Vox Populi [Kylaris|IC]

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]
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Founded: Mar 22, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Vox Populi [Kylaris|IC]

Postby Kylaris » Sun Mar 12, 2017 3:39 pm

Vox Populi
A Kylaris Roleplay

Vox Populi is a slice of life roleplay that focuses upon Kylaris' vast, quiet majority- the individual citizenry. From Songhuan rice farmers to Asterian businessmen and executives, Wacoan police officers to Kaxakh infantrymen, the stories of any individual citizen can be posted here.

It is not necessary for it to be relevant to a larger storyline or significant in anyway possible, but it may very well be so. Stories that link to each other, also, are allowed, as are stories that can lead up to a larger roleplay.

There are dedicated threads for both political roleplaying and historical roleplaying, please do not post political or historical stories in this thread.
Last edited by Kylaris on Sat Jan 12, 2019 1:11 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Founded: Jun 10, 2016
New York Times Democracy

Postby Alinora » Sun Mar 12, 2017 4:03 pm

March 12th, 2017
Daniel J. Maxson

It hasn't been easy, these last few months, but it's good to be home. Ash said it would be "productive" to keep some sort of journal to "log my feelings" - be able to vent the things in my head, and a lot of the guys at the VFW said the same thing, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Not sure how this works, not even sure if this'll end up being seen by anyone. Maybe my grandkids will see it.

Well, my name is Daniel James Maxson - people call me Danny, most just call me Dan, or Maxson. I'm 26 years old, and live in a quiet neighborhood just outside of Freeminster with the love of my life, Ashley, and our 6 year old son, Ben. As of current, I serve with the Freeminster Fire Department - Engine 6, Ladder 17, located in one of the busier parts of the city. It's a tough job - demanding - but I couldn't see myself doing anything else, really. I was never the kinda kid who wanted to go to college and be a doctor or something. Hell, I always saw myself as a police man, or a fireman, but I eventually settled as a Marine after high school. Joined up in 2009, just in time to be deployed for the Invasion of Nuranz. Served 10 months in my first tour, fighting through the streets of Gubatshi for a good portion, and spending the rest beating them back in the north. Came home for a bit after that, but got re-deployed for my second tour in 2011, where I took part in the first Battle of Mecica, where we liberated Al-Haras "capital". I ended up serving a few tours after that, my last one being towards the end of my second term, last year, when the Badawiyan Liberation Front rose up and tried to beat us out of Mecica. That was some... intense fighting - we lost a lot of guys - but ended up pulling it off.

After that, well, I was honorably discharged, and came home. It was probably for the best - had a lot of close calls while I was deployed, and a lot of my buddies weren't as lucky as I was. Lost more friends than I'd care to admit, and taken more lives than any person should - even one is too many. I decided that, now that I'm out of the organized killing game, I'd spend my time saving lives instead - trying to make up for it, even though I don't neccesarily regret what I've done. I fought, I killed, for my country, and for the other Marines who were alongside me. I've been shot at, I've lodged bullets in plenty of hajis - now I'll be content with running into flaming buildings.

Ash doesn't like it all that much - I'm away from home a lot, but that's just the job I guess. But anyway, that's my life in short - guess I'll keep up with these journal entries - give it a shot. Hell, it may even help. Can't bear to look Ash in the eyes and tell her the things I've done - I'll just tell my great grandkids or whatever.

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Democratic Socialists

Postby Legatia » Wed Mar 15, 2017 3:10 pm

Yamato, Mikajima Province, Yamato Prefecture

Yamato is a city that is more akin to Nematsu as a whole than any other place in the island group. If Teien is the heart of Nematsu, Yamato is most certainly its soul. Whereas in Teien there were towering palaces of steel and glass, shimmering and piercing the clouds, Yamato's buildings very rarely exceeded twenty stories high. The snow-capped peaks of the now dormant volcanoes from which these islands were borne marked the boundaries of the lower-lying lands where land met shimmering sea. Indeed, Yamato was in the warmer area of Nematsu, and it was in this region that many of the doctors, lawyers, businessmen and politicians that composed the upper stratum of Nematsu society owned their summer resorts, where they could work and play in the vibrant, coastal lifestyle of the island of Mikajima.

The spirit of Yamato could be captured perfectly in that of its young constituents. Where in the more modern cities such as Teien and Heddokawa students wore blazers, ties, bows and vests, the secondary level students of Yamato- truly, everywhere southwest of Heddokawa- retained the age-old sefuku that had been worn by schoolchildren since the arrival of Gaullican sailors and explorers centuries prior. The warm spring breeze rushed through the open, airy streets of the town, sending the red and white standard of the State of Nematsu aflutter in the wind, as it did the kerchiefs of students.

"Y=mx+b," a girl, donned with black-rimmed glasses and a pair of silver hair clips stated robotically as she approached a crosswalk. "X= -b± the square root of b squared -4ac over 2a.."

"Katsumi.." A longer-haired girl who walked alongside the girl with glasses quietly complained, as her other friend approached beside her. "You focus on your studies too much. Math was an hour ago.."

"But if I don't.." She replied, fixing her glasses, gently pressing a finger over the bridge that joined the two lenses. "I'll never get anywhere."

"Come on, Katsumi.." The other girl beside her groaned. "You've got such big dreams, you put the rest of us to shame. I mean, I want to be a pastry chef, and Mio wants to be.." She looked at the other girl with discerning eyes, who was only able to muster a nervous laugh. "..Yeah."

