[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Thu Nov 08, 2018 11:23 am

I.R.S. Valentinian, Harrenite Blockade.

Praefectus Agrippa stared darkly out of the window. Barely hearing the reports of the Valentinian’s Trierarch.

“In conclusion sir, devastation was conclusive and casualties massive. From what we can tell the rebels were on the edge of capitulation, but…”

“The Myraxians.” Agrippa said, practically spitting the word out. “They should stay in their own part of the world…”

“Indeed sir.” The man replied, apprehensively. “Word of this has reached the capital. Needless to say, Prince Nero is not happy with Myraxian forces active in the region. He’s authorised the 2nd Cohort of the 12th Legion to join us, under your command sir.” Agrippa seemed unphased however.

“How are the ‘glorious premiers’ preparations going?” He asked, his tone unchanged.

“As well as can be expected sir. He’s started ranting and raving more than usual, we could take that either way to be honest…”

The Praefectus waved his hand dismissively. “It makes no difference. The confederacy will break or die. We win either way.”

“Speaking of death sir.” The Trierarch ventured. “Our analysts predict that the subversives will not accept your generous offer. The Myraxian meddling gave them hope ,maybe if we were to extend the deadline until after…

“The target.” Agrippa interjected sharply, prompting his compatriot so stiffen.

“Meisa. Sir. As far as intelligence can determine it’s a former capital city and the former seat of their monarchy, before it was overthrown by pirates.”

Agrippa scoffed. “We’re these people ever not pathetic? I want the attack to commence the moment the deadline expires. If we wait too long the Myraxians will have time to reach us.

“Any preferences sir?”

“Operation plan Zeta this time. After the past week standard ordinance will have less of a phycological effect than before. Make sure to broadcast the Asgar-Romae defence agreement on all channels before and during our attack. Myraxia can choose. Spite and a rock in the middle of nowhere or their precious ESZ.”

Exactly Two days after the Razing of Salome.

Bzzt.
Bzzt.

Across the Confederacy the alert could be felt. Terrified citizens checked their various devises, praying to whatever deity they believed in that it was something, anything else. No such luck. The dark red screen, the resplendent gold eagle, those four letters that had come to symbolise terror and death across the Port Cities.

The, now infamous, features of the Roman commander once again stared down at the Islanders. He glowered in silence for a few moments before simply saying.

“I gave you a choice, you chose poorly. I now offer you another.”

City of Meisa, Harren Island.

It was a near certainty that many, if not most, of the denizens of the rebel cities were now gawping at the sky; wondering if it was them who would be the latest to feel the wrath of the Romans. The people of Meisa did not have to wonder long.

The all too familiar roar of jet-engines sounded thought the city. Not the occasional drone that preceded raids or food but a cacophony the sheer volume of which forced people to cover their ears in pain. Soon they could be seen. What must have looked like thousands of planes flying high in neat formations. Heading straight for them.
The islanders ran for cover, desperate for anything or anything that might protect them and their loved ones. They must have known deep down that it was pointless, surely, they had all seen the ruins of Salome?

A synchronised set of explosions racked the city, with no area of the city spared, but this time there was something different. The explosions were almost…tame? The destruction minimal. A sense of relief rippled through the city. Maybe the Romans had been scared into submitting? Perhaps their bombs didn’t work? The odd few loyalists may have even thought that Balthazar had curtailed his new allies. Then they heard it, a slow but persistent hisss coming from the craters. Gas.

The unfortunates nearest to the craters succumbed first. Collapsing in a fit of coughs and pain as their very lungs began to dissolve. On seeing this the people fled, barricading themselves in their homes, desperately trying to seal their houses and rapping themselves in cloth.

All according to plan.

When the gas bombs finally stopped and the whole city was blanketed in their deadly fog. That’s when phase II began. More planes filled the skies dropping their payloads, which exploded in great waves of fire, spreading Napalm and other flammable substances across the city. Buildings collapsed as the explosions rained from above and the fire ate away at them from below. Whole streets burned in bright chemical flames. Infrastructure, industrial and retail districts, even schools. Nothing was safe from the force of the flames or the tenacity of the gas. The attacks continued well into the night; the city itself blazing like a second sun, acting as a guiding light for its defilers.

Agrippa had been true to his word. The citizens of Meisa had been given a new and terrible choice. Burn in their homes, or choke in their streets.

by **Harren Island** » Thu Nov 08, 2018 11:44 am

Harrenian Nature -

Theodore saw the deer drop to one knee, weakly strain to stay upright and then collapse to the ground, still. He was glad that it hadn’t taken long to die, he didn’t want any unnecessary or prolonged suffering. When he lowered the scope, he noticed that all the other deer hadn’t scattered as he’d expected.

They were staring at him and singing with a sharper, more discordant tune that caused a shiver to go down his spine and goose bumps to rise on his arms despite the warm weather. “What the fuck is this?”, he asked to no one in particular, his voice sounding weaker than he’d thought and entirely swallowed by the melody. These deer weren’t natural.

The tune rose to a crescendo. Theodore fell to his knees, rifle dropping to the ground next to him as he clutched his ears to try and crush out the noise. That made no difference at all. The all-consuming song resonated within his head and whilst he could feel himself screaming, he could only hear the cacophony in his head. Writhing among the dirt, leaves and detritus of the forest floor he tried to escape it. Begging for it to stop he felt his face scrape against the wood of a tree root and began banging his head against it, the tune quieted by the pain for those brief seconds.

Then the visions started coming and Theodore shuddered to a stop, on his back, staring up at the sky but not seeing it. In the intervening minutes, he experienced an entire life as one of the deer, the one he’d shot; he was born and grew up, loved and was loved, one with nature and at once both peaceful and striving to protect it from those who cared not. Then the fateful moment came, the thunderous report of a rifle and the pain in his chest and the sudden end of an entirely innocent life.

The song ended and Theodore came back to himself. Covered in dirt, leaves, a few insects and bloody from the injuries he’d caused to himself. He cried. Sorry for what he’d done. He kicked away the rifle and then crawled over to it, planning to end it all and pay for his mistake, pay for the crime he committed.

by **Friendly Island** » Thu Nov 08, 2018 12:04 pm

"Friend"

"Brother"

"Family"

Many voices speak as one through and to the man. The tones have a certain safe, reassuring quality - as if family or friends were speaking to him.

"You have done nothing wrong"

"You are forgiven."

"You are loved."

The fawns approach carefully, slowly, gently. Their movements are deliberate but delicate. The ground beneath their feet doesn't even make a sound as they pass over leave and branches. They stop very near, and put their small hands forward, in an inviting manner.

"Please, stay with us. We love you. You are loved. You are wanted. You are forgiven."

by **Iryllia** » Thu Nov 08, 2018 1:13 pm

The Diplomat.

Things had moved very fast. She looked on as she waited, still in the dark and becoming increasingly concerned of her situation here. Kathrin was very glad her presence was a minor one, as everyone who seemed to be dog piling into this situation were state enemies. She'd heard rumours of Myraxian ships to the south, people who'd shoot her without question of diplomatic decorum. They were at war after all. The Romans and their barbarian entourages were busy doing... Whatever the hell it was. They'd enslave her probably. The thought of what those duties would entail made her shudder.

Asgarthians... Not sure actually, maybe lock her up or just ignore her hopefully. She had managed to squirrel away a couple bottles of the local vintage her captain had kept in the draw. A bribe maybe? The gobbo's were probably her best ticket out of here. Take the emergency fund and fuck off to start a new life in the Undercity. Not a bad idea certainly.

Just earlier she'd herd a couple of deck crew muttering about strangers from the north. Pale and gruesome. That's the Valari no doubt. Don't know, don't want to know. Probably similar to the Romans but colder. Perhaps she could catch the eye of a dashing Valari colonel with raven black hair and stiff leather boots... She shook her head. Getting off track. A knock on the bulkhead, a command issued with prompt intent. She nodded, gathering a file and picking up her briefcase. Time to see this oh great leader and bribe the shit out of him.

The door loomed, she tapped a foot absentmindedly. Going over the plan in her head one last time just as the bolts began to swing open. Be punctual, lay the points out first and try to keep the initiative. She undid the neck button of her uniform shirt. Gotta use everything you got. She stepped in, confronted by guards, agents, possibly other spies, ministers and of course: Balthazar.
"Your grace, Balthazar of the Harren Hegemony, rightful ruler of the Harren isles. The Iryllian government is prepared to offer you aid in your endeavour. To the tune of..." The briefcase connected with the table, clicked open revealing rows upon rows of bills. "Two hundred and twenty million Ruons. For your consideration of course."

The Smuggler.

Whelp. If things hadn't gone to shit before. They certainly had now. Like. Really gone to shit. Valentina had made a tidy profit off getting in a few choice food imports. A few tons or rice and grain, preservatives. Even a little meat. Her main buyer was dead down, buried in the rubble of an airstrike. She kept out of global politics in general, only getting the general news but damn these Romans really liked bombing civilians without precedent. Didn't they know how dangerous they were making her work? Inconsiderate bastards. Several of the cities had become down right warzones. What was left of her favourite cafe was just completely gone now. It very much seemed like the Confederacy was gasping it's dying breath. Gone. Kaput. She's dead Jim. Belly up.

Completely and utterly fucked.

Now was the time to leave, she pondered from beneath the rubble, a metaphor involving rats and ships that didn't float too good came to mind. Take her money and leave. How on earth was she expected to do that? No clue. Since there were like four different navies fucking around the waters here even her bravest contacts had told her to go do one. Refugee ships were being sunk, anything that flew reconsidered that terrible proposition long ago now.

The dead had stared her in the face, it took her back to places she'd long since buried. At least in Rygan everyone had been a soldier. Even if they hadn't wanted too they'd died fighting in some way. It wasn't the case here. Mothers, fathers. The old. People who'd just been going about whatever normal lives they had. Gone. Snuffed out in an instant. She'd been sitting on some rubble here for a few minutes. A girl, maybe no more than twelve stared glassy eyed up into nothing near by. She couldn't look, how could she answer that look. She didn't have a damn thing to do with it. Go haunt the pilot who dropped that bomb. She stood, picking an arbitrary direction to leave. Wiping away the tears welling in her eyes.

Time to leave.

The Spy.

The Spy had been busy. They'd presented a couple minor artefacts as payment to the Aurumite mercs. In the intervening days however, they'd been very busy. News from the ports was grim. Ashley didn't expect the central lands to be far behind them. So she'd been preparing. Backpack, check. Rope. Check. Whip? Check? (Why, they didn't know. Seemed necessary at the time.) Hat and duster for anonymity. Their Archaeology tools. Lights, a couple weeks worth of compressed and dried rations. Maps and water. Notepad. Their files. They'd made sure water reservoirs had been placed near the main points of all the dig sites. Including the deepest.

As everything went to shit above their head. Ashley was going to make sure the deepest treasures in these deep catacombs would be secured. Whatever they may be. Even now while the Heartlands were preparing for the end. The nondescript archaeologist slipped their way down into the darkest depths of the ancient vaults. The whip could be used as an emergency rope? I guess. It looked cool. That's what mattered here.

by **Asgareth** » Fri Nov 09, 2018 8:37 am

Asgar House, Asgar, Asgareth
In Asgar House, the Imperiali had summoned Rufus T. Perkins and Yulta Ross to him. With the majority of the cabinet still out of the country, the Imperiali had had little choice but to invite others. Sat alongside, were General Edmund de’Lance and Denzyl Pera, the Minister for Asgarthian Development. They were in a video conference with Axic Ross and Yaznon Paltri.
“What about those rumours by the way? Is it true that Caesar has fallen pregnant again? With his son’s child?” Axic enquired, with a smirk.
“Confirmed. Due in four months. I’m sure we’ll send flowers nearer the time.” Denzyl responded
“Boy or girl?” Axic chuckled
“Yes.” The Imperiali smirked. “Something like that I expect.”

A puzzled look from the cabinet caused the Imperiali to elaborate
“Caesar’s family like to keep it in the family. Generations of inbreeding… that shit has to come home at some point. The bald fraud is going to create some kind of monster.” The Imperiali paused, before continuing. “But enough about the Romans. This city… Salome. Were we supplying there?”
“Nothing was deposited directly into the city.” Yaznon stated. “Our nearest drop off point was some 5½ miles north-east. Nevertheless, the islanders had probably already moved supplies south.”
“I assume this means they lost the days rations?” Rufus T. Perkins asked
“Almost certainly.” Axic finished.
“A fitting punishment for incompetence.” The Imperiali stated, with a swift smirk. "And what of the gassing of Meisa? What have the international community said?"
"Surprisingly little sir. The goblins continue to make noise, as too do the Valari. But they will not intervene. As for the islands, the port cities are in no position to talk."
"I assume that is because the Romans keep gassing them all?"

“Indeed sir.” Yaznon began. “But this latest attack, it has created further issues.”
“The Myraxians. I heard.” Rufus began.
“They’ve announced the island under their protection.” Axic finished.
“Did they indeed? Well, I believe the Romans, Valarisk, Skjoldurians and Goblins may have something to say about that. They should know better than to turn up late to a party.”
Perkins smirked. “So what’s our play?” Rufus continued, as he turned to the Imperiali.
The Imperiali studied the group for a moment, before he spoke with a smirk.
“Clearly the islanders are incapable of safeguarding our generous supplies. Now that the island is under so-called Myraxian protection, I will order for supplies to stop. Let the Myraxians supply their inhabitants.”
“You wish for Asgareth to leave the theatre?” Yaznon enquired
“Not at all. But the port cities are currently… unprotected. It is time for our troops to enter the fray.”
“An amphibious invasion is impossible at this time. Whilst the Romans, may… indeed, almost certainly would, allow our ships to pass unharmed, there is no guarantee Balthazar’s forces won’t be anywhere near. And even the Myraxians may turn on us.” General de’Lance stated, as he studied the Imperiali’s reaction.
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort.”

As usual, the 19th Wing were flying their supplies to the port cities. As had always been agreed, they used the positions of the Roman fleet to provide a safe flight path. Unbeknownst to both the Romans and the Port Cities, however, the 16th Airborne Regiment were onboard these planes. Their task was a simple one: the extermination of the islanders. On board one of these planes, one could meet H-Squad, part of the 320th Company. And here, on the first seat to the right, we meet the hero of the war: Lieutenant Frakos.

“I met Bjorn once.” Lieutenant Frakos began, as he studied his squad. “He was a good man. I was most saddened to hear of his death. May whichever god the Skjoldurians are worshipping this week have mercy on his axe.”.
“He was a special one. Once tried to take me on at a drinking contest. He passed out after half a shandy, but at least he tried. Nearly nicked his axe afterwards as well!” Sergeant Ernic proudly proclaimed.
“So the Valarisk killed him? Damn. Rome must be shitting itself now that Valyrien and Myraxia have entered.” Trooper Yingo stated.
“Kinda makes you question why we’re switching sides, doesn’t it?” Trooper Lickin asked.
“Nah not really. This is our way of sticking two fingers up to the Myraxians without actually engaging in war.” Frakos replied. “Besides, we’re not so much switching sides as we are committing a genocide against a civilian population. Technically, we’re still the good guys.”

