Markion Lore RP Thread[MARKION ONLY-IC]

[Sevevill]

Prince Danial Henry. Still in Phoenixia
March 11, 2036

He stepped out of a suv. The main strip of Kassau lay in front of him as he looked for somewhere to grab something to eat as he had yet to eat anything since his flight had landed. He looked around the main strip to see a squad of Seveillian marines walking twards him. Approaching them he asked the soldiers if they knew any good restaurants or shops around. Although speaking his native language the marines chose to ignore him and continued walking. He assumed that it had something to do with what he was wearing and continued walking. He had ditched the ‘preppy’ attire he had been wearing for something not as likely to be noticed by a civilian on the street… apparently not to be noticed by marines either… He continued to walk down the somewhat antiquated street taking in some of the sights this small city had to offer.

He remembered what Greta had insulted him with; perhaps he would take a trip down to the Reova Mall in an attempt to get a fuller grasp on what Phoenixians were like. He walked around the mall for a bit stopping in a small shop to get something to eat before continuing to walk around. He stopped into multiple little stores browsing the varying goods they had for sale. Cheap designer clothing that was frankly years off of his taste, barren shoe stores, and a poorly stocked sporting goods outlet is all that he could eye. He decided that his best option was to buy clothes that he would fit in as a local with. After purchasing some clothing that he liked he walked out of the mall, but not before remembering that his sister caused him utter humiliation.

Pulling out his phone, he pulled up his messages with Emma, "Why did you tell Greta that I was planning on asking her out?"

“I mean everyone deserves some warning do they not?” She promptly responded

“Yea but I didn't even tell you I was going to do that! For all you know I'm just sightseeing!”

"It was pretty obvious that you were head over heels, Dani. Such a hopeless romantic. tsk tsk."

With this he shut off his phone… choosing to ignore his older sister for the time being. He instructed the driver to turn back towards the palace. Hopefully without intruding too much.

Greta looked back out the window to see the same Sevevillian estate car rolling up the drive, but only Danial got out this time, looking like someone straight from Kassau Eastern. He really was trying to pull away the appearance of being preppy. She giggled at this and walked down to the door herself this time. "You're looking more like a real man now, Dani."

“Well... You could say that,” He said, chuckling. “I hope I'm not intruding this time.”

"No, no. I was actually expecting you to come crawling back at some point," she stuck her hands behind her back and giggled like a schoolgirl. "You better have figured out a place to take me since you earned this date."

“Well… I've still got to find somewhere but I have been looking,” He said chuckling. “But I can definitely do that by tonight.”

"See you then," she turned back and went inside smirking.

Post made with Phoenixia

[Iyum]

SNIP

"In the name of the Heavenly Custodians as our witness, in the name of the Empire and her people. The Empire of the Tyr Ium has acquired the recently purchased territory of September Island, an island that is located in the region of Markion, lodged between the United City States of Oceania and the Island Empire of Urilas. We would like to welcome the inhabitants of September Island with open arms as new citizens of the Empire." -Imperial Ministry of Media and Information

[The Green Union]

"In the name of the Heavenly Custodians as our witness, in the name of the Empire and her people. The Empire of the Tyr Ium has acquired the recently purchased territory of September Island, an island that is located in the region of Markion, lodged between the United City States of Oceania and the Island Empire of Urilas. We would like to welcome the inhabitants of September Island with open arms as new citizens of the Empire." -Imperial Ministry of Media and Information

The Kamooko Pact Governance Council has absolutely refused to acknowledge any Tyrian (otherwise known as Iyumian) ownership over September Island, with one spokesperson calling this purchase “a criminal scam in the billions of Marks.”

September Island is not Sevevill’s to trade, and this flagrantly illegal act of imperialism is an affront to the rights of all September Islanders and all independent peoples across Markion. The Central Council has responded by urging members to cut off financial ties with Sevevill and Tyria, and vowing to take military action if any Tyrian forces land on the Island. Needless to say, all negotiations with Sevevill about returning the land have broken off and there are unconfirmed reports of the KDC beginning to mobilize naval and mobile infantry assets.


The news was met even more violently on September Island herself as thousands took to the streets in September City to protest. News that their home would be transferred, not to an independent government, but yet another imperial overlord was not being received well. Crowds soon turned violent, and instances of rioting and looting have been widespread. Out in the countryside, images of locals gathering with military-grade rifles and ammunition have begun to surface online and at least one video of farmers shooting at a passing Imperial armoured vehicle has gone viral. Meanwhile those seen as collaborators with the Sevevillian occupation have found themselves facing vandalism and intimidation. Hundreds of Islanders who were working for the Sevevillians have taken their families and fled to the remaining Imperial military bases.

Islanders clash with Imperial soldiers in the wake of today's declaration, demands of immediate independence growing

September Islander voices on social media which had formerly called for calm during the Sevevill-KP negotiations are now raving at the underhandedness, with many calling for violence. Experts warn that these aggressive mobs are likely to only grow bolder, bolstered by the way that Sevevill was administering the island: After the invasion, Imperial marines had dissolved all local government and police and chosen to maintain order themselves. Now that the Sevevillians are leaving, it has left a power vacuum.


Capt. Marcus Brayfield, Mont Coulon, Lower Calendôr Administration Zone:

“I said I don’t need it.” Marc complained idly as his friend tipped a sugar cube into his teacup.

“Marc, I know you.” Nabila scoffed, pouring herself a cup along with two cubes of her own before sitting down in the cozy little living room. “This diet thing isn’t going to last more than a month.”

Marc just glared into his cup as he stirred it in. Nabila was almost certainly right, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it. Still, probably better to move the conversation on before she decided to bring up that time he got into juicing.

“This place is looking a lot better.”

Nabila laughed at that one. “Well, last time you were here it was Alex’s sniper nest.” Then she sighed, letting her eyes wander the small apartment. All new wood paneling, rugs, even an electric fireplace was a serious departure from her previous belief in white cabinets and minimalist metallic shelving.

She sipped her tea, pulling up her legs to shiver just a bit on the couch. Her fingers laced around the cup, one of the digits conspicuously missing. “I’ve been cold enough for a lifetime . . .”

Marc’s face fell. “I should have been here.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” Nabila caught herself, brushing back her headdress with a blush. “When you drove in with that KP column it was the happiest moment of my life. Half a year of suffering, and you swept it away in an afternoon.”

Marc felt his face going red as a beetroot. How could he explain that he had swept away nothing, that he had come home to a country ravaged by war and starvation? That the country he knew had still not been dug out of the rubble? But luckily he was saved from having to respond by a buzz in his pocket.

“Mail from Jacques . . .” he said, opening the file. Nabila peeked over his shoulder to stare at the screen as he brought up an attached image. Men and women wielding Kalashnikov rifles appeared on screen, crowded around a central figure giving some address on farmhouse steps.

“September Island insurgents?” Nabila looked confused. “Why did he send you this?”

But Marc just sat there, jaw slack. A million and one thoughts raced through his mind, with hows and whys and whats all jostling for position. But one in particular was rising to the fore.

She’s alive.

[Phoenxia]

~snip~

Golden Arch Steakhouse, Kassau

Danial had made a reservation at the fancy new Sevevillian restaurant in town for the date, then picked up Greta in the estate car.

"Now Dani, I barely even know you, tell me about yourself," she closed the car door, dressed in her very finest.

“Well… In my own words I would say I am someone who got socially misplaced. I love to learn about cultures… traveling to countries mine sees as nothing more than a footnote. I have learned many languages and have traveled through most of Markion… Even sneaking into Arcadian colonies to see what they have to offer.” He said somewhat mildly. “Although my family does not share the same appreciation I do.”

"So I assume you speak Acivic?"

“Well… not perfectly but I can speak it well enough to get by,” he nonchalantly went on.

"Good. What of Emerstarian?"

“Emerstarian I speak fluently… Unfortunately I have yet to travel there though.” 

"You can get plenty of practice in here," she giggled and walked up to the door, awaiting him to come and open it.

He slightly beat her to the door. Opening it for her before entering the restaurant himself, walking up to the hostess. 

“I have a reservation here for Henry,'' he said After walking them back to a more secluded corner of the restaurant and handing them their menus.

"You know Sevevillian cuisine the best, what would you suggest for an appetizer? I want to splurge tonight."

“Well I must suggest the Bruschetta or perhaps even the Antipasta… Arancini is good as well! Its really up to preference.”

"I'll maybe do the Bruschetta. You know, you're lucky not having to chase my sister; she hates herself too much to eat like this," she scoffed out a cheap laugh.

“Ah good choice! And a odd jab at your sister as well… Something going on between you two?”

"How long of an attention span do you have? It's literally a story and a half," she sipped on her water.

“I have a pretty good attention span… If its such a story I am sure it will be interesting.”

"Well, it starts almost exactly a year ago, she had just recently broken up with a grade A douchebag from our school. We as a family were presiding over the MACA championships. She suddenly decided to get the hots on for one of the finalists, and invited him to a party at Éstate d'Öste. She snuck off with him to the Vietschen penthouse in the middle of the party; presumably for sex, my older brother caught them on the couch. Fast forward, he stays the summer for," she put air quotes around 'training.' "She grew attached to him and wouldn't shut up that she was going to Emerstari after graduation to live with him. These plans didn't change with the death of my dad, in fact they strengthened; I don't blame her at that point. The real shit comes when my brother was shot, she was supposed to take the throne, right?"

Danial, with his eyes fixated on her, nodded convincingly.

"Less than week later, she hands my mom a letter of abdication and fucks off to Emerstari. I haven't really cared what she's done since then, apparently she got married, but fuck her for putting me in this situation," she looked up at the waitress who was coming.

Looking at the waitress. 

“Let us get two orders of Bruschetta to start…” Looking towards Greta “Would you like something to drink?” He asked her. 

"I'll have a glass of the Mojnajeca Red, please."

“And I will take an old fashioned.”

AFTER DINNER

The conversations has twisted and turned—interestingly to say the least. Greta had been through a few glasses of wine, Dani for the most part restrained himself from drinking. In the car, she began conversing in slurred tones.

"I would really really like it if you stayed at the palace tonight," she giggled drunkenly.

“Yea, yea, that would be great,” He said, also giggling.