Katsumi was only able to stifle her own laughter, looking to the two. "You two can certainly do anything you set your mind to. As for me.." She looked to the sky, where the contrails from a pair of interceptor aircraft were the lone blemishes in an otherwise cloudless, blue sky..

And she found herself jolted, shifted to the side from a nudge from her partner.

"Katsumi, eyes on the prize." The man was quite taller than her- a good half a foot, but Katsumi was at least half a year older than him. Her partner- her pilot, Ogata.

"Ah, my apologies, Ogata-san." The girl quietly apologized, clutching the large, bowl-shaped helmet under her left arm, the huge orange flight suit a burden on her small frame. The man next to her held it in his right hand, resting it against his leg,

"I told you we don't have to be so formal. You were with the 33rd, weren't you? Michiro." He corrects, flashing her a confident smile that fully shook the girl from her doldrums. "Of course I was." She gave him a tiny smile, her confidence restored in full.

"Saki e hoshi."

The pressurized metal door locked, sealed into place, a thumbs-up given by a technician donning a sanitation suit. The two pilots sat with their backs to the ground, the two windows they faced were obscured by the aerodynamic cover that encapsulated the crew and service module and the second stage. A thumbs up from the crew in the ready room was the last sight before the panel from which they'd entered was covered with the last piece of the fairing.

"Ground control Tsukiyomi to Operational Analysis Center, beginning final launch preparations now. Flight Control Officers, report status."

The radio crackled though both the cabin and the helmets of the craft, as the mechanical sound of the loading bay being pulled away resonated from without the concealed, airtight fairing. The early morning sun would be glinting off of the white-painted fairing as the vehicle- all basked in the glory of the Coian sun as the structures supporting the vehicle withdrew.

"Mission Specialist."
"Flight Surgeon."
"Booster systems."
"Go, flight."

The local flight controller ran down the list, ensuring every single person responsible for an asset of the spacecraft was on hand.

Reach for the stars.

The words her mother had told her so long ago ran through Katsumi's head, the words that had put her in the seat where she sat now, atop a million pounds of fuel and millions of dollars of money, as the pre-flight checks completed.

"Pad, we are go for launch."

"Roger, OAS. Beginning countdown for launch, T-two minutes. Guidance is now internal, fueling complete."

"Azusa-1, CAPCOM. How are you feeling?"

Michiro beside her gave a grin, winking as he looked back up. "Let's give them something to talk about." He earned a proud guffaw from the ground controllers, and a smile from Mitsuko.

"T-minus twenty seconds. All systems now internal, umbilical attachment separation is good."

All over Nematsu, eyes were on the pair- children in classrooms or in assembly halls had their eyes plastered to televisions. Merchantmen watched from afar as they sailed eastwards to Teien, as did the Nematsujin Navy sailors stationed aboard cruisers and destroyers, restricting access to the bay on which the launch site was situated. Businessmen watched from Teien and Heddokawa's huge LED billboards. Even the Empress, sat quietly within the Imperial Palace in Heddokawa, watched the pair. Friends and neighbors crammed into apartments to watch the launch, eager to get a view.

Once more, Nematsu could be proud of itself. 80 years of humiliation would finally, finally be done. The Sleeping Giant of Nematsu would awaken from its slumber once more- and become a titan.

"T minus fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten.."

The number hit as the entire nation held its breath. The people in the grandstands, the flight controllers, the cars in Teien- for ten long seconds, the only sound in the entirety of the nation was the lone voice of the flight controller counting down. Juu, kyuu, hachi, shichi...

"Ignition sequence start."

A plume of sparks flared beneath the vehicle, then thinned into one spray. The liquid fuel-oxider mix being thrown through the engines erupted into a deafeningly loud plume of fire, the flames rushing down the concrete and heat-treated steel into vents, where they exited out of the sides into huge billows of smoke that obscured the vehicle from outside eyes. The vehicle shuddered and shook, straining against the hydraulics that kept it in place.


The vehicle continued to shake, as Mitsuko gripped the foam-lined handholds beside her seat. The clock above them began to run- 00:00:01..


A heart-wrenching bang shook the vehicle as the upper stability girder separated from the clamp. Another one followed, then another..


A loud 'woosh' sound beneath the vehicle turned into a steady roar, joining with the cacophony of the liquid fuel engines crackling roar as the four solid rocket boosters ignited.


The clamps at the bottom of the vehicle released, retracted, and rescinded as the towering rocket began to steadily move upwards. The velocity reading began at a slow 1 m/s, but began to climb exponentially.. and they were away.

"Ground Control to Teien, tower cleared. Vehicle ascent is good. Please take care of them."

As the rocket turned and soared higher into the sky, soon enough the only part of it visible the huge plume it left, Nematsu erupted into cheers. Teien's Natsugumo Ward was flooded, the crowds cheering with fervor as their two brave countrymen became the first Nematsujins to gain a place among the sky. From Yutrov to far off Nagoshima, they cheered.. and they knew that now, the only way for Nematsu was forward.
Founder and Member Nation of CSAT
Founding Member and Secretary General of the International Space Agency

Want to RP? TG me. I do MT stuff.
I also do alot of P2TM.