The squad chuckled, as the plane continued on its voyage. Below, the coast of the island came into view. The Bay of Airi made a rather scenic view, particularly as it had so far been largely untouched by the war. As the plane drew closer, the city of Elias came into focus. The city had become something of a refugee centre for the displaced citizens of the ports. This made it the perfect target for the paratroopers. Hundreds of civilians, almost defenceless. The islanders watched as the Asgarthian planes – still painted in their luminated orange paint – roared over. Naturally, this caused little cause for concern. The planes always flew over at 3pm, so as to drop more supplies. They also did not become terribly concerned when objects started to fall out of the planes. Perhaps they thought the Asgarthians had finally committed ground troops. Well, that assumption was almost correct.

The paratroopers deployed their parachutes; some 5000 white clothes filled the sky. Frakos was amongst the first out. An experienced jumper, he had little trouble on the way down. Upon landing, he tasked himself with reuniting H-Squad. Trooper Yingo had landed just a few feet away from him, and together they eventually reunited with Ernic, Lickin and several others.
Once reunited, the squad charged into the cities, along with countless others. There, the troops of the 16th Airborne Company opened fire upon the civilians. With the militia focussing more on the continued Roman airstrikes, and lack of food, little resistance was offered. The city swiftly became a bloodbath. Men, women and children were slaughtered wherever they were found. Nowhere was safe from the paratroopers; schools, hospitals and churches swiftly became favourite hunting grounds. That is not to say the paratroopers did not sustain losses. Of the 5000 paratroopers that had jumped, 4962 had made safe landing. Of these, only 37 had been killed in the fighting; 17 of which by friendly fire. Included in the list of the dead were Sergeant Ernic and Trooper Yingo. In the minds of the commanders, the day had gone well. Now, the troopers had fled into the hills, on the hunt for more refugees

At the same time that the 16th Airborne Regiment carried out their attacks, the 17th Wing began to carry out its own mission. The latest set of supplies had been dropped off one hour before by the 18th wing in the city of Ruri. In the time between, command had ordered the destruction of all supplies within the Bay of Airi. The Port Cities had centralised their supplies, with each city using the town hall as a distribution point. This made it rather easy for the Asgarthians to pinpoint just what they were bombing.

Above the skies of Ruri, the luminated Asgarthian planes came closer and closer. Some citizens were a little confused as to why more supplies were arriving so soon after the last set, but for most this was an occasion for celebration. Citizens lined the streets, as the planes came closer and closer to the town hall. Once above, however, the mood quickly changed. The cargo was swiftly dropped, and with it, the hall was alight. Flames raged, causing panic in the streets. The citizens of Ruri watched in shock, as the realisation of the Asgarthian betrayal came into sight. Across the Bay of Airi, town halls were bombed by the 17th. Galatea, Saya, Filia, Yui and Mesia were also hit by squadrons from the 17th wing. The bay’s supplies were virtually wiped out through the coordinated strike. The bloodbath city of Elias had also been struck, so as to prevent the city being used as a supply station. Those that had survived the initial bloodbath, now faced the loss of all supplies, and with it the eventuality of starvation.

A message was broadcast, from the Isle of Gespe, to the Bay of Airi:

“To the Airian residents of Harren Island. The bombings committed in your major cities serve as warning. If you do not surrender yourself to the Asgarthian forces, you will be dealt with as conspirators to treason. The deaths of the citizens of Elias should also serve as warning. Do not mistake their foolishness for heroism. They have already paid the price for their treason. Do not be so foolish as to pay the same cost. Your town halls are destroyed. As an act of surrender, and to embrace your new Asgarthian overlords, fly the Asgarthian flag on all houses within your city. If a single house does not fly the flag, the entire city will be held accountable for the consequences. ”

A second message was sent, in private, to Balthazar:

“Balthazar, Do not mistake our attack on the Port Cities as a sign that the Asgarthian Empire looks to work with you. You are a fallen leader; a failure. You have no place amongst us. By order of Asgarthian High Command, hand over your fleet, or face imminent destruction. Give command of your forces to the Asgarthian Empire and the Roman Imperium. Harren Island is now the property of the Asgarthian Empire and Roman Imperium. Resistance is futile.”

The letter was sent anonymously, though later analysis suggests it came from the son of the Imperiali himself.

by **Harren Island** » Fri Nov 09, 2018 7:37 pm

Who cries for Harren?

Harrenian Hegemony in Exile -
The attack happened at dawn. The first wave of each of the five landings consisted of ten thousand raving marauders from Skjoldur, sent in first to locate defensive positions, of which few were expected, and to sow anarchy among the population. The second wave at each city contained almost ten thousand Romans who would attack any organised points of resistance and seize critical objectives. Harrenian Marines were interspersed among all forces to help direct efforts.

Balthazar had considered going with his troops and leading from the front and being the first to step on shore. A grand statement for all to see and he sorely wished to do it but he couldn’t, for without him, Harren would never grow to span the world and the dream would die and so he put aside his childish and selfish desire. For the glory and future of Harren, his duty was to not risk himself under any circumstance.

He’d worried at first that his allies would abandon him and turn to smoke upon hearing Myraxia’s public pledge but the fact that the landings were happening proved that not to be the case. However, he found the declaration from Asgareth to be confusing. Why turn against the Confederacy but not align with him? That gives them no support on Harren whatsoever and did they really think they could take the entire island with a paltry number of paratroopers? The Imperiali was obviously incompetent and leading Asgareth to ruin, Balthazar only hoped he’d be powerful enough in time to take a chunk of the pie when they were divided up.

Originally, Balthazar had intended to land only at Noa, Baruch and Cyma in order to utilise the harbours and secure the naval academy and shipyards, however, with the extra troops he had available from Rome he had decided to expand his landing zone to include the weakened Nara and Erinyes to give him a larger foothold and spread any defensive efforts.

Fig. Dawn as seen from Saya with the sun creeping up over the mainland. Not quite as beautiful for those under attack to the North.

He invited the Iryllian diplomat to watch events unfold in the HH Ascendancy’s war room as reports flooded in and his Grand Admiral coordinated efforts with Rome’s Air Force. The money she had given him had been a surprise, he couldn’t really use it to buy anything on the international market due to the exchange rates being murder, especially considering the state of Harren Island and its economy but he could use it to rebuild his country after the War was over. It would accelerate repairs and the next step on the road to supremacy. For that, she had his thanks.

Harrenian Conflagration of Port Cities -
The 11th Noan Home Guard were awoken by alarms blaring across the city and an announcement declaring an incoming assault. Taking their positions at sandbag emplacements and makeshift barricades, the riflemen tried to spot what was coming but were staring straight into the dawn sun coming up over the horizon and could barely see the sea in front of them. They heard the rumble of their light coastal batteries open up and cheered but it was a fragile half-hearted cheer, knowing that it wouldn’t have stopped the attack. A few seconds later the screech of jets ripped overhead and then explosions along the shoreline silenced the guns forever. Then they saw them. Hundreds of light craft charging across the waves, shining bright in the glistening and sparkling waters. It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so terrifying.

Sergeant Norio ordered his squad to open fire. The cracks from the Home Guard rifles snapped out, accurately sending Raiders cartwheeling off their boats in a splash or flopping to the decks and coating them with blood. He saw muzzle flashes and heard the whumps of large bore guns, were those shotguns? He heard the whine of pellets as they whistled through the air and saw sandbags burst open in fountains. One of the barricades took a direct hit and he saw the spread of small punctures. Yes, shotguns. That’s not good because they’re about to be in point blank range.

Norio knew this wouldn’t end well. They weren’t putting a dent in the raider numbers and those bastards were pulling up at the docks already. Directing his squad’s fire at one of the boats that had scraped up alongside their jetty, a ripple of rifle fire took out the first raiders that surged over the side but before his men could reload, the next bunch dropped to the jetty and opened fire. The avalanche of roars sent men flying back in arcs of blood and sand. He saw the squad medic drop his rifle and fall over backwards, twitching and clutching at his abdomen and legs that had been riddled with pellets. “FALL BACK!”, Norio pulled one of his less wounded riflemen up to his feet by the collar and dragged him backwards, “BACK NOW, TO THE HARBOURMASTER’S BILLET!”. He made sure not to run because he knew that it would start a rout.

As he backed away up the jetty, he saw the raiders close with the position they’d just abandoned and using axe attachments on their shotguns, butchered those who had been too slow or too badly wounded to retreat. Bastards, he thought, as he put a round through one of their throats and watched him gasp to his knees and spasm on the floor. Looking around, Norio saw that the whole front had collapsed and most of it was in full retreat. Cursing, he directed the last six of his squad to the Harbourmaster’s building, a two-story concrete warehouse, office and living quarter.

“Sarge, what are we doing?”, his youngest riflemen, nicknamed the ‘Kid’, asked in a trembling voice, shaking with adrenaline. Norio looked down at him as he barricaded the main entrance with cargo containers, “We’re holding here and gonna make the bastards pay for setting foot on Harren Island.”. Another one of his riflemen, an older fellow by the name of Samouel who had dashed up a metal gantry way to the first floor, broke open a window and took a shot before calmly pointing out that no one else appeared to be holding. Norio smiled up at him, “Well then, it starts here.”. He organised the squad, leaving two men to watch the stairways and the warehouse ground floor and setting up the rest in positions by windows and firing at anything that moved.

It seemed like the raiders had given up trying to rush across the open concrete loading area to the Warehouse and were flowing around into the city behind them. As far as he could tell hundreds if not more had bypassed his squad and so things were looking positive until Samouel noticed what, or more accurately, whom, had arrived in the second wave. Romans, in their characteristic armour and moving with deadly purpose, scared him more than the Reavers. They didn’t advance across the open but took up positions opposite and began to exchange fire with Norio’s squad. A burst of assault rifle chatter carved through windowsill and the kid, spraying the back wall dark red with his blood. Norio and Samouel fired back, aiming for the Roman who had killed him. They saw their shots connect and drop him but he rolled onto his front and crawled into cover. They didn’t see a blood trail. Damn Roman armour. Norio kept his sights aimed at the location where the Roman had crawled to, hoping he’d peek and get a bullet in the face. Then something Samouel casually mentioned sunk in, “They’re painting us.”. FUCK. Norio moved and yelled at his squad, “GET UNDER HARD COVER N-“.

Norio found himself lying on his back, seeing spots and with ears ringing. Dust filled the air and his rifle was nowhere to be found. Stumbling to his knees and then feet, he pulled himself up and faltered down the hallway before catching himself just in time; the gantry way and upper level ahead of him had been blasted apart and there was a three-metre drop to a burning crater below. Looking around, he couldn’t see his men in the smoke and couldn’t hear anything apart from the ringing. Then he spotted movement by the crater below. Romans. They had taken the opportunity to assault and were already in the building. Damn. He watched them dart in pairs between cover, clearing each corner and tossing grenades in alcoves and rooms.

He darted along the gantry way, hoping to find his rifle but finding a wounded Samouel propped up against a wall. Norio lifted him up despite his spluttered curses and supported him as they made their way towards the stairs. Norio didn’t have a plan but he knew they couldn’t stay here anymore and simply hoped they make it to the stairs to go up before the Romans had cleared the ground level. His hope was denied. Rounding the corner, they came face to face with the first two Romans who were climbing the stairs. They levelled their Assault Rifles. Norio closed his eyes and expected to be gunned down. Instead he heard, “Surrender now or die. As Agrippa has constantly given you pathetic people, a choice, choose wisely.”.

Before Norio could respond, even though he still wasn’t sure if he’d have spit in his face or taken the offer, a rumbling crash reverberated throughout the warehouse. A tank! In the glorious bright blue Harrenian colours. With a crash, its cannon opened up and bits of the Roman squad on the ground floor splattered up the stairwell as Norio, Samouel and the two Romans on the stairs were blasted off their feet by the shockwave. With his ears ringing for the second time, Norio clambered to his feet again, knowing that whoever recovered first would win, and threw himself on top of one of the sprawled Romans, holding him down as he pulled out his combat knife and forced it into gaps between armour, feeling the blade push through flesh and then scrape against bone as the Roman writhed and screamed under him. It took multiple stabs, in different places, for the Roman to finally stop squealing as his lifeblood poured out, soaking Norio and the stairs. Still clutching the knife with a white grip, he looked up and saw Samouel, sitting on the stairs, who had managed to get his hands on one of their assault rifles and taken out the last one. Samouel weakly smiled, “Look, it’s the Cavalry from the Heartlands.”.

Fig. The Harbourmaster's warehouse, office and living quarters, or at least the part that was still standing after the militia's stand.

Norio helped him to his feet and they both trudged down the stairs, finally getting a good look at the tank that had helped them. It was tiny. The hatch popped open and a woman stood up, she looked like a weird mechanical centaur considering the size of her vehicle. Norio saluted her and asked, “Are we going to win?”. She sighed and shook her head, “We hoped that you guys would rally to us and push them back into the sea but no one is holding. You were the first I found actually putting up a fight. Now get on, we have to go.”. Norio lifted Samouel up onto the rear deck and climbed up to hold onto the turret as it rumbled around and back out the way it came. Holding onto Samouel and the turret for dear life as it careened around corners and over rubble and wreckage, Norio noticed that what she had said had been true. The Skjoldurians were looting, murdering, raping across the city and they passed multiple groups of militia that had surrendered and were being rounded up by the Romans. They passed two burnt out light tank husks as Romans and Skjoldurians took pot shots at them in the chaos.

Eventually, to Norio’s surprise and momentary terror, the tankette took some stairs down into the subway before screeching to a halt and turning off the engine. The woman popped her hatch and clambered. “Outta fuel” she gruffly mentioned whilst opening her fuel tank and stuffing a rag into it, “We gotta hoof it. Get off.”. Norio went to help Samouel off but found him staring off into nowhere, maybe he’d taken a hit during the drive through the city or maybe he’d died of his wounds but either way, the result was the same. He shook his head as she pulled out a lighter and lit the rag. “I have no intention of being taken by the Romans”, she said to him, “come with me or stay, your choice but I’m leaving now”. He was getting mighty fed up of these choices. She jumped off the platform and started walking along the tracks Westwards. He followed.

It seemed like they’d been trudging for a while before he asked, “So what was going on with your attack then, we thought the Heartlands were sticking to themselves?”. She didn’t look at him but responded in a monotone voice that grew more heated as she went on, “Leadership decided to prop you guys up, to defend against Balthazar. It was too soon and I told them so. We didn’t even have a full company and they were entirely green. You guys crumbled before we could even get to the Harbour and we got separated trying to deal with the packs of raiders. No radio you see. We risked everything to try and save you fucks and now we may have just opened the door for Balthazar. You see why I’m pissed.”