Made in joint with Sevevill

[Phoenxia]

~snip~

Vietian Palace, Kassau
Danial Henry

Dani opened his eyes to a massive bed, which wasn't the shocking part for him. To the best of his intuitive ability, this was Greta's bedroom, and right next to him in bed—well, no one was there, but it was just as much evidence as he needed to know what happened. Walking out, he found Greta on her favorite couch in the living room in her… less than modest nightwear which consisted of an oversize t-shirt and a pair of running shorts. "Do you know what happened last night, Greta?"

"I sure do, Dani. I may have been drunk, but I'm positive that it was a lucid experience," she smiled as if she was reliving the late night she just had.

"So—what happened? I have an assumption due to the evidence on the bed, but I'm just making sure," on the young prince's face arose a panicked expression.

Greta made an exploding gesture with one of her hands while simultaneously making a popping noise with her lips.

"You can't mean—"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Oh my god," he put his hands on his temples and began scrunching through his hair, "My dad is gonna kill me."

"Stop being such a drama queen and get some breakfast, your dad doesn't have to know it even happened. Your siblings will find out one way or another, though," she chuckled.

He screamed out in frustration, "You think this is all one big joke, don't you? That I won't have any repercussions for knocking up a literal Queen in a reckless one night stand?"

"Who says it was a one night stand? I quite like having you around, Dani. It keeps things lively. Now, I really would suggest getting breakfast, I'm quite hungry myself," Greta stood up and began walking to the kitchen, snickering to herself.

[Republic of Altos and Stratis]

"In the name of the Heavenly Custodians as our witness, in the name of the Empire and her people. The Empire of the Tyr Ium has acquired the recently purchased territory of September Island, an island that is located in the region of Markion, lodged between the United City States of Oceania and the Island Empire of Urilas. We would like to welcome the inhabitants of September Island with open arms as new citizens of the Empire." -Imperial Ministry of Media and Information

The Kamooko Pact Governance Council has absolutely refused to acknowledge any Tyrian (otherwise known as Iyumian) ownership over September Island, with one spokesperson calling this purchase “a criminal scam in the billions of Marks.”

SIC

Ardmarie, Closed Session of Parliament

Colette Akaishi was disheartened that her first official action as House Speaker would be to preside over a declaration of war, albeit a secret one. Technically, it was an authorization of military force, but it was a declaration of war nonetheless. Parliament had moved heaven and earth to bring this authorization to a vote; she was sure that the run-up had set some record for how fast the usually slow wheels of government had turned.

Looking down at her desk, she began to reread the authorization. Starting from the top, it read, Authorization of Military Force Against the Empire of Greater Tyria. This act authorizes military force against the Empire of Greater Tyria and its allies to ensure the liberation of September Island and its return to administration under the Kamokoo Pact. Collete hoped that this would bring an end to the humiliation and shame Ameria had rightfully endured after the September Island debacle.

It had even brought down the government; the prime minister did not survive the confidence vote. While the other principal players in the whole debacle, the defense and foreign minister, had resigned in disgrace. But even that did not have the desired effect of saving face, Ameria still caught the majority of the blame for the Invasion of September island even though they were not participating in it. It even went so far as for the perpetrators of the invasion, the Sevevillians, to attempt to blame Ameria entirely for the entire affair and make them pay for all the death and destruction they had wrought.

The Amerians and Kamokoo Pact (KP) had roundly rejected that deal. Still, people began to talk, and rumors began to leak out that the KP had been willing to accept this deal and were not happy with the Amerian veto. The KP had quickly quashed these rumors, but lingering questions about the KP’s actual position on September Island remained.

The Sevevillians, ever unsatisfied that their attempt to extort the KP had gone awry, decided to find someone else to offload this unwanted island. Enter the Tyrians, who chose to enter into negotiations with the Sevevillians to purchase the island in hopes of setting up a puppet state and handed over billions to achieve that.

Thinking about everything that had transpired made Colette furious; her country had been humiliated and almost held responsible for the crimes of others. Meanwhile, our own allies may have been willing to sell us out. Composing herself, Colette knew she was right to be angry but now was not the time. There would be time for that later; right now, she had an important job to do.

“Order!!!” she bellowed out as she hammered down her gavel. The murmur of conversation ceased, replaced by a tense silence as they waited for her to speak.

“We will now bring the Authorization of Military Force Against the Empire of Greater Tyria to vote, MPs you may now begin recording your votes; voting will conclude in 10 minutes or when everyone has voted.”

This vote was expected to go along party lines, but since this vote was being held behind closed doors, no one really knew how the vote would turn out. Sure, some members had indicated how they would vote or had given assurances prior, but they were among the minority. Colette cast her vote immediately after finishing her remarks, as much she abhorred war; she understood that sometimes war was necessary and voted to authorize military action.

As the timer began to tick down, votes started to pour in, and Colette nervously awaited the results, though it would seem that she wouldn’t have to wait long. After a scant five minutes, all votes had been cast, and she was handed a sheet with the vote tallies. Looking at the counts, she hadn’t been expecting that kind of response.

Colette hammered her gavel again to signal the end of the session. She began to read, “Ayes 347, nays 87, the ayes have it, and the resolution passes!”

IC

ABG News Bulletin

International

---

Mobilization begins for Green West 2036

Today the MOD announced the first round of mobilization for the Kamokoo Pact exercise Green West 2036, which is expected to be the largest exercise in the alliance’s history. While the MOD has not released figures yet, it is expected to involve tens of thousands of Amerian and Kamokoo Pact troops. Several naval units have reportedly already departed for the exercise prior to the official announcement by the MOD.

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

Cateaux-Cheosong, Vice Arcadian Republic

[u]Georg Ha-Sun[/u[

Georg sat on a bench outside of his dorms waiting for the bus to bring him into town. He was reading some Emerstarian news about the recent dead over the local mob. Today he didn't have any classes so he was free to relax, he was going to meet up with a girl from one of his classes she was an Acade from one of the cities further south near the metropolitan areas. Cateaux-Cheosong was a decent-sized city but not nearly as big as Götheim, or Tanyong. When the bus finally arrived he walked on and sat down and put his airpods in and began listening to 'blinding lights' the ride would last about 15 minutes, before he got off. As he arrived at the coffee shop he checked his phone to see where Emmi was. She sent him a message saying she was the one in the red coat, and he looked up and saw her sitting at a table he walked up and sat down and said "Hey Emmi glad I was able to snag you for come coffee!" She responded happily with "Of course, so you ready to order?" Georg said, "Of course!" As they stood in line Gerog spoke: "So are you heading back to Maasden for vacation next month?" Emmi responded: "no my family moved back to the mainland but I'll probably head to the silver coast if I can get enough people to come."

[Sevevill]

~snip~

-snip-

Vietian Palace, Kassau

He walked outside, Excusing himself under the guise of going outside for a smoke. As he walked out into the courtyard he finally noticed the hangover, the bright sun shining into his eyes he looked around for somewhere to sit with his eyes out of reach of their rays. He sat on a bench back to the sun and fumbled around with his phone. Finally calling his sister after a few minutes of staring blankly at her contact open on the phone.

“What do you want?” She asked impatiently. The Hustle and bustle of Seve City could be heard in the background as she snarked at him.

“Oh what? I cant give my sister a call? Is there something so wrong about that?” He asked putting a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it.

“Well… I don't think this is a simple call about how my day has been is it?” She asked almost already knowing what the answer was.

“I'm sure you already know why I am calling… I got a little too drunk last night and might have made a slight misstep.” He said taking a long solemn drag of the cigarette. Balancing it in his mouth as he talked. “Look some things happened and I need your help because I am not exactly too sure what kind of fire I am playing with here if you catch my drift”

There was a pause from the other end of the phone…

“Well… by the sounds of what you just said to me it seems like you are doing just fine by yourself… I'm still not exactly sure why you are calling me, I have shit to do, you know we all can't fly around the globe exploring all day.”

“Well yea but what am I supposed to do now? I don't really know what to expect here you know… Especially…” He was cut off suddenly.

Greta walked out into the courtyard at a leisurely pace, "Hey Dani, whatcha doing?" She smiled, she had heard just about half of what he was saying over the phone.

“Oh nothing, just talking to my sister.” He said as he hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Taking a final draw of the cigarette. “She called me while I was having a smoke and it kind of dragged on.”

"Oh, that's funny, she's texting me right now," Greta snickered. "She's asking whether or not we smashed. That's odd—"

“I mean… she has always been one to look into other peoples business… Always looking for some new drama or a way to get me into trouble for that matter.” He said as he looked down at an angry message asking why he hung up.

"So, should I tell her the truth? Or are you gonna get your ass disowned if I say yes?" She held her phone behind her back as the vibrations came in.

“By all means tell her the truth… Its not like any of them will care all that much. I am not exactly the ‘ chosen son ‘ so I doubt they would really care all that much,” He said, making air quotes.

"Well, that's just great," Greta pulled her phone back up and typed, "yea, we did it."

“Yea… I am not sure if they even really care what I am doing these days…” He looked off over the gardens, taking in the beauty of the palace. “Probably busy annexing some poor nation somewhere.”

"If they really don't care, you wouldn't mind staying here a while, would you?" Greta began unraveling a plan in her head, a plan to get back at Etsch, and it all led to Easter in Hrenshållar.

“No I would not mind at all… I don't really have anything going on right now anyways.” He said

"Well, that's just magnifik. If you wanted to do anything at all today in the spirit of fun, what would it be?"

“I'm not sure… You know this place better than I do as I have only been in your fine country for a few days.”

"Let me see—what do you do back home with girls?"

“Well… Usually go around showing them my family's fancy toys… but that's not really applicable for someone such as yourself.”

"We could maybe go to Vietschen for the day? There's a lot of fun to be had over in the big city."

“Yea that sounds nice… Im sure we could definitely find something interesting to do over there.” He said enthusiastically.

"Come on then, I'll drive."

Post made made with Phoenixia

[Iyum]

SNIP

"In the name of the Heavenly Custodians as our witness, in the name of the Empire and her people. The Empire of the Tyr Ium has acquired the recently purchased territory of September Island, an island that is located in the region of Markion, lodged between the United City States of Oceania and the Island Empire of Urilas. We would like to welcome the inhabitants of September Island with open arms as new citizens of the Empire." -Imperial Ministry of Media and Information

Becoming the caretaker.