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Postby Luzarra » Thu Apr 12, 2018 8:02 pm

“It isn't a matter of forgetting. What one has to learn is how to remember and yet be free of the past.” ― Aldous Huxley, Island

Part I: “The Island”
The Port of Loiola
Erlantzga, Urrunaga, Luzarra

The decaying port town beckoned the man into its languid embrace. The nature of his work compelled him thus so. The deep, rumbling sea called out to him, though the endless waters were not what drew him there to begin with. As old as time it seemed, the sea was still steeped in magnificence, though unfortunately the same could not be said of the island that rose from the surface.

The island was named Erlantzga, a small subdivision off the coast of the large Urrunaga province in the northern part of the island of Luzarra. Luzarra was already a remote country, Urrunaga more so, and Erlantzga even more remote than that. It might have been the most remote island in the world, if the locals were to be believed. Perhaps it had seen better days, but that would imply that Erlantzga had seen anything that wasn’t bleak.

In bygone days of yore, the island served many unusual roles, ranging from a pirate den to a getaway sanctuary for the monarchy during times of plague, to a lookout over the western seas and as a destination for fringe groups. Throughout its history however it was an important whaling and fishing hub, and much of the local culture was built up around those maritime professions. The local populace took great pride in those traditions, often running through families going back centuries. In fact, some of the tallest tales and richest stories were the ones that were told in Erlantzga.

The island was a focal point of Luzarran superstitions as well. Many locals regarded it as sacred, hallowed ground of the Old Gods, who lurked beneath the depths of the sea and deep within the heart of the island. Some even said that the island itself was an Old God, slumbering since time immemorial until such a time came that he might be stirred. Though such legends were often the subject of great debate, none disputed that the island was unusual. Strange noises could often be heard from the heart of the island where the forests were old and thick, and where mythical creatures were said to stalk the mists.

With a steady gait, the man walked along the cracked and potholed-ridden paved path towards his ultimate destination. The man was tall and thin, wearing a long brown shearling coat, with black slacks and shoes emerging from underneath. His hair was a short dark brown color, and his eyes a foggy grey. Though largely clean-shaven, there was the hint of five-o-clock shadow on his face, especially around his straight, tight-lipped mouth.

He had been on the island for little over a week now, pursuing a lead in his field of work. It wasn’t a good place to be for an extended period of time if one could avoid it. The radiance of the dawn’s light had only barely penetrated the thick clouds above and the ominous fog below, casting a dull, eerie glow in the narrow streets of the port town. As a result, hoods of black shadow swelled faintly against the sides of fissured stone buildings and decaying wooden facades.

Coils of vaporous mist enwrapped the weathered street lamps and the gnarled leafless trees lining the streets. They writhed around them like a magician’s trick-smoke, mysterious and illusory. Sieves of misty waves caressed the lichen-encrusted sea stacks beyond, undaunted by eternal persistence of the sea to bring them down to the depths. All the same, the waves crashed with deadly intent. It amplified sound as it pounded the docks, filling all the empty spaces along the coast. A distant, yet reverberating noise filled the air all around him, subtle in the distance. In these wee hours of the morn, none stirred, the windows of the quaint harbor homes shuttered. Only the sound of the sea, like the constant tones of a great, ominous beast, entombed the island.

Slowly the light emerged to vanquish the looming mists. Like the luminal glow of the gods, it chased the shadows, but the gloom remained, and where the mist once stalked, now there were colors of rustic brown and grey. The sounds of dock workers split the silence just as the town became illuminated in dull light. A fusillade of whistles and shouting bellowed all around him as figures came into view off in the distance, laboring on the docks. The man noticed this, and walked into a narrow alley off of the street.

The poverty of the port town was revealed in the scarce light poking into the alleys. Worn brick exteriors stood tenuously, lined with rusty rail stairs and ladders, clotheslines reaching between them over the alley. The ground looked like burnt toast and a layer of grime clasped its crusty exterior. The first blush of the morn gave the filthy pavement an almost walnut brown complexion.

Idling past the occasional flowerpot sitting upon windowsills and back decks. He caressed them softly, getting tingles in his otherwise steady fingers. His ears perked up at the sounds of people shuffling about behind open windows, no doubt feeling the brisk mourning air. It flashed with a tinsel tint through the lace of garb hanging from the clotheslines by clips and pins. When the alley parted he could see, in the heart of a small plaza, a pool with a fountain rising from it. Even from there, he could see the pool’s water, an almost lime-color, with skeins of swirl-grey twisting slowly on the surface. An old, dull spillway led to the choppy pond below. Large stones swarmed around the edge of the pool, buffed with pillows of moss. They caused a rocky gurgling as water met stone; a swish, a clunk, a swell and a clop. Pungent fragrances, sanguine and off-putting, seemed to flit in and out of his awareness. Sight and smell vied for attention in this soul-draining dream world.

The man put his back against an ivy covered wall near the edge of the alley, leaning his head briefly against the rough, uneven surface. He closed my eyes, and even if just for one fleeting moment, let his stream of consciousness take hold, and drifted into infinity. When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t recall where his mind drifted, but surely it was to a better place than where he found himself.

I have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,

Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.

The man turned into an adjacent alley on the right, where his destination awaited him at its end. Like the other houses it was connected, with no gaps between them. Most of them were two stories, either all the same house or a split level, the house in question being the former. It featured the main door, a window on each side of it, and then two more above. Like the others it was a worn brick and stone building with a flat roof, where a chimney peaked over the edge.