They both heard the racking clack of shotguns from ahead of them in the dark and stopped. She clipped open her holster and drew her pistol, a small 8mm thing that looked tiny in her hand. Norio realised that, again, he was unarmed and felt naked. “Oooh, look here lads, we’ve got ourselves a fighter. Not like the rest of these Harrenian dogs.” Out of the gloom strutted a pack of Skjoldurians covered in blood, sporting trophies and wearing items they’d looted, “Told ya we’d find stragglers down ‘ere.” The tall one at the front grinned, a golden tooth glinting in the dark, and signalled with his shotgun that she should drop her pistol. She spat, raised it and fired. Everyone froze. The tall one looked down and then back up at her and laughed, “Alright missy, you had your shot, now drop it. I won’t ask again.”. He saw the intent in her eyes and dived as she pulled the trigger five more times, tracking him as he rolled across the floor. The rest of the tall one’s posse darted forwards instead of firing, tackling her to the floor and wrestling the pistol from her grip. Norio thought about helping but knew it would just get him killed and so he stood there, defeated. The tall one got back to his feet, laughing in a relieved way and shouldering his shotgun before going over to his men and grabbing the pistol off of one of them, claiming it for himself. “Not many people have nearly killed me, women, less so.”. They hoisted her to her feet and tied her arms behind her back. The tall one glanced over at Norio, disregarded him and turned back to his prize, “Kill him. We’ll have fun with this one tonight.”. Before Norio could speak he heard the blast and felt the air punched out of his lungs and then the hard rail beneath his back as he choked on blood and spasmed his last moments on the floor.

The starvation, mass bombings, genocidal actions, betrayals and landings finally broke the Confederacy. Whilst fighting was still going on at multiple points along the coast, the government voted and agreed to surrender, 73% to 14%, 13% failed to vote.

Following the public vote and the militias laying down their arms, Balthazar proclaimed himself once again, to be the ruler of Harren, “Fellow patriots, I thank you for fighting for Harren and the rights of its proud people. As I return to my seat, I promise you that as Harrenian citizens, you will not be treated as slaves and will have privileges befitting the proudest nation on this world and invite you to participate in the great dream of Harren, an empire that spans the globe at the forefront of human advancement. With your help, it will be so.”

Harrenian Heartlands -
Director Lockwood ran his hands through his hair, massaging the stress from his temples as he read the reports coming in. Their relief force had entirely failed. They’d known that it would be an uphill battle to defend against the combined forces allied with Balthazar but they’d hoped to rally the Confederacy and buy time for the Myraxians to arrive. However, things had gone much, much worse. Maaya had objected against the orders claiming that they were foolhardy, based on nothing but optimism and would leave them almost defenceless. In hindsight, she’d been right and they’d thrown away the defensive advantage and men and material they couldn’t afford to lose.

The only forces defending the border between the Heartlands and the Port Cities were now the mercenaries supplied by Aurum and their entire existence relied on them keeping good faith. He had been a downright fool. If Aurum abandoned the Heartlands now, he’d have to defend the Heartlands against Rome and Balthazar with naught but the scrap of paper promising Aurum’s support. He’d been a fucking fool. He picked up the phone and started calling Gazziks before putting it down. He was unsure if that would make him seem even more desperate and make Aurum more likely to run. Instead, he composed a letter and had it delivered to Gazziks by a courier, requesting more mercenaries to defend the border and an accelerated arms delivery schedule to make up for recent, ‘setbacks’.

Later he was somewhat relieved to hear that two tanks managed to return, battered and worn, neither of which contained Maaya, but leading a mass exodus of refugees. It seemed that with the fall of the Confederacy, many had chosen to flee to the supposed safety of the untouched Heartlands. It was a double-edged sword, more manpower to help defend and build infrastructure but great short-term stress on their supplies and administration. The University was working overtime to try and manage the influx of people but as of early estimates, almost a million Harrenians had fled from the Port Cities. Nathaniel had the majority assigned to assisting with agricultural development but ensured that those who had been trained in the Militias were inducted into the Heartlands Army.

Fig. Refugees fleeing the war and violence at the coast. Hoping that in the Heartlands they'd be protected and not under Balthazar's rule.

by **Auruum** » Sat Nov 10, 2018 11:51 am

Harrenian Heartlands

Aurum made good on it's promise, with the state military busy elsewhere, there were plenty of private military corporations available to be sent towards the troubled island. With a variety of new toys to help, in addition to the light tanks the Harrenian's already orders, which the Aurummite manufacturers were kind enough to have already painted them in Harrenian colours. This time the mercenaries took on a much more proactive approach. The borders were maintained by mercenary infantry, with small aerial drones scouting out possible enemy movements nearby. Training continued, but this time the Orc drill sergeants were much more vocal about it. Several lumbering green giants shouted at their charges, practically spraying them with spittle as they tried to instill in them some discipline.

Aurum also seemed to make a point to include some small arms, for any Harrenian infantry. Anyone who was going to get a rifle or pistol or some other weapon would be given the weapon's specifications, recommended uses, and training if needed. This time, Aurum would assign the Harrenian squads with a few mercenaries, partly to show that Aurum was fully committed, and partly to give the puny humies an Orc to help even the odds.

With the increase in supplies, came an increase in demand for payment, Several mercenaries accompanying the trips to the vaults and even down in the dig sites themselves, There was talk of perhaps using one of the underground ruins as a bunker, in case things got really bad. One Mercenary swore he had heard something or someone in the tunnels but upon a none too thorough investigation only found more dusty hallways. Still, Aurum security would tighten ever so slightly for the dig-sites and treasuries.

Harrenian Heartlands Border

"You wanna cap this one?"
"Nah man, I capped the last one. All my ammo is even now."
"Your superstition about odd numbers is really stupid man, I'm just saying."
A quick gunshot would sound as a Skjoldurian raider was on his knees, side by side with a few of his kin who wandered just a bit too far inland, would fall forward, a fresh new hole where his face used to be.
"That's another scalp for me..." The First Orc muttered, drawing a knife and removing the Skjoldurian's braided hair from his skull.
"Hey Humie! Come over here and cap the rest of these fuckers!" The Second Orc shouted towards the Harrenian Rifleman that was with them on the border patrol. The Human nervously approached but took the offered pistol, somewhat disgusted by the brutal execution and then scalping of one of the unarmed captives. He shakily held it up to the next Skjoldurian, who was currently fighting back his fear, or atleast putting on a good show. A long moment of nothing happened before one of the Orcs spoke up.
"Hey! The hell are you waiting for?"
"I-I just...He's unarmed..." His hand began to shake some.
"You know what he is right? He's a raider." The Orc stepped up behind the captive and yanked at a braid with one hand while he held up a collection of heads, some goblin, other, fresher ones, being human. The Harrenian looked away and the Orc barked again. "Look! This is what they do! He has butchered far more unarmed innocents than you or I, and he's likely done far worse to those he hasn't cut down! If you were in his place, do you think any amount of whimpering would have saved you?" The Orc said before walking around towards the human, placing a hand on his shoulder, while another hand steadied the human's aim.
"Think of the bodies in the streets, think of all that fire, all that death, and all that pain. He is just as guilty for his part in all of that. Now Hate what your firing at, put down this animal, and make him pay."

A moment passed before another gunshot sounded, this time forcing the body to slump backwards. It didn't take nearly as long for the third, fourth, or fifth captives. And soon enough, a scalp was gifted to the human, along with a quick lesson on how to collect the rest. The Orcs congratulated the human on becoming a warrior and they continued on.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Sat Nov 10, 2018 2:09 pm

The Acropolis Hotel, City of Cyma, Harren Island.

Agrippa took in the views from his penthouse suite. Not bad, considering the city had been under intense assault a few days ago. Fortunately, some of the nicer areas had survived, including this very pleasant hotel. Considering the state of its competition though four walls seemed to be considered luxurious in this town. With or without a roof. When Agrippa had turned up and politely asked to be given custody of the whole building, (and a few adjacent ones) the owners had been extremely compliant. Even if it had required a major overhaul to bring it in line with Roman standards of luxury. After a short time working out where to put all the marble, the City of Cyma had become the nexus point of the Roman occupying forces.

Meanwhile, Balthazar had been working furiously to turn his naval academy into functioning government offices, this, however, turned out to be easier said than done. Considering he had recently shot his remaining officials and many of the local administrators were either dead or in hiding, the premier had turned to his Roman allies. It was a wise choice. If there were two things Romans excelled at it was statues and bureaucracy. Within a few hours of the request sectaries, undersecretaries, subundersecrateries and junior subundersecrateries had swarmed into the port cities like unusually pale locust.

In every major city a dedicated core of administrators, with hefty escorts, were working to determine the extent of the damages done during the reclamation, the numbers of survivors and how they could tax them. The palace was determined to make a profit of this invasion… Agrippa had even given orders to involve local authorities in their administration; though it did involve trying to teach the locals Latin. Naturally these bodies reported to Agrippa first before he passed on their reports too Balthazar. Or not. Depending on how he felt. The Acropolis Hotel had quickly emerged as the administrative heart of Balthazar’s domains, much to the premier’s chagrin.

A knock on the door drew Agrippa from his musings. A slave hurried to open the door and one of Agrippa’s aides hurried in barely having time to salute before blurting out.

“Sir you have…visitors from the capital.” The man mumbled nervously. Agrippa frowned not only was he not expecting anyone, very few people should be able to elicit this much fear in a Praefectus’s chief aide. He didn’t even have time to respond before the visitors strolled into his suite unannounced. Three smaller men in dark military tunics, buttoned at the shoulder. They wore no obvious marks of rank, but the gold bands around their sleeves and the scorpion badges attacked to their caps left their identity in no doubt. Praetorian Intelligence. Agrippa stood a little straighter, few were safe from them; even high-ranking officers.

“Salvete Praefectus.” The lead one drawled. “I’m Prefect Caelius, these are Centurions Gallio and Lucan. We’re here to direct Intelligences efforts in the pacification of the locals.”

“I see.” Agrippa replied neutrally. “What do you need me for? Praetorian intelligence can easily commandeer any forces it needs for…policing.”

“What we need is access to the former Confederacies online records.” Caelius said, tone unchanged. If these people really did experiment with direct democracy there will be records of their voting habits, prepositions and Pluto knows what else.” He smirked. “Using these we will easily be able to work out each Harrenites political dispositions, personal opinions even private lives. From there its just a matter of borrowing some men from the local garrison and breaking down doors. Potential dissidents, subversives even sexual deviants. Gone in a matter of weeks. The mines if they don’t put up that much of a fight. If they do.” The sneer grew wider as the sentence was left hanging.

Agrippa moved to his desk and sat down, repressing a sigh of relief. They weren’t here for him.

“I’m sure one of our secretaries has unearthed their records. Balthazar might object to his citizens being rounded up and taken though. The man has become increasingly more…independent, ever since we reclaimed the Port Cities.”

“He won’t be a concern for much longer, Praefectus. We’ve brought a few ‘specialists’ from Nova Roma. Equipped with Myraxian weapons and instructed to leave some very damning ‘evidence’ at the scene. This time tomorrow Harren will have a new leader and us and the Asgarthian’s will have free reign to do with this island what we will.”

“Like removing the goblin infestation in the centre.” Agrippa added. “I hear the Skjoldur are particularly eager to deal with them, ever since they started collecting scalps. It shouldn’t be too difficult even for them, the gobbos are useless without their Valarisk masters.”

The Praetorians turned to leave before Agrippa spoke up. “Oh, make sure Balthazar knows I was involved. I hear he was planning my own death at one point, I want him to know I stuck the knife in first.”

by **Valyrien** » Mon Nov 12, 2018 4:29 pm

Nara

The 5th Battalion had withdrawn from Nara to avoid any encirclement by the Hedgemony and their backers. Valyrien was neutral under their humanitarian banner, but it seemed to be a foreign concept to both Roman and Skjoldarian alike. The Battalion seemed to have grown in size as well. The prospects of living under the rule of Balthazar didn’t sound too appealing to the survivors of Nara, and in a moment of weakness the commander had allowed the younger generations to hitch a ride on top of the tanks and squeeze in with the mechanized infantry. A full evacuation was impossible without more vehicles.

A few hours earlier,

"The entire armoured division will be re-deployed south to assist with the 'Myraxian Project'. It may sounds ominous, but it's just the current nickname, we'll both be updated en route to the objective."
"Understood ser... Concerning the trucks I requested."
"Your request is still denied, Colonel."
"It’s for humanitarian reasons, I thought that’s what we were here for?"
“Don’t give me that bullshit, you’ve got your orders, get moving.”
“As you command, General.” One-eyed answered as she looked out over the gathered survivors, choosing who were allowed to live and possibly die from further retaliations was something she hoped to be avoid, pushing the choice onto them was an easy way out. One-eye left with a souvenir, a Skjoldurian head with braids that almost looked like snakes when damp with blood.

Outskirts of Elias.

“A volunteer force, eh? That’s mighty kind of them Khyreneans...
A Special Medical Batallion...
Five Pv-100 MBTs...
Four double ILK HMGs..., reckon their cannons are any good?” A pipe obstructed some of Alfvreds’s speech, but his friend Gustafv had learned to understand him none the less over the years. “Who knows, heard they have a competition with dogsled races, mixing in some sharpshooting at the end.” The Gustafv paused to take a swig of his whiskey, passing it to one of the Asgarthi paratroopers.
“Yeah, so? We’re talking guns, not skills Guss.” He answered, doing the same and passing the bottle along to the others around the table.
“Well, if you’d let me fucking finish Tommy...” Gustavf muttered as he lit the cigarette he’d been offered by another of the Asgarthi earlier. “Instead of normal rifles, the competitors use self-built anti-tank rifles. Something about showing of their engineering skills and their ability to stay in their sleds despite the recoil.” He blew a thick cloud of smoke, eyeing the bottle of whiskey not being passed quick enough.
“Sounds rather interesting... Mhm... Yes.” Alfvred continued, chewing on his pipe. “A sight to see, I’m sure. But I’ve heard the bizarre rumour that they don’t drink... imagine living that far north without some spirit to warm you up.” He folded the paper neatly in his lap and put his boots off the table to receive the bottle.

Excerpt from the Khyrenean daily newspaper "Perspective" referenced in the International Inquisitor, read by Gustavf

The Valari had relocated their forces to port cities of southern Harren after certain talks with the Myraxians. AA-guns and surface-to-air missiles had been installed to ward of any further aggression now that the cities of the Bay of Airi had been placed under the joint protection of both Valyrien and Myraxia. Reinforcements had been brought from Archon to bolster the defences, most of the tanks consisting of T3’s.

The Khyrene Fleet had been more requested, than been ordered to rendezvous with the Myraxian Fleet accompanied by a few Valarisk warships. Sending their flagship was certainly a welcome addition, but it was time to prove themselves, Valyrien had after all already begun to replace their ships with those of Khrene design.

by **Harren Island** » Tue Nov 13, 2018 3:31 pm

Harrenian Nature -
Theodore had carried the deer all the way home. He took great pains not to waste a single cut, putting every morsel to use, glazing each piece and preparing it all expertly. When he was ready, he invited his neighbours and family for a backyard barbeque. That was how it started.

With a dozen zealots, the friendly agenda started gaining ground. They established a ‘church’ in an old rented warehouse by the docks and began to attract ‘converts’ with offers of free food. Within a week, almost the whole town had joined the congregation. Those who hadn’t turned up for the offers of food soon found themselves dragged out of bed during the, ‘Night of Tranquility’, by a horde of villagers chanting, ‘PEACE’ and ‘NATURE’ who tied them up and exposed them to the ‘truth’.

It didn’t all go according to plan, some members of their flock broke away, gathered weapons and tried to call for aid on the internet to anyone who would listen, however, no one took any note of the remote and unimportant town of Tsuru, especially with everything else going on across the island and the fact they were talking about obviously insane stuff like telepathic deer and enthralled villagers. No help came for them.

