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Rural rebellion challenges government (MT, Concluded)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Mount Zeon
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Rural rebellion challenges government (MT, Concluded)

Postby Mount Zeon » Mon Oct 29, 2018 5:22 am

“I believe that Robert Matthews believed what he said when he declared himself ‘the Prophet Matthias.’ I believe that he truly thought that the regime he established after the revolution was one sanctioned by God. But the truth of his beliefs is irrelevant, because for nearly half a century now the Kingdom of Mount Zeon has been a kleptocratic dictatorship dressed up in the trappings of a theocracy. Robert Matthews’ descendants, from all that I have seen and heard, go through the motions of professing belief in the True Spirit as a means of justifying their rule. And every day that this continues, the people of Mount Zeon suffer.”

Excerpt from Kingdom of Lies: The Truth About Mount Zeon, From Someone Who Escaped, by Jane Folger


Amber Reyes County

Matt Yates hated tithing day.

The day was supposedly a joyous one: according to the tenants of the Church, fathers should face no economic oppression from other fathers. In theory, this was accomplished through the tithe – whatever crops each farm had to spare were brought into town, gathered up by the Church, and then distributed back out according to needs. Thus, no markets needed to exist, with their effeminate merchandisers who made a mockery of true men by reaping monetary reward without physical work. This made for fine reading in the Bible that Matt kept in his bedside table. It was harder to swallow in reality.

Most of the farmer families surrounding the town of Covenant had already arrived by the time Matt and his truck pulled into the common in the middle of the town. The men were clustered around a group of government vehicles, loading bales and bundles and boxes into trucks under the watchful eye of armed militia. The Kingdom’s true army was rarely seen: the Prophet Matthias had established a separate force to keep order among his own people. The militia were young men, some barely out of being called boys, from somewhere else – no militiaman ever served among his own community, lest he be tempted to corruption. They carried assault rifles and looked over the farmers without much visible emotion or feeling. They were just here to do their job.

Matt began to join the group, loading the surplus from his farm into the trucks. His son had stayed at home today, which made it slow going. But rumor had it that the militia might go on another recruiting drive soon, which meant any young man coming to town for the tithe risked become part of the tithe himself.

He heard shouting from across the common, and he felt the crowd around him get smaller. He put the bale in his hands into the truck and then looked to see what was happening. Four militia were coming into the common, with a man being escorted between them. They held him by the back of his shirt, forcing him forward into a hunched position. That was why it took a moment before Matt recognized Abraham Beckett, the town’s priest. He was a beloved man.

Matt began to walk towards the scene taking shape as townspeople rushed to find out why their priest was being manhandled by the militia. The word passed through the crowd that he had been charged with being a secret Finneyite – an liberal evangelical Christian, who had been rising in prominence in Mount Zeon before the revolution.

“Pastor Beckett? A Finneyite?” It was almost impossible to contemplate. Sure, the pastor sometimes preached the word of the True Spirirt in ways that didn’t seem to totally match up with what Matt read in his Bible, but he had assumed the man of God knew more about the holy word than a mere farmer.

The militia were getting anxious, demanding the crowd move away so they could put the priest in one of the vehicles that had escorted the trucks. Matt had taken a few steps towards the scene but held back from joining the people who were now pleading for Beckett's release. He saw the militia near the trucks start to shift the way their weapons sat in their hands and suddenly began to feel very bad about the whole situation.

Later on he wouldn’t be able to say exactly what he’d been thinking. Maybe he was just fed up with every way the government in New Jerusalem intruded on his life, with seemingly nothing given in return. Maybe it was harder to accept the persecution of those who didn’t follow the True Spirit when it was someone you knew. Or maybe he’d already known deep down how this was going to end.

When the militia raised their weapons to the crowd, they took a step back but did not disperse. When a warning shot failed to do the trick, the barrels leveled towards the crowd. Matt had picked up a crowbar that had been used to open boxes of produce to check their quality. When Mayor Brookman stepped forward to try and reason with the militia, the soldiers shot him four times in the chest. The crowd surged forward, hands outstretched.

Matt swung the crowbar into the surprised face of the militiaman who was raising his rifle to open fire on the crowd from behind.

New Jerusalem

In comparison to the squat buildings of Covenant, the capital city of New Jerusalem featured a number of taller buildings. None of the towers could be called true skyscrapers, however, because since the founding of the Kingdom it had been law that no structure was to be taller than the spires of the palace-temple complex sitting at the heart of the metropolis.

Surrounded by a high wall, twelve buildings sat clustered at nearly the exact center of the city. The tallest was the central building, the home and offices of the rulers of the Kingdom since its construction after the Revolution. It was a stylistic abomination, taking inspiration from cathedrals, mosques, and a grab bag of other architectural influences. A domed central piece was surrounded by other bits jutting off, with two tall towers at opposite corners.

Underneath the dome was the main audience chamber and meeting space, where the Father of the Kingdom held court and met with his ruling council. They met beneath a grandiose fresco depicting the history of the world as understood by the Church of the True Spirit. A series of images told the tale of God’s creation of the world, the deal with the devil wherein God would abandon his children to test their faith, the enlightenment of the Prophet Matthias, and the establishment of the Kingdom and the defeat of the devils who had ruled the country.

That had been almost 50 years ago. Father Matthias was dead now, but his family line and his Kingdom endured. John now ruled as King of Mount Zeon and Father of the Kingdom, the Vessel of the True Spirit. As decreed by God, he had taken the throne after the death of his father, and he would pass the throne and the kingdom onto his sons. They would continue to maintain the only truly righteous state in the world, the one bastion standing in defiance against the devil and the mock-men and uppity women who did his bidding.

John had finished holding his public court, meeting delegations from Millstown and New Kirtland to approve new industrial and commercial projects and accepting the formal public invitation from the priests of New Coila to preside over the annual Lord’s Supper. Now his council awaited his presence so the private affairs of government could be tended to. The news out of Amber Reyes County was on everyone’s mind. The Kingdom had been troubled by internal divisions before, but they had been among the urban populations, especially those of the port and industrial towns where the number of immigrants and men without families was high. This new outburst from the rural backcountry, where the Church and Kingdom had ruled without question or objection since the beginning, was highly disturbing.

The herald at the door took one step forward, his footfall silencing the conversations among the men at the table. “All rise in the presence of John, King of Mount Zeon, Father of the Kingdom, and Vessel of the True Spirit.”

The doors behind the herald opened and Father John entered, flanked by two members of his personal guard and followed by his wife, who walked with her head down in obedient submission. Mary, the Mother of the Kingdom, would stand behind her husband during this meeting as an unspeaking observer. She would not be permitted to participate or offer any opinion unless, for some reason, John asked it of her.

John took his seat and gestured for the other members of the council to follow suit. “I know the matter which weighs most heavily in all of our minds,” he intoned. “Before we discuss that, I wish to make sure that all other matters have been addressed, so we may then focus all our energies on the crisis at hand. Begin your reports.”

Each man at the table talked in turn, each for about five minutes, reporting on the sector or function of the government that they were responsible for. Most news was positive, or at least not negative. The Kingdom’s agricultural exports continued to flow from all but one area, serving as the main source of foreign revenue. The industry of Millstown continued to expand, mostly to serve a domestic market. The foreign immigrant population was rising, but in a strictly controlled manner. Those who attempted to enter illegally were being hunted down and added to the vast population of slaves helping to expand the Kingdom’s infrastructure network.

Finally, it was time to discuss Amber Reyes County. “They object to the tithe? To the arrest of their beloved heretic Finneyite priest?” Father John’s words held venom. “I will not yield one inch to the devil’s newest puppets.”

This had been the expected response. Arnold Thomas, Grand Marshal of the Kingdom’s military, had the readiness reports in hand. “Anticipating that, I have ordered all the nearby units to begin converging on the county. We have to maintain our forces on the border with Parina but we can muster a force that will be overwhelming by a significant degree.”

“I want them crushed without mercy,” John declared. “Kill the men. We’ll sell the women to the highest bidder. Bomb them from the sky and burn out their homes. I want their towns wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Of course, Father. General Bill Sherman will be in overall command. He should be on the scene in a day’s time to begin coordinating the counterattack.”

Father John nodded his approval and waved a hand. The council was dismissed.
Last edited by Mount Zeon on Sat Aug 31, 2019 9:15 pm, edited 6 times in total.
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

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Mount Zeon
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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Mount Zeon » Mon Oct 29, 2018 12:06 pm

Amber Reyes County

All sense of time had slipped away somewhere in the past. Matt Yates knew there had been at least one sunset and sunrise since the fateful moments in the Covenant common. He couldn’t begin to make a guess at how many hours had passed. The bodies had been cleared from the center of town. They’d buried the mayor and the nine others who’d died in the short, violent battle with the militia. The militiamen themselves, what was left of them, had gotten an unceremonious pit on the other side of town from the graveyard.

The uprising—that was what this was now, he supposed—had moved on a logic of its own after that. Every step had made sense, but he couldn’t seem to remember anyone giving the orders or making the plan. Half of the men had piled into their own vehicles and driven to the nearby militia base in the next town over. Word might have gotten out about what had happened and they needed to buy themselves time. What that time was for, no one could say.

Word hadn’t gotten out. They’d taken the base by surprise, killed or captured most of the rest of the militia assigned to the county. The ones coming back from their tithe collection assignments were easy to seize as they came through the gates of the barracks compound. As word of that got out, towns began sending emissaries. They wanted their produce back, and they wanted revenge on the militia for generations of unanswered outrages. Soon the entire county seemed to be united against the government in New Jerusalem.

They’d passed out all the weapons in the armory, plus the ones they took from the dead and captured soldiers. Some men who had expertise, a few old veterans among them, had gone among the garage to see what vehicles they could get working. The militia had no heavy weapons or tanks, but there were a handful of armored vehicles that might be useful. Again, no one had said out loud what use they would be well-suited to.

Matt had stumbled into the position being Covenant’s representative at a hasty meeting of Amber Reyes County towns. The men around the table in what had been the briefing room for the militia was tense and scared. Most of the men in the room had either been very young children prior to the Revolution or had been born afterwards. They had little frame of reference for open defiance to the rule of Father John. But that was where they were.

“We can get our families to the border,” one was suggesting. “Get to Parina, where the army can’t come after us.”

“And leave behind everything?” Someone else asked incredulously. “I’ve spent my life in this county. I’m staying to fight!”

“Fight who? They won’t just send a few militiamen after us. They’ll bring the whole army down on our heads!”

“Better to die on my feet,” a third man interjected. “I’ve been paying these damn tithes for 40 years now. Father John has gotten enough out of me.”

It continued this way. Some wanted to flee. Others wanted to fight. Nobody knew what to do now that the county was under their de facto control. One foolish soul suggested marching on New Jerusalem. Matt stayed silent, working things over. He thought about his family, waiting back on the farmstead for his return. He’d called them and told them what happened. He didn’t know when he’d come back. He couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen if the militia came back. And his wife had family in another county – would they suffer in his stead if they fled the country?

“We could,” Matt said, not totally sure if was speaking out loud, “Bring our complaints before Father John. Petition for redress of grievances.”

Everyone around the table stared at him. He was suggesting they throw themselves on the unknown mercies of the man who claimed to rule them as Father and King.

“We’ve shown strength,” Matt continued, gaining some confidence in his words. “We’ve done nothing but defend ourselves and our communities. He’ll respect that. He’s a man just like us.”

Continued stares, but now some faces seemed to be mulling it over.

“And while we’re doing that, we can make ourselves ready, to flee or fight. But if we don’t try…what if it works? We can’t ignore that chance.”