Approaching the front door, the man looked around to his left and right. There was nobody in the alley behind him, nor to his left or right. Looking ahead once more, he quietly and carefully approached the door and turned the knob, only to find it was locked. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his lockpicking kit, and extracted the tools he needed to open the lock, which he did quickly, locking the door behind him as he entered the house.

The inside of the house was dark, though the man could see that it was sparsely decorated. There were a few old, ragged chairs arranged around a round coffee table and fireplace, as well as a small bookshelf with only a few books arranged upon it, mostly historical fiction. The small kitchen looked hardly used, and it too was bare of any abundance of food. Likewise, the bathroom was small and relatively clean.

Walking up the narrow flight of stairs, he found a bedroom with only a bed, nightstand and dresser in it, and another room that was empty aside from some baskets of clothes.

To his satisfaction, there was no one home, and so the man walked back downstairs and approached the light the hung from the ceiling. Gently, he pulled out a serrated knife and cut the cord before picking a chair to sit down in. Then he waited, looking at his surroundings in a little more detail. Above the fireplace, resting upon the mantle was a pole hook, which featured three large fish hooks fitted onto a long wooden pole to create a fishing implement, used for hauling in fish.

It was while the man was examining the pole hook that he could hear the door begin to open again. In stepped a middle-aged man of average height, with black hair and blue eyes wearing a coat, thick grey shirt and overalls with tall rubber boots. He shut the door behind him and went to turn on the light. When the light wouldn’t come on, he groaned, and entered the room, walking at a brisk pace towards the kitchen.

“Mr. Ochengaray,” the seated man called out gently. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mr. Ochengaray stopped, and turned around slowly. When he saw the seated man, he let out a long sigh. “Danel Uharte…it’s been a long time. You were much younger when I last saw you. There’s no need for this mister shit…you know my name is Benny.” Looking towards the kitchen, he added, “you want some tea, Danel? Maybe some biscuits.”

“…No,” the man known as Danel answered. “Mr. Ochengaray,” he continued, “You know who I am…do you know why I’m here?” Danel leaned back in his chair, and sat crossed legged with his hands resting on his leg. “Maybe you’d like to sit down? There’s much we need to talk about, so you may want to…for this.”

Benny hesitated, choosing instead to remain standing in the living room. “I know what you’ve been up to, Danel. What you’ve been doing the past four years. All those accidents…you caused those, didn’t you?” Benny laughed, and added that “you know, I never would have thought you’d be capable of all that. You were always timid. Never willing to make the tough decisions.”

Danel shifted in his chair and tapped his knee as he thought about what Benny said to him. “If you know what I’ve been up to then you know why I’m here. Mr. Ochengaray, His Majesty’s Government is aware of your participation in the Revolutionary Front, and I don’t have to explain to you why that’s a problem. I solve problems…that’s my job. I make them go away.”

“That’s what this is about isn’t it?” Benny laughed. “I get it…you’re just a glorified hitman for the royal bigwigs, aren’t you?” searching Danel’s eyes, Benny flashed a sad expression. “What did they do to you, Danel? You were the best of us. You’ve changed…Gods be good, you have changed…”

“Mr. Ochengaray,” Danel went on, unfazed. “By order of His Majesty’s Government, I ask you to come with me for questioning. Terrorism, Sedition and Treason are very serious charges. I have all the papers I need to do as I must, but I’d very much prefer this gets done quickly and easily. Look at it like this…depending on what you’re willing to share, whatever they try to stick you with might not be so bad. Hell, I’m sure that if you’re especially forthcoming, they would consider wiping the slate clean, and letting you get a fresh start. No more hiding in alley houses on the fringe of the kingdom, working on the docks. You could go back home…back to your family.”

“My family…” His voice trailing off, Benny seemed to think long and hard about that. “I’ve been away for too long. They probably think I’m dead, or at least that they’ve moved on. There’s no sense in beating around the bush with you, Danel. The Revolutionary Front is something that has given my life purpose. It’s goals are something I can leave to my children once realized. A better future for them. That’s worth the sacrifices I’ve made.”

At this, Danel cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “There’s no glory to be had in this life, Benny. It never ends well. It didn’t for the others, and it won’t for you. There’s only two ways you can proceed. One works out reasonably well for you, and the other doesn’t. You’re a smart man Benny, I know you realize the truth of what I’m saying.”

“What happened to all the rest?” Benny asked. “All those others that died…did they take you up on your offer? Did you kill them anyway? Those were good people, Danel. Those were your friends…your father’s friends. I know they didn’t truly die in fires, car accidents or hunting incidents. That would be too coincidental, now wouldn’t it? You see this isn’t about what’s smart and what’s not, this is about doing the right thing, even when doing the right thing won’t end well for you. That’s what your father believed, and that’s what I believe.”

My father… Danel for the first time felt acutely uncomfortable, before recomposing himself. “We can go on all day about right and wrong, Mr. Ochengaray. It’s a matter of perspective.”

Benny snorted with incredulity at that statement. “Is that what those corrupt, morally bankrupt royal sycophants told you? They’ve got your head so far up your ass that you can see the light.”

Danel sighed. “You know what happens to marked persons who resist, Mr. Ochengaray.” Exhaling deeply, Danel conceded, “you’re a good man, Benny. Yeah, I still know your name. Come with me peaceably, and this will go pleasantly for both of us. I’d like that… I really would.”