“Jason,” a hushed whisper sounded out in the old hilltop cabin, “Jason! Something’s moving out there.”. With a loud click, he turned off power to the old beige desktop computer, leaving the room in ominous silence without its whirring fan. He darted over to the window and pulled the curtain back slightly in order to look out. Shit, she was right. He saw the brown and white fur and swore. “Wake the others now!”. She dashed towards the rear room but tripped over the coffee table in the dark with a clatter before clambering up and opening the bedroom door. A few moments later all six of them were gathered in the front room, loading weapons and preparing their personal, ‘mind-clearing’ devices. Jason turned to them and quickly went through their prepared plan again, “The Deer will come first, we put them down… then, get to the Harbour before the rest of the town falls upon us. Whoever gets to the ‘Queen Kima’, start the engine and go. If the rest haven’t caught up before she clears the jetty, they never will. Good luck everyone and may at least one of us escape this mess.”.

The singing started but they had been expecting it. Each one of them had created or jury-rigged a ‘mind-clearing device’ to help them resist the mental pressure. Jason’s was an electric training collar for dogs and it seemed to work when he spammed the button, the visions and the singing faded out in the face of immediate, cramping and spasming pain. He grimaced and snarled but kept on hitting the button as he followed the others out the open door, holding his shotgun down as if disregarding it and chanting loudly, “PEACE, NATURE”. He used the opportunity as he walked downhill to approach one of the melodic deer and then emptied both barrels into it at point blank range, sending it spiralling backwards in arcs of blood with a surprised look on its face. “Sing now you fucking furball.”

He hadn’t seen what happened to the others since leaving the shack but followed the plan, dropping the shotgun and sprinting for the harbour whilst spamming the button repeatedly. When he got there he saw the ‘Queen Kima’, under power with frothing water splashing up behind her stern, starting to move away along the jetty.

Fig. The 'Queen Kima'. One of the last functional fishing boats in Tsuru

Jason ran for it, barging his way through some of the villagers that had come out of the ‘Church’ when they’d heard the noise of the engine. They started following after him but he pushed himself to his limits, feeling his leg muscles strain from the effort as he bolted down the wooden stairs towards the pier and the water below. At speed, he’d been unable to hold onto the handrail due to its extreme state of rust and the fact that it would have torn apart his hand if he’d tried and so was unable to correct himself when his boot skidded out from under him on a slippery green, worn and mossy plank. He slipped down the last remaining steps with a crash and landed on his tailbone hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs and left his gasping soundlessly as he struggled to draw in breath.

Rolling to his knees and looking up as his chest heaved in an attempt to suck in oxygen, he saw the stern of the ‘Queen Kima’ slip past the end of the berth and out into open water. Knowing that had been his last chance, he dropped his head to the planks with a thud and began to cry, finally drawing in choking breaths. He felt a hand grab his arm and he instinctually rolled to the side, lashing out with a kick that sent the unfortunate woman back onto the stairs, hitting her head on the way down with a sickening crack. Jason ignored that, knowing that he had to do something or he’d end up as one of those thralls, so he picked himself up and clattered along the wooden jetty before throwing himself off into the sea, hoping against hope to catch up with the ‘Queen Kima’.

If the waves hadn’t been quite as large, or if the water wasn’t quite as cold or if he’d been wearing less clothes to drag at his movements, he may just have been able to catch up. Instead, he watched helplessly as the ‘Queen Kima’, slipped ever further away as swimming grew ever more exhausting and his cries ever quieter against the sound of the roiling waves. When he eventually lost sight of her, he tried to turn back and return to shore but the tide pulled him out to sea as he futilely struggled against it. It got harder and harder to hold his head above water, each stroke a conscious effort to push himself up and suck in a breath despite his quivering muscles.

It took a while before he realised that he was going to die. It took a few more hours for that to become a reality. His head slipped under the water but he held his breath, faintly thrashing in a vain attempt to break the surface but he couldn’t muster the strength to properly raise his arms and his kicks were feeble. Starving for oxygen, his brain forced him to draw in breath, flooding his lungs with freezing, choking water. Dancing like a puppet as he groped for the surface, he ultimately stilled, just one more dead man from Harren Island.

by **Skjoldur** » Wed Nov 14, 2018 1:27 pm

The Temple of Bjorn, City of Cyma, Harren Island.

Commander Tortuous stood in the newly christened temple admiring the view. The orders had come in from command to create a temple for the newly christened god. Apparently, Bjorn had sacrificed himself to defend some innocent civilians from a merciless Valyrian tank. Because of his heroic sacrifice the King had deemed him the new god of sacrifice. A state funeral had been held where the Asgarthians had done a flyby out of respect. The Romans had honoured him by putting him in the pantheon. Tortuous bowed his head in respect to the great fallen one. A slight tap on the shoulder made Tortuous turn around grabbing his gun. There had been a few Skjoulderian bodies found around town recently, revenge killings most likely. Only recently Tortuous had found a woman covered in blood surrounded by the bodies of her attackers. Tortuous had packed her up and sent her back to the king. His brother did enjoy women who liked to kill, reminded him of their mother. Tortuous looked at the person who had disturbed him, it was Freydis and Urlf the two War-Band commanders who had been sent to raid the ports.
“We are leaving Tortuous” said Freydis mockingly “we want our pay”
Tortuous flared and the obvious disrespect shown towards him, he hated that these commanders had no allegiance to him, they could come and go as they pleased and had no allegiance to anyone but the king “good” said Tortuous trying to keep his composure “and the pay, well we are waiting on Balthatzar as well”
“we should hurry” said Urlf “I hear the Romans and Asgarthians are sending a hit squad to kill him”
“don’t worry” interjected Tortuous “I have had insurances from the Romans and Asgarthians, whoever takes his place will inherit Balthatzar debt”
“can we trust the new leader” asked Fryedis “whoever replaces Balthatzar will have less power than Aurrum”
“I doubt that” said Urlf mockingly “I reckon the new leader could have a shit without asking for permission, I don’t think we can say the same thing for the goblins”
Tortuous laughed “it honestly wouldn’t surprise me” he said, “they probably have to text the Valyrian’s every time they leave the house”.
After a few more minutes of Goblin jokes Tortuous sighed “ok listen, the Valyrians and Myraxians are now fucking each other in some shitty port city somewhere, this means that we have the whole central island to ourselves, if you want you can join the raiding parties, we could always use the help?”
Urlf laughed, “no way, the land if your area not ours, but we do want to be paid”
Tortuous sighed “listen if you want to be paid now then you’d better go and ask Balthatzar yourself, he’s somewhere in this city go and demand you pay”
Urlf and Freydis stormed off looking for Balthatzar whilst Tortuous turned back to ponder his strategy. He had already begun to gather his troops and had begun making plans with the Romans, they will take control of this island, no matter what Valyria and her client kingdoms did.

by **Asgareth** » Thu Nov 15, 2018 3:06 pm

War Council, Aykia, Isle of Gespe
Following the attack on the Bay of Airi and the massacre of Elias, the Asgarthian government had authorised the creation of a war council on the Isle of Gespe. Included, were the Commander in Chief of the Archonian Isles, Supreme-General Yaznon Paltri, Axic Ross, the heir to the Imperialiship, Fleet-Admiral Tygno Pylin, of the 12th Naval Fleet, and Aerial Admiral Packno Laskey, of the 15th Air Navy.

“It was a lovely funeral.” Yaznon Paltri stated. “Packno, the flypast was a fitting touch. I’m sure Bjorn would have loved it.”
“Are the rumours true? The Harrenian people are to erect a statue in his honour?” Laskey enquired
“Indeed they are. Willingly, or not, there will be a statue of Bjorn, the Last defender of Harren Island.” Paltri replied.
The foursome chuckled.

“So our attack on Airi went well, I heard.” Paltri stated.
“Indeed.” Laskey replied. “My men were exemplary in the field, as too were the paratroopers. Elias is a ghost town, and the other major cities have lost almost all their supplies. Consequently, the port cities have fallen.”
“Impressive. That was… a week? I didn’t expect them to hold out that long.”
“Naturally, both the heartlands and Balthazar’s forces have made moves towards Airi.” Laskey started before being cut off.
“The Valarisk control Airi. We agreed to give it to them. They were the least disagreeable of all our options. But now, tell me. What about Balthazar?” Paltri asked

“He’s becoming stronger by the day. And of course, our refusal to side with him… it could prove problematic.”
“What if we did side with him? He’d be a fool to turn away Asgarthian support.”
“Indeed sir, but he is a fool. Sir, might I suggest a simple removal from the scenario?” Pylin stated.
Axic intervened at this point. “Well personally, I am not that big on removing leaders by killing them. Sets a rather dangerous precedent, if you ask me.” He chuckled, though no one else did.
“The Imperial Service will remove him from power.” Paltri began. “We’ll find a replacement far more agreeable. But in the meantime, we ought to extend an olive branch to this fraudster. Tell him we shall support his Imperialist desires. Send the 12th Naval Force to rendezvous with the Romans. The 19th Ground Force can establish a presence on land with the Romans, with the 17th Air Navy providing support. From there, we can hold the north of the island.”

Elias, Harren Island
The paratroopers from the 16th Airborne regiment had enjoyed great success in Elias. The dead citizens outnumbered the living, and the regiment were clearly in high spirits. The arrival of Valarisk troops was anticipated, and warmly welcomed. In truth, they wanted to get off this god forsaken rock. There was no ale, and very little shelter. Indeed, the Valarisk were also in high spirits. They supplied the Asgarthians wil ale, making the entire regiment far more amicable. They shared cigars, whiskey and food with our famished heroes.

An agreement had been reached between the Valarisk and Asgarthian governments. The paratroopers would be allowed safe passage back to Gespe. The dead would be repatriated with full honours. In exchange, the Valarisk would assume control of the Bay of Airi. The Asgarthians had little care for who held what. Indeed, Airi would be a pain to hold, what with its proximity to Rome. The Valarisk had offered the use of their airstrips in the heartlands, and the 16th Air Navy had been swiftly dispatched to pick them up.

Safe in the skies once more, the paratroopers relaxed. There was a triple supply of ale on each plane, which helped to improve the mood of the troopers. On board one of these planes, the remaining members of H-Squad could be seen, and with them our hero: Lieutenant Frakos.

Frakos was sat drinking with Trooper Lickin, discussing the events of Elias.
“Ernic was foolish to try take on a three year old child. They’re the most dangerous weapon in the known universe.” Lickin chuckled.
“Indeed. Not as bad as Yingo shooting himself in the face mind. That almost reaches a Roman level of stupidity.” Frakos stated.
“So, I take it we’re no longer the good guys? What with massacring hundreds, and leaving the rest to starve to death?” Lickin asked, smiling.
“It's a morally grey area” Frakos chuckled. "Technically we did just kill hundreds. On the other hand, there's ale."
The pair chuckled, as the planes landed on the Isle of Gespe.

Eastern Section, Isle of Gespe
The 12th Naval Force, under the command of Fleet-Admiral Tygno Pylin swiftly set sail, en-route for the city of Nara, in the north of Harren Island. The crew knew where they were going, and remained in a cheerful mood, mostly because the ale supply was plentiful. At the same time, the 16th Air Navy set off from A.A.B. Tyrinka, carrying with them 50,000 men from the 19th Ground Force. Lieutenant-General Palska Olwinta was the man in charge of the men. Their task was a peculiar one. Destroy the heartlands, and if necessary the goblins, without pissing off the Myraxians, and in particular the Valarisk too much. A weaker man would believe it impossible, but Olwinta was most looking forward to the challenge.

His men were ready for war. They were a mixture of Gespians, Leximiians, d'vurians and Wasgarthians, and with that came certain cultural differences. Whilst the Gespians prayed silently to Narvador, the Wasgarthians were merrily drinking. But the rivalry between Gespians and the Leximiians was perhaps the greatest difficulty that Olwinta had faced. Their shared hatred stretched back a millenium. Indeed, the hatred was so great that Olwinta had forced them to share planes, to stop them trying to shoot the others down. Regardless of their cultural differences, however, Olwinta was convinced these were the men to get the job done.

by **Friendly Island** » Fri Nov 16, 2018 10:27 pm

Harren Island, Tsuru
The Friendlies continued to sing a song of love, compassion, and acceptance to Theodore, his family, their friends, and anyone who would listen. Words and tones flowed together weaving a song that made a very real feeling of connection and understanding between the individuals and the land. The fauns sang of the trees and grasses, animals and people, how everything connected, how everything mattered. Judgement, hatred, greed, envy. . . these feelings seemed to fade; peace, love, unity, nature . . . this is all there was. The Friendlies were there on a peace mission.

The fauns were not the only Friendlies who came to the island, the spores which permeated their bodies and minds came to Harren as well. With every breath, every blink, every movement, every song, the fauns spread more of the spores which lived throughout the people. These spores wafted delicately on the winds, then were carried to the surrounding plains and forests and shores. These spores found homes in the trees and grasses and beasts and people. The hosts were similar enough that the spores had little trouble laying root and spreading fibers. The new carriers spread more spores as the unifying fungus bloomed in the foreign bodies.

Some beings didn't seem to fully accept the songs or the spores, some appeared immune or. . . actively resisted? The Friendlies were perplexed by anyone wishing to go against the unity they had in their lives. The unity of man and nature. The unity that brought peace. Those who didn't accept weren't harmed or even thought negatively of. . . at least by the Friendlies. All the Friendlies wanted to do was accept.

Earlier...
Friendly Island, Spice Troop
A long frock of sandy brown hair hung down below the hips. Sticks, bugs, tangles, moss. . . many things grow in the mottled tan and white fur which covered the body. A sweet smile sticks across the dimpled face. A pair of brown eyes twinkle in the middle of the childish face. These features belong to Sara Fay. She laughs and leads a small group within Spice Troop.

They smelled the strife and "progress" from their lost sister across the sea. Everyone on Friendly Island could smell and sometimes hear the travesties that were occurring. The network shared this information with everyone, and everyone was curious what was going to happen over there now. The stories of trouble always occurring just across the water were always around, and they contained many details which made the accounts seem particularly believable. When you can still hear the sounds and smell the scents of bygone wars and struggles, the terrible stench of progress throughout the ages, it's easy to believe the history which is presented.

Sara Fay wasn't content with waiting and watching and seeing what was going to happen now. Sara was ready to go and actually see it for herself. Nina Vera had recently called the attention of the world. A new age had been ushered in. An age of exploration and discovery was at the feet of the Friendlies, and was ready to present adventure and wonder to those who answered the call. Sara Fay answered the call. She called out to her friends and companions, some came with her to see this amazing new land.

Harren Island, Tsuru
Whispers float between the faun, communications which were queerly blocked from the network. It wasn't unheard of for individuals to occasionally whisper something, or keep a secret. . . but things were different in this strange land. Not everyone was in the loop. Not everything was connected.

There was talk that Sara Fay had never left Friendly Island. She should have never answered the call. She should definitely have not called the others to go with her. There was also talk that Sara Fay was like Nina Vera. She was able to answer the call. She was able to call the others. No matter what this was unusual. It was stranger still that multiple individuals were capable of doing this and alive at the same time.