Several planes have landed on September Island’s somewhat operational airstrip. Soldiers of the Lamarian 28th Engineer Regiment and the Prazian 3rd Engineer Regiment begin to assess the situation that they’re about to go into. As planes continue to land and take off, the Imperial Army begins to take over vacant Sevevillian FOBs in order to establish a presence within September Island. Orders were given to not open fire unless being fired upon by the insurgents.


As the Imperial government makes way to establish a provisional government on September Island, a man that goes by the name of Henar Esh’tenen, has been selected by the Ministry of Local Administration to become the Steward of September Island. He has been chosen for his humanitarian ideals and his devotion to his nation. He has been tasked to watch over September Island as the nation is being reconstructed by the Tyrian Empire, he has been also tasked to create a government that is only made up of September Island inhabitants, inhabitants that are competent, trustworthy, and capable of leading September Island towards a greater future. He sends the SI government in exile that is located in UCSO a message and asks them to return to September Island in hopes of reestablishing a government that is run by September Islanders. An invitation has also been sent out to the international community to let them know that they can invest in September Island in hopes that this will reboot the local economy in some way or another.

Another official sent to September Island is Brigadier General Ayer Nakan, he has been tasked with creating, advising and training a new September Island military. He can’t really do much as of now due to the current situation, for now, he is creating the structure of a new September Island military for when the time comes.

Something is lurking.

The Ministry of Intelligence has picked up on a gathering of KP aligned forces. The Ministry of Military Affairs has been warned about the KP possibly intervening with their cause on September island. The Ministry of Intelligence is keeping an eye on the possible threat as they’re currently trying to figure out if the KP is actually willing to go to war against the Ium? Or they’re just sabre-rattling. As a precaution, the MMA began to transfer one hundred thousand troops from the three hundred thousand strong force from the Zekniyan theatre.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs began to send their diplomats to the KP affiliated states to warn them of the consequences of trying to militarily intervene as the Empire is reconstructing the nation of September Island.

[The Green Union]

Harry Haida, Ekkesburg, Emerstari, February 2036

The sleepy residential street was quiet as Harry’s rental car pulled into the drive. Old oaks which in summer would cast their soft shades now made the cornerposts for many a lawn’s snow fort or company to slouching snowman. Thomes’ family had found their own little slice of bourgeois suburbia.

Scarcely had he made it up the steps that Haida looked up to see the face of a teenage girl; small and brunette, he assumed her to be the one he was supposed to talk to. "Hi! Come on in!" She said as she opened the door waving in a warm and friendly manner.

Haida smiled graciously, if a little surprised at having been anticipated in such a way. “You must be Etschelena”, he said, acting as if he hadn't been perfecting his pronunciation of the Phoenixian name all the way here. “Your cousin has told me many things about you.”

"It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Haida," she curtsied to him as they walked into the parlor. Then a sudden change of expression came as she yelled up the stairs, "Karl!"

"What!?" A voice from the upstairs bathroom yelled down with matching intensity.

"Get down here and fix some tea for our guest!" Her tone somehow just got louder and louder. A boy of about 17 ran down the stairs with no shirt. Harry just sighed to himself. This was going to be one of those assignments.

"How do you do, sir?" Karl rushed past into the kitchen as Etsch and Haida made their seats in the parlor.

“Not so bad.” Haida lied as the youth scurried through, tenderly placing down one of the bags he had brought with him. “Your cousin told me you were running low on milk. I thought I’d make a run.”

"That's very kind of you, now excuse my brother-in-law's poor manners, he just got out of his post-practice shower I believe," the girl let out a small giggle.

The Loyalist waved his hand dismissively. He had seen much worse. “No worry at all.”

"I must ask, however. It's an awful long journey from the Green Union, surely there's some business to be had?" She glanced over into the kitchen and then back into eye contact with him. Clearly this girl was smarter than her ditzy appearance and unkept household might imply

And so Haida leaned forward, reaching into his case. “Unfortunately, yes. Your cousin was hoping I could speak with you about your sister . . .”

A wave of dread and a tinge of malice washed over Etsch's face, "She's evil; a manipulative little—" she sighed heavily, "I shouldn't say such things before knowing what you were going to say."

“It’s okay.” He felt a twang of pain at the fear in her eyes. Having met Greta himself, Harry could scarcely imagine what it must mean to be her sister. “I do need to know how your relationship with her ended.”

"Are you ready for a story?" She quipped with a heavy amount of sarcasm. "About a week before my eighteenth birthday, Friedek—he was murdered in cold blood," tears formed in her eyes, "I don't know why anyone would kill such a kind person, but by the laws of inheritance I was supposed to be crowned as queen. By this point I was totally committed to moving to Emerstari, I had been accepted to Bergland, and had signed my letter of commitment to play softball there. I felt guilty for even thinking of abandoning the throne, but I was determined to live the perfect life with a husband and kids here in Ekkesburg. About a week and half after my birthday I had made my decision, I bought my tickets and packed my stuff. I don’t even cry anymore when I think of handing my mother that paper. She didn't show disappointment like I imagined she would have; she looked at me with pure malice."

Karl walked in with the platter of tea as Etschelena was mentally breaking down, he just looked at Harry and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "I'm sorry, man."

But Etschelena continued, "Not five minutes later, she called Greta in, and not five minutes after that my own sister was ordering me out of the house and out of the country, and I haven't seen her since."

Harry had heard the story before, in press reports and his own briefs and communicated to him by Thomes. But hearing it from Etschelena herself was entirely different. His heart broke a little more with every syllable which left the young woman’s mouth, until he was leaning forward to pay a gentle hand across the table

“I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like.”

"I remember the war, Mr. Haida. I know you can very well imagine, I know you've been through worse than I have."

Harry paused for a moment at that. He hadn’t come here to dig up those old memories, but perhaps she was entitled to it. “There were plenty of friends, coworkers . . . when the country started falling apart, everyone had to do what they thought was best.” He paused, measuring the words. “It may be hard to understand why a dear friend chose the side they did, but it doesn’t make them any less of a human. And now that it’s over, we must focus on rebuilding and healing those divisions. Letting that hate fester will only send us back into that violence.”

"Are you suggesting—that I bury the hatchet?" She sprinkled a pinch of sugar into her tea and prepared to drink it.

“I’m suggesting that what Greta does now is her own business.” Haida picked up his own cup. He didn’t much care for unsweetened tea, but the sugar was all the way across the table and he knew his diplomatic etiquette well enough to not reach for it. “She can’t help your people any more.”

Continuing to sip on her tea, she nodded with a slight bit of uncertainty, "I'm not sure what you're getting at, sir."

The boy poked his head in for a moment, "Hey Etsch, is it alright if my girlfriend comes over, we're just gonna hang out upstairs."

"I don't care," she sighed and looked back at Haida, who was just beginning to speak before the interjection.

“What I am suggesting . . .” He really had to fight back a snide remark at the disaster of this household, “is that your sister is not a queen. She revoked the responsibilities of the crown when she chose vassalage to the Sevevillian empire. The Phoenixian people need a proper queen, someone who can understand the struggles of being exiled from her homeland at the behest of another.”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in the young girl’s brain, "I see what you mean now. I don't think I'm responsible enough to rule a country, Mr. Haida. Maybe after college, but for now I'm just a suburban teenage girl."

Unfortunately, Harry had been expecting this. He smiled thinly, nodding. “I’m not asking you to do anything now. Just . . . think about it.”

"I very much have been, believe me," she jerked her gaze over to the door, where a knock came. Seemingly knowing exactly who it was, she huffed and briskly walked over to the door. Haida heard it open, and heard the girl utter the words in a less than genuine tone, "Hi, Angelina—Yeah—He's upstairs." Etschelena walked back at the same brisk pace, "I hope you can excuse that disturbance."

He couldn’t really, but these children would hopefully get their lives together sooner rather than later. “It’s no trouble.” Then he stands, dusting himself off. “I won’t keep you much longer, but remember that if you need anything at all I’ll do my best.”

"Thank you, Mr. Haida. I do hope that I will be able to talk to you again sometime soon," the girl stood up to start towards the door.

“As do I, Mrs. Mikaelssen.” Harry gave a small, stiff bow before stepping out. “And I hope we will meet under happier circumstances, both for your family . . . and your people.”

OOC: Post made with Phoenixia

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

ANN BREAKING: Arcadian State Department Condemns Iyum in violating SI Sovereignty

Tues: Today the Arcadian State Department has condemned the Empire of Iyum for its illegal occupation of the September Islands and is condemning recent troop movements by the Empire stating "Such provocating moves of military forces undermine any trust for a peaceful resolution to the incident in the SI, a force for national uplift does not need an occupation force for its operations." Arcadian Ambassadors have called an emergency session of the Markion Union's Security Council to discuss proper intervention for the dire situation caused by the Empire of Lyum on the nation of the September Islands. Among those invited to the closed-door meeting is the government in exile.


[align=center]
Baade Kaserne, UCSO
LCPL. Fabi Dünhaupt, B co 2/4IR

He was sitting on duty with only six-hour standing in his way of a day off of work. While he was sitting on his phone waiting for 6am to hit, he heard the door open with the regimental sergeant major walking in with a hoodie and some pajama pants with a bag slung around his back. As he walked in he yelled, "Relax!, where is your NCOIC?" Fabi spoke, "He's in the back napping sergeant major!" The Sergeant major told him to wake up the sergeant. When Fabi came back with the sergeant the sergeant major spoke: "Do you have your go-bags on standby?" The three at the desk responded 'Roger sergeant major" The SGM spoke "good check the news shit might finally pop off." before he walked back into his office. Over the course of the night, more regimental command staff and S shop leadership filed into the building as the early morning went on. Fabi was just sitting there waiting to for proof before he got exited over the possibility of going to war.

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

ANN News High lights: MU Security Council Summit, protests in Altaguay, Ilyum troop movements, folk music charts topped!

Sun.: The Arcadian State Department has announced a Markion Union Security Council summit in the coming weeks to decide a course of actions over the Ilyum Empire's illegal occupation of the September Islands, the SI government in exile has also been invited to this summit and security for the meeting in the Kingdom of Alluscia is already being gathered by the Alluscian 1st King's Rifle Regiment. As of now the Markion Union is awaiting Kamokoo Pact Security Council member's confirmation of attendance before the meeting will be finished planning.

