Dogs and Kings (Earth 2|Closed)

by **Tolorian Empire** » Wed Feb 26, 2020 5:28 pm

Dogs and Kings

Thursday, October 8, 1998 11:00 hours
Bamako, Mali, Toloria

It was a cool, damp morning in Bamako, Mali. The rainy season was starting to wrap up, as the cooler season is to soon introduce itself to the people in the land. The current temperature was sitting around 21°C, with it being mostly cloudy. The morning weather would push most into a lackadaisical state, choosing to have a lazy day rather than operating at their peak. However, the mood was anything but a drag.

In the capital city, there was an air of excitement. As the saying goes, a new era was upon them. One that promised freedom from corruption. One that allowed rule by people. One that exemplified true freedom.

Days earlier, Muraty Khalfani, the general of the military, stormed the last loyalist-controlled territory of the country and captured the sitting president and other members of the current government. With this, the civil war that had lasted the past three years had ended. Prior to the civil war, Bamako and other cities grew disgruntled with the current establishment. Discontentment turned into protests and, eventually, full-out rebellion. Much to their delight, Muraty Khalfani publicly accused the sitting government officials of corruption and treason, citing that they had not been loyal to their public offices. Khalfani attempted to rally the people to create a revolution.

Now placing himself in direct opposition of the government, all parts of the country had a choice to make. Join the revolution or resist the rebels. The government declared Khalfani a terrorist and proclaimed that all that joined him would also be classified as terrorists. Despite this threat, three-fifths of the country's military joined Khalfani in his uprising. Those in the military whom remained loyal to the government were thought to have been enough to hold off Khalfani and his followers. However, incompetent leadership and misfortune plagued the loyalist group. Three-fourths of cities and towns sided with Khalfani and his revolutionaries. They became rowdy and unruly, openly opposing the occupying loyalists. Brutal crackdowns followed, only increasing the support for Khalfani.

Within a year and a half of Khalfani declaring himself an enemy of the state, he had marched through, and conquered all of Mali. Multiple times he was close to catching President Koba Bussare and his Cabinet, but they managed to slip from his grasp, and they eventually fled into Mali. However, Khalfani had successfully captured most of the Tolorian Congress. A handful of them had publicly declared their support for him, but he had all the captured congressmen imprisoned under military guard.

In Mauritania, President Bussare pleaded with the Mauritian government for refuge for him and his family. With firm control of Mali, Khalfani felt emboldened. He made a proclamation to Mauritania that they must hand over all members of the Malian presidential administration or face invasion. Being a weak, fragmented state itself, Mauritania did not wish to go to war. They apprehended all the members of the administration and extradited them back to Mali, but they did not extradite the president and his family. Khalfani saw this as a refusal of the ultimatum. Seeing a unified force behind him and support of the people, Khalfani invaded Mauritania. Within a year, Khalfani was outside of the capital, Nouakchott. After a month of bitter fighting, Mauritanian forces surrendered, and Khalfani walked straight through the capital to the capitol building, in which he found the current Mauritanian government holed up, as well as his prize, President Bussare and his family.

Now, Mali and Mauritania were both flying under the Tolorian flag. Khalfani garnered some support from his conquered populace by pandering to their African roots, saying they were all "African at heart."

Present day, Bamako, a city which wholeheartedly supported Khalfani, was ecstatic. There was a bustle around the city that was rather rare. Men and women gathered in the public areas, hugging and laughing. One would think that it was a celebration.

In a junkyard, a group of boys huddled around the radio that they had grabbed while digging through garbage. The voice of the newscaster rang out:

"For those who missed the earlier report, General Khalfani has defeated all Mauritanian forces and has apprehended former President Bussare. Mauritanian forces have surrendered after a month of fighting. They allowed Khalfani to walk right down the streets. With the surrender of Mauritania and the capture of President Bussare, a new era has come for our country of Toloria."

"They surrendered? Khalfani marched right down the streets untouched?" one of the boys asked.

"Doesn't surprise me. Khalfani walks on the side of God," another boy said, "Those that form against him have no chance of beating him."

"Or he's just a military genius," another boy added.

One of the boys sat back and listened to all the others rejoice over the conquests of Khalfani. He would speak up, but he knows his opinion would be dismissed hastily. "Everyone has an agenda," he thought, "what's his? He isn't a man that is about goodwill for all. What's he planning?"

Nonetheless, he returned from his thoughts and rejoined the conversation with the others. The topics ranged from current events, to the future of the country, to where their next meal was coming from. Their excitement reflected the attitudes of others around the city. Happiness to emerge from the past into a bright future.

What they did not realize, perhaps from being prisoners of the moment, was that there was no longer anyone as the official leader of the country. After conquering territories, Khalfani and his men arranged plans with local leaders to govern until leaders could be democratically elected. Now that the fighting was over, elections would be held. But little did they realize how great Khalfani's ambitions were, and how far he was willing to go to hold on to power.

by **Tolorian Empire** » Mon Mar 02, 2020 7:50 pm

Thursday, October 22, 1998 13:00 hours
Ti-n-Essako, Mali, Toloria

The room was dark. The temperature was rather high for being indoors. It caused the room to feel stuffy. It seemed intentional. The only sound coming from the room was the occasional shifting of the prisoner's body, which also resulted in the shaking of the chains that ran from the wall to the prisoner's wrists and ankles. The chains were about 4 feet long each, just enough to allow for the prisoner to sit and lay down, but short enough that it restricted most movement. Every so often, another faint noise could be heard from the room. The prisoner surmised that it was the movement of the guard, or guards, outside. The smell of sweat and feces dominated the aromas in the room.

The prisoner felt weak. He had days where he would fall into a deep sleep, but others left him an insomniac. His connection to the chains left him in an awkward position for sleeping. He was severely dehydrated. He could not even remember the last time he had a full meal. He could feel the sweat falling down his body. A shower had evaded him for the better part of the last two months. His time under siege cut off his access to fresh water and food. He loosely felt the rags draped on his body. He felt alone and isolated. He felt like it had been so long since he had seen his family. Shame overtook him. He was not able to protect him. He let them down when they needed him most. But, of course, they must understand his plight and forgive him, he thought.

Worry crowded his mind. His future was uncertain. He couldn't tell how long he had been in this room, under supervision. He knew his future would either consist of life imprisonment or death. Considering who was calling the shots now in Toloria, he thought the latter was the higher possibility. He was using what little brainpower he had left when the sounds of the locks rang out into the room. The prisoner was barely able to keep his eyes fully open to see the two guards storming in the door. One of the men pulled out a baton and swung it at the prisoner's gut. The prisoner slumped down even further on the floor. The guards took the opportunity to unchain him and slap cuffs on his hands and feet. They lifted him to a standing position and escorted him out of the room.