The faun who became recognized as their leader, Sara Fay, was aware of the conversations. She could listen to the echoes that drifted afterwards, but it was quiet and most wouldn't even notice these sounds. She decided to call to Friendly Island, and tell the others what was happening. The strangers here who were learning how to live properly. Some of the Friendlies answered and they stepped through Sara's song into the strange land.

A pack from the Grass Troop, a pack from the Love Cluster, and a smattering of other individuals landed. Most of those who answered were fauns, but several virtues came along as well. It was the Virtues who scouted nearby villages and towns, plains and jungles, rivers and lakes, which the rest of the Friendlies went and visited. They were eager to meet the strangers, even if it did mean sometimes someone would die. . . but that wasn't such an issue because their song would live on forever.

The Friendlies fanned out spreading their message of peace, love, acceptance, unity, nature. . . They were always happy, sweet, and forgiving. Nothing seemed to upset them, and once they decided they were interested in visiting something they were nearly impossible to dissuade. Fires, guns, hateful words. . . nothing seemed to stop the peaceful advance of the Friendlies as they spread their message, and spores.

Fig. Some reports by mouth and on the internet speak of horrors on Harren Island. Horrible deer, or perhaps horses. . . maybe they're skeletons. . . which descend from the skies. Beasts acting strangely. Town and villages disappearing overnight. Ridiculous rumors spread as the horrors of war continue to rage on. Many attribute these fantastical stories to stresses related to the war.

by **Harren Island** » Tue Nov 27, 2018 5:41 pm

Balthazar paced backwards and forwards in his office as he seethed, coming up with dozens of plans to deal with Rome. He’d told them, clearly, plainly, vehemently, on multiple occasions that no Harrenian citizens were to be taken into slavery but did they listen? No. The bastards sent him platitudes and lies via courier and telephone. The last time he’d phoned Agrippa’s office, he’d been put on hold for almost twenty minutes and then the secretary had calmly told him, “The Roman Empire takes your complaints seriously. Agrippa will get back to you sometime in the immediate future.”. In the meantime, reports and photos stacked up on his desk, revealing their insincere intentions as they rounded up tens of thousands of his people and began shipping them abroad. He’d have Agrippa hung up on a cross, like the Romans loved doing, as punishment for this duplicity.

He thumped down into his seat and snatched his telephone off the hook when it shrilly rang, a timid woman began speaking but he didn’t recognise the voice, “Agrippa has sent a message for the Premier,” she cleared her throat with a cough, “It’s en route, ETA five minutes.”. Balthazar scowled and was about to question her when he heard the click of the line disconnecting and the flat signal tone. In confusion, he put the receiver down. Thinking for a second, he buzzed his secretary on the intercom and demanded, “Find out who just phoned me. Then call High Admiral Gautima and tell him I want his Marines on standby. On second thought, do it the other way around.”. Balthazar stood up with his hands on the desk, staring at the door in front of him and feeling a dread he hadn’t experienced in years. What was wrong? He couldn’t put a finger on it but something was ringing his subconscious alarm bell.

Agrippa has sent a message. So, not a courier. It was en route. So, again, not a messenger. It implied that whomever or whatever arrived was the message. A missile? A bomb? Five minutes was pretty short notice for a delegation or a representative but ample time for one of their trigger-happy airstrikes. He looked up at the clock adorning the wall, a large black and white thing that people complained about for ticking too loudly and wondered how much time he had already wasted, three minutes? He moved. An old marble globe sat on top of a cloth-covered plinth on a wooden table in the corner of the room. Upending the globe with a thunderous crash, it slammed to the floor as he dragged the cloth off of the plinth to reveal the Ruon-filled suitcase. Grabbing it, he darted out the door and passed his Secretary who had stood up and was moving to investigate the noise, yelling back at her as he went, “Sound the air raid siren and get everyone to the bunker!”. A few seconds later the alarm screamed through the halls as he continued down the stairs.

For some reason, taking action hadn’t relieved the knot of twisting fear and doubt in his gut. That was unusual. He was missing something and for the life of him he couldn’t see what. Coming to a stop in the basement bunker he forced himself to think. Agrippa had sent a message. They wouldn’t fire a missile or drop a bomb. That would internationally embarrass them and reveal them to be false. No, they’d be subtler. Which means something with plausible deniability. Then he heard it, bursts of automatic fire and screams from the building above, barely audible over the siren. He cursed, realising he’d given them a perfect opportunity to strike. He had to try and recover this. There was always a way.

Fig. Part of the Naval Academy basement in Cyma. In the process of being upgraded to match Government communication specifications.

Snapping his fingers, he fired up the emergency command console in the shelter and initiated an emergency-alert-system, public broadcast. The Romans couldn’t kill him now or they’d be exposed to the World. The knot of fear in his stomach dissolved and he smiled. On camera, with the backdrop of sirens, panicked office workers, automatic gunfire and screaming, he calmly declared in a slow and measured pace, “The Harrenian Hegemony is under attack. The Naval Academy, here in Cyma, has been breached by foreign agents. It is my solemn duty to report that we have been betrayed by those we considered allies.”. He was about to go on, planning to divulge the extent of the Roman treachery when eight attackers burst into the room. It was at that moment he noticed on his camera feed that they weren’t Roman. They wore Myraxian colours and used Kevlar armour that couldn’t possibly be mistaken for Roman Ceramic plating. They even carried the iconic Myraxian assault rifles, famous from all the war videos, news reports and propaganda. Balthazar spun around angrily, “What is the meaning of this?”.

For a split second there seemed to be a lull in the sirens and everything was frozen in time. The Myraxians with their guns levelled and yawning barrels smoking. The office workers hunched and cowering, praying for deliverance. Balthazar furiously pointing at them, silhouetted against the console behind him. They fired. The spent cartridges rang and clinked on the cement floors as the walls were painted with viscera.

Balthazar looked down at the bodies strewn across the floor, surrounded by a carpet of brass and multiple spent magazines that now littered the floor. He heard the crunch of boots and an approaching voice, speaking with a heavy Myraxian accent, “We warned everyone that an attack on the Port Cities would be considered an attack on the Union itself.”. The individual went up to the console behind Balthazar and disabled the system before dropping the accent, “Agrippa sends his regards.”.

Before Balthazar could respond he was grabbed by two of the others and when he resisted, swearing vociferously at them, he was bashed in the face with a rifle butt, leaving him reeling with his eye throbbing. His head cleared from the impact within a few seconds but he found that in that time they had already gagged him and tied his arms behind his back. They hoisted him up and dragged him out. His boots caught on a couple bodies and he slipped once or twice on spent casings but the soldiers jerked him upright and carried him onward as he growled and snarled from behind the cloth that stretched his cheeks and caused him to drool. These fuckers presumed to treat him in such a manner. They wouldn’t even be on Harrenian soil without him. Trying to twist his lips around the gag to make coherent sounds, he swore at them with half-formed words and spiteful intent.

The Diplomat

Kathrin Neumann contemplated the past few days events, the naval academy was nice, yes. Good to have quarters off a ship. Her presence had been largely ignored (which was fine by her) although the semi-regular meetings with Balthazar didn’t go amiss. She’d even managed to get into contact with Forqona. A welcome Iryllian voice in amongst all this foreign drivel. Her reports had been promptly received, welcomed for their insight into the politics over here and then promptly ignored. There’s a war on Lieutenant. Now go make yourself busy because we’re not getting you.

Great, fantastic even. She was probably going to die here then. At least it was probably?

It was these thoughts that clouded her mind as she made her way towards Balthazar’s office for one of their meetings. It was these thoughts the air-raid siren shattered into a tiny million pieces. Reforming into one coherent thought. Nope. I’m definitely going to die here.

A sudden and all encompassing feeling of nihilism engulfed her, as she strode calmly into a stone doorway and light a cigarette. Oh well, she thought. Not like it’s going to matter anyway. A few figured ran past her, missing her in the shadowy doorway. Rattling as they ran. Marines probably, but still something twigged in her gut, this uneasy feeling spreading rapidly to her extremities. No bombs? A couple more ran past and she stayed hidden. Then, distant but distinct: Gunfire.

She slid out of the doorway slowly, this little alleyway was deserted, the main square a couple turns away. Where the gunfire was coming from. She kept an ear cocked, but didn’t hear anything more as the siren abruptly cut. Now the alarm bells in her head began to ring. She made for the square.

Six stood relatively spread about the square, two manhandling a figure into it’s centre. One was fumbling with what looked like a scroll. These, seemingly, were Myraxians. But still her gut tied itself in knots. Balthazar was slammed to his knees in the central plaza, his pleading eyes locked with hers. Such a cruel man, a harsh man. How many times had he been in her position? How much had he cared? Oh fuck. Oh shit oh fuck, the two nearest yelled, chipping the stones by her head as she darted away. He’d been mouthing something behind the gag. Doesn’t matter now, sprinting for her life and fumbling the pistol out of her belt. She skidded the corner even as ricochets tore up the concrete in her wake. She turned again, into an alleyway and swung round as her opposite came barreling around the corner, momentum throwing his aim off. Squeeze. Bang! Fuck! She winged the assailant in the shoulder. She didn’t stop to look, taking off again but the guttural swearing behind her didn’t strike her as Myraxian. It sounded almost… Latin?

She skidded to a halt a few moments later and dived behind a dumpster, wriggling her small body into the gap between the wall and leveling her pistol at the gap she’d just entered. She heard shouting again form down the alley, Myraxian this time. She could only pick out the swear words and a return complaint in latin. Before the two, one sprinting full on, the other hobbling just a bit echoed past her hiding spot. They went two different directions and she heaving a sigh of relief.

What the fuck had she just witnessed. Whatever the hell it was, it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.

Fig. The central courtyard in the Naval Academy at Cyma.

They hauled him out into the academy courtyard and forced him to the ground. Balthazar winced as his knees slammed onto the stone. It was at that moment the pretty young Iryllian diplomat walked into the Courtyard from the opposite side. She froze, soaking in the entire scene. Balthazar yelled, or at least tried to yell, “ROME”, as he struggled on his knees but he wasn’t sure if he had accurately conveyed the message before she sprinted back the way she came. They were slow to respond but two of the soldiers opened fire and then chased her out. Then the one who had spoken earlier suddenly had a scroll in his hands and he began reading, “You have been found guilty of treachery to the Roman Empire, conspiracy against a member of its military, anti-Roman behaviour and have been sentenced to death.”.

Wait. Death? They weren’t kidnapping him? “WAIT”, he forced out from behind the gag. It couldn’t end like this, so much was left undone and the Hegemony needed him! “NO”, he garbled, “DON’T SHOOT ME”. He felt rage build up inside him and a desperate need to continue with his mission, the mission of a world-spanning Harrenian Empire. He thrashed against the bindings, feeling them bite into his flesh but it didn’t matter, anything was worth the dream that was Harren. He screeched wrathfully up at the man in front of him until his veins bulged and muscles strained. He could feel his thundering heartbeat in his neck and chest and the slick, warm blood coating his wrists as he fought. He was still bound and they were denying destiny, they were denying Harren’s future. They were denying him.

At a signal from the leader, one of the soldiers stepped forward and aimed his rifle at Balthazar’s skull. Balthazar bashed his head into the barrel as if he could destroy it whilst he incoherently fulminated. His fury failed to break him free and in a split second, in a burst of fire he never saw, heard or felt, Balthazar’s life was ended.

Fig. Balthazar

Gautima lowered the still smoking barrel of the assault rifle they had given him. A magnificent weapon, much better than the heavy old Harrenian SMGs that were wildly inaccurate and prone to jamming. He’d known that if he’d shown any remorse or hesitation to comply with the Roman commands, that he’d have been killed as well. So, with his mind on autopilot, he wiped the weapon clean of Balthazar’s blood and then looked to the Romans for his next cue.

At that moment a heavily armed team, dressed all in black kevlar with their faces covered under their helmets and eyes peering out from orange ballistic goggles, burst into the Courtyard. Hearing the order to, “Take Cover”, Gautima dived behind a flower bed, scraping his kneepads on the floor and clattering his weapon across the cobblestones. He snatched at it and pulled it into his armpit and then tried to peer up from under the lip of his helmet through the flowers in front of him. It was only then that he heard the Romans laughing. They were still standing and were greeting the newly arrived team.

Standing up, Gautima caught snippets of the conversation, “don’t tell the Imperiali that he was already dead when we got here” and “we’ll still get paid for this”, before the two groups split ways; the Black Guard went back the way they had come and the Romans, with him in tow, went the opposite direction.

He hoped he’d proven himself, or at the very least ensured that they wouldn’t put a bullet in his skull. He guessed he'd find out soon.

by **Skjoldur** » Thu Nov 29, 2018 5:03 am

Kyma, Harren Island

Torturous stood in the bowels of the ship listen intently. He had gathered his most trusted commanders to listen to the communication sent by high command. He shook his head in disbelief as his commanders looked incredulously at each other. After the communication had ended Torturous looked around, the men did not seem happy. He sighed
“you’ve got your orders gather the men”
The commanders left muttering in discontent about the orders they had just received. Torturous was left alone shaking his head, signalling to one of his slave to take notes he began working on how to feed an extra 50,000 troops that were on their way. He knew that he was still waiting for communication from several sources if this communication was genuine Harren island had not seen the last of its troubles.

by **Caerlegion** » Thu Nov 29, 2018 4:42 pm

HMS Owain Glyndwr, the Sea near Harren Islands.

After what seemed a lifetime, General Mark Anthony finally received word from the King.

“Mark, I have been in communication with the Roman Court and we’ve come to the conclusion that given the recent developments we are going to send the 95th Rifles onto the Islands to strengthen the Roman position, also we are sending an Armoured Division to support the Ground Troops. You are to send the food ship back home and contact the Roman Admiral in charge to await further orders, Yes you are now under the command of the Romans. The transport planes are already en-route and should be there soon. But I’ve issued orders to the men that they are not too engage with any slaughter of innocent people only engaging in military targets. Good General, give my best to the men.”

“I shall, Your Majesty” Mark replied.

After this talk with the King, Mark issued the orders to the food ships to return to Caerlegion and told the men of the plan. There was a few grumbles from senior officers by the prospect of being under Roman command but the Caerlegion army was loyal to their King and took his order on the chin. Mark then contacted Praefectus Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa to receive his orders. Marcus told Mark that he is to send the 95th Rifles to the city of Cyma and join the Roman ground troops already stationed in the City, Mark accepted the order. He then contacted the troop carriers and relayed the coordinates of where to drop the men and armour.

Mark then ordered for the two fleets to merge into a super fleet and follow the Roman Navy around the Islands and await further instructions.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 7:21 am

Naval Academy, City of Cyma, Harren Island

A crowd had gathered outside the academy. Curious citizens wanting to know what had happened. The reports had thus far been very conflicting, Praefectus Agrippa had been seen entering the academy, Myraxians had tried to bomb the city, the Valyrians had released packs of mutated dogs, but they all shared one key consistency. Balthazar was dead. The shouts and murmurings of the throng of citizens was quickly silenced when Grand Admiral Gautima emerged in an imposing new uniform surrounded by harrenite marines, the more astute would also have noticed snipers lining up on the neighbouring roofs. He strode up to a podium, engraved with the sigil of the hegemony, looked directly into the cameras and began to speak.