“I’m sure you would,” Benny countered angrily. “Problem is, if I talk, a lot more good people are going to get hunted down, threatened, and possibly killed. It’s been years, and you’re just now finding me. All this time I’ve been right under your nose, living a quiet life working at the docks. Killing me won’t make a difference, Danel. The revolution is coming, and it doesn’t matter how many people you murder. The more of us that die, the more people emerge to take our place. Would the monarchy kill everyone if it came down to that?”

Danel closed his eyes and shook his head. From his coat pocket he pulled out a silenced pistol, and laid it on his lap. “That’s none of my concern, or yours, for that matter. The King and his Government do as they shall. So shall I, Benny. It’s nothing personal…it’s business.”

“Your father would be ashamed of you” snorted Benny, his face flushed red. “What he lived for, what he stood for…what he died for. You’re just pissing on all of that now, aren’t you? All those wars, all that death. Look around you, Danel. The monarchy will be the ruin of this once proud nation. I’ve heard that the king is ill…do you think that his son and heir will be any different…any better? If you do you’re a fool. All you have to do is leave…walk right out that door, and I’ll forget that anything happened. We can save this country before it’s too far gone. You were once a Paragon, Danel…you can be that again.”

“…I don’t have time for this, Benny.” Danel let his hand rest atop his pistol. “I need you to make a choice. We all have choices to make. I made mine long ago. It’s your turn now. What’s it going to be?”

“…I already have.” In a swift motion, Benny dove at Danel just as the latter gripped his pistol. Benny tackled Danel and pushed over the chair, causing both of them to come crashing to the floor. Benny was a large man, but Danel was stronger, grappling with Benny in order to get a clear shot, but to no avail. The gun was knocked away from Danel’s hand as Benny began punching Danel in the face.

Danel gave Benny a ferocious headbutt before scrambling across the floor to pick up his gun. Benny meanwhile stood up and took the pole hook off the wall above the fireplace and swung it down at Danel, in an attempt to bury it in the man’s back. Noticing this out of the corner of his eye, Danel rolled to the side, causing the pole hook to drive into the wooden floor.

With a savage kick to the belly, Benny staggered backwards as he crunched over in pain, while Danel crawled forward and reached out for his gun. Taking it in his hand, he rolled over only to find Benny standing over him again with the pole hook about to come crashing down on Danel’s head. As the pole hook was coming down, Danel aimed and fired one silenced shot.

The pole hook went flying out of Benny’s hand as the bullet struck it, and Benny once again fell down on Danel, grabbing his wrist and squeezing it so tight that the pistol escaped Danel’s grasp, and choking him with his other hand. Big mistake. With his one free hand, Danel reached for the serrated knife in his coat pocket and pulled it out. Just as this was happening, Benny reached for Danel’s gun.

With a grunt, Danel kneed Benny in the groin and had an opportunity to flip him on his back, which he did. Benny had the gun in his hand ready to bring up and shoot Danel, but before he could do that, Danel slid his knife into Benny’s chest. Not wanting Benny to make too much noise, Danel put his hand over his mouth, and then he waited. Before long, Benny was dead, bleeding out on the floor.

Damnit. Wiping his knife off on Benny’s coat, Danel put away his gun and surveyed the living room. Carefully, he put everything back to where it was before the scuffle, and dragged Benny’s body into the kitchen. Once there, Danel began maneuvering around some of the appliances. Once he found the gas line, he cut it, and then he turned the stove on.

Danel already knew what the story was going to be. Mr. Ochengaray left for work late last night not knowing there was a gas leak in his house. When he returned home from his shift the following morning, he went to the kitchen and turned on the stove in order to cook breakfast. By this time his house had been filled with gas, and the lit stove ignited it, causing an explosion that killed Mr. Ochengaray.

Once he was finished arranging the scene to his satisfaction, Danel went back out the door and locked it behind him. Back out in the alley, he looked around before settling on walking in the direction of the dirty pool and fountain. The street there had a few cars parked along the curb, and a few people were out and about, though none paid him any mind. Danel began walking down the length of the street, letting his mind wander as he went.

Glitter of a blade,
Piercing of a scream,
Splatter of red blood
As it runs into a stream.

Footsteps in the darkness,
Heavy breath from behind,
Rush away to escape,
As was first designed.

Ignore the plaguing nightmares
Ignore the taunting voice
Ignore the niggling doubts
That you didn't make the right choice.

Though death do you face,
Do not ever turn aside,
'Tis as destiny has planned,
That the hells may you reside.

Several blocks down the street was a quaint bed and breakfast establishment called the Seafarer’s Sojourn, if the sign swinging from the post above the door was to be believed. Danel’s eyes seldom strayed from the establishment as he made his way to it. The building was old, no doubt, a two-story wooden building in the heart of old town Loiola. On sure feet, Danel approached the wooden door and opened it.

The interior was as quaint as the exterior, and smelled of cooking food. There was a bar and more than a dozen round tables and half as many booths inside, as well as men and women’s bathrooms and an old jukebox that looked like it had been there since the seventies. The only other person there besides the servers was an older man reading a newspaper at one of the tables.

Danel picked a booth and sat down, taking a menu from the rack against the wall not long thereafter. “A little young to be coming in this early for breakfast eh?” the old man said with a smirk, poking above his paper to see Danel.

“I’m a morning person,” Danel answered before turning back to the menu.

