Shadow Over Gael [IC] [TWI]

[Balnik]

Shadow over Gael

OOC|IC

IC

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The once prosperous and peaceful region of Gael is now facing unrest of unseen heights in recent decades as well as a bleak and unsettling future. The nation of Roendavar has suffered a catastrophic terror attack while distrust of their government spreads. Several factions within struggle for power, including some militant and extremist factions. The nation of Balnik has recently awoken from its long slumber, mobilizing its forces to take the Faronna Islands, two strategically placed islands west of Gael. Balnik has also funded terrorist activity within Roendavar, using these groups to drop spies and agents within the country to destabilize the situation further while the nations of Gael anxiously look on towards two nations increasingly growing hostile with each other.

OOC

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This RP is focused around espionage and spy thriller stuff, all centered around the recent actions of Roendavar and Balnik regarding the cult of the Arrangement and the Faronna islands territorial dispute. Balnik wishes to establish its presence over Gael and wants to use to use Roendavar's unrest to justify itself using military force over its neighbor.

The mission of this RP is quite open ended, and will involved agents accelerating or even preventing hostilities between the two nations as the waters slowly heat to a boil. Most RP will be done using agents and operatives, however other mediums can also be sued if they are appropriate to the storyline.

There is no end goal to this RP and it will be quite freeform and will be influenced by the writers and players involved, the only set goal will be a government change in Roendavar and Balnik exerting its control of the Faronna Islands. All nations of the isles are free to join, however the RP is primarily focused in Gael. Feel free to shoot us ideas in the thread and join in on the RP.

Nations Involved

Balnik

Roendavar

[Balnik]

Dociara

Two men in blackened clothes would be walking down the gloomy streets of Dociara, snow falling ever so slightly onto the textured brick sidewalks that are indented with the crunch of footsteps from passersby. Down the ornamental and jovial buildings the two men would look, occasionally glancing behind and to the side as their route twists and turns and loops back on itself, seemingly random movement for these two unassuming figures. Krevic speaks up to the other, he would be shorter, with slick backed black hair and a trimmed beard, smiling at the other man he has a white toothy grin. "So where is this place anyways?" Talbot looks over unimpressed, pulling out a cigarette and lights it, drawing in deeply the smoke and letting out a long cigarette. "To the north." Talbot replies, scratching his short blonde hair and looking down at his partner. "Its underground, we are looking for a 'candy door' whatever that means." Krevic chimes back in, looking at the cigarettes that Talbot has now put in his breast pocket. "How are they, better than back home?" Talbot looks over and chuckles. "Damn good, but damn expensive, anyways, I think we are here." Krevic would stop with his partner in front of a fading pink door, pointing at it and looking at Talbot he asks. "Candy door?" Talbot looks back at him and smiles. "Candy door."

Opening the door the two step into a high tech base with monitors, advanced instruments of a large variety, living quarters, and large sums of Davari money. Talbot opens his arms and gestures with a large smile. "Welcome to Fortress Yaztin, or as you will be calling it, The Candy shop. I'm sure you have been briefed on this place and its purpose, you and your agents will be operating from here for all of your missions in the Capital, ill be here, guiding you all and ensuring operations run smoothly. All HUMINT and SIGINT operations will be conducted here. Your first mission will be meeting up with our contacts here, at the Sleepy Kitten Cafe." Krevic bursts out laughing. "Thats really the place that ill be meeting with?" Talbot looks unamused and looks towards a map of the city. "Be aware however, we have been warned that they are a little out of it, but they have powerful connections." Krevic stares with Talbot, looking at the map and the setting of a new global struggle.

Rustov

The lone figure of Andre Chernobog walks through a dark, humid corridor, flanked by cramped cells and red bricks. His footsteps would be the only sound echoing throughout the seemingly forgotten hallways with only the dull electric hum of the lights providing any other noise other than the dim, slow, methodical footsteps. Chernobog would soon approach a large iron door with heavily armed guards opening the door for the aging man and accompanying him to a barren, frozen courtyard. The facility would be flanked my tremendous frozen mountains with guards lining the walls, facing inwards towards a single wooden pole where a fully nude and beaten man would be tied, slowly freezing, already suffering from frostbite. Chernobog would approach the man, his fists clenched in silent fury as he spits on the man. "Commodore Gregor, no you do not even deserve to be titled, it is even under my compassion that I use your accursed name. You were one of my most trusted and now you seek to betray me? To betray the federation and her people? All this in such a pivotal moment that could secure us as the hegemons of Gael? What say you?" The beaten and naked man looks up towards Chernobog through two swollen eyes, curses him, spitting blood onto his face and coat, however leaving Chernobog unflinching. "You are getting weak and your reluctance to act is making you fine prey, you claim to look to our ancestors and great rulers but ignore the fact that the strong rule. You are meek and a coward, only making empty gestures towards the United Republics, how many of us have you killed now for wanting to accomplish the will of our God-King?" Chernobog scowls at the man, wiping the blood off of his face. "Your king is no god, he was a mortal man like you and died a mortal man, like you, I've tired of this conversation and I have gained enough satisfaction from your suffering. Goodbye Gregor." Chernobog nods to a guard as he retreats inside the aging facility, with faint gunshots being heard in the background, eventually being drowned out by the monotonous footsteps.

[Roendavar]

Chapter 1: The Tides of Spring

A gloomy darkness shadows the ancient city of Dociara, gray clouds spread across the sky dimming the weak sunlight that peaked through what little cracks it can find. The tides of Spring had begun its course, soft snow, despite present, is in scarcity as flowers and grass slowly regained their color. The ornamented and elaborate houses and structures of the city felt faded to one’s view, despite their bright and gilded colors and accents. The intricate brickwork streets and silver lamps that once brought a sense of direction and light became the observers of a silenced society. The Roendavari, as always, have buzzed around the city in a mad dash between work and play, but its past fervor has been replaced with a strained cadence. The music, the art, the poetry, it all remained in the Eternal City, but their meanings now amplified, one of sorrow and tension.

It was only two months ago when the once jovial and fair country was rattled by a terror attack on the peak of its most holy mountain. At the eve of their most holy day, an evil has taken root, silencing Roendavar and altering its very foundations. While it has not shaken the spirit and soul of its people, it has dampened the mood like the first spring winds, except that the life that it should have brought with it, it only brought despair.

Ioraelin held his purple coat tighter as another cold spring wind blew through the streets of the Old Dociara district. In contrast to the newer district “outside of the walls” as they call it, Old Dociara was a maze of cobblestone, pine wood, and gold accents painted with a faint brown. The buildings in Old Dociara were laid like boxes stacked on top of each other, a remnant of the old architecture that started since the dawn of their civilization. Everywhere, the buildings were overgrown with various flowering plants and vines, a trademark of the country itself. While there are some that profess the concern of fire or insects, the Roendavari seem to pay no mind. Not like the government could do much about the freedoms of its people.

Ioraelin was a tall man in his mid-20s, his short wavy hair cut close to his spectacled eyes. He was wearing a purple suede coat atop his long-sleeved black shirt and bluish gray pants. On his arms was a brown leather bag, tightly sealed by an intricate lock located on its front, though Ioraelin was sure any would-be robbers could just tear the leather apart. He stopped in front of a small building nestled among the tight streets of Old Dociara. i Stharali Cafe. One of the few hidden gems of Old Dociara. He checked his watch and read 9:30. Exactly when he and his boss have agreed to meet up. Yet, as he entered the cafe and scouted the room, his boss was nowhere to be found. I should have known. He sighed, quite used to this dilemma. He took a seat in one of the window tables and ordered one of the spiced teas, which was quickly served to him in a few minutes. He lazily took the spoon served alongside it and stirred it in contact with the sides, watching as a swirl formed on the center and the musky smell of spices wafted through. A comfort so lost in today's time.

“Apologies for my tardiness.”

He looked up from his steaming cup and came face to face with a bright grin, a stark contrast to his now ruined mood. The man in front of him was a little younger than him, sporting a suede black coat. His smooth long black hair fell beyond his shoulders in a lazy wave, with some strands tied in the back, held up by two thin wooden sticks called orcaen, a traditional hair ornament. His eyes were sharp and calculating, a reflection of a much deeper power he holds on Roendavar. Many say he is beautiful, but they do not know how dangerous the Snake of Roendavar truly is. A snake that has bared its poison throughout the region ever since he became the youngest appointed in such a position he holds. Some, even in the highest reaches of the Councils, know that even he has the protection of the King, and that no action can be brought against him without death welcoming those who try.

“Sylvanus.” Ioraelin acknowledged, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “While I do wish I can admonish you, I am not high enough in the administration to do that.”
“You know, Ioraelin, this is why I chose you to be the Iavilus of the Lilies. You’re always serious.” Sylvanus complimented in greeting.
“I am flattered. Please do spare me from your unabating remarks. Few already can stand it.”
“Granted, my Iavilus.” Sylvanus raised his hands in surrender as he took a seat. “You did not even order me something?” He said, eyeing the spiced tea enviously.
“Why would I? You have made me wait 16 minutes and 3 seconds and you come asking me for something free?”
“Calm down. Fine! Fine.” Sylvanus laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Now, for the matter at hand since you so prefer wasting my time here.” Ioraelin started as he pulled out a brown folder from his leather bag. “The matter of national security.”
“Fun. What do the reports say?”
“Roendavar is fragile. We are facing threats here in our very country. Lest, we forget the Massacre at Tharsos and the recent attack during the Erosithegon, that of which you were missing and did not give me any reports.”
“Yeah… tell me what I do not know.” Sylvanus tried to speed up the conversation, ignoring the last point given to him.
“Right.” Ioraelin frowned, knowing that he wasn’t going to get an answer for that. “While it is established knowledge that there was foreign involvement in both cases, what we just found out, is that it isn’t a new thing. The attack was coordinated not from outside as we have thought, but from inside this country. Worse, within the walls of this infernal city.” Ioraelin revealed as he slid the brown folder containing reports from the various agencies in the HEI.
“Yes. I assumed we would have rats in Roendavar a long time ago, I did not expect them to start interfering in Roendavar with such boldness.” Sylvanus pondered, skimming through the counter-intelligence reports. "And the position of the Roendavareil government on this?"
“Do what HEI has always done. Weed them out through whatever means. Even if that means diving into the deep end of Dociara.” Ioraelin declared. He made a gesture with his hand for Sylanus to turn the folder around, drawing his attention to the cover.

Sylvanus grunted, closing the folder and placing it back on the table, his eyes lingering on the words stamped upon its cover. RECOMMENDED BY THE ROENDAVAREIL GOVERNMENT. By recommended, Sylvanus knew that it was not much of a choice. HEI was well capable of facing spies from the most powerful countries in The Western Isles, moreso spies from the neighbor to their east. The government's patience has thinned with the Federation of Balnik, and for them to find out that certain elements from that country has made its way to our land is a thought that would bring about the end of this country.

“We will do it. We have no choice. However, you do realize that we answer to the monarch?” Sylvanus clarified.
“I do. And he has not approved it yet nor knows of this information. We, the Lilies, have just compiled it. That is why I ran it through you.” Ioraelin sipped his now luke-warm cup of tea. “Pardon my presumption but I believed you were the best choice to convince the monarch to take tougher actions.”
“And what do you mean I am the best choice to convince him?” Sylvanus raised his eyebrow.
“Oh please, you know what I mean. Just do what you can to have him authorize, and preferably, supervise this.” Ioraelin said, putting down his cup and shooting Sylvanus an annoyed glare.
"He will. I am sure of it." Sylvanus promised. "The government thinks that he is a hinderance to this country's plans, but I know that he have always stood for this country's safety. Faunus-"
"Alright." Ioraelin cut Sylvanus as he stood up, leaving a few bills on the table. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to back in the Golden House. I trust you will go straight ahead to the Palace after this."

Ioraelin walked away from Sylvanus as he made his way to the door. He spared the Thaeranacil one last glance, a worried emotion plastered on one of Roendavar's, if not, the Western Isles' most dangerous man, the leader of the Agents of the Rose himself. Ioraelin knew what Sylvanus was thinking, and he too felt the same thing. Every Roendavari has felt the same thing. It was a feeling that has left its mark on the nation as they watched the limp bodies hanging from the trees in Tharsos and the charred and mutilated corpses across the holy mount of Athalymos. A feeling that continues to haunt them, growing stronger and stronger each day. The feeling of change. The weight of a new tomorrow that is about to hit them all with a fury like no other. He stepped outside the cafe, the city of Dociara once more making its presence known. A beating, writhing, beast. A world of gray blanketing the ancient city like a shroud, refusing to let it go from its gloomy grasp. In that moment, Ioraelin felt cold. He hugged his coat tigher,

And the winds of Spring blew once more.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Presidential Palace, Red Court, Cour Rouge
Cedar Dyson sat at the bench overlooking the palisade facing the Kapolder River, the cool late winter air nipped at him on occasion but today was relatively warm compared to last month. As he sat and meditated, focusing on the sounds of the capital around him, he felt at peace. Perhaps for the first time in his entire Presidency, he feels that things have finally calmed down for him. Although Faronna remained an issue, and tensions in the Southern Sea are growing at a steady pace once again, this ritual of his was helpful in clearing his mind of the troubles that plagued him. After a few moments, Cedar opened his eyes to find Sylvia Vilar on his right side, looking out to the Kapolder alongside him.

“Good Morning, love.” Cedar said softly, holding Sylvia’s hand. “Good Morning, love.” she responded, taking his hand in hers but declining to turn her head to look at him. “It’s a nice day out, we could probably fly out to a trail for a hike.” “We could. But why fly out when we can have a hike through the city, like a normal couple.” Cedar strained a light chuckle at the thought, they both knew that their relationship was anything but normal simply by virtue of him being President, yet he did long for the return to a normal life once his Presidency is finally over. “Sounds like a plan, perhaps we can go over to the waterfront, I heard that they’re putting on some local bands later tonight.”

As the pair continued to talk, an aide walked out from the nearby office and towards the President, white envelope in hand. “Mr. President.” he called out, walking at a slow pace so as to not annoy Cedar too greatly. His attention grabbed, Cedar let go of Sylvia’s hand and reached out to grab the envelope from the aide, then opened it to examine its contents. He spent a few moments skimming through, flipping a small collection of pages before handing it back and speaking to the aide - “Clearly it seems the situation isn’t improving fast enough. Make sure Shepherd knows that I want the community out there to be attentive of the situation on the ground. And keep me up to date on any developments, I can’t allow Roendavar to slip any further.”

Sylvia, who had been silent for the exchange, finally chimed in, “Still on for today?” “Yeah, of course.” Cedar responded cheerfully, turning back to Sylvia and giving her a warm embrace.

---

United Republics Embassy, Roenar Avenue, Lascien District, Docaria
The Doraltic Embassy was commonly active throughout the year, mediating both the bilateral and multilateral relationships shared between the United Republics and the Utopian Kingdom. Recently, the Embassy’s activities have been dominated by responding to the recent attacks perpetrated by religious extremists on the common people of Roendavar. It was with great fortune that the attacks have slowed down in frequency and lessened in intensity ever since the attack at the Erosithegon, but that did not ease concerns relating to the many Cricenexinos that operate within Roendavar, especially among tourists or families of Dormill-Stiuraians working or learning within the nation.

Every so often, Kathlyn Mills, the present Ambassador to Roendavar, had passed in and out from the Chancery in order to conduct business, having only recently returned from a vacation to Nhoor over the last night. At the moment though, all was quiet in her office and she was using the free time to keep an eye on her emails while having a show open on another window. As she watched, the occasional email from her subordinates across the Embassy chimed in, updating her on ongoing projects such as upcoming cross-national events, breaking news, and the odd report on another pet project. Rarely did she get emails from her superiors that weren't preceded by a phone call, which is why the newest ping from Luther Van Buggenum caught her by surprise.

She paused her show on the opposite screen and opened the email, taking care to pay attention for once. It read:

Van Buggenum, Luther
Date: 02 March, 2021 11:59 AM
To: Mills, Kathlyn
Cc: Shepard, Kevyn
Subject: Pay Attn. to Docaria

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Amb. Mills,

I am sending this to provide you an update on a call I left with your office the other night. The situation on the ground, according to what we know from the Bureau, is not progressing the way we need it to. Balnik has not been deterred from Faronna and there’s now a fear that they will use the chance to press a perceived advantage.

Mr. Dyson has asked us to keep a close eye on the situation, something I can trust you are capable of as you were before. Keep in contact under protocol Alfa-3. We will help coordinate local efforts where possible.

Best wishes,

Luther Van Buggenum, Director of the Office of Gael Relations
United Republics Ministry of Foreign Affairs
1 Ave. de France
Cour Rouge

Noticing for a second that she was leaning in rather close to the screen, Kathlyn jolted back into her chair and reset herself, internally musing on the implications of the email before she drafted a reply and sent it back to the group. Just before she pressed send, she picked up her office phone to listen in on the supposed call Van Buggenum left last night. Leaving the speaker on, she cycled through the most recent messages until the message box gave her what she wanted

New Message from - Luther Van Buggenum - Left at 28/2/21 05:36 - Begin Message

"Ambassador Mills, it's Director Van Buggenum. The chain of command has requested that the Embassy at Docaria be elevated to Condition Alfa-3 effective immediately. Now I know you should be able to handle this and you have my every confidence. Have a great morning."

Message end. You have One New Message.

Kathlyn ran her fingers through her dark hair and let out a deep sigh before she put the handset back down over the switch. After taking a moment to compose herself again, she finally sent her response email and stood up from her desk. She walked to one of the nearby filing cabinets and pulled a manila folder from a drawer and thumbed her way through before grabbing a small stack of papers and putting what was left back into the cabinet. Papers in hand, she walked out towards the window as she read through the contents, occasionally looking up to the morning sky of Docaria. The longer she looked out, the more she could feel the dread building up in her stomach, punctuated by the occasional shading provided by the local overcast. It felt like an ill omen, perhaps those Roendavarian myths about Valkrios were coming true.

---

Bureau of Special Information Operations Center, New Docaria District, Docaria
The streets of New Docaria gave little to the imagination, pure straight lines in a tightly packed grid dominated the youngest district of the Eternal City and it showed as the average age of people surrounding Thethron Tower was closer to twenty than older. In one of the many office buildings and skyscrapers that made this district up, in an office space all too similar to the others, was the center of Dormill and Stiura’s ongoing Bureau operations within Roendavar. Although not officially sanctioned by either the Roendavarian Monarch or the Government, the HEI has tacitly allowed their Doraltic counterparts to operate as part of the wider intelligence community of Gael. It is under this context that it is all too common to see as many Roses within the Bureau’s offices as there are Bureau agents, all working in concert to collect, analyze, and disseminate information across Gael for the further maintenance of international security and foreign policy aims.

Faelian Athereslion Calathriel Pitt and Cédric Roux walked through the front door of the office caught in a conversation, the slightly shorter blonde man recounting the details of his previous assignment^[1] to his taller and broader counterpart. The pair continued into Pitt’s main office, which overlooked New Docaria and Thethron Tower, beckoning Roux to sit at a chair in front of the traditional-looking desk which dominated the floorspace. “It’s good to have you on this team, Mr. Roux.” he began, his characteristic Roendavarian accent punctuating his English deeper than even an Aruian would sound. “Your skillset, your training, your recommendations; it’s no wonder why Misty^[2] selected you when we requested additional manpower.” “Actually,” Roux responded, stretching out the word for a second for added emphasis, “The decision to relocate me was made by Secretary Chevalier^[3], but I suppose she would’ve had to sign this off as well so you’re not wrong.”

A second of awkward silence passed before Pitt resumed the conversation, “Anyways. Your work in New Leeuwarden was invaluable to us here, we’ve already been working with our Rose counterparts on using your strategies to track down Cricenexinosi on a local level. Which is why this afternoon, we’re going to the Embassy with it.”

“Guess that’s why you asked me to get a presentation on this matter.”

“Yeah, the Embassy is starting Alfa-3 integration, and I was specifically asked to present a report on keeping track of radical Cricenexinosi agents. Which is why you are the perfect person. I suppose you have your report ready for that?”

Roux brandishes a flash drive he has on his keychain, “Yes, sir. All set here.”

“Good, for now just take a but to relax and meet some of your fellow agents. We’ll leave just before noon.”

---

United Republics Embassy, Roenar Avenue, Lascien District, Docaria
1222
Roenar Avenue was frequently one of the busiest streets in Docaria and acted as one of the main avenues between the Hall of the Tree and the rest of the Eternal City. Roux and Pitt were side by side in one of the Bureau’s Lancet-Deckard SUVs, local Docaria radio was playing out of the speakers while the pair remained mostly silent on the brief drive to the Doraltic embassy. As the L-D pulled up to Block 21-4, it was met with a decently sized and surprisingly ornate office building, a feature shared with most other Gaeltic embassies in Roendavar. Past the golden gate that marked the entrance, they pulled around to the main door proper and unloaded behind a line of other SUVs of varying designs.

Once inside, they were directed by embassy staff to the appropriate location for the meeting, who additionally informed them that Ambassador Mills would be waiting for them before they got to the room. Within the Embassy was one of the largest displays of Doraltic and Roendavarian art around, matched only by the Grand Museum itself in the showcase of art from across history, from pieces depicting the Great Temple at the Republic of Temple, to an all too famous rendition of the Rush of Stelias Hill, representing the last time Denisian forces in Docaria held the advantage as they attempted to rush the defenses built at the summit of the very hill. Taking some time to admire the art for the first time, Roux lagged behind while Pitt soldiered on to the conference room where Ambassador Mills was waiting at the door.

“Agent Pitt, Agent Roux, thank you for getting out here” she began, shaking both of their hands while standing just in front of the doors, “We’ve got Osters, Roendavarians, Ahnslens, Verdonese in there, it’s a true multinational collection. So, we’re keeping this to English to avoid confusion but just keep things succinct and be ready to cover anything in there.” “Of course, ma’am”, Cédric replied with a smile as she opened the door to a crowd already caught up in cross-conversation that as soon as he heard it, it died. The entire room turned to the new guests as they walked in before returning to more hushed conversations. It would be a few moments for Cédric to set up his presentation in this presence, but everybody knew when it was done as he loudly exclaimed so. Now that the room was quiet, the proper presentation could begin.

“Good Afternoon everybody. I am Agent Roux of the Bureau of Special Intelligence, and this,” with a dramatic flair, he brought out the clicker and moved to the first slide, “Is our kind of target.” On the screen was four images of New Leeuwarden prisoner mugshots, “These four are allegedly agents of the Cricenexinosi cult known as the Valcriosi, study these photos well.”, he clicked in again and red circles surrounded the prominent piercings on each of the subjects, “If you need a shorthand to identify any Cricenexinosi, keep an eye open for garish jewelry. As opposed to our Roendavarian partners here today, Cricenexinosi wear more prominent pieces of jewelry, each are possibly distinguishable by cult or following.”

As the presentation went on, Pitt looked on with measured attention, watching both Roux and the other guests for their actions and reactions. At least from his measurement, things were going well, Roux was solidly identifying what his office was already confident in when it came to identifying the various Folk Protacists that existed across the Isles. The method of tracking them through all-aspect methods was new to him, however. The common theme of Cricenexinosi was a measure of luddism, so any assumption that they had access to mass communication was limited, but this case study was showing new information to everybody.

By the last slides, Roux had laid out a thorough plan to follow within Docaria; keep a close eye on social media feeds and non-traditional forums, use existing surveillance technology to search for and identify specific cultists, stake out common gathering grounds and gather information from them. While it sounds otherwise like a standard information gathering operation, the risk in this case came from the fact that these cultists were significantly more dangerous and organized than other organizations, and would be all too capable of directly attacking Docaria and, more importantly to Roux in the context of his work in New Leeuwarden, attacking indiscriminately.