“Fellow citizens!” He called. “It is my sad duty to confirm that Premier Balthazar is indeed dead, and that for the good of the Hegemony, I must assume the mantle of Premier. Many of you remember him as the great figure who put us on the path to greatness, others as a vicious tyrant who tried to crush us underfoot. It is to my shame that I must admit that both interpretations ring true.” He paused a moment. “Towards the end he turned both cruel and twisted, this does not mean, however, that we are to forget what he did for us when he saved us from barbarity and put our island on the map! We must avenge his brutal slaughter at the hands of cowards who could never have appreciated both his able statesmanship and his military genius!” He bashed his fist on the podium. “And we all know who is responsible. In his last act the late premier revealed to us that it was the Myraxians who attacked our capital! A nation of brutes who showed their contempt for us by brazenly walking into the heart of our government and removing its head!”

Gautama stopped for breath, before continuing in the same vehement tone. “Not only does Myraxia disrespect us, but Valyrians have seized our cities in the west and them and their goblin pets continue to support the rebels and traitors in the heartlands, who while they are more than happy to preach sedition appear to be unwilling to die for their ideals!” He placed his hand on his heart. “Citizens. I am not Balthazar, I possess neither his brilliance nor his madness. I will not oppress and dominate you as he did. But neither can I allow for treacherous elements to perceiver within our Island home. To burn the traitors out we must turn to our allies in both Rome and Asgareth. It is only with their strength can we defeat our enemies, but this does not mean we are dependant on them!”
He removed his hand and gripped the podium. “To further this end, I am authorising the creation of the Harrenite Auxiliary Defence Core. In which our young men will be trained by the expert forces of Rome and Asgareth to defend ourselves and fight the heartland rebels, as well as Harrenite Internal Security which will remove the remaining spies and traitors in our territory. The following months will not be easy citizens. We will face hardship and we will be tested, but rest assured the Hegemony will prevail, we will reclaim all we have lost and take our place alongside our friends and allies on the world stage. Long live the hegemony!”

“Long live the hegemony!” The crowd called back.

The Acropolis Hotel, City of Cyma, Harren Island.

“Crowd could be a touch more enthusiastic.” Agrippa said to no one in particular. He, his staff and his military liaisons had been watching the speech from his offices.

“It was a spontaneous crowd, sir.” One of them replied. “We didn’t have time to get many plants in.”

Agrippa frowned. “We had better tighten our surveillance on the cities we control then. Not a bad speech, almost sounds like he has a say in things…How are things proceeding in the academy anyway?” This was directed at Tribune Paulus, his chief aide.

“As expected, sir.” The man replied. “Intelligence killed more of the remaining civil service than the Imperial Secretariat would have liked, but they report we will have no problems assuming the rest of their duties. Gautima is also seeming to be a wise choice. Years of subservience to that madman have beaten any notions of free thought out of his head.

“He still turned on Balthazar quick enough.” Agrippa added darkly.

“Indeed. But you can’t blame him for wanting to walk out of this alive.”

“Perhaps.” Replied Agrippa. “But we had better keep his escort for the time being. Regardless if he proves problematic, we reveal he worked with the ‘Myraxians’ to kill the man he just praised to the nation, or just blow his head off. Whichever.” The Praefectus shrugged. “Speaking of removing heads, how are the assault preparations going?”

“Well enough, sir.” Pipped up Senior Centurion Macro, who was in command of the 6th Cohort which had been sent to Harren. “Supplies are coming pretty regularly from the Imperium and we’re quietly moving armoured divisions to the border with the Heartlands. They’re overstretched and have a massive refugee crisis on their hands. A lightning strike should overwhelm them. With the divisions from Caerlegion and Asgareth along with the Skjoldurians already here we should be able to storm the heartlands whilst keeping our current domains safe from the Valyrians. The men seem eager enough anyway sir.”

“Might that have anything to do with the profits from the harrenite slaves coming in?” Said Agrippa with a knowing smile. “Adds incentive not to shoot them all anyway. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ve got to sign off on these reports. Praetorian Intelligence has been quite busy as of late…”

Residential District, City of Noa, Harren Island.

An armoured convoy drove down the unusually empty streets of Noa. The presence of motorised vehicles was something of an oddity these days, particularly given the state of the roads. Centurion Gallio made a note to himself to request repair teams for the civilian sectors, the new government didn’t seem to have time for anything that wasn’t military these days, and new roads would make his job much easier.

Fortunately, these streets didn’t seem too bad, most of the damage was concentrated on the seafront and some of these houses even seemed to have electricity. The inhabitants may even have considered themselves lucky, though that was because Praetorian Intelligence hadn’t bothered them yet. This was about to change. The convoy came to a halt outside a fairly modest house, family inside seemed wealthy enough. Good, Gallo mused, would at least be worth the time it took to seize their assets.

He grabbed his cap and hopped out of the truck and meandered to the back where his troop was assembling. He could see the other units doing the same and exchanged a wink with a mate of his who had a nearby house.

“Alright lads.” He called whilst lighting a cigarette. “Third on the right. You lot know the drill.” He took a moment to inspect his men. They were equipped unusually for Romans: dark military tunics, with the iconic silver scorpion on their right arms, overlaid with black combat vests and wearing coal scuttle helmets. Not that all his men were Romans, Harrenites were being trained up to serve in the new government’s internal security service. Another favour from Rome to her new ally. Some may have questioned the wisdom of training people who you’d been slaughtering en masse for the past few weeks, but Gallo wasn’t worried about his men. He knew where their families lived.

As his men advanced up the garden path, he heard movement from within the house. He hoped they didn’t try running. Shooting civvies in the back was just wasteful. At his signal one of his men broke down the door and they charged into the house. Half the troop split off upstairs as Gallo led the rest to secure the ground floor. They found one man sitting in the living room with a look of pure shock on his face. He barely had time to rise before Gallo hit him with the butt of his pistol and he went down like a sack of bricks. The sounds of screams from the kitchen and cries from upstairs meant that his boys had found the wife and kids. He examined a nice family photo while he waited for them to be brought to him. There appeared to be more than just this four in it, frowning he made a note to have them rounded up as well. Vengeance was just irritating.

Soon enough a pale faced woman was dragged into the room followed by her children, who were led in by a pair of guardsmen. They all appeared too stunned to cry. Good, he didn’t need a headache on top of everything else. The sounds of groaning from the sofa meant that the man was coming to. Showtime.

“Michael Anagnos.” He began in a bored voice, reading from a tablet. “Husband to Maria Anagnos, two children; Alexios and Kassandra Anagnos. This is you correct?”

“Yes.” The man mumbled dazed. “What do you wan…”

“You are accused of treason to the Hegemony.” Gallo cut in. “Records indicate that you voted against the reinstallation of the late Premier Balthazar on two occasions, as well as advocating for social and economic policies judged to be harmful to the state. Including but not limited to: redistribution of public property, public education for women and the legalization of homosexuality. Do you deny these charges?”

“What? I don’t understand…”

“Note that the subject did not deny the charges and is therefore found to be guilty.” The Centurion continued. “Punishment is to be seizure of property, including his wife and children and condemnation to slavery. This done in the name of Praefectus Agrippa and Grand Admiral Gautima, premier of Harren Island, ex cetera ex cetera. Alright take them away.

“No!” Screamed the wife. She somehow managed to wiggle free from the guardsman holding her and ran at Gallo tears streaming from her eyes. She stopped abruptly however when she realised, he was pointing a gun directly at her son. Gallo raised an eyebrow, inviting her to make the next move. The woman promptly collapsed to the floor crying, on seeing this the children began to wail and struggled towards her. Gallo rubbed his temple.

“Move it!” He shouted to his men, who started to drag them outside. “And for fucks sake don’t bruise them. No one wants to pay for bruised slaves!” Marching outside he could see similar scenarios playing out in a few houses on the street. He could also see the more fortunate families watching terrified from their windows. Good. The rumours spread from this raid alone should keep down any notions of opposing the new regime. Checking his list, he saw he had at least four more of these to do today. Ah well, it beat opening letters and tapping phones.

by **Skjoldur** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 1:10 pm

City of Yanni, Harren Island,

Freydis and Urlf jumped onto the beach. Running full pelt, they smashed into the weak island defenders. It only took 20 minutes for the islanders to completely surrender with little casualty on both sides. The city was defendable and Freydis spent no time shoring up the defences. Within the hour the raiders have landed the ships in and built heavy defences with supplies flooding in Freydis sent three messages.

One was the Torturous and his 50,000 men it stated
We have captured the city, you can bring the men in now

The second was sent to the fleet coming in only 20 miles away saying the same thing.

The final message was to general Mark Anthony
The city has been captured, you can bring your men in as discussed with the supplies and weaponry you brought with you

5 miles outside Cyma, Harren Island
Torturous looked on as the fleet sailed off. In the dead of night, he made very little noise and hopefully it would take a while for the Romans to notice. T

by **Harren Island** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 3:45 pm

Harrenian Hegemony -

He’d never had any love for Balthazar and had disagreed with many if not most of his policies. However, Balthazar had been strong and driven and without him Harren might not ever wriggle free of the International Powers that now sought to milk it for all it’s worth. He knew Balthazar’s vision of a Harren as a global superpower had been nothing but delusional but independence and human rights? Those were not pipe dreams.

Premier Gautima had finally been released from the duties the Romans had demanded of him and was permitted to see to Harrenian affairs of state, to make it almost seem as if he was a legitimate leader. He knew he was on a tight leash and that there’d be eyes and ears everywhere, especially here in the Naval Academy. So, he kept on tweeting like they expected and doing exactly what they wished but made his moves on the side and with the utmost care.

Gautima desperately wanted to get out of this den of vipers, to get somewhere safe, somewhere without spies and bugs. Under the pretext of wanting to transfer command of the HH Ascendancy to his successor, he found himself on board, surrounded by loyalists and with an opportunity to move his centre of government. He decided against it. Such an action would have drawn attention to himself and shown the Romans that he wasn’t the toady they wanted.

For now, though, he followed orders and signed what they wanted him to sign, met who they wanted him to meet and did what they wanted him to do. He sat back and watched events unfold, knowing for the time being, he had no say in matters and couldn’t affect the outcome. All the while, he built up and dispersed his network of loyalists, reaffirmed ties in the fleet and the Marines, among other contacts and waited. Not knowing what he was exactly preparing for but knowing that he’d recognise it when the time came.

Fig. Premier Gautima at the Naval Academy

Harrenian Nature -
Towns and villages along the Western shores of Harren Island had long been neglected and treated like backward peasants. Technology had also been slow to arrive when the rest of Harren was industrialising and growing. Due to this stunted growth, their isolation and the fact that everyone was focussed on the troubles in the major Port Cities to the east and the secessionist Heartlands, the Friendlies had managed to expand quickly and without much opposition. None of it organised. The settlements that ‘joined’ the Friendly movement on Harren were swiftly overgrown. Years’ worth of plant life sprouted up almost overnight.

Following their new imperatives, the locals under Friendly influence had disassembled all of their advanced technology and began to revert to and rebuild their traditional infrastructure. The old ways had been sustainable and the locals had lived harmoniously alongside nature and the land for many centuries. Humanity, when left to its own devices, had proven itself to be harmful. The Friendlies were simply restoring balance to the world.

They stressed to their followers that they didn’t want to rule over the Harrenians. They didn’t want an Empire or slaves or worship. In fact, the hamlets that had accepted the Friendly philosophy were encouraged to self-govern but in a society that existed for the people, where no one is more important than anyone else.

Knowing that the Friendlies had taken casualties in their efforts to spread the word, groups of volunteers started taking on escort duty. Not to defend with violence and weapons but with their bodies. Moments bought through lives lost gave time for the Friendly song to take effect. They knew it was worth it for the peace that could be spread across the globe.

Fig. One of the recently converted towns on the Western side of Harren Island

Harrenian Heartlands -
Confirmation of Aurum’s continued commitment to the deal had come as a massive relief. Knowing that at the very least they weren’t alone, even against powerful external threats, was a massive boost to the Heartlands’ morale. To say nothing of the critically needed material support and extra mercenaries they were kindly providing.

Despite that and the added influx of manpower and the ongoing construction of fortifications, Nathaniel was worried about the continued future of the Heartlands; the news flooding in was all bad with the declaration of intent from the new Premier, the mobilisation of enemy troops and the fact that more were being shipped in to Harren and scouts even reported Roman Armoured Divisions taking up positions just over the border. In their current state, Nathaniel knew that they’d only be able to delay an attack of that magnitude, not rebuff it and so he started preparing.

Firstly, he diverted production to the construction and expansion of the tunnel networks and dig sites across the Heartlands. Then he moved arms and supplies into them, garrisoned troops at defensible locations and even disassembled the majority of the light tanks to allow them to be reassembled inside the catacombs where they’d come into their own.

In addition, he evacuated the government from the University building knowing that it would be a primary target when the attack came but took great pains to ensure that it looked like nothing had changed and that they were still in situ.

To that end he sent official requests to Aurum for sizeable quantities of man-portable anti-tank weaponry and enough anti-personnel and anti-tank mines to establish extensive minefields across the Heartlands. Even if the Heartlands were to be overrun, Nathaniel planned to grind down the occupying forces through attrition and guerrilla warfare. He wished it wouldn’t come to that because it would be awful for both sides but that wasn’t up to him.

Fig. Part of the underground catacombs. Sections are being designated as strongholds and are being upgraded with their own ventilation systems in case of Gas attacks.

by **Friendly Island** » Fri Nov 30, 2018 11:16 pm

Near Prokopios, Harren Island
A lamentable wind blows through the trees, and a baleful wail echoes from the earth. A quiet ear listens to the songs of the land. The small world sounds as if it is crying out in pain, calling out for even more help. The mission to help the people of the land was needed. They were going to help free these lands of their miseries and restraints.

The people were afraid at first, the new way of living they were experiencing was unlike anything they had experienced. The Friendlies were happy to make compromises, after all the people here weren't adapted for living in a perfectly natural environment. There was a lot they could teach the locals though. Ways of listening to one another, ways of caring, ways of helping. Theirs was a mission of peace of bringing power to the people. The horrific rumors were turning into tales of champions, stories of heroes. It was as a hero Sara Fey was now venturing alone through the Heartlands. The forests forgave her sounds, and the grasslands covered her body; staying invisible was the most important part of the job right now.

The brunette faun stepped between the trees that were near the largest structure she had ever seen. In this new world many new things had been experienced, horrible pains, terrible suffering, the sins of man... The girl wore a wound on her right thigh, causing some amount of pain when she walked, but she hid this behind a visage of pity. They pitied this land, the suffering, the blindness. But this structure was different than the shacks, huts, and slums they had seen so far, this structure was different. It was massive, strange stone walls rose from a scarred earth. She didn't understand it, but it was a fortified building. The faun sang softly through the network and listened as the Harrens explained to her where she was and what they knew about the place. With a nod to herself she began to sing a song that softly traipsed and wandered. . .