Focused on maintaining his balance, the prisoner didn't have the mental energy to pay attention to where he was walking. He had lived a life of privelege. Raised with a silver spoon, that continued into his adult life, where he cheated the public and enhanced his personal treasury. He was not accustomed to hardship. His time in captivity was a new experience. It was overwhelming to him.

After a rather short walk, he was ushered into a small, dimly-lit room. The room was a small 8x8 room that included only a table and two chairs. The guards forced him down into one of the seats and chained his hands to the bar on the table. The two guards then left the room. The prisoner summoned his strength and lifted his head to inspect the room. The walls were drab. There was one entry point, and no windows.

One of the guards from earlier re-entered the room with a tray of food. He laid it down on the table in front of the man. The man inspected the tray, which included a piece of meat and a side of rice. The man slowly turned from looking at the tray to looking at the guard who now positioned himself in one corner of the room. The other guard came into the room with a glass of water and set it down in front of the prisoner. The man took a closer look at the guards and realized they had on military uniforms. He had just realized that he was in a military prison.

"Eat quickly," one of them said.

The man looked puzzled. "Is there something in this?"

The guard furrowed his brows as if he were annoyed."Maybe. Maybe not. But eat quickly. You have a guest."

The man started reexamining the tray. Growing impatient, the guard took out his baton and slammed the table with it. "I said eat quickly, you Mbwa"

The man normally would have been startled by the baton, but he did not have the energy to be frightened. He first drank his water, and then picked up his fork to eat the food from his tray. After a few minutes the man finished his tray, and the guards collected his tray and left the room.

Outside, it was hot and dry. Not much was happening. Silent chattering was occurring amongst the outside patrol. Being so close to the Sahara Desert, there wasn't much in the way of civilian life to disrupt their operations. Being deep in Malian territory, there was also no threat from any rebels.

A caravan of Jeeps pulled up to the complex. Out of the lead car came a tall, stocky man. His hat is readjusted to reveal a lean, wild face. Shuttered brown eyes, set deep within their sockets, watch cautiously over the lands they've safeguarded for so long. His stoic look could unnerve the sturdiest of men. It was General Muraty Khalfani. The men greeted him with a salute as he passed them by, however he did not acknowledge him. He had a specific reason for being there, and he was intenting on meeting his prized possession.

He had an escort of three other soldiers. They had trouble keeping up with his determined pace. Khalfani made headed straight for the interrogation room. His soldiers peeled off before he made it to the room. Upon his entrance, Khalfani looked at the prisoner and smiled, "Ah, Koba, my dear brethren! How nice it is to see you." Khalfani flashed a devilish grin. "We have much to discuss."

by **-The United Federation of Nations-** » Tue Mar 03, 2020 7:14 pm

Assistant Attaché Renee Palmer
Embassy of the United Federation of Nations, Bamako
The Union of Toloria
Thursday 8th October 1998, 1100hrs Local Time

“Well, it’s confirmed.”

Renee Palmer glanced up from her desk in the Political Section of the Federation Embassy to the Union of Toloria to look at Special Officer Kieran Donovan, a young case officer who was part of the Federation Intelligence Service (FIS) station within the diplomatic mission. Like her, Donovan was young and on his first assignment, and as a result he was more than a little over excitable, but he was also smart, charismatic and had good instincts, which meant that he would go far in the FIS.

“What’s confirmed, Donovan?” William Sutherland, Counsellor for Political Affairs, who headed up the section, asked with a dry tone.

“General Khalfani’s forces have taken Nouakchott, Mauritania surrendered across the board,” Donovan explained. “And sources inside the country are indicating that President Bussare has been captured.”

“Damn,” Sutherland sighed, breaking the silence that had prevailed in the room

There had been little love lost between the Federation and Mauritania; just like there had been little love lost between the Federation and Mali; both were your standard West African dictatorships and as such were unlikely to have a good relationship with the United Federation of Nations. Although the Articles of the Federation required the federal government to maintain diplomatic relations with all nation-states regardless of their political or ideological leaning, it did not require a particularly friendly posture beyond basic courtesy and the like. Indeed, socially and economically the Federation largely had a live-and-let-live attitude, but a lack of democracy was the one area that the Federation could not abide; after all the democratic right of the people to choose their own government was at the cornerstone of the Federation’s founding documents and the ideals by which it had stood by for centuries. In short, the Federation had maintained only the minimum level of diplomatic relations with both Mauritania and Mali, largely focusing on protecting the interests and lives of any Federation citizens who had business in either of the two nations. Which meant that, all things considered, there wasn’t a great deal of actual diplomacy to be doing out of the Federation Embassy, any sort of real engagements would have required a move towards democratic ideals and which a strongman dictator was unlikely to be particularly interested in.

For Renee that meant for a relatively sedate assignment.

Within the Federation Diplomatic Service, she officially held the title of ‘Diplomatic Service Officer’, holding the lowest diplomatic rank of ‘Assistant Attaché’, and was currently assigned to the Political Affairs section. The term Political Affairs was rather broad, including everything from negotiating and communicating with the host government to analysing the political events that took place within the host country. It was this latter role that Renee had been assigned, which given her skill set was perhaps hardly surprising; having graduated summa cum laude from the University of California, Los Angeles’ International Development Programme and immediately accepted into the Diplomatic Service’s graduate programme. Her posting to West Africa was disappointing; the Federation’s interests in the region were limited and as such there wasn’t a great deal to do; it certainly wasn’t a plum assignment. In an effort to avoid favouritism, however, initial assignments were by secret lot, with future assignments being based on performance and merit. However, Renee had always been the sort to turn a disappointment into an opportunity and had designs on getting herself assigned to the Office of the Special Envoy to Morocco and Iberia, which was an advantage of her current assignment.

After all, although uninteresting from a diplomatic perspective, the political affairs of the region were interesting, if distressing, to watch unfold. The civil war within Mail itself had been two-a-penny for this part of the world, albeit individually unique and interesting enough analyse. It had been the events of recent weeks in Mauritania that had raised eyebrows in the Department of the Exterior. If General Khalfan was to take control of both nations, and forge them into one, it would make him the single most powerful man in all of West Africa; a consolidated dictatorship was precisely what the Federation did not want to see. Although very unlikely to pose a mortal threat to the bulk of the Federation’s existing membership in North America, the rise of a authoritarian state in West Africa could put the entire peace plan between Morocco and Iberia at risk, and would always pose a threat to the security of Morocco at the least, and given the long-term prospects for Morocco to one day join the Federation, this was a concern. Moreover, from the Federation’s perspective it was a damned shame and lost opportunity; there had been hopes that success in Morocco could have been followed up by Special Missions in West Africa itself.