In other News, protests have begun in the state capital of Altaguay over independence from the Arcadian Federation, as of now the Arcadian speaker of the house Marc-Antoine Bouthillier has expressed the importance of the situation. Speaker Bouthiller has stated that the Altaguayan representatives are currently drafting a bill to allow the vote for independence in the newest Arcadian state. Nationalist elements within the congress of nations have decried this as pro-Sevevillian sentiment while representatives from the Progressive Republican Party have said the vote is fundamental for the freedoms of the Arcadian citizens in Altaguay.

In the last few days Arcadian intelligence services have discovered troop movments in the Ilyum Markion colony moving on Xexnia and the September Islands.

In lighter domestic news folk singer Ian Baar has topped the charts with his hit single 'Bird of Passage' beating out Chloé Piaget's 'Never be ourselves' spurring both artists t reclaim the top spot in Allgen the folk music capital of Markion.

[Christbol]

When a small colonial nation under Emerstari rule declared it's independence like many other colonial possessions in the 20th century, few imagined it's efforts would bare fruit. Fewer still imagined it would achieve it without (mostly) firing a single shot, through peaceful, diplomatic separation.
Thrilled with their success, the makeshift colonial rebellion quickly formed into a proper democratic and secular state, called Suratusuna, with even a small economic miracle to help foster it's identity as an independent nation in the eyes of regional behemoths. Pioneering in local business through a strong shipbuilding, food and pharmaceuticals industry, it slowly rose to the rank of something akin to a minor power, becoming famous as the fourth, sometimes even third largest shipbuilding industry by tonnage, one of the largest local suppliers of Maize and Coffee, as well as the historically first nation on the subcontinent to independently mass produce it's own medicine and alcoholic beverages over relying on imports.

With the days of external threats behind it however, came the days of internal threats.

As egalitarian as the country may have presented itself on the world stage, old Emerstari social structures and divisions did not allow for the theory's application into practice. In more colonial times, the colony took great strides to accommodate exiled Catholics to build up Emerstari's colonial possessions, particularly after issues created out of Catholic religious repression and their fading struggle against the Protestant reformation. Despite this sudden and overwhelming number of Catholic settlers, the colonial administration never saw fit to lift it's religious intolerance of heretics, or even give greater representation to Catholics in how the colony is run. For the majority of it's history, the colony's assembly held only one or two Catholic representatives at a time compared to it's twenty eight Protestants, it's colonial forces having only one Catholic general compared to the fifty Protestants, and the position of colonial governor was never held by a single Catholic in it's history. Much of this religious injustice could be seen even after the end of the country's colonial era; the parliament only contained up to four Catholic representatives at a time as opposed to the now seventy six Protestants, the general staff losing it's one Catholic general, now being dominated solely by Protestants, and the position of colonial governor, now the President, was unofficially barred from campaigning for under a pro-Catholic outlook, due to increasing threats of the Siniset Paidat, also known as the Blue Shirts, which was an unrecognized Protestant paramilitary group funded by the state's Protestant elite, working under the interest of curbing and controlling Catholic unrest. Secularism was pioneered under pressure from the Catholic majority, but for the next twenty years it would only serve to, under great denial from the democratic government, cover wool over Catholics eyes. In reality, the separation of Church and State in the entire country was as enforced as the legal drinking age.

Aside from the rampant religious struggle, an extremely dominant issue was the matter of ethnicity and the Somralinen language problem. The colony, and later the government, was largely founded by Emerstari, however most of the Catholic exiles arriving into the land were Somralinians, a cultural minority ethnically separate from Emerstarians which may or may not be similar to the Finnish and they spoke Somralinen, which shares almost no linguistic similarities to Emerstarian, the official language of Suratusuna. Since unifying the two languages was out of the question due to their numerous grammatical differences, Suratusunan parliament went on to declare the country a bilingual nation, having both Emerstarian and Somralinen as the official languages. This, in a twist that spelled further cultural disaster and civil divide against the government, manufactured new backfire on solutions to already present problems, most notably that Somralinen was not spoken in the government or in it's institutions despite the fact that only about 15-20% of the population wasn't ethnically Somralinian. While being Somralinian wasn't grounds for political repression itself, the matter of Catholic religious repression more than made up for it's lackthereof, as being Catholic would, with extreme prejudice, indirectly disqualify most Somralinians from positions of power in state institutions. While most were not initially bothered by this state of affairs, within the next few decades Somralinian citizens found it disfavorable to increasing extents, especially as the population census began sharply increasing towards an even larger Somralinian majority.

As the 1920s and 1930s passed, the 1940s saw cultural and religious clash go from warming to boiling. The Siniset Paidat, now nearly as well funded as a private army, under leadership of Aatami Grokolus, in an effort to "take back control from the rowdy Somralinian revolutionaries", which Aatami never makes mention of by name or organization, set off to organize a march on the parliament in Weltholm. Within one day in 1950, the Emerstari politicians caved into Aatami's demands of seizing power, unknown to the general population that it was nearly half the parliament that has been funding his paramilitary for decades. In what can only be described as an insane twist of irony, Aatami's patrons ended the same corrupt democracy they attempted to preserve through Aatami.

What came from the new regime, however, wasn't exactly that much better: further suppression of Catholics, curtailing of political freedoms and often times the same well documented genealogy the Emerstari prouded themselves on was used to justify the execution of absolutely anyone Aatami found disagreements with. Entire Somralinian Catholic villages would often simply vanish, either to unforeseen weather events or natural disasters when nobody could prove the Siniset Paidat's involvement, or to "religious reeducation camps" when they could. Shortly after, those who could prove it would almost always find themselves in these reeducation camps as well.

With Catholics experiencing the worst religious persecution since the Emerstari Protestant clashes of the 1500s and with the Siniset Paidat's very own Aatami assigning himself the title of Beskydarre, or Protector, it appears that the imperfect, but ultimately livable melting pot of Suratusuna came to an abrupt dark age, perhaps even forever.

Until the will of a single man changed it all.

One April day of 1954, as one of the Siniset Paidat's prominent Commissars is returning home from his assigned duties earlier than usual, to a street almost entirely populated by his compatriots and gifted to them by their generous Beskydarre, he is shocked to find his wife nailed to a cross on only one arm, multiple knives pinning through her stomach to better support her frame on the cross. Her children , a 20 year old daughter and a 15 year old son are both joined with her in the form of severed heads hanging off a rope on the other hand of the cross, the bodies being disposed on the outdoor pool, bought for using the blood money extorted from religious persecution. All three heads have mouths wide open, with what appears to be some sort of flyers shoved inside them.

After recovering from the sense of shock and disbelief, the Commissar began throwing up. After several years of relative peace where the worst threat to the might of Siniset Paidat's superior military and political power was the average disarmed home Catholic (as most of the Catholic churches have since been torn down), the lack of brutality in his recent career has rendered him weak to the image of his entire family dying. The truth is, this would have hit any person exceptionally hard, but aside from the blood the only thing one could see on the floor from the Commissars visceral reaction was bile. Soon after, in what cannot be described as a fit of anger or a fit of sadness, but more rather a blend of the two, the Commissar went on to take the flyer out of his dead wife, ready to utilize every resource in the Siniset Paidat's disposal in hunting down the animal... no, the thing that that covered his most sacred and happiest place in such a dense and desolate atmosphere.

Upon pulling out the flyer, he could only make out what appeared to be a hammer and sickle, with a large cross right in the middle supporting the two on a red background, before the string attached to the flyer pulls the pin on the grenade lodged deep within his wife's throat, detonating it and, along the other grenades shoved down the heads of his other family members, reduces him, the flyer, the cross, the corpse and heads, as well as roughly a quarter of the house into a pile of ashes and debris. The Commissars car alarm goes off outside, and so does every other car alarm.

The rest of the neighborhood does not react for they all share the same fate as well.

From 1954 to 1955, barely 5 years after their takeover, this event nicknamed the Omvänderensningen (Reversepurge) fired up a period of intense inner turmoil for the government of the Siniset Paidat. Widespread factionalism superimposed by waves of paranoia revolving around a year of untraceable but brutal political assassinations was simply too much for the inexperienced and overextended fascist administration to bare. Soon enough, individual towns declared their autonomy from the self imploding junta, with many Blue Shirts splitting away from the group, either out of fear for their lives or refusal to shoot at their own rioting countrymen.

As the country descends into chaos, and as the Somralinian Catholic population begins rising up in army, one term keeps coming up into every conversation;

"Kristillinen Sosialistinen"

As if appearing out of thin air; posters, propaganda, pamphlets, flyers, songs and, most important in a civil war, soldiers all brandishing the mark of a hammer, sickle and a cross supporting both start appearing in various cities, villages, towns, bars, Protestant church doors, universities, everything. Like a force of nature it takes up influence where any sort of working class or Catholic faith can be found, and like a fortress that no army can take and that no storm could blow away, it plants it's roots deep into every aspect of the old Suratusuni state that the Siniset Paidat have been trying like a tumor to spread over and take away. It may have advertised itself as a revolution, but to most of the people in Suratusuni, it was seen as a liberation. An opportunity even, to take back what was the people's that the Blue Shirts so senselessly took away.

But where did this movement come from? Who made it? The last few years it's been completely illegal in the state to make whispers of leftist thought, nevermind create something that takes the country by storm in it within the span of a year.

To understand how Christian Bolshevism came to be, one must first understand what could be called it's founder, a man who goes by the name of Saamo Hakka.

Terrorist, writer, murderer, revolutionary, lunatic, Catholic, artist, butcher, minister and a leader. Just a few of many nouns thrown at Saamo Hakka, the founder of the Kristillinen Sosialisti Party of Suratusuna to describe him. A man who is almost single handedly responsible for the rise of the ChristBol State as a regional power is also one who has a title as unnerving as the Butcher of Weltholm among more Protestant circles. A man who wrote the founding literature for Christian Socialism; works like "Christian Bolshevism: Pax Ideologiae","The Socialist Who Cried Out For God" and "The Failure of the Left". Once a libertarian oriented socialist, he has since rejected the ideas of libertarian socialism in order to pursue an ideology he could better believe in: Christian Bolshevism. But what drives a poor, farmers son from a remote village in Somralinia to the position of one of the most feared and respected leaders on an entire subcontinent? What drives a man to maim, kill and burn his way into creating a modern socialist force that commands such respect?

