvas aside, and was first met with the sight of a woman dressed in a similar coat as the doctor from earlier, though far more heavily ornate with different military decorations and one eye covered with leather patch dyed in the same grey as the rest of her uniform. She was pretty and seemed to have some character considering she struck a match to light a cigarillo with a general disinterest in the raiders and her current situation, oddly enough he felt the bloodlust subside and fancied his chances... The second and last thing he saw was the muzzle of a Valarisk Mk. 4 Sfvartsabel Main Battle Tank.

Nara, present time

“Disgusting” was the only word uttered as she kicked the remains of an exploded skull like a football towards the gate, the two previously on guard duty having legged it at the gory sight. Running into the Valari wasn’t perhaps what the raiders had expected, especially not armour, which was understandable given that they were hidden were hidden either in the within the tent city, or having been left waiting outside of the city itself.
“Gods sake, fuck this humanitarian shit.” The one-eyed woman muttered as she waved for a radio.
“This is the 5th “Medusa” Armoured Battalion, requesting permission to engage the invaders?”
“Permission granted to suppress the hostile combatants. Colonel, you are only allowed to act in self-”
“Understood, moving to suppress the enemy!” One-eye interrupting, flinging the radio back to it's owner.

The argument could be made that the Valari inflicted more damage to the surrounding area, the heavy armour raming building corners, or simply going through them as the tanks waiting outside of the city rushed forward to catch up and those in the courtyard, after having moved into position started firing shell after shell.

Valyrien, Rin, Imperial Palace

"This has turned into quite the shitstorm, the situation might turn rather ugly and when it does it will do so fast." The Krigsmarshalk commented, finishing reading the report before the others in attendance.
"I must applaude your astute observation, Môrkerheim... The question is what to do? Valyria's presence in the region isn't the strongest and we can't afford to re-assign anymore units without compromising our overall security." A certain von Krighastha answered as she poured another glas of whiskey as the room fell silent.
"We will be requesting the Khyrene navy to assist and hopefully dissuade any rash action on Balthazar or the Roman part..." The Hôgmarshalk breaking the silence with her command, pressing a cigar into an already overfilling ashtray.

by **Auruum** » Tue Nov 06, 2018 2:25 pm

Harrenian Heartlands, Aurum - Heartlands Negotiations

The Diplomat and the Director went back and forth, quickly hashing out details and putting together the contractual agreement between their governments. Aurum would assist the Heartlands, and the Heartlands would pay Aurum with treasure and artifacts.

As the Signatures were written, Gazziks clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! This is the start of a brand new, and mutually beneficial relationship!” He said before moving to shake Nathaniel’s hand excitedly. “Come! Let’s relax and celebrate!” The Goblin said “To our Alliance!”

Hours Later

The first sample shipment was distributed and the Mercenaries began laying the ground work, plotting out strategic resources, estimated which would be prime targets, scouting locations for fortifications and defenses. The Harrenians made a request for several tanks, as well as the training for crewing said tanks, a veritable shopping list of basic necessities, and some added security. Aurum would provide. The Mercenaries mainly focused on the university itself, running patrols around the area and training those who volunteered to crew the tanks. The Supplies were nearly standard and basic goods. Food and drinking water, hygiene products, but in true Aurum fashion, many companies had purchased the right to throw in some of their products for the shipments. Everything from brand name snacks, drinks, entertainment devices, and even a few smartphone brands like Copperstone. The Airstrip would be prepped for more frequent use, the Valarisk planes given access to it’s use even as they continued to aid the Confederacy. If anyone argued why Aurum was allowing the Valari to use the airstrip, the Mercenary security forces would politely answer with “Fuck off Nerd, this is a restricted area.”

by **Harren Island** » Tue Nov 06, 2018 10:25 pm

Harrenian Hegemony in Exile -

Balthazar fumed as he dismounted the helicopter, the one ‘gifted’ to him. They were taunting him. That smarmy, old coot was rubbing his face in their opulence and power. He would teach them. Oh yes. Eventually when everything else lay at his feet, he would burn their cities, take their lands and add them to the glory of the Harrenian Hegemony. Or, the thought crossed his mind, a knife in the dark, twisted in and accompanied by a personal message to teach him for mocking Balthazar. He was tempted to simply have the helicopter knocked overboard but decided against it, whatever else it was, it was useful and useful things shouldn’t be thrown away.