‘Damn’ indeed, Renee agreed silently.

“Alright then people; we’re going to need to keep our ears to the ground to keep track of what happens next in this country, particularly in the next few days as this shakes out into a post-war regime, it is imperative that we know what sort of state we’re dealing with here,” Counsellor Sutherland said, gathering his section together. “Things will likely move fast, and you might come across some distasteful stuff in the days immediately after the end of the war, but we need to know what is a post-war excess and what is going to carry on long-term.”

Sutherland paused and glanced around at this team.

“A lot of these people see the General as the best hope for a new, better future, but a man like him doesn’t do all this without some sort of agenda in mind for his own betterment, we need to know what the popular feeling is if he doesn’t meet the lofty dreams of his people,” Sutherland continued. “We’re all going to be pulling long nights on this one people, but gather as much data as you can yourselves, work with Special Officer Donovan here and the rest of the FIS station… and remember, even though the war is over, if you go out of the Embassy, take a security team… now let’s get to work.”

by **Tolorian Empire** » Wed Mar 04, 2020 6:59 pm

Thursday, October 22, 1998 13:00 hours
Ti-n-Essako, Mali, Toloria

Koba looked up in astonishment at General Khalfani walking in the door. He registered the grin on his face, and realized that his future was not looking very bright. Khalfani slowly walked towards the chair opposite of the ex-President. Another guard joined them. Koba realized that it was the same guard who struck him earlier.

"How are you, my good friend?" Khalfani asked.

Koba shot him a disgusted look. He declined to answer the question.

"Still as stubborn as ever. Some might say, that's what got you in this position."

Koba still refused to speak back. He just stared at Khalfani with malicious intent in his eyes.

"Refusing to speak, eh?" Khalfani laughed with the other guard in the room. "Very well. I'll just tell you then."

Koba barked back, "What do you want, Nyoka."

Khalfani leaned forward on the table. He once again flashed his smug grin. He had the look about him like a cat who had the mouse in the palm of its hand. "So you speak?" Khalfani asked, once again looking back at the guard laughing. "It's pretty obvious the current state of affairs. I sit in the capitol and you sit here, imprisoned. However, you have options at saving your future."

Koba looked annoyed, but he was intent on hearing the general's "options."

"Regardless of each of these choices, I will be sitting as the leader of our great nation. Too long have we suffered under your corrupt rule. The people have seen no benefits from your rule, even though you constantly promise them that prosperity is coming. It's now at an end. There are two options going forward, one of which may spare your treacherous life.

Khalfani got up and began pacing the room. "Option one. You must renounce your presidency. You must say to the people that you no longer have any interest in leading the country. You must also acknowledge your corruption and apologize to the people for your crimes. Afterwards, you will forever be exiled from this country. Your assets have already been seized by my de facto government, so you can expect to be working for a living.

Khalfani stopped pacing the room and faced Koba. "If you choose to accept this option, your speech will be pre-written and recorded live from here."

Koba looked down and stared at his cuffs, contemplating what Khalfani had just shared with him.

From Khalfani's perspective, these options were purely of political merit. He had no intentions of peacefully letting Koba walk. He could simply seize control of the country if he so desired. His forces had complete control of the country, and he had the support of the people. He only wanted Koba to resign from his position. Khalfani had no desire to create a political or social revolution. He just wanted to ascend to power. If Koba were to acquiesce, Khalfani would put in the speech that announced himself the legitimate leader of Toloria. He would have legitimate political authority to act as he deemed fit. This is what he sought.

"Should you choose to decline, however..," Khalfani's voice trailed off, "you will be charged with treason and be prosecuted as a criminal of the state. I can assure you, Mr. President, they will find you guilty. I can also assure you of one of two punishments. You will either be living in a place like this for the rest of your life or you will be put to death. I will see to it personally that you suffer enormously."

Worry overtook Koba's face. Neither of his options had any bright sides to them. Anger swelled up inside of him at the sound of the sarcastic address that Khalfani used.

"Keep in mind, Mr. President," Khalfani said, flashing his grin again, I do not only hold your life in the palm of my hands, but I also hold the lives of your family in my hands."

Silence enveloped the room. Koba's heart sank. The options before him were unenviable. He felt that he had to save his family, but he feared for his life, if he were to be exposed to the crowds. Khalfani stood over him and watched as he shrank in his chair.

"I'll give you 24 hours to make your decision. If you still have not decided by then, I will assume that you choose the latter option. In which case you will deal with the conseq-"

"I'll read your damned speech," Koba interjected. Tears began to run down his cheeks. In his defeated state, he could not bring himself to look up at Khalfani.

"Good. I will return tomorrow, upon which you will read the speech and begin your exile."

Khalfani headed towards the door and left the room. The guard in the room took his baton and hit Koba twice in the head and once in the gut. As Koba slumped even more in his chair, the guard unchained him, and along with the help of another guard, drug him back to his cell.

by **Yugovia** » Thu Mar 05, 2020 6:00 pm

Sadik Fellag shifted his rifle and scanned the endless desert before him. Strung out along the southern boundary of the Caliphate, the Jund al Rashid manned depressing white washed blockhouses that were connected only via fragile phone lines and occasional cell signal. Despite the strict Islam that was enforced by the government, soldiers were soldiers and the days were spent with idle talk of loose women, politics, and the million mundane tasks of an army in garrison. The nights were wasted with potent homebrew alcohol, hand rolled cigarettes, and lively discussion as to what they would do when they rotated back to the metropole.

To the south in the Sahel and West Africa, there were rumors of an end to the three year old civil conflict. For the soldiers guarding the border they were inconsequential. While the border block houses were ostensibly dedicated to the defense of the Caliphate, the thousand plus kilometers of desert between the southern border and the Maghreb ensured that from the south Rum was impenetrable. For this reason the soldiers including Sadik had a relaxed disposition. His rifle was loaded but slung casually and he smoked a cigarette that was surely visible for a thousand meters in the darkness of the Sahara. He muttered into the darkness and paced the section of the perimeter he was responsible for, picking his way along trenches and between fighting positions that were filled will sleeping sentries who would’ve been flogged for their laziness if they were not posted to the bare ass of the world.