“Is that right? Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” laughed the old man. “My name is Jacobo…I’m a regular here. Never seen you here before…must be new around town.”

“…Yeah, you could say that.” Before long the server came to take Danel’s order. “Salted ham and marmitako please, with cider.” Then the server was off. “I don’t suppose you’d have seen me before.”

Jacobo laughed. “Well there are over…twenty-five million people in Luzarra between these islands. Can’t know em all. I suppose I know the people worth knowing though. I knew the old king from our time in the Royal Navy. He was a hard man. He was nice, but stern, that one. We were in the war, saw the worst of it. You know how the old saying goes, ‘old men declare war and young men die in war.’” Casting a piercing gaze at Danel, Jacobo asked him “have you ever been in a war, son?”

“…Life is war, old timer,” Danel answered. “It’s a war that doesn’t end, and you always lose. Yet we fight it all the same, for one reason or another. Some for duty, some for love, some for enjoyment…others because it’s all they know how to do.”

“Well said,” nodded Jacobo as his food arrived. It consisted of scrambled eggs, grapefruit, bacon and juice. “My war is going to be coming to an end soon. I’ve lived long and well, and seen a great many things. There’s not much else for me to see that I haven’t already. This country has run out of surprises too…in my day it was so full of promise, but now? I pity you, son.”

Danel gave him a puzzled look. “Never doubt what this country is capable of. His Majesty’s Government has a plan to keep things on the up and up.”

The old man laughed again, and countered “look around you and tell me if things are on the up and up! The world is a big place, certainly a lot bigger than Luzarra! I’ve seen a lot of it over the years. It amazes me just how big it is…and just how small we are. You’ll realize that once you’ve traveled the world.

Who says I haven’t already? Danel witnessed some firetrucks sounding their sirens as they went rolling down the street from around the corner, and then his food arrived. The salted ham was crisp and steaming, while the marmitako was hot and fresh, consisting of fish stew, potatoes, onions and tomatoes. He did not order a drink, opting instead to drink the water provided before breakfast. “I don’t think the world is as interesting as you make it out to be, old timer. Maybe it is at first and for a little while, but then it becomes very old hat.”

“Nothing’s more old hat than Luzarra, son. There’s a reason why they refer to these islands as shit-stained rocks,” Jacobo laughed for a few seconds until it turned into a cough. “I’m from right here in on Erlantzga, born and raised. Worked on the fishing boats. I don’t really mind it because that’s all I’ve ever known. As the saying goes, ‘be happy with what you have to be happy with.’ Those are words to live by.”

“And if you have nothing?” Danel asked as he cut into his salted ham. “What then?”

Jacobo grinned and began to chuckle at that. “Well I suppose that if you have nothing, and you can be happy with that, you’d be the happiest man in the world.”

“…That’s one way of looking at it.” Talking to this old sailor made Danel consider what Benny said earlier, ironically. Here was a man who loved the sea, spent his whole life working it, but now in the twilight of his days, realized that others might not be able to enjoy the same opportunities that he did in his youth. To spend all your life doing something, only to realize in the end that it may have been in vain surely would be a terrible feeling indeed…

Where had I heard this wind before
That scatters wreckage across the shore,
The ocean races wildly before its breath
And some poor sailor meets his death.

Upon the land angry waves do crash
Trees bend low and their branches lash,
Yellow streaks spear 'cross black skies
And salty tears sting sailors’ eyes.

Thunder roars and rumbles on high
Winter comes when the night is nigh,
Scours the land with rain and hail
While beside a fire an old man tells a tale.

Of ghosts that walk along the beach
Back through time bone fingers reach,
Pirates and Kings’ men replay old battles
As in its frame the window rattles.

Creaks and groans heard through the wind
Under wreckage poor souls are pinned,
No starlight nor moon that glows
As long as powerful tempest blows.

Where had I heard this wind before?
Twas when death knocked at my door.

While he was eating, Danel noticed a vibration in his pocket. My phone, he thought as he pulled it out to see what it had said. The message was most troubling indeed, and one that he certainly hadn’t expected. The old king had died at last, after battling an illness for the better part of the year. While that news in and of itself wasn’t beyond expectation, what followed was…unexpected to say the least.

The Crown Prince had moved swiftly upon receiving word of his father’s death in the night. He quickly assumed the reins of royal power apparently, and among other things, say fit to recall Danel to the royal court in Aberasturi. Danel hadn’t been in the capital in almost four years, having been in the field ever since he was last there, and if truth be told, he was in no hurry to return either. Too much politics…

“Something wrong?” asked Jacobo as he spooned his grapefruit. “The food’s so good here that you’d only stop eating if something’s wrong,” he laughed.

Danel just shook his head. “No…nothing’s wrong. Not yet anyway.” Quickly, Danel finished his food and left a generous sum of cash on the table, certainly enough to cover the cost of his meal and a tip. “It was nice talking to you old timer, but I should be going. I’ve got places to be.”

Jacobo had a twinkle in his eye. “Aw, such a shame, son, though I suppose we all got places to go, one way or the other. Just remember what they say about good old Erlantzga. You can leave the island, but the island never leaves you. Funny old thing my grandfather used to tell me, you see.” The old man waved his hand and continued, “bah, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Go, and be well and safe in your travels. The world is a dangerous place.”