Fig. Balthazar's new helicopter taking off from the I.R.S. Cicero

Everyone he talked to had defensive pacts with this nation, alliances with that nation, reluctance to engage in hostilities lest it cause war in their countries. A bloody web of associations that stretched as deep as the corruption inherent in their ideologies and dishonest governments. They hide their intent behind lies and feed their truths to those who would listen. Look at Asgareth. With one hand they promise help to the Confederacy and proclaim their judgements upon me, with the other they shake hands with Rome and congratulate themselves on their impeccable morals. Fucking foreigners have always been a problem for Harren. A thought crossed Balthazar’s mind, one that he entertained for a minute before brutally suppressing due to its inevitably distasteful outcome; he could use his position to attack and capture Rome’s ships, use them to destroy Skjoldur’s raiding vessels, then he’d have protected his country from foreigners, be welcomed back a hero and have the makings of his grand fleet. A fanciful idea that would ruin him.

Balthazar was woken up with news of the attack on the Roman fleet by Confederate airplanes. After learning of the details, Balthazar demanded to know the names of the pilots and when told he wrote them down in one of his personal folders. He’d not credited the Confederacy with the strength to make a hard decision like that. These were his people. When he retook his rightful place he would have their names immortalised, their deeds heralded and celebrated, the actions of true patriots held up as an example to all Harrenians. He decided that he could no longer sleep and called for his breakfast.

His servant soon brought in a steaming trout and a glass of red wine, smelling the crisped flesh and sipping the strong liquid he sighed and relaxed. He must win faster to save his people. They were brave and each one lost in this preventable war should be lamented. He could see now that they had been pushed too far, they were proud Harrenians and were no one’s slaves, it was obvious that his advisors had failed to advise him correctly and so he wrote an order to execute the surviving members of his inner council among the fleet.

Musing about his recent communications with Kartjan of the Skjoldur, a fine gentleman who spoke plainly and clearly got stuff done because raiders had already struck at multiple cities, he knew that soon it would be time to make landfall. He swirled the wine in his glass and considered which Port Cities needed to be attacked to end the War and usher in the next age of Harrenian supremacy.

Harrenian Confederacy of Port Cities -
Before, the Air Raids had been periodic, it had seemed like the foreign powers had a rota to avoid one another and so the bombing of the cities kept to a schedule that the Harrenians had swiftly learnt and adapted to. Whilst the sirens would still sound before the approach of enemy aircraft, people would have already flocked to their basements, subways and hastily constructed shelters. There, they spent their time complaining about Balthazar, the raids, politics, food and then, when they returned to their lives after the raid, they would complain about the damage it had caused and those who had done it.

This one was different.

The attack came at the same time as a supply run from the 19th Wing of the 15th Asgarthian Aerial Navy and the obsolete Harrenian radar had been unable to differentiate between them and a separate group of planes until too late and explosions rocked the city before the Sirens could be sounded. Apartment blocks, shopping malls, the waterfront buildings and distribution centres were hit, made especially catastrophic by the total lack of warning and the anticipated supply run. In addition, the Militias had been recently barracked at the waterfront to defend against potential Skjoldurian Sea Raiders and any invasion launched by Balthazar. A particularly disastrous strike collapsed a subway network in the city centre, causing sudden subsidence and fatal damage to the foundations of multiple surrounding towers. They toppled inwards and piled upon each other like a failed house of cards. An estimate of the casualties from that single strike alone topped thirty thousand.

Lydia had just been sent to her room for being ungrateful after watching a cartoon movie with her parents, it was about chickens trying to escape a chicken farm on a home-made plane. She’d said it was a shit movie and spent almost five minutes pointing out every unrealistic thing about it and all the clichés and stolen plot points. She’d then been sent to her room in a huff and so had begun to write a letter, detailing why her parents were being unreasonable. She heard her father go out to collect the daily ration from the depot whilst she was writing and noises from the kitchen meaning that her mother had started preparing for dinner. Then the bombs fell.