Politics were alien to Sadik. He was a muslim through force of culture and a soldier through force of convenience. A man with a sword never starves and in the dying days of the Mediterranean Social Confederation and the early Caliphate, there was starving aplenty. It was only poor luck or the best of luck that saw him posted to the Saharan frontier and not the balkans or the Caucasus where there was dying aplenty. Instead he had to gaze out across the endless sand sea or up at the unfathomable vastness of the cosmos-not a terrible fate for a young man from Algiers.

*

In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,

We greet you in the name of the Prophet (PBUH) and Caliph Mudar ibn Malik al-Rashid Abu Mufakir. We extent congratulations to your victory and trust that you know that it is thanks to god alone that you were victorious in your struggle against the decadent running dogs of global Imperialism, President Bussare. The Caliph in the name of the Prophet (PBUH) extends formal recognition on behalf of the Caliphate of Rum to the administration of General Khalfani. All debts of the preexisting Imperialist client states to the Caliphate or infidel precursor states and entities are declared forgiven. Diplomatic personnel will be dispatched and an embassy established upon the consolidation of the rightful authorities.

Rum also extends an offer of security assistance in the name of combating global imperialism and the rule of the infidel materialists. The details of any assistance will be addressed upon the establishment of formal diplomatic relations.

*

by **Tolorian Empire** » Sun Mar 15, 2020 10:37 am

Friday, October 23, 1998 17:00 hours
Ti-n-Essako, Mali, Toloria

The spotlight shone bright in his face. The suit dwarfed his now-emaciated body. His wrists were in pain from how tight they had tied the rope around them.

Koba Bussare, the disgraced ex-president of Toloria, now sat in a dimly lit room. Accompanying him was General Khalfani, and his right hand man, Moyo Chilemba. In front of Koba was a camera, and a man holding a script. The script had been written by Khalfani's camp, and, under threat of his family's death, Koba agreed to read it on camera. They had tried to tidy up his appearance in the last 24 hours. They allowed him a bath, gave him 2 meals, and cleaned up his face before cutting the camera on. Despite their best efforts, it would still be obvious of how he had been treated while in captivity.

"Remember, if you try anything, I will kill you and your family," said Khalfani. Koba refused to even look at him.

After a few minutes, they prepared to begin. The spotlight was adjusted to make a decent picture and the camera began recording.

"Citizens of Toloria, this is Koba Bussare speaking. I have come to speak an important message to you...."

After appearing to cooperate, Koba fell silent.

"Cut the camera. What are you doing? Speak, you Mbwa!" Khalfani shouted.

"I will not speak words that are untrue," Koba shot back.

"It would be wise of you to recognize the position that you are in. You will do as I say or face the consequences!" Khalfani began to yell and berate Koba. All the while, Koba sat quiet, defiant even. After a few minutes of trying to goad him into cooperating again, Khalfani gave up and ordered him stripped and taken back to his cell.

Once back in his cell, Koba was beaten brutally. They beat him nearly into death. Afterwards, they left his body to lay, and his wounds remained open. A few hours later, they threw a head over his head, even though he was still unconscious, and threw him into a jeep.

Unbeknownst to Koba, Khalfani had ordered him to be exiled into the Sahara Desert. The plan was not to kill him by human hands, but to do it by the natural elements. During the car ride, Koba faded in and out of consciousness. His wounds began to fester and his body ached.

Once they felt they were far enough, the soldiers stopped the vehicle, got out, and pulled Koba out as well. One of the soldiers wanted to make sure that he would not come back alive, so they ordered that he walk away from them. Koba mustered all his strength and began walking. He had accepted his fate. He knew that he was to die in the desert. Once he walked around 20 meters from the vehicle, one of the soldiers took out his pistol and shot at him. The shot pierced only his right shoulder, but he fell down anyways. The combinations of all his wounds zapped any remaining strength from his body. The soldiers got back in their vehicles and left Koba to die.

Koba believed that this was the end. He laid in the cooling desert sand. He looked out into the horizon and took in the sight for what he believed would be the last time in his life.

by **-The United Federation of Nations-** » Tue Mar 17, 2020 4:38 pm

Corporal Victor Ramirez, FMC
Somewhere in the Sahara Desert
Union of Toloria
Friday 23rd October 1998, 2300hrs Local Time

The operation had been put together in record time, using whatever assets were available on short notice. Even the operational name was predictably simplistic; Operation BODY SNATCHER. Several hours previously an asset inside the Tolorian security apparatus had reported to the Federation Intelligence Service that Former President Koba Bussare, after a failed attempt to get him to read a statement, would be ‘exiled’ into the Sahara Desert , presumably to bring about his death without having to actually pull a trigger. There had been intense debate within the Federation Government over the following half an hour or so, but everyone knew that it essential that a decision was reached as quickly as possible. As such, the intelligence had landed on the desk of the Federation President within an hour of being reported and Defence Force Command, along with the Federation Security Advisor, had briefed him on the situation and the general consensus within the national security apparatus that it would be advantageous, vis-à-vis the Federation’s position in Morocco, for President Bussare to be in Federation hands rather than dead in the dessert somewhere. After a short period of thought, the President had authorised a mission to extract Bussare.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

There was a very narrow window that severely limited the United Defence Force’s options. With the exception of the newly-joined State of Malta there was precious little Federation military assets in the region, certainly for a mission of this nature. Although the Federation had a great deal of influence and interest in Morocco, the Articles of the Federation prevented the Defence Force from stationing military units in a prospective member-state. It was a good, common-sense restriction that had survived the test of time, but it didn’t half limit the options. Under normal circumstances, this kind of mission would under the purview of the Federation Special Operations Command (FEDSOC), however the simple travel time from North America to Africa ruled out a FEDSOC intervention in time. As such, the Defence Force had turned to the Federation Marine Corps Embassy Security Guard detachment at the Federation Embassy to the Kingdom of Morocco, the sole exception to the restriction on military units inside a prospective member-state. Of course, the Marine Security Guards weren’t intended for this kind of mission, but they were all Marines and every marine was a rifleman, so they had answered the call.