Saamo Hakka was born on January 8th, 1905, in the small underdeveloped village of Seiko, one of many such once populated Somralinian villages held by the Emerstari. Somralinians were never rowdy subjects, more so than not after some adjustments to Emerstari lifestyle, many of them would simply assimilate into Emerstari culture and be written off as Emerstari. Saamo's parents always pushed him to go to "wherever there's bread" in the very brief childhood that he had. To succeed as a Somralinian at the time in all practical terms meant to go work in Emerstarian lands, which is exactly what Saamo did. Shortly after finishing his elementary schooling, Saamo was enrolled by his father into a prestigious private school in Emerstari, focusing primarily on engineering. His father took on quite a large debt in order to enroll him in both a private school and a university, however before he could repay it, harsh and unforgiving Spring weather conditions a year before Saamo's return from private schooling found Saamo arriving to an abandoned village, his parents and most of his childhood friends having died long ago from malnourishment, with Emerstari help having arrived too late due to poor infrastructure connections. With Saamo's father and mother being dead, the debt ultimately fell upon Saamo himself, who at that point in time was well on his third year attending a university, having made a circle of friends within several groups of students, secretly dabbling in banned socialist literature unknown to the university, as well as often participating in open campus brawls between the university's rival populist wing along his new best friends. This influenced Saamo to become a socialist, even if he did not agree with the ideology's strictly anti-religious views.

Like almost every Somralinian village however, Saamo's was fervently Catholic, and the bank that handled his fathers loan was located in Emerstari, which by then had already become a beacon of Protestantism. Despite the fact that the religious conflicts of old were already long over, the arbitrary persecution of what one side deemed heresy over itself was not. When Saamo's father applied for the loan in Emerstari, he had written the document elaborating him as a Protestant, so when Saamo sat down at one of the bank's many offices and proof read the original document before finally paying off the debt gained from his family inheritence, Saamo brought up the fact that his father made an "accident" writing and signing the legal papers, pointing out that "In my village not one of us was a Protestant.". The Bank manager, at the time a much much more religious man than Saamo was for most of his life, declared he would inflate the debt, as the bank in question only dealt with Protestant clients, and that dealing with Catholic clients incurred an extra "Heresy fee".

Not long after, Saamo was faced with a debt he could not possibly repay, with an interest rate significantly scaled over what his father was originally paying, and on top of that a university fee he also couldn't afford anymore. Unlike most other Somralinian's choice to migrate out of poor religious tolerance, Saamo's reasoning was purely a matter of basic economics: he could either leave the country and become an Emerstari colonist, which Emerstarian or not granted certain encouragement such as debt annulment, or stay and possibly contribute to the growing list of suicide statistics that happen to resonate with citizens in debt to the Emerstari banking sector. Feeling angry and defeated over losing his hometown, his academic pursuits and his possibility at a better life than his parents in Emerstari, Saamo promises himself that he will never forgive what the Emerstari did to him on the grounds of his religion, or at least that's what would've happened if not for one factor he could not have accounted for: love.

Within the first few years of settling into his Emerstari colonial possession of choice, which by now was a year away from declaring independence, he met the love of his life: Emilia. Emilia was everything Saamo loathed about the Emerstari before he left: a daughter of a banker, Protestant, and Emerstari... yet at the same time, everything he could possibly love about a woman he saw in her, and she more than returned the same feelings for him. Eventually, against her fathers wishes and at the threat of losing her inheritance, they decided to marry. Saamo was at peace from his hostile relations with Protestants, and for a while, things were looking up for him; he got a job in the country's own Suratusunan Logistics Office with several promotions following, Emilia's father reluctantly decided to not deny Emilia her inheritance, which was later used to purchase a lovely house on top of a hill which Saamo could finally say had running hot water unlike every other housing he had been living in and finally Emilia became pregnant multiple times, giving Saamo a son and two daughters. After some time, even Saamo's deep socialist radicalization developed through years of university life was leaving him.

This all changed one hot Summer day when Suratusuna's very own Siniset Paidat's came knocking on his door in 1941.

They knocked on the door, stating that some "concerned citizen" in the Suratusunan Logistics Office, reported a Catholic coworker, and it just so happens that the Catholic coworker is doing very well for himself. To "guarantee the continued development of vital Suratusurian assets", the Blue Shirts proceeded to quote the need for Saamo's family to sign a so called Catholic tax, which would, in theory, go towards upgrading Suratusunan infrastructure, when in reality it would usually just go towards buying the Blue Shirts new rifles or expensive imported liquor. While Saamo was often a clear minded and collected leader in his later years, Saamo in his youth was famous for attempting to punch back well over his own weight, the Siniset Paidat being no exception: either out of some sense of fake invincibility developed from being a young man, or from some sort of subconscious and sudden throwback to his own socialist, radicalized youth fighting reactionaries such as the Blue Shirts in his academic years, Saamo is famously quoted of saying "Mina vettum" or "Go fuck yourself" and locked the door on them. For every single Blue Shirt in front of Saamo's door at that given moment, it would be the first time for all three of them to hear the words "Go fuck yourself" coming from a defenseless Catholic citizen.

Emilia shortly after approaches Saamo at the door, holding their ten month old daughter, Ada, in her hands - "Who was at the door honey?" - she would ask him.

Not a few second later, before he could even reply to his wife, Saamo's house was sprayed in submachine gun fire from Siniset Paidat paramilitaries, immediately getting a shot into Saamo's thigh, grazing his arm and his shoulder. Many of the stray bullets intended for Saamo going through the door then proceed to hit and kill his wife, who in return drops their youngest daughter on the ground, landing on her head and cracking her skull. The shooting stops a few seconds later, only to continue with a new batch of fresh magazines, shooting through the rest of the front facade, killing his five year old only son who had woken up in his room due to the gunshots. All the Blue Shirts present at the shooting flee immediately as Saamo and the rest of his family slowly bleeds to death in their own household. Saamo himself would've also died with them, if not for his oldest child, his 11 year old daughter Jajaana, who under Saamo's instructions runs a kilometer away into town seeking help.

Later, in 1958, two of the three men present at the shooting of Saamo's family in 1941 faced trial for the political executions of countless Catholics along many other noteworthy Blue Shirts.

The third died in April 1954. Aatami Grokolus wasn't tried, he was crushed underneath tank tracks in 1958, a month before the end of the civil war.

May 19th 1958 was the day Christian Bolsheviks won their three year long struggle in the civil war. Three years of grueling guerilla warfare, covert strikes, urban assaults and arid open warfare in the country's largely sub-Saharan climate ultimately bore fruit as the Catholic socialists won, the reactionaries were quelled and the country's Protestant minorities either exiled, "relocated" or converted. After the Somralinians finished emptying out every single bar, store and household of alcohol, much has changed: the Christbol State was founded with Saamo declared the Earthly Voice of Jesus; ChristBol's leader for life. Initial years of the regime showed reactionary resistance, but ultimately proved to be a great success for the developing and recovering country. With a happy population, a largely purged political opposition and the complete exile of all religious minorities, Saamo died peacefully with his 38 year old daughter Jajaana, her husband Jüri and their two children by his side in 1968. Even though Jajaana was offered to continue the Christian Socialist party's leadership by the Holy Assembly following Saamo's death in 1968, Jajaana refused, stating that her father did not want political involvement in her life, and continued raising her family in peace with her husband. Jüri on the other hand, was very politically involved, being pushed to a position as far as Assistant War Minister, however on Jajaana's demand chose not to groom their children into "Vanguards of my fathers revolution" as Jajaana would put it, and for the most part, Jüri listened to his wife's wishes, not influencing their son or their daughter.

Their daughter, Ursa Annor, despite this promise by Jüri took on a career in politics, and through a combination of reformist outlooks and ChristBol-wide popularity thanks to genetic lineage, secured a position as Earthly Voice following the next ones death in 1988. At the age of 32, she became the most powerful woman in the ChristBol state and spent the large majority of the 90s and 2000s liberalizing the politics of the Christian Socialist party, but retaining the party's strictly pro-Catholic view, even going as far to further expand upon it stating that "The greatest vanguard of (Saamo's) revolution is Catholicism. It has always been there for ChristBol, it's people, and it's destiny." and reopening long since demolished Catholic churches who stood against the Blue Shirts in the country's darkest hour.

But few of these facts really matter to the ChristBol State these days outside of the country's history courses. Today, what matters is Toukofest, the annual alcoholic beverage event taking place every May in honor of Christian Socialism's victory over the reactionaries.

"Jüri Annor is not a man, he is a machine that runs off of alcohol!" is a common fact to hear watching ChristBol's Earthly Voice participate in Toukofests regular drinking competitions. Somebody who takes after his grandfather, Jüri was often branded a delinquent at a young age: a common joke among his old friends was that he would never get drunk, and not because of lack of trying. Weltholm was always his home and Weltholm will always be the alcohol capital of the entire subcontinent, hopefully even the world at some point, hence, it's leader should be nothing short of the leader in Markion that can best handle their drink.

Shortly after drinking a biology defying amount of the very best booze ChristBol has to offer, from the famous national drink Somralinian Rakkii to local experiments manufactured more recently thanks to the liberalization efforts of his mother Ursa in implementing market socialist oriented business policies, Jüri stands up onto the main stage, immediately losing this aura of easiness that used to surround him not moments ago drinking when all everybody around him could say was "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" in unison, what came up to speak at the microphone wasn't something people would refer to a delinquent or an alcoholic but a proper, charismatic and a disciplined head of state who stood and sounded larger than life.

"Good day ChristBol!" - the crowd immediately bursts into cheer - "I'd like to welcome you all to the 78th annual Toukofest!" - the crowd cheers again, this time those with alcohol in their hands raising their glasses, tankards or shot glasses - "On this faithful day of remembrance, I'd like to speak about our great heroes of the civil war..." - he pauses for a second and the young man in him comes out - "...especially the ones who made national headlines over drinking the entire country dry, I'll forever be envious our generation isn't the one who got that done first." - the crowd takes a few moments to chuckle, many of the people in the crowd were from Jüri's generation, people who, unlike the times of Jüri's great grandfather and grandpa, wouldn't take a politicians sudden breaking of momentous occasion with jest as harshly. After all, this was Toukofest; if seriousness was preferred they would have gone to the recently opened art exhibit in the postcardey Old Town in the city center of Weltholm, which the Earthly Voice visited before arriving to Toukofest this afternoon.