Thunderous blasts shook the building and knocked her off her seat. She landed awkwardly on her hand and cried out in pain, gripping her wrist as she climbed to her knees to look towards the window. She saw the top levels of the opposite block blow outwards in an expanding cloud of fiery rubble that slowly arced up and then rapidly dropped downwards to smash into the streets below. She thought she’d seen a figure or two cartwheeling in the cloud but she couldn’t be certain. Then her mother was there, cradling her and screaming that they had to get to the basement, yanking her up before she could even respond. In a crash, the windows shattered inwards, spraying shards of glass around the room and the grip on her arm slackened and slipped off. Ears ringing and vision hazy, Lydia made out the form of her mother on the floor and felt a warm, slick liquid under her fingers when she touched her. She needed to get help, to find a doctor, stop the bleeding. With a grunt, ignoring the pain in her wrist, she yanked her cupboard draw out and grabbed clothes she could use to staunch the bleeding. “DAD!?” she screamed out, hoping he was near enough to help, “HELP!”. With a rising dread, she realised that her Mother wasn’t reacting in pain or moving, she wasn’t responding at all and so Lydia tried to roll her over to assess her situation, “Mum, MUM, MUM! Please. Please. I’m sorry. PLEASE MUM. HELP US DAMNIT!”. She sat there, crying, as the din of sirens and detonations fused together in the cacophony of war, drowning out all else.

The bombing continued well into the night and almost until dawn the next day. Every thirty minutes another wave flew over and the rolling curtain of blasts and flashes echoed their movement upon the surface below. In many ways it was a paragon of carrier operations and showed exactly what a motivated and skilled crew could achieve. Salome had been beautiful. The new growing alongside and complementing the old; ancient ruins had been left in their glades and incorporated into the city as it grew as national parks and protected zones. By the time the bombers were finished the glow from fires could be seen from the mainland coast and not a single building was left untouched. The city-centre had been entirely flattened, the parks incinerated and the historical landmarks blasted apart. No one would be able to recognise the city for what it had been. In a single night, thousands of years of history and development had been demolished.

Fig. A residential district on the outskirts of Salome after the bombing.

Lydia awoke with a skull-splitting headache that made her feel sick. She could feel each and every one of her heartbeats as a painful pulse through her temples. She wished she had some water because her mouth and throat were dry and sore, she tried to swallow some saliva but that made her wince as it went down her raw throat. Noticing a twinge of pain in her back, she tried to stretch it out before screaming in anguish and gasping for breath. No moving! She held herself gingerly and tried to look around using only her eyes and keeping her head and neck still. There was a pale orange glow casting faint shadows allowing her to just make out her surroundings in the gloom. The ‘ceiling’ if it could be called that in its state, rested about a foot in front of her face and seemed to only be supported by a section of her bedroom wall. Slowly, ever so slowly, she twisted her head to try and see more. Spasms of pain wracked her body, causing her to shriek and yelp, she almost passed out once or twice but she needed to see. There, to her side, she could see her mother’s leg protruding from underneath some more rubble. She started to cry but tears wouldn’t come. She wailed nevertheless.

An indeterminable time later she fell back into unconsciousness. She dreamt of her articles and a path not taken. In her dream, she had advocated for surrender, she had pushed for it, steered for it and Balthazar had returned and her parents were alive and they watched more movies. Then she awoke, feeling as if her eyes had shrunk in her head, they were tight and even moving them felt like stretching them on a rack. She accidentally breathed in a trickle of dust that cascaded from the ceiling down onto her face and she coughed. Her screams echoed all around her, piercing her ears and making her dizzy. She desperately wanted to cough to clear her throat but controlled herself, shuddering and twitching to a rigid stiffness. She had been uncomfortable for so long now. She just wanted to sleep but her distress prevented that and she couldn’t move to a more relaxed position because even slight actions caused her indescribable agony. Logically she knew that she was dying. She couldn’t diagnose what was wrong with her back but regardless, she knew that her time was limited because she was trapped and dehydrated. Her only chance was rescue.

Her mother always carried her phone in her skirt pocket. She tentatively reached out towards her mother’s leg and stretched, alternating between panting and holding her breath as she trembled. A cold sweat erupted on her head as she exerted herself. Her hand made contact with the leg. It was clammy and stiff and she sobbed but kept extending, finding the hem of the dress, gripping it with two fingers and drawing it back, using friction against the floor to gain purchase. Then she located the pocket, curling her fingers in and sliding the phone out with an unsteady grip. She had it. Letting herself relax, she briefly lost consciousness from the exertion but came to seconds later and lifted the phone and clicked it on.