The biggest issue was range; the only aircraft available on short notice was the UH-60L Black Hawk assigned to the Embassy, and the range was insufficient to fly straight from the Embassy. So, an arrangement had been made with the Moroccan Army to set-up a Forward Arming and Refuelling Point (FARP) in southern Morocco, at which the Black Hawk would stage before beginning its incursion into Tolorian airspace. Even then, stub-wings had needed to be fitted and the crew complement was kept to a bare minimum, meaning that only four Federation Marines would serve as the extraction team, plus a combat medic. Led by Corporal Victor Ramirez, a native of the Republic of New Mexico who had just re-enlisted following his succession completion of the NCO School, the fireteam would be responsible for engaging any hostiles and were carrying as little equipment as possible.

The Black Hawk had left the Morocco FARP and penetrated Tolorian airspace, keeping low to take advantage of the limitations of the lacklustre Tolorian air defence network. Flying over southern Morocco, supposedly on an air sovereignty mission, were two Moroccan Air Force F-16 Fighting Falcons who would, if requested, conduct a strike mission in support of the extraction team, although for obvious reasons this was a last-ditch resort. The Black Hawk had vectored in on the co-ordinates provided to them by the FIS asset and began to search for the target using infrared optics; it wasn’t long before they located a warm body amongst the rapidly cooling sand.

“I’ll put you down on that flat area a hundred yards from the target,” The pilot of the Black Hawk announced over the intercom. “That good for you?”

“Roger that,” Corporal Ramirez replied, turning to his team. “Once we hit the ground secure the target quickly, the less time we’re in Tolorian airspace the better.”

The three other Marines nodded and a few moments later the Black Hawk had touched down gently and the four of them were out of the aircraft and hustling across the sand towards the prone body of the former Tolorian President. The man was unconscious but alive by the time they reached him, so they quickly loaded him onto a stretcher and hurried back to the Black Hawk, which took off as soon as they were all secure and began to speed back towards the safety of Morocco. On the flight the combat medic would do his best to stabilise the man’s injuries and keep him alive, they would then rendezvous with a Defence Force CASEVAC aircraft at a Moroccan airbase who would fly President Bussare to Malta. The intention was to keep him sedated until he reached the secured Defence Force Hospital outside of Valetta where he could be debriefed by Federation Intelligence.

by **Layarteb** » Wed Mar 25, 2020 6:03 pm

• • • † • • •

Prior to the 1500s, the history of Layarteb was characterized largely by a dominance of feudal kingdoms and the political discourse these kingdoms had with one another. There were hundreds and at any given point in time, several dozen were at peace, several dozen were fighting, and even more were recovering from either condition, awaiting the next. By then, hundreds of years of warfare, marriages, treaties, and disaster had wiped out the weaker of these kingdoms and left only the strongest of the strong. With nothing but bloodshed in their past, the kingdoms opted to try something new. They formed a loose confederation and a pact to cease warring and concentrate on building a nation, of sorts. None of the feudal lords could agree on who should have the most power and thus the confederation would never grow past a semi-coherent, loose state. Yet it paved the way for what would eventually become the Republic of Layarteb.

By 1700, the Republic of Layarteb was still five decades away but the confederation of kingdoms had remained unified. Trade to Europe and South America had flourished under the confederation and so too had the growth of a nation thanks to Renaissance scholars, the introduction of "higher education" by Christian missionaries - who were no longer slaughtered at first sight, and the Age of Exploration. Layarteb had been late to the game, discovering just one territory it could stake a claim on, the island of Bermuda. The significance of Bermuda had, in 1515 when it was discovered, not been realized by throughout the 1600s, it became a crucial waypoint for ships traveling to and from Europe, Africa, and South America. It was also the home of a significantly large garrison because of the strongest threat to Layartebian trade links, the threat of piracy.

In fact, it was the threat of piracy that led to the formation of the "Layartebian navy" as it were. Coastal kingdoms, equipped with warships, took it upon themselves to begin escorting merchant ships across the Atlantic or through the Caribbean. Pirate attacks became more frequent and more brutal as the 1600s wore on, culminating in a series of debilitating attacks on no less than three merchant convoys sailing from Europe to North America. The conditions that pirates had created throughout the Atlantic had irked even the most peaceful of Layarteb's many kingdoms in such a way that only war could be the answer and war was declared. Until then, pirate ships had solely been attacked when they acted aggressively against warships but no longer.

Early in 1701, the kingdoms of Layarteb banded together to issue a proclamation that any ship sailing under a pirate's flag would be sunk upon sight. It was open season and in just five years, the effect was noticeable. Yet piracy was far from being defeated and this was in large part due to another confederation, though this one in particular was not ruled by kings or lords but rather by pirates. This loose confederacy occupied several archipelagos in the North Atlantic as well as several territories in the far western portion of the Mediterranean Sea. Each territory was ruled over by a different pirate and a different system but they all had something of an informal code of conduct. There was even democracy amongst the pirates, something that Layarteb did not have. And it was these territories and these pirates that drew the ire and the rage of the Layartebian kings most of all.

Their territories included the archipelagos of modern-day Azores, Canary Islands, Cape Verde, and the Madeira Islands in the Atlantic. They controlled the Balearic Islands and Gibraltar in the Med and, most of all, they considered a 5,825 mi² piece of modern-day Morocco as their neutral ground with Tangier as their capital. All told, these states occupied just 13,413 mi² of territory, a pittance compared to the 877,700 mi² controlled by the Layartebian kingdoms and yet, this tiny cluster of microstates wrecked such havoc upon Layarteb that their very existence was insufferable and declared an abomination.

The war, which began in 1701 finally ended on June 18, 1707, when the pirate captains, holed up in a stronghold in Tangier, surrendered to the armies of Layarteb. By then, Layartebian flags flew over every territory but pirate capital. When Layartebian soldiers finally stormed into the stronghold, they found a scene that shocked even the most battle hardened of soldiers. Holed up in the stronghold for months, the pirates had long since run out of supplies. Some had emaciated to nothing while others had taken to suicide and stories of cannibalism were hardly myth. In the end, the pirate leaders were brought back to Layarteb, imprisoned on Bermuda, and hanged. The territories that had been conquered were declared colonial possessions and submitted to punishment rule by the Layartebians for decades to come until the establishment of the Republic of Layarteb, when all but one territory was given statehood, that territory being Cape Verde.

The Cape Verde archipelago, more than any other, had proven the most arduous to Layartebian rule. As such, the five decades of colonial rule had been particularly draconian. While resistance in the other territories had slowly died out, Cape Verde remained a thorn in the side of the Layartebians and for this reason, when the Republic was declared, Cape Verde remained under colonial authority. To make matters worse, the Cape Verdeans weren't granted citizenship nor were they allowed to partake in Layartebian democracy. The archipelago stood out as a stain upon the Age of Enlightenment that had gripped and transformed the Layartebian nation into a representative democracy championing individual rights and civil liberties. Cape Verde simply hadn't been punished enough yet.