The men who had committed themselves to fighting looked skeptical. But those who had looked as confused as he had, or had contemplated fleeing, seemed to be warming to the idea. There was a bit more discussion, but the idea was firmly planted in the collective minds of the men in the room. It went from discussing the idea as a hypothetical, to sorting out who would go and what they would say.

“I think you’ve fools,” spat Edward Kirk, the man who had decided to fight. “But I won’t say it’s not worth trying. But I won’t let us sit here on our hands while you go off to see Father John. We’ll block the main roads into the county behind you.”

Matt nodded. He agreed with the man on that much. They had to prepare to defend themselves against whatever response the nearby militia would muster. Matt asked if anyone wanted to accompany him. John Lead, from two farms up the road, raised his hand and said he would come along.

“You’ll need someone by your side in this,” he said, a smile on his face that betrayed the fear he was trying to conceal.

“Alright,” Matt said with finality. “Let’s go see Father John.”
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

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Parina
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Postby Parina » Mon Oct 29, 2018 12:18 pm

OOC: written with the consent of Mount Zeon

The offices of the World Press Agency in Parina pulled double duty as the main point for the transmission of news about the Crown Republic’s reclusive neighbor. Mount Zeon allowed few journalists into the country. Those it did permit to enter could only go where they were permitted, which was a short list, and report on what the Kingdom wanted them to, which was an even shorter list. So real news about what was happening in Mount Zeon had to come secondhand.

Blake Doran had one such secondhand source in his hands right now – a report from the Royal Intelligence Service about an upheaval. Seems some farmers in the backcountry had finally had enough of “Father John” and his regime. Doran had reported on Mount Zeon before – most of the countryside was living just above subsistence level. The government took every bit of surplus it could to sell on the international market. It was their own major source of foreign capital, besides the selling of slaves to the few buyers that existed in this part of the world.

The report included a map. Amber Reyes County – named for some local Hero of the Revolution, apparently – was outlined and shaded in red. The rebellious peasants had seized towns across the breadth of the county and the arsenal of the local militia unit. Observers on the border had seen airplanes, probably government warplanes, flying in the direction of the county. The flow of refugees out of the Kingdom had gone from intermittent arrivals to a constant stream, but still small in number. The Border Guard were upping their numbers to handle the new conditions. An official complaint about it was sure to come from New Jerusalem soon.

Doran turned from the report to his laptop, and began to type.

World Press Agency: Rural revolt in isolated Mount Zeon
Parsius, Parina – News from the reclusive Kingdom of Mount Zeon is hard to come by, but reports have begun to surface that indicate a serious local rebellion against the rule of King John, the so-called “Father” of the Kingdom, has erupted in the rural Amber Reyes County. Farmers have violently resisted the collection of the exacting agricultural tithes demanded by the government. The government has reportedly lost control of almost every town in the county. No official statement has been issued by the government of Mount Zeon. A spokeswoman for the Foreign Ministry said that Parina is “in the process of appraising the situation.”

The Kingdom of Mount Zeon was formed in 1960s when Robert Matthews proclaimed himself as "the Prophet Matthias" and violently overthrew the secular government. Matthews rebuilt Zeonese society into a highly patriarchal and conservative order. Today Mount Zeon maintains an isolated existence, selling agricultural products (and, it is rumored, slaves) on the international market to buyers who are willing to overlook the Kingdom's dictatorial rule and ultraconservative social order. It remains to be seen how this instability in a major farming region will affect Mount Zeon's economy.

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Mount Zeon
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Postby Mount Zeon » Mon Oct 29, 2018 1:00 pm

Parina wrote:
World Press Agency: Rural revolt in isolated Mount Zeon
Parsius, Parina – News from the reclusive Kingdom of Mount Zeon is hard to come by, but reports have begun to surface that indicate a serious local rebellion against the rule of King John, the so-called “Father” of the Kingdom, has erupted in the rural Amber Reyes County. Farmers have violently resisted the collection of the exacting agricultural tithes demanded by the government. The government has reportedly lost control of almost every town in the county. No official statement has been issued by the government of Mount Zeon. A spokeswoman for the Foreign Ministry said that Parina is “in the process of appraising the situation.”

The Kingdom of Mount Zeon was formed in 1960s when Robert Matthews proclaimed himself as "the Prophet Matthias" and violently overthrew the secular government. Matthews rebuilt Zeonese society into a highly patriarchal and conservative order. Today Mount Zeon maintains an isolated existence, selling agricultural products (and, it is rumored, slaves) on the international market to buyers who are willing to overlook the Kingdom's dictatorial rule and ultraconservative social order. It remains to be seen how this instability in a major farming region will affect Mount Zeon's economy.

New Jerusalem

Father John hurled the paper across the desk. “I will not permit this! How dare this mock-man stick his nose into our affairs!” Hard eyes glared across the ornate wood, piercing through the man sitting on the other side.

Grand Marshal Arnold Thomas, to his credit, stood firm in the face of his sovereign’s anger. He had known John while he was still heir to the kingdom instead of its ruler. He had been quick to anger then and nothing about becoming King had changed that facet of his personality. So, while the eyes of the Father tried to drill holes through and out the back of his skull, he simply shifted slightly backwards in his seat. He would survive this man just like he’d survived his father.

“I cannot do anything about what a reporter in another country writes,” Arnold explained. “But our forces continue to mobilize. The infrastructure in that part of the country has not yet been improved. It is a slow process.” The Kingdom relied on an army of slave labor to do most of its road and rail construction. They had linked New Jerusalem and the port of New Kirtland by multi-lane highway and modern railroads, but most of the labor was currently working on connecting New Kirtland to the industrial hub of Millstown. New Coila and New Argyle remained linked to the Kingdom by lesser roads and rail lines, most of which were choked with the pilgrims going to visit the birthplace of the Prophet Matthias or the site of his enlightenment. Moving serious military force out to the rural backcountry would take time.

“What of our air force?” John demanded.

“The first warplanes should be landing at the base near New Coila soon,” Arnold replied. “We will need to scout precise targets and make sure we have sufficient munitions. We can begin launching sorties tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother with precise targeting,” Father John snapped. “I know they’ve taken the base at Greenfield. That means any loyal servants of the True Spirit are already dead. Target anything that moves and any building that stands in that county. Start with the hospitals – let them see how the heal themselves now that they’ve cast out the Spirit.”

Arnold nodded his head. “I will pass those sentiments onto General Sherman.”

“And when you see Jimmy in the hall, tell him to get in here,” John added. Arnold stopped where he was, another few steps from the door leading out of the Father’s private office. “I have a message for him to send to the Parinese and their lapdog of a king.”

Arnold nodded and opened the door. He saw the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, James Pleasant, sitting in one of the plush chairs where people sat while waiting to see Father John. A woman was coming towards him with a small glass tumbler of water.

“Might want to wait on that,” Arnold said as he closed the door behind him. “He’s ready to see you now.”

Official Diplomatic Correspondence
From the Department of Foreign Relations


On behalf of the Father of the Kingdom and with the blessings of the True Spirit, I bring a warning to your nation.

We have observed the buildup among your already-provocative military forces deployed along our common border. This prelude to aggression is duly noted, and our own defensive troops will be reinforced to ensure. This will ensure that whatever hostile designs you have on our Kingdom will be thwarted.


Yours in Truth,
James Pleasant
Secretary for Foreign Affairs
Servant of King John, Father of the Kingdom


New Coila Airbase

Everyone called General William Sherman by his shortened first name, Bill. That is, everyone who didn’t need to address him as “General” and “sir” did that. The men he was speaking to right now did not have the right or privilege to speak to him in any sort of casual manner. And even if they had before, they wouldn’t have dared to exercise that ability right now.

“I don’t care about whatever excuses you’ve made up,” he was thundering at the commanders for the local militia units. “You will have your men in position to begin the counterattack by tomorrow morning.”

“But the roads…”

“What about the roads?” Bill rounded on the commander who had stammered out the words. He was a tall man, maybe even equal in height to Bill, but he shrank in the general’s presence. These militia were fine for keeping the peace and beating up Finneyites, but they had no business doing any sort of fighting. He cursed the Parinans – if the army hadn’t needed to keep so much of its strength on the border, he could have had an armored brigade up and rolling into Covenant before the sun finished setting.

“There are a lot of pilgrims on the roads, going to New Coila or New Argyle,” the commander explained. “It is difficult to move the vehicles through the traffic.”

“Run them off the road if you have to,” Bill dismissed the issue with a backhanded wave of his hand, as if slapping the pilgrims out of the way himself. “They will understand the sacrifices that must be made for the preservation of the Kingdom.” The general could sense the hesitation in the man. He leaned in closely. “If your unit isn’t in position to advance by my deadline,” he said in a low voice, “No amount of prayers to the Lord will save you from me.”
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

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Atlantian Dominions
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Moralistic Democracy

Postby Atlantian Dominions » Mon Oct 29, 2018 2:12 pm

When he had first been offered the position of Ambassador to Mount Zeon, Charles Gotham had assumed it was a punishment detail. He had supported, privately, one of President Gilmore’s challengers at the last party convention. The challenge had been unsuccessful and Gilmore had swept the nomination. Charles’ support had been entirely verbal, but the political machine had a long memory for what sides you picked. Being “offered” – it was an offer he could not refuse without being tossed out of the government altogether – the ambassadorship in New Jerusalem was, he had assumed, retribution for failing to fall in line with the frontrunner before it was a sure thing.

Once he’d gotten to Mount Zeon, however, he’d realized it wasn’t quite so bad. The two countries were tied together by bonds of commerce and culture. Both believed in rule by strong men. Women here in Mount Zeon were more put in their place than they were in Atlantia, remarkable as that was. Here no one looked twice if the embassy maids wore uniforms that would qualify as fetish wear in most “civilized” countries. The local government certainly didn’t care what liberties the diplomatic staff took with them. Mount Zeon and Dominanthia were probably the only two embassies in the foreign service that could hire locally help.

It was a cushy job, all things considered. His role was mostly to make sure the trade flowed without issue. The Confederacy’s arms industry made a tidy profit selling weapons to Mount Zeon, and the big agricultural firms had links running to almost immediately after the establishment of the Kingdom. His other role was to make occasional trips to neighboring Parina, to remind them of the muscle Atlantia could bring to bear if they responded to Zeonese provocations too strongly. Now, annoyingly, he was having to do some real work.

“Yes, I understand,” Charles was saying into the phone. He’d swiveled his chair around to look at the impressive view of New Jerusalem through the large window. “Yes, I have a meeting scheduled for later today.”

He checked his watch. He still had an hour before it was time to bring the motorcade around for the trip to Father John’s ostentatious palace.

“Of course, Mister Secretary.” He spun the chair back around and dropped the receiver back onto the cradle. The rumors about the revolt in the backcountry had finally made their way back to Atlantia. Some of the agribusiness executives who were particularly invested in Zeonese goods were getting jumpy. President Gilmore had already shown he was willing to play ball when he’d sent the Marines to some godforsaken African hellhole to protect diamond mines. Pressure was coming down on him to do the same in Mount Zeon.

This meeting with Secretary Pleasant would clarify what exactly was going on out in Amber Reyes County. Depending on the answer to that question, Charles could then proceed to the next question: what, if anything, did the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions need to do about it?
The Confederation of Atlantian Dominions
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My nation can be referred to as "the Atlantian Dominions" or "Atlantia"

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Mount Zeon
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Postby Mount Zeon » Thu Nov 01, 2018 2:55 pm

OOC: mature content warning for this post

Atlantian Dominions wrote:This meeting with Secretary Pleasant would clarify what exactly was going on out in Amber Reyes County. Depending on the answer to that question, Charles could then proceed to the next question: what, if anything, did the Confederacy of Atlantian Dominions need to do about it?