One of the lingering questions left over from the briefing was one about their capabilities, especially regarding the attack on the Erosithegon. Very few criminal organizations across the Isles had the means to pull off an attack on the scale that these Cricenexinosi had. While discussions swirled around the usual suspects such as the Knights of Freedom or one of the Javierian cartels, the suggestion of state actors stepping in to this situation to destabilize Roendavar was brought up several times, even accusations that Roendavar’s allies in Gael were intending this to force them into militarization for their own profit. However, nobody managed to reach a clear conclusion on who or what, if any, was getting involved with the Cricenexinosi. It was this lack of clarity that was at the top of Faelian’s mind as he talked to Ioraelin in the halls of the Embassy.

---

1: See Oh Night Unholy Chapter 6
2: Trix Lovel, Director of the Bureau
3: Woodrow Chevalier, Secretary of the Department of HUMINT Operations Gael

[Roendavar]

CHAPTER TWO: INTO THE UNDERGROUND

A faint orange glow faded in the horizon as the city of Dociara was bathed in the sunset. Southeast of the city, on the shores of Lake Olemas, the district of Felamoren stood in its notoriety as the Center of Sin. In contrast to the districts of Dociara located on the eastern side, or the Old Half as the Dociarastai call it, it had taken on an appearance far wilder and chaotic than the surrounding districts. Here, the roads are narrower, flanked by buildings of no particular shape, taking forms that seek to occupy whatever space it can find. Bright lights hung from roof to roof and a faint smell of lavender was in the air. Here, in Felamoren, everything was available, all propped up in glass windows overlooking the streets, from wares to prostitutes, from food to recreational drugs. This, truly, is the Center of Sin.

Valeris was leaning on a lamppost somewhere near Alistarien Park, on the far side of Felamoren. His long, disorganized curly hair hung loosely to his side, covering half of his face in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. Few know what he truly was, the Arveimeion of Valcrios, the God of Chaos and the Undoer. A head priest and the reincarnation of the thirteenth Arveim, as well as the leader of the Valcriosi, the Cricenexinos cult that has been notorious for being one of the most dangerous of the many cults that exist in the ancient religion of Protacism. Despite this known truth, here he was, subservient to masters that have bigger plans for Roendavar, plans that Valeris knew would only bring ruin to this country. But perhaps... there's more. He watched as a short-haired, fairly tall, burly man wearing a leather jacket started walking slowly towards him. No doubt this was the person that his higher-ups had tasked him to accompany with. A foreign mercenary from McHenry's Port, clearly an expensive hire.

“You must be our foreign guy from McHenry. Quite a long way from pirate home. Mason, correct?” Valeris greeted, his thick Roendavarian accent coming through his English. Roendavari hated English and they tried to avoid speaking it if they can, especially in their country.
“And you must be the offspring of whatever Chaos God you kind of people spout about. Valeris, isn’t it?” The mercenary asked back. "And yes, I just arrived in this old-timey country of yours just last week. Bosses told me I needed a guide for this. Told them it was fine if I was alone but they didn't listen. Got told it was dangerous. I mean, how bad can it be?" Mason chided.
“Not offspring. Reincarnation. Sharing one body, is more an appropriate term, perhaps.” Valeris corrected, which earned an immediate whatever from the brooding mercenary. “And it is dangerous, especially for one not accustomed to what we do in this country.”
"And how exactly is it dangerous, especially for one like me? I have seen everything you know."
"Everything but Roendavar." Valeris quipped as he began to walk forward. The mercenary followed in sync behind him, grumbling about matters Valeris could not hear.

From Alistarien Park, they continued down the stone path deeper into the thickly forested park. They could already hear music, bouncing off from somewhere in the distance. As the music got louder and louder, both of them could find more people. Some, in groups, were excited, obviously party-goers. Some have already had their fill, with one or two slumped over in some tree. As the trees thinned, The Oreis Ninth Club stood in a clearing the middle of the park. It was unlike any building in the eastern side of Dociara, even compared with Felamoren, more akin to the style of western Dociara. It was a sleek black cube of mostly glass and steel, reflecting even in the faint early moonlight. Red and purple lights accented the curves and sides of the building, giving it an alien look.

“Why the hell is it named Oreis Ninth Club? Is there like a one through eight?” Mason grumbled.
“It is the ninth iteration of the building. The first Oreis Club was a gathering place, an amphitheater or bath of sorts during the era of the city-states. The eighth Oreis Club was destroyed during the Second Hyacinth Cry by riots.”
“I didn’t need a history lesson. It was a joke.” Mason rolled his eyes as he walked towards the entrance. There were one or two guards standing by the triangular doorway, though they did not seem to care that much about who enters or exits. The pair easily made their way inside, passing through a long-mirrored hallway.

The interior was fairly modern, with tones of futuristic design. The main hall was triangular, with three large speakers blasting music on each corner. The club was packed, people brimming on the dance floor and on the two counters. From glass windows above, one can observe more affluent people on balconies and private rooms. Mason could even make out party drugs, tablets of different colors, being passed around and sold at a lightning pace, no doubt legal and common in these parts. People here were not shy either, with public displays of attention common everywhere you look. However, most jarring was the giant stone statue located in the middle of the main hall. It depicted a young-looking man, curly haired, with a crown of grape vines, and an overflowing cup in his hand. Several streams of cloth were lazily placed on him, serving as accents to his physique rather than clothing itself, which obviously was not provided by whoever etched the statue. Thankfully, only the upper half is visible.

“That’s the God of Festivities and Merriment, Alistio. The Oreis Ninth Club, well the first one that is, was built on top of the ancient temple because the Ariethosi, now the Dociarastai, believed that could contain the deity’s tumultuous power and concentrate his influence on this place alone.” Valeris explained.
“Seriously? You keep a million-year-old statue inside a night club? Well, at least it’s the god of partying. No judgement there.” Mason shrugged, still unnerved about the idea of a deity surrounded by a club. “Where are we meeting these agents?”
“Get closer to the statue and you’ll find out.”

Valeris followed closely behind as Mason walked towards stone colossus. The crowd got thinner as they approached the statue, as if something was keeping the crowd at bay. Mason would soon find out why as they were met with a metal railing, and beyond it, a circular pit upon which the statue extended further down. Covered with glass windows, the room below seemed to be past its age. A whole ancient temple was beneath the Oreis Ninth Club itself, its age apparent from moss and vines that crept across its cracked walls and a stone altar bearing numerous offerings of coins and god. What they were looking at below was older than the city of Dociara itself.

“The Last Temple of Alistio, the God of Festivities and the Herald of Pandemonium and Ecstasy. Also, one of three underground temples in Dociara.” Valeris explained, keeping his distance from the statue itself. Stories of Alistio range from visiting during feasts to bringing with him an ecstasy so potent that it ravages the minds of people.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re going to meet them in a temple?”
“No. This is just a taste. No one is allowed down there except the followers of Alistio himself. Below that are chambers separated from those who would not dare taste this city’s poison. That is where we are going.” Valeris pointed to a separate hallway to the side of the club. “The more… wild activities of the city are kept underground during times of normalcy.”

As they made their way to the hallway, they passed by the patrons of the club. Mason noted their appearance, half of them certainly drunk and under the influence of some type of drug. The other half seemed normal people, those who went to the club to unwind after a week’s work. A significant minority looked foreign, no doubt chasing the promise of Roendavar. It wasn’t unusual, nor did it represent the whispers about Roendavar in foreign places. Don’t they say that Roendavar is worse than this? They passed by other rooms separated by either glass doors or crimson curtains. Based on the sounds that could be heard, Mason and Valeris did not bother to look closely, instead keeping their eyes forward as they walked to a carpeted staircase leading down. They descended for a minute, to which Mason guessed they were probably six or seven floors down. Here, the air turned colder, the stone walls becoming more polished. In what seemed like forever, they finally reached the end of the stairs and was greeted by a crimson red door on the other side of a furnished hallway. Four guards stood by it, the other two armed with guns. Valeris approached one of them and whispered in his ear, followed by a glossy black guard being flashed briefly before being stuffed in his pocket once more.

The armed guard opened the red door, and they were welcomed by a high-ceiling, perhaps four-floored, circular chamber with stone floors, several passageways and openings cut from the walls. It was dark, with the occasional flashing of red from party lights. Deafening music reverberated and bounced in a frantic beat, rendering any conversation or sound hard to comprehend. As they enter more into the chamber, it was apparent that the laws of Dociara, most libertarian in itself, are looser beneath its earth. Recreational drugs, far harder and more dangerous than their counterparts often used above, were liberally bought, exchanged, and used. Bare escorts and maidens made their rounds across the room, and almost all patrons, regardless of their sexuality, were not shy to any such experience that await them, and they did not wait for a private encounter, some opting to take their sexual activity on full view of a crowd of people, some even in greater numbers synchronously. In some niche corners, there were those who were interested in the shedding of blood and the numbness of pain, their faces in ecstasy as blood dripped in, perhaps, survivable quantities. The crack of a whip, leather, white powder, leashes, collars, fur, alcohol, weed, blood, sex, as they danced to a wild cadence and hazily swayed in a delirious rhythm. The sensations and sights were overwhelming, indescribable, and overloading for those not accustomed to such proclivities. Compared to the mood above, the chambers below hold a sense of wrongness, a miasma of sin. Valeris was used to this sight, a frequent visitor to Dociara and a Roendavari, a people who regards such sinful displays as normal. He turned to Mason, and was not surprised that even for a mercenary who was not stranger to the sinister side of humanity, had a look of shock and disdain. An initial expression all too common in those who visit Roendavar for the first time, even for the most liberal. Here, in full view, the sinister side of Roendavar was in full view. The ancient utopia above, the free beast below.

“If you’re done gawking, we need to find a table. Unless you want to partake in what they’re doing over there.” Valeris tilted his head to a group of people on one corner.
“Take me to safety then.” Mason agreed, keeping his line of sight away from whatever Valeris pointed at.
“Hello, hello. You look new here. Care for a taste?” A person, indiscernible of what gender they may be, approached Mason, their eyes glistening with malice. Mason froze in place, unsure of what he needed to do. He couldn’t get angry, lest he draw more attention to himself. Luckily, Valeris immediately stepped in between them, his tall, slim height seemed more intimidating in the dim lighting.
“Avieceilis. He is indeed but he will not partake.” Valeris quickly said, saving Mason from whatever activity they had in mind. This earned them a laugh as the person walked away, disappearing into the hazy lights. After a few minutes of walking around and Valeris having to approach one of the servers and request a VIP table, they finally got seated in a separate alcove one floor above the main area, with a massive window and a walkway separating them from the pandemonium below.
“Don’t look under your seat by the way. That’s where they put the toys for these private alcoves.”
“I knew Roendavar was a free place when I read or heard about it but I didn’t expect it to be like… this. It’s insane.” Mason perplexed.
“It has, ever since the dawn of time. Sin has its due, and sin is part of us, as we say in Roendavar. To suppress it, you create monsters. To let it go, once a while, you have a human.” Valeris gestured to the people below. “Of course, I would not expect those not of this place to understand it.”
“I don’t. No fucking way these people are actually thinking straight.”
“Still, here they are. Sinful and wild. When the sun comes up tomorrow, they become parents, students, scholars, workers, government officials… normal people. It’s a dichotomy we, as a nation embrace.”
“Not even going to respond to that. I’m here because I’m paid to do something. Not my place to care or engage in philosophical talk, especially with you lot. Fanatics, all of you.” Mason scoffed, disdain seething through his voice. “Now, for who we’re meeting. Balniki agents?”
“Yes. Balniki.” Valeris smiled, his fists tightening. “Them above wants to provide them with some sort of information even I am not privy about, which is the flash drive you have on your pocket."
"It's weird for some of your people to get in touch with elements from a country, at least from what I heard, is hated. They're trying to destroy Roendavar from the inside, and it still baffles me why some of your people would participate in it." Mason wondered, raising an eyebrow at the Roendavareil cult leader. Valeris' eyes took a solemn look, as he could not provide an answer to such, even if he wanted to.
"I have to nothing to say. I am just here to observe, however, so do not expect anything to come from me.”
“As you should. Don’t get in our way. I’ve already heard about you from those at Thersos.” Mason made clear, crossing his arms. “You did not join in Thersos, and you even tried to stop operations. It's not surprising that they didn't share whatever information it is. You, people, have questionable loyalties.” The mercenary took his eyes off Valeris. Judging by his expression, Mason didn’t want to continue the conversation anymore.

Valeris gave a polite smile, yet his long curly black hair hid a vengeful look in his eyes. If anything, Thersos was a mistake. One that They severely miscalculated. Valeris grimaced as he remembered that snowy night once more. The fires of Thersos. The hanging corpses. The brutality of the mercenaries. How, even his own followers, were corrupted. The Valcriosi, split between allegiances, a crisis befitting their titles of Harbinger of Chaos. They will have their payment in time. For now, the Cricenexinos shall play loyal. They both remained silent, choosing instead to surrender themselves to the heavily perfumed air and the beating music of the Dociara Underground.

[Balnik]

Dociara

The music thumped loudly over the drug fueled haze of an intoxicated city, the night was young after all and many partygoers had the opportunity to enjoy the opulence of Roendavar's most prized attribute, its freedom to sin and debauchery. Over the rhythmic entrancement of the electronic beats of the Oreis Ninth Club two darkened figures masked by the darkness of a tight alleyway covered in foliage, muttered, discussed, and argued, producing muffled voices from an inconspicuous vehicle. Krevic, a Balniki operative laughs at the person beside him, a much younger woman with short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a sharp face that one could describe as beautiful but "a resting bitch face". Krevic would chuckle while slicking back his now unkempt black hair and stroke his much longer beard, looking at the dazzling lights of the club and its degenerate occupants.
"Oh come on Novak, turn that frown upside down, maybe lighten up, we are in Roendavar after all, wouldn't you want a drink or two?" Krevic chimes in, taking a small swig from a silver flask and wincing, afterwards breathing into his hands and smiling, his eyes watering from the smell of stiff alchohol.
"We are spies after all, we have to at least have to look the part. A Rustov shill like you would stick out like a sore thumb here, especially in a place like this." Krevic smiles once more, his toothy grin reflecting off the windshield of the car as his face changes into pale colours, the lights of the street flashing and peering into the vehicle. In his hands would be a thick stack of Davari Areils, his thumb flicking over each bill as he quickly, but methodically counts out the money and places it into a leather briefcase, closing it and locking it, scrambling the combination.
"Look any more out of place in outfits like these?" Novak chides, gesturing to the pairs apparel which has Novak in a yellow ribbon trouser suit, exposing her midriff and back, only being cloaked in a patterned fur coat. Krevic on the other hand would wear brown suede boots, with beige corduroy pants to his ankles and a black turtleneck tucked into his pants, a grey wool coat would be worn over his outfit.
"Speaking of out of place" Novak speaks up, pointing to the indeed out of place leather briefcase. "What about that?"
Anticipating this, Krevic pulls out a small dime baggie with an unknown white powder substance. "We are simply traders peddling our merchandise". He says, a wide grin crossing his already smug face.
'Whatever, what are we getting for the money? Some kind of drive?" Novak inquires, looking back at the case and at the triangular doors at the club and the possibilities that lie inside.
"Correct, a USB with hopefully, juicy blackmail." Krevic replies, digging into a black duffel bag, sticking his tongue out as he reaches deep inside.
"And if we've been duped and the drive is a dud?" Novak says, prompting Krevic to raise his head and look at her with a stone cold face, with no alert or hesitation he places a machine pistol on her lap with three magazines. "We pull iron."
"I see." Novak responds, inspecting the weapon and placing it and its ammunition in her jacket. Looking back at Krevic the two exit the vehicle and tidy their appearance.
"Lets party." Krevic gleams as the two walk towards the club, briefcase in hand and the hope that the night runs smoothly and as planned.

Entering the palace of opulence and excess the pairs senses are immediately overwhelmed with the aroma of scent, alcohol, and drugs. Their vision is pierced by strobe and colour while their bodies thump along to the ensnaring beat of the speakers. The two approach the monumental and ancient statue of the god of festivities, peering into the old, decaying, and overgrown ruins. Despite being kilometers away from home the two still empathize with the temple, reminding them of the old frozen monolithic structures of the Skoll and Rustov empires, reminding them of times long gone.
"Lets get to it then." Krevic says, looking nervously at the statue, feeling an unnatural feeling of uneasiness. Walking past the influenced partygoers Novak looks at them with disdain, keeping her eyes front but not attempting to hide her already naturally unhappy face.
"Lighten up, why the long face?" Krevic chuckles, nudging Novak who gives him a death stare deep into the recesses of his very soul.
"These people are degenerates, they have no discipline, no purity of the soul, they know no hardship, pain, anger, suffering. This opulence and gluttony make a society and its people weak. What do you think Balnik would be like if the Skoll or the Rustov did not exist? If we were allowed to wallow in the false truth of complacency, if Voyachek did not become a martyr and a god for our people?" Novak harshly quips, looking towards an uninterested Krevic as the two walk down the polished hallway into an unknowing pit of sadism and debauchery.
"Well I'd definitely be drinking a lot more. Maybe be attending one of these parties." Krevic laughs as Novak sharply whips her head forward, trying her hardest not to say something she wouldnt regret.
"I've seen the Teklak have definitely done their job better, you must've been given a lot of bones, that's probably why you were let off the leash over here." Krevic smugly states reaching the end of the hallway after several flights of stares and approach the doors of the BDSM den that awaits.

"Enough of thi-" Novak states, looking back before entering the room, stumbling over her own words and being caught in the lucid haze like a deer in the headlights, absolutely entranced by the flesh, blood, drink, and narcotics that engulf the entire atmosphere of the room. Laughing, Krevic slaps her on the back to snap her out of it and looks up at the various floors that stagger the hall.
"Wanna join them? Could be fun, but work comes first, lets find those contacts." The two manage to traverse the nine circles of hell, avoiding the various fluids floating about while a disgusted Novak attempts her best to avoid looking at the various sexual acts occurring around her, although to no success as the excess of pleasure and pain engulf the entire scene of the room, turning the setting into a sinful backdrop for what may occur. The two climb the levels, eventually to fin the cultist and the merc already waiting for them. The Balniki agents held up their end of the deal, now they just hope the other two would uphold theirs.

[Roendavar]

CHAPTER THREE: MEETING OF TWO WORLDS

Valeris heard the doorknob to their private alcove click, throwing him back to reality. Opposite of him, the foreign mercenary, Mason, clutched his concealed knife tighter, in case whoever entering was one of the unsatisfactory patrons of this underground club. Two figures entered, no doubt Balniki based on their appearances. At least they dressed properly for this place. Valeris appraised, looking at them from top to bottom. A bearded man stood to the right, nonchalant by the looks of it, and in stark contrast to the woman beside him, which was hard-set on a disdained frown. A tense chill settled on the room as the pair rose to greet the Balniki, with Valeris extending his arms out.

“Welcome to Roendavar, our neighbors.” Valeris greeted, a tense smile plastered on his face. “I hope that it has been easy for the both of you to have found this place nor have my fellow citizens have given you trouble.”
The woman was about to say something, her face shifting to a disgusted grimace. However, the man beside him interrupted her. “No, it hasn’t been a problem. Though my partner here seemed to detest what you have going on here.”
“No offense taken. It isn’t for everyone. Even my associate here would agree to such sentiments.” Valeris motioned to Mason, making a point. “My name is Valeris, though I assume you’ve already known about that from Them. This is Mason, mercenary.”
“First name basis? Have you people no sense of secrecy?” The woman quipped, forcing the Balniki man to answer for her. “Forgive her. My name is Krevic, and this is Novak. The Balniki visitors as you’ve already heard.”
“Great. Now that we’ve introduced each other, can we please get to the matter at hand?” Novak insisted. “Give us the flash drive.”
Valeris motioned for Mason to hand over the USB, handing it to the Balniki operatives who immediately produced a laptop. The tension was thick. Valeris knew that the Balniki are ruthless people, and while he knew how to tango, even to two, any fights erupting between them would not look good. However, Valeris noticed the Balniki operatives’ expressions change, from Novak’s anger to Krevic’s grin. Valeris knew something had went wrong.
“It’s a dud. Mostly empty and nothing of actual substance.” Novak growled, throwing the flash drive to the floor. “They’ve been wasting our time. Should have known we couldn’t trust these people.”
“Hold on. That’s none of our fault.” Mason made clear, a confused look on his face. “Blame Them. This is way out of our league.”
“We don’t care. You failed to deliver. We’re under orders to get this information and do you know what will happen if we return with nothing? You’ve doomed us, Roendavari scum.” Novak darkened as her eyes narrowed at the pair.
“Watch your tongue, barbarian. Do not imply anything about us. We merely done what we were told.” Valeris snarled back. “Here I thought you Balniki had knowledge of authority.”
“And we do. Unlike this degenerate hellhole you have.”
“How dare you!” Valeris got heated. Granted, he was one of the Arveimeion of this land and he wouldn’t stand any insults to his country. “We can give you nothing, you cannot give us anything. It’s fair. We were both tricked.”
“Yeah. Can’t we all just chill? We both got swide-swiped here.” Mason interrupted, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Better stop here before any fight erupt.”
“Then you have no use to us then? Me and Krevic had an agreement earlier that if we’re made fools…”
“This is going to be fun.” Krevic grinned maniacally. Valeris watched as Novak reached within her clothes, and immediately recognized the faint glint of a gun. In a brief moment of clarity, Valeris grabbed the mercenary by the shoulder and threw him in front, a hail of bullets descending upon them in a hellish fire. Within a few seconds, Krevic has closed the gap between them, a sharp metal pointed straight towards him. Valeris shifted to the left and freed his hands, letting go of the almost dead mercenary, and reached towards his own dagger. His reflexes must have been muddied by the sudden attack as he felt a sharp pain on his right shoulder.
“You got lucky with that, Roendavari, and I am about to do something worse.” Krevic taunted as he pointed to Mason’s slumped body. “Survived because you double-crossed your ally. If we weren’t enemies, I would have admired you.”
“We weren’t allies. Shame. I was beginning to like him.” He smirked. “Well, I am out of here!” Valeris flicked his dagger to Krevic, which was narrowly avoided by the man. Valeris dove and bolted to the other door and made his way down the metal stairs. He could hear the Balniki after him. As they made their way to the main hall, no one seemed to pay them any attention. They were occupied by their proclivities, and considering the number of crimes and fights underground, it’s no surprise that no one was interfering.

“Vladiraca ianthorin!” He cursed as he quickly took cover behind another stone pillar, feeling the bullets whiz by him and the taunting of Krevic. He needs to get out of here and fast. He thought, calculating his odds of surviving. Maybe… there’s something I can exploit. While he could hold himself for a while, the longer this last, the less his chances of actually surviving. It doesn’t look like anyone from the crowd was going to help him either, and the soundproof doors and walls outside are probably not alerting the guards. Suddenly, he remembered something, a signature of Roendavari clubs.
“Afathracai!” Valeris ordered, followed by a cheer of excitement from the crowd. Valeris needed a distraction, and this would get the crowd on his side. Though, it’s a more drastic opportunity right now and he preferred not to be in the middle of what was about to go down.
“Whatever you’re planning, we’ve got you cornered. You’re not getting out of this alive.” Valeris heard Krevic call out to him, which judging from the voice he was getting closer and closer. He could hear the faint click of a gun from Novak.
“You think we are degenerates, no?!” Valeris grinned to himself. “Then we’ll show you our worst!”