Over the decades and centuries, Cape Verde's status within Layarteb ebbed and flowed. For periods it was a hotbed of insurgent activities and for others it was calm and peaceful. All it would ever take was a single spark to reignite the powder keg, turning the people against their military governors and against the Layartebian flag that flew high over the island's capitals and prominent buildings. Not even modernity could save the Cape Verdeans from Layartebian colonialism but, in the end, they'd have their due.

In the 1970s, as the Layartebian republic tore itself asunder, the independence movement in Cape Verde resurfaced. The colonial possession simply became too much of a chore to hold onto and in the summer of 1979, as the Layartebian Revolution was in full swing, the island archipelago achieved its own independence, ousting the military governor, tearing down and burning the Layartebian flags, and destroying the remnants of colonial rule. Backed by Mauritania, Cape Verde settled into a state of de facto independence throughout the remainder of the 1970s, the entirety of the 1980s, and the bulk of the 1990s. Yet the defeat of Mauritania and its fall to the forces of General Khalfani had changed Cape Verde's feelings of supremacy, especially under the spectre of the now Empire of Layarteb. Gone was the democracy of the Republic and in its place rose a belligerent nation that had ballooned in size, encompassing more territory than ever before and with a memory for revenge and a penchant for grudges. Cape Verde certainly fulfilled the conditions with which the Empire would start looking upon it. Like the republic that came before it, the Empire hadn't desired a ground war in Mauritania. The terrain was too inhospitable, the populace unlikely to conform to Layartebian authority, and the conditions necessary to placate it more than the Empire desired to undertake. All of the Empire's battle plans against Mauritania involved concentrating efforts against the coastal capital of Nouakchott. Battle plans called for seizing the capital and moving no further, digging in, and preventing reinforcements from coming. Then they would squeeze the capital and its leaders until capitulation and regime change occurred. This was truly all the Empire hoped to achieve in an invasion of Mauritania but so long as Mauritania was backing Cape Verde, guaranteeing their independent sovereignty - albeit as a puppet state - then the Empire wasn't going to move on the archipelago. Mauritania was gone though and that meant a golden opportunity to settle a grudge that was almost three hundred years old.

• • • • ‡ • • • •

Friday, October 23^rd, 1998 | 14:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York | Fortress of Comhghall
40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W

The Emperor sat in his office, the television displaying General Khalfani's final victory not two hours ago. General Khalfani had been victorious and there was no reason a man with that level of support from both the military and the people couldn't have been victorious. Had he not been, he would have wasted a golden opportunity that was - in many ways - his and only his to lose. President, or rather the former President Koba Bussare was now deposed and with that, General Khalfani could begin to consolidate his power and assume the leadership of Toloria. The Emperor had no idea what kind of man the general was or what kind of ruler he would be but there were no assumptions that Toloria would suddenly be in the hands of a benevolent ruler. Rarely did benevolence blossom from revolutions and wars such as these.

The Emperor himself remembered how, just seventeen years prior, it had been he removing President Thomas Deveroe from power following a depravation and a descent into corruption that plummeted the Layartebian republic into its final, darkest days. President Deveroe had been forced to stand trial and when his many guilty verdicts were read, there was only one real question, how long before the noose? In the end, the Emperor spared him his life, commuting his sentence from death to life in exile, a punishment many saw as worse than death and which won the Emperor fans from all sides of the political spectrum. For those who clamored blood, they would get the ultimate suffering; and for those opposed to the death penalty, they would get a life. Deveroe was exiled to South Georgia where the settlement of Grytviken had become his final home. The tundra climate made for a miserable existence and he died of pneumonia at the age of seventy-six in 2003. His death, though reported in the news, was marked simply as a byline and nothing further for a man who'd personally ordered the deaths of many Layartebians simply for speaking out for their own rights and liberties.

With the Emperor was Minister Joshua McCormack of Foreign Affairs and Minister Thomas Soto of Defense. Chairman-General Curtis Hayes was currently on his way up to the Emperor's office along with Carl Spencer, the National Security Advisor. They'd already seen the report out of Toloria so it was merely a matter of catching up with those in the Emperor's office, who'd yet to see it due to prior commitments. Therein, the discussion could begin, and when it began, it did so not at the conference table or in front of the Emperor's desk but rather in the sitting area around the fireplace, which was not lit thanks to an ambient air temperature outside of 62°F.

"I do not think we should offer any salutations or condemnations yet," the Emperor said, beginning, "we have to consider a lot of options here. For starters, Mauritania - as a backer of Cape Verde - is no more. We might have offered tacit support to General Khalfani but just because his enemy was our enemy doesn't necessarily mean I want to publicly signal our intention towards his regime either way at this time. In reality, what opportunity we have is with Cape Verde. That traitorous murdered [Deveroe] traded away Cape Verde for his own neck back in the 1970s and that is Layartebian soil. It would be a point of pride to this country to put our flag there once again."

"Sir, we would not face a compliant populace," Minister Soto answered, "on the contrary, we would be looking at a definite insurgency."

"Strategically speaking, Cape Verde offers us limited economic resources sir," chimed in Spencer. "It's been two decades since it was ours and they've gone nowhere since then. In fact, the country may still very well be two decades behind the rest of the world. It would be a capital investment just to bring them up to current standards. Poverty levels haven't decreased, for starters."

"Sir, I must concur with my colleagues," Chairman-General Hayes responded, "it was a colonial possession from the 18th century. We shouldn't still be holding this grudge."

"Nonsense," the Emperor said, brushing off the opinions of those around him. As a hawk, the Emperor didn't see the sensibility in peaceful approaches all of the time, especially not when it came with a benefit. "We were prepared to go back into Cape Verde in the 1980s but we held off because we knew we'd need to commit to toppling the government in Mauritania too. That simply wasn't in the cards at the time as we had much bigger problems to deal with, such as Venezuela, such as countless other areas. The times have changed since then as has our situation. An insurgency on Cape Verde is something we can stamp out quickly. It's an archipelago with a populace of not four hundred thousand. We've suppressed insurgencies in significantly larger nations. We can suppress one here just the same. What defenses does Cape Verde even have to muster? We would sweep them aside in no time. This has been the opportunity we wanted fifteen years ago but did not have.