The harsh red light of the screen speared into her eyes but she squinted and forced herself to stare at it. She made out the letters S.P.Q.R. and then a video began playing. As the message got to the part where Agrippa gave them an ultimatum to surrender or die, she clutched the phone, wracked with cries and croaked out, “I surrender”. Only the creak of the building answered. She tried to call the emergency services but got only an automated message saying, “All Circuits are Busy”. She tried to phone all the numbers she could think of but only ever got that message. After what felt like days, her phone died. After what felt like months, her hope died. After what felt like years, she died.

Harrenian Heartlands -

The first shipment of Microtanks were delivered from Aurum, fifty ‘Street Sweepers’ and a small stockpile of ammunition and spare parts. Whilst there were enough for purpose at the moment, training, evaluation and doctrine development, Maaya hoped the rest of the five hundred wouldn’t take too long to arrive. She wanted to have an Armoured Division fully trained and equipped as soon as possible.

After a short assessment, Maaya had them all refitted with side-skirts to protect the vulnerable suspension and transmission and panels of slat armour on the turret and front hull to help protect the light armour from explosives. She knew they’d provide only a minimal increase in survivability but considered that worth ruining the Goblin aesthetic for. After that she greenlit them for training and painting in the traditional Harrenian cool blue as she finalised a doctrine first conceived when the Heartlands ordered the Microtanks from Aurum.

Nathaniel and the rest of the Heartlands’ leadership had envisioned two potential combat zones, attacking in an extreme urban environment in the Port Cities or holding among defensive fortifications and bunkers in the Heartlands. The Microtanks suited both; tight city streets and buildings large enough to enter, bunkers and tunnel networks built large enough to contain nasty armoured surprises. The Street Sweeper armament was also particularly well suited for those roles due to its short barrelled 75mm Howitzer with high explosive shells and heavy machine gun.

Maaya’s doctrine was pretty simple. The Microtanks would be used to assault infantry positions and clear them, allowing an accompanying infantry force to move up and hold them. However, due to cripplingly low ammunition and fuel capacity, the accompanying infantry would have to carry the supplies necessary to rearm and refuel the Microtanks after every engagement. She knew that the doctrine wouldn’t be effective in open country or deep behind enemy lines, however it worked for the two scenarios planned by her superiors.

Director Lockwood sighed as he read the intel reports and situation updates from across Harren and the surrounding regions. The condition of the Confederacy was dire. By his estimate it would vote to surrender within the week and even if it didn’t, it seemed that Balthazar and his newfound allies were preparing an invasion that would break whatever resistance remained. After that his eyes would turn towards the Heartlands. Nathaniel decided to call an emergency meeting.

All of the Heartlands' leadership were present, including the newly appointed Chief of the Army, Maaya, and an invitation was also extended to the Aurum representative, Gazziks. After updating them with all the current intelligence, he came to his primary reason for calling the meeting, the question of Harren Island’s future.

Fig. The University Conference Chamber in the Harrenian Heartlands

“Both of these options are bad for different reasons, however there is no sitting on the fence of this decision and either choice could lead to the end of the Heartlands in the future.

The people don’t want the return of Balthazar, so, if we act now before the Port Cities surrender, we can offer to absorb and protect them. In one fell swoop we could control the entirety of Harren Island. However, that would mean attempting to restore order in a demoralised, starving and chaotic population during aerial bombardments and a potential invasion. It would mean stretching us thin and committing our utterly green forces to defensive engagements before we were ready and risking them in their entirety.

Or.

We focus on our defences to the exclusion of all else. By the time Balthazar comes for us, we could have a well-trained and well-equipped Army holding huge defensive networks and advanced fortresses alongside forces promised by Aurum in the event of imminent invasion. However, that means giving Balthazar the Port Cities and the time he needs to restore his control, rebuild his forces and to attack us at his leisure with any potential allies he might gather to do so. It would mean giving away the initiative.”