New Jerusalem

“Father John’s attention is taken up by other matters at the moment.”

Foreign Secretary James Pleasant looked down at the petite black woman who stood before him, standing like a sentinel in front of the double doors. Behind those doors was the portion of the palace temple that housed the personal quarters of the Father and his family. Normally James wouldn’t consider doing business there. But he’d just finished wrapping up his meeting with the Atlantian ambassador, and he needed to speak to the Father now. He said as much to Verity Wagenen, the woman who had served as John’s personal aide since he had come of age. Her family traced their attachment to the ruling family all the way back to before the Revolution.

She seemed to consider his words. In the silence, he could hear muffled sounds from behind the door. After a moment they crystalized: slaps followed by muted yelps. He understood her reluctance.

“It’s urgent,” he pressed. “And it won’t take long. I know what to expect.”

Verity considered his words, then placed a hand on the door handle. She knocked twice as she turned the handle, alerting the occupants that someone was entering. James stepped through the door as soon as it had been fully opened for him. He took in the scene: John was seated on one of the high-backed wooden chairs that normally sat around the long dinner table in the next room. His wife Mary, the Mother of the Kingdom, was laying across his lap. Her skirt had been pulled up to exposing her bare bottom, which was covered in red hand marks.

“Hello Jimmy,” John said nonchalantly. The situation would have been embarrassing for someone uninitiated with the culture that the Prophet Matthias and his descendants had propagated since the Revolution. For the two men in the room, it was awkward but no more than running talking to a coworker in the office bathroom.

“Good afternoon,” James replied.

“Just keeping the house in order,” John said. He brought his hand down his wife’s rear end in a sharp spank. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the large room. Mary yelped in surprise and pain, but her cry was muffled by something. “Say hello to James, darling.”

Father John reached around to Mary’s mouth and gave a small tug on something sticking out of one corner. She opened her mouth to allow him to remove a bundled-up piece of cloth. “Hello Mister Secretary,” she said after a short gasp for fresh air. James returned a quick nod in her direction.

“I’ve just spoken to the Atlantian ambassador,” James began. “They’ve offered to send us advisors to help deal with the rebels in Amber Reyes County.”

Father John nodded. “We will accept them, of course.”

“They have agreed to make it clear to the Parinese that no interference with our affairs will be tolerated. He suggested that a carrier battlegroup could be routed to stand off our coast, both as a message to the Parinese and to provide additional air support.”

“Good. Any news from General Sherman?”

James took a moment to bring up the details from the brief encounter he’d had with the Grand Marshal earlier in the day. “I understand that the air attacks on the rebels have begun. Grand Marshal Thomas says General Sherman promises to begin attacking immediately. For any more detail, you’d have to ask him directly.”

“Fine.” John waved the hand not holding the fabric, a dismissal in lieu of standing to shake James’ hand. “Tell Verity I want to schedule a meeting with Arnold, for earliest possible.”

James nodded. “If there are anymore updates…?”

“Put them in writing and I’ll review them later,” John replied. “Please tell Verity on your way out that no one else is to disturb me.”

James nodded and turned around while Father John stuffed the pair of panties back into Mary’s mouth. The Foreign Secretary could hear the spanking resume as the door swung closed.

Amber Reyes County

The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions for everyone in Covenant. But for Elizabeth Yates, there was a special dread that only one other household could understand. Her husband had volunteered to go plead for mercy from Father John! She hadn’t believed it when word had come to her, and she still didn’t understand it. Sarah Lead felt the same pain – her husband had chosen to join Matt in his foolhardy boldness.

She could do nothing except pray that they would be safe, that Father John would indeed grant mercy. Meanwhile, more sons and husbands went south to the county border, to help defend against the return of the militia. The women and those men who either could not join the fight or refused to did their best to pick up the slack.

Elizabeth was gathering up her things when she heard, and then felt, the rumble. She had seen a few airplanes high above the town on the rare occasion that a flight to New Jerusalem was routed over the county, but this sounded different. There was a terrifying noise and the house rattled on its foundations as something flew overhead, low to the ground.

She ran out the front door just in time to see the top of a massive explosion peak over the buildings. Whatever it was, it had happened on the other side of town. She saw the plane—it had to be a jet, a government jet fighter—banking high and away. The pit in her stomach grew four sizes larger. How could they defend against that?

New Coila Airbase

The attack jet’s engines roared to life, forcing the plane across the runway and up into the sky. General Bill Sherman could see a glimpse of the bombs fixed underneath the wings and body of the strike fighter as it ascended. That was the third one in a row, and more were taxiing up to the takeoff point or being loaded with bombs near the hangars.

“Sir?” An orderly called from across the office. Bill turned away from the window to see a corporal looking at him, phone in hand. “It’s Colonel Munson up near Down-Amber. He says he’s ready to proceed with the probing attack at your order.”

“Tell him to get underway,” Bill said with impatience. “I want the militia over the Amber River today. If he lets a bunch of farmers with hunting rifles slow him down, I’ll throw him off the bridge myself.”

A jet came to a stop on the landing strip, it’s undercarriage empty. There was the first sortie, back from its mission. If he remembered correctly, its target had been the hospital in Covenant. No matter what the pilot had been ordered to hit, the bombload the plane had carried when it had taken off would have been more than enough to level any structure in the county. And it was only the first of many.
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

User avatar
Atlantian Dominions
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 178
Founded: Sep 04, 2012
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Atlantian Dominions » Thu Nov 01, 2018 4:34 pm

Mount Zeon wrote:“I’ve just spoken to the Atlantian ambassador,” James began. “They’ve offered to send us advisors to help deal with the rebels in Amber Reyes County.”

Father John nodded. “We will accept them, of course.”

“He suggested that a carrier battlegroup could be routed to stand off our coast, both as a message to the Parinese and to provide additional air support.”

Commander Victor Franklin looked out over the vast ocean before him. While the mass of the carrier whose bridge he stood on seemed to take up the entire space, he knew that the ANS Sovereignty was a mere speck on the blue expanse. The ships he could see nearby, other members of the battle group, were equally imposing up close but just as small when put into context. Yet despite this humbling knowledge, Atlantian carrier commanders knew they commanded enough firepower to make their presence felt even on the open seas. Some said that knowledge bred arrogance, but arrogance was almost genetic in Atlantians anyway.

The battle group was executing a turn, altering its course to make for Mount Zeon. Once they were offshore Victor could bring the firepower of his carrier’s air wing to bear on the rebels. Whatever surplus equipment the Zeonese had would probably be enough to keep a lid on the problem, but Atlantia didn’t usually associate with peer competitors. If these people were friends of the Confederacy, they weren’t on Atlantia’s level.

So he suspected that he would arrive in Zeonese waters to find the Zeonese making little progress. That would change once his airpower and the expertise of the advisors were brought to bear.

* * *

General Alexander Hightower looked over the faces of the men standing on the tarmac. They were all veterans, battle-tested and desensitized to the horrors of war. Under his command these men had battled insurgents and rebels in a number of environments, all to protect Atlantian interests abroad. The regular Atlantian military was small, but it was good at what it did.

“You all understand your mission,” he shouted over the sounds of the air and naval station around them. “Once you arrive in Mount Zeon, you will become the secret weapon in their arsenal. You will give them the iron spines they need to put an end to this rebellion.”

Atlantia had a number of economic partners whose stability was always threatening to evaporate. The armed forces had become good at helping dictatorships with open trade policies keep their heads. These men were trained not just as special forces, but as advisors. They could execute a midnight raid on an insurgent camp, but even more importantly they could train a conscript farmer how to do it. Alongside these men would come technical experts to help the Zeonese get the most out of the weapons Atlantia sold them.

General Hightower harangued a bit longer, then sent the men off to board the waiting transport plane. They would be touching down in New Jerusalem before the sun went down.
Last edited by Atlantian Dominions on Sun Nov 04, 2018 6:48 am, edited 3 times in total.
The Confederation of Atlantian Dominions
Past Tech/Steampunk RP
My nation can be referred to as "the Atlantian Dominions" or "Atlantia"

User avatar
Parina
Envoy
 
Posts: 215
Founded: Dec 13, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Parina » Thu Nov 01, 2018 6:41 pm

OOC: written with input from Atlantian Dominions and Mount Zeon

The visit from the Atlantian ambassador had been mercifully brief. That was about the only good thing Anthony Newsome, the Lord Foreign Minister for His Majesty’s Government, could say about it. The Atlantians had always been burrs under the saddle, to borrow a rancher’s turn of phrase. Their muscular support for Mount Zeon had prevented Parina from lancing that boil for years. Now they were one-upping themselves and preemptively making threats.

Ambassador Gotham had made the journey from Mount Zeon on short notice, barely giving the Foreign Ministry time to put together an official welcome. Then he had spent the entire meeting with Lord Newsome explaining how Atlantia would react very strongly to any Parinian interference in the ongoing rebellion in Mount Zeon. Of course, Lord Newsome had already sent orders to open the borders to the refugees that were starting to appear, and he was due to meet with the Lord Minister for Defense later today to coordinate the shipment of arms to the rebels. But there was no sense in telling Ambassador Gotham any of that.

The phone rang, right on schedule. Lord Newsome picked up the line and greeted Prime Minister David Northlight.

“How did things go with the Atlantians, Tony?”

“About as well as they always do, Dave. We’ll have to make sure we step lightly.”

“I have a meeting with the King tomorrow to go over our official response line. For now, if Blake Doran or anyone else calls you up, the official line is we’re still appraising the situation.”

“As you say. In the meantime, I’m going to make sure we have enough paper-pushers at the border crossings. I suspect we’ll have quite a few asylum applications coming in.”

“Good idea. Anyhow, need to run. This job, I swear it’s working me into an early grave.”

“Cheers, Prime Minister.”

Mount Zeon-Parina Border
This particular post, Blake Doran had learned, was known by the soldiers who manned it as “North Check.” It was a shortening of “Northern Checkpoint,” which was the rather self-obvious name given to the northernmost border crossing along the border with Mount Zeon. Usually, he knew, these crossings were tense places. Soldiers from the two sides stared each other down, tanks with muzzles nearly touching, all that sort of thing. Usually anyone trying to flee into Parina would have to find their own way across the border, because the guards in Mount Zeon were allowed to shoot any would-be defectors.

Now, though, the border was open for the first time since Parina’s neighbor had descended into madness. The rebels in Amber Reyes County had easily overpowered the border guards facing North Check. The Parinian government had sent more soldiers to the scene, but they had also sent bureaucrats to process the Zeonese who were fleeing into the Crown Republic. From his perch on the stairs of the North Check headquarters, Blake Doran could see a row of folding tables that had been hastily set up on the road. Royal Army soldiers stood around, helping organize the lines of people who were queued up in front of the Foreign Ministry paper-pushers. The bureaucrats recorded names and other information, then told the hopeful expatriates to go wait in a collection of tents that had been erected nearby.

Doran was scribbling down notes on a small pad of paper. He had set up his laptop inside and convinced the soldiers to let him plug into the Internet connection. Once he had gotten a bit more content, he could file his first report from the border.

World Press Agency: Refugees flee Mount Zeon as uprising continues
North Checkpoint, Parina-Mount Zeon Border – A line of men, women, and children stretches from the folding tables all the way back to the point where Mount Zeon ends and Parina begins, a few dozen feet back. The people in the line are scared, hungry, and relieved. They’ve escaped the Kingdom of Mount Zeon. More will be coming.

The rebellion in Amber Reyes County, the part of Mount Zeon that borders northern Parina, continues to simmer. Government warplanes have now begun to launch airstrikes against towns in the rebellious territory. Reports indicate that the aerial attacks have targeted civilian buildings like hospitals and power plants. The Mount Zeon government has declared that the “pacification” of the county is imminent. The refugees entering Parina tell stories of government militias massing on the county border. They fear that the rebels will be quickly overwhelmed and their entire families killed. They have chosen to abandon their homes, often leaving behind farmsteads that have been passed down in the same family for generations, to save themselves and their children from this bloody fate.