"Think of the larger strategic goal of the North Atlantic. We've clamped down on the entirety of it save for a few spots that are actively being subjugated into our possession. Cape Verde would be a piece of that puzzle. It would provide us with a base of operations should we need to launch into North Africa, should we be blocked from the Mediterranean somehow. It'll certainly provide a measure of action against Western Africa should we face a hostile nation once again. We just do not know what Khalfani's long game is. Was he an ally against Mauritania? Yes. Will he be an ally without Mauritania? I don't know and I'd prefer not to believe he is."

"We don't have evidence either way sir," spoke McCormack, "we have no basis to say he will or he won't be friendly. We're basing our policy on a three-hundred-year-old grudge sir."

"We're basing it off of land that was historically Layartebian and traded away by a man who nearly destroyed the entirety of our country. It was bad enough that man and his supporters saw to the destruction of the Republic and saw to a condition whereby the Republic, as it stood, can never stand again. Cape Verde is Layartebian and I want our flag back there again!"

• • • † • • •

by **Tolorian Empire** » Tue Apr 07, 2020 5:55 pm

Monday, October 26, 1998 13:00 hours
Bamako, Mali, Toloria

The day had finally arrived. General Khalfani was set to address the nation via a public address. He had been craving this moment ever since he declared himself an opponent of the previous regime. Khalfani devised a brilliant strategy to efficiently rid the country of the so called "stinch of corruption." He swept through loyalist territory with relative quickness for an underdeveloped military, and he ended the chances of the leader of this corruption from coming back, or so he thought.

Muhammed scurried around his establishment, trying to finish all the tasks before Khalfani's speech came on air. Muhammed owned a small bar in the capital city of Mali. His bar was located in one of the poorer parts of the city, but at one point was a bustling hub of socializing and drinking. It hosted a full house at least five out of the seven nights every week. Muhammed's bar was so successful, he thought about renovating and expanding his building. Under the reign of Koba Bussare, however, that no longer was a viable option.

After Bussare came to office, the economy took a sharp dive. Taxes were raised substantially, which increased the burden on the urban poor. It was necessary for progress, he said. It will even out in the end, he said. This will motivate the poor to learn new crafts, he said. The taxes alone were enough to cause some of Muhammed's customers to quit coming. But there were a good number of loyal patrons that still tried to consistently gather and socialize. However, crackdowns soon ensued.

In 1991, it was found out that President Bussare was personally benefiting from the increased revenue. No social services were implemented. No government investments in the economy. Nothing had been done for the people that Bussare claimed to serve. But he had, however, come into some shiny new possessions. Word of this quickly spread around the country. Soon enough, many of Muhammed's patrons began discussing it and spreading their negative opinions about Bussare. Riots soon broke out and the military was called in to maintain order. In Muhammed's bar, soldiers came in and brutally beat the patrons there, for information had come that one or two of the leaders of this uprising were frequent visitors at this bar. Due to this, business declined in Muhammed's bar and remained low. He had to fire all but two of his staff, he had to nickel and dime everything, and he did what he could to try to make ends meet.

Muhammed now stood behind the counter wiping the glasses, while keeping a watchful eye on the customers that were there, in case they needed more or tried to leave without paying. The world around Muhammed's bar was buzzing, but he couldn't understand why. Sure, he was elated along with the rest of the people that Bussare was no longer the President, but he could not wrap his head around the fact that the people loved Khalfani. This is the same man that sent his men throughout the country to terrorize those that opposed Bussare. Could he have been acting on orders? Sure, but the sheer brutality and extent that they went to left an indelible mark on Muhammed. The people cheered him and adored him. It was if they had forgotten everything that he had ordered to be done to his people. Muhammed considered for a moment that Khalfani could have had a change of heart. He did oppose Bussare publicly, and actively sought for his removal from office. However, Muhammed could not believe that there was a change of heart. Something more sinister was at play here.

"Hey, turn that up," one of the customers shouted.

Muhammed turned to look at the small 24-inch box television, that had a picture that was fuzzy at best, and would occasionally flicker in and out. He saw the news channel covering the soon-to-come speech from General Khalfani. Khalfani was approaching the podium. Muhammed turned up the volume and watched with great interest, along with the others in the bar who now crowded around the television.

"Friends. Countrymen. My People. I am here today to proclaim to you that the former tyranny that you were once under is now over! This is truly the dawn of new era. One of peace and prosperity. One where the needs of the people are put before the ambitions of greedy politicians. I am here today, fellow Tolorians, to assure you that the past is behind us and will never return. The man who once called himself President is serving a new term in a place where he will remain eternally. As for us, we will progress to a new, brighter future! We will be looked upon no longer with shame, but with respect and admiration. We will emerge as leaders in both Africa and the world at large. We will not fail!

To help us effectively transition to this new democracy, our Parliament has graciously passed a motion that allows for myself to oversee the transition. I will be the acting President until further notice. I will say to you all that I plan to hold elections within the next two years. If all goes well, I will step back and allow democracy to take its rightful course through our nation. We are a resilient peoples, and we will not let our past incompetent leaders keep us from future prosperity. It is now up to you, citizens. Uplift your brothers and sisters. Unite around the Tolorian banner! Push our country into success and international respect. Only with personal responsibility can this be accomplished. Muda mrefu kuishi Toloria (Long live Toloria)!"

As Khalfani departed from the stage, the men that were huddled around the counter dispersed just as quickly as they had come. Muhammed went back to completing all of the necessary tasks. He had been overcome with a sense of unity. Inspiration, even. Maybe he was wrong about Khalfani. Maybe this was the man that would bring justice and equality to a nation that had long lacked both. Maybe Khalfani truly was for the people.

by **Tolorian Empire** » Wed May 13, 2020 9:19 pm

Tuesday, October 27, 1998 11:00 hours
Bamako, Mali, Toloria

Ameen el-Siddiqi sat on a plastic chair at a table right outside of his front door. In his hands were a cigar and a lighter. The Belicoso, his favorite cigar, was soon lit up in his hand. A staunch disciplinarian, Ameen only brought out cigars when there was a celebratory occasion. And this, he thought to himself, was as good a time as any.

Ameen was the leader of the National Order Party in Toloria. Although it was a relatively new and minority party, the NOP had gained a small amount of traction on recent years within smaller villages in the country. Its ideology called for a return to a religious democracy, in that the democratic institutions would remain, but would only be led by those of the Muslim faith. Obviously, all the members and supporters of the party professed to the Muslim faith. Ameen's ultimate goal was to grow his party's influence to where it would turn into a dominant-party or single-party state. He had accomplished a lot in terms of growth, seeing as his party had only existed for the last decade, but he recognized that he still had work to do.