Yes it is. “Farewell, old timer.” Danel inclined his head, and turned to walk away, straight out the door. Deciding upon his course of action, he figured he’d take a boat to the island of Luzarra, and then catch a plane in Urrutia to Aberasturi. There he would find out why the new king summoned him to court. Did he have some sort of plans for Danel? Probably, Danel thought as he walked along the street. Kings and Islands always do…

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Posts: 12485
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Fri Aug 10, 2018 11:25 am

Adrien Parmentier
9th of August, 2018
Millennium Stadium, Spálgleann

"Allez! En garde!" he yelled. His right hand was held behind his person, with his left hand gripped firmly on the handle.

The exhilaration of the whole ordeal was immense. An intoxication, a 'high', that got his adrenaline pumping and his brain producing more endorphins then any other activity he could think of.

Adrien, a master of the Épée form of fencing. Two time Invictus Gold Medalist in this particular fields. Commentators at home had given him numerous, almost mythological traits. He was "fleet-of-foot", "a dancer above all" and -- perhaps paradoxically -- an "unmoving juggernaut". These three traits had given him the respected visage -- a gallant knight of the Gaullican School, who was quick, responsive, mobile -- yet defensive in truth.

His opponent was nothing to snub, either. He was a Glytteronian; they had met before: Séamus Ailin. The Glytteronian was smaller. The untrained eye would see this as an advantage; a smaller target, usually more nimble. Aye, perhaps. But Adrien and Séamus had battled in numerous assaults before.

And Adrien had reach.

He struck forth with a speed unparalleled but Séamus was no novice. His blade rose and both swordsman clashed in their sportsman's dance. Their gentleman's duel.

Sweat trickled on his brow, behind his mask. But it was not an uncomfortable sweat, it was the sweat of the game. It was as common as the hits themselves.

They broke, distanced themselves towards the edge lines of the piste.

Adrien began to close the distance, thudding his foot down in an appel that caught Séamus' attention that broke into a swift movement of flesh and steel. He raises the blade, swinging across in an attaque au fer that turned into a feint as the Glytteronian readjusted his sword to match his attacker's.

The trap was set.

With another quick motion, the feint was executed, and the button of the blade pressed itself into the upper left breast of the Glytteronian, thudding forcefully onto the white jacket.

"Touché!" the referee called, swiping his arms in a cross motion to gesture to both contestants to return to their starting positions.

1-0 for the Gaullican.

The Victory, like any good glass of wine, was sweet and well deserved.

The Gaullican and Glytteronian had been a good match up indeed. Séamus early slip up was not to be repeated, with two points scored on his behalf to make up for his initial faltering. But Adrien had been the better man today, scoring his remaining two points in a series of good, unexpected moves.

He had made use of a feint leading into the little-used Vredo-Weranian 'Zornhau'. scoring a point as the button of the blade 'drew' a diagonal line on Séamus' torso.

The second had come from a careful, and powerful, parry with the forte of his blade. This led into a series of relentless attacks, with the final striking past the Glytteronian's underarm protection to pierce his jacket at the ribs.

Adrien lamented on his victory as he sat in the official vehicle that had been given to him. Chauffeured back to the hotel, for tomorrow was a busy day. The Épée final, and projections had him against the Vredlandian. He was looking forward to that. But moreso for the rest his hotel would offer him.

Spálgleann had been a welcoming city.

"Driver?" he asked, nonchalantly whilst his fingers drummed rhythmically upon the armrest.

"Mm?" came the reply.

"I'm looking for a good restaurant, do you have any you could name?"

There was an uncomfortable pause in thought. The light that was piercing through the windscreen of the car went from a fierce red, to a pleasant yellow, to the welcome green.

"Well.." the man began. But whatever he was to say was cut short, as two bright white lights from the right side of the vehicle shone through its passenger and rear windows.
Impeach Kerensky Legalise Autocracy Soviets are Fucking Stupid Pyotr Wrangle, 1936
Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
"At age 13 the internet should be used for porn and club penguin " - The Kingdom of Glitter
Consider Kylaris, peasant. The Greatest Collab Post. Ever. Of All Time.
TNL (NWH): to conclude my earlier message considering that none of us give enough of a shit about your misplaced nationalism to ever create an rp where spain is even remotely fucking relevant i don't think we're ever going to call you, ever

NS' self-declared most humble Catholic.

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Posts: 12485
Founded: Jan 21, 2013
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liecthenbourg » Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:28 am

Zacharie Messier
10th August 2018
Millennium Stadium

For Zacharie the intense lights, the cameras, the horde of people sat around him in high viewing seats as if he were a gladiator of old, made him uncomfortable.

Thoughts darted across his mind. How the spectators weren’t really here to see him, nay. He could dazzle the crowds and please them all, but the thought that niggled him greatly was that of his… circumstance here.

Adrien, his friend, his mentor, deserved to be here. Battling with all his grace and demeanour to earn that third gold medal he had so desired for.

And yet that dream burnt with the wreckage of the vehicle.

He shouldn’t have been here. He should have thrown in the towel. But he couldn’t.

What would Adrien have said? What would Gaullica have thought? What would the Vredlandian had thought?

He couldn’t let them all down, not now.

His grip tightened on the hilt of the blade and his feet pressed firmly into the piste. He breathed in, calmly, yet angrily — through grit teeth.

Zacharie was not sure if he could win, nor if he could even compete — but he would try with all the strength he could muster.