"We come in peace~
We wish to help~
Please do not be afraid~
We wish to speak to~
Your leader~
Please help us find Nathaniel Lockwood~"

by **Myraxia** » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:20 am

Myraxian Seventh Fleet, off Harren Island

Aboard the Fleet Carrier CFC-007 Grave of Empires

"So," one off-duty bridge officer remarked to his colleague. "These Khyrenean ships. What d'you make of 'em?"
"Friends of the Valari, right? Seem a decent enough sort. Although I heard they don't drink. "
"Really? Huh. "
They both paused.
"Ships seem modern enough, and the crews reasonably competent from what I've heard over the comm. Though I heard the Valari have something to do with that too."
"Hey, I'll take any ally. I heard this island is a real shitshow. "
"Doesn't look so bad from here. "
The coast of Harren drifted past, a few miles away from the fleet. Jungles and cliffs, all very idyllic and peaceful.
"Heard we killed the last Premier. "
"Oh yeah? I heard he was a dick."
"Good riddance, then. Doubt anyone'll miss him. "
An alarm sounded, drowning out any further conversation. "All crews, prepare for landing operations. All crews..."

Galatea, Harren Island

The first marines to make landfall on Harren Island - a brigade command team led by Colonel Vyr, C.O of one of 22nd Marine Light Infantry - came ashore onto the docks, and were immediately intimately familiar with the scene that greeted them. This city had been bombed - intel said it was the Esgarthi - severely, and any infrastructure that survived was heavily damaged. Temporary shelters housed an alarming number of the populace, who glared suspicious daggers at the Myraxian Marines. It was a scene all too reminiscent of the Bandoan cities they'd just left, once they'd hoped to get away from. Colonel Vyr suspected it was a scene being mirrored at the other two landing sites - the cities of Saya and Rie. A few Valari personnel - mostly medics and air-defence soldiers - milled around, some wandering over to greet the Myraxians. Soldiers from the two countries tended to get on reasonably well, the benefit of shared combat experience in the East-Rusinan conflicts.
The Colonel promptly began issuing orders - a section of the docks was cleared to allow the offloading of the significant amount of humanitarian supplies the fleet carried, whilst Myraxian marines moved into the city, Pioneers triaging the damage to the cities amenities; repairing any damage to crucial amenities, particularly the freshwater main, was a priority. The bulk of the fleet remained at anchor off their respective landing sites, the aerial patrols it sent out a constant reminder and reassurance of the Myraxian presence.
A platoon of marines, part of a force moving to secure the city's administration district, reported they'd made soft contact with a group of armed individuals, identifying themselves as Harrenite Militia. Helmet camera footage of the moment, recorded by a Marine Corporal named Caryn, was on display throughout the Myraxian Sphere by the next day - Harrenite Militiamen shaking hands with Myraxian marines, sharing greetings; one militamen fell to his knees in relief. This image, more than any other, did wonders for Myraxian morale on the island.
The Myraxians put out a call for local leaders to make themselves known to Colonel Vyr's command post on the docks, with a view to establishing a local structure through which they could work - after all, the Myraxians were here to stay.

Further inland, Myraxian patrols ventured deeper into the jungle - pushing their area of control out as far as they could. In the east, further contact with Valari forces was made, tieing in the two zones. In the central heartlands, several Myraxian patrols reached greenskin positions, alongside their Harrenite allies. Wary greetings were exchanged, and the Myraxians withdrew into the jungle whilst diplomatic overtures were extended to establish the greenskin goal here on the island. And in the west, one recon patrol reportedly made contact with some kind of humanoid goat, although they were unable to reacquire it after it fled following warning shots. The creature was logged as matching nothing known in the Harrenite ecosystem, but disregarded as a half-seen exaggeration.

by **Harren Island** » Fri Dec 07, 2018 7:03 pm

Harrenian Heartlands

A gust of wind rushed through the trees buffeting him with leaves and twigs, carrying with it a floral, woody scent. Closing his eyes, he smiled and inhaled deeply, wallowing in the brisk breeze as it flowed past his face and through his hair. It was then that he heard a soft tune on the airstream but he couldn’t quite make it out or discern the direction it was coming from, he thought he could hear lyrics but couldn’t even tell what language it was in, let alone discern individual words. There shouldn’t be anyone out here in the woods, especially at night.

He unslung his rifle and activated his walkie talkie, “This is the North-Western post, I have a potential contact, investigating now. Over.”. Letting go of the button with a click, he kept his rifle pointed out at the shadowy woods as he fumbled around at his belt with his left hand. Drawing his torch, he flicked it on and traversed the beam across the foliage ahead of him as he strolled forwards. He jumped as his radio crackled with a loud hiss, “Alright Moris, I’ve dispatched a team to join you. Hold until they get there. Over.”. He sighed, lowered his rifle slightly, squeezed the torch into the crook of his right arm and then clicked the radio button with his left hand as he spoke down at it on his chest, “Understood. I’ll hold but I’m just jumping at shadows. No need to send a team. Over.”.

As he let go of the button and looked up, he was startled by a figure that seemed to coalesce out of the forest directly in front of him. He jerked backwards, catching the back of his boot on a root and twisting as he toppled over with a clatter, sending the torch flying and landing on his left arm with a painful crunch. With a report that sounded as loud as a lightning strike in the muted gloom, he realised he’d accidentally pulled the trigger.

Before he could gather himself or clutch for the torch in the underbrush, the song that had been faintly reverberating around him rose to a crescendo in his head. With the extreme volume came pain and then eventually understanding.

“Director Lockwood. Apologies for waking you up but we have a peculiar situation. I believe we’ve had a security incident but I’m not sure what to make of it; a Guard reported a potential contact and a two-man team was dispatched to provide backup. What we know was that a shot was fired, however all three report that there was no enemy contact and none of our subsequent sweeps have revealed anything. Despite that, I have put the Fortress on alert because the three of them are acting strangely and are asking to talk to you. Again, sorry for dumping this on you at this hour but Doctor Odele believes that their state of distress would be alleviated if you spoke with them. She has them quarantined for the moment.”.

Nathaniel groggily absorbed the report before pulling the quilt off of himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Arching his back, he grabbed his glass of water off bedside table and drained it before responding. “No worries. Thanks for the update. I’ll liaise with her and deal with it.”

Two hours later, Nathaniel poured himself a café latte in a makeshift office as he decided how he’d proceed. He’d gotten the account from Doctor Odele and then spoken with the three guards through the window into their quarantine chamber. The personality and behavioural changes the Doctor classified as thought reformation, descriptions of a deer-like individual with powers and a message from said individual to Nathaniel by name. It disturbed him and he drew many comparisons with alarming incidents he’d read about from Friendly Island to the South-West. Confirmation had only just come in of a Roman Nuclear detonation on Friendly island and it must have been in response to this sort of thing. There had also been occurrences reported locally along the towns and villages on the West-side of Harren. Along with everyone else he’d disregarded the rumours. Now was the time to make up for that.

He sent a communique through to his headquarters, at an undisclosed location, informing them of the situation and standing down from his position as Director until a full medical and psychological review proves him to be clear of any external influences. He then scheduled his evaluation for the following day and sent a message to the guards in quarantine.

“I understand you have a mental link with this Sara Fey. Inform her that I will meet her in an hour, however, I have a message for her first and it is the following. I am meeting with you under the assumption that your stated intentions for peace to be true. I am open to and willing to discuss your position but if you are unable to accept conflicting opinions or unable to convince me through logical discourse, I trust that you will not resort to mental influence to ‘convince’ me. If you do resort to such an invasive and hostile method, you will have proven yourselves to be as unreasonable and intransigent as the Romans seem to believe you are. In the interest of peace, I look forward to our meeting.”

by **Friendly Island** » Wed Dec 12, 2018 7:51 am

Heartlands, Harren Island

The sun is shining in the clear blue sky, save for a few stray stripes of cirrus which adds some texture to the world above. It’s a warm day with a low level of humidity, the air is light and easy to breathe. A few sea birds lazily drift by, while other more terrestrial birds flap and land in trees. Such a beautiful day, treasures like these are worth protecting.

Sara continues to meander about the forested area, listening to the songs of the trees and animals. Other mechanical songs break the chorus, these tones are discordant. Men yell out as they practice firing at a range. Earth movers roar as dirt gets pushed about, presumably to make new barriers or help dig tunnels. The young faun’s heart sinks as the whirr of machines overpowers the call of the wild.

After a short while she hears a response to the request. Nathaniel Lockwood has deigned to meet with her, and the girl seems rather pleased by this. The prospect of uniting their neighbor, working towards a hopeful future where birds singing will be the sounds that fill the trees, not the groan of machines. This meeting has to go well, if Sara can’t convince them to join…

A message is relayed back towards the leader of the Heartlands. Sara sings her song through the trees and into the minds of those who have accepted her into their hearts. The quarantined soldiers have a new message for Lockwood, he needs to don a hazardous materials suit. The girl will be waiting for him just west of the fortress, in the trees.

Naturally Nathaniel was worried and fortified himself with an Irish coffee before he left, though he was reassured by the suggestion of a Hazmat suit because it suggested their intention was to honour the spirit of the parley. It proved they were reasonable on some level. However, he noticed the unspoken implication that they were unable to directly control their own mind-altering influence; an impediment to any possible co-habitation but not a deal breaker as of yet.

Despite the issues he could foresee and a possibility that he’d not return as himself, he was excited. He had an opportunity to learn something here and so he attached a bodycam to his suit and multiple sensors. Even if the worst should happen to him, he would have still collected valuable data. The suit was thick and heavy with the oxygen tank digging painfully into his back but he was too eager to be stopped by mere inconveniences.

It is a stunningly gorgeous day, the air that blows between the trees smells deliciously sweet and full of dirt and grass. Beautiful birds sit in the trees, calling out their songs in a harmonious chorus. Animals, which would normally run far away at even the hint of a human, rest comfortably and barely acknowledge the man’s presence as he steps into the forest. What must be a trick of the light shines down on a small being, and it must be a trick because she appears to glow with a golden aura.

Sara Fey, the brown haired faun, stands before the man. Her body is covered in a light tan and greenish fur, which is dotted with oblong white spots. A pair of lithe legs stick below her, looking almost exactly like a deer’s and not at all like a human’s, but her shoulders and arms seem to exactly match what would be expected on a person. Smallish multi-pronged horns raise from her head. A sweet smile lays across her face, and she extends a hand towards him. The aura swishes and whirls as she moves, but continues to cling near her. Some birds must not have gotten the message, because they choose to land on her outstretched arm as she waits for Nathaniel to approach. The soft smile grows as she continues to reach for him, a small voice sings into his mind.

“I am Sara Fey~
We are very honored to meet you Nathaniel Lockwood~
Please take my hand, we have wonderful sights to show you~”

He recoiled slightly when the voice entered his mind, disconcerted. Wondering if she was simply transmitting or if she could read thoughts as well. He vocalized for the record, “Sara Fey has greeted me and requested I take her hand to see, quote, ‘wonderful sights’. Message received by what I would describe as telepathy but more analysis and ideally brain wave readings would help to quantify it. Sara Fey, I appreciate the effort you’ve made to make contact and will gladly take your hand, however in the interest of transparency I must disclose that I am no longer the Director of the Heartlands. A necessary security measure, I hope you understand.”

Near Tsuru Village, Harren Island

Sara smiles towards him and he can hear a song that sounds like leaves rustling in the wind. With little other pomp or circumstance they arrive in an altogether new locale. They stand new at the edge of a dense jungle. The humidity raises so quickly that it causes the mask of the suit to fog up. The girl can’t help but giggle as the trappings of man obscure his view of the world. Just before them are rolling hills dotted with farmlands, all of which are truncated by the jungle, as if the farms are made to work with the jungle instead of against it. As they stand their, regarding the environment (and probably as Lockwood wipes his visor) a small boy approaches them. He’s got a beaming smile on his face, and an animal in his arms.

“Sara Fey!” He exclaims, but his mouth doesn’t open.
“Look look! Remember when the mommy goat was pregnant? I helped her with the babies and now Billy here is my friend!” The poor kid is flung about by the child, but both seem to enjoy the frolicing.
“Who’s the man in the funny clothes?” The child speaks (still without opening his mouth), but the kid raises a hoof and points towards Nathaniel.

The faun giggles again, her body wiggles and heaves, but her voice only rings in their minds. She reaches over and pets the goat, before rubbing the child’s head. For just a moment time seems to stand still as they look into one another’s eyes. The world gets quieter. The winds grow still. It almost feels as if there is a doting mother giving approval to her child. After the beat Sara steps back and looks towards Nathaniel, as if allowing him to introduce himself[b], but she sees he’s still a bit out of it and trying to take in what’s happened, so she introduces him.
“This is Nathaniel Lockwood~
He’s the leader of the Heartlands~
Or rather, he was~
I believe he was fearful that we~
Intended to cause him harm~”
Sara and the boy giggle at that and she looks towards the man again.

“As you can see~
The people have become one with nature~
They rely on it~
They help it~
And nature provides~”

And indeed now he can probably see the tenders in the farmlands, carefully taking care of their crops with simple tools and their hands. The noise produced is not the cracking sound of machines, it is not the sound of the ground being hurt, the sound they hear is a harmonious song of the people, the land, and the jungle. A song of hope and peace echoes all about, creeping into every crevice.

It had taken him a minute or two to recover from the trip. Feeling quite nauseous and swaying slightly, he had checked his GPS and chronometer. So far in mere seconds. It was tantamount to teleportation. If this was repeatable, controllable, the implications were amazing. A whole colony could be teleported to other worlds without the need for space travel and the costs associated with them. Does their teleportation method have weight limits? If so, just send a few 3D printers and a hab to get started. If not, colonization efforts could be instantly massive. He’d lost a few minutes there in his daydreams but when he focussed on what he was being shown.

The people, working with nature without machines. Sure, it was peaceful and the locals seemed happy enough but was the happiness forced via the influence? Probably. That worried him. Not only that but the fact that the locals had regressed to using medieval levels of equipment and the economy had reverted to an agricultural one. For now he held his peace but began to collect his thoughts and took notes to be reviewed at a later date.

“Take my hand again~
There is more to see~”

Sara’s voice sings into his mind again. At the same time her delicate hand reaches towards him. Once he holds her hand again there is a gentle song of wind.

There is a booming rockus sound that pounds and fills the jungle with the cry of music and song. Hundreds, possibly thousands of people are gathered together, all jumping and moving as one. The air itself feels alive with the pulses of sound which carry through it. There’s a group on a stage, and they seem to be leading the crowd in this massive festival.

People all around who are so close they share breath but do not push one another. A small circle was opened in the middle, this is where Sara and Nathaniel have landed. The booming music seems to carry Sara away almost immediately, the call of song was too strong for her to resist, leaving the suited Nathaniel alone to navigate his way around this seeming rave in the jungle.

Nathaniel made his way through the crowds, trying to see through his fogged-up visor and breath in the stifling heat of his suit. He checked his oxygen levels and took a sip from his camelback water tank but even that was warm. He took what he was seeing with a pinch of salt, she could be showing him only what she wanted him to see. However, he continued to record everything until he found her again.

After a while Sara makes her way back to Nathaniel, not looking for him, but coming directly to him. She’s sweaty, breathing heavy, and has a smile wider than he’s ever seen. It seems very evident that the lure of the music is difficult for Sara to ignore, but she’s trying to remain composed.

“As you can see~
All are united here~
None are left out~
None are ignored~
We are the all singing~
All dancing~
Joy of the world~”

This time Sara’s voice is joined by so many others. An untold number of people are speaking with her, through the song that rings in Lockwood’s mind. Most people don’t even seem interested in looking their direction, the continuing rave has enthralled most of them. Sara’s voice sings louder than the others, though she queerly doesn’t have to sing very loud in order to be heard over the music.