Ameen himself was a shrewd businessman. He had owned housing complexes and a furniture factory, and through this, he had amassed a small fortune. Ameen then turned his eyes to politics. His initial vision of creating a political party would be something that would rival the corrupt parties that were currently ruling the country. However, after seeing his repetitive failed attempts at garnering public support, Ameen became rather jaded towards his vision of justice. He decided that he would use the people's ignorance against them. Toloria was a predominantly Muslim country, however, the strictness of each person's practice varied by region. Ameen figured out that religion would be the perfect way to garner enough influence. After he realized this, Ameen's primary goal would be to attain power and influence. He no longer cared about bringing fairness to the Tolorian peoples. His rationale was that of if they really wanted good leaders, then they would have supported him the first time around. Now he was to be in it only for himself.

The situation that Ameen currently found himself in was that of an opportunistic one. Members of the Tolorian Army were currently inspecting his home, and Ameen was awaiting the arrival of General, and now-President, Khalfani. He had personally requested to meet with Ameen to discuss "business."

Ameen had gotten through a quarter of his cigar when President Khalfani arrived at his home. However, Ameen quickly learned that Khalfani was not alone. Three other men stepped out of the car behind the Presidential vehicle, not including the armed soldiers. Ameen respectfully greeted all four of them and asked them to sit, however, Khalfani insisted that the meeting occur inside Ameen's home.

"Gentlemen," Khalfani began, "one of my biggest pet peeves is wasting time, so I'll get right to the point. I have a vision for how this country will be governed in the future. As of right now, I have massive public support and hold significant influence over the people. With that, comes the ability to more easily shape the country into how I see fit."

The men looked at each other with confusion on their faces, wondering how they all fit into this supposed vision.

"The current system of governance is not working. And by that, I don't mean the institutions, but rather those steering the institutions. To put it bluntly, it's time for a change. As stated, I currently hold significant influence, but it would be unwise of me to think that my popularity will last forever. It would be better if other institutions, say the National Assembly, were to solidify my power. That's where you four come in. Kaamil, Jaasir, and Setefane, this is Akeem, the leader of the National Order Party. Akeem, I have chosen you to become my right hand man in the Assembly. With my help, you could become the second most influential man in this country."

Akeem sat back, astonished. He wasn't finished taking it all in when he realized that he was expected to say something. He was barely able to pull himself together when he muttered, "What are you asking of me?"

Khalfani grinned. The rat began to sniff the bait.

"I want the power of the National Assembly to be taken from those currently in power. A new majority party, so to speak. Akeem, the National Order Party will be that party. These three gentlemen will be assisting you in that endeavor. Kaamil and Jaasir are both also leaders of a small party. They will be bringing their followers under your banner and will be assisting you in solidifying party discipline. Setefane is someone I've known for a while and will be a tremendous addition to your party. You four will get along just nicely."

Gaining more of his backbone back as Khalfani spoke, Akeem replied, "What if we can't all work together successfully?"

"I've spoken to these three already. They have convinced me that there would be no issues. Anyhow, Kaamil and Jaasir have similar beliefs as you do. And Setefane has personal loyalties to me, so he will do as I ask. The success of this plan hinges on your willingness to do it."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, then you would have missed out on a big opportunity."

Seeing that Akeem was still pondering the issue, Khalfani chose to give him instructions.

"There will be an announcement. Special elections will be held in January of next year. You are to begin recruiting members to run. After that, we will begin to transform the nation into the way it should be."

"What, do you have a crystal ball or something? What makes you think my candidates would win in those elections?"

Khalfani stood up from his seat and began to leave the house. "That will all be taken care of. You just get those nominees."

As Khalfani left Akeem's house, the four men sat in silence for a few seconds. After a deep sigh, Akeem began to speak.

"Well, gentlemen, let's get started.."

by **Tolorian Empire** » Tue Jun 16, 2020 7:42 pm

Tuesday, October 28, 1998 1:00 hours
Bamako, Mali, Toloria

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was continuing its stretch of busy-ness that it had been on for the better part of the last two weeks. President Khalfani had issued a directive to begin to establish formal relations with other countries for the new regime. The M of FA was using all available resources to decipher who would be the most strategic allies, in addition to who would be opposed to the new regime. According to Khalfani's ideology, the more liberal democratic countries would not be too thrilled about supporting the newest regime. However, the M of FA found a likely ally in the nearby country of Yugovia. A fellow Islamic country, as well as a country that has openly shown its support of Khalfani's regime, Toloria wanted to be quick to establish ties with Yugovia. A few of the staff members had been typing up a formal response to the communique that was sent a few days ago.

"To Whom It May Concern,

We wish to thank you for your support of the new leadership of President Khalfani. It is our desire to establish formal relationships with your nation. As is the will of Allah, it is our destiny to unite the Muslim peoples together in harmony. It is further our destiny to combat the global materialists who seek to infiltrate every part of Allah's Earth with their heretical ideologies.

We wish to additionally pledge our support for the leaders of the great nation of Yugovia and to support Yugovia in any way that is both possible and feasible. We request the immediate establishment of an embassy along with the dispatch of a national ambassador to solidify the union of our great nations."

Sincerely,
Shomari Jati
Deputy Minister of Tolorian Foreign Affairs

by **Tolorian Empire** » Thu Aug 06, 2020 4:02 pm

Sunday, November 15, 1998 1500 hours
Bamako, Mali, Toloria

Ameen walked towards a decent-sized shed in his backyard. He was polishing his gun as he walked.

A few weeks earlier, Acting President Khalfani declared that a special election would be held in late January for the nation of Toloria. He cited the unrest that had covered the nation for the last few years as a reason for the election. He jumped on the idea that the people should be the ones to drive the change in this nation. Khalfani drew from the typical populist "patriotic" dramble to inspire the masses to accept his idea. However, a more sinister idea was at play. Khalfani sought to give credence to a lesser known political party. He offered them legislative power in exchange for legalized dictatorial power.

Since announcing the "emergency" election, Ameen has recruited multiple candidates in almost every district of Toloria. His plan is to stock the National Assembly with his people and make his move from there. In such little time, Ameen had turned his National Order Party into a political gang. Members were not those who possessed a political background, some did not even have a great educational background. His candidates even included radicals who sought to have a theistic form of government. Ameen was not as selective when he first recruited candidates, a move that might backfire on him later.

When he approached the shed, he opened the door to a hot room where a man sat in a chair with his hands tied behind his back.

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