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Mount Zeon
Attaché
 
Posts: 98
Founded: Oct 23, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Mount Zeon » Thu Nov 01, 2018 7:35 pm

OOC: a map helpfully made by Parina to show the area of operations:
Image
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

User avatar
Japan and Pacific States
Diplomat
 
Posts: 607
Founded: Apr 09, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Japan and Pacific States » Thu Nov 01, 2018 9:54 pm

The Imperial Palace, Kyoto, Honshu, Mainland Japan, The Empire of Japan

The Japanese Empire since the introduction of State Shinto in the mid to late '30s, had been increasingly aggressive in regards towards other religions, more so in regards to Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Such religions originating from the West were viewed as cults and classified as such by the Japanese government, with Christians mainly being the ones who saw the most persecution especially in the Pacific States of America where Japan occupied the entirety of the West coast of North America. Christians around the world feared one day with Japan's military might they might find themselves under Japan's heel. Or worse. In the hands of Japan's Military Secret Police. The Kempeitai. Japan's own view on Zeon was no different from states such as Israel, Iran, Saudi Arabia, or even the city state of the Vatican. To say they disliked these states was but a "nice" way of putting their hatred towards such states. However for the sake of international relations they kept ties with these states, albeit not held in high regard like with states such as Allanea, or other military powers in the world.

The recent events in Zeon had been brought to the attention of the Japanese Shogunate, under Shogun Yuuhi Koubuin. While normally Japan would step in and take this opportunity to advance their own influence and interests in the world, Japan was tied down, in Karlsland with their "Gate" issue, Qaidi with their civil war against communists and the remnants of the Sultanate, and lastly in the Pacific States of America with deportations and a long brutal suppression campaign against insurrectionists. The issue with Zeon would be watched intently by the Shogunate, waiting to see what action to take as one of the global hegemon in the world.

"Your papers are valid. Go on." A Imperial Royal Guard Vassal Retainer, handed General Ogami Ritsuko of the Kempeitai her papers, and stepped aside raising his arm while looking to the other IJRG members at the gates of the Imperial Palace, giving the signal to open the gates which they did, pushing the large wooden gates open for General Ritsuko of whom proceeded through, to the Palace where she was greeted by Vassal Retainer Isumi Michiru, the Shogun's personal aide and secretary. Going through the Imperial Palace, out to the central court yard, General Ritsuko was met by the Shogun herself, Yuuhi Koubuin, where upon they'd begin walking and talking. Such visits were only granted to high ranking Imperial military personnel. "Your highness, it's imperative we keep an eye on Zeon. While yes, I realise the Pacific States have suddenly pushed our.... Methods into international light, we cannot afford any sign of weakness." General Ritsuko said as the two walked through the gardens of the Imperial Palace.

"I'm well aware, General. Though I'm more concerned with Qaidi and the Pacific States. You are right, we cannot afford any sign of weakness. ... In the Empire or abroad. However, I've already spoken with the Regency Council and the Imperial High Command, there's truly no value in getting involved in this conflict as of right now. Though I do agree with your assessment. We should indeed keep an eye on.... Zeon." Yuuhi said, looking over to General Ritsuko of whom bowed her head to the Shogun. "Thank you, your highness." General Ritsuko said and Yuuhi waved her off. "I'm expecting you to send a liaison officer however to the Zeon government to allow them to know in this matter we are indeed concerned, one of your best like... Chief Inspector Kido? In the Pacific States? I'm aware he was to be transferred back to Nagoya, however service to the Empire has to my own understanding been something he's been dedicated to since his joining the Kempeitai." Yuuhi said as she continued walking.

"Yes, your highness he is, though I would expect given he is a married man and a father he would prefer to leave this to someone else, perhaps. So he may finally return home, to his family." General Ritsuko said and Yuuhi nodded her head. "Yes... I suppose you're right. ..And I suppose it would get the point across if we were to send... A member of the Imperial Royal Guard, instead of a Kempeitai agent to speak to the government. ...Very well, I shall have Regent Takatsukasa arrange this tomorrow. If that is all, General." Yuuhi, stopped in her steps and turned. Bowing her head to General Ritsuko of whom did the same in turn, bowing lower, before returning upright and turned, leaving the Shogun of whom went back inside to her office..... Japan would naturally watch events from afar and judge what to do later, however for now. The Japanese Empire and the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere would remain silent.
Nationstates Stats not Used
Everyone's favourite Alt-history Japanese empire with advanced tech and a new Shogunate.. And domination over half the world.
Current Events:In a national referendum, the anthem of the Japanese Empire has been changed to "Ode to the Showa Restoration", a popular Army song during the interwar period.
Song referenced in news. "Ode to the Showa Restoration"

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Bengal and Assam
Diplomat
 
Posts: 681
Founded: Jun 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Bengal and Assam » Fri Nov 02, 2018 10:17 am

The Kingdom of Bengal,ever since its liberation from the oppresive state of India,has been a staunch ally of Japan,but is far from being a puppet state like other members of the Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere.Bengal was,from the very start,a dumping ground of political dissenters or anti-State Shinto activists from Japan.Over time,ethnic Japanese now represent 30% of the country's population,and mixed Japanese-Bengalis now represent 40%.Bengalis mostly believe in Shinto,but they disagree with the Japanese idea that the Emperor is a god,and Japan's persecution of other religions.Japanese silence on the situation in Mount Zeon just fuelled the rage the descendants of the"Un-Japanese",according to the words of the former Shoguns,towards Japan.This rage could be seen all the way from the streets of Shin Minato to the National Diet,and from there,to the Royal Palace
コッカイ(kokkai)National Diet,House of Representatives
"The events in Mount Zeon is a pure tragedy." roared Representative of Sumida-3,Shwapno Kayaba
"The silence posed by the Empire(of Japan) on the matter is a much bigger tragedy as well.Moreover,through the Co-Prosperity Sphere,they silenced us as well.Lets as ourselves,what have Japan ever done for us,other than giving us stories of persecution for doing what you believe is right?The only thing we have in common with Japan is our languages and culture.Our differences are that we have compassion on oppressed people.People of Covenant,we,atleast the Liberal Party of Bengal is with you as you go through this ordeal....that's all"
The entire House,including all opposition parties held five minutes of silence in honor of the people gunned down by the millitia in Amber Reyes County.This also allowed the Bengalis a chance to publicly view their disdain for Japan.Bengali social media compared the leadership in New Jerusalem to those in Saudi Arabia and the Japanese as cowards
A country with a mixed Bengali and Japanese population and culture. NSStats not Used...
Led By King Adit Tsumikado(King Eishi)... Mostly MT, with some elements of FT.
BBSOne:Spain reissues its claim on the British colony of Gibraltar as the UK withdraws from the European Community. Britain asks for troops from Commonwealth countries to reinforce British forces in Gibraltar. Bengal to send 200 troops, and a tank squadron.

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Mount Zeon
Attaché
 
Posts: 98
Founded: Oct 23, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Mount Zeon » Sat Nov 03, 2018 8:11 am

County Border

The journey across the county had been tense. The militia had been driven out of the county, but the county was of one mind about what to do after that. Matt Yates and John Lead had passed farmsteads whose owners were clearly expecting the quick return of the government. Flags flew from improvised posts, signals to the expected militia or the warplanes overhead that the home and its occupants remained loyal. Some of these people were keeping watch from their porches, armed. In other places they saw buildings that had been looted and abandoned. Matt knew that some people had decided their best chance was to get across the border to Parina. Criminals or neighbors had gone in after they’d left and cleaned out their pantries and garages. Doors were left swinging open. Hooligans had thrown stones and broken windows for entertainment.

When they got close to Down-Amber, one of two towns that had sprung up around the bridges over the Amber River, they could see more signs of what the rebellion had unleashed. Armed men were everywhere. Men from across the county had flocked to the crossing towns to hold the county line against the government’s inevitable counterattack. Hopefully it wasn’t actually inevitable: if Matt could get across the river, he could talk his way into seeing Father John. Maybe then all they could avoid all the bloodshed that everyone was expecting.

A man carrying an assault rifle and wearing a camouflage jacket directed the car to park near a tent, which he described as “headquarters.” Matt noticed that there was a discolored bit on the sleeve, right about where a militia patch would have been until it was torn off. Matt parked the car and walked towards the tent. Another armed man stopped them outside the shade of the canvas. Was it right to call him a soldier? What army did he serve?

“You’re the guys they want to send to go talk to Father John, right?” The man’s bearing and tone showed plainly how little he thought of that idea. But he gave the two would-be emissaries how to get through town to the bridge. Neither Matt nor John had ever left Amber Reyes County before. When they reached the bridge, Matt wondered if they would break that streak today. Barbed wire stretched across far end of the bridge, and some large road work barriers had been placed on the near end to block vehicle traffic. More men with guns stood watch, or crouched behind cover.

The apparent leader on the scene was reluctant to open his lines to allow Matt and John to drive across the bridge. They were still haggling when the first sounds of motors floated to their ears.

Someone poked their head out of one of the buildings along the waterfront. “They’re coming! Militia!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the leader declared. “Not right now.”

The militia rolled over the barbed wire with two squat, box-on-treads-shaped armored vehicles. Each sported a heavy machine gun manned by a militia soldier. More soldiers followed behind on foot. Matt and John got out of the car and ran across the street to the open door of a storefront with a window facing the river.

The machine guns opened fire when the APCs were halfway across the bridge, indiscriminately spraying buildings and the various bits of cover with bullets. A few came through the wall of the store, forcing Matt and John to crouch down lower. That meant they missed the rocket that someone fired, though they did hear the sound. Matt peaked his head up just in time to watch the lead armored vehicle disappear in a fireball. Militia soldiers recoiled from the flames and burning debris, while rebel fighters cheered.

“I don’t think we’ll be going across that bridge anytime soon,” John said with a nervous chuckle.

Matt knew he was right. There had never been a good chance that their plan would have worked, but even that chance had vanished now. If they tried to negotiate now, they’d just be signing their own death certificates. Matt felt his resolution harden.

“Let’s go see how we can help.”

New Coila Airbase

General Bill Sherman was raging into the phone, sending everyone else in the command center scrambling to find somewhere different to be.

“Stalled? Stalled! I swear to the Lord, Colonel, if you don’t get your men across that bridge by sundown today I will come down there myself. And then you’ll have a better chance getting mercy from the rebels!”

The militia commander on the other end of the line hadn’t even gotten halfway through his stammering reply before Bill was shouting again. “Bring up every big gun you have. Level the town if you have to! But you will get across that bridge.” He slammed the phone down and roared for his aide, who hurried back inside from whatever errand he had concocted to escape being in range of the general’s wrath.

“Tell the pilots they’ve all been reassigned. Every sortie we send out today is going to hit Down-Amber. If Colonel Munson can’t do this job, we’ll flatten the town. Maybe then he can manage to get across a damn bridge.”
Last edited by Mount Zeon on Sun Nov 04, 2018 7:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

User avatar
Allanea
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23717
Founded: Antiquity
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Allanea » Sun Nov 04, 2018 5:15 am

The most preposterous notion that H. Sapiens has ever dreamed up is that the Lord God of Creation, Shaper and Ruler of all the Universes, wants the saccharine adoration of His creatures, can be swayed by their prayers, and becomes petulant if He does not receive this flattery. Yet this absurd fantasy, without a shred of evidence to bolster it, pays all the expenses of the oldest, largest, and least productive industry in all of history. ~ The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

A state is a predator. Even the most benevolent state, which cares most for its citizens, ensures their wealth and liberty, remains a vast animal, carrying in its muscles a capacity for violence. Just as a mother cat nuzzling its kittens, soft and covered in silky fur, retains within its soft, padded paws the razor-sharp claws and conceals behind its sweet purr the mindset of a merciless hunter, the bane of mice an pigeons, so too even the most peace-loving state, with smiling officials, gleaming air-conditioned offices and beige sofas for visitors, remains, at its heart, the engine of war, a device of monopolistic violence.