Suddenly, the lights went out and the sounds of different magnitude erupted all around. The music became louder, booming in the background as intense bright strobe lights descended on the main hall. A hazy mist descended, smelling of rose and lavender. All around them, the crowd began to undress, some howling in a malicious laugh. Their eyes hid an insanity, as if they were triggered into action and were waiting for this to happen. Now the Balniki will receive the full tour of Roendavar. The Balniki operatives were stunned as the strobe lights revealed a more nightmarish and garish version of the Underground. People around them began engaging in worse actions. They bit, they foamed at the mouths, they stood up and danced like there was no tomorrow. Some, as Valeris expected, even reaching out for the Balniki Operatives, with the foreigners dishing out punches and kicks whenever they can. The Word of Sin, as they call it.

Valeris saw this as an opportunity and immediately fled through one of the stone tunnels that extended across the Dociara Catacombs, weaving quickly through the crazed party-goers. If it weren’t for that distraction, he could have been dead by now. Two against one is hardly a fair fight, and he was lucky that he managed to evade the Balniki. However, he was more infuriated with their predicament right now. Why would They sell them out to the Balniki? Maybe they saw this as an opportunity to get rid of me? Valeris pondered, gliding silently through the catacombs of Dociara. This was the last straw. He needed allies, and fast. Turns out, he knew who just to approach. His older brother. The snake of Roendavar.

[Dormill and Stiura]

The term “sleepless city” has been used for the collection of urban areas across the Isles that are known to be active late into the night, or even for full days as some have accomplished. Of all of them though, the Eternal City is without a doubt the winner for the most sleepless in all of the Western Isles. To some, it would seem as if the activity of the day never ceased as the sun went down, for others, this marked the start of a whole other city life; for Cédric Roux, this simply left him tossing and turning in his bed, hoping for a respite from all the noise. Compared to this, even New Leeuwarden was peaceful at night, European sensibilities precluded most people from doing much of anything that wasn’t a social gathering while the moon was out, and most businesses closed up not long after sunset. In downtown New Docaria, however, ‘sleepless’ felt like a euphemism. To Roux, it almost felt as if Docaria became even more active in the night as compared to the day, another celebration of their pagan gods he figured. He was barely conscious when his phone stand went off with the all-too-familiar sounds of a ringtone, which he snapped up to respond to, expecting an alarm but getting a soft voice, “Seòras , you’re needed at the Alistarien, a taxi will be at the door shortly for you.” Now entirely roused from his sleep and given a mission, Roux took a few moments to take a brief shower and get dressed up, remembering to take his Docaria Police badge and his new glasses just in case as he made his way to the door.

The trip in the taxi across Docaria was uneventful, the driver themselves didn’t appear interested in striking up a conversation and the dazzling night lights proved a valuable distraction from Roux’s personal exhaustion from his so far sleepless night. It took close to a quarter of an hour to go from New Docaria to Felmoren, during which he passed under the Lily Gate and by the still bustling Ahhlein Market. Soon enough, the car came to a rest at the sodium-colored park of Alistarien, adjacent to the glass-roofed Oeris Ninth Club. Roux would pay his driver with a small collection of Aerus and a small thanks in what Roendavarian he knew as he got out, his blonde hair getting caught in the lakeside wind. As he began to walk away from the taxi, his eyes were caught by his counterpart having a smoke under one of the street lamps nearby the club’s entrance. Pitt was surrounded by first responders as they ushered patrons out of the club in various states of injury, few were paying the tall Roendavarian-Doraltic any mind as he smoked in long drags. Pitt’s eyes met with Roux’s as he got closer, wrapping up the cigarette and putting it out under his heel before falling into a walk beside his shorter companion.

“Looks like a bomb went off in here.” Roux began, glancing around at the scene of carnage in front of him, “We’re lucky that it isn’t Seòras.” Pitt began, “Bomb squad left a few minutes ago, nothing was found inside that indicated an exploded or unexploded bomb.” The pair quickly flashed their Docaria Police IDs to a nearby officer as they walked past the police tape that guarded the entrance to the club. “What we know for now is that we certainly had a cultist come in with an escort, then come out alone in a rush. I tried to get information from Ioraelin about the suspect but I could barely get in the armory before he jumped from the stones.”¹ “Wherever he’s gone now, he hasn’t gotten back in contact. That just leaves us to figure out why two cultists came to one of the most popular night spots in Docaria and shot it up.”, Pitt finished as the pair walked closer to the statue of Alistio, the dance hall still pulsed with music. In front of them now was yet another officer and another line of tape, guarding what appeared to be the base of the statue itself. Flashing their IDs again, Roux decides to try and ask the situation from somebody on the inside, in what Roendavarian he knew, “Would you know what happened here?”

The officer glanced at the two men before responding in a much clearer and faster Roendavarian, to the point where Roux completely lost track of the conversation. This would go on for near enough a minute before Pitt, who partially grew up in Roendavar, translated and summarized it back in English, “So four people walked in, three came out, and the fourth is down there?”, to which the officer inquisitively nodded in approval. “Sounds like the MO for the Valcriosi, what do you think Seòras?” Roux, still not entirely used to his Roendavarian name, was slower on the uptake than the other two men in the room, and responded to his name in a slight jump. He muttered to himself and vocalized a moment of contemplation before responding back to Pitt in English, “This seems to fit their MO, but I am not sure. The last attacks were a lot more deadly, many more bodies on the floor. This does not look like a normal attack from the Valcriosi.” He looked back to the officer standing in front of the statue before continuing, “Is there anything else we need to know? Like what’s by that statue?” The officer’s look went from confused to antagonistic in a moment, glaring into Roux before talking back to him in Roendavarian, “Look, that’s all I know. And nobody other than the Chief and Inspector is allowed downstairs.”

Before Roux could snap back, he felt Pitt’s forearm cross his chest to hold him back, allowing the taller man to defuse the situation, “That’s fine officer, we’ll be on our way now. Thank you for the information.”, as he finished, Pitt lowered his arm and gestured to turn and leave. As they left, Cédric caught the glint of a pistol casing in his glasses, and knelt to inspect it. In this interlude, Pitt noticed his partner had lagged behind yet again to stare at something local and called out to him, “Seòras, we don’t have time for this. We need to get back to the station.” “Just a second,” Roux replied, grabbing an empty and used dime bag from across the floor, he then took off his glasses for a brief moment and used the temple tip to lift the casing into the bag. Task complete, he stood back up and briskly walked back to Pitt, who by this point had brought his Horizon Atlas to his head and was caught in a conversation in French. He managed to just wrap up by the time Roux caught up with him, “You might be on the right track about this not being a Valcriosi attack. I just got word that we’ve identified people matching the description of two of the suspects somewhere in the city, we are heading over to meet the contact for more information.” “Where are we heading?” Roux replied, not used to being out of the loop, “Close, just get in the car.” Pitt replied, walking ever so slightly faster to reach his Lancet-Deckard SUV.

---

1: To “jump from the stones” is a Doraltic phrase to quickly escape a situation, used in connection with “get in the armory”. The phrase has its historical root in the rush on Arette Armory during the First Dormillian Revolution of 1791, when the defenders of the armory jumped from the stones on its roof rather than risk capture and execution by the mob.

[Balnik]

Dociara

Echoed steps that ring down the street are soon muffled by the blaring sirens of emergency vehicles and rushing first responders. The two figures that left the scene are now cloaked in black as their still figures are illuminated in the alleyways by the red sirens, as soon as they pass the figures rush off in a sprint through the labyrinthine city streets, a burning car all that is left of their presence at the scene.
"Holy shit what the hell did you just try to pull? You went after him." A clearly angered and shook Novak exclaims, catching up to Krevic as the two dash through cluttered alleyways and beneath overarching balconies and walkways.
"Hah, Rustov's best." Krevic chuckles heartily, completely unfazed by what has transpired. "Little tip from an old player, always tie up loose ends, they'll come back back to bite you in the end. See, that guy is probably gonna try to kill us now, he's a cultist and has tons of connections within the country, he's certainly gonna do the same thing I tried to do to him." After running for a little bit longer the two take a rest, a short distance from the candy shop.
"Well that obviously backfired, it would have been better if we just left him." Novak, says having calmed down but still alert and anxious, looking around the corner to see if they're being watched for followed. "Fuck! If only things went differently, maybe I should've gone after him, I'd probably have a better shot than an old man." Novak chuckles, smiling, prompting a dismissing laugh from Krevic.
"Maybe, hindsight is 2020, anyways we should head inside." Krevic sniffs and a faint tinge of chemicals and smoke, furrowing his brow and looking towards an unmarked packing van. "I have the feeling Talbot is busy."

Upon entering the two are faced with a preoccupied Talbot standing over a vat of harsh chemicals, dumping stacks of documents and info into it, all the while a smoldering fire rumbles in the background, with each crackle valuable information is burned away. The concrete room would be stripped of all its electronics and hardware, presumably being packed away in the cargo van. Talbot looks over, his face concealed by a respirator as he breathes heavily, displeased to see the presence of the two and obviously aware of the situation that occurred outside.
"I see you two got busy, didn't know we'd be busting caps this early on." He says with a condescending tone, smacking a bin of papers into the chemical vat, the papers bubbling away into the strong acid.
"Yeah well. there was some hiccups, the USB was a dud and the cultist was probably out to cross us." Krevic says, rubbing his neck, his easygoing and charismatic demeanor shrinking away in front of his clearly upset handler.
"Did you at least ice him?" Talbot says, prompting a quick and icy glare from Novak towards Krevic, who meekly chuckles and sighs. "I'll take that as a no then." Talbot says, stirring the vat and disposing of the last documents.
"Well what's done is done, lets get the hell out of here." Talbot says, removing his respirator and walking outside, the two following to the cargo van as Talbot steps inside, rummaging around the dashboard and pulling out a piece of paper. "Here's the address to the next site." Handing the paper to Krevic and gripping it tightly as his icy eyes meet Krevic's prompting a deep gulp from the latter. "Do not fuck it up this time. When you arrive state that 'you'd like a haircut and a close shave' at the intercom." Talbot stares down the two before driving away, the backside of his van illuminated in an orange haze from the streetlights.
"The barbershop." Krevic mutters as he looks down at the piece of paper before crumbling it and shoving it in his pocket. Looking at Novak he grimaces and nods his head. "Lets go."

[Dormill and Stiura]

Alcelios Theater, Old Docaria District
03 March 2021, 0131

Roux wasn’t sure what was causing the sudden souring of his mood this night as he sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, he felt it was a mixture of being awake at this hour, the horror he had just witnessed moments earlier, and seemingly being pushed aside by Pitt just hours after he felt he made a good impression on the man. Whatever the cause, all he felt was a bubbling anger in his gut and despair at his position; fortunately he didn’t have much time to dwell on it as the car came to a sudden stop. “We’re here.”, Pitt blankly announced, already extracting the key from the ignition and opening the door.

In front of them was a man dressed in plain clothes, basically a late night jogging outfit as far as either Doraltic men were concerned. Pitt was the first to speak up again as they approached what Roux could only now assume was a local contact, “I am Agent Sore Crown and this is Agent Navy Volt, we are here because you offered us information.”, “I wasn’t expecting this much formality when I was on the phone with you.”, the third man replied, his French coming out almost impeccable to Roux’s ears, which was certainly a shock to add on with everything else the night has offered, “In that case,” he continued, “I am a representative of Her Majesty’s Foreign Intelligence Service, and I have come with information regarding the recent events across the lake.” As the Belantic agent finished the statement, he nodded his head up and past the two Doraltic agents, who turned to find the lights of Oeris Ninth Club still strobing on the other side of the lake from the ancient theater they stood in.

“And what exactly is this information that you have?”, Pitt inquired, a notable twinge of annoyance in his voice that wasn’t around earlier in the night, “For as much as I am obliged to share it with our Doraltic partners,” the Belantic paused, stretching out the last word for ever so slightly longer than he should have, “Both I and my benefactors would prefer this to be more of a dialogue and less of a transaction. We are on the same side after all.” Pitt’s annoyance with the Belantic agent had almost become visible when he blurted out his response, “You’re making this dialogue a transaction by even bringing it up. But if it brings us that much closer to getting Docaria back under control then I’ll bring it up the chain of command.” “Well I am glad to hear that, Mr. Sore Crown,” the Belantic agent joyfully exclaimed, turning around to recover a folder from the stones behind the group, “To make things brief, two of the perps that ran out from the club came from a location we know has been used as a Balniki hideout. That there goes over everything else we know. I hope to work with you two more often.”

As the three parted ways, Pitt took a few moments to skim through the Belantic report, going over the details of what they know about Balniki operations in Docaria and the connection between them and past operations in Albany City, it all pointed to a very key observation. Ever since Balnik invaded Faronna, it has been intentionally expanding its human operations in Docaria, most likely to stoke tensions within Roendavar in an effort to distract and weaken the Roendavareil government enough to set a new status quo where Balnik comes out more powerful. The mere suggestion that Balnik is even in Docaria, while it shouldn’t be surprising, got under Pitt’s skin as he drove Roux back to his apartment, ranting to the younger agent about the Horseshoe War and how much a threat Balnik is to both Roendavar and Doraltia. As Roux finally got back to his bedroom, the whole night managed to catch up to him at once and left him doubled over the toilet for a few moments before he managed to finally get some much desired sleep.

[Roendavar]

CHAPTER FOUR: THE BEGINNING OF AN ALLIANCE

The skies above Athalymos were bathed in a fiery red light as fires rose and an explosion rocked the entire mountain to its core. It was the Night of Crimson Red, Valvarinacthrian, as it was now called by all Roendavarians. A great tragedy, one that shook Roendavar into a new reality that it was not prepared for, nor did it foresee shall happen again in the land of the gods. The east side of the mountain was now deserted, its once reveling patrons either gone or dead. Tents stood ripped and burnt, food and drink left, just as they were, to rot, and personal belongings were scattered and abandoned, their panicked owners leaving them where they stood.

Valeris walked amongst the tents, an ineffable emotion plastered on his face. Not sadness nor glory, not fulfillment nor despair. A thin line in his mouth and lazy eyes that kept forward, afraid of looking at the messy scenery. Look to the left and a glimpse of another dead person, slumped across a table, and another one, halfway towards a tent, their fingernails bloodied and bent in a frantic grasp towards life. Look to the right and a corpse desecrated beyond compare. This was no ordinary terrorist attack nor was it a massacre. It was a nightmare born. Valeris stopped as he found an untouched tent at the boundary of the forest, perhaps a recluse for his trouble mind, he went in, a temporary calmness stilling, yet not a second later, a voice called out to him from behind.

“Valeris.”
“Sylvanus?” Valeris recognized the tall man, his hand rushing to the gun at his side. “Are you here to stop me? Have we been found out by the HEI?”
“No. Calm down. I came here on my own accord, on behalf of the Arveimeion. One of your presumed allies called me to this and I obliged. Glad he was not fooling me into a trap.” Sylvanus raised both his hands in placation.
“Theremiel? The one by Eleias, no doubt.” Valeris chuckled, already knowing the answer. “He understands the position that we are in, though, I suppose I should not have trusted a pure heart to keep this as a secret.”
“He still has. He only told me about the attack tonight, and to seek you out. He did not expound more on this predicament of yours. Maybe out of the compassion that he has for your elusive group.”
“I suppose I should be thankful then, now that you are here. Now must you hurry off to your little sweetheart and tell him all about this? Oh, how the look on his face shall be great knowing that his fellow brethren are responsible.”
“He already knows. I already informed him before I came here. He knows about the attack as well.” Sylvanus averted his gaze in response to his revelation.
“Oh? This is interesting.” Valeris raised his eyebrows, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “The King of Roendavar and the embodiment of the Life God has done nothing to stop the attack tonight? Has he finally gone mad?”
“I am not in the position to tell you his plans nor concerns, Valeris.” Sylvanus sighed, refusing to dwell on the subject any longer. “Just know that you will eventually be found out by the HEI, Valeris. All of this. All of you. When that time comes, you must have an explanation for this.”
“And what if there is no explanation? That we have done this on our own accord?” Valeris posed. “What if we, I, are the true villains in this chapter of Roendavar? What then will you do, Sylvanus? Strike me down?”
“Valeris. If it does come to that, know that I have always put Roendavar first before anything.” Sylvanus replied, striking a long past history between the two. “Though, we both know that is not true, Valeris. If you were, you would have blood on you and you would be out there, not here with a resentful look on your side. Do not even try to refute me. I have been in this game longer than you.”
“So have you… so have you.” Valeris said, the sad look returning to his face. “Sylvanus, know that if the time comes where things shall be free once more, then I shall come to you. I will tell you of this. Just, not today. However, do take comfort that we are not doing this out of sheer malice, but we, too, know our duties.”
“If you say so, then that is the truth.” Sylvanus nodded, a brief soft look flashing across his face before it was gone once more. “I will take my leave. Iralistharinae valis, caitheron.”
“To you, too, Iralistharinae oranasthis… caitheron.”
Sylvanus turned around, stopping for a brief moment, before he eventually walked out of the tent.

-=-

Valeris felt each footstep he made hit the cobblestone floor amidst the darkness, the light from his phone and the occasional light fixtures the only guides that he was not lost. Behind him, the music of the Oreis Ninth Club continued to reverberate, albeit getting quieter, through the stone walls as he ran through the Dociara Catacombs, through one of many tunnels that snake across the Dociara Underground. He took a left, then a right, then all the others that came after. The labyrinth beneath Roendavar have stood for millennia, the arteries of the Dociara Underground that connect the horrors and ecstasy that dwell beneath the ancient city. Bones and skulls were on full display, millions of them from the city's ancient lifetime. Much of it is off-limits, but the Dociarastai Council has consistently refused to seal off the Catacombs, leaving the intrepid explorers and dubious patrons to wander its stone walls.

After what felt like hours, warped by the gloom of the maze-like tunnels, he finally reached one of the main tunnels under the Hall of the Dead, the Vladiarlathrein. He followed the tunnel, passing by one or two amused tourists and locals that frequented the tunnels of death in the capital city deep in the night searching for thrill, and emerged at the main chamber, hurrying through the metal gates of the Dociara Catacombs, the cold air of Dociara hitting him again. He scanned the nearby bus stop and immediately rushed towards one of the late night buses that was headed to Iralenen District and sat at the back row. He had no reason to be cautious, no doubt much of the attention was focused at the Oreis Ninth Club tonight. Valeris pulled out his phone and immediately typed a message.

Leave now. Come to Dociara. Golden House. Do not tell Them.

Do I involve them in this? They will be in great danger. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the send button. No greater danger than where they are now. Valeris reassured himself as he sent the message, hoping that the three would receive it and leave immediately. After around 20 minutes, the bus arrived at the Hall of Law, just before the Rose Gate. Valeris stepped out of the bus and began walking down the inclined road that led up the Draculenea Mountains. Fort Niles, the main headquarters of the Roendavareil Royal Guard and much of the offices of the HEI came into view, its stone brick walls barely covering the complex of gilded and elaborate structures inside. However, this was not where he needed to go. He continued walking forward, the trees growing thicker and older, until he was met with a golden gate, four soldiers guarding it.

“This area is off-limits. Please leave immediately.” One of the soldiers ordered as soon as he saw Valeris.
“I have business here. Something imperative to the Roendavareil government.” Valeris announced, trying to look as formal and professional as possible. Hard to do when he was wearing
“Today is not the Day of Lies, citizen. Please leave.” The soldier chuckled, the others following suit. The finest of the Roendavareil Royal Guard.
“You do not understand. I need to talk to Sylvanus right now. This is a matter of national security and, by stopping me here, you would be placing this country in a great danger.”
“Great. And I also am the Caliesti of Dociara.” The soldier mocked. “I am afraid the Thraenacil is not in his office at the moment.”
“Look…” Valeris sighed, knowing that nothing will get past these four unless he says something. “Fine. Clenean thiaras Arveimeion, Valcrios, Valeris Ivalcarim Theresmilias. C-2136… 5192-19981104. Former Agent Assignation I-18861.”
“All you needed to say. Wait for a moment as we confirm your identity.” One of the soldiers said as he turned to a panel. After a few seconds, a voice crackled and the golden gate begun to swing open slowly, the other guards moving aside to let Valeris through.
“You have been confirmed. The Thraenacil would like to see you in his private office. Approach the agent at the front door and he will take you to him.”

Valeris rolled his eyes at the soldiers as he passed by, proceeding past the gate towards the Golden House. The Golden House was an under-statement, implying that it was golden and merely a house. In reality, it was a gilded chateau in the middle of a forest, its magnificence hidden away and its purpose far darker than its appearance. The headquarters of the Agents of the Rose, one of the largest espionage operations in the Western Isles and responsible for the security of Roendavar. At the foyer, a tall man stood, his short wavy hair hangs loose by his circular glasses. He was put together, formal, wearing a purple suit and a golden pendant hanging on his neck.

“Ioraelin?” Valeris asked, the man before him vaguely familiar. "You have changed so much since I last saw you!"
“Correct.” Ioraelin snickered, annoyance seething from his voice. “I have no desire to converse with you, Valeris. I have found you annoying then, and I share the same sentiment now. I am here to merely escort you to Sylvanus.”
“That’s kind of a rude way to greet a fellow Arveimeion, is it not, Ioraelin? I thought Althoros would be far more welcoming to those who bear knowledge.” Valeris joked, teasing the leader of the Althorascilia. "I come with knowledge and support. Then can you be nice to me for once?"
“Then the knowledge you offer better be good, Valeris.” Ioraelin tapped a slim black card at a panel beside the tall wooden doors before opening them, revealing a regal grand hall. It was decorated with a rich emerald carpet, with paintings of the past Thraenacilen of the Agents of the Rose hanging by the walls draped with velvet curtains. In the ceiling, a mural was painted, depicting the Agents of the Rose assassinating the Five Eyes, traitors that wished for the death of Corinthus' greatest emperor. Both of them walked past the stairs and corridors that deviated from the chamber and headed straight towards the main hallway, with another set of intricately carved pair of wooden doors at the end.

"I deduce that you have something to do with the mess at the Oreis Ninth Club tonight. Be thankful that there was only one casualty, a foreign mercenary, but I am also disappointed to report that two Balniki operatives have fled the scene, as per reported by the patrons of the club. Unscathed. I am glad you are not affiliated with this organization anymore. That is simply apalling performance."
“Ioraelin, I know you don’t believe me right now-“
“It’s 2 in the evening, you have blood underneath your coat, you smell like drugs, and you look like hell. Most of all, you finally have the courage and gall to come back to the HEI headquarters. You do not need to explain to me now, Valeris. That alone, I know you are telling the truth.” Valeris enumerated without turning his head to Valeris.

Ioraelin was correct. Valeris never saw himself back in the Golden House, not until three years ago after the Cathanrin Operation and he left to Tillianan to be with the Valcriosi. He could not bear to be in an institution responsible for such corruption, nor interference in the affairs of the outside. However, Sylvanus has since taken over the HEI, and a new king has been crowned. Perhaps, the HEI has changed, this a hope Valeris whishes be true. They eventually stopped in front of the double wooden doors, Ioraelin punching a code at a panel and tapped a slim black card. After a few seconds, there was a click and Ioraelin opened the door, revealing an office with a massive pine wooden desk in the middle. The walls were pinned with maps, laptops and files scattered, and the smell of lavender permeating the air. In the corner of the room, a potted rose plant bloomed, a specific one grown in the Gardens of Iscinelis at the Royal Palace, noted for its deep crimson red. Seated in a deep red chair, a familiar man smiled at Valeris, his raven black long hair and the iconic orcaen testament and brand to who he was.