by **Myraxia** » Wed Nov 07, 2018 8:18 am

Treeline above Salome

Secreted in the trees above the burning city, a group of camouflaged figures crouched in the shade of the canopy, watching the spectacle with interest. "You know," one of them began - a Sergeant by his rank stripe, Myraxian by his accent - "the Romans really seem to make a habit of bombing civilians."
"It's a valid strategy, Sergeant." responded another figure - another Myraxian, a Captain this time. "Break the will of the people, force them into terms in your favour. It's doubly effective here with this direct democracy crap - the government is the people, so if they break the people, they break the country."
Widespread grumbling amongst the Myraxians greeted this comment. "Their democracy can be clearly shown to have failed, though. Right, boss? "
"Absolutely. Doesn't mean they deserve to get bombed, though."
"So what's the play, Captain?"
"That... is a good question." the Captain paused. He liked this island - it was so very unlike anywhere else he'd ever served. The people seemed decent enough, albeit misguided. In need of a strong, guiding hand, perhaps...
"Right. Corporal, get on the comm. Get me Archon Command - no, scratch that, they've got enough issues with the Acadiens. Get me Bandoan Command. There's an opportunity here to extend our influence into this region and to put one into those bloody Romans."

Myraxian Combined Forces Internal Communication
CLR: NDGO
TO: Admiral Tomas Vorychen, Myraxian Seventh Fleet, Commanding
FROM: Marshal Tymeon Sar Rynael, Bandoan Command District, Commanding
RE: Seventh Fleet Deployment Orders

Admiral,
An opportunity has arisen in Harren Island that it's been determined we must try to take advantage of. It's a messy situation we're sending your ships into, but most of the relevant parties shouldn't engage you. Be wary for Skjoldurian raiders and the local Dictator's forces. Romans are in theater as well. Your orders are to make contact with whatever elements of this 'Confederacy of Port Cities' still exist and convince them to relocate to the southwest region - the conurbation about the Bay of Airi - before having your marines dig in to defend that region. Once there, begin negotiations with whatever leadership figures you can identify - the goal here is a permanent Myraxian presence in the region.
Special Operations has assets in region should you require them.

Good luck.
Marshal Sar Rynael

Their orders received, the vessels of the Myraxian Seventh Fleet cast off from their moorings in Pyongsan - the major Myraxian fleet berth in the Bandoan region - and set sail for Harren Island, with two divisions of Marine Light Infantry in transport. 24,000 Myraxian marines, veterans of the heavily hushed counterinsurgency campaign against Bandoan remnants, sailed for the island. Morale was high - rumour aboard ship, correctly, had them deploying to save civilians - a welcome change to the years of morally grey COIN ops, which the troops looked forward to with enthusiasm.

Erinyes, Harrenian Confederacy of Port Cities

The Skjoldurian raider - a dirty great brute, festooned with weapons and trophies, paused in his looting. A sound had caught his attention - a faint whimper, the sound of a survivor. Drawing a favoured blade from his belt, he stalked through the building - once a tourist bureau of some kind - seeking this survivor. The sound came again, this time from the far side of a door to his left. He grinned. Kicking in the door, he frowned. There was no survivor here - just a small recording device on the floor. As he looked at it in confusion, the noise sounded again, emanating from the device. He just had time to start to turn when he felt the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel to the back of his neck.
"Oops." The comment came in Myraxian accented International. "Too easy." A muted thud followed, then a louder clatter as the raider fell to the floor.

"Three-two to Lead. One down, moving to next ambush site. Out. "

Public Announcement, International News Network

A figure appears on the screen - Marshal Rychtan Kerenol, the Myraxian Commander for External Security. A small ticker across the bottom filled in those who did not recognise him. "Nations of the Charter, I come to you this day in horror and determination. The Harrenian Civil War, a small local conflict that has been blown out of proportion by foreign nations, has drawn the attention of this Union. The barbaric practices exhibited there by Skjoldurian raiders - practices that would not have been out of place several hundred years ago - and the Roman propensity for bombing civilians, displayed on multiple occasions, cannot continue. As such, Myraxian forces are presently sailing for the island to enforce peace. They are accompanied by the following declaration - the Harrenian Port Cities, heretofore unprotected, are now considered to be under the protection of the Union of Myraxia. Any further offensive actions taken against these cities, or the people of Harren Island, WILL be considered an attack on the Union itself.
The situation will be resolved by Myraxian forces upon their arrival.

Myraxia sonda'ryr! "

The screen blinks off.

[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

Opening Gambits

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