Some states are ashamed of this function. Their propaganda, their educational efforts, seek to downplay this violence, to try and place it in a context that makes it seem that all there is to the nation is kindly headmistresses and caring city officials. Sometimes, their citizens are even genuinely deceived.

Allanea was never such a place.

History has never allowed the Allaneans the luxury of forgetting that they lived in a violent multiverse, and they never felt shamed at the capacity for violence that dwells within every state – and, truthfully, in every human being. They honed it and treasured it, like a cat sharpening its claws on a lamppost or a boy sharpening his knife before venturing into the woods.

Now the Allanean state had smelled one of those creatures it had considered its natural prey species:

Slavers.

For generations, Allanea's elites had promoted a system that called out slavery – the forcing of men and women into submission where they would be held as property by others, the retraction of their very status as human beings – as one of the worst evils that existed in the world.

The slaver is not a person. – Allanea's judges said, again and again. Of course, everyone knew this was a falsehood – a legal and philosophical fiction, designed solely to justify, to themselves and the world, the exclusion of slaver regimes, and their citizens, and those who aided them, from the bounds of civilization. The philosophical logic was a simple one: Human beings were thought to have rights, which are innate in them, granted by Nature, or by the Gods, or by whatever basic morals one believed in – and slavers, having sought to act as if these rights did not exist, excluded themselves from the purview of ethical systems that ascribed to human beings a degree of dignity.

But not all was as it seemed about this vast, warlike country.

The Allanean commitment to liberty did not mean they would madly lunge into war against every slave state, nor was it unselfish. It had been used, for generations over generations, to grow Allanean power, to accrue allies who shared Allanea's hostility towards the slaver, to organize trade agreements, to grow cultures that would form into allies and trade partners on the ruins of devastated societies.

Allanean propagandists have managed to carve out several loopholes in the principle – generally accepted by the world community – that a nation ought to mind its own affairs. One of these loopholes, large enough that one could drive an invasion fleet through it, was "unless they are slavers"

Now, the attention of the Allanean state, that large and violent animal, had turned towards Mount Zeon.

From all of the above, one would imagine some manner of invasion fleet, dozens of warships boiling the sea with their propellers, missile silo hatches being blown open.

This was not happening. It could not even be said that the animal was tensing to pounce. It had not yet moved a paw. Its claws remained sheathed within its padded feet. But, barely perceptible from a distance, its nostrils flared.


* * *


"Captain Cato."

"Yes?" – he paused his exercise momentarily, placing the barbell on a pair of metal hooks. There it lay, less than two feet above the officer's chest. Had a priest from Zeon seen Captain Cato in this moment, he would have been outraged no doubt – a tall, musclebound man seemingly in his thirties, his dark-brown skin covered in bluish tattoos of the type that are called "gunpowder tattoos", his hair dyed a dark-violet that would have been prohibited in most of the world's armed forces.

Of course, the scripture that Mount Zeon followed prohibited tattoos of any kind – but leaving that aside, the tattoos themselves would have been outrageous were they even drawn on paper. Each was a reference to some event in Cato's life – a scorpion with its tail raised to reference his combat record, a black bat to remind of his service as a combat reconnaissance man, and of course, that fearsome symbol – a knife breaking a chain.

– "What happened, Colonel?"

– "Captain Cato, we need a Prison Liberation Unit to go to a place called Mount Zeon."

– "The name already sounds grand. Which ones are those? Theocrats, Jewish Nationalists, orbital colonists? Theocratic Jewish nationalists with an overfunded space program?"

– "Theocrats." – if the Colonel had a sense of humor, this was not revealed. "I want you to get a platoon ready. We are preparing an operation."

Captain Cato's lips parted slightly, exposing slightly-yellowish teeth. "I love the sound of that."


* * *


Within the next days, the men and women in Captain Cato's men trained and studied. They trained in hand-to-hand combat, shot hundreds of rounds through their guns, and rehearsed planting explosives. They studied their equipment, though they were already almost more familiar with it than the men who had once designed it.

In the skies, satellites would pass over Mount Zeon. Cameras are referred to as 'unblinking eyes', but in truth they did blink. Their shutters cycled – thousands of photographs beamed, encrypted, to the Ministry of War building in Liberty-City. A small research team, which would provide the knowledge that Cato's team needed to do its work, pored over the images, to try and glean whatever hints would be available.

Who are these people in Mount Zeon?
How do they make their living?
How do the slaves work, and where do they live and sleep?
How is the nation protected?


These, and many other questions, the great beast sought to answer before it would even tense a single muscle for its strike.

It was an old, grand beast, its fur silvered with age.

It had not gotten to be this old and grand by being thoughtless.
Last edited by Allanea on Sun Nov 04, 2018 6:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
#HyperEarthBestEarth

Sometimes, there really is money on the sidewalk.

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Atlantian Dominions
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 178
Founded: Sep 04, 2012
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Atlantian Dominions » Sun Nov 04, 2018 6:47 am

Captain Fred Chartwell brought up one hand to shield his eyes from the sun overhead. The short bill of his fatigue cap did nothing to keep the harsh rays out of his face. It was a clear afternoon in New Jerusalem, so there were no clouds in the sky to provide any sort cover. At least it wasn’t too hot.

All around him the other members of the Atlantian advisor contingent were disembarking from the transport plane. The group had been formally designated Mount Zeon Military Assistance Command, MZMAC, and shortly after that it had become widely pronounced as “miz-mack.” The soldiers and technical experts who had flown into the airport outside New Jerusalem would be charged with helping guide the Zeonese military in their efforts to squash the rebels in Amber Reyes County.

While a small army of porters and other airport staff unloaded the baggage, Fred looked around for some sort of welcoming committee. He spotted a a small group of Zeonese officers and soldiers waiting a distance away and quickly crossed over to them.

“I’m Captain Chartwell,” he announced to whoever looked the most in charge. “I’m the acting commander of the advisory unit, until General Hightower arrives. I’m sure we have a lot to discuss, but can you give me any updates from the front?”

* * *

“We will arrive in Zeonese waters tomorrow,” Commander Victor Franklin announced to the room. The various captains and chiefs from the carrier battle group were assembled in the briefing room to go over preparations for their mission. “Updates from high command have been scarce, but it seems we’re having some trouble getting our allies to talk straight with us about how they’re doing on their own.”

“Which means they’re losing,” opined the commander of the ANS Sovereignty’s air wing. That got a few chuckles from the officers seated around him.

“Almost certainly,” Victor conceded. “So I suspect that once we get to our standoff point, we will be inundated with requests for fire support. I want the air wings ready to run a marathon, not a sprint. Remember that we’re not just here to blow up farmers – we’ll be keeping one eye on the Parinians the whole time as well.”

"Command has also sent word that there's been some unusual satellite activity above Mount Zeon," he continued. "The Intelligence wizards don't have anything more for us than that. But if someone else is taking an interest in this whole affair, that might mean more work for us. So make sure our perimeter watch stays at 100% - no slacking off just because we're in friendly waters."
Last edited by Atlantian Dominions on Sun Nov 04, 2018 8:30 am, edited 4 times in total.
The Confederation of Atlantian Dominions
Past Tech/Steampunk RP
My nation can be referred to as "the Atlantian Dominions" or "Atlantia"

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Bengal and Assam
Diplomat
 
Posts: 681
Founded: Jun 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Bengal and Assam » Sun Nov 04, 2018 8:01 am

Prime Minister Kazakiri gone through the letters of commendation sent by many heads of state regarding Bengal's official stance on the so-called "Holy Kingdom of Mount Zeon".As expected,the Japanese stuck to their word,and sent a letter condeming the act,and violating the neutrality imposed on Bengal by the Co-Prosperity Sphere.This didn't bother him much,but a letter from a state that is well known for speaking against slavery,Allanea,raised his eyebrows.He also watched the Allanean Senate's debate on the issue in Mount Zeon and was fascinated to see a state that had similar values against slavery that Bengal had.He had to address all those letters back,but that was the work of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.He decided to write a letter to the Allanean administration on his own.
Image
In the name of His Majesty the King
To His MajestyAlexander Blaken-Kazansky
From:Prime Minister Kazakiri of the Kingdom of Bengal
Your Majesty,
Thank you for your letter of commendation to our government and King for condemming the henious acts caused by the slavers of Mount Zeon.I've seem your speech,and it seems that we have a similar opinion on Mount Zeon,its way of ruling,or shall I say,opressing the innocent,freedom loving people of Covenant.His Majesty the King,as well as myself,desire to invite you to our humble abode in Shin Minato to discuss in the issure regarding this tragic chain of events.Once again,thank you.
Wishing you good health,
Prime Minister Kazakiri
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A country with a mixed Bengali and Japanese population and culture. NSStats not Used...
Led By King Adit Tsumikado(King Eishi)... Mostly MT, with some elements of FT.
BBSOne:Spain reissues its claim on the British colony of Gibraltar as the UK withdraws from the European Community. Britain asks for troops from Commonwealth countries to reinforce British forces in Gibraltar. Bengal to send 200 troops, and a tank squadron.

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Parina
Envoy
 
Posts: 215
Founded: Dec 13, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Parina » Sun Nov 04, 2018 8:09 am

Refugees continued to flow from Mount Zeon into Parina, but now it was time to send something back. It had taken some time to establish contact with the rebels, and more time to get them to see past the fears of Parina that their government had stoked for decades. But at last, there had been a breakthrough. Maybe it was because the Mount Zeon government was starting to push back and they’d realized how slim a chance they stood if they stood alone.

So now trucks were rumbling over the border in the opposite direction, loaded with Royal Army surplus. The King had ordered the Army to send whatever could be taken from the armories and moved on short notice. Most of the cargo was basic infantry weapons: small arms and crew-served weapons like mortars. But the Army had managed to find a few crates of old surface-to-air missile launchers that hadn’t been destroyed or sold off yet. Over the border they went, to give the men of Amber Reyes County a chance to maybe strike back against the warplanes that were savaging them from the air.

Royal Palace, Parsius
The assembled press had been full of rumors and speculation ever since King Daniel had let it be known that the Royal House of Parina would be issuing a statement on the events in Mount Zeon. When the doors opened and the Royal Press Secretary walked out, the crowd went silent.

“Good afternoon,” she began. The Secretary was an attractive woman, a slim brunette who had worked for one of the major news agencies in Parsius before catching the eye of the royal household. She was known to be a fierce partisan of King Daniel. The scandal magazines claimed she was sleeping with the king about once a season.

“His Royal Majesty, King Daniel, has been in consultation with his Prime Minister and other members of his cabinet since the beginning of the crisis in Mount Zeon. It had been hoped that the government in New Jerusalem would use this moment to sit down, in good faith, with the citizens of Amber Reyes County and listen to their grievances. Instead, King John has chosen to employ military force against his own people, who he claims to protect as sovereign. The Prime Minister and the Cabinet share King Daniel’s feelings of horror and revulsion at this decision.

“Therefore, the Crown Republic will begin doing the following: first, we will be offering asylum with a path to citizenship for all Zeonese residents who approach our border peacefully and with the clear intent to seek refugee status. Second, we will be initiating diplomatic efforts in the World Assembly, seeking support for a resolution condemning the actions of King John’s government. Third, we will be designating several of our military bases near the border with Mount Zeon as possible sites for the operations of aid organizations, who may wish to deliver humanitarian supplies to the people of Amber Reyes County.”