“Valeris. I am glad you have come to your senses. We have much to discuss but first, let us wait for our people, shall we… brother?”

[Balnik]

Golodets

In the back of a deep blue sedan with tinted windows was a figure sitting down, rummaging through luggage and papers of all sorts, organizing his possessions while sweat beaded down from his gray hair onto his tanned face, with his formal attire loosened and tie halfway undone on his chest. Next to him a peaked officers cap sat on the leather interior, indicating the rank of an officer. Pulling out his passport it would reveal his name and appearance, reading "Max Rudin." His mugshot would show him being a tanned, gray haired man, with green eyes, features not typically native to Balniki. Next to him would be a secured briefcase, most likely hiding confidential information.

Soon later a casually dressed man enters the drivers seat and looks back at the rushed military officer and lights a cigarette, calmly inhaling while the frantic officer gets his stuff in order, pushing items into a suitcase and zipping it all up.
"well Colonel, when should we take off? You're the one paying after all." The man in the front seat says, looking into his car mirror back to the Colonel, who in turn looks back up and to the driver.
"Give me thirty minutes Roddy, I need to organize some things before I leave, this is very important you know, and before you say it, yes you will be getting your money, you'll have it as soon as I cross the border and enter a safehouse." The colonel says, changing into his casual clothes, hiding all traces of his military presence, hiding away his cap and exiting the vehicle to burn away his uniform.
"They're gonna come for you, ya know." Roddy says to the Colonel, who enters back in the vehicle while extinguishing his cigarette in his water bottle. "The ultranationalists, Chernobog, the junior officers, what you're doing is against everyone's interest, and its not gonna end well with you lying dead on the pavement.
The Colonel grimaces and makes the last adjustments on his items. "I am meeting up with the allied nations of Gael, they must know of these plans, it will prevent massacres around the continent, even if I die my death will save the lives of millions." The Colonel looks back towards his driver, unsure of his decision but with the resolve to go on. "Enough chatter, lets go.

Dociara

In a humble Dociaran cafe around midday, Novak, Krevic, and Talbot would all be talking together, relaxing and keeping operations at a minimum after the club shootout. The three would talk and laugh before Talbot stands up, leaving Krevic and Novak together at the table. Novak looks down at her tea, looking around and twiddling her thumbs, wanting to say something but not knowing how to say it.
"Listen." Novak speaks up, prompting Krevic to look up at her, still tapping his fingers on the clear glass table, revealing his khaki shorts and ghostly pale legs, tanned skin would typically be an uncommon feature in Balnik anywhere but the southern coast. "I wanted to apologize for my actions at the club, I let my views get the best of me and my emotions take over, that's not how any agent should behave and for that I'm sorry."
Krevic recoils in surprise, taken aback that the stubborn and close minded Novak that he knew would take the time to apologize for the awful situation that happened. "Uh its fine, just don't let it happen again." Krevic responds, unsure what to say to Novak. The two look toward Talbot who appears to be finishing up a phone conversation. Talbot grimaces and walks towards the two and sighs.
"Whats up boss?" Krevic asks and smiles. "This time we are gonna go to a opera house and shoot it up?" Krevic says chuckling, with Novak rolling her eyes.
"We are going to track down and kill or help kill a defecting colonel. This comes down from Ragtaz themselves and we have our objective. His name is Max Rudin, he was a Colonel in the air force." Talbot sends pictures of the colonel to the other two. "We suspect he will be meeting with Davari and Doraltic agents to bring them critical information.
"What kind of information?" Novak asks, looking at the pictures and his overall bio.
"Invasion plans of Roendavar, stolen from the junior officers and planning to give it to the westerners to avoid conflict, the officers motive for killing him is rather straightforward, however Chernobog does not want them to know our locations and have the intelligence for a preemptive invasion.
"So we are gonna ice him?" Krevic chimes in, looking around for anyone listening in as he takes a sip out of his coffee.
"Our mission will be monitoring and observing him, Teklak will be handling the hit."

[Dormill and Stiura]

Bureau of Special Intelligence Headquarters, Institut national de Chery, Chery, Avillon
03 March 2021, 1100

Mid-spring on the north coast of Dormill and Stiura very normally involves long days of expansive cloud cover, frequent drizzles, and the occasional storm. On this morning, the conditions have broken slightly to clear skies as President Dyson walks the stone pavement of the National Institute, the core of the wider University of Chery. While it would’ve been customary for him to walk with a close escort of Red Court Security, he asked them to keep their distance for a change so he could spend some time actually interacting with the students of the Institute. While most only exchanged a glance or a hand-wave, some did actually talk with Dyson on a range of topics, from small-talk about the nice weather of the day or to stories of how they were inspired by Dyson himself to get involved in politics. However, one, in particular, stuck out to him as he got closer to the Bureau headquarters, which was always visited by protesting students demanding the Bureau leave the university; as he approached the entrance he was stopped by yet another student, this one getting in closer than the others and prompting a response from his security detail. Before they could pull the young man off of Dyson, he managed to hit him with a question of a rather significant magnitude, “Are you going to throw us into another foreign war over a patch of rocks to satisfy your ego?” Dyson had no time to answer him before security pulled him away and ushered the President to enter the building.

Appearing slightly rattled from the Faronna question, Dyson proceeded into the Bureau headquarters building and swiftly made his way through the complex, stopping on brief occasions to go through various security checks before arriving at the top of the building and an open conference room door. Within he could already see nearly every major leader of the Bureau, from Director Lovel to Secretary Chevalier already engaged in conversations regarding recent events; as he crossed the threshold into the room, the conversations mostly subsided and the other guests stood up. Most of the people inside rendered a salute to their commander-in-chief, others simply stood and waited for Cedar to take his seat, given that everybody knew who he was already, Dyson simply returned the salute and quietly sat down, allowing the Director to take over.

“Good Morning everybody, as you are all aware the situation on Dociara is developing as we speak but this is everything we know so far.” Director Lovel began, turning on the projector to display Dociara in its entirety with points of interest marked on a map.

"We’ll begin here in the New Dociara district and our field headquarters, from here, all operations conducted by the Bureau are coordinated. At the present moment, the office is led by Operations Chief Faelian A. Pitt under the direction of the Secretary of Human Intelligence Operations, his office is split into a number of divisions but for the purposes of this meeting bear in mind that he is accompanied by a group of agents leading smaller teams that are diversified into a number of operations within the city, from intelligence gathering to analysis and to communications." she paused for everybody to take in the information before continuing.

"Next, allow me to draw your attention to the Felmoren, part of the wider Old Dociara area, and to this location in particular." She tapped the icon, pulling up images from all over the web of Oeris Ninth Club, now with evidence of restoration in the form of tarps and scaffolds.

"This is the Oreis Ninth Club, a popular night destination within the city. We believe that last night, a member of one of Roendavar’s hostile cults, the Valcriosi, and three other suspects entered before attacking the club’s patrons, leaving four dead and another dozen wounded, including possibly one of the suspects, so far we have an unverified report from the office that two of the suspects are of Balniki origin, and we do not yet know of the third but we anticipate the coroner’s office for Dociara’s police to have a report ready within the week ... "

The meeting wound up dragging on for far longer than Cedar had anticipated, to the point where his other planned activities for the day had to be rescheduled for later on or canceled altogether, let alone the inconvenience of being away from Cour Rouge for merely business. However, with only the briefest lapses to handle his schedule, his attention was firmly set on the affairs of the meeting, taking in all the aspects of the situation in Roendavar and how it has affected Dormill and Stiura both at home and abroad.

By this time, the original presentation was long over and each of the other participants were discussing the next steps the Bureau had to take in order to get back ahead of Balnik and stop the threat of the cultists once and for all. They all eventually came to the same conclusion, the need to allow the Dociara office to act with greater liberty and to provide it with more resources to do so.

After deliberating in his mind for a few moments, Dyson gave the go-ahead for the Bureau to do as it needed in Dociara to stop the cultists and prevent Balnik from using them to its advantage, emphasizing the need to keep the Roendavarians on his side by avoiding aggressive actions. With that, the meeting was adjourned and each of the participants said their goodbyes, with Cedar and Lovel remaining behind in the empty conference room.

“So I heard that there’s one more matter we need to handle, Director?”, he asked.

“Yes, Mr. President.” She replied, “The Signals Office received a message from a hidden address yesterday from a Balniki military officer seeking to defect.”

“Defect? A Balniki officer?”

“Yes, he says he has information about Balniki military strategies and operational plans he needs to give to the United Republics and its allies.”

“Do we know where he is?”

“No, sir. Signals couldn’t pinpoint a solid address, they said it most likely bounced around a few VPN servers before it reached them. No way to contact him directly, no way to track his movements.”

“Well there’s plenty of places he could have run off to, he could be anywhere in the Isles at this point if he flew. Put every office on notice, we can’t allow anybody else to reach him if the information he is carrying is true.” As Cedar finished speaking, he put his coat back on and left the office, his eyes set in determination.

Bureau of Special Information Operations Center, New Dociara District, Dociara
11 March, 1500

“Sir I must protest at the use of resources here.”, Pitt began, talking in a virtual conference with Secretary Chevalier and other local leaders of the Bureau, “While the additional personnel Chery has sent us has been invaluable, Balnik is clearly a more significant threat to our operations than cultists who have gone quiet for three whole months now.”

“I understand your concerns, Agent Pitt but our mission in Dociara has been to counter threats like these cultists, just because they haven’t been active in the open does not rule out the possibility that they have gone underground for their operations, your boy Roux knows this just as well as I do, as the rest of us do.” Chevalier coldly responds his age all too clear in the raspy nature of his voice.

“If we don’t go after these Balniki agents now they will only get bolder in their operations, and who knows what they can be planning. We already know a defector is out on the loose, they could have a bead on him or, Yralia forbid, they already got to him by now. I fear things will only get worse the longer the Balniki feel they can act in this city with impunity.”

“But if we do go after Balnik right now, and assume they have the cultists under their thumb, they can turn them against us and the city.” Roux pitches in, “I agree with Secretary Chevalier here, if we take down whoever is leading these cultists then we can isolate Balnik from any cover group in the city, and we can then tighten the noose around them and find the defector.”

“If he hadn’t run off to Site Franc yet or worse,” Pitt responds, clearly annoyed at his own subordinate speaking up against him, “We already have a bead on the location of the Balniki agents thanks to our Belantic partners, let me take a team to go after them, we have the resources now.”

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Chevalier spoke up once more, “Do what you think is right, Agent. You have my support.”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll assemble teams at once,” Pitt responded with an audible sigh, signing off the conversation after final remarks.

“Roux,” Pitt began, holding up a finger before relenting, “Take your pick of field agents and investigate the Balniki leads, I’ll handle the cultists myself."

Roux stood for a moment before nodding and walking off, the pair had not been seeing eye to eye ever since Oreis Ninth and he feared this was just one part of a wider punishment for crossing him.

Loras Statue, New Dociara
11 March, 2248

The night, much like any other March night in Dociara, was cool and windy, owing in large part to the lake effect of Lake Olemas to the west of the city. Pitt sat on one of the benches in front of the towering statue of the High God Loras, God of Nature and all Life, his visage looking out into the towering city of iron and concrete that was New Dociara. Cigarette in hand, he took deep drags to try and calm himself down, the situation had been only worsening and now with more personnel and resources, he was being asked to almost single-handedly fight both Balnik and the Valcriosi in the city. The sounds of the sleepless city drowned out anything he could hear nearby, nor like he had a reason to care until a greeting jolted his attention back.

“You asked for me, sir?” the gruff voice asked, standing to Pitt’s right.

“Depends on what I asked for,” he responded coldly, taking no effort to look up and respond to the questioner.

“I believe you asked me to get you a pack of cards, sir.” the new person responded, passing over an unopened deck of playing cards, a red joker printed on the top of the box, which Pitt takes and inspects before taking another drag from his cigarette.

“What’s my hand?”

“King high straight flush, sir.”

“Hm. Good. Stay on standby, I’ll need to set my wager first.”

“Very good, sir. We’ll be waiting.”

As the departing footsteps of the agent began to fade into the noise of the city, Pitt took one last drag of his cigarette before depositing it in the nearest trash can, letting out a small prayer to Loras before departing into the crowd of New Dociara himself.

[Roendavar]

CHAPTER FIVE: THE UNITED THIRTEEN
Golden House, The Free City of Dociara

A soft knock on the door and Valeris stood up, smoothening the dark black suit he was wearing. Sylvanus insisted that he dressed formally for the interrogation, something unusual for captives of the HEI. It has been weeks since he has arrived in the Golden House, kept away from the outside world until “the time has come” as Sylvanus has said. He has not heard much news as well, nor does he know if his three companions have heeded his message and went to the Golden House. All this secrecy and protocols, a nagging suspicion was on the back of Valeris’ mind. Is the HEI already mounting something bigger? He readjusted his dark black coat and checked his eye makeup on the bathroom mirror. The number 13 was painted on his right eye in the Roendavareil Branch Script, a tradition done during formal meetings, especially those between the leaders of the cults of Roendavar. A second round of knocking finally prompted Valeris to hurry and open the door.

“It is time.” A masked figure stood in the hallway. They were wearing a dull gray full-body cloak and a plain undecorated mask, hiding their features and muffling their voice. Once Valeris stepped out, the hooded figure begun to walk, leaving Valeris to immediately catch up.

“It’s a pain, isn’t it? I don’t know why I have to wear all these shit for some interrogation with Sylvanus and some old men probably.” Valeris grunted, the sounds of his jewelry clinking through the halls.

“Yes, I figure it must be terribly uncomfortable. All the paraphernalia and regalia one must wear in your position. I would not dream.” The masked figure said, keeping on their forward pace.

“Why do you talk like that? You sound like Sylvanus or one of those higher ups, like the royals or something. Are you sure you’re not someone important?” Valeris joked. Perhaps lighter conversation could ease his tension.

“Oh, no. I was merely educated in Althoros, which may give you enough justification to answer your question. As for importance, I am merely a servant. Nothing more.”

“You studied in the most privileged and prestigious university and you ended up in the HEI? Ha! Says quite a lot about this nation if you ask me.” Valeris crossed his arms.

“Hm… can you elaborate?”

“We have lost our passion. We have lost our spark. Roendavar is but a destitute youth who has settled for less. No offense to you, but you must have been smart, but you choose to be in an institute that’ll throw you to the fray without regard. That is every Roendavarian in this country. Thrown into a reality that doesn’t make them happy. In a reality that will rob them of their future. We need change.”

“I see merit in what you have just said.” The hooded figure affirmed, though Valeris could not tell what his tone was due to the mask. “Ah, I see we have arrived. Please enter this room. You will find your companions there. I wish you luck and may the God of Life bless you.”

“He shouldn’t bless me. He should bless this damn country. It’s slowly turning into shit every day.” Valeris quipped, though he smiled at the figure to show that he was, at the very least appreciative. “Say, before you go, from which of the Arveim are you? That hood and that mask doesn’t tell me.”

“I am an ally. That is all you need to know. Now, proceed.” The hooded figure opened the door, revealing a decorated room inside with three seated figures and a spare chair.

“Valeris! I’m glad you’re safe! We’ve been waiting for you to call us for weeks!” Galaeren jumped up, their long silver-dyed hair complimenting the gray cloak he was hearing. His left eye was covered, and on his right eye, a cross was painted. The arveimeion of Selis, the God of Lies, and half of Meaning.

“Yes, cruel of you to disappear on us and now we receive a message from you to come to the Golden House. Whatever you’ve been doing, you’ve started a mess.” Theosarion chided. His short straight hair kept his sharp face in full view, complimented by the eyepatch that covered his right eye and a single horizontal painted line below his left eye. The arveimeion of Foaster, the God of Truth, and half of Meaning. “Now, sit. They said we will start once you’re here.”

Only Theremiel did not greet Valeris, instead regarding him with a look that can either be described as melancholic or sad. His braided long black hair ran down his back and tied with a golden band. He wore a cyan coat, white pants, and on his eyes were painted spirals that resembled the winds. Valeris did a quick smile at Theremiel as he sat down beside him. Maybe he still feels guilty for talking to the HEI without him knowing. Valeris thought.

“Well, I guess it’s the four of us again in one place. That can only mean one thing. Trouble.” Valeris laughed.

“Good morning.” A voice crackled from one of the corner speakers. Valeris instantly recognized the voice as Ioraelin. “As per our agreement, you will tell us all that you know. Recount every detail with brevity and conciseness necessary for this organization to proceed. You may start now.”

Valeris sighed, trying to form a coherent storyline for whoever was listening to them. When at last he knew what to say, he started. “I am Valeris, leader of the Valcriosi, as you all know. My companions are Galaeren and Theosarion, both the embodiment of Truth and Lies, and Theremiel, the leader of the Eleianthari. Our three groups have been involved with an organization called the Arrangement. We were given limited information but, from what I could gather, they are made up of Roendavar’s most powerful people who dream of change in Roendavar. I cannot point any specific leaders as we were left and acted alone. The Arrangement have also been in contact with outside elements, most notably the Federation of Balnik. The attack in Oreis Ninth Club was a bungled operation, a trick by the leaders of the Arrangement, no doubt, to assassinate me due to my and my companion’s protests during the massacres in Thersos and Athalymos. Our reluctance and innocence in both events can be confirmed by the HEI and I believe that one of my companions have already given you that testimony. That is all I know and can say for the time being.” He turned to Theremiel, waving his hand at the braided youth.

“As for your motives, can you explain why you would join such organization? Are there any specific reasons?” Ioraelin, through the speaker, asked.

“Personally, I’ve always believed that change should come to Roendavar. I do not wish to relish you with details of why I think that, but it is a long-held belief of mine. When someone from the Arrangement approached me and promised an alliance towards a singular cause, I agreed. Perhaps it was a mistake of mine that I did not care to know them, nor did I want to mingle in whatever they’ve got going on. I only wanted to act, and act I did. That is all.”

“Thank you. We now proceed to Theosarion Atharael Naclathrein.” Ioraelin said. Theosarion’s expression remained unchanged, unfazed by the sudden shift of attention to him. “You have served Roendavar for a few years now as one of the carmath of the Hall of Law. You have been astute and steadfast in protecting the rights of the many. Then, tell us, why are you included in this?”

“Valeris approached me. I agreed with his views. As half of Meaning, of Foaster, I had a responsibility to deliver whatever justice, or punishment, I see fit. I arrived with this.” Theosarion said, frankly. A long pause made it clear that Ioraelin would have expected more, yet it was clear Theosarion wasn't willing to say more.

“If that is all you want to say, perhaps we can turn to the next person. Galaeren Sorthael Valericanis, you are the current head of the Pilonas-Lacsandarieth University, why are you complicit in this?”

“Theosarion was the one who contacted me and I met Valeris through him. While, truthfully, I was a bit apprehensive of this whole thing, I could not let Theosarion plunge into this mess alone. We are siblings, well… of the faith not by blood, I am sure you all understand. As for being the head of the Pilonas-Lacsandarieth, I am one of many, yes, but it is our duty to look after the youth of the future. This is what I am doing now.”

“If you say so." Ioraelin stated plainly, with Galaeren giving Valeris a worried look. "Theremiel Asearon Vagralthian, you are a student at the Pilonas-Lacsandarieth. We were informed a few months ago that a new arveimeion has been found by the Eleianthari. A few weeks after that, your parents and your sibling died in a housefire, leaving you missing for months. Who are you, why were you elected, were you there when your family died, and why did you join them?"

“I- I was elected because the augorosen said that it was time for a new one. That was all that they told me. As for my family…” Theremiel paused, looking at his fellow companions in the room. “I was there at the night of the fire and… it was the same night that I joined my companions. They were responsible for their deaths.” Theremiel looked down, avoiding any eye contact with his companions. It was a painful night, one that he could still relive in his mind, but for some reason he could bear to hate his companions.

“If they were responsible, then why are you alive and why did you join them?”

“I had to do something. I told them who I was, and I was reminded of the Laws. I could not interfere, though, even if I did, they could have easily killed me. I had no choice. I just went with them, knowing that I’ll eventually escape another time. However, that night at Thersos… I cannot stand back and return to my life. If I could do anything to put a stop to it, I would, and so I contacted Sylvanus before the night of Athalymos and told him everything. Everything after that, we’re now here.”

“Understood. We have already verified your actions and we have found you four complicit in all of them. Therefore-“

“If I could add a point, please.” Theremiel interrupted as he looked at Valeris, the same indistinguishable look crossing his face. “Know that I was with these three throughout it all, and I know that they were forced in some way or capacity. I cannot speak for them, but at least take what I have said into account. I, too, agree with what they’re aiming for. The methods were inexcusable but not theirs to decide.” Theremiel’s sudden defense and confession stunned Valeris, followed Galaeren’s quiet yes and Theosarion’s grunt of approval. Silence once again fell on the four of them until, finally, Ioraelin’s voice returned to the speaker again.

“If that is all, please proceed to the next room. Exit and you will find that the door next to this has been unlocked. Enter and we will proceed with the discussions.”

“Did we do good?” Galaeren asked, immediately standing up from their chair. “That was a bit scary.”

“Judging from how quickly they dismissed us with no clarifications, I can say so. Now, the question is, do they take what we have told them into account? Will we be punished for what we did?” Theosarion posed.

“Let’s just hope that whatever they have in that room does not kill us or, worse, have us do something that they probably won’t regret.” Valeris stood up. “By the way, Theremiel… I am not mad at you for colluding with the HEI. I’m actually grateful for that. I just wish you did it with me knowing.”

“Thank you, Valeris. Know that I have done this for you three.” Theremiel confessed as they walked out the door and entered the room opposite of them. What greeted them was a simple dim meeting room with thirteen chairs positioned around a lacquered table. On the far side of the room, another door was located, surely for easier access to whoever agents need be.

Valeris was in shock, recognizing most of the people that were already seated on the table. There was Ioraelin, the Iavilus of the HEI-OA, with his brown coat and thin glasses, covering the owl-themed lines that painted his eyes, the symbol of Althoros, the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. Beside him was a large middle-aged man with hawkish eyes, short cropped hair, and sunrays painted around his eyes. Arthenius Caralthera Vacthaelis, the Araclan of the Roendavareil Royal Guard and the arveimeion of Helanthia. Beside him was a pale woman, her silver dyed hair complimenting her pale skin and the crescent shape painted by her right eye and stars on her left. Saltharia Veninleil Sarathrai, of Celebriedh and the Iavilus of HEI-IA. Beside Saltharia, another woman, albeit older, seemed to be asleep. Her dull brown coat and simple eyeliner would be insignificant to some, more so the white streaks in her hair and the sign of time visible on her, however, Valeris knew her as Iantharia Palarthresi Vaglaeril, of the Earth Goddess, Maravi, and oversaw the operations of storavinen throughout Roendavar. Beside her, a curly haired man tapped his foot impatiently. His unkept black hair and fiery red coat flame-like patterns on his eyes confirm him to be Erasthavius Orasthrir Avatelesci, arveimeion and leader of the Frecunosti, the largest among the Protacist cults. A slender, youthful man was seated opposite Saltharia. Corlien Tharelasci Ioralisthenis. Arveimeion of the Goddess of Water, Forma, and one of the members of the Mercantile Guild of Sudever, responsible for the election of its Thronai. His wavy blonde hair, freckled face, and blue eyes framed with a seashell pattern that gave him a recognizable Sudeveri look. A young woman was near the front of the table, her emerald green robe and vine patterns in her eyes proving that this was the Thronai of Tillianan and of Loras, Endrina Caliaeth Salenarthil. Her brown hair hung loose by her slim face, distinguishable only by the deep piercing brown eyes. Six chairs were empty, three reserved for him and his companions, with Galaeren and Theosarion sharing one. All four of them immediately took a seat.