“What we wish to offer~
Peace and prosperity~
We offer all that we have~
We wish to be as one~
Working together~
Let us return Harren Island~
To its former glory~
Will you join us?”

“Peace and prosperity are things to aspire to, I agree, however, it must not come at the cost of progress and scientific advancement. You say these people have become one with nature, ignoring the major issue for now, the fact that they probably didn’t do so willingly, this symbiosis with nature would have been possible without the need to revert to traditional technologies. Green sources of energy, recyclable materials and renewable industrial practices are all being developed and implementation has already begun. Ideally, sometime in the near future, we’d reach a sustainable harmony. We can’t reach that without having a transition period. Instead of tearing down centuries of progress, why not assist us to leap forwards? Working together we can secure the future of both of our species.

Then there’s that major issue. As long as these people are controlled or influenced by your powers, I see no way we can work together.

So, to clarify my position. I am eager to work with you but the following conditions need to be met.
Firstly, no Harrenians are to be influenced or dominated with your powers. If you are unable to control your own powers, I would be willing to authorise a study to assess them and attempt to regulate them or develop the necessary technologies to deal with them, with your cooperation of course. If you agree to this, I would be happy to assign you land on Harren for the purposes of an embassy and as a refuge for any asylum seekers from the ongoing issues on Friendly Island itself.
Secondly, progress and development must not be halted. If you agree, the industry and economy of Harren Island will be focussed on sustainability and symbiosis as a number one priority.

Once we are able to co-exist, I would like to push for a joint off-world colonization effort but that wouldn’t be for many years yet.

Do you agree?”

by **Asgareth** » Fri Dec 14, 2018 3:26 pm

War Council, Aykia, Isle of Gespe
“I have just received confirmation from the Black Guard.” Yaznon Paltri began. “Balthazar has been terminated.”
“This is good news, indeed.” The Imperiali began. “Am I correct in assuming a new leader has emerged?”
“Indeed, sir. An Admiral Gautima. He appears a little less erratic, than his predecessor. Though, I might add, he appears susceptible to Roman control.”
The Imperiali sighed. “One leader was too independent, the other not independent enough. What is it with Archonian leaders that make them so foolish? Is there something in the water? Perhaps from that deer island again? Do I need to launch another military campaign?”

“I assure you sir, Gautima will prove to be no trouble. The Black Guard can…”
The Imperiali swiftly interrupted. “There is no need to remove Gautima. He may still be of use. In the meantime, what are these disturbing reports that suggest the Skjoldurians have gone rogue? Tell me it is not so?”
“The city of Yanni has temporarily fallen into their hands, against the orders of the Romans. No need to fear, they are hardly the brightest bunch. Should they opt not to rejoin the allied cause, they may suddenly notice things falling from the sky.”

The feed cut off, as Yaznon turned to Axic.
“Send word to the fleet. There has been a change of plans.”

Cyma, Harren Island

An advanced guard had been sent ahead of the 12th Naval Force. Admiral Pertika swiftly disembarked onto the recently renovated port. There, he was met by a number of Roman legionaries, who swiftly ushered the Asgarthian representatives into trucks. Within minutes they had arrived at the Acropolis hotel.

Swiftly, at least by Roman standards, the dignitaries were led inside. Forced into an elevator, which was raised by Harrenite slaves, the party eventually arrived at the penthouse suite. There, they were kept in what appeared to be a waiting room for a short time before being led into the Praefectus’ office.

“Ah, Asgarthians.” Agrippa mused, barely looking up from his paperwork. “About time you lot arrived. I assume you want directions to the nearest pub?”

“We found it already, actually.” Pertika stated, in all seriousness. “Would you care for to join us for a drink later? I hear we have mutual friends in the south.”

The Praefectus raised an eyebrow. “In which case I’d be happy to accept, somewhere a bit more...quiet perhaps?”

Pertika smirked. “So be it. To business then, the ongoing situation on this god forsaken island has piqued the interest of our dearly beloved leader. He requests you inform us what your plans are, in exchange for our own.”

Agrippa yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. “Oh, the usual; restore the rightful government, establish a military presence and enslave about a tenth of the population. Your go.”

Pertika laughed. “A tenth? My, you Romans have improved! I remember the days where you would demand a third. Why the sudden change in policy? Nonetheless, we seek similar results. We will ensure the correct leader is left in charge, we will provide a certain amount of protection for the citizens of this island and we will utilise their land to make more beer. But in all seriousness, Agrippa, tell me of your plans.”

Agrippa returned the laugh before replying. “As we speak Roman and Caerlegionare forces are taking their positions on the borders of the rebel territories. Soon enough we will envelop Emi, and from their the rest of the heartlands lie open.” He spread his hands out. “And just like that we, ah I mean the Harren Hegemony, control everything from Cyma to Tsuru.”

“Intriguing.” Pertika began. “In turn, we will now reveal our plans. Please listen carefully, for I shall not repeat them. As we speak, an Asgarthian force will be disembarking at Odele, in the north of this island. After establishing a forward base there, they shall begin to move south towards Prokopios, where our final assault on the heartlands shall begin. Once secured, the heartlands shall fall, and the island will come under the protection of the Asgarthian forces.”

“My how...ambitious.” The Praefectus said dryly. “I hear the goblins have fortified the heartlands though, how do you propose to overcome them?”

“With ease.” Pertika jumped in, as he helped himself to a glass of whiskey. “The goblins will roll over and allow us to tickle their bellies. They mean us no ill-harm. They would sooner surrender than fight an Asgarthian who has been deprived of ale for three minutes.”

“Lets hope you do better than you did in Ellais, eh?” Agrippa replied in the same tone. “Anyway, I wish you luck and look forward to that drink.”

Pertika smirked. “Indeed. First round is on you.”
The Admiral quickly rose and departed from the room.

Odele, Harren Island
The 19th Ground Forces had successfully landed along the coast of Odele. Resistance was minimal, and the city swiftly flew the red, yellow and orange of Asgareth. Defences were swiftly constructed, and an advanced command base was established in a local bar. The locals welcomed their liberators with open arms, or at least that is what the dispatches claimed. Makeshift pubs were built, providing a near endless stream of ale, whiskey and stout. The locals were invited into these pubs, where they were introduced to the greatest ale on the planet. This had been a part of a new strategy, implemented by the military. Instead of shooting natives, they would treat them far better than they deserved. By warmly welcoming the natives, it was hoped that they would support Asgarthian aims in the area. What these aims were, very few knew.

There were murmurs within Asgareth that the troops should move east, and force the Skjoldurians out of Yanni. The attack had surprised the Asgarthian command, who were concerned at the apparent inability of the Romans to control their pet. These were only put to rest, when the military pointed out the relative ease with which Asgareth would be able to remove the barbarians at the end of the conflict. Instead, the military decided to focus on moving south, towards the city of Prokopios. They were well aware it would be a costly campaign, but the city was well worth the cost.

Within hours of the invasion, the 19th were on the move again. Towards Prokopios. Towards victory.

by **Romae in Perpetuum** » Fri Dec 14, 2018 4:22 pm

The Acropolis Hotel, City of Cyma, Harren Island.

“So, these are the final design then, Paulus?” Praefectus Agrippa asked his aide de camp. He was gesturing to a marble statuette that had been placed on his desk. It was of a saintly figure, dressed in pure white robes holding its hands out with a benevolent smile on its face.

“Yes sir. We’ve just received the shipment from Nova Roma this morning. This is the official depiction of Bjorn the Redeemer issued by the Cultus Imperator.”

Agrippa snorted. “Have none of the priests met a Skjoldurian before?”

Paulus shrugged.

“I imagine the priests don’t frequent the brothels and taverns enough, sir. Besides this was the design ordered by the Senate after they voted for his deification.”

“I suppose the lack of imagination in the curia is to their credit after all.” Agrippa mused. “I take it the necessary modifications have been made?”

“Of course, Praefectus.” The aide replied. “They’ve all been equipped with nearly undetectable surveillance devices. If a Harrenite breaks wind at breakfast, we will know about it.”

“Amazing what intelligence can fit a bug into these days…” Agrippa said, looking carefully around his office. “I want these in every home in the Hegemony, by tomorrow evening. Be sure to express upon the people the necessity of regular sacrifices and prayers to their shrines and that lack of devotion will be considered treason against the Hegemony.”

“As you wish, sir.” Paulus ventured. “But you may want to have Premier Gautima announce the new god of Harren first.”

“Yes, make it look like his decision. Have him summoned.”

“He’s been here for about an hour, Praefectus. Something about a battle plan.”

“Oh yes.” Agrippa replied. “I’d quite forgotten. Send him up in about 20 minutes.” Paulus saluted and turned to leave.

“Oh, Tribune?” The Praefectus called, with a smirk on his face. “On second thoughts, make it an hour.”

A few hours later.

Agrippa had just dismissed the Premier of Harren Island and was considering a late lunch, when one of his aides rushed into the room.

“Sir beg to report, Prefect Caelius has entered the hotel.” The Praefectus groaned it was a general rule of his to avoid Praetorian Intelligence, but he supposed it was inevitable.

“Have him sent straight here, but keep his goons outside, and send for that Caerlegion fellow and my military liaisons. We may as well make this a briefing, plus it never hurts to have witnesses where Praetorians are involved.”

A few minutes later Prefect Caelius strolled into the room and sat down heavily on a nearby sofa and helped himself to a nearby decanter. “Ah, Agrippa.” He drawled. “How is the family? I hear your eldest got a transfer to the Legio XXVI Belgica. I’m sure he will be running it in no time.” The Praefectus ignored the reference to his family, though made a note to inquire with some friends about Caelius’ background.

“Caelius.” He said curtly. “I see you’re in a good mood. I take it the assessment of the locals is going well? That or you found a small animal to torture.”

“Very well actually, Praefectus.” Celius replied in the same tone. “I hear Harrenites are selling quite well at home, and I suppose the mines always need more workers. Speaking of which, just ran into Gautima in the hall. I haven’t seen a man go that pale that fast in a long time. Though I suppose he has reasons to feel guilty. Though ill submit that report in good time…” He said with a knowing smile.

“To which reason are you referring?” Agrippa said calmly. “The meetings on the Ascendancy, or the secret communiques to the Harrenite military?”

The praetorian suddenly sat up and looked at Agrippa suspiciously. “Alright. How did you know?”

“You first.”

The two men eyed each other up in silence for a few moments before Caelius relented. “We’ve gotten to a few key members of Gautimas little cabal.” He admitted. “Two have gambling problems, at least one is too fond of his drink and more than a few keep, let’s just say questionable nocturnal company.”

“Interesting.” Agrippa said, making a few notes. “I’ve had his ships bugged. Even those silly new ones he bought. Along with having his home bugged, we hear everything the man says. Regardless I say we let this little movement play out, its currently harmless and could bring more subservices to our attention.”

“Agreed.” Replied Caelius, his drawl returning. “Ill have a couple of crosses set aside anyway.” The Praefectus nodded his accent before he noticed a signal on his computer terminal. The military attaches had arrived.

Agrippa sat and surveyed his war council; Senior Centurion Macro, who was to lead the assault on the heartlands, Lieutenant Colonel Sharpe, who was leading the newly arrived Caerlegion auxiliaries and Prefect Caelius, who wouldn’t leave. Of course, each man had brought their staff and even Agrippa’s large office was looking crowded, he frowned as he saw someone sit on his drink’s cabinet.

“Gentlemen welcome.” He began. “I suspect you all know why you are here but for those that do not; the situation in the heartlands has become intolerable and it is neigh time we consolidate our control over this dismal rock.” He tapped in a few commands on his terminal and brought up a holographic map of the island.

“Now that the Caerlegionare forces have joined us, we can now comfortably push into rebel territory without worrying about fresh attacks from the rear. The insurgents however have been building defensive entrenchments and other fortifications around the city of Emi, we cannot allow them to complete these works.” The map zoomed onto Emi and the surrounding fortifications.

“Fortunately, the rebels have little in terms of aerial defences and we’ve been able to collect extensive reconnaissance. Tomorrow morning, we will begin a series of targeted air and missile strikes along the border as well as aerial raids into the heartlands themselves; they remain relatively untouched by the war and we aim to bring the reality of their hopeless situation to bare. This will be followed by an armour overrun after which the cohorts armoured divisions will smash through the enemy lines and execute a double envelopment, followed by an infantry heavy combined arms assault all this whilst keeping up a near constant artillery, missile and aerial bombardment. The sheer force of the attack should force the rebels and their goblin puppet masters into their tunnel network. This, however, presents its own issues.” The image of the map faded and was replaced by a depiction of the tunnels.

“This is the best map we were able to compile, using thermal imaging and records recovered from Cyma’s archives.” Agrippa continued. “It is by no means complete and if a substantial enemy force is left underground, they will play havoc with our supply lines potentially grinding our advance to a halt. We shall have to take care of them.

“Can’t we just bomb them?” Asked Sharpe, who had already poured himself a drink. “Or seal up the entrances let them choke like the vermin they are.”

“Normally I would agree.” Replied the Praefectus. “We will certainly target the weaker areas we’ve identified with bunker busters and close off some of the more troublesome entrances,but as we don’t have a complete idea of the layout we may overlook even whole sections of the network. Therefore, we will have to go into the tunnels and burn them out ourselves. I’ve been assured by King Llewelyn that your unit has experience working underground Sharpe. Therefore, your men will be on pest control duty. We can provide flamethrowers, gas grenades and nearly anything else you require, but be careful. Mars alone knows what’s down there.”

He paused to take a sip of wine. “All going well we should enter Emi by tomorrow evening. I will broadcast the standard message, surrender and be spared, resist and burn. Should they offer no resistance the Harrenite auxiliary forces will be the first ones in the city, backed up by Roman and Caerlegionare troops. Its important that the city is seen to have been restored to its rightful place in the Hegemony. Once we have established that there is no serious military presence in the area, our men can continue the push into the heart of the heartlands. Agrippa smiled at the pun.

“If they do resist, sir?” Centurion Macro asked.

“Then raze the city, enslave oh let’s say a fifth of the population, and publicly crucify the local leadership for treason against the Hegemony.” Agrippa said nonchalantly. “Then maybe the next city will take mercy when it is offered. Speaking of slaves do try and take prisoners, we will need labour to clean up all the mess. Yes, even the gobbos.” He said, pre-empting the question. “Oddity’s always sell well back home.”

A slight cough from Prefect Caelius at the back of the room drew the rooms attention.

“Ah yes.” Agrippa said distastefully. “Following the seizure of Emi, expect Praetorian Intelligence to show up to asses the loyalty of the locals. I expect your full co-operation.”

“If you don’t want to be assessed yourselves.” Caelius cut in snidely.

“Indeed.” The Praefectus said curtly. “Anyway, gentlemen if that is all, I believe my chef is preparing oysters for dinner. Good luck and hail Caesar!”

“Hail Caesar!” The room cried out before getting up from their seats. Agrippa smiled to himself as the room quickly emptied. The quicker he pacified this damn island the quicker he could get off it.

[SC ONLY] Troubled Birth

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