Jüri makes another pause - "...But back to more serious topics, I am truly grateful for the warriors of that civil war, especially my great grandfather, Saamo Hakka." - he turns his sight towards the sky above the crowd, less so because he was metaphorically looking at Heaven and more so because he found himself deep in thought over what next to say - "My great grandpa, your great grandfathers, your grandfathers, all our comrades fighting in the Revolution, they gave their lives away for something they believed in. They stood as a bulwark for what they believed in facing off against the country's darkest hour... and they showed that even the darkest hour only has sixty minutes, along with forever proving faith in the word of God and Jesus Christ a very unlikely, but loyal vanguard of the Revolution." - he pauses again, looking at the crowd before turning to an unbranded bottle of what appeared to be Somralinian Rakkii, standing on the only table on the stage behind him, taking it and pouring a shot glass full of it before turning back to the crowd - "This Rakkii dates to 1940. It's probably not Rakkii anymore, in fact I'm not sure if I should be drinking it at all due to health risks... but it belonged to Saamo and I think that somewhere up there in Heaven he'll be glad to know such a good bottle of alcohol has outlasted every single reactionary in Christbol..." - after a short pause looking at the crowd he raises his glass - "To the Revolution, to the comrades who secured it, to the Holy Church and to ChristBol!" - as he takes the shot, the crowd cheers once more, raising their glasses and drinking with him before he puts the empty shot glass down - "And finally, I have one more announcement." - everyone turns away once more from their drinks - "This years Toukofest is going to be the first one open to the world outside ChristBol. Very soon, you will all get to experience more international drinks for the very first time. Thank you for your attention and patience and enjoy the the rest of the festival, as always, it is going to be on all week long." - with one last cheer, he gets off the podium and back into the crowds, accepting handshakes, pats on the back, requests for autographs and vice versa.

By the end of the day, many ChristBolian embassies received invitations to Toukofest for distribution to their diplomatic partners, they read as follows:

THE KINGDOM OF CHRISTBOL CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO
THE 78TH ANNUAL TOUKOFEST DRINKING FESTIVAL
ORGANIZED ON BEHALF OF THE MEMORY OF THOSE WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES AND FOUGHT FOR THE DREAM OF CHRISTIAN SOCIALISM

WORKERS OF THE WORLD WELCOME,
THE FAITHFUL OF THE WORLD WELCOME,
DIPLOMATIC PARTNERS OF CHRISTBOL WELCOME.

THIS FESTIVAL, CHRISTBOL WILL TREAT YOU AS THEIR OWN.

MAY 19TH - MAY 24TH 2036, WELTHOLM

[Phoenxia]

Fédération Lutte de Markion headquarters, Allusica

The gavel slammed as the decision was made for the location of the 117th annual Senior Regional Championships. "It is with my honor that I proclaim the location for the 2036 FLM Senior Championships is Sadera, Yulmata," Chairman Aleksandrov held up the signed document and smiled ceremoniously. "Now a statement from the chair of the Yulmatan Wrestling Federation, Chairwoman Lina Mendoni."

In that moment shortly after the chairman’s words, the hall’s muffled and respectful silence that had hovered over it like some invisible force was momentarily filled by a storm of applause at the announcement. Among them being the members of the Yulmatan Wrestling Federation in the flesh as they stood up from the edge of their seats, many of them with humbling expressions - it was long time coming thanks to the efforts of their colleagues at the Ministry of Sport and the lofty efforts of their sportsmen who tallied numerous medals over the decades in numerous championships. 

Like everyone, the Yulmatan delegation took their seats again as the round of applause had died down and the atmosphere of that disciplined silence and subdued conversations in hushed tones returned. 

A person from among the group, the one who had been mentioned earlier in the Chairman’s announcement adjusted her microphone. Like most in her contoire of a delegation that she headed, Lina Doni was of tanned complexion, with athletic slender physique and smooth, straight raven hair, the only catch to her beauty being lightly cauliflowered ears from years past of wrestling - common physical characteristics found in a majority of her people, the latter feature being almost exclusive to the wrestlers.

‘’On behalf of Her Majesty and the people of Yulmata. We are honored and humbled by the decision of the committee to have selected our country as the avenue for the hosting of the next Markion Championship. We accept the motion of the Committee.’’ Lina said with a dignified and graceful tone. 

Later, several notable wrestlers of Markion made statements on the matter. Three time FLM Junior Champion and four time Phoenixian National Collegiate Champion, Nikolaj Sirinški had this to say, "Man, I won my cadet gold there, and my second junior gold there. Let's see if my luck in Sadera doesn't run out, it's such a magical place for me."

John “Blowfish” Blofis, armoured wrestling champion from Placeoderms who has been expanding into Greco-Roman unarmoured, was excited at the opportunity to compete out of region. “My usual sports are so local. This will be a unique experience.”

(This was a big old family joint post c:)

[Emerstari]

When a small colonial nation under Emerstari rule declared it's independence like many other colonial possessions in the 20th century, few imagined it's efforts would bare fruit. Fewer still imagined it would achieve it without (mostly) firing a single shot, through peaceful, diplomatic separation...

Hrenshåll Palace, Hrenshåll, Emerstari

10:03 AM

“Let us be adjourned,” said Erik. He quickly withdrew from the room in which the Privy Council had convened, and as he headed elsewhere, an attendant from the Board of Foreign Affairs met him in the hall, even in the midst of the crowd, and said, “Good morning, Your Majesty. I should hope you're doing well,” to which the King responded, “I am indeed, and hopefully you are as well. But what’s the matter?”

“The good Mr. Karlsbruk,” the attendant answered, handing Erik a note. “He’s requested your presence, and he’s also requested that the matter be kept quiet for the time being.”

Reading the note, which was from the very hand of the aforementioned Karlsbruk, Erik said, “He’s right. I should think that’s for the best as it is. Tell Karlsbruk I’ll see him in my study as soon as he’s free and able.”

“I’ll tell him,” the attendant replied, and off he headed — down the hallway to go.

10:19 AM

“Pål,” announced the King, shutting a Bible on his desk, “you requested I see you.”

Pål answered, “I did indeed.” That is, Pål Karlsbruk, the President of the Board of Foreign Affairs. He rested in a chair opposite of Erik and began to expound upon that which was written in his note, saying, “The Bolsheviks are celebrating their revolution. It’s the annual celebration, and, at that, the first one to be open to all — not shut away anymore, I mean. Take this as you will, Erik, but in my judgement, it would be best for us to put on a show of charity.”

“I suppose…” the King returned, speaking ever so slowly. He considered Karlsbruk’s words most diligently and most carefully, but at the same time, he was most astounded and most bemused. He asked, “But how are we to show charity to a nation, the name of which we even refuse to say, Pål? We say it’s blasphemous, don’t we? If nothing else, I’m sure they don’t take that as too charitable. What is it you suggest?”

“You’re right,” replied Karlsbruk, “but of unbelievers what do the Apostles say — Paul and Peter? If our theologians do them no good, perhaps our conduct will soften their hearts. Let us love them as we ourselves have been loved, Erik.”

Pål leaned forth, meeting Erik in the middle — in the space between their chairs — and he handed him a file of papers, which at large concerned Saamo Hakka, the founder of Christbol, and his time in Emerstari and his standing debts. “Forgive his debts,” said Karlsbruk, “as yours have been forgiven. That will be our charity.”

“But what forgiveness have they sought?” Erik asked. “Forgive my brashness, Pål, but Hakka’s legacy is one of idolatry and heresy and all else. His debts are not to me nor to my fathers, but to God.”

With a glare the diplomat eyed the King and pointed to the file he’d handed him. “Read them, Erik,” he said. “Of all his debts, at least one is indeed to you. Forgive it, if you will. For you know very well the verses to which I refer. If you won’t forgive it, so be it, but the fault will be upon you, my friend. You should forgive it, I think, and you ought to send someone to attend the event — you and Thomes both, perhaps. Perhaps you both should send someone. They’re a neighbor, aren’t they? Or would you rather they be an enemy? Or indeed become one — an enemy. You know well enough the troubles Køphæfven’s had with Kaltura. Now don’t bring them the same with the Bolsheviks.”

Erik sighed, and letting out a deep breath, he said, “Then so be it. I’ll forgive it, and I’ll write something of it, and I’ll send someone. You’ll have to talk with Thomes yourself, though.”

“Then so be it,” quipped Karlsbruk. “I’ll talk to Thomes, but you must let me read whatever you write before you put it out.”

“So be it,” said Erik.

From the Desk of the King:

Beloved, for a time far too long a wall has stood between the earth and the sea, and the earth has supported it, and against it the sea has reared and roared — as a wild horse with a boy of the city. The earth, hearing the churning of the sea, built the wall even higher, so the sea, seeing the levee of the earth, howled even higher, as it is wont to do when the sun and the moon and the stars are blocked. Then can it be blamed? For such is its natural inclination.

But on its own it has settled, flowing now as a dove in the open skies, even as the earth hides still. The wind is no more, and the seas are calm. Why, then, does the earth hide its face? Is it not among the sea? It is. Then what good is a wall? A wall blocks the light, and it halts growth. Even algae needs sun, does it not? And a wall blocks the water from coming upon the land, and bringing with it all its goodness.

Therefore, let this wall be torn down, and let it stand no more. Let its scraps be put to something even remotely useful. This wall is a debt — the debt of Saamo Hakka, that is. Of what use is it? None. It is a wedge between us and them, even between the Emerstarians and the Somralinians. Therefore, let it be forgiven, and let it bind no more. Let its shreds be put to something even remotely useful. Reconciliation, perhaps? Our nations need not stand in opposition to one another. Are we not among one another? Are we not neighbors? What does it profit us to fight? Nothing. Rather, in fact, it is a loss. Let us love each other as we ourselves have been loved, no?