The speech went on a little longer but the policies had been made public. They had been worded with care: “residents” instead of “citizens” or “nationals” in order to give any escaped slaves the same formal access to asylum. The opening of the military bases had been a stroke of genius on the part of the Lord Minister for Defense. Clearing space for international NGOs and the like meant that there was a convincing reason for why elements of the Royal Army might be moving out of their peacetime positions. The flow of aid supplies would also provide a shield for the weapons that were being sent to the rebels.

A reporter shouted the obvious question: “Is direct intervention on the table?”

“At this time,” the Secretary responded, “The King and his Ministers are examining all options. However, they are all in agreement that initiating any sort of armed response could lead to disastrous consequences, not just for Parinians but also for the people of Mount Zeon. So to answer your question, it is on the table—but so is everything else. The hope is that diplomacy and international pressure will triumph.”

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Mount Zeon
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Posts: 98
Founded: Oct 23, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Mount Zeon » Sun Nov 04, 2018 8:55 am

Atlantian Dominions wrote:Captain Fred Chartwell brought up one hand to shield his eyes from the sun overhead. The short bill of his fatigue cap did nothing to keep the harsh rays out of his face. It was a clear afternoon in New Jerusalem, so there were no clouds in the sky to provide any sort cover. At least it wasn’t too hot.

All around him the other members of the Atlantian advisor contingent were disembarking from the transport plane. The group had been formally designated Mount Zeon Military Assistance Command, MZMAC, and shortly after that it had become widely pronounced as “miz-mack.” The soldiers and technical experts who had flown into the airport outside New Jerusalem would be charged with helping guide the Zeonese military in their efforts to squash the rebels in Amber Reyes County.

While a small army of porters and other airport staff unloaded the baggage, Fred looked around for some sort of welcoming committee. He spotted a a small group of Zeonese officers and soldiers waiting a distance away and quickly crossed over to them.

“I’m Captain Chartwell,” he announced to whoever looked the most in charge. “I’m the acting commander of the advisory unit, until General Hightower arrives. I’m sure we have a lot to discuss, but can you give me any updates from the front?”


Father Matthias International Airport

Standing at the front of the collection of officers who had gathered to meet the Atlantians was General Richard Truth, a tall black man who held a convincing claim to the title of most veteran officer in the Kingdom’s army. He had been one of the first military men to join Matthias, and a key commander in the military actions that had been necessary to secure the Revolution from within. He’d spent most of his post-Revolutionary career shadowboxing with the Parinese across the long border. Around him stood staff and liaisons from other branches or units.

He extended a hand and introduced himself to Captain Chartwell. “Things aren’t moving quite at the schedule that Father John has set,” he said by way of update. “The damn apostates got their hands on all the equipment in the county. There must be some veterans among them because they’ve used it pretty well so far.”

The gathering moved off the tarmac and into one of the airport buildings. Food and drink was available for the new arrivals to eat and refresh themselves while luggage and equipment was loaded into vehicles for transportation up to New Coila.

Parina wrote:“His Royal Majesty, King Daniel, has been in consultation with his Prime Minister and other members of his cabinet since the beginning of the crisis in Mount Zeon. It had been hoped that the government in New Jerusalem would use this moment to sit down, in good faith, with the citizens of Amber Reyes County and listen to their grievances. Instead, King John has chosen to employ military force against his own people, who he claims to protect as sovereign. The Prime Minister and the Cabinet share King Daniel’s feelings of horror and revulsion at this decision.

“Therefore, the Crown Republic will begin doing the following: first, we will be offering asylum with a path to citizenship for all Zeonese residents who approach our border peacefully and with the clear intent to seek refugee status. Second, we will be initiating diplomatic efforts in the World Assembly, seeking support for a resolution condemning the actions of King John’s government. Third, we will be designating several of our military bases near the border with Mount Zeon as possible sites for the operations of aid organizations, who may wish to deliver humanitarian supplies to the people of Amber Reyes County.”


New Jerusalem

“Let the Devil marshal all of his minions to stand against us. Our Kingdom will triumph over them all! We will smash this apostasy, and we will uproot the poison weed so fully that it will never threaten our holy lands again!”

Verity Wagenen listened to the speech that Father John was delivering from the balcony outside. A teeming crowd of faithful were gathered beneath him in the courtyard to cheer his every word. Cameras and microphones would carry the message to every household in Mount Zeon. The public face of the Kingdom would be defiance towards Parina and any others who opposed Mount Zeon, and assurances to the people that the rebellion in Amber Reyes County would be swiftly crushed.

Privately, Verity knew that Father John was enraged by the lack of progress being made. General Sherman had submitted a formal request to relieve Colonel Munson of command and charge him with dereliction of duty. The court martial papers were waiting for the Father’s signature once he had concluded this speech. The general had also sent his aide back to the capital to make the case for detaching some regular Army units from their positions on the border with Parina and using them instead of the now-disgraced militia.

When Father John left the balcony and entered the room, Verity was already standing. “An excellent speech,” she said placatingly. John nodded but his irritation was obvious.

“I would not have had to give it if the army had done its job.”

That was her cue. “The authorization for the court martial of Colonel Munson of the militia is waiting for your approval. Colonel Smith is also ready to meet with you regarding General Sherman’s request for more troops.”

The Father took a moment to remember what exactly she was talking about. “He wants to withdraw an armored brigade from the border?”

Verity nodded. “Correct, Father. Colonel Smith has the details of the proposal.”

“Very well. The Atlantians will be here in force soon. That woman King Daniel won’t even raise his voice then. Bring Colonel Smith to my office. I will meet him there.”

County Border

Matt Yates wasn’t sure if he would have enough water in his body to lick the seal on the envelope. He imagined most of it had been sweat right out of his body over the last few days. But there was enough in his mouth to wet the seal, and he ran a thumb over the back to close the envelope before handing it over to the runner. He’d come around saying they were going to take one of the cars out and make stops at Reyestown and Covenant, then swing by Smithcommon on the way back. They’d deliver any mail that the soldiers wanted to send to their families and hopefully pick up some new recuits to replace the fallen.

Matt’s letter to his wife was short and to the point: get out of Amber Reyes County. The government hadn’t sent over any offers of parlay or tried to discuss surrender terms. It was clear they planned to simply drive right through Down-Amber and over the bodies of everyone who had frustrated that plan so far. He didn’t want to think about Elizabeth or his children being around when the vengeful militia reached Covenant. They could get to the border and into Parina before that happened, if they left soon.

The jeans and shirt he’d arrived in on his doomed mission of parlay had been replaced by a scavenged militia uniform and someone had found a spare bicycle helmet to protect his head. He’d used a rifle before to hunt, but shooting at deer and the like was no help in preparing him to fire an assault rifle at people who shot back. Matt had decided he wouldn’t dwell on whether he’d taken a life. He could find mental refuge in that uncertainty.

The rebels had been organized when he and John Lead had arrived, but the pressure from the militia had been like turning a lump of coal into a diamond. The team he was with was a collection of young men and fathers from across the county but he trusted them with his life. They’d repelled three major attacks so far, and covered the bridge with burnt-out armored vehicles and corpses. But the government had the advantage in firepower – artillery had started raining down on the town yesterday, inaccurate but deadly when it hit. And overhead, fighter jets delivered a constant rain of bombs. The town was made of sturdy stuff, but even a military novice like Matt knew that they couldn’t take much more of this.

When he said as much to the man who commanded his unit, the old veteran nodded. “They can’t bomb too close to the bridge because they can’t risk destroying the only way across the Amber River. So we can hug the waterfront tightly and be a bit safer. But soon enough they’ll have leveled the rest of the town. So we delay for as long as possible, and when it’s time to leave, we’ll destroy the bridge behind us.”

“Destroy the bridge?” Matt wondered aloud. He also wondered who exactly was calling the shots in Down-Amber. Whoever it was, they seemed to know what they were doing.

“I don’t know the specifics,” the veteran said apologetically. “But from what I heard, they think they can scrape together enough explosives to make the bridge real weak. So when the first tank or APC rolls across, it’ll be too much weight and the whole thing will snap right in half.”

They heard the sound of jet engines and everyone scrambled for cover. All Matt could hear was the sounds of bombs falling to earth and exploding, somewhere not too far away. He counted to five, just in case there was another plane coming in afterwards. At five, he pushed himself up to his feet and started running towards the new cloud of smoke to see what he could do to help. Nearby, he could see that the flag still waved defiantly from the pole it had been raised on. The design had been the brainchild of one of the rebel soldiers, and the women who had volunteered to stay in Down-Amber as nurses and cooks had taken time to collect fabric and make the idea a reality. The new standard of Amber Reyes County fluttered in the breeze.

Image
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

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Allanea
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23717
Founded: Antiquity
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Allanea » Mon Nov 05, 2018 5:52 am

"Go straight to the heart of the enemy's greatest strength. Break that and you break him. You can always mop up the flanks and stragglers later, and they may even surrender, saving you a lot of effort" ~ L. Neil Smith, Tactical Reflections.
West of New Kirtland, 00:34 local time

They chose a moonless night for this operation. The aircraft – a small, strangely-shaped stealth cargo lifter, made its way to the shore by flying as low as it could. Within it, fifty men and a pair of pallets awaited. The men were of course nervous – who wouldn't be nervous in a roaring metal box, speeding towards an unknown and hostile shore?

As only minutes remained of their flight, Captain Cato looked out to his men. He had known all of them for months, and the last few days of training had brought them together. Not a single one of these soldiers was a fresh enlistee – all had a long experience serving the Free Kingdom, all were genuine professionals.

Praporschik Romanov looked across the plane's cabin at his captain. The man was tall and broad, a network of grotesque scars across his left cheek marking the place where a piece of hot shrapnel hit him years ago, in the Underium Occupation. He was much older than Cato himself, but somehow – how exactly, Cato was not sure – he remained in his rank.

– "It's going to be fine, Sir."- Romanov said. Of course, this was not his real name. Like all PLU troops, he was named after a slave-liberator.

Cato bristled at the comment. Did this man think that he was a yellow-bellied lieutenant, that he needed reassurance before the ramp opened?

He decided, after half a second's contemplation, that perhaps he did. Perhaps provoking his anger was the old ensign's way of reassurance, a bizarre bit of reverse psychology. Or maybe it was just an attempt of mutual kindness. "Thank you," he said.

The soldiers pulled dark-green balaclavas over their faces. These would shield them against the night's cold, and prevent the meager night from reflecting off their skin. Helmets, mossy-green, were put on next. All manner of device were fitted to the helmets – cameras, sights, monoculars.

The ramp began to open.

Less than two hundred yards above the ground, the pallets pulled out, and the parachutes attached to them snapped open. Then the men leaped free.

It took them a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes to find each other in the darkness, and another fifteen to find the pallets. The plan, then, was simple:

Dig a pair of holes in the ground for the pallets – this takes perhaps three hours.

Hide the pallets.

Walk North-West for two miles, until you reach your target.

It was early in the morning when the Allaneans could finally see it – an array of huts, seemingly flimsy and temporary.

This was the slave camp.




OOC: Post based on OOC discussion with the Mount Zeon player.
#HyperEarthBestEarth

Sometimes, there really is money on the sidewalk.

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Atlantian Dominions
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 178
Founded: Sep 04, 2012
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Atlantian Dominions » Mon Nov 05, 2018 1:08 pm

OOC: written with input from Mount Zeon

Mount Zeon wrote:The gathering moved off the tarmac and into one of the airport buildings. Food and drink was available for the new arrivals to eat and refresh themselves while luggage and equipment was loaded into vehicles for transportation up to New Coila.