“Nice day outside, isn’t it? Not that I would know of course since I’ve been so kindly kept here like some unwanted rat. Isn’t that right, Ioraelin?” Valeris quipped at the spectacled man, clearly trying to poke at the already annoyed agent.

“Do not insult rats by associating them with you. Though I suppose you would prefer scurrying around somewhere.” Ioraelin admonished, striking Valeris a glare. “And please don’t open your mouth until we tell you to.”

“I would prefer you all stay silent. If anyone has to be mad here, it should be me. Here I was thinking that we only had the Balniki to deal with and thought hey that’s not my job and now I’m informed that three cults are involved as well and I’m needed. Great.” Saltharia, the silver haired woman, complained.

“What? Your theatrics at the Dociara Opera couldn’t wait for just a little bit? You do realize that some of us actually have more important things than you. I literally left a meeting back in Constantiara with the Thronai just for this.” The blonde haired Corlien retorted.

“Stop complaining and shut up.” Arthenius grumbled, his large and muscled frame enough to intimidate most, which is no surprise to Valeris as people around the table shut their mouth.

“Come on, never have we leaders been in one room since like… ever. It’s fun talking to you all. It’s a shame though it looks like we’re not complete. Where’s the black haired vavaeliri anyway? Rude of him to be late.” Valeris continued.

“You hate me too much, Valeris.” The door on the other side of the room opened and Sylvanus stepped inside. He wore a dark black and purple coat, trimmed with gold that gave him a sense of regality. His fair skin, tall height, and raven-like eyes cast an intimidating yet ethereal beauty at the same time. “I just had other important duties I had to do. You know my work.”

“Look who’s here. Late to the meeting, Valeris? Also, important duties? What like doing the King?” Valeris joked. Only Sylvanus laughed at the joke, the others either looking at him in disappointment or confusion.

“One of those duties, yes.”

Valeris earlier suspicions were correct as the members of the room immediately stood up to the sound of the voice. Only he remained seated, while Theosarion, Galaeren, and Theremiel stood up in utter bewilderment. A young man walked in, his white coat and gloves, dark emerald suit, and golden jewelry a stark contrast to the dim room. His brown eyes, unlike his fellow youth, held an aged yet soft and caring look. His wavy brown hair was kept and, on his eyes, painted antler-like curly lines that spread outward. The Celion of Roendavar, Faunus Eleos Caenalren Iralethias, stood before them, a gentle smile on his face.

“That must be embarrassing, especially since he heard that.” Sylvanus laughed as the king walked past him, taking a seat at the head chair. All the other members in the room sat down after him, with Sylvanus being the last to do so.

Far too many characters, yet all them a part to play in what is to come to Roendavar.

“Let me first say that I am grateful to you all for coming. It is nice seeing our group together once again, along with some new faces. I do say I am disappointed we are incomplete today. When I told Cirasephona to insert herself in the wider political scene, I did not expect for her to run for such a prominent position. No matter, let her busy herself with the hearts of the world.” The King spoke, his posture unerring. “Now, I am glad I have heard the truth, especially to those that we consider, of this nation, yet willing to sell themselves to a foreign evil, even going so far as to participate in the unjustified killing of Roendavarians.” He said, his grin and kept demeanor turning to Valeris.

“First, iralinasthai, let me say this.” Valeris spoke, trying to keep his tone civil and polite. “All that I have done, and I alone for my accomplices here have nothing to do with this, is in the belief that we could change this nation for good.”

“For good? Is the murder of innocents good? Enlighten us on the metric on which you classify your acts as good! I am sorry for speaking out of turn, celion, but this is just absolutely insane. We have a bunch of complicit terrorists here and they’re talking about the good. Does any of this sound logical?” Erasthavius growled, his fists visibly tightening at the table. Erasthavius have always had the reputation to be the most-outspoken of them, often involving the Frecunosti in displays of power in Vastaros.

“We saw a way to strengthen Roendavar. You are all Roendavarian. You can see how this nation has become weak.”

“Then my understanding is, to strengthen this nation, you colluded and participated with two separate terror attacks on Roendavareil soil and had a play fight with the Balniki underneath that blasted cesspit. You must have such a crooked perspective of what making things right should be. I expect no more from the likes of you, especially from one who turned their backs to this nation. You and your kind are the reason why we demand no respect from anyone.” Erasthavius lashed out.

“I did not forget our promises. Do not speak to me that way or have you forgotten that the Frecunosti are no different from us.” Valeris seethed. “I do not regret what has been done but I do regret that I did not stop this sooner.”

“So, you have us believe that you wanted to stop this? Are you sure of this? If anything, you lot were winning, considering how easily you evaded authorities and carried out attacks in Thersos and Athalymos.” Sylvanus questioned, raising an important point. Valeris could feel everyone’s eyes fall on him, waiting for an answer.

“It’s because of what we saw. You all were not there. You do not know what happened. When we saw the people of Thersos hung up on trees like animals, stripped away of their dignity in a single night. When we heard the screams of those in Athalymos, when a celebration was replaced with grief.” Valeris backed down, his voice breaking. “I wanted change. We wanted change. Through blood was the only way we saw. We just didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“Enough.” Celion Faunus raised his hand. “I have heard everything and I am satisfied. Now, since you have told me the truth, Valeris, perhaps it is time that I return such openness. I shall say something of the truth as well.”

“I agree with you. I have already told you that I am an ally, have I not?”

A silence descended upon the room as everyone’s eyes widened in shock. Even those who seemed incapable of such reaction, like Ioraelin, have turned their heads to the young King with looks of disbelief or curiosity. Only the old woman, Iantharia, seemed indifferent, shrugging her shoulders at the notion of the Celion of Roendavar agreeing with extremists.

“You-“ Valeris realized, recalling the hooded figure. “You were the one who escorted me here!”

“Yes. I am sorry for the deception but I was afraid you would not speak with such liberty once you saw that I am here, or would you have said such in front of the interrogation window. I was wrong then. You speak liberally now.” Celion Faunus explained. “There is a reason why I told Sylvanus to not inform the HEI and stop the attack in Athalymos. It is because I wanted to see how this plays out. Our nation has wallowed in excess for far too long and, as the Union and the Crown, I cannot stand for it any longer. That is not to say, however, that I agree with the methods employed. To relight the fires of this nation need not be through the act of blood, and it should not have come at the behest and employ of enemies both within and outside our fair country.”

“Forgive me, thalas celion, but I cannot believe what I am hearing right now.” The Thronai of Tillianan, Endrina, exclaimed. “The attacks have put this Union in danger and now you say that you agree with them? Andavar and Vastaros have been threatened. If this chaos finds its way to Tillianan, it will be a grave tragedy. What if the people know about this? What do we do now?”

“What do we do? Well, we have no intention of submitting to their idea of change, nor can we stand aside and let foreigners meddle in our affairs. We have enemies both inside and outside the country. I think it is clear what we have to do.” Sylvanus replied. “Drive them out, like we have always done. Kill them one by one.”

“And how will we do this? We don’t know who we’re going up against, let alone do we know how strong they are. We cannot risk the public knowing about this; hence, the High Council cannot make any moves in the meantime. If the Roendavareil public find out the true scale of this, we will have another riot on our hands.” Thronai Endrina cautioned.

“Then, the problem now, is how we deal with these internal and external threats at the same time, identifying and eliminating them, all the while we keep things hush.” Saltharia commented as she twirled her hair in indifference. "Sounds like we've got our hands full."

“Each of us here control a certain part of Roendavar. We utilize this and root out the problem on our own ends. I say we split up and deal with the problems separately according to whatever ability we may offer.” Sylvanus suggested. "I have already discussed this with the King and we have already decided on how to approach this situation. The only thing we were not sure is if our four new friends here are willing to join us."

“You four have incurred a debt and you shall pay it just. Return to the fold and help us.” The King suggested. “We will need all the help we could get. Remember that Roendavar’s defense always relied on those below, rarely us on top. ”

“And how do we trust traitors? Have we forgotten that they sided with the enemy?” Arthenius asked, striking a wary glance at the four.

“The three, I cannot comment on. They seem like decent people and can distinguish good from bad. As for Valeris, you simply do not. He is dangerous, manipulative, barbaric, and crass. The deaths of many will forever haunt him and the thought will torture him for the rest of his life. However, it is not in us Roendavarians to plant hatred nor enact justice. Let them repay their debt this way. If they betray us, they know how we deal with such inconveniences.” Sylvanus winked at Valeris as he rolled his eyes.

“If that is so, then let me be the first to say that I accept.” Theremiel spoke. “Let this be my way of repaying our debt to the Roendavarian people.”

“Me and Theosarion accept this as well. Just as we believe in the Laws, it is our duty to uphold them. We’ll repay our transgressions through this.” Galaeren declared, Theosarion nodding in approval. All eyes fell on Valeris who kept quiet over the whole thing.

“Really? As if I can say no.” Valeris put his arms up in surrender. “Count me in. I’m itching to get payback from the Balniki anyway.”

“Then it is settled. I entrust the matter of the foreigners to Sylvanus, Valeris, Theremiel, Theosarion, Galaeren, Ioraelin, and Saltharia. Arthenius, prepare the Roendavareil Royal Guard in the case of trouble spilling over. Corlien, track down the Arrangement. We want names, who they are, and how powerful they are. Erasthavius, you and the Frecunosti have my blessing to go after wayward local and foreign cults. Iantharia, do what you have always done. Keep the attention of the people away from this conflict and give them comfort. Cirasephona does whatever she needs to do. Endrina, my Thronai of Tillianan, call the other three. We have the Afaril to prepare for.” The King clapped his hands in satisfaction as he stood up, all of them following suit. “Rarely will you all hear me say this but, iralistharil vanaeclathrai. In Utopia, the siblings of Faith swear.”

“ranathalia, arveimeionil atharmin.” They all said in unison, curling their fingers to resemble deer horns and placing it near their heart. A sign of unity, of being one in the goal of protecting the lands of Roendavar. That was what the first of their people swore, and now, they must uphold it once more, together.
 

[Balnik]

Dociara

Jorek Voyachek was the first true king of Balnik, uniting the Golden Confederation, the Uldraminskysk Valley, the Coastal Kingdoms, and the Valkoihet of the Kotlumi mountains, all into one unified nation. On top of his military prowess, Voyachek was a cunning diplomatic, bending the wills and oaths of opposing lords through his sharp tongue and imposing presence alone. In Balnik he was revered as a God, a man who's sole purpose was to enlighten and bring the Balniki people prosperous and enjoyable lives for all eternity, from the mortal realm to the afterlife. He did not address this worship however, and continued to act in benevolence. However his pure heart was not shared by his inner council, who poisoned and murdered the kind King, whose last words were to uphold duty and to sacrifice oneself for others. His son later ritualized these words by creating the practice of samopožrtvovanja, a self sacrificial ritual that is carried out by cutting ones left palm with a blade, and then prostrating to the memory or idol of the king in silence.

In a dark and grey basement, in the depths of the Davari capital of Dociara an illuminated portrait of Jorek Voyachek sits still, circled by a halo of different sized candles. The atmosphere of the room is unnervingly solemn, especially considering what will be happening in the next few days, however it is also peaceful, and tranquil, as it's shallow breathing of its inhabitants cascades over the slow whispers of the candle flame. Below the picture would sit a small puddle of blood, running from the open palm of a hand, letting a cold breeze run over the cut and tingle the nerves, tremors running over the hand as periodic drops of blood paint the concrete floor. Krevic would be situated in front of the portrait, prostrating towards the old Balniki king, a holy aura enveloping the area. Novak would be seen leaning against a pillar, her face showing hints of disdain for the widely considered taboo ritual, however acknowledging that this is a holy practice for some and staying her hand. Talbot however would be seen leaning over a table, thoroughly scanning and meticulously ensuring every piece of his plan falls exactly where he wants it.
"There's too many factors, the time of trains, civilian density, response time, location." Talbot rubs his forehead before realizing his disturbance of the tranquility in the room, prompting an apologetic nod as he returns to his work.

Half an hour passes by before Krevic exhales deeply and sits up from his ritual, inspecting the dried cut on his hand. Novak walks over and hands him a bandage, which he nods to and begins to wrap his hand. Novak hesitantly looks over and stutters before speaking up.
"Do you think it's real? With him being a mystic and a God? Do you think hill come back?"
Krevic responds coldly, still bandaging his hand and still emotional after a valuable moment. "I hope so, he did the unthinkable, and he knew what was gonna happen and when, your Chernkbig couldn't predict what we are going through and will die a mortal man." Krevic snaps back, clearly not taking a liking to Novak's unwanted question.
"I was just saying, you have a lot of faith in something that seems to be dwindling away. Why are you doing that anyways? It's not September." Novak responds, taken aback by his aggressiveness.
Krevic walks around Novak, going to his gear and checking it over and inspecting it for the next mission, his jovial and easygoing demeanor seemingly withered away. "Because I don't know if I'm going to live through this mission, and I'm not a fan of being sent on suicide missions for Chernobog, might as well have done it while I had the chance."
Novak does not respond, knowing full well that the odds were stacked against Krevic and he was put on a high risk mission, with herself and Talbot given safer roles. Novak looked towards Talbot and to the table, and reviewing their plan to kill the defector Rudin.

"Knock knock, you guys got any popsicles? If not I'm gonna have to Swiss cheese you all!" A high pitched imitation of a child's voice is heard, muffled by the steel door leading to the outside.
"Get in Hugo you idiot before you bring attention to our location." Talbot yells at the door, with casually dressed men entering, dragging suitcases behind them. Hugo, the leader of the other two would have a parted blonde undercut and a stocky build, his eyes concealed by a pair of cheap sunglasses. "Can you believe this city? Prostitutes , drugs, more prostitutes, what more could you ask for, we should've been asked to ice this guy sooner."
"It's good to see you too Hugo," Talbot says, already drained by the presence of the agent. "Krevic, Novak, this is Alfonse Hugo, a Teklak elite. He and his comrades will be aiding us and doing the dirty work in killing Rudin. Hugo, these are my agents, Krevic and Novak. We have been the centre of Balniki intelligence in Dociara for a few months now.
"I see." Hugo responds, intrigued and nodding towards the two agents.
"Why are they sending Teklak to ice this guy instead of us?" Novak says, looking at Hugo and his goons, trying to sew what they're carrying in the suitcases.
"Because after the shitstorm you two caused in the club Rustov would rather send professionals to deal with this problem, and the fact that we most likely won't have a second chance."
Krevic nods in agreement nonchalantly while Hugo chimes in once more. "So tell me about this plan Talbot, why do we have these uniforms."
"Alright, let's review." Talbot chimes excitedly.

[Dormill and Stiura]

The Golden House
Free City of Dociara
1 July 2021 10:09 AM WGT

Pitt paced the elaborately decorated room of the HEI headquarters, taking short, deep draws of his cigarette as his footsteps reverberated on the hardwood floor. In front of him were two Roendavarians, dressed in their typical pseudo-French attires, a blend between the flowing fabrics common to Roendavar with the more rigid suits common to Europe and Doraltia alike.

Following a few more drags, Pitt finally spoke up, “How long were you going to keep this a secret, Sylvanus?”

“His Majesty needed time to figure out who to trust, this goes way deeper than you imagine, Faelian,” Sylvanus responded calmly, his hands resting on his knees.

“Trust? Mon Dieu, of course, you can trust us!” Pitt barked back, turning towards Sylvanus, “Gallo-Batavia has been on your side for decades! And you can’t trust us to at least give us a heads up that you are now hosting this snake-” making a wide gesture to Valeris, who was sitting on the left of Sylvanus, “... in your midst.”

“I had no other choice eloivii, Balnik has made this a problem for all of us, all I wanted was what’s best for Roendavar,” Valeris replied, keeping his tone subdued so as to not further anger the Doraltic.

“You! Stay out of this! I’d have you shot right here if we were in Chery!” Pitt snapped back.

“What’s done is done, Faelian.” Sylvanus began, “And you have no place to threaten to take his life after the stunt you pulled today!”

Those words lingered in Pitt’s mind as he began to recall the events that led him to this point.

---

Earlier that morning

Pitt walked through the bustling center of the Bureau headquarters, taking care to look over at the work each of his subordinates were dealing with as he approached what appeared to be a regular set of cubicles, where a congregation had formed around a group of monitors on the far corner.

“Progress report.” he flatly stated, standing at the threshold of the cubicle.

One of the agents standing in the group turned to respond to Pitt, starting to talk in the middle of his turn, “Well sir; we have good access to the city’s CCTV, and the algorithm is sweeping, but there have been a few hiccups, false positives. We’ve already tried adjusting the parameters your new guy gave us-”

“Roux is a reliable member of this team.” Pitt interrupted, walking through the cubicle to look over at the monitors sweeping through Dociara’s camera systems.

“I know, sir.” the other agent responded meekly, “I don’t doubt that he’s good, it's just there’s a lot of people in the city that matched his initial description, and there aren’t many records of him out there we can narrow down from.”

Pitt acknowledged the situation with a slight murmur before speaking up again, “Alright, keep me posted.”

Following the subordinate’s response, Pitt left the cubicle and walked throughout more of the office, stopping infrequently to talk with other teams under his command, now all focused on tracking down Valeris since his disappearance after the attack on Oeris Ninth Club several months ago, his next stop brought up to a full office space on the exterior of the building, overlooking the streets of New Dociara. In this was an organized mess of wires and computers both along the walls and the floor, with a small arrangement of desks spread out in the space, yet another team of agents was here, hunched over computers and focused on work.

“How are things here?” Pitt asked.

“All fine sir, slipping through HEI firewalls proved easier than we thought once we started using the embassy as a proxy, we’re still having some trouble finding personnel files though. Doesn’t help that only one of us here speaks Roendavarian and he’s out getting coffee.” One of the men responded, looking up from his monitor to respond to Pitt.

“Very well, let me know once you have a hit on anything valuable,” Pitt responded, walking away before he could hear any response from the Digital Intelligence Team. His walk of the upper office done, Pitt swiftly moved for the elevators heading down, being stopped by one of the Visual Intelligence team members as he entered.

“Sir, I think we have something solid this time.” He began breathlessly, “We managed to find the subject on the night of the club shooting here-” pointing to a person on a picture grabbed from the city’s cameras, “and here, about half an hour later boarding a bus.”

“How’d he get on a bus unseen?” Pitt inquired, inspecting each photo as they were presented to him.

“Doesn’t matter how, what we know is that we can track this very bus on this route, and I think we got something. He got off near the Golden House that night, and only one person left that matches his description the next morning.” He hands Pitt one last picture, dated approximately ten minutes ago, “And now we have a bead on him, he’s somewhere in Felamoren, same area as the club, the team upstairs have his location right now.”

Pitt, now visibly more energized, straightens himself up before responding, “Good, get on Channel 5 and keep me updated.”

Unloading from the elevator, he rushes to a parked trio of nearly identical SUVs, each surrounded by a small team of new, sharply dressed agents. Pitt immediately grabs the keys to one of the SUVs from his pocket before barking orders, “Our target is the cultist in your briefings, he’s suspected to be in the Felamoren district! He is to be considered armed and dangerous! I want him alive!”

The remaining agents, plus the ones around Pitt’s SUV, pile in and quickly make their way out from the garage and onto the streets of Dociara, bound for their target back at the sight of their last crime.

Moments later
As the Doraltic agents scour the streets of Felamoren, each potential sign of their quarry prompts two quick reactions; one of shock and excitement about finding him, and then promptly another confirming that it isn’t the target thanks to fragments of information now offered by the DIGINT team, who at the very least found open-source intelligence identifying Valeris more directly.

However, the city was large and he could be anywhere, so the Bureau kept up its search, taking care not to draw in too much attention having split up to cover the ground. One of the three cars pulls through the street at a reasonably slow pace, keeping local traffic at bay while allowing the agents inside to search the pedestrians for any sign of Valeris when a call on the radio caught their attention.

“VISINT has a location, on Athiaran Street heading towards the intersection at Oelevis, team 2 is closest to intercept.”

Now with a solid location, the SUV picks up speed on the street, heading for the intersection where they will catch their man. As they approach, one of the agents definitely spots their target, and the car swoops into the corner on the far side of the intersection to unload two agents from the back seats to get to Valeris on foot while the car circles around. Just as they get close, Valeris steps inside the storefront the team passed on the way in.

Soon after, the two agents walk in to see no sign of Valeris at first but hear the rattling of objects in the back enough to realize they have to give chase. One went back out from the entrance to head around the building while the second agent runs towards the back of the shop, intent on chasing down Valeris directly.

Pitt, in the meanwhile, has been driving for well close to an hour with not even the slightest hint of Valeris, as he’s finally learned, before receiving the transmission from Team 2, “Target is attempting to escape on foot on Athiaran Street, Agents Nine of Clubs and Five of Hearts in pursuit!”

The alleys of Felamoren district were narrow and winding, evidence of an old city but difficult to navigate through if you are not a native, which was the exact problem the Joker’s Deck agents were facing trying to keep up with Valeris. Every time agent Nine of Clubs rounded a corner thinking he had Valeris, he only had a second to notice the cultist running in the other direction away from him. Matters were made worse by Nine’s uniform, which was intentionally kept to business formal as is customary for Joker agents but made for terrible running. Meanwhile, the other two teams converged on each other and began taking over the road, paying less and less care to traffic laws as the chase developed further. Team 2 would focus on corralling Valeris into the other teams where he can be captured. Soon enough, the Dociara Police caught wind of the two reckless driving SUVs and gave chase, intent on stopping the chaos and arresting what they could only imagine were foreign joyriders.

Every passing moment the Bureau had to wait to get closer to Valeris was another moment the police had to catch up, which gave locals plenty of opportunities to capture or try to stop the chase. Soon enough, Pitt’s frustration boiled over and he barked new orders into his radio, “Team 3, pull off and get the police off us, I’m going after Valeris myself!”

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Don’t question me, agent! Just get those dumbasses off us so I can get this man!”

It did not take long for Pitt to find a place to peel away his SUV into a wide alley, allowing Team 3’s to run the police around and out from the remainder of the Bureau teams operating in Felamoren. As Pitt drives his car out from the alley, he very nearly runs over Valeris who runs right into the hood before scrambling away. Before the agent on the left side door could jump out after him, the Roendavarian crossed over to the next street. Team 2’s car pulled up moments later and the new pair picked up the chase through the city, continuing to be watched by locals as they got ever closer to Oeris Ninth Club from the road. In the successive moments, Team 3 kept up the pursuit against the police. To their surprise, as they crossed the front of the Cherry Gate, the police turned away from their car and into the gate, seemingly breaking off the chase.

“What the hell was that?” The team leader asked into his radio.

“Police all over the city have pulled away for a priority call, verifying now, sir.” The response came over.

Though Pitt heard the radio crackle to life behind him, all he could be focused on was the sight of the man that caused him near-insurmountable stress for the past six months. Valeris was pinned between Pitt’s car and a high wall at the dead-end of an alleyway, cursing himself in Roendavarian before turning around to the Doraltic.

“What are you huh? The Arrangement? Balniki? Whoever you’re working for, you made one hell of a mistake going after me! I have powerful friends, if you lay one hand on me you’ll wish you died in that chase!”

“You should care less about who I work for, and more about what I’m going to do with you.” Pitt coldly declares, drawing a taser gun from his coat and aiming it at Valeris’ chest, “I’ll give you one chance to come quietly.”