An intense stare, an unwavering stare, through those masks of theirs. He could feel the pressure mounting.

How would he do this, he pondered. Adrien had astounded all; executing a Zornhau. Which now ruled it out. He’d need to get inventive, unorthodox. Or perhaps entrench himself in fencing orthodoxy.


Gabriel breathed heavily. He didn’t know the Gaullican well, indeed they had only ever met at tournaments, but the sudden death of his rival shook him to his core.

Gabriel thought he had seen the best of his career already, but after his initial success at these Invictus Games, he was determined to still continue his career until about 2022. He wasn’t the youngest anymore, but he didn’t think he was old enough to settle down yet. The death of that bright star Adrien made him completely reverse his view, however.

Gabriel could take the job as lecturer at the National Institute for Physical Education that he was offered, something to do until he eventually retired in his 60s. He’d be closer to his wife; maybe they could still have that second child she so dearly wished for.

This current life, from tournament to tournament, what would it mean to him or frankly anyone if it was to end suddenly? Would his daughter rejoice his medals or regret the time the two of them missed because he was away earning them?

Gabriel grabbed the hilt of his blade tightly. It slightly reflected the different lights around them, he noticed. Almost peacefully, in the midst of all this chaos.

The Gaullican across Gabriel stood there seemingly determined and collected. Gabriel admired that. Any other day, he surely would have enjoyed a dance of their blades. Today, he only wanted to get this over with. To win.


Zacharie inhaled sharply, watching as the referee, the adjudicator of this duel, moved to the centre of the piste.

He brought an arm down in a chopping motion, signalling the beginning of the end of the Invictus’ games the épée tournament.

“Allez! En garde!” he called, angrily, and leapt into a ferocious forward lunge.

Gabriel was no slouch, of course, and quickly stepped back. His heels were well beyond the demarcation line behind him and with quick flick of the wrist brought his blade to bear in a block, but a misjudgement on behalf of his own footing failed to capitulate it into a parry.

The Gaullican now took his chance to step back, letting himself into a defensive posture that mimicked the opening style of his friend. His grip on the handle never wavered, and he held it so that the forte of the blade was elevated over its button.

He struck again. He was not sure if it was in desperation, anxiety or if he had a plan indeed.

A quick strike upwards, that’s all it was. Gabriel raised his blade, careful with his posture, and shoulder poised himself into a perfect parry position.

For a strike that did not come.

Within the machinations of the young Gaullican’s mind; a feint was not what he had intended — yet it had happened all the same.

An audible gasp escaped the onlookers as Zacharie took the blade down and pressed the button end into the calf of his opponent.

There was a silence that seemed to last for an eternity. The warriors stood, the button pressed into the white trousers worn by all goodly duellists.

Throughout it all, even from behind the mask, Zacharie could have sworn he heard a short chuckle. This was followed by an approving, accented, Gaullican; “J’aurai tout vu!” What a compliment!

The referee stepped forward and waved his arms in a short and decisive cross. Both fighters scampered back to their lines and Zacharie felt such elation and pride in himself he could’ve exploded in joy at that very moment.

But he kept his cool.

At least he would not be returning home having been completely bested.

This the Vredlandian was first to act, calling out the necessary remarks as had been done before. A hearty “Allez!” and a knightly “En garde!”

Gabriel moved forward like the wind, strike, strike, strike, in a monumental run up assault.

Dodge, dodge, parry was the style of the defending Gaullican. Yet the Vredlandian did not falter and executed a fantastic footwork, bringing his back foot forward in a combination fléche and an appel.

A loud thud filled the stadium and Zacharie, disoriented, missed the retaliatory strike launched against him that caused Gabriel’s épée to prod his white jacket in his midrif.


The beginning of the end, Zacharie swallowed as he stepped back towards his starting point at the ref’s call.


A clash of the titans.

A clash that should not have happened.

The Gaullican fencer wept, wept in sadness.

His arm raised by the referee, a standing applause given by the audience. A clash on the back, an embrace by Gabriel.

Gold. He had done it, through some pulling of the strings by higher powers.

What had been a tie with a point each had turned into a lead in favour of the Vredlandian, following up his point by executing a fantastic feint led parry that caught the Gaullican in his jaw.

Yet Zacharie had struck back, after a heavy duel of blocks and parries gave him the chance to feint an overhead strike into a successful thrust that the Vredlandian had failed to dodge, the button of the blade pressing into his left arm.

The final point was, oddly, not as illustrious. A fast paced encounter, with stomping and screaming as the competitors battled it for honour, for pride, for country. And in Zacharie’s mind, for Adrien.

This gold would not be his. Never. He had won this for his mentor and friend.

And as he removed his mask to well in the adoration of the onlookers, the the tears that had welled up in his eyes let themselves down onto his cheeks.

The victor was smiling down at him, he knew.
Impeach Kerensky Legalise Autocracy Soviets are Fucking Stupid Pyotr Wrangle, 1936
Grand-Master of the Kyluminati
"Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith." - Saint Francis of Assisi
"At age 13 the internet should be used for porn and club penguin " - The Kingdom of Glitter
Consider Kylaris, peasant. The Greatest Collab Post. Ever. Of All Time.
TNL (NWH): to conclude my earlier message considering that none of us give enough of a shit about your misplaced nationalism to ever create an rp where spain is even remotely fucking relevant i don't think we're ever going to call you, ever

NS' self-declared most humble Catholic.

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