Captain Fred Chartwell peered through the binoculars, willing the subject of his attention to make itself more visible. Around him the sounds of an active military post swirled in the air. Engines rumbled as tanks and other vehicles moved around, officers shouted orders at soldiers, logistics personnel moved various boxes and crates and other supply containers from one point to another. Fred tuned it all out and focused in on the spot on the bridge that Lieutenant Dascoyne had pointed to before handing him the binoculars.

After more time spent staring at the bridge, his eyes had become so adjusted to the sight that he could see what the lieutenant had seen. Something had been attached to the support beam of the bridge, then painted to try and camouflage it. Wires ran from the anomaly back to the rebel-controlled side of the Amber River.

“Yep, that’s an explosive,” the Atlantian advisor announced. “Wonder where they got that.”

“Probably bought it army surplus,” Lieutenant William Dascoyne joked, referencing an old film. That got a chuckle out of Fred from his position, lying on the ground looking through a small peephole in the sandbags.

“Doesn’t look like its enough to drop the bridge,” Fred continued. Now he knew what to look for, so he began scanning the other supports. “Don’t see any others…wait, no, looks like one other. Could be enough to make the thing unstable.”

“Damn farmers picking it up quick,” William said derisively. “The Zeons think the explosives failed, they drive one of their tanks across the thing, and it goes straight into the river.”

“Unless some unfortunate incident were to befall the operator.”

William nodded in understanding. “Perhaps once the General has all his ducks in a row, we could go about arranging that.”

General Sherman had arrived here at the front a day before the Atlantians had. Apparently the first thing he’d done was have the militia commander who’s bungled the original attack dragged off to be shot. It was a hell of a motivator. The armored force that was assembling around them now was Sherman’s idea too. Not that having tanks made it a sure thing. A good opponent could probably hold off the mostly unblooded Zeonese with a few platoons and some good ATGMs. But these farmer rebels didn’t seem to be quite up to that standard yet.

“I’ll speak with the General later today,” Fred decided out loud. “Start putting the plan together.”

* * *

“Commander, we have officially reached our destination.”

The destination of the ANS Sovereignty and her battle group looked like any other speck of ocean near a coastline. The water was a slightly browner shade of blue and the faint outline of the coast could be seen on one horizon. The carrier could have been anchored off anywhere from Mount Zeon to Cumberland with those factors. Only the GPS and the communications with the Zeon navy had confirmed they were in the right spot.

“Excellent.” Commander Victor Franklin strode out to stand by the main window of the bridge. “Let’s get everyone ready for action. Get a pair of Tomcats ready to launch. Once we have the green light from our friends’ air control we’ll send out a scout flight to get the lay of the land. Have our ground-pounder friends gotten here okay?”

“Affirmative, Commander. The advisor team reported that they were on the frontlines as of this morning.”

“Good. Let’s make sure our communications are synced up. Once everything is ready they can start calling in targets at their leisure. Anything else?”

A junior officer stepped forward with a single typed page. “Captain North on the Queen City spoke with the captian of one of the local tubs. They had a weird blip on the radar last night. Said it was nothing, and honestly sir it could be equipment or operator failure. But Captain North wanted to pass it along anyway.”

Victor skimmed the report. It was probably nothing...

“And we haven’t had anything similar since we’ve arrived?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then thank Captain North for his diligence and carry on as normal. I want us alert but we don’t need to jump just because some shanghaied radio operator jostled a cathode tube on one of those rust-bucket frigates they’ve got.”

Outside the window, an elevator slowly brought the first F-14 to the deck.
The Confederation of Atlantian Dominions
Past Tech/Steampunk RP
My nation can be referred to as "the Atlantian Dominions" or "Atlantia"

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Parina
Envoy
 
Posts: 215
Founded: Dec 13, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Parina » Mon Nov 05, 2018 2:03 pm

Government Hall, Parsius
Someone had joked yesterday that the way things were going, it might make sense to buy a few sleeping bags and lay them out in the Cabinet room. Prime Minister David Northlight had laughed when it had been said, but now he was starting to look towards the window and wonder how much it would hurt if he leapt out. The room was starting to feel like the only real place in the world and he desperately missed the comforts of his home. But Mount Zeon had always been a nuisance, so trust “Father John” to find a way to ruin his evenings with this crisis.

“We’ve just gotten confirmation from Royal Intelligence,” the Lord Minister of Defense was saying. “They’ve definitely moved an armored brigade away from the border and sent it to the crossing near Down-Amber. Seems they’re looking for a better quality of mail to cover the fist.”

“What do the analysts say?” He was tired, and the answer was more a means of keeping someone else talking than the start of a genuine inquiry. Men weren’t meant to pull such late hours.

“Even if they concentrate everything we’ve given them,” the Minister replied. “It won’t do more than slow down frontline troops. Give them a bit of breathing room from air attack and take out a few tanks, maybe, but they’re farmers. It’s like handing a kid a league-regulation ball and thinking that makes him a pro footballer.”

“We’ve taken in hundreds of refugees already,” the Lord Foreign Minister spoke up from his seat across the table. “If things start to get really bad over there, that might become thousands.”

“The public has its limits.” That was the majority whip from Parliament. “And even the opposition can’t say much to doing our part to help out. But if those numbers do get that high, we’ll start hearing the old refrains about budgets and jobs again. We could lose some of the swing votes.”

The discussion continued on. Prime Minister Northlight made a few comments, but mostly he let it all swirl around in his head. The Mount Zeon problem had been confronting Parinian governments for fifty years. He was damned if it would bring down his where less competent and less popular administrations had weathered the storm successfully. Finally, somewhere in the midst of a conversation about skills training Zeonese refugees, his brain reached its tolerance point.

“Is there anything else immediate that requires discussion?” The question seemed to startle some of the other Cabinet members. No one said anything. “Alright then. I can’t think my way out of a multiplication problem right now. We will pick this back up after we’ve all had some rest.” No one raised a voice or hand to counter his announcement. “This meeting is adjourned.”

OOC: sort of a going nowhere post to try and get me out of writer’s block, hopefully my next one has some more substance

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Mount Zeon
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Posts: 98
Founded: Oct 23, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Mount Zeon » Wed Nov 07, 2018 9:59 pm

Allanea wrote:It was early in the morning when the Allaneans could finally see it – an array of huts, seemingly flimsy and temporary.

This was the slave camp.


The Slave Camp

Slavery in Mount Zeon was an odd animal. The Prophet Matthias had railed against the institution as an affront to God while he was alive. It had been his descendants who had seen the necessity of having a large labor pool to bring the Kingdom into modernity. Sentences of life at hard labor became increasingly common in the courts. When the decision had been made to limit immigration from the neighboring states, it had been a seemingly simple decision to make loss of liberty and a lifetime of labor the punishment for entering and living in Mount Zeon without authorization.

The slave labor force was moved around the country to wherever the government decided that its labor was needed. Slave camps like the one the Allaneans were observing from afar were collections of portable housing units, each with a single door that could be locked from the outside. It was ringed with a chain-link fence that was topped with barbed wire. Two hastily constructed towers covered the camp from opposite corners, each one equipped with one searchlight and a pair of heavy machine guns. The laborers were mustered each sunrise, transported to the work sites by trucks, and returned at sunset. At night a few guards walked patrol routes around and among the housing units.

No advanced security measures would impede the Allaneans’ approach. The militia on duty were alert but their attention was focused inwards. Who would want to go to the trouble of rescuing a bunch of foreigners, Finneyites?

Atlantian Dominions wrote:“Yep, that’s an explosive,” the Atlantian advisor announced. “Wonder where they got that.”

“Probably bought it army surplus,” Lieutenant William Dascoyne joked, referencing an old film. That got a chuckle out of Fred from his position, lying on the ground looking through a small peephole in the sandbags.

“Doesn’t look like its enough to drop the bridge,” Fred continued. Now he knew what to look for, so he began scanning the other supports. “Don’t see any others…wait, no, looks like one other. Could be enough to make the thing unstable.”

“Damn farmers picking it up quick,” William said derisively. “The Zeons think the explosives failed, they drive one of their tanks across the thing, and it goes straight into the river.”

“Unless some unfortunate incident were to befall the operator.”

William nodded in understanding. “Perhaps once the General has all his ducks in a row, we could go about arranging that.”

“I’ll speak with the General later today,” Fred decided out loud. “Start putting the plan together.”


County Border

Matt Yates had been cold before, but being cold on the farm usually meant it was time to move the thermostat up a notch, or throw a log on the fire. In the bombed-out ruins of Down-Amber there was no thermostat, and no gas anyway. Fires were strictly regulated, lest a government sniper zero in on a position by the flickering light of the flames. Those same snipers meant he couldn’t go walking just anywhere, but Matt had figured out a path to walk that kept her behind cover. He was stretching his legs when he heard the sounds.

Necessity had made Matt somewhat of an expert in small arms fire. He could distinguish between an assault rifle, a sniper rifle, and a machine gun. These sounds were new, though. They were muffled, but not coming from a far distance. His hand gripped the sling of his rifle and he began to slide it off his shoulder. It was probably nothing…

Up ahead was the bunker where the detonator for the explosives on the bridge was kept. His friend John Lead was on duty tonight, manning the switch in case the government made a surprise attack at night. They’d heard a lot more vehicles clanking around on the other side of the river. He’d seen a tank with his own eyes, menacing and low to the ground. The defense of Down-Amber would be coming to an end soon. Even with the bridge blown, there was simply not much left of the town to fight for. But they had to make sure that bridge went down when the first tank rumbled across.

The men who Matt saw outside the bunker were no rebels. That was obvious from their professional posture, and confirmed when he saw the variety of gadgets they held. Each man was wearing some sort of mask over his eyes that glowed with a faint green light from the eyepieces. They held familiar-looking weapons, but they had a number of attachments that Matt hadn’t seen before. The thick cylinders over the muzzles were silencers, which explained the strange noise. As Matt took all this in, one of the mystery soldiers raised his weapon and fired a short burst into the open door of the bunker.

“Hey!” Matt yelled, not realizing the words were coming out of his mouth until it was too late. He raised his own rifle. The soldiers turned to regard him in the darkness. Their weapons shifted to point square at him. Matt pulled the trigger on his weapon at about the same time they did and he felt his own barrel swing wide as something smacked into his chest just below his shoulder. He didn’t even realize he was feeling pain until he fell backwards and hit the pavement. Then he felt a whole lot of it at once. He heard more shouting and firing. Figures rushed past him towards the bunker. Somebody stopped to bend over him and press down on the wound. That sent fresh pain shooting across his body.

Someone cursed. “The detonator’s not working!”

Flares began to burst in the skies overhead. Matt watched the mesmerizing bright lights, new stars hanging in the night sky. The sound of tank treads on concrete and metal floated across the air. Hands began to drag him backwards, away from the bunker.

Smithcommon

Elizabeth Yates’ sister put Elizabeth and her children up in her husband’s homestead. He was gone too, marching off to fight with most of the rest of the menfolk. Those who were left behind were the young and the old, those who couldn’t do any good on a battlefield. They brought over a few extra supplies to give the Yates their first full meal in two days.

“We’ve seen planes overhead, dropping bombs on people making for the border.” Rebecca Handle confided. “Then this morning they came by and dropped a whole bunch of these.” She held out a flyer, obviously mass-printed.

DOWN-AMBER HAS FALLEN. REPENT AND RECEIVE MERCY FROM THE FATHER.

Elizabeth felt her stomach collapse in on itself. “Is it true?”