“I can say the same for you, eloivii. Drop the gun and turn around slowly.” A new voice ordered Pitt.

“Cops? Oh please, my partners will deal with you soon enough anyway.” Pitt replied, sneaking in a chuckle at the thought a cop was trying to arrest him.

“Oh, you mean these partners? The ones already cuffed?” The man replied, causing Pitt to spin around on his heels only to see every last Joker’s Deck agent he had brought with him in various states of injury and all handcuffed. Pitt could only mutter out the start of a question as he looked up at Sylvanus before being hit over the head and falling over. All he could see before his memories failed him was Valeris dusting himself off and talking casually to what he thought was his partner.

---

“Do you have any idea what this monster has done to Roendavar and Dormill and Stiura?! And you just let him back in the HEI like it was no big deal?!” Pitt angrily asked Sylvanus, having finished his brief mental recollection.

“As he said, Balnik has made this a problem for us all, and Valeris has valuable intelligence on the Arrangement.”

“The Arrangement?”

“The merry band of wanton criminals and terrorists that he used to work for. After the Balniki got involved, he came straight to us.”

Valeris stepped into the conversation once again, now more confident that Pitt was not going to lash out at him, “And we all hate Balnik equally enough to set aside this difference. You’ll be rid of me soon enough, feilestharici.”

Pitt shot a dirty look at Valeris before looking away from the pair for a moment to contemplate, and managed to only get out an approving nod before the door behind them burst open, a young Roendavarian hastily walked through, “Sirs, there’s been an attack at Grand Central Station!”

[Balnik]

Dociara

The outside sunlight penetrated through the small slits of the thick armor of the vehicle, the world rolling by as the vehicle speeds down the road with its sirens blaring, forcing cars an pedestrians out of the way. Vehicles of this magnitude were rare in Roendavar, and their use was only reserved for tasks of utmost importance. Four Balniki agents disguised as SWAT would be sitting in the rear, checking their rifles and reviewing their plan and their target, a rogue Balniki Colonel with extensive military secrets.
"Five minutes. Novak, check on Krevic, see where the target is." Talbot says, looking back at the crew and sending a small radio through a window to Novak.
"Copy," Novak responds, her worlds muffled by her facemask and eyes obscured by the black goggles the crew would be wearing, save for Talbot. "Racoon this is Swan, we are ETA five mikes from the objective. Do you have eyes on the suspect?"
"Swan this is Racoon." Krevic on the other side would be breathing heavily and shuffling would be heard in the background. "In the security room right now, had some difficulty but I'm eyes on." Krevic looks down at his feet, where a pool of blood would be forming around his feet, and to his right would be a dead guard, with his eyes wide open and his throat cut open with a visceral gash. "Our guy is with the target right now." Looking at the camera feed shows a masked man with a submachine gun in civilian clothes, standing in front of colonel Rudin, shouting obscenities and threatening to blow the train up. "He was made for this role." Krevic laugh and causes Novak to roll her hidden eyes.
"Stay sharp, we will be there soon."

Soon the armored car arrives, the scene of the attack being the Dociara grand central station. The five disguised troopers exit the vehicle and approach the entrance of the station, with Talbot leading the group and the rest lagging behind. Talbot approaches an officer guarding the entrance and begins to speak fluent Davari. "what is the situation officer? Where are the suspects?" Talbot asks, sending the others in in front of him.
"Well we think there's only one terrorist, he's been walking around the third car and has been demanding ransom." The officer says, showing pictures of the assailant and Rudin with some other poor civilians, just as Krevic described.
"Understood, thank you officer." Talbot moves into the train station and rendezvous with the rest of the team, who have grabbed Krevic and are preparing to move onto the train. "All is according to plan, we just need the terrorist to kill Rudin, arrest him, and then escape. Simple as that." Talbot gives them a short brief before moving onto the platform and begins moving onto the railcar. The atmosphere is eerily silent and the disguised officers simply look at the "terrorist" before Novak speaks up.
"Lets get out of here." The terrorist looks back at them and then towards Rudin. "Fine by me." The terrorist aims at Rudin but Rudin suddenly throws a civilian in front of him, blocking all the gunshots but killing the poor man, Rudin then throws the dead man at his attackers and begins to run off. "After him!" Talbot shouts with the operatives chasing not too far behind.

Gunshots echo and ricochet beside Rudin as he continues to run, bullets tearing up the gorgeous and elegant engravings and refined architecture. Gunpowder would fill the air as Balniki yelling would echo throughout the empty halls, with gunshots filling in the blank silence. Rudin would turn the corner, and attempt to make a run for the entrance but as quickly as he turned a bullet would enter his calve, yelling out in pain and collapsing to the ground. The agents aim up a killing blow but hesitate, an echo of voices growing closer from the main entrance. The operatives take position as the voices begin to grow closer. In their confusion Rudin has limped away, a trail of blood moving into a maintenance tunnel. As the voices become legible the operatives ready their weapons as they soon realize the language, French. The Balniki ready themselves behind rubble of marble ruins and ancient debris. As soon as the Doraltic operatives turn the corner a hail of gunfire and automatic weapons are unleashed with the true gunfight igniting, and unknown to them, the beginning of the first of many Balniki-Doraltic battles.

[Ainslie]

Shadow Over Gael | A Night’s Work
11:15am Eastern Gael Time, 1 July 2021
Risden Offices, Arnton

Sam’s office was covered in an bright tint, with the natural light streaming through the relatively large space he worked in which had a desk, a wifi range extender, a television, some chairs, a couch and quite a few cabinets. Sam Gerindi, Prime Minister Gifford’s Chief of Staff, was looking through various reports and briefs addressed to the leader of Ainslie. It was his job to weed out the ones she didn’t need to see and to pre-empt the questions she would ask of of any array of documents placed on her desk by him.

The one he was currently reading about was a brief handed to him by the Electoral Council when he was down in Menindara the other day. With it was a report attached to the documents from Governor Eslen Marcen of Norlands - the electorate the Prime Minister was from. He flicked through the document, scanning each page and getting a gist for the technology described, the investment desired and what the Norlands Government wanted to do about it. He went pretty quickly over the sections about grey and blue hydrogen initially before stumbling onto something which caught his eye - green hydrogen. A fuel which promised to fit into a decarbonised energy mix where electricity needed to be used in high quantities or volumes where traditional renewable technology was not practical or incapable to fuel something.

No wonder the Norlands Government wants this, Sam thought to himself. It made complete sense to him why the manufacturing hub of the nation would want this and it would be easy to convince Wesland and Arlanah to get on board with it too. It looked like the missing piece of a decarbonised future. Sam got out his pen and stapler and wrote the words ROAD TO NET ZERO? On a torn off piece of paper before stapling it to the sheet. He then quickly called the Electoral Council to ask for another copy, got the highlighter out of his desk, ready for when he’d come back from his lunch break to read the report more closely.

12:46pm

Sam steadily walked through the corridors of the offices back towards that desk with the hydrogen report on it. The building was quiet - even for the usual lunch-time break. The only people he saw were those walking past him at a fast pace with a stressed look on his face. Soon enough, he discovered where everyone was - the remaining people were either furiously calling away to gather information about a recent development in Roendavar or huddled around televisions watching the coverage of it. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the TV, which appeared to have breaking news from Arendai on it, he heard a strong yet confident voice come from the general direction of his office.

“Sam, can you come here?”, Georgia asked.

It was his deputy Chief of Staff, sitting in his office watching his television whilst holding a notepad in one hand a pen in the other. Swiftly, Sam came into his office and Georgia closed the door behind him as he got settled at his desk again. There was a brief movement of silence before Georgia started to tell him about everything that had happened whilst he had been out having a brief dinner with his wife in the city.

“About thirty minutes ago at the Grand Station of Dociara a group of people entered the station’s lobby dressed as local special tactics police and opened fire into peak hour crowds shortly after the station was put into lockdown. Initial reports suggest that there are civilian casualties but there are scores more that have been injured. Ahnslen consular officials in Roendavar are rapidly going through their contacts to gather more information and have been sending messages to Ahnslens in the city to visit a website and mark that they are safe.”, Georgia (G) explained.

“Do we know who is responsible? Are Ahnslens among the dead?”, Sam (S) asked.

G: “we do not know who is behind it but the running theory based on anecdotal evidence is that wayward actors in the protacist cults may be to blame. We do not know if any Ahnslens have been killed, but….”
S: “... but the chances are pretty high, given the amount of Ahnslens who live in or are tourists in Roendavar, particularly in its capital.”
G: “Correct.”
S: “Has anyone told the Prime Minister yet?”
G: “Not that I am aware of.”
S: “Hydrogen’s gonna have to wait. I’ll go tell her myself.”
G: “what… hydrogen? Okay… well if you need me let me know.”

“You’ll hear from me.”, Sam said at a quickening pace, grabbing the notepad Georgia had been holding as he walked out of his office to where the Prime Minister’s office was.

Sam briefly asked the PM’s secretary whether she was free, to which he received a waving hand gesture towards the office.

Sam opened the door and heard the thud of shoes coming off of the desk and being firmly put back on the floor. The PM then swivelled her chair back so she was facing outwards from the desk and put her phone back up on a small mount that she had had previously attached to the desk.

“Madarne Prime Minister, there has been a mass shooting at a train station in Dociara.”, Sam (S) began.

PM: “Is there anything you know that Arendai doesn’t? I’ve been watching the stream on my phone whilst looking through some files - Grand station…. Likely a tactical police unit… station was in lockdown as what looks like police police responded and they ended up shooting into the crowd, right?”
S: “That’s pretty much all we have.”
PM: “Embassy in Dociara doing all the usual stuff.”
S: “Following it by the book.”
PM: “Good. Let me know if you need anything,”

1:24pm EGT
In the Prime Minister’s Office

Georgia and Sam walked into the room again and sat down, waiting for the PM to finish the brief note that she was writing. Seconds later, the PM looked up from the sheet and focused her attention on the two senior officials.

PM: “So, what do you have for me? Anything about the Dociara shooting?”
S: “Anaren, the Arlanah Observer and The Western Times are reporting that unverified sources close to the Roendavarian Government have told them that senior staff at the police service in the capital have known for some time that cultists have infiltrated their ranks and they believe it is these people who are responsible for the attack.”

PM: “Now… that’s going to spread like a mid-summer bushfire. We’re going to need to get someone out the front of a microphone and dismiss all of that for now, even if it is true.”
S: “You think it’s possible?”
PM: “Could be. I’ve been to Roendavar a lot - it is an ancient place, a bit dark and strange in the rural areas especially, despite the image Dociara tried to project.”

1:13pm
Briefing Room, Risden Offices, Arnton

“Good afternoon”, Kari Tarlow, a spokesperson for the Prime Minister said.

“Good afternoon Kari”, the crowd of reporters replied.

“Let’s get to it.

At about 10am Western Gael Time, that being around 12pm Arnton time, a number of men dressed in the uniforms of local special tactics police opened fire on a crowd of rail users at the Grand Station of Dociara, in Roendavar. It is not yet known by Ahnslen authorities why the act was done, under whose authorisation it was done and if any of our own citizens have been caught up in this morning’s events.

Ahnslen consular officials will undertake the significant and slow task of contacting every citizen of Ainslie in Roendavar, with efforts particularly being concentrated on Dociara at this time. There is a lot we do not know, I will be honest with you. The Ahnslen Government is endeavouring to learn more and will find out more in the coming hours. We will be in touch with the media when we are able to share information about the attack.

Thank you. Any questions?”, Kari asked as she finished the brief speech.

“Has your office been in contact with the Roendavarians”, one of the reporters asked.

“No. We understand that we will be talking with them soon. Most likely this afternoon if not then than this evening.”, Kari responded.

“What is your response to papers running a story that the cults have infiltrated Dociara Police and are responsible for this attack?”, another asked.

“We do not have any evidence that supports that conclusion and if these outlets have some, we would love to get it. Frankly, I would hope that the media was more responsible than to publish what unverified sources presumably close to a foreign government say, particularly around the charged topic of Protacism.

Our Government has no reason to believe that the cults are behind this.”, Kari sternly finished.

After waiting for a couple of moments, Kari then walked off the podium and back to the offices where senior staff of the Prime Minister worked.

3:11pm
Prime Minister’s Office, Arnton

“Hello Madarne Prime Minister. The Roendavarian Ambassador is here.”, Jacques, the PM’s secretary, said.

“Send them in. And get Sam too, please.”, the Prime Minister replied.

“I will.”, Jacques replied.

Moments later, the Roendavarian Ambassador strided into the office, shortly followed by Sam.

“Madarne Prime Minister. It is a pleasure to see you once again”, the ambassador solemnly said in a heavy Roendavarian accent.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ambassador Ithernael.”, PM Gifford responded.

“Lisanthir, please.”, the ambassador replied.

PM: “Likewise. I apologise for the formality. There is no need for it.”

“I agree, Ellie”, Lisanthir responded.

Elliana looked at Lisanthir and smiled at the usage of the nickname. She hadn’t had anyone address her by what the Gaelitic ambassadors called her when she was Foreign Minister of Ainslie since gaining the Prime Ministership.

PM: “So, what have you got for me?”

“News about the shooting in Dociara.”, Lisanthir replied with a much more solemn tone than he had had before. He then continued to detail everything she already knew before some new information came up.

“We believe that six Ahnslen nationals have died - two are a young couple, one is in their 60s, two seniors and a child.”

PM: “Do local authorities know how they passed away?”

L: “We do not know the cause of the five, but the young child died after being struck by a falling chandelier.”

PM: “A chandelier.”

L: “Yes, Ellie.”

The Prime Minister paused for a moment and lent back before looking around the room a bit. When she gathered her thoughts, she then asked the ambassador another question.

“When will my office get details of the identities of the six. We wish to call them with haste, preferably before they learn it through the television.”

“They’ll have everything your office needs to know within the hour.”, Lisanthir replied.

The two then talked in general about the situation for another five minutes or so before the ambassador left the Prime Minister’s Office.

The only person remaining in the room was Sam, her chief of staff.

“How do I tell a family that their kid was killed by a chandelier in a train station?”, Elliana said quite matter of factly and in a mildly frustrated tone.

“I’m not sure. Those calls are always difficult - every single one is unique. We’ll find out once you call, I imagine.”, Sam replied.

“True. Let me know when you get the information off of the Roendavarians - make sure my secretary gets a hold of it.”, she stated before nodding at Sam.

Sam then nodded back, picked up the folder he had placed on the floor next to him and walked back to his office.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Streets of Dociara
01 July 2021
09:45 AM WGT

Dawn began to crack into full daylight over the wide avenues of central Dociara, the plethora of gilded rooftops reflected a great deal of the mid-morning sunlight across the streets and into the eyes of Cédric Roux, sitting in the passenger seat of yet another Lancet-Deckard SUV among the sea of cars that pollute what is meant to be the environmentalist capital of the Isles. While his sunglasses and the car’s blinder did some good to block out direct sunlight, the reflected sunlight proved to make things uncomfortable for him.

He glanced over to the dashboard where the screen displayed the car’s GPS, directing them to an address in Iosaren. As he readjusted his focus to the road, his phone buzzed in his pocket, demanding his attention for the first time today.

“What’ve you got for me?” He began.

“You’re on the right path NV, nothing is coming up on local chatter in the city.”

“NV? I thought I told you to call me Seòras?”

The caller sighed briefly before continuing, “Sorry, Seòras. The team is already narrowing down a few more locations, we’ll get back to you soon.”

As Roux put his phone down, the car pulled over to the side of a charred building, clearly reconstructed from an intense fire but with visible effort to rebuild from the damage. He stepped out from the passenger side of the car and walked through the empty storefront.

Roux pulled up his phone again to call his contact, “Wasn’t this supposed to be a Candy Shop?”

“Well they still own the place,” the Belantic agent responded, “Wait hold on, no I forgot. Records indicate it was sold to a local developer after that fire in March. Got another a few kilometers away owned by the same guy, grid to follow.”

Sighing loudly and resting his hand on his hip, Roux slinked back to the car where his partner agent was already inputting the directions to the next storefront a few blocks out.

09:51 WGT

A few moments passed as the sun grew ever so slightly higher in the sky, the streets of Iosaren finally began to give way to clarity from the blinding sunlight the early morning provided. Roux and his team arrived at yet another storefront, this time a cafe with a strange Kitten aesthetic and English signage; a clear and obvious eyesore in the middle of Dociara’s older districts was evidencing enough of something afoot to the Bureau team as Roux and the entire five-man team with him in his car unloaded to investigate. The cafe appeared to be closed today which came off as weird before Roux went for the locked door.

Figuring the mission to be more important, he broke the door down but heard no audible alarm in the aftermath. Drawing his P5 Escuerdo pistol in one hand and his phone in the other, he made yet another call to verify the situation, “Do we have any problems here?”

“No silent alarm, no tripped sensors, not even a response from the security systems of the adjacent buildings. I don’t know man, we’re probably on something good here, for now, I’ll keep you updated.”

Roux put the phone down yet again to turn on its flashlight in the poorly lit cafe; he and the remainder of the squad swept the building all the way to the back before another call came in.

“Agent Navy Volt, this is HQ with an urgent message: We have identified the Defector in Grand Central Station, re-route to intercept and escort.”

“What? How did we get him?!” Roux asked, turning on his heels and rushing back towards the car.

“He actually got us first, we just received the message from a public address within the station, we’re attempting to get an exact fix on his location now.” Before Roux could formulate a response, the Bureau headquarters chimed in again, “Be advised, the 10 o’clock train for Cour Rouge by Faris and New Leeuwarden is set to depart soon, the target is likely intending to board and travel to the border.”

Roux and his team managed to get back in their cars by the time Bureau headquarters had finished their advisory, with the young Doraltic speaking up again in a hurried tone, “Lockdown the station until we get there, we can’t protect him if that train leaves.”

“Understood, we’ll handle it.” The headquarters team responded before the phone line cut.

“Get those lights up, we don’t have a second to lose!” Roux ordered the driver, prompting him and the remaining cars to activate their red and blue emergency lights, imitating that of Dociara Police, before speeding off towards Grand Central Station.

10:09 WGT

The tensions surrounding the drive towards Grand Central Station dominated the Bureau team, of whom only Roux ever got involved in an actual crisis situation during the Valentines’ Day Terror earlier in the year. The closer they got to the station, the more police they encountered as the entire city reacted to the developing situation, even to the point of special weapons team vans barreling their way down Davaren Avenue and around the Hall of the Tree. As the team approached the station directly, the police had already closed off most points of entry, but the headquarters team pointed out a gap in their line towards an underground parking garage that connected directly to the station that Roux and his team used to enter.

Once inside the parking garage and properly parked near the entrance to the station, Roux helped the remaining teams get equipped, among which included kevlar vests to be worn under their day clothes, P95 personal defense weapons were handed out to some while others produced their service pistols, and other protective equipment was passed around. In addition, radio headsets were also finally passed around, giving the whole team a direct connection to Bureau headquarters in a way the simple phones couldn’t earlier.

Roux would test his radio out first and contacted the headquarters team for directions, “This is Navy Volt, how are we looking?”

“We’ve got you on the station’s feeds, and we’ve got our man heading for the platforms. But we do have a situation developing in the platforms too.”

“What kind of situation?” Roux replied, jogging up to meet with the rest of the team up the escalators and onto the main floor of the station where crowds of people have already begun to hide in various hidden corners from the unknown threat.

“Turns out our cover for getting the police involved here came true, we’ve got a situation developing on the third platform with the 10 o’clock train and we think the defector is involved. Be aware that Dociara SWAT is also in the station and heading in the same direction.” The Headquarters team responded.

The words echoed in Roux’s head, forcing him to stop while the rest of his team rushed forward, closer to the platforms, Why would Dociara SWAT be in here already? He thought. This is a hostage situation, surely the Royal Guard would be intervening while they kept the perimeter. He thought more and more but his feet decided to pick up the pace and join the situation at the platforms, it would only be the moment before he turned the corner that everything clicked in his mind, and he howled into his radio, “They are not SWAT! I repeat, they’re not SWAT!”

Right in the middle of his declaration, the sound of gunshots echoed from the platform, followed by screaming and more gunshots. For a solid five seconds, the noises got louder and louder until a figure stumbled down a few meters in front of the team, struggling to get up for a moment as if they were shot. Roux yelled out orders to try and get to the person before he realized the gunfire had subsided for a moment but distinct voices can now be heard in the hall, most notably Roendavarian police now storming the building to respond.

As one of the men under Roux’s command attempts to get the fallen person, the gunfire resumes from an outcropping of architecture near the entrance to the platform, dropping him almost instantly in the hail of lead. In response, the remainder of the Bureau team returned fire in that direction, now attempting to reach both their fallen comrade and the earlier man. Unfortunately, the situation only devolved as the gunfire was traded between the two squads, with whoever was impersonating the SWAT team taking little care in fire control discipline once they knew targets were afoot. All the while, civilians caught between them were starting to fall victim to the shrapnel of the bullets lashing out at their enemies, prompting Roux to command the team to restrict their fire further and pull away to cover; it would be during this that the fallen Bureau agent was truly shot dead with no sign of the other fallen person.

10:13 WGT
Bureau Headquarters

From the various computer screens that made up the Signals Intelligence Office of the headquarters, the headquarters team could only watch in horror the full carnage unfold from several overview vantage points. None of them could process everything at once, not the entrance of the real Dociara Police teams that were about to outflank the Bureau team, not the disappearance of the defector from the fight and into a side office, and not the fleeing civilians running for the platforms or the entrance and away from it all. One by one, they all recoiled in terror and tried their best to direct the chaos, pulling every trick they had to confuse both Dociara Police and the fake SWAT team they were engaged against so Roux’s team could make an escape out from where they came.

Soon enough, what the SIGINT team feared came to pass, the Dociara Police officers who had no idea what the situation was simply joined the faux-SWAT team and fired on Roux and his men, resulting in two more being dropped from the full 13-person squad that had entered. Now that the situation turned completely against them, Roux ordered the team to retreat and asked the Signals team for a way out, to which they prompted the nearby metro station under the car park entrance they came from moments earlier.

10:18 WGT
Dociara Grand Central Station

The fighting intensified with every passing minute, three of Roux’s men had been outright killed in the gunfight with another three injured in some capacity as well, even he was scratched up by the shrapnel but otherwise still able to fight. The headquarters team told him the only way out at this point was through the still unsecured metro station that ran underneath the main station, which required him to direct his team backward but slowly enough that a foot chase wouldn’t begin.

Moments more passed as they got closer to their original entrance, moments more that they were shot at by what was supposed to be their closest ally in the city. Whoever or whatever had disguised themselves as Dociara SWAT officers were crafty and dangerous, yet bold enough to even think of this. Roux didn’t have much time to ponder these questions as they got closer to the stairs, passing under an old, ornate chandelier that was replicated several times along the length of the station. Figuring in this moment of adrenaline that shooting it down would cover his escape, Roux pointed his pistol up at the rope holding it together and fired before quickly running downstairs and waiting for the thing to drop on his pursuers.

When the next thing he heard was “Freeze!” in Roendavarian, he could only softly get out a patently French response by saying “Merde!” before diving off to the side and rushing downstairs. His troubles wouldn’t end with the failure of the first part of his master getaway plan, as by the time he regrouped with the rest of the team down in the metro station, no train could be found in sight or earshot, prompting him to shoot a question at headquarters.

“Uhh, where’s the train?”

“What do you mean, sir?” Headquarters responded.

“I mean there’s no fucking train in this Denis-cursed station! Do you want us to die down here?!”