Forgive me if it is audacious of me to pronounce forgiveness for a debt so old, but see it as more than a debt, I implore you. As the debt is forgiven, see all hostilities put to an end. Or, at least, as we rip the first shred of the paper, let the first hostility be put to an end. In this it is my earnest hope that our two nations recognize our pasts and see our differences, but brush these aside and live among one another in peace. Did Israel and Esau not reconcile in their old age, when the one had stolen the other’s birthright so long before? Let us be as them and live as sons of God.

I should also be glad to send a representative to Toukofest, so as to make manifest my wishes of goodwill between us, and hopefully you, my friends, share these wishes. May the grace and peace of the Lord be with you all. And as a light, may His word shine upon the darkness in your midst and mine, and cast it away as the sun does a shadow. Amen.

[Iyum]

BREAKING NEWS

In the Imperial Parliament, provincial representatives, solons(the Tyrian equivalent to a senator) and representatives of Tyria’s holdings have voted all in favour of uniting together as one nation-state. As we can see here from the Imperial Parliament, the Prime Minister of the new Iumic Imperial Domain is making a speech after the voting session.

“Today, is the day, that we consider ourselves under one nation, one family, one banner. Today is the day that we consider ourselves not just Tyrmans, Uskons, Savonens and so forth, but as Iumians, as in honour of our ancestors who fought to unite themselves under one nation.”
- Prime Minister Damari Ushon

[Sevevill]

The Seve City Times

Imperial Seveillian Government Puts Pressure on GMAN to Militarize

Today the Imperial Seveillian Representative Genor Egar presented his push for the Militarization of GMAN. He says this would allow a better control over the region since GMAN already has a presence in almost every country in Markion and would be the most fit to become a future discussion grounds for the region.

"The reason I bring this to your attention today is because we need some changes in the region. Since the collapse of CMEP Markion has been left with a major disconnect with no safe discussion place to talk it out amongst each other. GMAN in my eyes and in the empires eyes is the only place that would truly be able to do that, the KP has proven themselves biased and incapable and the MU is totally inept due to their lack of member nations but due to their bias to the Arcadian Federations whims. Not just Sevevill but Markion needs a place for People to bring their concerns to a global stage... for nations to settle disagreements in a safe orderly fashion... And I say this not just to you but the other nations of Markion war is not the answer to our problems... discussion is, and GMAN is in the position to do this with control over one of the major trade lanes of Markion and over most of her economy. Take control, bring all of this hopelessness to a end." -Genor Egar in a video message to the heads of GMAN

The proposal sites a re-construction of a group of unified forces to conduct effective peacekeeping and aid missions in conflict areas both regionally and abroad. A new group of representatives who would be able to settle regional disputes in s bid to stop this division of Markion.

[Phoenxia]

Erk
March 7th, 2036

The Mikaelssens walked towards the jetway door as their boarding group was called. Etsch, being the most experienced flyer by far, led the way.

"How long is the flight from here, Etsch?" Erika struggled her bags up to the gate, just behind her figurative big sister in a fashion that had been seen many times before.

"To Seve City it's around 30 hours, it's about 10 to Vietschen from Seve City," she scanned her ticket and walked down the jetway at a brisk enough pace. As they queued up at the door to the absolutely massive inter-regional liner. 

Erika hesitated to board for a moment, but was motivated again by Etschelena's kind words: "Come on, adventure awaits."

Together as a family they shared two suites and a twin bunk; Rudolf and Karlotte, Etschelena and Ulrik, Karl and Erika. Inter-regional flights always excited Etsch, they were always like one big cruise ship in the sky.

[Phoenxia]

Ekkesburg, Easter 2053

Zina put the finishing touches on her makeup within the confines of the upstairs bathroom that she shared with Lars. It had its ups and downs with them both becoming teenagers.

"Zina, honey! Grandma and Grandpa are expecting us soon!" Her mom knocked on the door unapologetically, in usual fashion.

"I'll be right out," she popped her lips and opened the door. It looked like her mother had just finished her makeup too.

"Män Godt, Zinaita. You grow to be more of a beautiful young woman every year," her mother took her hand gingerly as they walked down the stairs together.

Ulrik exclaimed in wonder as they reached the bottom, "Look at the Mikaelssen women. Etsch, you're more beautiful than the day I met you. Now, let's not leave Grandma and Grandpa waiting."

As a family they uniformly walked out the door and took their seats in the car. Driving down the road, Etschelena had hit a wave of nostalgia, going down this road many times in Easters past whether going one way to Rudolf and Karlotte's, or going the other way to the Ducal Estate. The first time to the Ducal Estate for Easter, Lars was but four months old, but where they went depended on the year.

Zina on the other hand was plenty excited to see her Aunt Erika, who she hadn't seen in over a year. They would always talk about volleyball, of which Zinaita's mother never played in high school.

The same old music that Etschelena and Ulrik had played in this very same sedan when they were teenagers continued to play. A lot of Etschelena's music was reaching the mark of 60 years old. At this certain point, she hadn't really bothered to teach the kids Phoenixian, and she only ever really conversed in the language with Ulrik's Ønstader grandmother for the past ten or twelve years or so.

In the driveway were several cars. One of Erika's family, one of Karl's family, and Rudolf's ever aging truck.

The house was already packed by the time they came in. Erika and Karl were catching up in the dining room, Lars the Elder sat alongside Eilina as they conversed with Rudolf and Karlotte, and then the 4th generation of cousins from the ages of 7 to 16 sat in the living room playing cards or otherwise.

Lars began showing off his Phoenixian FLM card that he had received in the mail a couple weeks prior so that he could qualify for their Junior National Team. Uncle Karl came up behind him and playfully grabbed a loose chokehold, "Do you even know Phoenixian, big man?"

"No, I'll get my mom to teach me though," Lars got up, with Karl grinning behind him, and walked to the Kitchen where Mom, Dad, and Aunt Erika were still talking. "Mom, can you start teaching me Phoenixian? Before we go for Junior National Team Trials?"

"In due time, honey. There's just stuff that I need to clear up first." Etschelena put her hand on her son's shoulder and stroked with her thumb.

He got really quiet, "You've been saying that for years. What is there to clear up?"

"There's a lot you and your sister don't know about my family, Lars. There's a reason that I haven't been back since the summer that I was pregnant with you, but now is not the time," she lowered her voice as if to talk to a child, even though it was her teenage son. But the scene had been made, everyone was looking over.

"Like what, mom? Why don't you just tell me now? It's not like you've kept any grasp of truth from me for sixteen years or anything like that," he raised his tone slightly, but it was tinged with frustration.

"I'm sorry, Lars. We'll talk about it on the way home, but we have family here, and let's enjoy their company," Etsch sternly postured to her son, "Now apologize to everyone for making a scene."

"I'm sorry, everyone," he scoffed and barged outside, past his sister and cousins.

Zina went up to her Mom and Dad, emerging from the small crowd, "What was that about?"

"Lars is angry with your mother right now. It's about Phoenixia," Ulrik spoke for Etschelena, who was holding back tears, and couldn't really even speak.

She didn't even really know what her father was talking about. She knew her mother fled Phoenixia three years before she was born, and she knew that she didn't get along with her family there, but one thing Zina didn't know is why Lars would be angry. And so, she nodded her head, and hugged Etschelena tightly.

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

ANN Breaking Story: Altaguay is one again Independent!

Pictured above is former Altaguayan vice president Pau Sabaté, and now former Arcadian state governor has been elected interim president of the Republic of Altaguay. Three days ago in a closed-door session of congress in Casatolo, the Congress of Nations authorized the altaguayan backed bill to introduce an independence referendum in the state which passed by a 3% margin. When news broke poll booths across Altaguay opened with an independence vote that passed by a 15% majority amongst the people and almost unanimously in the state congress. Chancellor Beaulne who will be up for reelection in a few months has promised that the Arcadian garrison of Parliamentary Marines will be leaving the nation with a 6-month time frame and handing over all local military installations. Both governments have reached a defense agreement in which the Arcadian Federation will defend the small once again independent republic in the event of a hostile attack as the September Island crisis sparked fears within the Altaguay government. The Altaguayan government has also already been in reported talks with Kamooko as of recently although sources are moving to confirm if this is true.

Fort Rapace, Altaguay

"Attention to Colors!" was shouted as the three battalions of Marines that were able to attend the changing of the colors ceremony, and some soldiers from the brigade from the former NTDF that elected to stay with the federation. Fort Rapace was the last Arcadian vestige in the new republic that now ruled the former state. The ceremony began with both national anthems playing and speeches from various higher-ups and local politicians celebrating the occasion and the peaceful separation from the Federation. The ceremony ended with the Arcadian flag being lowered and retired with the flag of Altaguay flying over the base, Fort Rapace was now officially belonging to the natives.

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

Narathali, FASC
"The Edge of War"

In Narathali, the Arcadian Defense Department has called citizens from the Inactive Reserve Roster to drills under the guise of medical checks, and other checks to ensure they are ready for possible deployment. The statement released by the Defense Department justified the mandatory IRR drill under the reasons listed above, however, high command was ready to recall them back into active service over the looming war. Meanwhile, a full recall of the NTDF has been placed for all troops currently still in service for a massive exercise known as 'Able Archer '36" this would be a combined arms drill for a possible invasion of the state from a foreign power from the land border. All branches of service would take part in these drills, while active components will dig in for security purposes.

In high command, it was all to get troops in place without raising too many alarms, the NTDF exercise will be delayed until the deadline is done, while active duty can beef up security ahead of time so there are defenses ready to go if they can't get the first assault in fast enough. The mandatory IRR drills would make it easier to round up those still on the list to serve instead of taking precious days or even weeks.

[Phoenxia]

~snip~

Mikaelssen Family
On the way home from Easter

"So why don't you tell me, mom? What makes it that we can't go to Phoenixia? What makes it that you won't even talk about it or teach us the language?" Lars crossed his arms as he stared daggers at the seat in front of him.

"That's enough, Lars," Ulrik sternly commanded. "Your mother doesn't have to tell you anything. If you went through the stuff that she did, you would break as a human being."

"It's okay, Ulrik. It's about time they learned their roots," she sighed. "My name at birth was Etschelena Helina Mausen. You've probably wondered all these years why our family is in the Gentry. It isn't because of your father's athletic achievements like we've told you. It's because I came here as a princess."

"And why has nobody ever told us?" Lars snipped.