“No one knows,” Rebecca replied. “Phone lines to Down-Amber got cut the day after this all started. A courier is supposed to show up sometime today with news.” She looked at Elizabeth with concern. “I know what you’re feeling. Dan’s there too.”
"Zeon" is pronounced "zay-on"
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Mount Zeon sounds very much like somewhere I'd like to avoid like the plague
Mount Zeon: is it the farming
---
New Edom: Mount Zeon is a nation of ass men
---
Novitera: What expensive but low volume goods come out of Mount Zeon?
Vionna-Frankenlisch: Wives

User avatar
Allanea
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 23717
Founded: Antiquity
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Allanea » Thu Nov 08, 2018 4:52 am

The hell with the darkness. Light a candle.” ~ John Ringo

The platoon split up. Their shoulders ached, laden as they were with ammunition, disposable rocket launchers, weapons, and of course heavy, full backpacks. The team split up now – Alpha Team, Charlie Team, Sierra Team, and Romeo Team.

Sierra stood for Support. Four men as snipers and spotters lay down on the ground. They were approaching the slave camp from the East, and now as the sun rose it would be at their backs – making it difficult for the men on the guard towers to spot them, the camouflage melding them into the ground. Machinegunners flipped the covers open on their guns, and slammed them back down as belts were fed in, their assistants laying down next to them. Grenadiers went up on one knee, each man aiming at one of the towers.

Alpha Team stood for Assault. These men were within reach of the camp's gate. In complete silence, they aimed their weapons – disposable anti-tank rockets, some aimed at the guard shack at the gate, others at what appeared to be guard housing (by virtue of the fact that this was the place into which patrolling guards went at the end of their patrols, and from which they emerged from patrols). The men and women breathed in, the cold morning air hurting their throats slightly. Right now they thought not only of the action that was going to now take place, but of easing the burden on their shoulders, of throwing away the rocket tubes as the weapon would, soon, sail home.

Romeo stood for Reserve. Their task was to wait by the roadside in case something went wrong – and of course, as backup if something went awfully, incredibly wrong.

Finally, Charlie stood for Capture. Armed with rifles, shotguns, machineguns and a range of other weapons for use in close combat, these people were tasked with going into the slave camp itself. Of course, Captain Cato was with Team Charlie. Right now, he lay on the ground a mere three hundred yards from the camp fence. He keyed the button on his helmet microphone for only a second, long enough to transmit a single word.

Sesame.

And, at that point, several dozen men opened fire at their targets. The snipers fired at the men on the guard towers, and a hail of rockets and machinegun bullets followed after.

Captain Cato did not bother to check whether every explosive and bullet had hit its target. He rose and rushed forward, towards the fence.

He and his men would be on the wire, cutters in hand, in less than thirty seconds.
Last edited by Allanea on Thu Nov 08, 2018 4:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
#HyperEarthBestEarth

Sometimes, there really is money on the sidewalk.

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Atlantian Dominions
Spokesperson
 
Posts: 178
Founded: Sep 04, 2012
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Atlantian Dominions » Fri Nov 09, 2018 1:04 pm

OOC: I’m withdrawing my carrier battle group after talking with Mount Zeon about the general shape of the RP, and also because I’m IRL overstretched with both non-NS and RP commitments. Expect fewer posts from me here from now on.

The story went that sometime in the mid-twentieth century, a detachment of Atlantian Marines had been landed to help prop up some friendly government against a communist revolution. The Marines had landed and marched to the outskirts of the capital when they were met with the friendly government, fleeing communist rebels who had taken the city. When they’d told the Marine commander that he should help escort them to the port for evacuation, the Marine had supposedly replied, “Retreat? Hell, we just got here!”

That was what Commander Victor Franklin was thinking now. “Redeployed?” He asked the lieutenant again. The junior office nodded.

“Correct, sir. Command says things here are stable, now they’re over the river. We’re needed somewhere else. Orders are to rendezvous with the Independence near somewhere called…Antaros, and await further instructions.”

“What was the point of sending us out here in the first place then?” Victor thundered. It wasn’t as if the subordinate could answer but he couldn’t keep his frustration pent in. They’d sent him all the way over here only to pull him out a few days later. Now it was off to some other crisis point.

“Fine.” Victor shook his head. “Make sure we’ve got everyone recalled from shore leave and forward control. Send a message to the advisors letting them know they have one more day of air support from us before we make steam. Do the locals know?”

“Ambassador Gotham is supposed to inform them,” the lieutenant replied. “In theory at the same time the orders came in here.”

* * *

Lieutenant – no, acting Captain now – William Dascoyne watched as the militia marched another group of men off towards the river. Ever since the breakthrough, the town had been a round-the-clock death factory. Militia had been rounding up every person they could find, and most of them ended up dead in one of the mass graves that had been excavated near the river downstream. Gunshots rang out regularly as firing squads executed anyone who could not sufficiently prove that they had remained loyal to Father John and the government during the uprising. Few managed to clear the bar their returning overlords set.

The midnight raid had been a success, though Captain Chartwell hadn’t lived to see it. He’d taken a bullet just after they’d killed the rebel manning the detonator and wrecked the mechanism. The whole team was beating themselves up over their failure to see and neutralize the wandering militiaman who’d spotted them. William still couldn’t decide if they’d been sloppy and missed a patrolling sentry or just plain unlucky. Fred Chartwell had paid the price either way.

Now the government troops were across the river. Tanks and armored vehicles were rumbling across the bridge, followed by trucks full of militia and regular Army soldiers. The professionals would take the lead in pursuing the rebels up the roads towards Covenant. The militia would be responsible for “cleansing” the recaptured towns. William had the morbid question of whether they’d have enough ammunition to keep up this rate of execution across the whole county.

One of the corporals from his unit walked over. “Captain, we just got word on the radio. The carrier offshore is gonna be pulling out soon.”

“Guess they figure we can handle things on our own,” William replied with a smile. “How long until we’re back to relying on the locals for air support?”

“Commander Franklin said he’ll be on station until end of tomorrow,” the corporal replied. “Then they’ve got orders to redeploy somewhere else. Some other business that requires their attention.”

“Alright. Pass the word and make sure the FACs are ready to go. I imagine the commander will want his traffic cops back.” The carrier had sent over a team of air controllers to help guide Atlantian warplanes in their airstrikes. Now it would be up to the advisors to direct air support effectively, or at least as effectively as they could when the age of the Zeonese warplanes and the inexperience of their pilots allowed.

Another round of gunshots rang out from behind him. “And tell the boys to be ready to move. I want to get us up with the frontline units A-S-A-P.”
The Confederation of Atlantian Dominions
Past Tech/Steampunk RP
My nation can be referred to as "the Atlantian Dominions" or "Atlantia"

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Parina
Envoy
 
Posts: 215
Founded: Dec 13, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Parina » Sat Nov 10, 2018 9:12 pm

OOC: portions written with input from Mount Zeon

Government Hall, Parsius
“And we’re sure of this?”

It seemed almost too good to be true. The Atlantian carrier group was making steam away from the coast of Mount Zeon. Their withdrawal, for whatever reason, opened up new possibilities for Parina. Before this meeting had delivered the news, Prime Minister David Northlight had expected to take a beating in the next election over his inaction on the issue. But if the Atlantins weren’t sticking around to give their ally cover…

“It is true,” the Lord Minister for Defense affirmed. “The carrier group is headed back out onto the ocean. They’ll be totally out of the AO, the area of operations, by the end of the week. And it doesn’t look like any of the escort warships is staying behind.”

“Do we know why this is happening?”

“Our best guess is that the Atlantians need the carrier somewhere else,” the Lord Foreign Minister answered. “And now that the Zeonese are over the Amber River, they probably figure that they can afford to withdraw the air support without endangering their ally.”

“Well,” David said, “Perhaps we’ll give them a reason to rue that decision. What is the status of the troops on the border?”

The Lord Minister of Defense sat forward, bringing a piece of paper up from the file folder on the table. “The troops that cleared out of the bases to make room for the humanitarian mission are settled in their temporary positions. Those just so, ah, happened to bring them closer to the border. We’ve also had some reports from radar operators that Zeonese planes have strayed into our airspace a few times recently.”

“Have we made any sort of official complaint about that?” David asked the Foreign Minister.

“We’ve submitted a formal complaint,” the Lord Foreign Minster replied. “They have not acknowledged it or replied, as usual.”

“Increase our own aerial patrols. Loosen the rules of engagement.” David steepled his fingers. “Let’s see how bold King John will be without his big friend to back him up.”

North Checkpoint
“Thank you for agreeing to sit down with me,” Blake Doran said as he himself sat down. The Zeonese woman sitting across the table nodded in acknowledgement. The journalist waited for her to say something else, but she remained silent. He pressed on.

“I understand you’re from Covenant, is that right?”

“Yes. My husband Matt was in town the day it all started.”

“But he’s not here now?” He knew the answer to this question already, or at least the immediate one.

“No.” She had a distant look on her face. Her thoughts were elsewhere. “He went down to try and negotiate with Father John.”

That got Blake Doran’s attention. “What do you mean, negotiate?”

“I don’t know much,” she replied quickly. “It’s not my place. But he said, before he left, that they were going to try and talk to Father John. Matt said maybe he would be merciful.” She took a deep breath. “But then I got a letter from him. He never got over the Amber River. The militia had started attacking already.”

“I’m sorry, miss Yates, but…do you know where he is now?”

She looked up at him. “He sent another letter, saying to get out of the county. But then I heard that Down-Amber fell…I don’t know where he is now.” He voice was starting to break. Blake Doran knew he couldn’t push for any more information.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “I appreciate it.”

As Elizabeth Yates got up and left the small room that Blake Doran had pried out of the hands of the border guards and turned into his office, the reporter was thinking furiously. He had a lead on someone who had been there from the first moment of this rebellion, and who had apparently been important enough to send out to try and negotiate with the government. He needed to know more. He wouldn’t find it here at North Check.

Doran spent the rest of the day packing and making phone calls. He’d made enough contacts in Parina to find out when the next convoy of weapons would be going across the border to the rebels. He’d be on one of those trucks. This story would make his career.

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Bengal and Assam
Diplomat
 
Posts: 681
Founded: Jun 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Bengal and Assam » Sun Nov 11, 2018 7:13 am

Aid Supply and Distribution Base,Parina
A shady man disembarked the plane carrying the BengalAID staff and aid to the refugees from Mount Zeon.

"Agent Kazakiri,welcome to Parina.Now what has the National Intelligence Agency got to do over here?"asked a young man,Mitsuo Sakahasi,the Chief of the operation,he's been tasked to come to Parina and asses the situation of the refugees

"My My Sakahashi-san,you know what we do.Now,come over here" saying it,Satao Kazakiri proceeded up the ramp,into the deeper part of the cargo hold,with Chief Aid Officer Sakahashi following him.Then,he opened up a box

As soon as he opened a box,Sakahashi was surprised

"Is this.....a Type-12B Howa rifle?What are you getting at Kazakiri?"

"This is only the tip of the iceberg.Among these boxes of food and blankets are crates of different types of weapons.His Majesty has personally ordered that we fuel a controlled insurgency inside Mount Zeon.Now,what I want you to do,is keep quiet about this,and secretly look for people who have the guts to go back and fight."

"Is there anything else I'm supposed to know?"

"Nothing as of now.Just tell me the way to a good restaurant.....I'm hungry...."
A country with a mixed Bengali and Japanese population and culture. NSStats not Used...
Led By King Adit Tsumikado(King Eishi)... Mostly MT, with some elements of FT.
BBSOne:Spain reissues its claim on the British colony of Gibraltar as the UK withdraws from the European Community. Britain asks for troops from Commonwealth countries to reinforce British forces in Gibraltar. Bengal to send 200 troops, and a tank squadron.

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