“It’s on its way, sir! One more minute!”

“One more minute and we’ll be fucking dead! Can’t you make it go faster?!”

“Automatic train controls are not as robust here as they are in Albany City, sir. We’ll try our best up here to slow the police down!”

Roux paced anxiously in the metro station, cursing in both French and English before everyone heard a thunderous crash from up above, prompting Roux to pump his gun-wielding fist across his side in front of the rest of the team, all of whom offered no response beyond merely confused looks. Though Roux tried to respond, the metro train did indeed pull up right on schedule, allowing the team a means of escape back through the city and hopefully to safety.

10:40 WGT

The Concord State 65 did not offer as much comfort to Pitt as he anticipated. Perhaps it was the stress of this morning getting to him or the fact he had to sit next to Valeris after everything that has transpired. Regardless, nothing felt right to him as their car proceeded down the brief trip between the Golden House and Grand Central Station. Once the driver opened the door, Pitt sprung out and instantly produced a cigarette he was carrying, taking care not to bug Valeris with smoking as they passed the police tape into the station proper. Behind them by a few meters were other high-ranking leaders of the HEI, all of whom congregated here to ascertain what happened.

However, Valeris would lead the talking instead of Pitt, who listened in from the side, “What happened here?”

“One of our special weapons teams went in to go after the terrorist and recover the hostage. When reports of gunfire came back, a few officers responded to a large shootout between our team and a group of about twenty other terrorists, all in European outfits. Search and Rescue is still going through after one of the chandeliers was shot down, we lost track of the terrorists then.”

“Thank you, Officer. You have done a great service to Roendavar today.” Valeris concluded curtly, turning back to Pitt who had not stopped smoking in the interim. “Do you have anything? Possibly relating to your stunt earlier?”

Pitt was slow to initially respond, finishing his cigarette before speaking up, “Three more teams were out in the city trying to track down the location of the current Balniki hideout, but I don’t know how this…” He found himself interrupted by his own earpiece relaying new information, in Roux’s voice, “This is Agent Navy Volt to Agent Sore Crown, we’ve identified possible Balniki forces operating in the city, but have failed to find the Defector. Staying underground to let the heat die before heading to Safehouse Curtain, will report by 20:00 local.”

Pitt sighed and turned back to Valeris to finish his sentence, “It’s the Spectre; that SWAT team was Balniki agents in disguise, and I fear we just lost the key to preventing a war in Gael.”

[Balnik]

Dociara

Crimson blood would reflect the lights of the torn up metro and drip down the ornate steps, gunshots ringing in the background as wounded agents and civilians alike crawl on the ground, writhing in agony and seeking help, trying in vain to plug their wounds as their blood oozes out onto the rubble, their once peaceful lives and memories slowly leaving their body. In the central hall a large chandelier would be cut from its chains, having toppled onto several people, including women and children. The casualties were large, and the fighting had yet to cease. Orders in Davari would be called out as Balniki agents would clash with their Doraltic enemies. Both sides exchange gunfire as they attempt to cover their escape routes, the Bakniki planning to leave through the tunnels and they Doraltic agents planning to escape by train. Novak drags an injured Balniki agent around the corner however before they can get into cover the mans head would be shot, splitting in two, its contents spilling out into his lap as the two halves of his skull barely hang on by the skin of his jawline.
"Fuck!" Novak exclaims, getting into cover around the corner and returning fire. "We need to get out of here now! We are gonna get slaughtered if we stay here." Novak yells over the gunfire, pointing towards a maintenance door just down the hallway that the group is defending. Talbot runs over to Novak and the corner and moves in front of her. "Ill cover, you go, ill be right behind you! They'll be leaving soon too and now is our opportunity." Talbot the turns the corner and sprays a storm of automatic fire while Novak pushes everyone into the maintenance tunnels with Talbot slowly retreating and shutting the doors behind him.

The team would find themselves now in the deep ancient tunnels of Dociara, the ancient stonework harboring electrical and water cables, the silent creaking and distant yelling permeating the tunnels as the team seeks their backup rendezvous point. With their rifle flashlights illuminating the hallway the group moves tactically and methodically, with Krevic speaking up and scanning the dark corners of the ancient catacomb.
"Keep an eye out for Rudin, he could be creeping around here." Krevic would hear no response but know that the team acknowledged him with their now more in depth scanning.
"I cant believe we lost him." Talbot says. "We had him right there, we had the perfect plan, and we still fucking lost him." Talbot looks down and stops walking lagging behind the group.
"Come on Talbot it was not your fault, it was just an operation that went wrong, we couldn't have predicted it would go this way." Krevic approaches, trying to put his hand on Talbot's shoulder before he reels back and punches the wall in anger, the strike causing his knuckles to bleed and his yelling filling the tunnels. "Don't fucking touch me!" Talbot yells out in anger and anguish. "How am I supposed to feel like nothing happened? How its not a big deal? Look at how many people died because of us, look at the war that might start because of us. Don't fucking lecture me telling me it'll be okay. Look at Novak? Does she look okay? She just saw someone's head get split in two, tell me, does she look okay?" Krevic looks at Novak who just stares back at him with sad, sunken, unflinching eyes.
"Listen I ju-" Krevic tries to speak up but is stopped by Talbot. "Just stop, lets just get out of here."

The team soon arrives to an empty street and a large shipping truck, the truck honks its horn and its being driven by Hugo. He keeps honking his horn until the entire team is in the bank and then takes off, leaving the ancient battleground that the Balniki have just desecrated.
"Whats the plan now?" Hugo radios to Talbot, the truck leaving the city limits and moving towards the less populated regions of Roendavar.
"I'm not too sure, just lay low and wait for orders." Talbot says, his head buried in his hands as the rest of the group solemnly checks over their weapons and equipment. Hugo then sighs as they begin to enter the dense Davari forests, hoping to evade the authorities in Roendavars untouched lands.

[Roendavar]

CHAPTER SIX: A FITTING PARALLEL
The Free City of Dociara, The Utopian Kingdom of the Union of Roendavarian States

The crisp Dociarastai morning sun lay high in the sky, the bright rays powerless to stem the cold mountain winds that rushed forth to the ancient city of Dociara. The district of Felamoren, which stood on the banks of the Lake of Olemas. Its streets were filled with tourists and locals alike, desperate to taste the city’s venom. A place of depravity, to some, and to those who are born in the Eternal City, a place of respite. Valeris kept his pace calm as he tried to make sense of the situation. It was supposed to be an uneventful day, a reprieve before the storm as the nation of Roendavar purges itself inside and out. A day of peace, he thought. Never did he expect that he would be followed, which was quite obvious as no one in Roendavar, let alone Dociara, would be driving around SUVs unless they were HEI or police, the two keen on not caring about him in the first place. As they inched closer and closer, their speed slowly picking up, Valeris saw a small cafe to his right, an alleyway jutting forth from its side. It was just the right opportunity he needed. He immediately turned right and entered the cafe, making sure that his actions weren’t too hurried.

“Good morning! Welcome to Neliethrin Cafe! Would you like a seat?” A bubbly waitress immediately greeted him at the door. The sweet smell of vanilla in the air was strong, but something more potent cut through it, no doubt ienthieari¹, or Marijuana.

“Not really, no.” Valeris replied, a most charming smile plastered on his face. “Where is your backdoor?”

“Excuse me, felius²? Our backdoor?”

“You see, I am being followed right now. Those SUVs outside. Now, I need you to cooperate because this is a matter of national security. HEI and all that, you understand.”

“I- I see. Come, it is right this way.” The waitress beckoned for him to follow. She led Valeris straight to the kitchen, the two chefs immediately stopping their work and throwing Valeris a confused look. “Do you need the police or…?” She asked.

“It is fine. The police cannot do much with those outside.” Valeris shook his head as the waitress stopped in front of a grey door.

“Here you go. Out here and it leads towards the inner alleys.” The waitress explained. As soon as the waitress unlocked the door, they heard the chimes of the front door opening. His pursuers must have entered the store.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with the HEI with this establishment.” He grinned as he hurriedly pushed the door hard, his feet ready to bolt.

“Do be careful! The trash is a bit full back there-!”

The warning came too late as the door collided with the metal dumpster. While it would not cause any noise in the first place, it was particularly overflowing, rattling so loudly that Valeris was sure it could be heard by his pursuers. He wasted no time as he sprinted forth, and just in time, he could hear motion chasing after him, with two coming into view as they ran deeper and deeper into the alleyways of Felamoren. If there was anywhere that Valeris could escape anyone, it was within the bowels of Felamoren, where winding and tight alleyways were bordered with loud clubs, dubious stores, and red doors that Roendavarians called Fielanthal³, the underground dungeons. Only those who are familiar with the chaos of Dociara could not get lost in its grasp, and that proved useful for Valeris as he kept evading his pursuers. However, he could not run forever, and he hurriedly dialed a number on his phone.

“Hello. You have reached the HEI-”

“Avaavichain⁴ Sylvanus! I’m being chased!” Valeris screamed into his phone as he picked up speed. The rough cobblestone alleyways of Felamoren weren't exactly fit for running.

“Oh…? Tell us more.” Sylvanus' teasing tone slid off his phone’s speakers, annoying Valeris even more. “Maybe it’s just the usual rabble in Felamoren. You know what they’re like.”

“The ‘rabble’ in Felamoren do not wear suits, have weapons, and are well-trained in coordinating attacks and pursuits! Do you take me for an idiot?!” Valeris protested.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. We knew this would happen and we’re right by Calmeren. Just lead them on towards the Cherry Gate and we’ll pick them all off behind you.” Sylvanus explained. The sound of activity and rustling could be heard in the background, most likely from other HEI agents. “The team is coming with me by the way. They need to experience this first-hand.”

“Hold on! You’re bringing Theremiel and the two-” Valeris was cut off as he heard his pursuers command in French. Dormill and Stiura. “You know what. I don’t care. Just get here!”

Valeris hurried, ended the call, and slid his phone into his pocket. Behind him, he could hear his pursuers gaining up. However, their speed could not last long as they delved deeper and deeper into Felamoren alleyways, overgrown potted plants spewing forth and bridging from building to building, tall, twisting buildings that seemed to cast a dim shadow across the alleyways, and the twisting directions proved advantageous to Valeris, turning left and right in a maddened order. He was a native of Felamoren, and he will remain one step ahead as long as they stay within the district’s walls. Valeris hoped that Sylvanus would get there on time.

-=-

In Calmeren District, Sylvanus, Saltharia, Ioraelin, Theosarion, Galaeren, and Theremiel, rushed down the stairs of the Amanthiar Building, one of the properties owned by the Agents of the Rose. It was a lavishly furnished building, definitely a higher standard in the already expensive city. This is where the four: Theremiel, Theosarion, Galaeren, and Valeris, were given spaces to live by the HEI, free of charge. Sylvanus, Ioraelin, and Saltharia were visiting for a standard living briefing, that was, until Valeris called about being chased. As they reached the ground floor, Sylvanus started giving orders.

“Ioraelin. Get the Haathranien (Dociarastai Police) on the phone and tell them to stand down. If this is the Balniki or some group we don’t know yet about, we can’t risk having them know about it. Tell them it’s a priority. Saltharia, are the weapons ready? Bring the non-lethal ones, please. I want to capture them alive as much as possible. After you’re done, get to the streets and neutralize the pursuers.” Sylvanus ordered as the two swung into a flurry of action. Saltharia took a hard right into the basement door and Ioraelin pulled out his phone.

Theremiel, Galaeren, and Theosarion followed Sylvanus as he unlocked a red door. Beyond it, the garage of the building and parked in the center, an expensive looking car. Concord State 65, one of the top cars in the Western Isles, imported from Belantica. The three stood in awe, speechless as Sylvanus pushed a button to open the garage doors. Saltharia followed inside holding two heavy duffel bags, though she did not look like she needed any help. Ioraelin came in soon after.

“We’re riding that?! That looks expensive. What if we scratch it or damage it?” Theremiel worried.

“We need speed right now. You three and Saltharia, you come with me. Ioraelin, take Team Thielas and provide support.” Sylvanus explained plainly. Ioraelin immediately bolted towards the outside and Saltharia opened the car doors, letting herself in. The rest of the agents followed suit.

“So, what are we dealing with? All I heard was Valeris was being chased.” Theosarion said. Sylvanus started the car and immediately took off towards the streets of Calmeren.

“No time for briefing so I’ll just tell you all quickly. Valeris is currently in pursuit by an unknown group. The Haathranien should have already responded by now. Our job is to deal with them since we don’t know how dangerous they will be. Saltharia, if you please.” Sylvanus explained as Saltharia began opening the bags, revealing a cache of weapons. Saltharia began sifting through them and handed out an assortment of weapons, from knives to tranquilizer guns. Beneath those were heavier weaponry, but Saltharia seemed to not be touching them.

“Is that the whole arsenal of Roendavar inside that bag?” Galaeren joked. Instead of a laugh, he got a grunt from the silver haired woman.

“Sylvanus.” The radio inside the car crackled to life, with Ioraelin’s voice on the other side. “You are looking for a pair of black SUVs in and around the boundary of Calmeren and Felamoren. The police are pulling back due to a priority call. Some issues in the Grand Dociara Station.”

“Issues at the Grand Dociara Station?” Theremiel asked, unaware of any events in the Grand Dociara Station.

“Something to do with an arrest. The police gave us no information and said that they could handle it. Considering our situation right now, it’s best that we focus here first.” Sylvanus explained. They continued driving and emerged at Oelevis Street, turning a right towards the district of Felamoren.

“Visual on two SUVs currently on chase. One SUV has pulled away due to police intervention. One is near the intersection and is currently chasing Valeris. We’ll deal with the other one.” Ioraelin’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Well, what do you know, there it is!” Sylvanus motioned to a black SUV driving recklessly through the road, narrowly hitting bicyclists, pedestrians, and even the monorail pillars. “Wear your seatbelts. We’re going in!”

Sylvanus floored on the gas as the car lurched forward, slowly gaining speed as they barreled through near Arlesii. They continued down the street and took a left at the intersection, tailing the mad SUV that rampaged through the streets of Roendavar. They came into view of the Cherry Gate. An apt name, a massive open stone gate cut between the Long Walls of Dociara. Around it, cherry trees blossomed in the spring climate of Roendavar, blanketing the district of Calmeren and Old Dociara in the color pink. A few meters from the Gate, the SUV finally corralled Valeris into an alley. Juxtaposed to this beauty, Sylvanus noticed down the alleyway past the gate that a familiar looking agent rushed through the alleyway of Dociara tailing another familiar person, their curly dark hair and tall stature making it clear that it was his brother. The SUV was parked near the entrance, with three men positioned around it.

The SUV began getting closer and closer, and it looked as if they were going to collide, until Sylvanus pulled the brakes and the car drifted violently towards the front of it, almost hitting a tree in the middle of the road. The foreign agents perked up instantly, caught off guard by their sudden entrance. Around them, pedestrians began to flee in all directions. Without hesitation, Sylvanus immediately stepped out of the car, with Saltharia doing the same on her side.

“Agents of the Rose? HEI?” A suited man spoke in a foreign language, though Sylvanus could clearly understand what was said. Doraltic, no doubt, from their features, to their language, to the clothes that they wore, and even to how they presented themselves.

“No. We are the Royal Family.” Sylvanus rolled his eyes, taking paced steps forward . “We are going to have so much fun. You four, take down that other two. This one is all mine.”

Sylvanus opened his palms, a sign that he was not holding any firearms. For a moment, he could feel the foreign man debate whether or not he wanted to use a gun, but perhaps the Doraltics understood fully well that any firefight, let alone any casualties in the city of Dociara, would be a detriment. This seemed to be the mental consensus among all of them as the two other agents along with Saltharia, Theosarion, Galaeren, and Theremiel, were fighting without any weapons.

Perfect. Hand to hand combat it is.

The foreign man Sylvanus has challenged rushed forward with well-trained certainty and, for a moment, Sylvanus knew that this would not be easy. They were precise, quick, and emotions did not betray their movements, a stark difference from what Sylvanus was used to fighting. An outward fist forward, and Sylvanus’ instincts kicked in. He spun and shifted as his arms moved in a fluid motion. The art of Thientharvalis⁵. Improvisation and cunning. That was the way HEI always has been, and the art of their warfare did not deviate from these. Sylvanus was quick, every move against him he simply curled away. A dance, that was what every fight was for Roendavarians. To give them the sense of hope and to take it away. A brief glance to his comrades and Sylvanus could tell that they were keeping to their fighting style, more so Saltharia, a long time agent of the HEI and, surprisingly, Theosarion, who’s tall and solid stature proved intimidating for anyone. Galaeren was tricky, often employing dirty tactics to his gain and, while seen as disloyal, was welcome for the Agents of the Rose. Theremiel, perhaps the most pacifist of them, was quick, a student of the Pilonas-Lacsandarieth would not have been like this except if they had a knack for sports. For almost half a minute, the two kept fighting until the foreign agent overextended, a kick going too far. An opening, and Sylvanus slid his leg to the standing one, tripping his opponent and delivering a sharp kick to his head that knocked him unconscious .

“We’ve got the other two, Sylvanus.” Saltharia said, motioning to the two bruised up agents lined up against a truck. “Hardly a fair fight. Two against one, each.”

“Believe me. You needed two to take one down considering our three friends over there. These are no ordinary agents.” Sylvanus wiped the dust from his coat. “These are the famed Joker’s Deck teams from Dormill and Stiura, one of the few that could match us really.”

“Then why are they after Valeris? Has Dormill and Stiura acted against us?” Saltharia pondered.

“Perhaps.” Sylvanus bent down to the tied up Doraltic. “Now, let’s go and pick up Valeris.”

The five of them dragged the tied agents as they entered the alleyway. Inside, Valeris was already backed up to the wall, with Faelian Pitt, a Dormill-Stiuraian agent, pointing a taser at him.

“You should care less about who I work for, and more about what I’m going to do with you.” Pitt coldly declares, drawing a taser gun from his coat and aiming it at Valeris’ chest, “I’ll give you one chance to come quietly.”

“I can say the same for you, eolivii⁶. Drop the gun and turn around slowly.” Sylvanus ordered Pitt.

“Cops? Oh please, my partners will deal with you soon enough anyway.” Pitt replied, sneaking in a chuckle. Perhaps the Doraltic agent thought of him as Dociara police

“Oh, you mean these partners? The ones already cuffed?” The man replied, causing Pitt to spin around on his heels only to see every last Joker’s Deck agent he had brought with him in various states of injury and all handcuffed. Sylvanus slowly waked up before hitting the Doraltic agent in the head, the latter collapsing to the stone alley of Dociara.

“What took you so damn long?! You think it’s fun… running around Dociara…?!” Valeris heaved as he dusted himself off, his body running out on adrenaline.

“You know, I’ve always doubted you but you would make a great runner.” Sylvanus joked as Saltharia began to handcuff the fallen Pitt.

“Fuck off. They had SUVs and he had a taser! This is hardly a fair fight.” Valeris complained. “Even Valcrios would say this was unfair.”

“Valcrios, if he was here, would just start blasting and take down the city with him.” Sylvanus rolled his eyes. “At least you are safe. Now, come. We have foreigners to interrogate.”

“Oh- I’m in.” Valeris’ energy seemed to return at the sound of the last word.

The six loaded up the defeated agents to the back of the SUV, with Theosarion and Saltharia sitting beside them to make sure they don’t try anything risky. Valeris was ordered to drive the Concord State 65, a command he accepted with full enthusiasm. Sylvanus took control of the SUV and drove, tuning in to the radio where Ioraelin’s voice came through once more.

“Sylvanus, we have managed to take down the other team.” Ioraelin spoke through the radio, his breath ragged. “They proved very difficult to handle. Two of our agents are severely injured and one has been sent to the Ataaleia⁷.”

“Good job. Tie the agents up and haul them to the Golden House. We will meet you there.” Sylvanus responded.

The drive back to the Golden House was one with silence. They proceeded down Neveri Avenue, past the Lotus Gate, and emerged at the Dociara Circle, with the Hall of the Tree standing at a hill in the middle of the wide roundabout. They passed by the Thelcian Avenue, which was suddenly closed by a group of Dociara Police. Sylvanus paid no attention, after all, the police assured them that everything would be okay, however, he made a mental note to contact them as soon as this operation was done. They, instead, went down the Roenar Avenue, passed by Fort Niles, and arrived at the Golden House. The grandiose mansion, the headquarters of the HEI, remained imposing in the middle of a forest. As soon as they got there, the agents unloaded their catch and transferred them to individual cells within the many underground chambers beneath the Golden House. All of them, except for Pitt, who was taken to the office of Sylvanus and laid down on the sofa. While Saltharia remained on guard, Valeris and Sylvanus changed their clothes to something more professional, a formal suit contrasted by flowing fabrics and jewelry, a mix between the style of Gael and Roendavar itself. When they returned, Pitt was already awake, smoking a cigarette that Saltharia must have given to him. The silver haired woman was dismissed and the interrogation began.

“Faelian Pitt. Oh, how I am surprised you would go after the Agents of the Rose.” Sylvanus sighed, a tinge of disappointment seeping in. “I thought we were friends.”

“Agents of the Rose?! We would never go against you!” Pitt clarified. “It was our knowledge that we are after a terrorist responsible for attacks all around Gael. The leader of the Valcriosi. Isn’t that him?”

“Yes, yes, that was me but that is not me. The attacks were not my doing. Ask Sylvanus here and he will clear this all up.” Valeris corrected.

“Valeris is the leader of the Valcriosi, yes, but he was not responsible for the attacks. He has been pardoned and cleared of any involvement directly from i Florin Celion himself.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Valeris is now part of the HEI and works for us.”

“And you did not inform us? If you told us any of HEI's plans, then none of this would have happened. Better yet, we would have probably helped you out in the first place!”

“His Majesty needed time to figure out who to trust, this goes way deeper than you imagine, Faelian,” Sylvanus responded calmly, his hands resting on his knees.

“Trust? Mon Dieu, of course, you can trust us!” Pitt barked back, turning towards Sylvanus. “Gallo-Batavia has been on your side for decades! And you can’t trust us to at least give us a heads up that you are now hosting this snake-” making a wide gesture to Valeris, who was sitting on the left of Sylvanus. “... in your midst.”

“I had no other choice eolivii, Balnik has made this a problem for all of us, all I wanted was what’s best for Roendavar.” Valeris replied, keeping his tone subdued so as to not further anger the Doraltic.

“You! Stay out of this! I’d have you shot right here if we were in Chery!” Pitt snapped back.

“What’s done is done, Faelian.” Sylvanus began. “And you have no place to threaten to take his life after the stunt you pulled today!”

“Do you have any idea what this monster has done to Roendavar and Dormill and Stiura?! And you just let him back in the HEI like it was no big deal?!” Pitt angrily asked Sylvanus.

“As he said, Balnik has made this a problem for us all, and Valeris has valuable intelligence on the Arrangement.”

“The Arrangement?”

“The merry band of wanton criminals and terrorists that he used to work for. After the Balniki got involved, he came straight to us.”

Valeris stepped into the conversation once again, now more confident that Pitt was not going to lash out at him. “And we all hate Balnik equally enough to set aside this difference. You’ll be rid of me soon enough, feilestharici⁸.”

Pitt shot a dirty look at Valeris before looking away from the pair for a moment to contemplate, and managed to only get out an approving nod before the door behind them burst open, a young Roendavarian hastily walked through. “Sirs, there’s been an attack at Grand Central Station!”

“A what?! I thought the Haathranien were on it?” Sylvanus was utterly bewildered. “A routine call is what we were told and they assured us that they could handle it!”