"Well, let me tell you. About a year before you were born, your Uncle Friedek was violently gunned down on the street. This was after your grandfather passed away from a heart attack. Do you know where I'm going with this?"

"You were supposed to become queen?" Zinaita chimed in, with her brother still cross in the seat next to her.

"Very good, Zinaita. Now, becoming Queen would mean that I really couldn't continue my courtship with your father, meaning you would never be born. So, I relinquished my claim to the throne and left it to my sister, Greta—who kicked me out of the country a week after my 18th birthday. I finished high school in Emerstari and married your father in February. We went to Vietschen for a family vacation in March—which is where Lars was conceived, all went well. We went again in July, just me and your father this time for the national team trials and Olympic Training Camp. My sister was having troubles with her newfound marriage at the time, and was jealous that my marriage was still working out, and finally banished me from the country. So, from there I decided to erase the record in Emerstari that I was ever a princess."

Both teenagers' jaws dropped, but Lars chimed in, absolutely dumbfounded now, "So that's why we're so close with the Lorenssens and Koborgs? And—that makes me a prince of Phoenixia—a descendant of Vietian kings?"

"That's what the chronicles say. Don't dwell on it too much though," 

Zina smiled wide at this with glimmering eyes. It's safe to say she didn't really grasp the magnitude of what was being said, "I'm a real princess?!"

"You always have been, sweetie," Ulrik glanced in the rear view with a smile on his face. Through all this now, Lars was silent, still staring daggers into the back of his mother's neck.

Totally didn't forget to post this 2 months ago

[Iyum]

The Treaty of Ir’te 2036
THE TREATY OF TRADE BETWEEN THE CHRISTBOLIAN AND IUMIC MONARCHIES
The agreement respecting the trade commitments and trade prerequisites of the two countries.
Signed at Ir’te, September 30th, 2036

ARTICLE 1.
Effective immediately, a Iumian military base with a garrison force of one thousand (1000) personnel and a motor pool of a maximum of ten (10) armored vehicles will be established in northwestern ChristBol in exchange for the extraction and equal profit of oil located in ChristBol’s northwestern regions and beneath ChristBol’s northern seafloor, as well as free trade of liquor between the aforementioned countries at a favorable price range.

Article 1.1.
The personnel limit can be negotiated to be raised or lowered depending on the needs of the Iumic monarchy once a year. If no personnel increase is requested for that year, the personnel limit stays as it was negotiated the previous year. Failure to reach an agreement with the Christbolian monarchy also results in the personnel limit staying the same. Increasing the amount of armored vehicles is non-negotiable.

Article 1.1.1.
Armored trucks do not count towards the motor pool limit provided they feature no offensive weaponry. Support units such as engineers and logisticians do not count towards the personnel limit provided they are unarmed.

Article 1.1.2.
In event it is discovered that the Iumic monarchy has disobeyed the personnel and/or armored vehicle limits at any given time, the treaty is declared null and void.

Article 1.3.
Nuclear weapons and more broadly Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD’s) are completely prohibited from the base. In return, ChristBol pledges to not designate the military base as a nuclear or WMD target in event diplomatic relations ever worsen and allow the entire garrison a choice to freely return to the Iumic monarchy in event of open conflict.

Article 1.3.1
Any rocket based weapons of any sorts shall be monitored under the authority of the Christbolian government. If the specific weapons are wished to be removed from the soil of Christbol, the Christbolian government shall give the Iumic government a two (2) days notice before the weapons are removed.




Article 1.4.
ChristBol is allowed one (1) official visitation per month to the base, announced three (3) days in advance and with non-negotiable alteration of date and time.

Article 1.4.1.
Visits may include anyone from:


-The Holy Army
-The Holy Assembly
-The ChristBol Church
-The Earthly Voice of Jesus
-The Earthly Voice’s Cabinet
-The Ministry of Defense
-The Ministry of Foreign Affairs
-The Ministry of Economics
The guests arriving on the official visit will be relayed to the CO and/or XO one (1) day before arrival.

Article 1.4.2.
All guests arrive unarmed and have the right to a two (2) hour minimum exploration of the base, excluding it’s restricted areas if any such exist. The CO and/or XO may opt in to extend the duration in event they wish to exchange pleasantries with the guests, such as attend on-site events or further discuss topics of conversation.

Article 1.4.3.
In event any of these guests are found dead without any legal evidence of their natural or accidental death in court, the treaty is declared null and void.

Article 1.4.3.1
In event the deceased guest is the Earthly Voice of Jesus without any legal evidence of natural or accidental death in court, the base is lifted from it’s non-nuclear target designation and the treaty declared null and void.

ARTICLE 2.
To minimize the expenses of the Iumic monarchy in operating a military base overseas, ChristBol pledges to supply the military base with basic necessities such as food, water and liquor at no cost, with food, drinking water and liquor shipments occurring once a week every Monday at 12:00 Standard Christbol Time (SCT). The base is also allowed to connect to ChristBol’s own water and power network in order for the personnel on site to have running water and power, but may also establish it’s own generator/s as backup/s.

Article 2.1.
Delaying or hastening the shipments can be negotiated between the military bases Commanding Officer (CO) or Executive Officer (XO) and the XO of the Holy Army logistics company supplying the base.

ARTICLE 3.
ChristBol and Iyum will enjoy free trade of liquor and oil between eachother, as well as prices which both parties agree upon being fair and profitable. Further removing tariffs on other products or even further increasing free trade on more products may be negotiated in event both parties believe it to be a fruitful business venture in the future.

Article 3.1.
Iumic liquor companies may choose to open distilleries and factories in ChristBol if they so wish and vice versa.

Article 3.2.
Foreign businesses in ChristBol that choose to pay their low-level employees higher wages may opt in for logarithmically increasing tax breaks based on their number of employees. Employing and paying 10 low-level employees above average wage qualifies the business for a 5% tax break, paying 100 low-level employees above average qualifies the business for a 10% tax break, and so on.

Article 3.2.1.
Exploiting tax havens is prohibited, however exploiting tax havens will not result in the voiding of the treaty outright, but invoke Clause A3.2.

Clause A3.2.
If the exploitation of tax havens is discovered by either Christbolian or Iumic companies, the affected country may invoke Clause A3.2., where the exploiting country’s companies do not benefit from the logarithmically increasing tax breaks within the affected country’s state and the immigrants of the affected country have zero income tax while working abroad in the others state for a period of three (3) years. If more exploitation of tax havens is discovered later during the time that Clause A3.2 is still in effect, the treaty is declared void.

Article 3.3.
Article 3.1.’s tax break program may also apply for Iumic oil companies, as well as any other business’ ChristBol agrees to accept in the future.

Article 3.4.
Iumic immigrant workers for these business’ coming from the Iumic Monarchy may opt for ChristBolian citizenship after a minimum of four (4) years spent in ChristBol and the prerequisites of being Catholic or any denomination of Christianity, as well as not belonging to a sexual minority. For those that cannot complete the prerequisites, ChristBol promises to enact minority rights for them into law.

OOC: Post made with Christbol.

[Phoenxia]

~snip~

Mikaelssen Residence

It seemed as if Lars had held his grudge for weeks on end, the longest he stayed at the dinner table was ten minutes, and his interaction with the family was limited to only a few words at most, except for with Zinaita, who he would complain to on long drawn out rants about their parents.

"You know, Lars, I don't see what your problem is–" Zina started, before she was cut off.

"You're the only person in this house I can trust, Zina. It doesn't bother you even a little bit that they've lied to us our entire lives?"

"No, because they protected us from the evil that is mom's side of the family. The good outweighs the bad, Lars. They have housed you, fed you, and cared for you. You should be ashamed for taking that for granted," Zina made her point concise and finite.

"What do you understand? You're literally a child," Lars snapped back.

"I'm no more of a child than you. You're only two years older than me," she raised her tone now too.

"No, you're a middle schooler. Middle schoolers are literal children, and that includes you. If you think you know more about life than me, then you have a whole shitstorm awaiting you next year."

His words struck her like thousands of tiny pins piercing her skin, tears began to form in her eyes. "Fuck you, Lars," she sobbed, stood up, and ran out and down the stairs. He chased her, but it was too late. Their mother was cradling her in her arms.

Ulrik was just coming in from work, but he saw all that he needed to. “Lars, why is your sister crying?” he yelled out from across the room.

“Because you’ve raised a little princess who can’t face a speck of reality! I thought that she was the one person in this house who I could trust, but not even she can see what you both have fucking done with my life. Sixteen years on this earth and you have lied to me the whole damn time! Is there anything else you've been holding from me?” Lars began screaming his lungs out in frustration as his father closed the gap to him at an alarming pace.

In a quieted, stern tone, Ulrik reprimanded, “You don’t ever talk to family like that, ever. You talk about being mature and independent, but you’re acting like a child. If I can’t make a man out of you, then I know who can. I’m going to give you exactly twenty minutes to pack up everything you can, if the time’s up and you’re not done, you’re zipping up your bag and putting it in the car, do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered with spite and stomped his way up the stairs, cursing in rhythmic harmony with his steps.

Etschelena stroked her daughter’s hair and looked at Ulrik, “Where are you going to take him?”

“The Mikaelssen farm. That place has made two hundred years of mild mannered men, and I think the next generation has lost touch with the humility and respect that comes with the Mikaelssen name.”

“So you’re going to tell me that your grandfather is going to do a better job of parenting than we can? That’s fucking crazy, Ulrik,” Etschelena barked at him; she was never one for hard parenting, but at the same time something inside her said that her husband was making the right decision.

“The kid needs to be put to work, Etsch. He’s been spoon fed everything in life Etsch. Everyone in the family—including you—has done work at the farm except for the new generation of kids,” his tone softened. “Are you okay, Zina?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she sniffled.

They sat in silence for the rest of the twenty minutes, but when Ulrik’s timer went off, his face turned stern again. “Lars Frederik Mikaelssen! Your time is up!” Rushing up the stairs, he saw that Lars was finished packing. “Come on, now. The car is waiting,” he started down the stairs, his son in tow.

When they got in the car, Lars started crying very real tears, realizing what he did, “Where are you gonna take me, dad?”

“Where I know that you’ll become a man.”

[Arcadian States and Commonwealths]

[Delted]