“It seems they have underestimated the gravity of the situation. Hostile elements pretended to be Dociara SWAT and proceeded to open fire inside the station. Casualties are still being counted and we do not know the motive yet.”

“Fuck…” Valeris whispered, a pit sinking in his stomach.

“Raise the Castor Alarm. All agents must report to the Grand Dociara Station and contain this. I do not want this blowing over Dociara, more so after the multiple attacks we have seen.” Sylvanus detailed. “Has the King been informed yet?”

“He has, Sir. The Iralianthari⁹ are preparing a message to respond to this tragedy. The King personally wanted to go to the Station but the Queen Mother and the Thronai of Andavar has struck him down.”

“Understood. Let us go then. Especially you.” Sylvanus pointed to Pitt. “I feel like your kind has something to do with this as well.”

The Grand Station of Dociara was not far from the Golden House, both residing in the Iralanen District. A few minutes of driving, and the three finally came into view of the Grand Station. In the city, it was called the Cathedral, a summary of three centuries of work. Its tall spires, ornate exterior, and a massive stained glass dome stood atop one of the hills that rose in the city, giving it an accentuated majesty. After all, all who enter and exit Dociara from the Rose Train Line, the Dociara Monorail, the trams, the buses, and to every public transport, converge in this great crossroads. However, its once beauty was marred as police swarmed every road leading to the station. As they approached the Station, one of the police was about to flag them down before, perhaps, noticing the plate in front. They drove to the main entrance of the Station, three massive pine doors, cordoned off by yellow police tape. In front of it, the media flurried with activity, asking questions to the otherwise quiet police. Sylvanus parked the car on the side and immediately stepped out. The media began to act in a frenzy as they noticed the leader of the HEI arrive, throwing him random questions from a distance. Sylvanus ignored them as he walked towards Ioraelin and Saltharia, who were already there, alongside the Araclan¹⁰ of the Dociara Police, Alveira Therenast Othrenaci.

“Sylvanus… I apologize for this mess. I should have involved every aspect of Dociara’s defense when this came up.” The brown haired Alveira bowed down, a standard act of apology in Roendavar. “We did not anticipate this entire situation.”

“It is alright, Alveira. We would not have responded with enough force anyway as we were out dealing with something else entirely.” Sylvanus assured the chief of police, motioning to the Doraltic agent who was striking a conversation up with Valeris.

“I was informed about that, yes.” Alveira nodded. “We do not yet know the full details of what happened here. One moment, we were all waiting for an arrest, then, a Dociara SWAT team, along with some Doraltics, I assume from their language, started firing at the Station.”

“That makes no sense. Why would one of us start firing into the Dociara Grand Station? That would only happen if we were either infiltrated or they were posing as one of us.” Saltharia questioned. Suddenly, Valeris approached them, a grim look on his face.

“I just spoke with Pitt and he acknowledged their involvement in this situation. They were here to capture a Balniki defector but failed due to intervention by Balniki forces, who I assume are the ones who also attacked me back at the Oreis.” Valeris explained.

“Then this seems larger than we had anticipated.” Sylvanus said. “Contact our Doraltic counterparts and cooperate with them. The HEI needs to re-evaluate its plans moving forward. As for the Dociara Police, contain this as best you can.”

The orders have been given, and they all split up towards different destinations. Sylvanus stood for a moment at the entrance of the Dociara Grand Station, a towering pine door with a fresco carved above its doors. For a brief moment, a small laugh of disbelief escaped his lips, struck by the imagery before him. A cruel trick of fate that the Amanthian War would mirror their situation. The god of Life stood at the center, Death beside him and the other Arveim behind him, their hands thrust towards formless and shapeless beings. Beneath it, the words: UNITED IN KNOWLEDGE, THAT NO INCOMPREHENSIBLE SHADOW WHAT IS GOOD¹¹. A fitting parallel.

---

1: A local term for Weed or Marijuana in Roendavar. Named after the God of Recreational Drugs, Ienthialus, whose depictions show him holding wine, marijuana, and incense.
2: Literally translated as Human. Roendavarian does not have gendered titles, rather, most common forms of titles for the citizenry are felius and droithasi meaning citizen.
3: The Fielanthal are underground dungeons that host sexual activities more lucrative and dangerous. While legal, they operate mostly underground to evade the authorities.
4: A Roendavarian insult.
5: A form of martial art in Roendavar that is known for its fluid moves and how users often put themselves in a trance to pretend that they are dancing.
6: Translated as "friend to the conversation".
7: Located in Silumeren District, it is the largest public hospital in Roendavar.
8: Loosely translated as fascist, it is a Roendavareil insult or slur against people from Dormill and Stiura. It recalls the Doraltic-Roendavarian War that outraged Roendavarians.
9: Literally translated as "the cult of Iralia" but is also used to refer to the Royal Family.
10: A military head.
11: Uttered by the God of Poetry, Thioenali, as the deities faced off against the Cairathvaris, formless beings of sheer incomprehensibility that they tore reality apart. It was through the unity of the deities that they managed to defeat a single Cairathvaris and drove the others back.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Gaétan Hillam State Dining Hall, Palace of the President, Cour Rouge
03 July
Early Night

As was often tradition when capping off an official foreign meeting in Cour Rouge, President Dyson was hosting the guest in a state banquet. Tonight was only marginally different compared to past state banquets only because the guest of honor was the newly crowned Queen of Belantica, Karen Pearson. A former police chief turned anti-corruption watchdog turned monarchist revolutionary, she had been an enigma in Gaeltic politics ever since her ascension to power in 2016 following a revolution against the deeply corrupt Edward Krump; and now Dyson was her humble servant in the middle of one of the largest affectations to Doraltic republicanism in the entirety of the Palace.

As far as he could read her, she didn’t mind the divergent politics of Dormill and Stiura, and she appeared surprisingly attentive throughout the two-day-long meeting the pair had spent exploring Cour Rouge and discussing the state of affairs between the two nations. The remainder of the long table they sat at was equally occupied by Doraltic high society, predominantly members of Dyson’s government but he did pick out Richard White amongst the crowd as well, confirming his review of the meal’s briefing that business guests were in attendance. It took a slight nudge on his shoulder from his partner Sylvia to catch his attention from a moment of thinking.

Karen, who had been waiting patiently, finally spoke up, “Mr. President, there is one last thing I wanted to go over with you before the night was done and I went back home to Belantica. I watched the news about the attack in Dociara, and I feel your loss when it was reported Dormill-Stiuraians were among the lost that day; do you have a clearer idea of what happened?”

Cedar was silent for a moment, mourning the fallen and contemplating his response, “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your sympathies. The United Republics has always been graced with Belantic friendship and I am as grateful for it today as Presidents' past have been. All I know for sure about what happened in Dociara is that Chernobog is involved, I don’t need the Bureau to tell me that much but they were still punctual when they did.”

“I figured that fascist’s involvement from the start, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why he would be this brazen about it. For years his agents have just squatted around. What got them to attack civilians?”

“I-” Cedar paused for a second, questioning himself as to whether he should say this aloud or not, “I believe this wasn’t just a random provocation. I believe Chernobog is after somebody that was in the station that day, but I always assumed most Balniki were loyal to the regime.”

“A defector?”, she asked with intense interest.

“Possibly, but I can’t say anything for certain about who they were or what they were doing in Dociara,” Cedar replied, hanging his head down for a moment before Sylvia brought it back up, encouraging him with affection he had been sorely needing.

“Well then, I guess we should be getting ready. If Chernobog is willing to send his men to shoot up an entire train station in Dociara hunting for the shadow of a defector, then he’s probably willing to strike out in Luton or Cour Rouge.”

“Perhaps so,” Cedar quietly replied, refocusing his attention to what was left of dinner and letting the sounds of music and side conversations distract him from the thoughts of dread that have started to creep in.

[Belantica]

Albany City, New Albany, Belantica
Jun. 16, 2021 - 13:20 WGT
An alleyway that is crawling with ACPD officers and their patrol cars is a pretty normal occurrence in a city that always seemed to have a problem with murder. But there was something about the crime scene located between 34th and 35th streets on the 1900 block that seemed off. Naturally the call made by a passerby made it seem like a routine investigation, but when the first patrol car arrived, the two officers were perplexed by the nature of the scene. They indeed called in the corner, a supervisor, and detectives from the homicide division, but they were stumped as to piecing together the evidence present. Eventually, the ACPD sent down two well-seasoned and hard-boiled detectives down to the scene, two men by the names of Roy Kalinsky, and Nathan Murry, two longtime partners who will go the extra mile to solve a case, as both are fueled by the investigation process and digging deeper in what most people would brush off as shallow.

Kalinksy and Murry reached the scene of the crime in a standard-issued Lancet Pullman, and parked behind one of the ACPD's iconic blue and white cruisers that was blocking off the alley's entrance. Beforehand, both of them were debating on which of AC's cricket teams will win the championship this year, as the rivalry between the more affluent Albany Flyers and the working-class Hilltown Slammers has been around since the birth of the sport. Both detectives got out of their car, and proceed towards the officer guarding the scene, flashing their badges which got them quickly behind the yellow tape.
"Where's the damn body?" asked Kalinsky to one of the beat cops, taking his cigarette out of his mouth for a brief moment before puffing on it again.
"Yeah, it's further down. Sgt. Halls and a couple of forensic nerds are swarming it", said a young policeman when Kalinsky made his request.
"Guess it's time we get to work, huh Roy?" Murry said in a rather flat tone
"All part of the trade" Kalinsky replied as the two made their way to where the body was. A short walk later, and the two were now looking at the body of some man who was mutilated and left to rot away behind a dumpster. Sgt. Halls and two members of the forensics office were taking notes and analyzing the body. Kalinsky made a small wave gesture to Halls, who turned around to relay what was uncovered before the gumshoes rolled in.
"Afternoon Sgt. Halls, always something unfortunate when we cross paths." Murry said, putting out his cigarette in a puddle.
"As to you, Senior Inspector Murry", replied Halls, standing at ease, "but, I'd like you to keep your snark comments back in your car. What we have here, is a body that doesn't seem like a conventional murder.
Halls ushered both detectives over to the body, where she begun to point out things that made this particular case unusual.
"First thing the initial responding officer noticed was that the body has this odd carving made onto it using some type of blade. However, we cannot say that the same blade was used to actually commit the murder. Also based on the bruising seen on his hands and other parts, the victim tried to resist, which lead to believe that whatever the assailant's motive was against his will. but it is believed that at this time, the cause of death was affixation, but the corner's office will determine that."
"This whole symbol thing on his chest," Kalinsky pointed out," this looks like some type of weird cult shit, since those lunatics have been feeling more emboldened as of late. And while they seem to cover most of their tracks, their mistake was dumping this poor man's body in a damn alleyway, since it left us with quite a bit to work with."

The detectives took notes about the scene, and eventually the corner arrives to haul the body away for autopsy and clean up any bodily fluids. Cult attacks within Belantica are generally few and far in between, which due to the rarity of such incidents, meant that the ones responsible were neither professionals or thought out a plan to shake off the cops.

"So, now we got some cult assholes running around the city. Just what we needed in a city full of enough wackos as it is", Murry said to Kalinsky while getting back into their car.
"Let's face it, and you'll understand this more the longer you're working ACPD Homicide," Kalinsky replied, lighting up a fresh cigarette, " AC is a place where all kind of of folks, both good and bad, end up mixing with each other. And it terms of our line of work, expecting the unexpected may help you rest easier at night"

They left the scene and returned back to headquarters to begin the piecing together of the murder, and awaiting the results from the corner on who the victim is.

---

Mariette, Watkins, Belantica
Jul. 1, 2021 - 15:46 WGT

An agent from the Foreign Intelligence Service sat inside an old apartment. Every few minutes, an El train rolled on by the window, which wasn't that loud compared to a blue's record being played on the turntable sitting on a TV table. Aside from that, the apartment had a bunch of other equipment used by the FIS to relay intel back and forth between its network. The day started off quiet, and the agent spent most of it hanging by the window watching the sky and the trains roll on by.

Then the satellite phone in the room begun to ring. The agent could tell it was that phone as the ringtone sounded from the 1990's. The agent picked up the phone and accepted the call, he answered in a voice sounding like the "Superfans" guys. "Hello? Is this the box office?"
There was a brief period of silence, to wait for the correct reply and to turn on the recording equipment hooked up to the headset.
"Indeed it is the box office," the voice on the other end of the line said, " Here to tell you updates on tonight's showing."
"Go on."
"You see, the actors were waiting to leave the show in Dociara, but some of the patrons made a fuss in the theater.
"Hmm. Now who decided to throw a fuss at the show?"
"We don't know who caused the hassle yet, but they ended up trashing the place and ended up cancelling the show. Some of your friends from Dormill were at the show, but had to change their plans thanks to the show getting pulled."
"I see, any word on what they decided to do instead?"
"Well, I think they went on a little ride around town."
"How big of a mess was it?"
"Quite large, many people didn't like the show getting pulled."
"Well, that is surprising to hear, I guess the actors need to just carry on I suppose. I'll also relay this to my buddy who's really into theater drama."
"As it should. I'll give you another call when they reschedule the show for later."
"Appreciate it, you take care out there." He hung up the phone, and realized that something bad just happened. Belantic agents often piece together a coding system when regarding events ongoing in other countries that would be a concern to those back home. Depending on how heavily used the codes are, they'll be rotated out. In this case, the agents assigned to Roendavar were using the "theater" set of codes to relays information in a secretive way to throw off anyone happening to be tapped in.

But, what he heard was that a major attack just happened not too long ago in Roendavar, which was not good news to hear. He begun to type out the message translated back into normal terms, and sent it through a secured fax line to the FIS field office in Mariette. From there, it would be circulated around the FIS, and sent over to the Prime Minister and the Queen as it was a concern for national security, and these reports would arrive on their desks in mere minutes once the FIS office got ahold of it.

"Is this the Dociara office?"
"Yes, a situation has unfolded"
"Go ahead"
"An attack happened in the Dociara main station (they call it a theater due to it resembling some older theaters back home)"
"Any idea of who attacked the station?"
"Attackers unknown, caused massive damage to station, mass casualties and fatalities occurred, police response. Doraltic agents were involved"
"Did they evacuate?"
"Highly possible, waiting for them to regroup and reestablish contact"
"Amount of victims and damages?"
"Unknown, but expected to be large"
"Will regroup with Doraltic agents ASAP, relay this information back to HQ, Prime Minister, and the Queen"
"Roger, stay watchful"

[Ainslie]

Shadow Over Gael | Morning at Minnelow
3:24pm Eastern Gael Time, 24 July 2021
Risden Offices, Arnton

“Hey Georgia, what’s this meeting happening at Minnelow tomorrow?”, Sam asked.
“It’s a meeting of Gael Four intelligence chiefs, it has been convened by the Bureau.”, his deputy, Georgia (G), replied.
“The Bureau being the intelligence agency of Dormill and Stiura? Do you have files about the meeting?”, he (S) continued.
G: “No. Dean Callister in the Ministry of Defence seems to be running point with this, reporting directly to the Prime Minister.”
S: “Interesting. Do you know if the Prime Minister is free some time today?”
G: “I was just in there. Check with the Secretary but I imagine you’ll be able to walk straight in.”

24 July 2021 - 3:36pm

Elliana sat at the large wooden desk once again, reading over some reports prepared to her by the Ministry of Finance about the potential benefits of widespread deregulation. This sort of stuff bored her to the core, it was hardly the complex and nuanced environment of foreign relations which she was much more used to. Sam’s entrance to her office was greeted warmly as a result.

“Good afternoon Sam. What can I do for you?”, the Prime Minister asked.

“I hope I am not stepping on your toes here, but I wanted to see what I could find out about this meeting at Minnelow Base that is being held tomorrow.”, her Chief of Staff, Sam, inquired.

“Is there something I should know about this that I do not? I thought sending some people over in Defence and the Ambassador-General would suffice for it.”, she (PM) replied.

S: “I can’t say… what is it about? I hear that the Bureau called for the meeting.”

PM: “There’s some intelligence about Balnik, as normal, and I suspect they want us to join in their counterintelligence efforts. Do you want to go? This has all the hallmarks of being a pretty standard meeting, it’s just a quiet one, that’s all.”

S: “I think I may tag along, if defence is okay with that. There may be something that could be useful for the Office that they may not pick up.”

PM: “Very well. I’ll get you there. Be here 8am tomorrow morning.”

25 July 2021 - 10:13am
North of Highland Ridge, en route to Minnelow

Sam was sitting in the backseat of a black SUV, being driven by someone he had never met before to somewhere he was very unacquainted with. He looked down at his wrist, briefly noticing a small scratch that had formed on his watch before turning his head to the scenery outside of his window. It was paddocks as far as the eye can see and other than a few clouds in the sky it was blue and sunny - as it should be in the Wesland summer. The trees were notably different to those he had noticed as he left Arnton’s metropolitan area - these were much more adapted to cool climates and appeared more green and healthy than the eucalypts which dominate Arnton’s outskirts. A few minutes later, the paddocks were quickly vanishing and being replaced by increasingly dense forest. The road had a sudden incline and became slightly more bendy. He could just make out the sound of a creek meandering its way down the rocky slopes they were driving around. There was a small waterfall off to his right.

At witnessing the calming yet busy forest filled with bird noises and running water, he was increasingly feeling relaxed and settling into a long drive. This was quickly interrupted as the vehicle pulled up behind several similar looking vehicles. The driver, who had hardly said any words since picking Sam up out the front of the Risden Offices, clearly and sternly spoke up:

“We are here now, Mr Gerindi. You may exit the car.”

Sam nodded his head and then opened the door, revealing himself to the world at large. Under his feet were some pebbles out the front of a large brick building that resembled the conference centres he had been on during school camps.

This was no school camp though - it was most definitely a military base. He briefly turned around and noticed ten people running in a row with ARSF activewear past the motorcade and then watched a few men in suits walking into the building that was in front of them - he recognised at least one of them as Callum Parkes, the Ambassador-General and a close friend of the Prime Minister. He made his way at a regular pace towards the building. Thankfully, Callum and the two other men had congregated in the large room Sam was introduce to as he opened the front doors.

Noticing that there had not been a conversation going between the three of them, he decided to get their attention.

“Good morning, Mr. Parkes and to you… I apologise your names have seemed to escape me”, Sam said with a beaming smile and composed body language as they shook his hands. “I’m Sam Gerindi, The Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff.”

“It has been a long time coming, Mr. Gerindi.”, one of the men responded. “I’m Dean Callister, I work with the Defence Minister but I’ve been appointed as the official in charge of monitoring extremist protacist organisations”. After a brief pause, the next person he didn’t know introduced himself.

“And Good Morning to you a well, Mr. Gerindi. I am Gabe Wallara.”, he stated.

That name immediately rang a bell. This was the ever-secretive Director of the Joint Ahnslen Intelligence Committee who acts as the senior coordinator of all the various espionage and intelligence organisations which make up the Ahnslen Intelligence Community.

Callum then dropped in after the other two introduced themselves.

“So, would you like to join the welcoming committee?”, he asked.

“The welcoming committee?”, Sam responded. “Who’s in that?”

“Us”, Gabe shortly and coldly replied.

“Sure. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, I guess”, Sam replied in an attempt to warm the temperature of the room.

As the conversation began to slow down, he noticed the motorcade which he was a part of moving away from out the front of the property. After fifteen minutes or so, the first delegation then turned up and in a near constant flow, various delegations of the Gael Four member-states filed into the room.

[Dormill and Stiura]

Highland Ridge, Wesland
25 July
10:48 EGT

Although Dociara was still under a partial lockdown, its airports remained entirely functional, making the trip from the Eternal City to the small Ahnslen border town much easier than was feared earlier in the month. Most of the flight was silent for the Dociara Bureau team, with little more to say between each other than what happened just a few weeks ago. In Highland Ridge, the silence hung over the men and women from Dociara as they made their way through the gate, only for it to be broken by an incoming woman, “Thank God you’re finally here,” she began, pulling back her long, blonde hair before regaining her composure, “I am Valentine Clément, minister to the Gael Four and your chaperone in Arnton while you’re here.”

“Chaperone?” Cedric Roux snarky replied, “Do you know what we’ve been through? Who the hell do you think you are to-”, Faelian Pitt lowered his arm from Roux’s chest and took over the conversation, “I apologize, but we have been through a lot. However, given this is your domain we will comply.”

“Thank you, Agent,” Clement replied warmly, shaking his, then Roux’s, hands before gesturing them to the far end of the gates. Instead of outright leaving the airport, the group was directed to a small helipad where a CADF marked helicopter awaited them.

The flight from the airport to Minnelow Base was relatively brief all things considered, the base itself wasn’t even that far but Minister Clement insisted they fly by helicopter into the base. From above, the supposed base looked unimposing or rather even quaint compared to the urban sprawl that Dociara was. In fact, none of the Bureau agents inside seemed able to distinctly identify much in the way of the Base’s buildings until they were over the helipad, the base revealing itself under the cover of Highland Ridge’s mountain mist.

As the helicopter landed and powered down, the Doraltic group dismounted and began heading for the entrance to the base, Minister Clement taking the lead and checking them in past security. Soon enough they were heading down the hallways and corridors to their meeting place where the rest of the Gael Four were waiting for them and their presentation. Not far from their destination, Director Trix Lovel came into view, which came to surprise Pitt and Roux especially, she walked up to the group and shook Minister Clement’s hand first before replicating the favor with the remainder of the Dociara office agents, speaking in the meanwhile, “Agents, it’s good to finally see you here. Each of you has done this Bureau proud with your work in Dociara, dare I say it you were instrumental in getting the G4 together here today, even under these less than optimal circumstances.”

Pitt rose to speak up first, “Director, it’s good to see you here too,” as he shook her hand, standing at attention as a soldier would to their superior officer.

“Director Pitt,” she began, relaxing her posture to encourage him to do the same, “Your leadership is to be commended, quick and decisive action is what we need in order to properly counter Balnik, and what you’ve done shows me you were the right choice to lead the office in Dociara. Come with me.” She gestured to the group to follow her into the hallway further and closer to the conference room they were destined for.

“We’ve already gone over most of the situation while you were arriving, the Ahnslens were worried that the cults were involved but Mr. Sylvanus has assured them it was Balniki involvement. The remaining members seem to be more concerned about getting all the information before making their thoughts known.”

“Have they been told about Rudin?” Pitt asked.

“Not yet, but I have the report inside already, but I wanted everybody else here before…” Lovel trailed off as she heard more footsteps from behind her, followed by another passive conversation, she spoke up soon thereafter, “Ah! There they are, the Aruians.”

Minister Clement chimed in quickly, “I’ll introduce myself.” As she walked off, the remainder of the Doraltic team turned around and entered the conference room.

Inside were the largest collection of intelligence service leaders assembled in Gaeltic history, from Ahsnlen intelligence director Gabe Wallara to Sylvanus, everybody here was at the top of the intelligence pyramids of their respective countries and were all assembled to find out what comes next after the attack in Dociara. As the Doraltic delegation filed into their seats, Sylvanus got up to meet with Pitt with a handshake, “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

Pitt shook Sylvanus’ hand in turn and gave him a rare smile, “You as well, Sylvanus. I hope today we can get the rest of Gael together on our plan.”

“Of that, I have little doubt, it’s making sure our people don’t panic that worries me, the Afaril is fast approaching and any hitch there can be catastrophic.” As Sylvanus finished, the Aruians entered the conference room and introduced themselves before getting seated, as did Pitt while Sylvanus walked up to the presentation screen.